Title: Stuck on you
Author: Cordelia’s Destiny
Posted Here: 04/10/06
Summary: Angel and Cordy find themselves in a sticky situation.
Spoilers: Set in season 3 sometime, but no real spoilers.(pre:Connor)
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. The ideas and characters in “Sex and the City” were created by Candace Bushnell and written for the show by Darren Starr and are owned by HBO. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: Just Fic, Go Team, anywhere else, let me know.
Thanks/Dedication:To my bestest beta, Lysa.
Feedback:More feedback, more fic.
“Geez, Angel, you’re doing it wrong. Give it here.”
Cordelia’s strident demand made Angel’s teeth clench so hard his jaw ached. Glaring up at her from under his eyebrows, his frown grew deeper when he saw her standing two feet away, one hand on her hip, the other thrust palm up in expectation.
“I’ve almost got it,” he answered in defense, protectively pulling the figurine closer to his body.
Rolling her eyes, Cordelia moved closer. “Don’t be such an ass. You broke it, stands to reason you’re too klutzy to fix it, too.”
Angel looked down at the delicate figurine, Wesley’s prized gift from Fred. It was dwarfed in his big hands, but they were steady. It was a clean break, the leg of the tiny porcelain figure severed at the hip. Who said he couldn’t slap on a little crazy glue and put the damn thing back together, good as new?
Besides, this whole scenario was Cordy’s fault, anyway.
Surprisingly, Cordy hadn’t snatched the figurine out of his hands yet. She stood near him, so close he was saturated in her delicate scent.
Her sigh made ends of her hair flutter. “Wesley’s going to kill us, isn’t he?”
“Probably,” Angel said darkly, turning his attention to the figurine and the glue again. “But if you hadn’t been chasing me, it wouldn’t be broken.”
“If you weren’t being a jerk-face, I wouldn’t have chased you,” she shot back.
Growling in annoyance, Angel reflexively tightened his grip and snapped the delicate figurine’s severed leg in two.
Cordelia keened in frustration. “Angel! You’re making it worse! Let me fix it. I will NOT spend the next two months in the doghouse with Wesley, listening to him drone on and on about responsibility and crap, just because you were too much of a klutz to watch where you were going. If there ever was a bull in a china shop…”
She reached for the figurine and Angel jerked it out of her range.
“I’m fixing it, Cordy,” he growled. “Back off.”
Eyes narrowed, Cordelia advanced on him, and Angel knew it was time to batten down the hatches and brace himself for the storm he’d just unleashed. Cautiously, he edged back toward the desk, his butt bumping the edge. Cordy didn’t stop, just came closer to lash her hand out, quick as a whip’s strike, to grasp the figurine.
Despite her tenacity, Cordelia couldn’t compete with Angel’s preternatural reflexes.
“Careful!” Angel admonished, holding it safely out of her range.
He set the figurine gently on the desk behind him, attempting to block her way by his sheer size. This little argument had suddenly turned into a battle for supremacy; they faced off in the way of two lions ready to pounce at any provocation. The room was deathly still save the raspy sound of her agitated breathing. If they’d been asked, neither Angel nor Cordelia would be able to explain why winning meant so much, but it did. To win at all costs: there was no other alternative.
Lunging to the right, she tried to get around him, but Angel couldn’t help but laugh at her efforts.
“Oh, c’mon. Is that all you’ve got? I could see that coming a mile away.”
“Shut up,” she growled, fists clenched at her side.
Feinting left, Cordelia reached out with her right hand and grabbed the uncapped glue out of Angel’s unprotected hand, a glob of it staying behind on his fingers and linking a trail of the stuff to the tube she clutched triumphantly in her hand. A ribbon of it trickled down the tube and onto her gripping fingers.
“Hah! So there!” Sticking her tongue out would’ve completed the childish taunt, but Cordelia did have some dignity left.
Angel affected a look of placidity, ignoring the distasteful stickiness of the substance on his fingers. “It’s just the glue. Big deal.”
“But you can’t fix it without it, can you?” She retorted, brandishing the prized glue like a weapon.
A shrug was his only answer, an intent to goad her. It worked.
With a frustrated shriek, Cordy lunged, grabbing his upper arm with her empty hand and reaching behind him with the other. The glue clattered to the desktop as Angel grabbed the figurine and stuffed it under the back of his shirt, out of her reach. Her hand snaked under and followed him. He pulled it away, down toward his back pocket, hoping to stuff it in there where he didn’t think she’d follow.
The figurine slipped from his fingers and joined the glue on the desktop with a delicate clank as he enjoyed the firm pressure of Cordelia’s hand in his pocket.
Cordelia froze in front of him, a blush creeping over her face, as Angel shook himself out of his momentary daze. This was no time to focus on Cordelia’s hands on his butt. There was an argument at stake. One he had to win, or he didn’t deserve the title “man.”
Distractedly enjoying the blush that lit up Cordy’s face, Angel blindly reached a hand out to push Cordy away from him and jerked back when he got a handful of her breast instead of the shoulder he’d aimed for.
“Hey!” she exclaimed, but her affront was quickly replaced by horror when Angel’s hand pulled back, taking her sweater with it.
Eyes widening in realization, she yanked her hand out of his pocket. Or, rather, tried to.
Her movement put the crotch seam of his pants in some places it hadn’t ventured before. “Damn it, Cordy, that hurts!”
“Oh, God.” Her wide hazel eyes stared up at him in mortification. “I’m stuck.”
He stared dazedly down at his hand pressed to her sweater. Experimentally, he pulled back, watching the taut fabric pull minutely away from her body with his hand.
“Guess I am, too.”
They stared at each other in silence, figurine forgotten.
It was almost comical to watch the panic grow in Cordelia’s eyes.
“God, Angel, get me loose!” she wailed, yanking on her hand, a string of curses escaping Angel’s mouth as his pants jerked against his groin. He twisted with her tugs, attempting to lessen the pain, but it just led the two of them around in circles as if they were engaged in some type of frenetic dance.
“Cordy!” Angel reached his unglued hand out and wrapped it around her waist, pulling her against him long enough to restrict her movements. “Hold still for two seconds! Pulling on it isn’t going to help! And damn it, it hurts!”
“How do you know it’s not going to help?” Hysteria edged her voice.
“I just know,” he sighed, his free hand rubbing her back gently before he pushed her back to arm’s length again. “So now what?”
“Can’t we wash it off?” She asked hopefully.
Angel looked skeptical. “Wouldn’t be very good glue if it just washed off.”
“Well, we could at least try, Mr. Smarty Pants.”
“Fine,” he sighed long-sufferingly. “Kitchen?”
She nodded, pulling her with him as she tried to lead the way to the kitchen at the rear of the lobby. Their weights weren’t evenly distributed, however, and when she pulled Angel with her, he nearly tripped and knocked them both over.
“Wait,” he growled impatiently. “Just shuffle sideways.”
“Like this?” She asked, attempting to follow his movements.
He nodded when they assumed a spastic version of the tango. A few stepped-on toes and a short moment later, they stood in front of the stainless steel sink in the Hyperion’s kitchen.
“Soap?” Cordy asked, holding up the bottle with her free hand.
“You think just water would work?” Angel asked sarcastically and was rewarded with a scathing glare.
“Just put a little–hey! You’re squirting it down my pants!”
Sure enough, Cordelia had liberally coated her glued hand with soap, most of it sliding off her hand and into the back of his pants, staining the back pocket a darker color.
“There’s a lot of glue,” she said by way of explanation. “I need a lot of soap.”
“And how are you going to wash it off?” He asked, fearing the answer.
“What, five buckets?”
“No,” she hissed scathingly. “One cup.”
“Fine,” he growled through clenched teeth. “One cup. No more!”
Taking a cup from the drying rack near the sink, Cordy filled it up with lukewarm water, then gently began pouring it on her hand. Ten seconds and one soaked pant leg later, she tugged at her hand.
“Well that was a brilliant solution,” he jibed. “What are you going to do next, cut your hand off?”
“How ’bout I cut yours off instead?” She grinned unmercifully back at him, her teeth bared.
Despite her annoyance, Cordelia groaned in frustration and rested her forehead against Angel’s chest. His empty hand returned to her back to stroke it absently.
“Well, what now?” He finally asked.
Silence reigned for a few moments before she raised her head and said, “Hospital?”
“In the daylight?” Angel was incredulous. “When I have no pulse and a body temperature that fluctuates with the air conditioning?”
“Maybe they won’t take your pulse,” Cordy said hopefully.
Angel scoffed audibly. “It’s standard procedure at hospital emergency rooms.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, and when did you become such an expert in hospital procedures? “
“Right. Like hospitals in 18th century Ireland were anything like they are now.”
“Shut up. Like you have a better idea.”
“I do!” she growled indignantly, then scrunched up her face when her mind went blank.
“I’m waiting,” Angel goaded in a bored voice.
“I–I know! There’s gotta be an 800 number on the tube of glue. Let’s call it!”
Angel shrugged indifferently. “Guess it couldn’t hurt. Where’s the glue?”
“On the desk.”
They shuffled back out to the office. Turning them sideways to the desk, he tried to pick up the glue with his free hand but it was stuck to the desk blotter.
“Geez, this is strong stuff.”
“No. You’re kidding! What, our hands glued to each other didn’t give you a clue?” Her sarcasm wasn’t appreciated, but Angel’s quelling glare only made her roll her eyes.
“Just peel it off,” Cordy demanded, thrusting her empty hand across her body to help him. It took a few good yanks, but they finally got it off the paper.
“Can’t read it,” Angel said, examining the tube. “The paper from the desk blotter peeled off with it. It’s covering the number.”
“Figures,” Cordy complained. “Here.”
Angel relinquished the glue. “Careful!” He admonished. “Cap’s still off. Don’t squeeze it.”
“Duh,” she answered scathingly before picking at the paper and glue with her nail. It took a few moments before she could pry it loose enough to see the number.
“Walk with me.” He led her shuffling sideways across the room to the main part of the office and the cordless phone on the lobby counter. Cordy snatched it up and began dialing.
Within seconds, a falsely cheerful voice rang over the connection, as clear to Angel as it was to Cordelia.
“Thank you for calling the Tacky Bond Company. My name is Bobby. How may I–“
“Cut the crap!” Cordy yelled impatiently. “We need help! This is an emergency! I glued myself to my friend, and I–hey!”
Howls of laughter pealed from the company representative, and Angel couldn’t hide the smile that stole across his face.
“You’re not helping!” Cordy hissed at him, yanking on her glued hand for good measure, smirking when he winced.
“Hey! Jerkoff! Is this your first day on the job? Your tacky Tacky Bond crappy product got me into this mess, and you’re supposed to help me get out of it!” she shouted into the phone. The laughing stopped abruptly.
“There’s no need to get hostile, ma’am,” the man’s voice was back to its canned politeness. “Just drive to the nearest hospital. They’ll have something to remove the glue.”
“We can’t drive to the hospital!”
“Why not? Are you glued, um, ah–” Angel snickered when he realized the reason for the representative’s hesitation.
“He thinks we’re naked,” Angel stage whispered.
“He what?” Cordy shouted, mortified. “Ewww! Excuse me, pervy customer service guy,” she said scathingly into the phone, “but we’re not that kinky. It was an accident while we were gluing together a statue we broke.”
“Okay,” the representative said, but his skepticism was obvious. “Are you both glued? Or just one?”
“We’re both glued to each other’s clothes.”
“Oh, well!” he said cheerfully. “That’s easily resolved. Simply remove the glued clothing, then use a Q-tip and some acetone-based nail polish remover and work the fabric away from the skin.”
“Take our clothes off?” Cordy blanched at the thought, then became indignant. “Do you have to train to be an idiot or do you come by it honestly?”
Angel grabbed the receiver from Cordelia’s hand. “Thanks for the help. Bye,” he added quickly, then hung the phone up.
“Hey!” Her complaint was more reflex than true annoyance, her mind occupied by their growing problem.
Take off their clothes…did Angel even wear underwear? In all of her snooping–and she’d done a lot–she’d never seen one single pair of briefs or boxer shorts in the entire hotel. And she’d looked.
“What’s that look for?” Angel asked, mesmerized by the faraway gleam in her eyes.
“Huh?” She said, then seemed to jerk back to the present and realize what she’d been thinking. “Um, nothing,” she answered, blushing and then shaking herself back into the present. “What now?”
“Do as the man says, I guess. You want to go first, or me?”
“Neither! I’m not taking my shirt off!”
Angel sighed, rubbing his jaw tiredly with his free hand. “You’re gonna have to. Otherwise we’ll be stuck like this.”
“We can wait until Wesley comes back!”
“He’s not coming back until much later,” Angel reminded her. “He had that appointment with the K’murth demon expert, remember?”
“Oh,” she said dejectedly. “Yeah, I remember. Hey, what about Gunn?”
“His cell phone broke last week, and I don’t know when he’s coming back.”
“Gunn broke his phone?” Cordelia’s voice was incredulous. “He treats that thing like it was made out of diamonds.”
Angel shrugged, an awkward movement considering his current position. “The slime from that Chaos demon we killed last week kind of ruined it. He was pissed, but he ordered a new one. Hasn’t come in yet.”
Cordy sighed, and Angel let her think about it a bit before adding, “We’ve got to do it, Cor. We can’t stay like this. We don’t have any other options.”
Wailing in frustration, she buried her forehead in his chest and lightly socked him with her free hand. Her muffled voice made vibrations against his shirt front, but he couldn’t make out what she’d said.
She raised a reddened face to his. “I’m not wearing a bra, okay?” she whispered, biting her lip and refusing to meet him eye-to-eye.
“Don’t laugh, dork!”
“Cordy,” he sighed, his voice softening along with his eyes. “I’ve been trying not to notice that all afternoon.”
“Oh,” she said, and blushed again.
“Why aren’t you wearing one?” he asked, genuinely intrigued by it. “You, um,” he glanced down at her ample breasts, “you kind of need one.”
It was her turn to laugh, but sheepishly. “I went to the tanning booth yesterday and my back is kind of pink. My straps hurt so I left it off.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not wearing underwear,” Angel offered, his voice low and husky.
“Ha! I knew it!”
A puzzled frown crossed Angel’s face. He’d expected embarrassment or chastisement, but not this.
No way she was going to admit to going through his dresser drawers. Cordy waved him away with her free hand. “Oh, forget it, not important.”
“So should I go first, or do you want to?”
“I will,” she sighed after a moment of deliberation. “But you can’t look! And we’ve gotta find something for me to cover up with afterward.”
Angel glanced around the office space, spying the coat rack near the door. “Fred’s sweater? You won’t be able to put anything on until we get my pants off cause you’ll still be stuck to me, but I guess you can hold it in front of yourself.”
Cordy looked skeptically at the tiny sweater. “I guess it’ll work.”
They shuffled over to the coat rack and Cordy held it up awkwardly with one hand, attempting to try it on for size.
“Right,” she said dryly. “That’ll cover one boob.”
Angel snickered; he couldn’t help himself. “It’ll be fine. I won’t look.”
“Okay, whatever. Just shut your eyes,” Cordy sighed. “Here goes.”
What followed would’ve been difficult for an experienced contortionist; Cordy found it nearly impossible to get a sweater off with only one hand. She worked her hand into the sleeve, but couldn’t get her arm all the way up into the arm hole. No amount of wriggling would do the trick. It was only after she grabbed the end of her sleeve in her teeth that she was able to pull her arm through, hike the sweater up, and over her head. It slid down with ease after that, resting on her right wrist just above her glued hand . Angel’s right hand was still connected to the sweater, but his dexterity had improved immensely.
“Done yet?” Angel asked when he felt the sweater leave her body, taking the warmth of her skin with it.
Peering through his barely opened eyes, Angel stole a glance down at Cordelia before she had a chance to grab Fred’s sweater. His first view of Cordelia’s upper body made his chest clench and his body harden in response. She was beautiful; his imagination had short-changed him.
She had Fred’s small sweater in front of her, covering all the important bits, before Angel had time to calm down.
“Your turn, big guy.”
Geez, she really had no idea. Good thing he had her sweater to hide behind now, or she’d see the truth of her words in full frontal glory. Not that he’d mind too much.
He reached for the button on his fly.
“Hey, you could turn around,” Cordy added, then wanted to smack herself. This was her opportunity to get a gander at the goods, wasn’t it?
Angel seemed surprised to realize she was right. Now that his hand wasn’t attached to her, only her sweater, he could twist away from her. He moved slightly, not wanting to twist her arm at an odd angle.
“Yeah,” Cordy said, then swallowed convulsively when she realized she could now see both the front and the back of him. “Uh, perfect.”
He unfastened the button, and the zipper was halfway down before Cordy added, “Um, I think I’ll close my eyes now.”
“Okay,” he said dryly, the smile evident in his voice.
The soft rustle of fabric met Cordy’s ears as her hand was lowered and his pants slid off, one leg at a time. She felt him relinquish them to her, then popped her eyes open, only to be met with the sight of a rock hard set of glutes. She swallowed. Yummy.
“Yeah,” she said, still distracted by his perfect backside.
“We’re still connected, and we forgot to find something to cover me with. I don’t really mind, but you–” he trailed off.
“What?” Shaking herself out of her dazed stare, Cordy examined their situation. Sure enough, her hand was glued to his pants pocket, but her sweater was still around her wrist above it.
“Just as sec, I think I got it.” Sliding the sleeve of her sweater down around her hand, she slipped and stuffed Angel’s pants through the arm until they slid all the way through. Her sleeve was a bit misshapen, but they were finally separated.
Angel finally turned, an incongruous sight in his black long-sleeved t-shirt and a pink sweater covering his crotch.
“Well, look at that. We’re free,” he grinned, not able to help the twinkle in his eyes at the sight of their dishevelment.
Cordy sighed with relief, shoving away the feeling of disappointment that filled her at the loss of the sight of his perfect butt. “Yeah. Free. Neat-o.”
“Got that nail polish remover?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, in–“
“Whoa!” The sound of Gunn’s voice had them both scrambling to hide behind each other, pushing and shoving for cover. They both ended up settling for hiding behind the desk, their heads popping out to peer wide-eyed at Gunn. “Geez, I knew you two had something goin’ on underground, but this is a new kind of kinky. On Wesley’s desk? Damn!”
“We’re not–” Angel and Cordelia both started together, but Gunn just laughed and held up his hands in mock defense.
“I didn’t see anything. I swear.” He begin to back out of the room.
“No! Wait!” Cordy called after him. “Don’t leave!”
“Uh, what?” Gunn started to look worried.
“Look, this isn’t what it looks like,” Angel tried to explain. “We got glued together, and–“
Gunn’s observant eyes took in the whole scene at once: the glue on the table, Wesley’s broken figurine, their disheveled appearances, the clothes they had stuck to their hands–and began to laugh. A slow, low build-up that began with a muffled chuckle, then turned into a gasping-for-breath howling that had him clutching his midsection. He’d close his eyes and turn away, then straighten up, look at them again, and start the whole thing over again.
“You–you glued yourselves together!” He howled. “This is the most whacked group I’ve ever worked with! You people are nuts!”
“Hey!” Cordy said indignation, popping up from behind the desk to give Gunn a piece of her mind, but the sight of Fred’s little sweater pressed to her chest only made Gunn laugh louder.
A muffled chuckle at her side had Cordelia whipping her head to glare at Angel. He didn’t bother to hide the grin that made his eyes twinkle.
“You gotta admit, Cordy, this is kinda funny.”
Forcing herself to relax, she tried to look at their situation as Gunn would see it. A smile broke across her face.
“I guess,” she admitted.
“You–you–you” Gunn gasped.
“Breathe, Gunn,” Angel said dryly.
Their friend took one big, gulping breath. “You took your clothes off?”
“We had to!”
Gunn laughed again, walked over to the desk, and pulled a pair of shiny scissors from the pencil can, holding them up.
“Could’ve just cut your sleeve off!” he explained, then doubled over with laughter again.
Cordy’s mouth dropped open in astonishment, her cheeks coloring as she realized there had been a much simpler solution all along.
“Moron!” She groused, whipping Angel’s arm with his own pants. “This is your fault!”
“It’s both our faults,” he shrugged, smiling. “By the way–enjoy the view?”
“I-I didn’t–” She blushed.
“Hey, it’s okay. Besides,” he added, glancing down at her chest, then back up to look amusedly into her eyes. “I thought the view was breathtaking.”