Title: Crash Into Me
Rating: PG-13 +?
Content: C/other, C/A
Summary: Set in Season 3. A simpler time. Before Cordy got glowy. Before Miracle-Gro children. Before Wesley kept women in cages.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Notes: I know, I know, it’s been a long time since I’ve posted. I haven’t taken Season Four very well. It makes it hard to write. But I figured we could all use some good old-fashioned fluff. I anticipate 10-12 chapters. And if this doesn’t cheer anyone up, I might have to sit down and write that “Bad Timing” sequel. I stole the title from that Dave Matthews Song. You know, Crash. The one that is STILL always on the radio. I need to get the CD player in my car fixed. ASAP.
Thanks/Dedication:This baby goes out to Kelley, who told me about a story she’s writing, which resulted in me spending most of Sunday on the couch watching “The Dead Zone”, which resulted in me not getting this chapter written until now. And also to Annie, who was not very pleased when I failed to meet her deadlines. Hope this makes up for it.
Feedback:Please. Pretty Please.
“No, Groo honey, that doesn’t…Oh. Okay, all right, go ahead,” Cordy conceded. If he wants to mix tuna and ice cream, more power to him. It couldn’t possibly be worse than the pickles and peanut butter combo he’d discovered yesterday. The hulking Pylean had the eating habits of a pregnant woman.
“My princess, would you like some?” Ahhh, that’s my Groo, generous to a fault.
“That’s a negative ghostrider,” she told him. In return, she got a blank look. Geez, even Angel knows that one. “Top Gun? Tom Cruise as Maverick? Slightly homo-erotic beach volleyball?” Blanker look, this time accompanied by a furrowed brow that somehow made his teeth seem even more…toothy.
God, what’s with me? He’s a hottie. There’s nothing wrong with his teeth. And of course he’s not exactly up on pop culture and why should he be – he’s spent a grand total of four days in this dimension. It was unfair of her to expect that he’d understand. It was unfair to be annoyed when he didn’t.
How come I never get this pissed when Angel doesn’t get my comments? Maybe cause Angel’s blank look and furrowed brow is so much cuter than Groo’s? Wait a sec. Did I really just say that?
“What I meant was,” Cordy said, forcefully cheerful, “no thanks sweetie. I’m still pretty full from breakfast.” He nodded and resumed eating. For a moment, she just watched him. His new haircut looked great and the shirt she’d stolen from Angel’s closet looked…well, it looked good before he’d managed to splatter chocolate ice cream all over it.
He was lucky he was so pretty, because his table manners left a lot to be desired. It was actually kind of gross. He sure likes to shovel it in, doesn’t he? It had been four days, after all. By day three his resistance to the whole chew-swallow concept had grown a little annoying.
She had no idea why, either. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He lived to please her. Every few minutes he threw her another adoring glance. He’d composed a poem on the symmetrical-ness of her face, for Christ’s sake. And she was ready to tear her hair out. What’s wrong with me?
Clearly spending Sunday alone at home together had been a bad idea. Too much togetherness, especially in a new relationship, was never a good idea. That’s why she had turned down the vacation Angel had offered. It was too new with Groo for them to go away together. Thank God she’d had the sense to stay here. They’d only spent the past five hours all together-y and she was getting a murderous itch to strangle him. Maybe I need a little break.
“Grooie baby, I was thinking I might go lay down,” she told him softly.
Immediately he put his spoon down and stood up, a huge grin on his face. It took Cordy a moment to realize she’d made a mistake. Yesterday, when she’d wanted to try a little snuggle time at work, she’d yanked him up the stairs of the Hyperion, shouting to Fred that they were going to lay down. And now he thought she meant…
“Oh, NO, not that,” Cordelia told him loudly, putting both hands in front of her as if to ward him off. “I, ahh, I just want to rest. Fully clothed. Alone,” she stressed.
“Of course my princess,” Groo said, not looking entirely disappointed. Apparently the icky-ness that was his lunch was more appealing than the prospect of one-on-one time with her. Not that I entirely blame him. Considering how not well our one-on-one time has ended the past few days. She patted him on the head and went to her room.
She wasn’t even tired, not really. It’s not like I didn’t get plenty of sleep last night. She just needed some away-from-Groo time. Five minutes where she wasn’t having to explain something. Or biting her tongue to keep from making fun of him. Or pretending she couldn’t hear the others making fun of him.
Cordy heard her cell phone ringing and reached for her purse that lay on the dresser. She rummaged through the bag, mumbling about how she needed to change the ringer soon. Canon in D just doesn’t work blaring out of a Nokia. Finally she just dumped the entire contents of the purse on the bed. Aha! There it is.
“Hello?” she said, doing a tiny, silent victory dance. She had gone head to head with the purse and won. This round, at least.
“Fred. Hey. What’s up?” Cordy asked, holding the phone in the crook of her neck while she started putting things back in her purse.
“You sound a little out of breath. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Fred asked in a teasing voice.
“Nope,” Cordy said. She looked down at the object she’d been about to put back in her purse. A tiny, delicate, un-opened blue bottle. “Nothing at all.” She placed the bottle on the night stand next to the bed. Then she sat on the bed and stared at it. “What’s up?” she distractedly asked Fred again.
“Nothing much. Uh, listen, I was wondering, do you want to meet for coffee?”
Cordelia nearly sighed in relief. Yes. An excuse to leave. “Now?” she asked excitedly.
“Actually,” Fred said, “I was thinking tomorrow morning. Before work?”
Dammit! “Sure you don’t want me to just bring some Starbucks to the hotel?” Cordy asked.
“No. Not at the hotel. Let’s meet there,” Fred said, sounding a little panicky.
Her tone was enough to finally break Cordy out of the staring contest she’d been having with the bottle. “Is something wrong Fred?” Oddly, Cordy really hoped there was a problem. At least then there would be something for her to do. A non-paranormal prophylactic related activity.
“No, no, nothing’s wrong,” Fred assured her. “I just wanted to talk. Girl talk.”
Ahh, now we’re getting somewhere. When girls get together alone, it’s only to talk about one thing. The opposite sex. “Oh my god,” Cordy squeeled. “You two kissed!” Go Wes. Wow. Hell. Go me. I’m the one who told him to strike while the iron was hot.
“Well,” Fred sounded flustered. “Yeah,” she admitted. “Four days ago. And a couple of times since then.”
Cordy couldn’t help but smile. Wait. Four days ago… “The night of the ballet?” Wes did work fast. Oh no. What if… “Fred, I have to ask, uh, you weren’t, um, under any sort of, uh, possession at the time, were you?”
“No,” Fred said firmly. Before Cordelia could ask how she knew, Fred continued. “Believe me. If we’d been possessed, there’s no way it could have felt like that.”
Fred was silent for a moment. “Like, like every nerve in my body came alive when he looked at me,” she said in a low voice. “Like kissing was something we couldn’t NOT do. And when we did kiss, it was like crashing into each other. Only our lips were touching but it felt like he was touching me EVERYWHERE.” Fred paused, as if she was waiting for Cordelia to speak. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“I do?” Cordy asked before she could stop herself.
“Sure,” Fred told her. “You’ve got Groo.”
Cordy fell back to earth. “Right,” she said flatly. “Groo. Yup. He’s mine.”
Cordy wondered why she felt so out of sorts. “Sure,” she told Fred. “I’ll see you around nine.” She hung up the phone. And then the bottle caught her eye again.
“Every nerve in my body came alive when he looked at me.”
Cordy flashed back to that night at the ballet. How Angel had pulled her into his arms and how his eyes had gone golden, so hot she felt like he was burning her. He’d looked at her like that and everything inside of her seemed to melt. “You want me to undress you,” he’d said and her thighs had clenched and grown damp.
“Like kissing was something we couldn’t not do. And when we did kiss, it was like crashing into each other.”
When they’d gone back into the dressing room a second time, it had been slightly different. Cordy’s hunger and need had seemingly multiplied by a million. She remembered how hard she had pressed up against him. How she’d relished running her hands over his body. Touching. Claiming as much as she could. And how it hadn’t been enough. She couldn’t get close enough.
Cordy reached up with her right hand and rubbed her temples. She was surprised at how moist her forehead felt. Oh my god. I’m sweating. A few choice words from Fred and a trip down memory lane and all of the sudden I’m all “9 ½ Weeks.” What’s worse, I’m hotter right now than I’ve ever been with Groo so far. I am so screwed up.
Cordy knew she needed to do something. Lying in her room, hiding from her boy-toy and her blue-bottle related issues wasn’t working.
“Why can’t I just open you up and drink you and screw his brains out like I’m supposed to do?” she asked the bottle. The bottle just lay there. Stupid bottle.
Cordelia wasn’t exactly sure why she hadn’t been able to make with the com-shuck already. Groo was more than eager (once she’d explained the logistics to him). And he was a very quick learner. It would more than likely be the ride of her life. So why can’t I just…do it?
Because it just didn’t feel right. No matter what she’d tried.
She’d bathed Groo and made his whole grunge look go bye-bye and done pretty much everything in her power to facilitate the shucking of com. She’d sent her best friend to a brothel, for God’s sake.
She couldn’t help but groan in frustration. I have to get out of here. Work off some of this steam. She could go to the hotel. It was Sunday, which meant everyone was sort of doing their own thing. There was a punching bag in the basement with her name on it.
That’s what she would do. She’d change, put on some cartoons to entertain Groo (God I’m such a bitch!) and go work herself out of whatever the hell was wrong.