La Petit Morte   Leave a comment

Title: La Petit Morte
Author: samsom
Posted: 2008
Email
Rating:N-17
Category: Angst
Content: Angel/Cordelia
Summary: Angel catches Cordelia alone.
Spoilers: During Killed By Death, BtVS s2
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: AO/ST, GTC/A. Anwhere else,please ask first.
Notes: Back in January, Scorch asked me for an Aus/Cordelia fic set during KBD. I hope I delivered. Also, I suck at titles, so this was the best I could do.
Thanks/Dedication:
Feedback: Always appreciated.


“Buffy’s gonna need to stay the night, the doctors want to get her fever down.”

“And you need to stay with her, watch out for big bad Angel. I get it.”¬†She does get it. Xander’s priorities have always been Buffy and Willow, then her. She knew that going in.

She just always thought, until now, that she could change it.

Except that some things, she supposes, are as constant as the rising sun.

She smiles and turns to go, moving away from his reaching hands.

~~

Outside, she stands in the parking lot of the hospital, getting her breath back.

She can still see his teeth, big and sharp and so close to her throat. His eyes were like yellow diamonds, set back in a pool of black tar, evil.

Soulless.

And yet, it’s also the memory of his long, leanly muscled body pressing her into the ground that makes her shiver as she shakes.

“Kind of dangerous out here.” Says a voice from behind her. She turns to find Angel walking casually around the street light, smirking a sideways smile as he bends his head and looks up at her through his lashes. “Without your boyfriend, kitten.”

She tenses, eyes darting around for help.

“Don’t bother. He’s inside, waiting for his sweet Buffy to wake up.” He makes a show of looking around. “Doesn’t appear anyone else is around either, sweet thing, so I guess it’s just you and me.”

Cordelia takes a step back and reaches into her purse, letting the bag drop to the ground as she raises the crucifix in her grip.

“Don’t take another step, or you’ll find out what a real tattoo feels like.”

Her breathing is labored, her heart hammering a beat against the wall of her chest.

He flinches but doesn’t back off, smiling again.

“I just want to talk, Cordelia. That’s all.”

He flaps his hands up, palms outward, before letting them drop again.

“Right. Talk. As if.”

His eyes drop, making a slow sweep of her body feet to head, before he meets her eyes again.

“Alright, ya got me. Maybe I want to do more than talk.”

She tenses even more and takes another step back, wondering if she could make it back into the hospital before he caught her.

Probably not.

She’d have to keep him busy, at least until someone comes out.

Anyone.

Even that geeky security guard that checked her out earlier.

“Can’t blame me, not after what we shared earlier.” He says in a taunting tone of voice.

“Oh, I blame you, alright. You were going to kill me, asshole.”

He looks like she just said the stupid thing in the world.

“Of course I was going to kill you. Eventually. But first, I was gonna have some fun. You remember what fun is, don’t you?” He begins to walk toward her again, and she takes another step back, but he veers a little, walking a path around her. “I realize that being with Xander Harris might impair what you think fun is, but -“

He stops and glances at her, looking preplexed.

“Why are you with that loser, anyway?”

She huffs and rolls her eyes, feeling the sweat bead on her skin and roll between the valley of her breasts.

“None of your business, bucko.”

“It’s a fair question, kitten. And I don’t for a minute believe I’m the first to ask.”

No, he’d be the twentieth.

Right behind her friends, family, and the estate gardener.

“It can’t be the looks. Or the conversation skills.”

She can feel her impatience getting the best of her, the adrenaline dump making her hands shake.

“It can’t be-“

He literally moves while she blinks, rushing her and snaking one arm around her waist as the other reaches up and grips her hand holding the crucifix.

She tries to wiggle out of his hold as she pushes the symbol into his face.

The hiss of burning flesh is hot, like spit on a grill, and Angel makes a heavy sound in the back of his throat, an ‘ughh’ sound she can feel rumbling in his chest, as he tightens his hold on her hand. Bones begin to grind together until she cries out and drops the pewter crucifix.

It clangs to the concrete and Angel kicks it away, sweeping her up against him so that her thighs part around his.

He laughs, a sound that’s part amusement, and part growl.

He pulls his face away from her raking nails and picks her up bodily with both arms around her hips, carrying her further into the parking lot.

Then her back hits the side of her car, and he pins her there with his body.

She feels her death in the back of her throat, like a ball that she can’t swallow past.

“If you scream, I’ll kill anyone that comes running.”

His breath is hot and urgent on her neck and she nearly cries when she realizes that no one would be able to stop him from killing her, or help her get away. He’d kill them, and if it were Giles or some hospital worker, she’d have to live with causing their deaths as well, in the short time before hers.

She keeps quiet, though her breathing is like an out of control freight train, and she feels herself start to hyperventilate.

“Please-please-“

He takes his hands away from her back, so that she’s pinned by his hips pressing hers into the driver’s side door, and cups the sides of her face in his palms.

“I love the beggging, Cordelia. You really know how to turn me on. But stop for now. Look at me.”

Gradually, as she realizes that he’s not going to rip her throat out right then and there, she calms. Somewhere deep inside a need to survive asserts itself, and she forces herself to focus on his eyes.

“What do you want?” She asks in a voice that sounds like it’s been dragged over gravel.

“That’s a good question. What do I want? Hmmm.”

His hips grind into hers, the buckle of his belt against the soft center of her body, separated by only her panties, moving the skin over her clit up and down, side to side, subtley, softly.

Her breath hitches deeply.

Against all that’s good and decent in the world, against her most innate sense of right and wrong, something inside her sparks and flares.

She looks into his killer’s eyes.

“You have to force a woman to get one to have sex with you? That’s pathetic.” She tries to infuse her voice with the right amount of contempt, even though she knows there’s no shame in Angel to prickle.

“Force?” He pretends to consider, all the while grinding softly against her. “Sometimes. Why not? It’s fun, what with the begging and crying and such, especially the nuns. But, sweet Cordelia-” He levels his gaze on her. “-there were some that gave themselves willingly, gladly. They were ready to sell their husbands and children for a taste of me.”

He slides his hand down her chest, cupping a breast softly and sweeping over her nipple, before continuing down to the side of her waist.

“Don’t expect I’ll be one of them, Angel. Excuse the clicheness of this, but I’ll die before I let you touch me.”

“What’s the problem? You wanted me before.” He sounds genuinely curious, if such a thing were possible.

“Finding out you were a vampire kind of killed the mood. Finding out that you lost your soul and reverted back to killing people? That put it in the ground forever.”

He smoothes his palm under her thigh where her leg is hitched up, drawing out goosebumps.

“Is that why you turned to Harris? Because he’s safe?”

“I’m with Xander because he’s human. And sweet.”

He laughs as he slides his palm up the underside of her thigh until his fingers tangle in her panties. He draws the material down so that he can cup her ass. Her breath sticks painfully in her solar plexus, a painful ball that pulsates with an odd kind of tension.

“Oh, he’s sweet alright. To Buffy. He’s very sweet to her, and I’m sure when all is right with the world, then he’s sweet to you too.” He smiles down into her face, close enough that she feels her breath bounce off his cheek and back at her. “Haven’t been getting a whole lot of loving lately, have you? Not since poor Buffy lost her sweet little lapdog.”

His fingers trail along the juncture of her thigh and ass, and she closes her eyes briefly to hide the flare of unwanted excitement.

“He’s plenty sweet to me, bucko.”

He looks down at her, and vamps out.

It happens so suddenly she jerks back and screams.

He clamps his free hand over her mouth, gazing into her eyes.

“Maybe you’re ready for more than just ‘sweet’.”

Before she can realize what he intends, Angel penetrates her with his fingers, spearing inside her in one small thrust.

She gasps hard behind the palm of his hand, and he watches her as his fingers slide gently in and out, tongue pressing his bottom lip as he considers her.

She wants to bite the palm of his hand, she wants to slap him, to run away, but God help her, she wants, more than anything else, for him to push deeper, harder.

Her body melts, a little at a time, until her joints are like boiled cabbage, loose and waiting. Her thighs tighten around the sensation she tries to hoard, and her hand fumbles against his chest, unsure of the greater pull, to push against him, or push away.

Then his thumb finds her clit, and her head snaps back against the roof of the car, her eyes flaring wide.

He moves his hand from her mouth, and smoothes a path down her throat, sparking a fire that races along her skin, down her belly, meeting between her legs where he plays her like an instrument.

She feels like she’s caught in a storm swept sea, on the verge of drowning, lungs burning as she reaches for something to hold onto.

She finds the lapels of his coat, and holds on.

Then he pulls his fingers away, and she feels sharp disappointment warring with a sudden emptiness.

She straightens her head, dizzy, eyes dilated as she gazes at his face.

“What-?”

“Not stopping, kitten. Just gonna join you.”

He holds her eyes, still vamped, and reaches down to free himself of his pants.

She feels his cock aganst her thigh, between her legs as he guides it up. The tip brushes against her entrance and then with one long thrust, he’s swallowed up by her body.

She clenches around him and whimpers as he grunts.

Snug inside her, he presses her into the side of the car and begins to thrust. Slowly so her body opens more for him, soon his hips are churning againt her, fucking her with steady strokes that stoke the fire inside of her, building pressure.

She makes noises in her throat, and he buries his face there to better hear them.

Then he looks up at her, lids drooping over his amber eyes.

“You like this, don’t you? Flirting with death, fucking on a grave?”

She shakes her head against his accusation, body trembling under the thrusting push of his.

“I went to that graveyard to kill Buffy, but when I saw you, I couldn’t even think straight enough to kill one weakened slayer. You played with my mind just like you did when you wanted to make Buffy jealous, made me mess up a simple but oh so needed kill, and then you sauntered away with that sapling of a boy.” He captures her hands and brings them up spread on either side of her body, boring into her eyes with his as he bears into her body with his cock.

“I’m gonna own you by the time I’m done, you’re gonna beg for my touch, and then I’m gonna make you beg some more.” He punctuates his words with thrusts, invading her body and making her climb higher onto that peak, even as her heart pounded with enough fear to kill her.

“Welcome to your future, sweetheart.”

He bends his head and bites deeply into the side of her neck.

Pain makes her gasp, spiking the pleasure until she arches her back against him, and writhes in his hold. His jaw works the blood from her vein as his cock works the orgasm from her body, and Cordelia gasps again,

higher, higher

then it breaks.

Back bowing, she trembles as her body convulses, long, deep, waves of pleasure breaking over her, black spots forming in front of her wide open eyes.

Cordelia gazes up at the night sky laced with stars and a harvest moon, trembles and jerks, feeling nothing but his mouth and his body, until everything goes black.
****

When she wakes up in the hospital, school is over.

Spike and Drusilla have disappeared.

Buffy has run away.

And Angel has been consigned to hell.

She resumes her normal life, but she can still feel him.

He’s still inside her.

End…?

Samsom

Posted October 30, 2015 by califi in Complete

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