Summary: Slayers aren’t the only ones affected by a good fight.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: Please just ask first
Notes: Warning: Sex, check. Biting, check. Orgasms, check – three for Cordy, one for Angel. Yup, sounds fair to me. I wrote this a few months ago, on an up-all-night-writing binge, and there’s actually more to it, which I might post at a later date if I ever uncover a plot for it.
Feedback: talk to me.
Cordelia crouches in the doorway she found running down the alleyway, holding the bag of weapons tightly against her body.
She’s watching Angel fight a demon.
That’s the only word to describe it.
Angel is bloodied, but the demon is slick with the red stuff –
Pouring out of its mouth.
From wounds Angel inflicted in its torso.
There isn’t one part of it that isn’t bleeding.
Angel’s arm flexes as he wields his sword, swinging without mercy, and the lightning strikes as an accompaniment to each blow, lighting his pale features as the rain beats down. His hair is plastered to his skull, brushing over the ridges of his forehead.
She can see his eyes flash gold every time he swings to face her, the fangs crowding his mouth gleam like sharpened blades. He wants to sink them; she can see by the way his tongue runs over his teeth.
She licks her lips, tasting the rain on her own tongue, helpless to the clench in her belly, the way it buzzes steadily lower as she watches him.
His torn shirt is hanging off his chest, and his skin reflects the pale light of the lightning strikes.
When the demon strikes another vicious blow that sends Angel careening into the side of a brick building, she’s up from her crouched position, his name half way out of her throat before she realizes what she’s doing.
But he yells at her to get back even as he springs forward, back into the fight, and she crouches back down, trusting that he’s okay.
She wants to get him home, patch him up and give him some blood, but all she can do is watch him fight, and burn inside.
When it’s over it’s quick, Angel swinging his sword as fast as the lightning lights up the storm-tossed sky, and the demon is done.
He pauses, and raises his face to the rain. His body is thrumming with tension, the fire of the fight racing along his skin. She hasn’t been in many fights, but she knows the charged feeling of wanting more.
She used to watch it dance in Buffy’s eyes.
She drinks in the sight of him, devouring the lines of his body as he holds himself still against the drizzle.
When she reaches his face she jumps because he’s looking straight at her.
She can’t look away, meets his eyes boldly with her own, not hiding what she feels.
He drops the sword and turns, slow as if he had all the time left to man, and begins to walk over to her, slow because he knows he’s got her caught.
And she doesn’t move, feels rooted to the spot by his burning amber gaze.
She’s never felt the full force of all that kinetic energy directed at her, the concentration of his senses on her, and it zings up and down random nerve endings like sparks at the end of a lit firecracker.
He doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of her, a full step into her personal bubble, and looks down directly into her eyes.
Her breathing is light and fast, spurred on by the thumping of her heart, eyes wide on his beautiful face. His gaze runs down the center of her chest, zeros in on the pumping organ just to the left and his nostrils flair.
He reaches up a hand and she waits.
Touches her shoulder lightly and skims down her chest, to the point where her nipple has beaded up at the end of her breast. He brushes over it, softly, but she feels it like a hammer to her solar plexus and gasps.
“You liked that.”
It’s a statement, not a question, and she narrows her eyes up at his, not wanting to make it easy.
“Took you long enough.”
He smirks at her tone, fingers twisting the nipple.
Her mouth opens and her eyes close.
“Looks like just long enough.”
He pushes her back, back further until her spine hits the brick of the nearest building and when she tries to move forward he’s in her space again, hands reaching up and pulling her shirt up over her breasts.
The bra is lacy, meant to display, and he pushes that out of his way, too, bunching it up with her t-shirt.
She opens her mouth say something nasty but he bends down and covers a breast with his mouth, and her words veer into a moan, her head slamming back against the brick of the building as he suckles hard, his tongue curling over her nipple.
She can’t think, can’t form words, can only feel as Angel cages her rib cage with his hands and brings her closer.
To what, she doesn’t know yet.
He picks her up by the underarms and anchors his hips under her pelvis, pinning her between him and the building behind her, splaying her legs open on either side of his thighs.
She nearly passes out when she feels his erection like an iron bar against her center, touching her in exactly the right way, rubbing hard enough that she thinks she’s going to bruise.
“Is that all you have?” She demands, staring down at his upturned face, wanting to be consumed.
He reaches up and pulls her head down, devouring her mouth in one violent motion, tongue slipping in to caress hers and suck it back into his own mouth, like he means to swallow her whole. His hands cup her breasts and squeeze, just hard enough to make her pant, just soft enough to make her want more.
Before she thinks of it herself, he pulls her Capri’s down her legs and rips them the rest of the way off the second they won’t go any further, and she reciprocates, unbuckling his belt and yanking his pants open, peeling them from his groin and pulling his erection out, the urgency inside riding her like a bad addiction.
fuck me, Angel, take me, fuck me fuck me fuckmefuckme
The litany in her head is spiraling into hysteria, and she breaks from his mouth with a harsh sob.
“Fuck me, Angel, fuck me, fuck me-“
He silences her demands by palming the back of her skull with one hand, pulling her head to the side and exposing her throat. There is a pause, as if the world has taken a deep breath before a dive beneath the ocean and –
She lets out a ragged cry as he penetrates her violently, thrusting up inside her in one long motion even as she feels him sink his fangs into the flesh of her throat.
She comes on his second thrust, feeling her blood run down the side of her neck and digs her fingers into the meat of his wounded shoulder, making him feel it too.
He thrusts harder, spurred on by the pain, through her second orgasm, teeth in her neck, alternately sucking and suckling her broken flesh.
She can feel her heartbeat in her throat with every pull of his mouth, darkness already pulling at the edges of her vision, tasting the rain on Angel’s skin with her tongue before her head falls back.
Her third orgasm is accompanied by his fingers sliding over her clit, back deeper to where he’s in her, up and around in slow, relentless circles.
She moans slightly in the back of her throat, hips twitching against the stimulation of his digits on her tender flesh, the feel of him inside the only thing left that matters in the world.
When he’s sure he’s wrung everything he can from her, he retracts his teeth and buries his face against the side of her wounded neck, thrusting in short bursts, like an animal, hips hunched up against her, belly rubbing hers.
Grunting in his throat, he throws his head back as his balls tighten and pull up, coming inside her body in long, pulsating bursts of pleasure that nearly has him crashing to his knees.
When Cordelia can look up again, she’s in his car, under the blanket he keeps in his trunk. She glances out the side windows and realizes he’s taking her home. His face is set back in its usual stony expression and she can’t tell what he’s thinking.
She has no energy left to ask.
She puts her head back down and closes her eyes.
The second time Cordelia wakes up, Angel is carrying her through the front door and down the short hallway to her room. He opens the door and walks to the side of her bed, setting her down on the mattress with a bounce.
She thinks about telling him off but instead rolls over to stretch out on top of her cool covers, too comfortable to care that she’s still damp from the rain. When she feels Angel pulling her clothes off, she lets him, curling into a fetal position when he’s done.
She expects him to put her under the covers and is instead surprised to feel him drape something over her. She opens her eyes again and sees the lining of his coat.
He put his coat over her.
The last thing she sees is his back as he leaves her room, still not saying a word.
Her eyes close and she surrenders to the darkness rising up to claim her.
They’ll talk tomorrow.