Title: Nineteen Hours Earlier
Category: a bit of dark
Content: A/N, (GTCA: read Califi notage) with the spectre of A/C looming large
Summary: Angel has an oral fixation. Just not for the person he’s boning. Is dark. Is sad. Is Angel.
Spoilers: S5- missing scene
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Notes: Oddly enough, the seed for this ficlet was planted in a drabble I posted for the ‘Playboy Bunny’ challenge at [info]open_on_sunday.
A/N 2: Anyone else notice that Angel and Nina’s one kiss was very…sterile? This ficlet explores that. But not with tongue.
Califi(GTCA) notage: I have to admit I thought long and hard before deciding to add this rec to GTCA. What decided me was that although smut was had throughout this short piece b/t A/N, it was completely eclipsed by the intensity of implied Cordelia-love throughout. This is what makes this very special to me- the only fic so far at GTCA that is pure physical gratification A/Other BUT quintessentially C/A. I would rather read a hundred like this than one single C/A sex scene as Angel thinks of/loves another woman.
Feedback:Who doesn’t like feedback?.
After more than 250 years there are some behaviors Angel can’t shake: living in suspended animation; aching for the fight; sketching; grief sex.
On the eve of his challenge to the Circle of the Black Thorn, Angel screws Nina with scientific detachment and she thinks he’s a god. He thinks of Darla and their last time; remembers surrendering, punishing himself. Craving death.
Nina is chattering about something. Doesn’t matter what; Angel’s not in the mood to listen.
Cordelia would have slapped his face.
He’d have wound up on his ass in the middle of the bedroom floor if she even suspected his thoughts were elsewhere.
Nina follows Angel into the shower, stands on tiptoe to reach his mouth but he doesn’t let her connect. She tells him he’s the least orally-fixated vampire in history. In lieu of something more intimate, Angel fucks her from behind.
With nothing between them but a twisted, monstrous connection, Nina cannot know that Angel loves to kiss. She believes him when he makes up a vapid lie about the sharpness of his teeth and it being a ‘vampire thing’ and takes no offense when he receives her kisses with closed lips.
She cannot possibly know that Angel’s kisses are his soul’s expression: he claims with them, brands with them, surrenders with them.
She cannot know how he craved the mad collision of teeth and tongue and bone that typified Darla’s savage kisses, or how with eternal patience he trained Drusilla’s quivering, timid mouth into an instrument of bliss, and that he still smiles inwardly when Spike waxes poetic about the transcendence of her kiss.
She cannot know how he sought to be consumed in Buffy’s wild, fiery kisses, how her mouth on his made his heart race on the only day he remembers it beating. Nor can she know his insatiable need for the touch of his child’s butter-soft cheek against his lips.
Whether he lives or dies in the days to come makes no difference. No one will ever know that Cordelia’s kisses restored his faith, gave him courage, then hope. And that of all of his lovers, she was the one whose kiss he never attempted to change. Not that he could.
Cordelia tasted like licorice and pepper. The memory of it chokes him, buckles his knees. Nina takes this for a sign of rapture and coos his name. He lifts her and drives deeper, determined not to sob.
As with nearly everything else in his long, dreadful life, his determination means nothing and he fails spectacularly.
His keening wail fills the open stall.
Nina smiles, leans into his savage thrusts, and howls.