fic post
Title: Five Fantasies Angel Has About Cordelia
Author: Samsom
Rating: NC-17 for language and dark themes. This isn’t fluffy.
Summary: Angel has fantasies. Here are some of them.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit. Just having fun.
Author Notes: I wrote this almost two years ago, one of maybe three or four contributions to the 5 Things genre, which I always loved reading. One of the Times was set during Untouched, so hopefully, it's legal. Thanks goes to my beta, Damnskippytoo, as always.
~~
During Somnambulist
It’s not him that’s chained to the bed, but her.
Lovely Cordelia with the wild hair across his pillow, squirming in her too-tight skirt and inadequate top, sun-kissed skin still tasting like sunshine and sand.
He’ll take the cross with the jagged ends and teach her pain, and the good taste of blood.
Mostly how to scream.
He’ll climb on top of her and feel her body bucking under his. He’ll run his tongue up her cheek and lick her juicy full lips.
Shove it in her mouth until she gags.
He’ll take her breasts and treat them as his chalice; graze her nipples and then bite through them until the blood fills his mouth like red wine.
She’ll make noises, little animal sounds that spur him.
Please in that voice that has known no real pain, no harsh love.
He’ll feel her body like a blanket he can wear, slip over and under and around her until he knows every line, every gasp, until she tells him all her secret thrills in a voice laced with his come.
He’ll be the snake in her garden. She’ll cling to him with her body, hold him inside and beg him not to stop.
He’ll take her ass in his hands and hold her up into his thrusts and feel her hair around his face like a veil of perfumed lace.
He’ll lace their fingers and make her pray with him. Whisper the Act of Contrition while he fucks her and fucks her.
He’ll take the jagged cross and carve his ownership into the soft flesh of her belly.
“Angel, wake up. There’s been another murder! You’re innocent!”
He opens his eyes and prays that she’ll never know what sweet dreams he has.
~~
During Untouched
He imagines she might want to thank him for being willing to pay Gunn.
It’s no small act, after all, since business has been slow and the costs of maintaining an entire hotel so astronomical.
Maybe a touch along his lapel.
Maybe a small kiss on his mouth.
He wouldn’t make it easy, of course. Money doesn’t grow on trees, he’d tell her in a stern voice that reminds him of his own father.
She can peck at his lips while he stands with his hands crossed, unwilling to be swayed.
When her small conciliatory gestures won’t move him, she can try harder. A fuller kiss on his mouth, tongue coaxing him to open up.
He’d give a little, part his lips just so.
He wouldn’t want to totally discourage her attempts at employee-employer relations.
He’d uncross his arms, slowly. And lower them until his fingers brush her hips.
But then she’d need to show him her willingness to keep trying. Maybe step into the cradle of his legs, and run her hands up his chest. Admiring noises wouldn’t kill her, he thinks, maybe a squeeze or two to let him know all his workouts haven’t been a total waste.
She would whisper that she sees him as more than just a boss, more than a friend.
Slide her hands inside his shirt and show him.
He’d reward her with a slip of his tongue into the warm wetness of her mouth; play with her tongue a little, just a tease really. Then she’d tell him how much she wants him, whispering against his kisses and making little noises that remind him of darkness and soft sheets.
She’d lower herself down onto the floor, kneeling in her ridiculously inappropriate heels and run her hands over the front of his pants.
Smile at him as she seeks and releases his cock. Lower her head and show him how grateful she is that he’s such a generous boss.
He’d allow it.
For her sake.
Throw his head back and grip her head and thrust and thrust into her welcoming mouth, watch her lips slide up and down while her fingernails dig into the meat of his thighs.
And she’d tell him it’s not about Gunn. It’s about him. She needs him, wants him. More than anything, more than life.
“Angel?”
Angel blinks and the images fade to leave Wesley’s inquiring face instead, head cocked to the side.
He clears his throat, and takes the weapon he’s being handed.
Can’t wait to go to bed again, though.
~~
During Belonging
Instead of demanding to know why he came, she’d smile shyly and ask him what he needs from her. He’d smile with his teeth flashing like a wolf’s at the question.
Instead of saying how much she hates her whole life, she’d tell him she’s grateful she found him again in LA, and how she wouldn’t know what to do without him.
Instead of letting that director talk to her the way he did, she’d tell Angel to go ahead and rip his whole head off, because she believes him when he tells her that he can.
Instead of revealing her amazing body at the piss-ant’s insistence, she’d belt her robe tighter and tell Angel to take her out of there.
Instead of staying behind while he left, she’d follow him when he left, all the way back to the hotel and up to his room. She’d tell him she wouldn’t drop her robe for just any LA model/wanna-be-rocker as she teased the edges open.
Afterward, he’d lead her into the shower and wash off all the hairspray and makeup until he found his Cordelia again.
Instead of wanting to be the kind of vapid actress he runs into every night in LA, she’d tell him she’s through with that crap, and that she wants to stay with him, for as long as it takes, just like she promised him.
He’d even let her drive his car.
Angel ducks as the demon swings a meaty paw at his head, and drives the dull end of his axe into the torso, putting all his frustration into the hit.
~~
During Fredless
He’d take her up on it one night when Fred’s gone and Wes and Gunn have left for whatever pub was still open.
Sooth my ass off, he’d challenge her, one hand on her arm to stop her from leaving. Come on, Cordy, what are you afraid of?
She’d give him the Evil Stare of Superiority, and pull her arm away from his grip. Then she’d put her purse back down on her desk, and reach up, taking his mouth in a kiss he never thought existed outside of a fairytale dream.
He wouldn’t be soothed, though. Not by a long shot. He’d get so worked up, in fact, that he’d do something incredibly stupid for the both of them and the whole world besides.
He’d pick her up into his arms and carry her up to his room, lower her onto his bed and climb on top of her so she could keep licking his Adam’s apple.
He’d hover over her, head raised almost all the way back on his neck, and beg her silently to bite him. When she did, he’d thrust his palm up the back of her thigh to her incredible ass, scraping that nothing skirt that had been driving him close to the brink all night.
She’d make a noise, helpless and ineffectual, and he’d pull her hip up and shove a thigh between her legs, rubbing against her mound until she soaked his pants through her thong.
He’d bury her head back in his deep pillows with the force of his kiss. He’d plunder and take, just like the heroes in those awful romances Fred left around the hotel lobby.
When he’d tell her to come, she’d shudder against his leg and dig her nails into his shoulders.
Then he’d let her go and pull his pants apart, shove them down until his cock brushed against her cunt, and he’d pause and wait for her permission and when she gave it, he’d shove it all the way inside of her, and she’d cry out because it’d been so long, and he’d instantly slow down.
Way down.
Sliding and gliding against her, rubbing her spot with his pubic bone, gently and gently until she was pushing herself against him, until she was so wet it dripped down onto his sheets.
And he’d never wash them again.
He’d sleep in her essence like an animal, wrapped around her skin to skin. They could stay like that forever. He’d make her promise she’d never leave him, ever, not for her career, not for money, not for anything.
He’d demand it until she nodded against his shoulder, teeth biting into his skin until he feels it break and then he breaks, shudders and floods her with his come and he’d think it couldn’t get more perfect, just him and Cordy forever and ever and -
And in the quiet of later, when the moon rises over the city and Cordelia is asleep, half naked and draped in moonlight, he could have his one moment of perfect and utter peace, without losing everything again.
In the end though, he rushes out the door with the others, just another mission to save another damsel, and tries to ignore the girl by his side and the truth in his heart.
He couldn’t have that ever again without risking everything important.
~~
At The End
After one more fight in an LA alley, they’d all shuffle tiredly back to the hotel, sore but satisfied, talking in quiet voices.
He’d thank Lorne for watching Connor and close the door after the demon left for his own home.
He’d turn with anticipation and watch Cordelia sit on his bed, cradling Connor to her chest. Smile as she’d tell him about the time a baby cousin spit down her Versace dress at a wedding, and how she’d begged one of the ushers to drive her back to her parent’s house so she could change.
So that’s how she knew how to hold babies.
His baby.
He’d marvel at her deft skill at avoiding spit up and laugh as he takes Connor from her to change. Stand back as she scoops him up all snuggly clean and smelling like baby powder, watch as she rocks him to sleep with a little hum under her breath.
Instead of leaving, she’d turn from laying the baby in his crib, and her eyelashes would flutter like butterfly wings against her cheek.
The sudden silence wouldn’t be awkward, though, but full of anticipation.
He’d walk up to her and kiss her, gently at first. Cup her face and stroke her cheek. Tell her she was beautiful, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She’d cling to him and tell him not to tease her, it isn’t nice and he’d laugh and promise to show her what it’s like to be teased.
He’d pick her up and settle her on the bed, undress her slowly and kiss his way down her belly. Lay his tongue on her scar and soothe the puckered flesh with gentle laves. She’d tremble and tell him he’s evil and he’d dip his head ever lower and show her what evil could do for her if she let him.
Lace their hands together and feel the smooth insides of her thighs against his ears as he made her come against his tongue. Feel her go limp with a smug smile he wouldn’t dare let her see.
He’d gaze down at her while he made love to her, tell her there’s no other place he’d ever choose to be than right there with her and his son.
She’d smile and tell him she loved him, only him, and hold him tighter.
Only you, Angel, she’d whisper in his ear. Only you.
Afterward, as she slept, he’d bring Connor back over to the bed and snuggle his son between them. He’d fall asleep to the rhythm of their breathing, everything he loved safe and sound.
He watches the son he loves moving obscenely against the woman he loves on a filthy bed in an abandoned building while the world burns down around them.
The hum in his head is an old and familiar one, promising clarity if only he gives in to it. If only for a second, he does, just for one second, and wishes them both to hell.
Would throw them both down into the dark pit himself, if he could.
Instead he leaves, rage like the bitter taste of bad blood in his mouth.
~~
Months later, in the ruins of an LA mall, as he desperately tries to reach his broken boy over Cordelia’s comatose body, he'll remember that wish.
It was the only one of his fantasies to come true.
~end~
Author: Samsom
Rating: NC-17 for language and dark themes. This isn’t fluffy.
Summary: Angel has fantasies. Here are some of them.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit. Just having fun.
Author Notes: I wrote this almost two years ago, one of maybe three or four contributions to the 5 Things genre, which I always loved reading. One of the Times was set during Untouched, so hopefully, it's legal. Thanks goes to my beta, Damnskippytoo, as always.
~~
During Somnambulist
It’s not him that’s chained to the bed, but her.
Lovely Cordelia with the wild hair across his pillow, squirming in her too-tight skirt and inadequate top, sun-kissed skin still tasting like sunshine and sand.
He’ll take the cross with the jagged ends and teach her pain, and the good taste of blood.
Mostly how to scream.
He’ll climb on top of her and feel her body bucking under his. He’ll run his tongue up her cheek and lick her juicy full lips.
Shove it in her mouth until she gags.
He’ll take her breasts and treat them as his chalice; graze her nipples and then bite through them until the blood fills his mouth like red wine.
She’ll make noises, little animal sounds that spur him.
Please in that voice that has known no real pain, no harsh love.
He’ll feel her body like a blanket he can wear, slip over and under and around her until he knows every line, every gasp, until she tells him all her secret thrills in a voice laced with his come.
He’ll be the snake in her garden. She’ll cling to him with her body, hold him inside and beg him not to stop.
He’ll take her ass in his hands and hold her up into his thrusts and feel her hair around his face like a veil of perfumed lace.
He’ll lace their fingers and make her pray with him. Whisper the Act of Contrition while he fucks her and fucks her.
He’ll take the jagged cross and carve his ownership into the soft flesh of her belly.
“Angel, wake up. There’s been another murder! You’re innocent!”
He opens his eyes and prays that she’ll never know what sweet dreams he has.
~~
During Untouched
He imagines she might want to thank him for being willing to pay Gunn.
It’s no small act, after all, since business has been slow and the costs of maintaining an entire hotel so astronomical.
Maybe a touch along his lapel.
Maybe a small kiss on his mouth.
He wouldn’t make it easy, of course. Money doesn’t grow on trees, he’d tell her in a stern voice that reminds him of his own father.
She can peck at his lips while he stands with his hands crossed, unwilling to be swayed.
When her small conciliatory gestures won’t move him, she can try harder. A fuller kiss on his mouth, tongue coaxing him to open up.
He’d give a little, part his lips just so.
He wouldn’t want to totally discourage her attempts at employee-employer relations.
He’d uncross his arms, slowly. And lower them until his fingers brush her hips.
But then she’d need to show him her willingness to keep trying. Maybe step into the cradle of his legs, and run her hands up his chest. Admiring noises wouldn’t kill her, he thinks, maybe a squeeze or two to let him know all his workouts haven’t been a total waste.
She would whisper that she sees him as more than just a boss, more than a friend.
Slide her hands inside his shirt and show him.
He’d reward her with a slip of his tongue into the warm wetness of her mouth; play with her tongue a little, just a tease really. Then she’d tell him how much she wants him, whispering against his kisses and making little noises that remind him of darkness and soft sheets.
She’d lower herself down onto the floor, kneeling in her ridiculously inappropriate heels and run her hands over the front of his pants.
Smile at him as she seeks and releases his cock. Lower her head and show him how grateful she is that he’s such a generous boss.
He’d allow it.
For her sake.
Throw his head back and grip her head and thrust and thrust into her welcoming mouth, watch her lips slide up and down while her fingernails dig into the meat of his thighs.
And she’d tell him it’s not about Gunn. It’s about him. She needs him, wants him. More than anything, more than life.
“Angel?”
Angel blinks and the images fade to leave Wesley’s inquiring face instead, head cocked to the side.
He clears his throat, and takes the weapon he’s being handed.
Can’t wait to go to bed again, though.
~~
During Belonging
Instead of demanding to know why he came, she’d smile shyly and ask him what he needs from her. He’d smile with his teeth flashing like a wolf’s at the question.
Instead of saying how much she hates her whole life, she’d tell him she’s grateful she found him again in LA, and how she wouldn’t know what to do without him.
Instead of letting that director talk to her the way he did, she’d tell Angel to go ahead and rip his whole head off, because she believes him when he tells her that he can.
Instead of revealing her amazing body at the piss-ant’s insistence, she’d belt her robe tighter and tell Angel to take her out of there.
Instead of staying behind while he left, she’d follow him when he left, all the way back to the hotel and up to his room. She’d tell him she wouldn’t drop her robe for just any LA model/wanna-be-rocker as she teased the edges open.
Afterward, he’d lead her into the shower and wash off all the hairspray and makeup until he found his Cordelia again.
Instead of wanting to be the kind of vapid actress he runs into every night in LA, she’d tell him she’s through with that crap, and that she wants to stay with him, for as long as it takes, just like she promised him.
He’d even let her drive his car.
Angel ducks as the demon swings a meaty paw at his head, and drives the dull end of his axe into the torso, putting all his frustration into the hit.
~~
During Fredless
He’d take her up on it one night when Fred’s gone and Wes and Gunn have left for whatever pub was still open.
Sooth my ass off, he’d challenge her, one hand on her arm to stop her from leaving. Come on, Cordy, what are you afraid of?
She’d give him the Evil Stare of Superiority, and pull her arm away from his grip. Then she’d put her purse back down on her desk, and reach up, taking his mouth in a kiss he never thought existed outside of a fairytale dream.
He wouldn’t be soothed, though. Not by a long shot. He’d get so worked up, in fact, that he’d do something incredibly stupid for the both of them and the whole world besides.
He’d pick her up into his arms and carry her up to his room, lower her onto his bed and climb on top of her so she could keep licking his Adam’s apple.
He’d hover over her, head raised almost all the way back on his neck, and beg her silently to bite him. When she did, he’d thrust his palm up the back of her thigh to her incredible ass, scraping that nothing skirt that had been driving him close to the brink all night.
She’d make a noise, helpless and ineffectual, and he’d pull her hip up and shove a thigh between her legs, rubbing against her mound until she soaked his pants through her thong.
He’d bury her head back in his deep pillows with the force of his kiss. He’d plunder and take, just like the heroes in those awful romances Fred left around the hotel lobby.
When he’d tell her to come, she’d shudder against his leg and dig her nails into his shoulders.
Then he’d let her go and pull his pants apart, shove them down until his cock brushed against her cunt, and he’d pause and wait for her permission and when she gave it, he’d shove it all the way inside of her, and she’d cry out because it’d been so long, and he’d instantly slow down.
Way down.
Sliding and gliding against her, rubbing her spot with his pubic bone, gently and gently until she was pushing herself against him, until she was so wet it dripped down onto his sheets.
And he’d never wash them again.
He’d sleep in her essence like an animal, wrapped around her skin to skin. They could stay like that forever. He’d make her promise she’d never leave him, ever, not for her career, not for money, not for anything.
He’d demand it until she nodded against his shoulder, teeth biting into his skin until he feels it break and then he breaks, shudders and floods her with his come and he’d think it couldn’t get more perfect, just him and Cordy forever and ever and -
And in the quiet of later, when the moon rises over the city and Cordelia is asleep, half naked and draped in moonlight, he could have his one moment of perfect and utter peace, without losing everything again.
In the end though, he rushes out the door with the others, just another mission to save another damsel, and tries to ignore the girl by his side and the truth in his heart.
He couldn’t have that ever again without risking everything important.
~~
At The End
After one more fight in an LA alley, they’d all shuffle tiredly back to the hotel, sore but satisfied, talking in quiet voices.
He’d thank Lorne for watching Connor and close the door after the demon left for his own home.
He’d turn with anticipation and watch Cordelia sit on his bed, cradling Connor to her chest. Smile as she’d tell him about the time a baby cousin spit down her Versace dress at a wedding, and how she’d begged one of the ushers to drive her back to her parent’s house so she could change.
So that’s how she knew how to hold babies.
His baby.
He’d marvel at her deft skill at avoiding spit up and laugh as he takes Connor from her to change. Stand back as she scoops him up all snuggly clean and smelling like baby powder, watch as she rocks him to sleep with a little hum under her breath.
Instead of leaving, she’d turn from laying the baby in his crib, and her eyelashes would flutter like butterfly wings against her cheek.
The sudden silence wouldn’t be awkward, though, but full of anticipation.
He’d walk up to her and kiss her, gently at first. Cup her face and stroke her cheek. Tell her she was beautiful, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She’d cling to him and tell him not to tease her, it isn’t nice and he’d laugh and promise to show her what it’s like to be teased.
He’d pick her up and settle her on the bed, undress her slowly and kiss his way down her belly. Lay his tongue on her scar and soothe the puckered flesh with gentle laves. She’d tremble and tell him he’s evil and he’d dip his head ever lower and show her what evil could do for her if she let him.
Lace their hands together and feel the smooth insides of her thighs against his ears as he made her come against his tongue. Feel her go limp with a smug smile he wouldn’t dare let her see.
He’d gaze down at her while he made love to her, tell her there’s no other place he’d ever choose to be than right there with her and his son.
She’d smile and tell him she loved him, only him, and hold him tighter.
Only you, Angel, she’d whisper in his ear. Only you.
Afterward, as she slept, he’d bring Connor back over to the bed and snuggle his son between them. He’d fall asleep to the rhythm of their breathing, everything he loved safe and sound.
He watches the son he loves moving obscenely against the woman he loves on a filthy bed in an abandoned building while the world burns down around them.
The hum in his head is an old and familiar one, promising clarity if only he gives in to it. If only for a second, he does, just for one second, and wishes them both to hell.
Would throw them both down into the dark pit himself, if he could.
Instead he leaves, rage like the bitter taste of bad blood in his mouth.
~~
Months later, in the ruins of an LA mall, as he desperately tries to reach his broken boy over Cordelia’s comatose body, he'll remember that wish.
It was the only one of his fantasies to come true.
~end~