Title: Dangerous Temptations
Posted Here: Nov 06
Rating: Hard R
Category: Angst, smut
Summary: Response to a challenge, can’t remember whose (see bottom of page). Loosely based on the challenge, with a slightly edgier tone.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: GTC/A, Stranger Things, AO is a given. Anyone else, just ask.
Thanks: To Dawn and Daisy.
“Do you – ” Cordelia struggles to get out the words, breathing heavily as Angel bites her bottom lip. This is dangerous, and they both know it – not because of his soul, there’s no risk of that. He doesn’t love her and she doesn’t love him. Not that way, anyway.
She is wearing a skirt today, with a thigh high slit. The fabric parts beneath his fingers, exposing her bare thigh.
“What?” Angel murmurs, sliding his hand up, and Cordelia arches.
This is dangerous because they’re on the couch. In the office. In the early afternoon. Anyone could walk in – client, demon, Wesley – but neither Cordelia nor Angel can really bring themselves to care. This is too hot, too good, and the possibility of getting caught only heightens the thrill.
“Do you think this is a bad idea?” Cordy asks, hands clutching at his back as he begins to rock against her. She fumbles, searches for bare skin and finally finds it, sliding her hands underneath his shirt with a groan.
“No.” Angel says, half groan, half growl. She nips at his chin, working her hands up his abdomen and chest, painting figure eights around his nipples with the pads of her fingers. Angel looks up, grins.
“Best damn idea I’ve had all day.” He says, his kiss demanding as his fingers slyly unbutton her shirt. He shoves her thighs apart, pulls one over his hip. Cordelia shifts and he falls more comfortably between her thighs, dragging a groan from deep within. Angel leers at her. “Aside from that idea I had in the morning…”
She grins. This, whatever it is between them, – it isn’t perfect, it isn’t love – but it’s fan-fucking-tastic. And Cordelia’s always enjoyed the perks.
Angel presses his lips to her throat, breathes her in, and there’s a tight, rolling heat, like a coil of tension that builds in her stomach as his body hardens, his erection rubbing insistently against her belly like a cat in heat. She wants to ride him, to grind herself against him and make him growl low in his throat beneath her. Cordelia bucks, set to follow through with that idea but Angel’s having none of it.
He likes to take his time, she’s noticed. Not that she’s been screwing him long, but she’s done it enough. He regards her as a deadly, desirable possession, some sort of sinful and precious treasure that only he and no one else can take time to unwrap.
His lips are on her collarbone now, peppering kisses up to her shoulder and retracing the journey back again. Her shirt is pulled wide at the collar, yanked apart on her chest like a centrefold beauty and Cordelia feels wanton, wild. She closes her eyes, moans when Angel flicks his tongue across a nipple, her body taut, aching.
Her legs bend, thighs wrap around him. Angel grabs beneath her knee and pulls. She is flush with him, hard, strong and GOD, she cannot help herself – she grinds against him, down onto his lap, her body throbbing.
Desire is thick in the small room as Angel bites her breast, hands pulling, ripping at her panties. Cordelia pulls at his belt, unbuckles it, loves the way it clanks and jingles as he rocks his hips.
Her panties are off, sliding down her legs and around her ankles. Angel moves onto his knees, his eyes dark, hot, and Cordelia feels it right to the core. He pulls her leg and she is dragged forward, her skirt riding up around her hips.
Shirt unbutton, skirt hiked up high, hair splayed out untamed across the fabric of the couch underneath her – it occurs to Cordy that she must look a sight. She imagines herself as exquisite, magnificent – like an exotic courtesan, wicked and wanton.
Angel is certainly looking at her as though she is the most delicious sin, his eyes black with want. She smirks. He pounces.
Her lips are plundered and she forgets her name, the time, the day. Angel is above her now, his chest pressed against hers, his tongue in her mouth and Cordelia wonders what he’d think if she ordered him to hurry up and put something *else* inside her too.
God knows she’s tempted.
His fingers bite into her thigh and he is riding her, eating her mouth and swallowing her whole. Cordelia digs her heels into the backs of his thighs – he likes it when she leaves them on – urges him forward, and he jerks, growls, bites down onto her lip.
And then he is there, right there where she wants him the most, where her body craves him like a goddamm drug. He is pressed against her, thick and swollen and it makes her hot, crazy with longing.
He slides into her, slick and hard – her body arching, stretching to accommodate him, shuddering at the sheer feel of him. Angel braces himself on his arms above her, rocking his hips, fucking her deep into the couch. Cordelia groans, pushes back, wraps her thighs around his hips and hangs on for dear life as she begins to witness a supernova, as her body levitates out of control because this feels so damn good.
When he throws his head back and roars her name like the call of the wild, she wonders if it will always be like this.
Wesley knows something’s going on.
It doesn’t take a watcher’s degree to work out the truth, and he certainly isn’t a fool. The smouldering looks, the secret, wicked smiles – not to mention the disappearance of the two of them at similar and long periods of time during the morning, afternoon and evening.
At first it seemed peculiar, an idea so out of the ordinary that he didn’t even consider it as an option. But now that he sits down to deliberate it, Wesley is baffled that he didn’t see this coming. It is the only explanation, and it was always going to happen.
He is perhaps a little annoyed, maybe a tad resentful and almost definitely envious – yet he isn’t anxious about what this means, what it could mean for all of them.
Wesley knows something’s going on but he isn’t worried. Because it isn’t love.
He hates it when she has a vision. The way he can do nothing but hold onto her so she doesn’t fall, doesn’t get lost in the horrific slideshow in her mind. It isn’t fair that she has to suffer for him, for others. But life isn’t fair, Angel supposes. And Cordelia never wants to talk about it, never wants to even consider giving up the gift, or curse, Doyle imparted.
Everyone has their purpose and her belief is that she has finally found hers.
Still doesn’t make it fair, Angel thinks, as he pulls Cordelia into a standing position, noticing the way her hand trembles in his as he lowers her into a chair. Wesley appears with a glass of water and her pills, his eyes concerned behind the slim glass of his spectacles.
“Are you alright?” Angel asks, rubbing her wrists, her inner elbow, anywhere he can touch. Wesley shoots him a look.
“Fine.” Cordelia croaks, pressing a hand to her head. It’s a lie and it isn’t fair – she shouldn’t have to lie to him.
Wesley kneels before her. “What did you see?”
“Demons,” She says softly, “There are two of them, they’re attacking a girl.” She swallows. “At the park.”
Angel grabs his broadsword as Wesley stuffs his crossbow and knife into a small bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Cordelia makes a move to stand, clutching a crossbow in her hands as she walks towards the door.
“Whoa, whoa, hey.” Angel circles her wrist with his fingers, ignoring the jolt of electricity that shoots through him. “ Where do you think you’re going?”
“I have to be there.” Cordelia says firmly. “There are two of them.”
“We can handle it.” Angel retorts, moving so that he is between her and the door.
“She might be right Angel.” Wesley says quietly, garnering a look that could cut him in half. “Cordelia doesn’t need to fight but if we’re preoccupied, someone will need to get the girl to safety.”
Angel seethes at Wesley, only to discover that Cordelia has that look on her face – that smug, cocky look that makes him want to bend her over and –
“Fine.” He growls, striding out of the office, his coat swirling around him.
The demon is brutal, vicious, lashing out at anything and everything in its path. Angel delivers a kick to its gut, ducking when it swipes at him, claws sharp, dangerous.
Wesley is having a difficult time with his demon, having stabbed him several times in the abdomen to no avail. He is putting up a valiant effort though, slicing his knives deftly through the space between them, nicking the demon wherever possible.
Angel cannot see where Cordelia is, though he can smell her, pure and sensual, hear her speaking soothingly to the girl they’ve rescued from being on tonight’s menu. He ducks another blow to the head, punching the demon square in the jaw from beneath. The creature roars as something breaks beneath Angel’s fist and he hits it again, the upper hand now within his grasp.
The girl won’t stop crying – understandable – but it’s making Cordelia impatient. She pats her awkwardly on the back, trying to get her to her feet and move slightly further away. Wesley is having trouble with his demon, though Angel is almost done with his.
Cordelia watches mesmerised as his muscles move beneath the smooth silk of his shirt, corded and toned, his body hard, muscular and so very strong. He lashes out with his fist and his muscles flex, pulling taut against his shirt.
She bites her lip, her body throbbing with want.
There is a yelp and Cordelia jerks her eyes towards Wesley, terror washing over her when he is flicked away almost lazily, thrown several feet into a nearby dumpster with a deafening crash.
The demon starts, turns to face her.
It moves towards her and Cordelia pulls the girl up, telling her to run. Apparently she has snapped out of her stupor and doesn’t need to be told twice. She legs it towards the nearest exit, the demon’s attention now solely on Cordelia.
It growls and her heart lurches as she levels her crossbow, pulling the trigger. The arrow imbeds itself in the demon’s shoulder, making it roar. She wonders if it is in pain or fury. She reloads the crossbow as quickly as she can, her fingers shaking, her heart hammering against its confines.
When she pulls the trigger this time, she misses. Cordelia stumbles, stepping backwards as the demon advances on her, lashing out with its horrid, scaly arm. It knocks into her side and she staggers, falling against the wall, a slight gash opening in the centre of her forehead.
She has barely recovered when it is coming towards her again, its thirst for blood unquenched. Her eyes widen at the way it rears its arm back, claws braced to slice.
And then suddenly he is there, and she falls against the wall, relief streaming through her as she watches him fight. He shoves the creature backwards, launching himself through the air and coming down at it hard. He pummels it with his fists a few times, swiping his sword up from behind him and bringing it to the demon’s throat.
And then just like that it is over, and he is in front of Cordelia so fast that it makes her dizzy. Strong hands curl around her arms, yanking her to her feet.
“Are you okay? Are you alright?” His hands cup her face firmly, his eyes never leaving hers and when she nods he ploughs into her, lips crashing down on hers right there in the middle of the park with Wesley a few feet away, albeit on the ground.
Her legs give out but he is holding her, his arms around her tight, his mouth burying deeper into hers, devouring her. It is a kiss like one she has never been given before and she responds with equal fervour, scratching her nails through his hair and eating his mouth.
When Angel leans his forehead against hers and whispers her name against her lips, Cordelia wonders if it will always be like this.
Her skin is warm, heat seeping through his fingers as he cleans the cut on her forehead, pressing the bandage down gently. Cordelia’s eyes flutter, tired now from the second dosage of painkillers. She half sits, half lies atop the covers of her bed, grabbing his hand when he makes a move to pull back.
Her fingers curl around his, his lips quirking as her eyes catch the glow of the moon. “Thank you.”
Desire rockets through him at the simplest touch, the slightest brush of hot skin against cold, but the urge to protect her, to cherish her is stronger, wilder and deadlier than anything he’s ever known. The way her fingers tighten in his hand, trust and warmth flowing like a velvet stream from her fingertips to his – it makes him ache.
It is a friendship, his first true, lasting friendship, something more meaningful and pure than anything else he has ever experienced – and yet his body craves her, longs for her during the hot, dusty day and the cold, cruel night.
There is something in his heart, suddenly, like an epiphany – something he hasn’t felt since Buffy and Angel swallows, terrified and thrilled at the realisation. Cordelia is looking at him, her eyes soft, questioning, her hand still wrapped around his and he pulls it to his lips, dropping a kiss across her knuckles.
He pushes her hair back, settling his hand on her head, his eyes conveying a million words. She smiles, dazed, appeased and he is trapped, immobile, unable to look or pull away.
“Are you leaving?” Cordelia asks, feigning nonchalance. Angel grins, pulls his seat closer to the bed and squeezes her hand, dropping his forehead to hers. Warm breath slides across his nose and lips when she breathes him in, releases.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Wesley closes the slimly ajar door to the bedroom with a soft click and walks out into Cordelia’s living room, his heart pounding. He isn’t certain why he is frightened, why anxiety is creeping over him with long, practised fingers but he removes his glasses, dropping into a seat and allowing the breath to rush out of his lungs, his body still sore from the fight.
He’s never experienced it himself, never felt the way they write about in books, when your heart explodes and your mind remains focussed on one thing and one thing only, day and night and night and day. When your body throbs and you feel you cannot breathe for fear of the all encompassing emotions flooding through it – desire, joy and that dreaded four letter word.
He is scared because it is now dangerous – turbulence lies ahead of them and it is all because of what he has just witnessed, or what he has been a reluctant audience to for a while. There is too much at stake here, too many lives in peril either through death or loss or heartbreak. It could be thrown away in a single moment and Wesley is terrified.
The image of Angel laying his forehead again Cordelia’s burns in the back of his brain and Wesley swallows hard, takes a moment to wonder whether perhaps it is time for him to begin worrying.
Because it wasn’t love.
It is now.
Requirements: Season 1
– Angel and Cordy have a sexual relationship, but not love – yet. The relationship can be already established or just coming into existence, but some R or NC-17 level smut is required!
– One of them realizing he/she is in love, and angst ensues
– Doyle and/or Wesley finding out
– Evil must be vanquished, and Cordy is hurt
– C/A action somewhere risque (balcony, couch in office, public library, etc)[