True North

Title: True North
Author: Samsom
Posted: 11/06
Rating: PG
Category: Romantic Drabble.
Content: A/C
Summary: She’s his true north, his touchstone.
Spoilers: None, but I picture this between S1 and S2, when summer is turning into fall.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Notes: Written in about fifteen minutes, while listening to Alicia Keys, so if it’s rough, this is why.
Feedback: Always appreciated.

He always comes back to her after patrol.

After a night chasing demons and vampires, saving LA one life at a time, dirty and grimy and angry and hot from the sewers and the blood spilling, he comes back to her apartment, looking.

For something.

For the warm crook of her elbow, the soft spot under her ear, and the way she sighs his name and moves with him in the dark of her living room, music leading them, hips swaying and legs brushing.

She tilts her head back and looks up all vulnerable need and soft love and he leans in closer, face right next to hers, breathing in her scent, and her love, her acceptance and her joy.

Hands all over her satin back, tactile sensation bleeding into him, warming him, making him feel alive, soft smell of woman and the thing that makes her like no other woman and he believes if he stays long enough, he’ll be warmed in her fire forever, all he ever needs of love here in his arms and he goes up in a blaze of shimmering desire, his head and senses filled with her and this moment and how well she fits in the curves and corners of his body, and his soul.

Cordelia with her sharp edges and brambly heart found in him something worthy and true and coaxes it out with an easy confidence that leaves him stumbling with awe. She redeems him with her pain, and forgives him with a smile and a touch and he thinks if he lives to see the constellations shift in the sky, that he’ll never find anything else that touches him so deeply and so truly.

So he dances with her, in the dark midnight of her apartment, framed by the harvest moon and the turning trees and the wind rustling through the quiet streets, and is still inside.

And warm.



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