Title: Perfectly Happy Part 1 - Angelus
Author: Anna - - niannah@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine, et cetera.
Feedback: Yes please.
A/N: Set sometime after the end of Season 3.
____________________________________________________________________________
Angelus strode towards her apartment. He was close. He could scent her from here. She smelled of shower gel, shampoo and expensive conditioner, of moisturizers, body lotion, exfoliators, the face mask she used twice a week. She smelled of clean clothes, carefully ironed, detergent and fabric softener. She smelled of whatever perfume she chose to wear that day.
Underneath all that she smelled of Cordelia. That was the scent that lingered. The smell of her office when she had been working late. The smell of her apartment. The smell of sheets she had slept in. He remembered moments the Soul had stolen, in the dark basement of the Hyperion doing the laundry. His lip curled when he thought about it. He felt shamed. The Soul had brought him, the great, the notorious Angelus, so low. Burying his face in her sheets after those increasingly frequent occasions when she stayed. After a vicious fight, after a hard night's research. A night watching a movie with him and Connor. Filling his desperate senses with the smell of her.
Though Angelus did have to admit that she was quite a woman. More woman than girl, ten times better than the last leftovers from the Soul. Angelus laid a palm flat on his belly, ran it lightly over his chest. He had become more man than boy since he had been out to play last. The Soul was finally taking care of himself. Though the taste of pig's blood rankled in his mouth. He had washed it away earlier. And he had left the wrapping in the Hyperion for his lovely Cordelia.
He had reached her door. He tried to sober up, wiping the smirk off his face. It was not easy. He was filled with glee. He was free again, really free. No drugs that could wear off, no witch with her curses, no ex-girlfriend with a sword to plunge through his belly. Here he was, loose in this city named for him.
And he had a most enjoyable evening planned.
He raised a hand and knocked on her door. A moment of silence, then a rustle of paper, a low thud, and her footsteps coming towards the door. Angelus calmed the excitement in his blood. He berated himself for such immaturity. He was no fledge, far too old to be anything but perfectly poised for the hunt.
But it had been so goddamned long.
She reached the door and opened it. Angelus watched her face spread into a smile when she saw him standing there.
"Angel!" she said. "Come on in."
He did not need the invitation, but it made him smirk inwardly anyway.
"Hey Cordelia." He stepped over the threshold. "I hope you don't mind. Connor's being… difficult, and you said I could come over whenever, so…"
"Of course I don't mind, silly!" She hit him playfully on the arm, then pulled him further into the living room. "I was just reading. Can I get you some blood?"
Ugh. Pig's blood here too.
"No, I'm good," he replied. He noticed an open wine bottle on the table, her first glass half empty. "Some wine, though, maybe?"
"I thought you vamps didn't drink… wine." Cordelia laughed. Angelus laughed too. He reminded himself to stay in character. It would be far less fun otherwise.
Cordelia did not seem to notice anything amiss.
"I guess even a vamp needs a change sometimes," she said, fetching a glass from the kitchen. "Blood, blood, and hey! More blood! Where's the fun? Variety is, after all, the spice of unlife."
Angelus laughed again.
"Yeah," he agreed, holding out a hand for the full glass. How little she understood. How much the Soul kept from her. He had known her for, what? Five years now? More? Nothing for a vampire, but a considerable time for a young mortal. And he had never once mentioned the subtle nuances of blood. Never explained to her that every human had their own unique flavour. Never told her hers was particularly alluring. And she had never even asked.
Cordelia sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to her, indicating that he should sit there. He did so, attempting to look bashful, as the Soul would in such a situation.
"So it's Connor, huh?" she said, grimacing.
"Yeah." Angelus attempted an awkward smile. He felt he was getting a grip on this. How off-putting. "Playing his music too loud, and he's got really big speakers, plus" – he gestured to his ears – "vamp hearing, so I had to get out of there."
Cordelia grinned.
"Oh my God, I remember going through that." She laughed, her eyes crinkling. "Couldn't you ask him to turn it down? Explain about the" – she gestured to his ears.
"I didn't want to," said Angelus, putting some kind of mournful, or possibly worried, tone in his voice. He quickly tried to think why the Soul might not want to tell Connor to turn his music down. Or snap the kid's neck. "We've just bonded, you know? So I just wanted to leave him to it."
Angelus was already tiring of this game. He spent long enough trapped inside the damn Soul to go around pretending for too long. However, he calmed himself. Breathed her in, reminded himself of the rewards of this little piece of duplicity, tedious though it may now seem. Warm, pumping, trusting, aroused blood. Very little he could think of that could be sweeter.
"Sure," nodded Cordelia. "It hasn't been easy, has it?" She looked concerned.
"No." He sighed, and decided to remain silent.
After a moment staring at his saddened face, she reached out a concerned hand and rubbed the length of his arm.
"Hey!" she said. "Silk?"
Angelus looked sheepish. He was getting too damn good at this. Made his stomach turn.
"It was in the back of my wardrobe. I had nothing else clean."
"Nothing else clean? The guy who's turning into a laundry freak?"
He had to suppress a laugh. He took a sip of wine to hide it. Tasted like nothing.
"I guess I'm busted." He looked at her, smiling. "I'm sick of cotton. Variety, you know. Spice of my unlife."
Cordelia laughed.
"Right! Why not? It suits you."
"You think so?"
"Yeah. It's funny, I never really thought that before. I guess it's too like you-know-who."
Angelus had to take another quick gulp of wine.
"Well," he said, as soon as he could. "That's what I always thought, so I never wore it. But it's kinda nice."
"Sure it is, it's silk." Cordelia smiled shyly. "I love wearing silk," she said.
He knew what she meant. As would the Soul. But the Soul would pretend not to, and he'd ask a dumb question, then get all embarrassed when she answered.
Here goes.
"What? You don't wear much silk. You're wearing cotton now."
He tried to look flustered when she lowered her chin and looked up at him with smoky, sultry eyes.
"Oh," he said, and laughed nervously.
Time to take it up a notch. This was pathetic.
"Me too, actually," he said.
She looked surprised. Shocked, even. He made sure to look anywhere but at her. And fidget with something.
Aw, fuck it.
He looked straight at her, suddenly calm.
She coughed, and took a sip of wine.
"More information than I thought I'd ever have," she said, a touch too brightly.
Angelus smouldered. His voice became low as an earthquake.
"Really?" he said.
Cordelia paused.
"Well, yeah," she replied quietly.
He said nothing, just sat, continued to smoulder, his eyes on hers.
She laughed quickly, a single breath.
"Angel!" she said.
He half smiled.
"Cordelia," he replied, his voice so quiet.
She drank more wine. Angelus had forgotten his. He took her glass and placed it on the table.
"Cordelia?" he said again.
She cleared her throat.
"Yes?"
"What did you want to tell me? After you called me? That night you ascended and that little… Connor, the night Connor locked me in the box?"
"I… Angel, I…" She sagged against a cushion behind her. "You already know. You'd never ask like this unless you already knew."
He moved closer to her.
"I don't know. I won't know till you tell me." He looked so earnest. He could feel it. He even felt like the Soul. Ugh.
Cordelia looked him straight in the eyes. Angelus enjoyed that. He liked her eyes. He imagined them closed in ecstasy. And horribly open in pain.
She looked away. She examined her fingernails with intense concentration.
"What's the point?" she whispered. "You left Buffy because you couldn't be with her. Couldn't give her what she needed. If you could, you'd go straight back to her. So you can't be with anybody. You couldn't even want to be with… me. Be with me."
Angelus raised her chin with a perfectly-manicured thumb.
"Buffy?" he said, almost laughing. He hoped she would misinterpret it. "Buffy… That's over, Cordelia, surely you know that?"
"Is it? I don't know, Angel. You guys were, like, soul mates!" Cordelia's eyes became glassy with tears. She would not let them fall.
"Cordelia." He whispered her name, running a finger down her cheek. Such a pretty cheekbone, he thought. Such a mouth. "Cordelia, it's you I want. You know that."
Cordelia sniffed, and smiled a brave smile.
"How could I know that, Angel? How can I really believe that? How can I compete with Buffy, and Darla? How could I know?"
Angelus ran a casual fingertip over her lips. She flinched slightly, but did not draw back.
"How could you know, Cordy? Because you're not stupid. You're not blind. You've known ever since the ballet."
She said nothing. But something in her face, he could see it, a relaxing of certain muscles, acquiesced. She had known.
"But it changes nothing, Angel."
He moved even closer now. He could feel her breath on his cool cheek.
"Why not?" His hands were roaming over her extremities. On hand lingered on her foot curled up on the couch. The other played with her fingers. His touch was light, but insistent.
"You know why, Angel! The curse!"
Angelus laughed.
"Oh, Cordelia," he said. He looked into her eyes, all the time his fingertips caressing her skin. "There is no more curse."
"What?" He rubbed her frown with his thumb, caressing it away.
"No more curse. It's gone. I didn't tell you before because… because I wasn't sure how you felt, if you felt the same way about me as I do about you."
Her hand suddenly gripped his.
"But Angel! How?"
"I… I don't know how. I think it was the night I slept with Darla. I thought my soul was going, I could feel such pain" – oh, he could remember that night, the night he thought he would be free again, only to remain trapped; well, he thought, it did lead to his being free tonight, big picture – "but then, nothing. My soul still with me. I didn't know exactly what happened then, but since that night I have been more and more sure that it was my soul being anchored, Cordy." He grasped both her hot little hands in his. "How often have I been happy since then? With Connor, my son, and with you? Think about it! Surely, if I were to lose my soul, it would be gone."
Cordelia simply stared. Angelus knew what he was saying could be true. If the Soul had not been such a worrier, had he let his problems slide for just a second, then he would have been free months ago.
He saw her melt. He saw his words settle in her mind, make some kind of sense. To his joy, he saw her want them to make sense.
Her breathing became erratic. He knew his moment.
He leaned towards her, and kissed her. His lips rested only lightly on hers until he felt her respond. He moved closer, letting go of her hands, running his fingers up her arms until he lightly held her head. He opened his mouth and gently flicked his tongue against her lips. He felt her mouth open at his suggestion. One of her hands rested palm flat against his chest. The other trailed up his thigh until it held his hip. He felt her heat through her skin, felt her heart beat faster, smelled her arousal.
He pulled her closer, kissing her now more insistently. His tongue plunged into her mouth as his hands roamed again downwards, merely flicking lightly across her breasts before stroking her belly, her waist, and holding her hips firmly.
She pulled back, her lips red, her eyes heavy-lidded with sudden desire. A smile flickered at the corners of her mouth.
"Angel," she breathed.
"Cordelia," he replied, his voice full of warmth and lust.
This time she grabbed him, invading his mouth, releasing months, years of pent-up lust. He took her by the hips and sat her on his lap, straddling him. She moaned gently into his ear when she felt his arousal, and began to grind her hips in slow, eager circles against him. Angelus could not help but release a low growl. Her hands worked now at the buttons of his shirt. She opened them quickly and ran her hands over his cool skin. He felt her enjoying his body, revelling in this new freedom. He slid his hands up under the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it over her head.
She did wear silk. Angelus pulled back from her kiss to admire the perfectly toned body astride him. He ran appreciative hands over her skin, watched her move as she continued to grind into his groin. Her breasts were perfect, held in a cream silk bra. She moved them towards him. He glanced into her playful eyes, and clamped his mouth over one of her nipples, soaking the silk immediately with his saliva, his tongue working through the material, his blunt teeth nipping and biting to bring her to a hard peak. She moaned again, rhythmically, as he moved to the other nipple, supple fingers still working on the first. As he soaked the second cup, he snaked his hands around her and unclipped the bra, watching as it fell from her pert, round breasts. She ran her hands through his hair, once again bringing his mouth to her nipples.
He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. Dennis opened the door. Again he suppressed a laugh. It was all too easy. Not that he complained. This one was hot. He had no plans to kill her best friend's fish. No. He had left a much more special present for her at the Hyperion.
He laid her on the bed, sliding her pants down her legs. He left her panties on, and pressed two fingers against them, right between her legs. Damp and hot. He could feel her pulse under his fingers. He shook his shirt off, and kicked off his own pants. He felt the length of her hot body under him as he kissed her again. She spread her legs around him.
"Oh, Angel!" she moaned repeatedly. He hated that name. But it would have to do for now.
She pushed his silk shorts down with an urgency he exulted in. Not that it had been a tough conquest. But it was him, not the Soul. That thought alone made him tingle.
He swiftly removed the remaining barriers between them.
"Angel! Angel, wait!"
He looked at her.
"What? Cordy, is this okay?" His gut twisted at the simpering words.
"As long as you can promise me… that I'm not going to get pregnant with another miracle child of yours?" She laughed happily.
"I promise," he said.
He plunged into her.
She was not very experienced, he knew that. So the Scourge of Europe showed her things, taught her things for hours, bringing her to screaming heights of ecstasy, to whimpering beggings of need, to laughter of sheer delight. Should she escape him, he thought, should she survive him, she would never find pleasure in the arms of another man again.
Not that she would survive.
TBC.
Author: Anna - - niannah@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine, et cetera.
Feedback: Yes please.
A/N: Set sometime after the end of Season 3.
____________________________________________________________________________
Angelus strode towards her apartment. He was close. He could scent her from here. She smelled of shower gel, shampoo and expensive conditioner, of moisturizers, body lotion, exfoliators, the face mask she used twice a week. She smelled of clean clothes, carefully ironed, detergent and fabric softener. She smelled of whatever perfume she chose to wear that day.
Underneath all that she smelled of Cordelia. That was the scent that lingered. The smell of her office when she had been working late. The smell of her apartment. The smell of sheets she had slept in. He remembered moments the Soul had stolen, in the dark basement of the Hyperion doing the laundry. His lip curled when he thought about it. He felt shamed. The Soul had brought him, the great, the notorious Angelus, so low. Burying his face in her sheets after those increasingly frequent occasions when she stayed. After a vicious fight, after a hard night's research. A night watching a movie with him and Connor. Filling his desperate senses with the smell of her.
Though Angelus did have to admit that she was quite a woman. More woman than girl, ten times better than the last leftovers from the Soul. Angelus laid a palm flat on his belly, ran it lightly over his chest. He had become more man than boy since he had been out to play last. The Soul was finally taking care of himself. Though the taste of pig's blood rankled in his mouth. He had washed it away earlier. And he had left the wrapping in the Hyperion for his lovely Cordelia.
He had reached her door. He tried to sober up, wiping the smirk off his face. It was not easy. He was filled with glee. He was free again, really free. No drugs that could wear off, no witch with her curses, no ex-girlfriend with a sword to plunge through his belly. Here he was, loose in this city named for him.
And he had a most enjoyable evening planned.
He raised a hand and knocked on her door. A moment of silence, then a rustle of paper, a low thud, and her footsteps coming towards the door. Angelus calmed the excitement in his blood. He berated himself for such immaturity. He was no fledge, far too old to be anything but perfectly poised for the hunt.
But it had been so goddamned long.
She reached the door and opened it. Angelus watched her face spread into a smile when she saw him standing there.
"Angel!" she said. "Come on in."
He did not need the invitation, but it made him smirk inwardly anyway.
"Hey Cordelia." He stepped over the threshold. "I hope you don't mind. Connor's being… difficult, and you said I could come over whenever, so…"
"Of course I don't mind, silly!" She hit him playfully on the arm, then pulled him further into the living room. "I was just reading. Can I get you some blood?"
Ugh. Pig's blood here too.
"No, I'm good," he replied. He noticed an open wine bottle on the table, her first glass half empty. "Some wine, though, maybe?"
"I thought you vamps didn't drink… wine." Cordelia laughed. Angelus laughed too. He reminded himself to stay in character. It would be far less fun otherwise.
Cordelia did not seem to notice anything amiss.
"I guess even a vamp needs a change sometimes," she said, fetching a glass from the kitchen. "Blood, blood, and hey! More blood! Where's the fun? Variety is, after all, the spice of unlife."
Angelus laughed again.
"Yeah," he agreed, holding out a hand for the full glass. How little she understood. How much the Soul kept from her. He had known her for, what? Five years now? More? Nothing for a vampire, but a considerable time for a young mortal. And he had never once mentioned the subtle nuances of blood. Never explained to her that every human had their own unique flavour. Never told her hers was particularly alluring. And she had never even asked.
Cordelia sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to her, indicating that he should sit there. He did so, attempting to look bashful, as the Soul would in such a situation.
"So it's Connor, huh?" she said, grimacing.
"Yeah." Angelus attempted an awkward smile. He felt he was getting a grip on this. How off-putting. "Playing his music too loud, and he's got really big speakers, plus" – he gestured to his ears – "vamp hearing, so I had to get out of there."
Cordelia grinned.
"Oh my God, I remember going through that." She laughed, her eyes crinkling. "Couldn't you ask him to turn it down? Explain about the" – she gestured to his ears.
"I didn't want to," said Angelus, putting some kind of mournful, or possibly worried, tone in his voice. He quickly tried to think why the Soul might not want to tell Connor to turn his music down. Or snap the kid's neck. "We've just bonded, you know? So I just wanted to leave him to it."
Angelus was already tiring of this game. He spent long enough trapped inside the damn Soul to go around pretending for too long. However, he calmed himself. Breathed her in, reminded himself of the rewards of this little piece of duplicity, tedious though it may now seem. Warm, pumping, trusting, aroused blood. Very little he could think of that could be sweeter.
"Sure," nodded Cordelia. "It hasn't been easy, has it?" She looked concerned.
"No." He sighed, and decided to remain silent.
After a moment staring at his saddened face, she reached out a concerned hand and rubbed the length of his arm.
"Hey!" she said. "Silk?"
Angelus looked sheepish. He was getting too damn good at this. Made his stomach turn.
"It was in the back of my wardrobe. I had nothing else clean."
"Nothing else clean? The guy who's turning into a laundry freak?"
He had to suppress a laugh. He took a sip of wine to hide it. Tasted like nothing.
"I guess I'm busted." He looked at her, smiling. "I'm sick of cotton. Variety, you know. Spice of my unlife."
Cordelia laughed.
"Right! Why not? It suits you."
"You think so?"
"Yeah. It's funny, I never really thought that before. I guess it's too like you-know-who."
Angelus had to take another quick gulp of wine.
"Well," he said, as soon as he could. "That's what I always thought, so I never wore it. But it's kinda nice."
"Sure it is, it's silk." Cordelia smiled shyly. "I love wearing silk," she said.
He knew what she meant. As would the Soul. But the Soul would pretend not to, and he'd ask a dumb question, then get all embarrassed when she answered.
Here goes.
"What? You don't wear much silk. You're wearing cotton now."
He tried to look flustered when she lowered her chin and looked up at him with smoky, sultry eyes.
"Oh," he said, and laughed nervously.
Time to take it up a notch. This was pathetic.
"Me too, actually," he said.
She looked surprised. Shocked, even. He made sure to look anywhere but at her. And fidget with something.
Aw, fuck it.
He looked straight at her, suddenly calm.
She coughed, and took a sip of wine.
"More information than I thought I'd ever have," she said, a touch too brightly.
Angelus smouldered. His voice became low as an earthquake.
"Really?" he said.
Cordelia paused.
"Well, yeah," she replied quietly.
He said nothing, just sat, continued to smoulder, his eyes on hers.
She laughed quickly, a single breath.
"Angel!" she said.
He half smiled.
"Cordelia," he replied, his voice so quiet.
She drank more wine. Angelus had forgotten his. He took her glass and placed it on the table.
"Cordelia?" he said again.
She cleared her throat.
"Yes?"
"What did you want to tell me? After you called me? That night you ascended and that little… Connor, the night Connor locked me in the box?"
"I… Angel, I…" She sagged against a cushion behind her. "You already know. You'd never ask like this unless you already knew."
He moved closer to her.
"I don't know. I won't know till you tell me." He looked so earnest. He could feel it. He even felt like the Soul. Ugh.
Cordelia looked him straight in the eyes. Angelus enjoyed that. He liked her eyes. He imagined them closed in ecstasy. And horribly open in pain.
She looked away. She examined her fingernails with intense concentration.
"What's the point?" she whispered. "You left Buffy because you couldn't be with her. Couldn't give her what she needed. If you could, you'd go straight back to her. So you can't be with anybody. You couldn't even want to be with… me. Be with me."
Angelus raised her chin with a perfectly-manicured thumb.
"Buffy?" he said, almost laughing. He hoped she would misinterpret it. "Buffy… That's over, Cordelia, surely you know that?"
"Is it? I don't know, Angel. You guys were, like, soul mates!" Cordelia's eyes became glassy with tears. She would not let them fall.
"Cordelia." He whispered her name, running a finger down her cheek. Such a pretty cheekbone, he thought. Such a mouth. "Cordelia, it's you I want. You know that."
Cordelia sniffed, and smiled a brave smile.
"How could I know that, Angel? How can I really believe that? How can I compete with Buffy, and Darla? How could I know?"
Angelus ran a casual fingertip over her lips. She flinched slightly, but did not draw back.
"How could you know, Cordy? Because you're not stupid. You're not blind. You've known ever since the ballet."
She said nothing. But something in her face, he could see it, a relaxing of certain muscles, acquiesced. She had known.
"But it changes nothing, Angel."
He moved even closer now. He could feel her breath on his cool cheek.
"Why not?" His hands were roaming over her extremities. On hand lingered on her foot curled up on the couch. The other played with her fingers. His touch was light, but insistent.
"You know why, Angel! The curse!"
Angelus laughed.
"Oh, Cordelia," he said. He looked into her eyes, all the time his fingertips caressing her skin. "There is no more curse."
"What?" He rubbed her frown with his thumb, caressing it away.
"No more curse. It's gone. I didn't tell you before because… because I wasn't sure how you felt, if you felt the same way about me as I do about you."
Her hand suddenly gripped his.
"But Angel! How?"
"I… I don't know how. I think it was the night I slept with Darla. I thought my soul was going, I could feel such pain" – oh, he could remember that night, the night he thought he would be free again, only to remain trapped; well, he thought, it did lead to his being free tonight, big picture – "but then, nothing. My soul still with me. I didn't know exactly what happened then, but since that night I have been more and more sure that it was my soul being anchored, Cordy." He grasped both her hot little hands in his. "How often have I been happy since then? With Connor, my son, and with you? Think about it! Surely, if I were to lose my soul, it would be gone."
Cordelia simply stared. Angelus knew what he was saying could be true. If the Soul had not been such a worrier, had he let his problems slide for just a second, then he would have been free months ago.
He saw her melt. He saw his words settle in her mind, make some kind of sense. To his joy, he saw her want them to make sense.
Her breathing became erratic. He knew his moment.
He leaned towards her, and kissed her. His lips rested only lightly on hers until he felt her respond. He moved closer, letting go of her hands, running his fingers up her arms until he lightly held her head. He opened his mouth and gently flicked his tongue against her lips. He felt her mouth open at his suggestion. One of her hands rested palm flat against his chest. The other trailed up his thigh until it held his hip. He felt her heat through her skin, felt her heart beat faster, smelled her arousal.
He pulled her closer, kissing her now more insistently. His tongue plunged into her mouth as his hands roamed again downwards, merely flicking lightly across her breasts before stroking her belly, her waist, and holding her hips firmly.
She pulled back, her lips red, her eyes heavy-lidded with sudden desire. A smile flickered at the corners of her mouth.
"Angel," she breathed.
"Cordelia," he replied, his voice full of warmth and lust.
This time she grabbed him, invading his mouth, releasing months, years of pent-up lust. He took her by the hips and sat her on his lap, straddling him. She moaned gently into his ear when she felt his arousal, and began to grind her hips in slow, eager circles against him. Angelus could not help but release a low growl. Her hands worked now at the buttons of his shirt. She opened them quickly and ran her hands over his cool skin. He felt her enjoying his body, revelling in this new freedom. He slid his hands up under the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it over her head.
She did wear silk. Angelus pulled back from her kiss to admire the perfectly toned body astride him. He ran appreciative hands over her skin, watched her move as she continued to grind into his groin. Her breasts were perfect, held in a cream silk bra. She moved them towards him. He glanced into her playful eyes, and clamped his mouth over one of her nipples, soaking the silk immediately with his saliva, his tongue working through the material, his blunt teeth nipping and biting to bring her to a hard peak. She moaned again, rhythmically, as he moved to the other nipple, supple fingers still working on the first. As he soaked the second cup, he snaked his hands around her and unclipped the bra, watching as it fell from her pert, round breasts. She ran her hands through his hair, once again bringing his mouth to her nipples.
He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. Dennis opened the door. Again he suppressed a laugh. It was all too easy. Not that he complained. This one was hot. He had no plans to kill her best friend's fish. No. He had left a much more special present for her at the Hyperion.
He laid her on the bed, sliding her pants down her legs. He left her panties on, and pressed two fingers against them, right between her legs. Damp and hot. He could feel her pulse under his fingers. He shook his shirt off, and kicked off his own pants. He felt the length of her hot body under him as he kissed her again. She spread her legs around him.
"Oh, Angel!" she moaned repeatedly. He hated that name. But it would have to do for now.
She pushed his silk shorts down with an urgency he exulted in. Not that it had been a tough conquest. But it was him, not the Soul. That thought alone made him tingle.
He swiftly removed the remaining barriers between them.
"Angel! Angel, wait!"
He looked at her.
"What? Cordy, is this okay?" His gut twisted at the simpering words.
"As long as you can promise me… that I'm not going to get pregnant with another miracle child of yours?" She laughed happily.
"I promise," he said.
He plunged into her.
She was not very experienced, he knew that. So the Scourge of Europe showed her things, taught her things for hours, bringing her to screaming heights of ecstasy, to whimpering beggings of need, to laughter of sheer delight. Should she escape him, he thought, should she survive him, she would never find pleasure in the arms of another man again.
Not that she would survive.
TBC.