Second Date Pt 2
Title: Second "Date"
Author: Psychofilly
Rating: PG-13
Category: Light Humor, Angst, ATS season 1
Content: B/A, C/A/W friendship
Summary: This is the second of some short fics based on the premise that Buffy and Angel try and keep a connection after Angel comes to LA, but the purpose of the stories as they are written is to illustrate the change in *Angel* and the C/A dynamic over a period of time.
Spoilers: Set after Eternity-Sanctuary arcs.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: NF anyone else ask unless you already have my permission.
Angel knew Buffy had heard him. He had seen her shoulders tense before closing the door on him...on them. Now he stood on the stoop in front of her father's house waging a private war with himself. He wanted to batter in that door and hunt Buffy down. He just had two distinct rationales for doing so. Half of him wanted to find her room, sweep her into his arms and bind her to him through the pleasures of the flesh. The other half wanted what it always had: the taste of Slayer's blood on it's tongue as it ripped out her throat.
Instead of doing either he turned his back on the door and walked stiffly back to his car. He made it three blocks before he slammed on his breaks and hit the Plymouth's dashboard. The old car absorbed the force of his blow, but he just as quickly realized that it wasn't the car that he wanted to hurt. He shifted into gear and went on the prowl.
Ten minutes later he found what he was looking for. He eased the car off the road and slipped into the dark alleyway between an old Laundromat and an adult video store. Neon lights painted the mouth of the alley in a wash of red. Beyond that was moonlight and shadow. The lone vampire feeding on a diseased hooker never stood a chance.
Angel slipped from shadow to shadow, letting the darkness envelop him like the embrace of an old friend. Sharp eyes measured the situation and a sharper mind decided on a course of attack. He wanted to pound something until it bled and whimpered. He sprang into action, barreling into the much smaller vampire. He didn't bother with a stake or a sword.
His first punch broke the thing's nose, not too big of a deal for a vampire. His second punch connected to its cheek and there was a satisfying crunch under his knuckles as he felt the bones give way. He never even checked to see if the hooker was all right. He just hit the vampire until his own knuckles were split and bleeding and the screams and whimpers that had been music to his ears faded to silence. He dropped the vampire, nudging him with his boot. He scanned the alley, noting that the hooker was gone.
Maybe this had been her wake-up call? He doubted it. If anything she was probably looking to score at this very moment. He considered the bloody heap-o-vampire at his feet. He decided to leave him be. If the vampire couldn't get up in a few hours, the sun would do his dirty work.
He checked his watch, grimacing when he noticed his hand. He checked his clothes for blood. Other than a few small spatters he was good, and he could blame the split knuckles on the demons at the park. Ass suitably covered, he headed to get Cordy her ice cream.
Angel stopped at his second convenience store in one night. It was a record of sorts. He loathed the store-fronts of cinderblock and shatter-resistant glass that hogged seemingly every street-corner in the United States. The run down store front of the little shop he stopped at was anything but cheery. In fact, Cordy would probably be pissed if she knew he had gotten her something here. She may have changed for the good, but she was still a snob.
Angel noticed the liquor store right next door when he had pulled in. He planned to get drunk and pull an alcohol fueled fuzzy blanket over tonight's memories. He bought two quarts of Irish whiskey and stashed them in his car before running in to the dingy little store for ice-cream.
The evening's events hit him like a fist to the gut while he was waiting in line to pay. While Angel was grateful that he had a purpose and friends to share it with, without love his entire existence rang hollow. Angel didn't know what he had been thinking tonight, or what he was going to do now, or worse yet, how he was going to fill the eternal stretch of lonely nights before him.
He needed to know that he wasn't fighting in vain. He needed to believe that he wasn't just a cog in some cosmic machine. Was his destiny to be worked until he was world-worn and broken, only to be cast aside when a newer better model came along? He hated the certainty that his days would bleed together one after another while the people he held dear slipped like fine sand through his fingers.
Angel threw the money down and stalked out of the store, not even bothering with his change. Most of all, he hated the fact that his body still hummed with borrowed life at the memory of Buffy's touch. His lips burned from her kisses and his groin ached with unfulfilled need. Even if she had let him do as he'd wanted, he would still have had to deny himself the pleasure of release....
He fucking hated Gypsies.
Angel hurried home. He slipped quietly through the dark offices, opting to use the stairs down to his apartment. As he rounded the corner, the site of Wesley and Cordelia on the couch brought him up short. He stood for a long moment, bags in hand, watching as his friends slept unaware. Easy prey.
Cordelia was curled into a tight little ball and tucked safely into the crook of Wesley's arm. Wes slept with the TV remote in hand, glasses askew, a tiny frown drawn across his brow. His temple rested on the crown of Cordy's head. They were almost picture-perfect except, unguarded in slumber, Cordy's expressive face betrayed her. There was a rumpled and soggy Kleenex in her hand. Crying made her face softer, rounder...the fullness giving her a childish beauty that was usually buried under sharp features. Not that Cordelia Chase was ever anything less than stunning, but seeing her with no makeup, face drawn with pain, made her beauty more real somehow.
Angel took his packages to the kitchen, putting up the groceries with as little noise as possible. He poured a glass of blood, drinking it down in the kitchen as was his habit. He rinsed his glass and headed towards his bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He stripped down to his undershirt, threw his soiled garment in the hamper and kicked off his shoes. Deciding he'd shower later he padded softly to the couch, gently nudging Wes' arm in attempt to rouse him.
Wesley jerked away from his touch, his glasses flying off his face as his head whipped around.
Angel held up his hands. "Whoa Wes, it's just me."
Cordy opened one eye to glare at Angel. "Well, I *was* having sweet dreams," she groused.
Angel tried to muster a smile and found that he couldn't. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got kicked in the head. You?" She pushed herself up and away from Wes' protective embrace. When he didn't answer her, she gave him a sharp eyed once over. "Let me guess; you got your heart kicked around by everyone's favorite slayer."
Angel silently met her frank stare. Whatever she could read in his eyes seemed to be answer enough. She scowled slightly but didn't press. Angel was feeling the need to fix what promised to be the first of many drinks. "I got you some ice-cream," he called over his shoulder as he returned to the kitchen. "Would you like me to fix you some?" He glanced back, catching the evil look Cordy was shooting Wesley.
"You called him didn't you?" she accused.
Wesley gathered his coat and a few books, setting them on the stairs. "I thought you could use a little pick-me-up after tonight's vision." He straightened, stretching the kinks out of his back. His features softened into a look of brotherly affection. "From your description, it sounded particularly distressing."
"So you think fattening me up is going to help?" she retorted, as she drifted across the living room to where Wes was standing. "I swear, between the two of you, I'm going to end up the size of a barn." She turned to Angel, "What kind did you get?" She waved him off before he could reply, "Never-mind, just fix me a bowl."
Angel nodded and reached for a mid-sized bowl, plucking it from its perch on the shelf. The sound of a throat clearing stopped him mid-motion. He looked back over his shoulder. Cordy made a circle with her thumbs and forefingers....a wide circle. With a slight shrug, Angel set the bowl down and picked up a much bigger one. She gave him the thumbs up, her attention shifting back to Wes.
"You were *so* my word puzzle bitch, tonight." Cordelia teased as Wes slipped on his jacket.
Wes' shoulders sagged in defeat. "I never would have imagined your vocabulary could extend beyond money, fashion, jewelry, and the latest 'it' person in Hollywood," he mused good-naturedly.
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Contrary to popular belief, cheerleaders can and do read. So, you really gonna go?"
Wesley nodded. "I have an early meeting tomorrow. I may have found a better apartment."
Cordelia wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders. "G'luck," she mumbled, head tucked into the crook of his neck. "And thanks for staying with me."
Wesley hugged her back without any of the stiffness or hesitation that he usually showed then dropped a light kiss on her temple. "Anytime."
Angel ambled up behind them, ice cream in one hand, whiskey in the other. Wes' dark blue eyes locked with his. A silent understanding flowed between them. Wes gave the barest of nods, trusting that Angel would protect Cordelia from the demons without, and the demons within.
Angel thought they both trusted him a little too much.
Cordy let Wesley go. As she turned her face lit up at the sight of the huge bowl of ice cream. "Gimme," she snatched both the bowl and the whiskey out of his hands.
"Cor...." he tried to warn, but she took a big swallow before he could stop her.
She made a face and coughed, almost dropping her bowl. She set the bowl down on the coffee-table, took another big swallow of Angel's drink and sputtered, "Geeze Angel! No wonder you're so well preserved. How much alcohol is in this?"
Angel snatched the glass, downing the rest. "Your under twenty-one." He grimaced as the alcohol burned down his throat. "You have ice-cream, stay out of my liquor."
"Piss-eee," she huffed as she flopped down on the couch. "Someone had a bad night."
"Cordelia." His tone was warning enough. She picked up her bowl and began to eat as he stalked back to the kitchen and fixed himself another drink. After a moment's hesitation, he grabbed the bottle and brought it with him to the living room. He sat down next to Cordelia on the love seat, noting that Cordy was attacking her ice-cream with gusto. He'd hear her whine about it later, but the site of her eyes rolling back in her head as she savored a particularly huge bite eased a the ache in his heart a little.
He really ought to take Cordelia home but he was torn between the need for privacy and the need to watch over her. Seeing Cordy's face tonight as she slept in Wesley's arms had affected him. Whatever she felt, it had to have been horrible for her to allow herself to be held. It only added to the turmoil in his head caused by Buffy, but he couldn't help thinking that it should have been him that she turned to and not Wes.
"So, you gonna drive me home after this?"
Angel snapped out of his reverie to find her looking at him expectantly. "Do you want to go?" he asked, while wondering if she had read his thoughts.
Her focus drifted to a point just over his shoulder. "I know you'd rather be alone." She jabbed her spoon into her ice cream, pulling it free only to stab it again.
"That's not what I asked," he replied. "Do you want to go home?"
Her voice was so small, he almost didn't catch her answer. "Not really."
"Cordelia, are you all right?" He had never seen the effects of a vision linger for so long. It had him genuinely worried.
"I just don't want to be alone with my head right now," she mumbled.
Cordy scooped up a large spoonful of ice cream and ate it. Her eyes cut to his then quickly away. He was still staring, and she was getting visibly uncomfortable. He took a sip of his whiskey, she ate another bite. They continued eating and drinking in thick silence until she slid the bowl onto the coffee-table. She leaned back against the couch, hands drumming absently on her belly. Finally, her head rolled and she looked at him.
Angel set his drink down and slid around until he was facing her, one arm resting across the back of the couch. He waited, and tried not to let his mind drift back to his evening with Buffy. Focusing on Cordelia meant keeping his mind off of the feel of Buffy in his lap, her hands locked around his neck before she pushed him away, her lips moving urgently against his....
"It's just, they were kids," Cordy began, once again dragging Angel back to the present. "The headache is gone, but...I keep flashing on what they did to those girls, how much it hurt." She swallowed, unable to continue. Her eyes were the color of his whiskey, a deep amber-brown that glittered with unshed tears. Her hands were clenched, her whole body tense.
Angel surreptitiously sniffed the air. There was something...not arousal, but the sharp hint of anxiety that made his nose twitch with predatory anticipation. He pushed it down. "Cor, it didn't happen. Buffy and I sat on a park bench and watched those children play until their parents came to take them home."
She smiled and sniffed. "Really?" A couple of tears spilled from her eyes to make their way down her cheek.
He reached up and brushed his thumb across her cheek. He rubbed the moisture onto his pants, resisting the urge to suck his thumb into his mouth and taste her sadness. He shouldn't have allowed himself the gesture. Aside from the occasional hug, he kept a distance, for her protection as well as his.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or the dawning realization that he didn't *like* to see Cordelia in pain, but his other hand slid from its perch on the couch to smooth her hair away from her face. He smiled for her, not because he wanted to, but because she needed him to. "Really. We killed all the demons and then waited to make sure that nothing would happen to the children. They're all safe, probably tucked into their beds sound asleep, dreaming of...." he scowled. "Whatever little kids dream about."
She chuckled. "It's official, you *really* never did have a childhood, did you?"
"Not one that you'd understand," he answered dryly. "Ireland in the seventeen-hundreds...."
"Was very different and very boring. Any time that pre-dates the mall is the ninth circle of hell as far as I'm concerned."
"It wasn't that bad!" he defended, giving her his best wounded expression. He leaned forward and poured himself another drink. He sat back, unconsciously drawing a fraction closer to Cordelia. She snagged his glass and stole another sip, her face contorting as she swallowed.
"You know, I ate dinner out of that," he confided, hoping to discourage her from stealing any more of his liquor.
She just shrugged. "Whatever, as long as you rinsed it out really good." She gave him her patented squinty-stinkeye. "You did, didn't you?" She handed him the glass, sounding more confident than she looked. "What am I saying, of course you did. You are the original anal retentive--"
Angel clamped his hand over her mouth. "Careful now, I'm the anal retentive *what* that signs your paychecks?" He slowly removed his hand.
She bit her bottom lip. "Ummm...the sweetest, manliest, hunk of a vampire in LA?" She shamelessly batted her eyelashes at him, clasping her hands under her chin as she continued in a theatrical voice. "Who just loves his witty and stylish secretary-slash-seer so much that he's going to tell her any second now that he's giving her a raise so that she can get this to-die-for dress she saw on Rodeo Drive...."
Angel gave her his blank face. Her act was ineffectual, if endearing, and he knew from experience, playing dumb was the quickest way to get her to shut up.
Sensing defeat, she heaved a dramatic sigh and smacked him in the gut. Unfortunately it was at the exact same time he decided to take a drink. He was quite lucky that he didn't have to breathe as the amber fluid flooded his lungs, making him sputter and try to cough it up.
Cordelia curled into a ball, rolling from side to side on her end of the couch, laughing that full-on uninhibited laugh of hers. She pointed at his red face and bulging eyes then erupted into another gale of laughter, clutching her sides in an attempt to calm down.
Angel glared at the young woman beside him then couldn't help but chuckle. "See if I give you that raise now," he said, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.
"Ha!" she scoffed. "Like you ever were, you big tight-wad." She nudged him in the side with her big toe. Evidently the alcohol had blurred some of her boundaries as well. "So what's the plan, Boss? We hang out and try to pretend neither one of us had a sucky night?"
"Sounds good to me," he agreed amicably. The alcohol was spreading sluggishly through his system, giving him a false sense of warmth. Cordy's laughter made the darkness invading his heart retreat a fraction. Her presence was comforting, unlike the last two times he'd been on this couch with a woman. Rebecca Lowell had drugged him, releasing his demon, and Buffy had writhed under his hands as he tasted her and pleasured her with his mouth.
The act with Buffy had been hollow, as had Rebecca's interest in him. Cordelia was a friend, someone with whom he shared a connection, however unlikely. She didn't have expectations of him other than to take care of her visions.
Her slit denim skirt fell open slightly, teasing him with an unexpected expanse of toned and tanned thigh. She was also very beautiful....
She sat up. Instead of moving away, she slouched over, resting her head on his shoulder. She shut her eyes and sighed. Angel lay his temple against her head, almost exactly as he'd seen Wes earlier...only Wes had his arm around her. It was a bad idea, but he did it anyway, shifting, pulling her into the crook of his arm until she was nestled against his side. He felt her stiffen but didn't say anything, didn't look at her to check for a reaction. He would have smelled it if he was making her nervous. He lay his head back on hers, smiling to himself as he felt her relax once more.
Angel's mind drifted to his evening with Buffy. He'd made a monumentally stupid move, but whenever he was close to her all he could think of was getting closer. It made him reckless and needy, jealous and out of sorts. He was beginning to doubt that even sex, under such circumstances, would have triggered his curse. He was simply too desperate to prove to them both that no man would be better for her than him. In short he had been a selfish bastard.
He let his own body relax, the day's tension leeching out of his cold skin as Cordy's warm presence lulled his muscles into something close to contentment. He felt her breathing even out, then she sucked in a breath and yawned, her jaw cracking. He pulled away enough to look down at her. She tilted her head up, cheeks dimpling as she grinned sheepishly.
Angel couldn't help but stare. Her dark eyes twinkled, the pain of her vision-memories simply a shadow behind golden brown. Her smile was genuine, and blindingly gorgeous. His body tightened as the atmosphere between them sizzled with possibilities. The rational part of Angel dismissed the very idea, but the part of him that was suffering from a bruised and battered ego gladly admitted there was a crackle of...something, that roiled along his nerves. For the first time since he could remember knowing her, he looked at Cordelia Chase and saw her, not as an employee or a friend, but simply as a woman.
She seemed completely oblivious to the change in the air, that is, until he leaned in to kiss her.
He moved slowly, entranced by the plump swell of her lips. They looked soft and supple even without lipstick. He heard her draw in a breath and hold it. He slid his hand down her shoulder, pulling her closer as he brushed his nose against hers. When she didn't pull away, he slid his cheek across Cordy's, trying to get her to turn, just that last little bit....
"Angel?"
"Shhh," he whispered, brushing his lips feather-light against hers. She smelled of uncertainty and arousal. Her lips held just the slightest hint of whiskey, a deep smoky intense flavor. He turned, bringing his other hand up to thread into her hair, and pull her closer.
Cordy resisted, her hands flying to his chest as she pushed him back. Instantly, he let her go though his instincts whispered for him to hold her down and let her fight. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his head as she scooted to the far end of the couch and stared at him like he'd sprouted a second head.
"What in the HELL!" She swiped at her lips, rubbing him off of her. "Are you forgetting about the curse?" she bit out. She stewed silently for a moment, then comprehension dawned, and her jaw slowly dropped. A look of pure hurt crossed her face. "Of course, that wouldn't be a problem, not with me, would it?" She let out a disgusted huff, her eyes raking over him like with a disdain she usually reserved for those she considered losers. "You know, Angelus is a bastard, but I bet you could teach him lessons...."
"Cordy, I--" Angel reached out to her, but she threw her hand up in a clear signal for him to back off. "I don't know what I was...God, I am so sorry." He scrubbed his hands through his hair, inwardly cursing himself for his stupidity. Her intuition was as always, frighteningly accurate. Leave it to Cordelia to pinpoint exactly which part of him had screwed up.
"I can't believe you would try and pull that crap with me Angel!" she snapped. "You think I want to kiss that mouth after where it's been?" Her hand shot towards his face. Thinking she might actually slap him he jerked back, surprised when her thumb ran roughly over his bottom lip. When she pulled it away there was a slight wash of pink.
She didn't say another word, just let one elegantly arched brow raise. Suddenly he wanted to kiss her anyway, to pull her to him and force her to taste Buffy on his lips, to taste the bitterness that coated his tongue...to shove his loneliness into the soft cavern of her mouth and make her eat her words. He wanted to make her tremble with want as he had, and then walk away and tell her they could only be friends, always just friends....
All he could do was stare at that greasy streak of pink lipstick as she curled her thumb out of his sight. His lips tingled. Disgusted with himself, he swiped at them with the back of his hand. "Cordelia, I'm sorry. I'll take you home, I'll leave....whatever you want."
Her expression gentled. "I'm just going to take my bowl over to the sink, okay? When I get back, I don't want you to apologize any more or act all weird. We'll just file that under male stupidity and you can brood and get drunk until I fall asleep."
She was letting him off the hook with nothing more than a stern warning. He found that he was deeply grateful. He nodded, not trusting himself to say the right thing when a simple shake of the head was enough for that easy smile of hers to appear. She ambled into the kitchen and he high-tailed it to the bathroom with as much speed as he could muster without actually appearing to break out into a run. He had the sudden urge to wash his face.
Angel had a vision of his future, and in it he saw himself buying someone a to-die-for black dress from a shop on Rodeo Drive, as well as the perfectly matched shoes, and probably a new handbag...and lunch. The thought hit him where it hurt. Cordy was right, he *was* a tightwad. He was also fixing to be broke.
He *really* needed another drink.
When he got back to the living-room, Cordy had taken his spot on the couch. Her legs were stretched out across the cushions, her message clear. Angel had worn out his welcome. She flipped on the ancient thirteen-inch TV, as he sat in an overstuffed chair and tried to pretend he didn't feel awkward as hell. He had just tried to kiss Cordelia Chase....He shivered. She had tasted so fucking good, and for a moment he had genuinely desired her.
With a self-satisfied smirk, her channel surfing halted when she found a show called Saved by the Bell. Five minutes later, Angel decided she'd make a great vampire. She had torture down to an art-form. Somehow the thought was a comforting one; Cordy trying to get under his skin was Cordy acting as close to normal as she got. Cordy getting on his nerves chased thoughts of a carnal nature right out of his brain....At least she'd taken his mind off of Buffy for a while.
Buffy.
Just fucking great. Now he couldn't get *her* out of his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose. This evening's events had left him with a headache the alcohol had yet to dull.
Halfway into the show Angel heard a faint but distinct sound. Cordelia was snoring softly, the remote precariously balanced in her loose grip. Angel had gone through his drink and fixed himself another. He wasn't as drunk as he wanted to be, but after he put Cordy to bed, he'd have the couch, TV, and alcohol all to himself.
He got up, and gently scooped Cordelia up into his arms. Her eyes opened a fraction, "What?" she asked, as her arms wrapped around his neck. He headed for his bedroom.
"I'm just taking you to bed," Angel froze in momentary panic. "I didn't mean it like..."
In her half sleeping state, Cordelia's tongue was both looser and sharper, "Like let's have pity sex because my ex-girlfriend dumped all over me and I couldn't handle it?"
"Riiight." Angel said warily. He bent easily with Cordy in his arms and pulled back the covers. He set her down but she still had a grip around his neck. She pulled him down with her. He braced himself over her. "Cordy, you have to let go."
"Hmm?" she mumbled.
He balanced himself on one arm while he pried her hands loose. She rolled underneath him, resting on her side. He smiled softly, resisting the urge to kiss her cheek in fear she'd misunderstand the gesture. Instead of getting up and claiming the couch, he rounded to the far side of the bed, and lay down on his side, head propped on his elbow.
Cordy scooted around a bit, kicked one leg out, tucked her arm under the pillow, and slipped soundly to sleep while he watched. Once more he was torn between the need to wallow in private and the instinct to protect. He desperately wanted to live up to the faith that both she and Wes had in him, but inwardly he was just waiting for his inevitable downfall.
He had let his father down, had let his sire down, had let down countless people he had failed to save as he wasted away in despair for years. Freshest of all, and most painful, he'd let Buffy down. He'd failed to be the man that she needed, so he'd left.
It awed, mystified and most of all terrified him that Cordelia and Wesley depended on him for their livelihoods. He reached out and touched Cordelia's hair, twirling a long dark lock around his finger. Cordy however, was bound to him by much more than just a paycheck. Some days that thought had him a ghostly heartbeat away from packing his bags and running as fast and as far as the nighttime would allow.
It was her face that kept him here, the image of her expressive features twisted in pain as the worst acts of both man and demon-kind were forced on to her. Cordelia *needed* him, flaws and all. It touched a chord so deep within that not even his demon reacted to her cries of pain or the occasional times she would bleed from hitting her head or biting her tongue. He didn't understand what that connection meant and still hadn't figured it out by the time he fell into a troubled sleep.
The sharp slightly tangy smell of blood and sweat woke him from his sleep. Sometime during the evening he'd closed the gap between them and now lay with his body molded along the length of Cordelia's. One arm was being used to pillow Cordy's head. His other hand followed a leisurely trail from her shoulder down her arm, grazing her hip, sliding down to find the source of her womanhood. The fact that they were both naked seemed like it should have bothered him a hell of a lot more than it did.
Her hand slid atop his, fingers intertwining as he cupped her heat. She gently tugged his hand away from temptation, settling it comfortably on her abdomen. Her fingers stroked against his in a soothing gesture. She pressed her backside against his growing erection. He rubbed her calf with his foot, squeezing her tight and burying his face in her hair.
He breathed in her scent. She smelled of the bright LA sun, sea-laden air and her favorite perfume. As wonderful as it was, it wasn't the only scent that had wakened him. He leaned up and peered at the open doorway of his bedroom. Wesley was standing there watching, his dark blue eyes soaking up the scene in front of him, missing nothing.
"Can I help you?" Angel said with a lilt of sarcasm, noting that Wesley looked as if he'd just finished a shower. His hair was damp, but he was dressed as sharply as ever in kaki slacks and a powder blue button-down shirt. He took off his glasses and began to clean them with a freshly-ironed handkerchief.
"Will you protect her?" Wes asked gravely.
"Always." Angel replied with absolute conviction.
Cordy rolled onto her back, Angel's fingers trailed across her stomach, tracing circles around her belly-button. Her skin contrasted like sunlight against his moon-pale fingertips. Her warm golden eyes met his and she smiled.
"You trust me, don't you?" Angel asked her.
Her hand cupped his cheek, thumb tracing the outline of his lower lip. "You know I do."
The bed dipped, snapping Angel's attention back to the watcher. He drew Cordy closer, guarding her jealously from prying eyes. "Go away, Wes."
Wes put his hand on Angel's shoulder, pulling him around so he could judge Angel's expression. "Do you love her?"
"I..." Angel hesitated. "No, I don't. Not like that." He looked down at the beautiful, trusting woman in his bed, "But maybe, one day...."
Wes shook his head, his face filled with sadness and regret. "If you love her, you will lose your soul."
"Don't be silly Wes." Cordy admonished.
"I'm afraid I'm not young lady, but mostly I'm just afraid." Wes answered.
Angel woke, eyes flying open, arm reflexively tightening. He heard a soft "Ooof," as he squeezed the breath out of his bedmate. He became acutely cognizant of the fact that his waking position mirrored his dream one. The part of his brain that was still half asleep mourned the fact that in the real world, clothes separated his skin from Cordy's. The other part of his brain that was fully conscious was just thankful he hadn't woken up hard. There was no way Cordy wouldn't have noticed.
Cordy gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Afternoon, sleepyhead."
"You're awake."
"I am now," she groused.
He rested his chin on her shoulder. His body was warm with borrowed heat, a rare comfort. Her fingers stroked in and out of his own, bringing his dream and Wes' warning back in vivid detail. "Sorry," he mumbled, fighting the urge to rub his cheek in her hair.
The weight of his curse settled over his soul. This, whatever it was --mutual comfort, maybe-- was nice. Once they got up, by unspoken understanding, they would pretend as if it had never happened. Neither of them could afford to pay the price of getting too close, not when he was just beginning to realize how precious their friendship was to him. "How's your head?"
"Better thanks. So....did you get so drunk last night that you forgot where you put me?"
"More like I forgot where I put me." He chuckled, giving her a good-natured squeeze, "Besides, you're kind of cuddly for a human."
She chuffed, "You're not going all weird again are you?"
"No weirder than normal."
"Okay." She adjusted her position, sliding her cheek over his bicep until she was comfy. "I guess you should take me home soon, then you can have the whole rest of the day to brood." She tried to pull her hand away but he tightened his grip.
Angel wanted to preserve this reality for as long as possible. "There's no hurry." As Cordy relaxed, snuggling deeper into the shelter of his arms, Angel shut his eyes and willed the outside world to stay away.
Author: Psychofilly
Rating: PG-13
Category: Light Humor, Angst, ATS season 1
Content: B/A, C/A/W friendship
Summary: This is the second of some short fics based on the premise that Buffy and Angel try and keep a connection after Angel comes to LA, but the purpose of the stories as they are written is to illustrate the change in *Angel* and the C/A dynamic over a period of time.
Spoilers: Set after Eternity-Sanctuary arcs.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: NF anyone else ask unless you already have my permission.
Angel knew Buffy had heard him. He had seen her shoulders tense before closing the door on him...on them. Now he stood on the stoop in front of her father's house waging a private war with himself. He wanted to batter in that door and hunt Buffy down. He just had two distinct rationales for doing so. Half of him wanted to find her room, sweep her into his arms and bind her to him through the pleasures of the flesh. The other half wanted what it always had: the taste of Slayer's blood on it's tongue as it ripped out her throat.
Instead of doing either he turned his back on the door and walked stiffly back to his car. He made it three blocks before he slammed on his breaks and hit the Plymouth's dashboard. The old car absorbed the force of his blow, but he just as quickly realized that it wasn't the car that he wanted to hurt. He shifted into gear and went on the prowl.
Ten minutes later he found what he was looking for. He eased the car off the road and slipped into the dark alleyway between an old Laundromat and an adult video store. Neon lights painted the mouth of the alley in a wash of red. Beyond that was moonlight and shadow. The lone vampire feeding on a diseased hooker never stood a chance.
Angel slipped from shadow to shadow, letting the darkness envelop him like the embrace of an old friend. Sharp eyes measured the situation and a sharper mind decided on a course of attack. He wanted to pound something until it bled and whimpered. He sprang into action, barreling into the much smaller vampire. He didn't bother with a stake or a sword.
His first punch broke the thing's nose, not too big of a deal for a vampire. His second punch connected to its cheek and there was a satisfying crunch under his knuckles as he felt the bones give way. He never even checked to see if the hooker was all right. He just hit the vampire until his own knuckles were split and bleeding and the screams and whimpers that had been music to his ears faded to silence. He dropped the vampire, nudging him with his boot. He scanned the alley, noting that the hooker was gone.
Maybe this had been her wake-up call? He doubted it. If anything she was probably looking to score at this very moment. He considered the bloody heap-o-vampire at his feet. He decided to leave him be. If the vampire couldn't get up in a few hours, the sun would do his dirty work.
He checked his watch, grimacing when he noticed his hand. He checked his clothes for blood. Other than a few small spatters he was good, and he could blame the split knuckles on the demons at the park. Ass suitably covered, he headed to get Cordy her ice cream.
Angel stopped at his second convenience store in one night. It was a record of sorts. He loathed the store-fronts of cinderblock and shatter-resistant glass that hogged seemingly every street-corner in the United States. The run down store front of the little shop he stopped at was anything but cheery. In fact, Cordy would probably be pissed if she knew he had gotten her something here. She may have changed for the good, but she was still a snob.
Angel noticed the liquor store right next door when he had pulled in. He planned to get drunk and pull an alcohol fueled fuzzy blanket over tonight's memories. He bought two quarts of Irish whiskey and stashed them in his car before running in to the dingy little store for ice-cream.
The evening's events hit him like a fist to the gut while he was waiting in line to pay. While Angel was grateful that he had a purpose and friends to share it with, without love his entire existence rang hollow. Angel didn't know what he had been thinking tonight, or what he was going to do now, or worse yet, how he was going to fill the eternal stretch of lonely nights before him.
He needed to know that he wasn't fighting in vain. He needed to believe that he wasn't just a cog in some cosmic machine. Was his destiny to be worked until he was world-worn and broken, only to be cast aside when a newer better model came along? He hated the certainty that his days would bleed together one after another while the people he held dear slipped like fine sand through his fingers.
Angel threw the money down and stalked out of the store, not even bothering with his change. Most of all, he hated the fact that his body still hummed with borrowed life at the memory of Buffy's touch. His lips burned from her kisses and his groin ached with unfulfilled need. Even if she had let him do as he'd wanted, he would still have had to deny himself the pleasure of release....
He fucking hated Gypsies.
Angel hurried home. He slipped quietly through the dark offices, opting to use the stairs down to his apartment. As he rounded the corner, the site of Wesley and Cordelia on the couch brought him up short. He stood for a long moment, bags in hand, watching as his friends slept unaware. Easy prey.
Cordelia was curled into a tight little ball and tucked safely into the crook of Wesley's arm. Wes slept with the TV remote in hand, glasses askew, a tiny frown drawn across his brow. His temple rested on the crown of Cordy's head. They were almost picture-perfect except, unguarded in slumber, Cordy's expressive face betrayed her. There was a rumpled and soggy Kleenex in her hand. Crying made her face softer, rounder...the fullness giving her a childish beauty that was usually buried under sharp features. Not that Cordelia Chase was ever anything less than stunning, but seeing her with no makeup, face drawn with pain, made her beauty more real somehow.
Angel took his packages to the kitchen, putting up the groceries with as little noise as possible. He poured a glass of blood, drinking it down in the kitchen as was his habit. He rinsed his glass and headed towards his bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He stripped down to his undershirt, threw his soiled garment in the hamper and kicked off his shoes. Deciding he'd shower later he padded softly to the couch, gently nudging Wes' arm in attempt to rouse him.
Wesley jerked away from his touch, his glasses flying off his face as his head whipped around.
Angel held up his hands. "Whoa Wes, it's just me."
Cordy opened one eye to glare at Angel. "Well, I *was* having sweet dreams," she groused.
Angel tried to muster a smile and found that he couldn't. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got kicked in the head. You?" She pushed herself up and away from Wes' protective embrace. When he didn't answer her, she gave him a sharp eyed once over. "Let me guess; you got your heart kicked around by everyone's favorite slayer."
Angel silently met her frank stare. Whatever she could read in his eyes seemed to be answer enough. She scowled slightly but didn't press. Angel was feeling the need to fix what promised to be the first of many drinks. "I got you some ice-cream," he called over his shoulder as he returned to the kitchen. "Would you like me to fix you some?" He glanced back, catching the evil look Cordy was shooting Wesley.
"You called him didn't you?" she accused.
Wesley gathered his coat and a few books, setting them on the stairs. "I thought you could use a little pick-me-up after tonight's vision." He straightened, stretching the kinks out of his back. His features softened into a look of brotherly affection. "From your description, it sounded particularly distressing."
"So you think fattening me up is going to help?" she retorted, as she drifted across the living room to where Wes was standing. "I swear, between the two of you, I'm going to end up the size of a barn." She turned to Angel, "What kind did you get?" She waved him off before he could reply, "Never-mind, just fix me a bowl."
Angel nodded and reached for a mid-sized bowl, plucking it from its perch on the shelf. The sound of a throat clearing stopped him mid-motion. He looked back over his shoulder. Cordy made a circle with her thumbs and forefingers....a wide circle. With a slight shrug, Angel set the bowl down and picked up a much bigger one. She gave him the thumbs up, her attention shifting back to Wes.
"You were *so* my word puzzle bitch, tonight." Cordelia teased as Wes slipped on his jacket.
Wes' shoulders sagged in defeat. "I never would have imagined your vocabulary could extend beyond money, fashion, jewelry, and the latest 'it' person in Hollywood," he mused good-naturedly.
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Contrary to popular belief, cheerleaders can and do read. So, you really gonna go?"
Wesley nodded. "I have an early meeting tomorrow. I may have found a better apartment."
Cordelia wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders. "G'luck," she mumbled, head tucked into the crook of his neck. "And thanks for staying with me."
Wesley hugged her back without any of the stiffness or hesitation that he usually showed then dropped a light kiss on her temple. "Anytime."
Angel ambled up behind them, ice cream in one hand, whiskey in the other. Wes' dark blue eyes locked with his. A silent understanding flowed between them. Wes gave the barest of nods, trusting that Angel would protect Cordelia from the demons without, and the demons within.
Angel thought they both trusted him a little too much.
Cordy let Wesley go. As she turned her face lit up at the sight of the huge bowl of ice cream. "Gimme," she snatched both the bowl and the whiskey out of his hands.
"Cor...." he tried to warn, but she took a big swallow before he could stop her.
She made a face and coughed, almost dropping her bowl. She set the bowl down on the coffee-table, took another big swallow of Angel's drink and sputtered, "Geeze Angel! No wonder you're so well preserved. How much alcohol is in this?"
Angel snatched the glass, downing the rest. "Your under twenty-one." He grimaced as the alcohol burned down his throat. "You have ice-cream, stay out of my liquor."
"Piss-eee," she huffed as she flopped down on the couch. "Someone had a bad night."
"Cordelia." His tone was warning enough. She picked up her bowl and began to eat as he stalked back to the kitchen and fixed himself another drink. After a moment's hesitation, he grabbed the bottle and brought it with him to the living room. He sat down next to Cordelia on the love seat, noting that Cordy was attacking her ice-cream with gusto. He'd hear her whine about it later, but the site of her eyes rolling back in her head as she savored a particularly huge bite eased a the ache in his heart a little.
He really ought to take Cordelia home but he was torn between the need for privacy and the need to watch over her. Seeing Cordy's face tonight as she slept in Wesley's arms had affected him. Whatever she felt, it had to have been horrible for her to allow herself to be held. It only added to the turmoil in his head caused by Buffy, but he couldn't help thinking that it should have been him that she turned to and not Wes.
"So, you gonna drive me home after this?"
Angel snapped out of his reverie to find her looking at him expectantly. "Do you want to go?" he asked, while wondering if she had read his thoughts.
Her focus drifted to a point just over his shoulder. "I know you'd rather be alone." She jabbed her spoon into her ice cream, pulling it free only to stab it again.
"That's not what I asked," he replied. "Do you want to go home?"
Her voice was so small, he almost didn't catch her answer. "Not really."
"Cordelia, are you all right?" He had never seen the effects of a vision linger for so long. It had him genuinely worried.
"I just don't want to be alone with my head right now," she mumbled.
Cordy scooped up a large spoonful of ice cream and ate it. Her eyes cut to his then quickly away. He was still staring, and she was getting visibly uncomfortable. He took a sip of his whiskey, she ate another bite. They continued eating and drinking in thick silence until she slid the bowl onto the coffee-table. She leaned back against the couch, hands drumming absently on her belly. Finally, her head rolled and she looked at him.
Angel set his drink down and slid around until he was facing her, one arm resting across the back of the couch. He waited, and tried not to let his mind drift back to his evening with Buffy. Focusing on Cordelia meant keeping his mind off of the feel of Buffy in his lap, her hands locked around his neck before she pushed him away, her lips moving urgently against his....
"It's just, they were kids," Cordy began, once again dragging Angel back to the present. "The headache is gone, but...I keep flashing on what they did to those girls, how much it hurt." She swallowed, unable to continue. Her eyes were the color of his whiskey, a deep amber-brown that glittered with unshed tears. Her hands were clenched, her whole body tense.
Angel surreptitiously sniffed the air. There was something...not arousal, but the sharp hint of anxiety that made his nose twitch with predatory anticipation. He pushed it down. "Cor, it didn't happen. Buffy and I sat on a park bench and watched those children play until their parents came to take them home."
She smiled and sniffed. "Really?" A couple of tears spilled from her eyes to make their way down her cheek.
He reached up and brushed his thumb across her cheek. He rubbed the moisture onto his pants, resisting the urge to suck his thumb into his mouth and taste her sadness. He shouldn't have allowed himself the gesture. Aside from the occasional hug, he kept a distance, for her protection as well as his.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or the dawning realization that he didn't *like* to see Cordelia in pain, but his other hand slid from its perch on the couch to smooth her hair away from her face. He smiled for her, not because he wanted to, but because she needed him to. "Really. We killed all the demons and then waited to make sure that nothing would happen to the children. They're all safe, probably tucked into their beds sound asleep, dreaming of...." he scowled. "Whatever little kids dream about."
She chuckled. "It's official, you *really* never did have a childhood, did you?"
"Not one that you'd understand," he answered dryly. "Ireland in the seventeen-hundreds...."
"Was very different and very boring. Any time that pre-dates the mall is the ninth circle of hell as far as I'm concerned."
"It wasn't that bad!" he defended, giving her his best wounded expression. He leaned forward and poured himself another drink. He sat back, unconsciously drawing a fraction closer to Cordelia. She snagged his glass and stole another sip, her face contorting as she swallowed.
"You know, I ate dinner out of that," he confided, hoping to discourage her from stealing any more of his liquor.
She just shrugged. "Whatever, as long as you rinsed it out really good." She gave him her patented squinty-stinkeye. "You did, didn't you?" She handed him the glass, sounding more confident than she looked. "What am I saying, of course you did. You are the original anal retentive--"
Angel clamped his hand over her mouth. "Careful now, I'm the anal retentive *what* that signs your paychecks?" He slowly removed his hand.
She bit her bottom lip. "Ummm...the sweetest, manliest, hunk of a vampire in LA?" She shamelessly batted her eyelashes at him, clasping her hands under her chin as she continued in a theatrical voice. "Who just loves his witty and stylish secretary-slash-seer so much that he's going to tell her any second now that he's giving her a raise so that she can get this to-die-for dress she saw on Rodeo Drive...."
Angel gave her his blank face. Her act was ineffectual, if endearing, and he knew from experience, playing dumb was the quickest way to get her to shut up.
Sensing defeat, she heaved a dramatic sigh and smacked him in the gut. Unfortunately it was at the exact same time he decided to take a drink. He was quite lucky that he didn't have to breathe as the amber fluid flooded his lungs, making him sputter and try to cough it up.
Cordelia curled into a ball, rolling from side to side on her end of the couch, laughing that full-on uninhibited laugh of hers. She pointed at his red face and bulging eyes then erupted into another gale of laughter, clutching her sides in an attempt to calm down.
Angel glared at the young woman beside him then couldn't help but chuckle. "See if I give you that raise now," he said, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.
"Ha!" she scoffed. "Like you ever were, you big tight-wad." She nudged him in the side with her big toe. Evidently the alcohol had blurred some of her boundaries as well. "So what's the plan, Boss? We hang out and try to pretend neither one of us had a sucky night?"
"Sounds good to me," he agreed amicably. The alcohol was spreading sluggishly through his system, giving him a false sense of warmth. Cordy's laughter made the darkness invading his heart retreat a fraction. Her presence was comforting, unlike the last two times he'd been on this couch with a woman. Rebecca Lowell had drugged him, releasing his demon, and Buffy had writhed under his hands as he tasted her and pleasured her with his mouth.
The act with Buffy had been hollow, as had Rebecca's interest in him. Cordelia was a friend, someone with whom he shared a connection, however unlikely. She didn't have expectations of him other than to take care of her visions.
Her slit denim skirt fell open slightly, teasing him with an unexpected expanse of toned and tanned thigh. She was also very beautiful....
She sat up. Instead of moving away, she slouched over, resting her head on his shoulder. She shut her eyes and sighed. Angel lay his temple against her head, almost exactly as he'd seen Wes earlier...only Wes had his arm around her. It was a bad idea, but he did it anyway, shifting, pulling her into the crook of his arm until she was nestled against his side. He felt her stiffen but didn't say anything, didn't look at her to check for a reaction. He would have smelled it if he was making her nervous. He lay his head back on hers, smiling to himself as he felt her relax once more.
Angel's mind drifted to his evening with Buffy. He'd made a monumentally stupid move, but whenever he was close to her all he could think of was getting closer. It made him reckless and needy, jealous and out of sorts. He was beginning to doubt that even sex, under such circumstances, would have triggered his curse. He was simply too desperate to prove to them both that no man would be better for her than him. In short he had been a selfish bastard.
He let his own body relax, the day's tension leeching out of his cold skin as Cordy's warm presence lulled his muscles into something close to contentment. He felt her breathing even out, then she sucked in a breath and yawned, her jaw cracking. He pulled away enough to look down at her. She tilted her head up, cheeks dimpling as she grinned sheepishly.
Angel couldn't help but stare. Her dark eyes twinkled, the pain of her vision-memories simply a shadow behind golden brown. Her smile was genuine, and blindingly gorgeous. His body tightened as the atmosphere between them sizzled with possibilities. The rational part of Angel dismissed the very idea, but the part of him that was suffering from a bruised and battered ego gladly admitted there was a crackle of...something, that roiled along his nerves. For the first time since he could remember knowing her, he looked at Cordelia Chase and saw her, not as an employee or a friend, but simply as a woman.
She seemed completely oblivious to the change in the air, that is, until he leaned in to kiss her.
He moved slowly, entranced by the plump swell of her lips. They looked soft and supple even without lipstick. He heard her draw in a breath and hold it. He slid his hand down her shoulder, pulling her closer as he brushed his nose against hers. When she didn't pull away, he slid his cheek across Cordy's, trying to get her to turn, just that last little bit....
"Angel?"
"Shhh," he whispered, brushing his lips feather-light against hers. She smelled of uncertainty and arousal. Her lips held just the slightest hint of whiskey, a deep smoky intense flavor. He turned, bringing his other hand up to thread into her hair, and pull her closer.
Cordy resisted, her hands flying to his chest as she pushed him back. Instantly, he let her go though his instincts whispered for him to hold her down and let her fight. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his head as she scooted to the far end of the couch and stared at him like he'd sprouted a second head.
"What in the HELL!" She swiped at her lips, rubbing him off of her. "Are you forgetting about the curse?" she bit out. She stewed silently for a moment, then comprehension dawned, and her jaw slowly dropped. A look of pure hurt crossed her face. "Of course, that wouldn't be a problem, not with me, would it?" She let out a disgusted huff, her eyes raking over him like with a disdain she usually reserved for those she considered losers. "You know, Angelus is a bastard, but I bet you could teach him lessons...."
"Cordy, I--" Angel reached out to her, but she threw her hand up in a clear signal for him to back off. "I don't know what I was...God, I am so sorry." He scrubbed his hands through his hair, inwardly cursing himself for his stupidity. Her intuition was as always, frighteningly accurate. Leave it to Cordelia to pinpoint exactly which part of him had screwed up.
"I can't believe you would try and pull that crap with me Angel!" she snapped. "You think I want to kiss that mouth after where it's been?" Her hand shot towards his face. Thinking she might actually slap him he jerked back, surprised when her thumb ran roughly over his bottom lip. When she pulled it away there was a slight wash of pink.
She didn't say another word, just let one elegantly arched brow raise. Suddenly he wanted to kiss her anyway, to pull her to him and force her to taste Buffy on his lips, to taste the bitterness that coated his tongue...to shove his loneliness into the soft cavern of her mouth and make her eat her words. He wanted to make her tremble with want as he had, and then walk away and tell her they could only be friends, always just friends....
All he could do was stare at that greasy streak of pink lipstick as she curled her thumb out of his sight. His lips tingled. Disgusted with himself, he swiped at them with the back of his hand. "Cordelia, I'm sorry. I'll take you home, I'll leave....whatever you want."
Her expression gentled. "I'm just going to take my bowl over to the sink, okay? When I get back, I don't want you to apologize any more or act all weird. We'll just file that under male stupidity and you can brood and get drunk until I fall asleep."
She was letting him off the hook with nothing more than a stern warning. He found that he was deeply grateful. He nodded, not trusting himself to say the right thing when a simple shake of the head was enough for that easy smile of hers to appear. She ambled into the kitchen and he high-tailed it to the bathroom with as much speed as he could muster without actually appearing to break out into a run. He had the sudden urge to wash his face.
Angel had a vision of his future, and in it he saw himself buying someone a to-die-for black dress from a shop on Rodeo Drive, as well as the perfectly matched shoes, and probably a new handbag...and lunch. The thought hit him where it hurt. Cordy was right, he *was* a tightwad. He was also fixing to be broke.
He *really* needed another drink.
When he got back to the living-room, Cordy had taken his spot on the couch. Her legs were stretched out across the cushions, her message clear. Angel had worn out his welcome. She flipped on the ancient thirteen-inch TV, as he sat in an overstuffed chair and tried to pretend he didn't feel awkward as hell. He had just tried to kiss Cordelia Chase....He shivered. She had tasted so fucking good, and for a moment he had genuinely desired her.
With a self-satisfied smirk, her channel surfing halted when she found a show called Saved by the Bell. Five minutes later, Angel decided she'd make a great vampire. She had torture down to an art-form. Somehow the thought was a comforting one; Cordy trying to get under his skin was Cordy acting as close to normal as she got. Cordy getting on his nerves chased thoughts of a carnal nature right out of his brain....At least she'd taken his mind off of Buffy for a while.
Buffy.
Just fucking great. Now he couldn't get *her* out of his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose. This evening's events had left him with a headache the alcohol had yet to dull.
Halfway into the show Angel heard a faint but distinct sound. Cordelia was snoring softly, the remote precariously balanced in her loose grip. Angel had gone through his drink and fixed himself another. He wasn't as drunk as he wanted to be, but after he put Cordy to bed, he'd have the couch, TV, and alcohol all to himself.
He got up, and gently scooped Cordelia up into his arms. Her eyes opened a fraction, "What?" she asked, as her arms wrapped around his neck. He headed for his bedroom.
"I'm just taking you to bed," Angel froze in momentary panic. "I didn't mean it like..."
In her half sleeping state, Cordelia's tongue was both looser and sharper, "Like let's have pity sex because my ex-girlfriend dumped all over me and I couldn't handle it?"
"Riiight." Angel said warily. He bent easily with Cordy in his arms and pulled back the covers. He set her down but she still had a grip around his neck. She pulled him down with her. He braced himself over her. "Cordy, you have to let go."
"Hmm?" she mumbled.
He balanced himself on one arm while he pried her hands loose. She rolled underneath him, resting on her side. He smiled softly, resisting the urge to kiss her cheek in fear she'd misunderstand the gesture. Instead of getting up and claiming the couch, he rounded to the far side of the bed, and lay down on his side, head propped on his elbow.
Cordy scooted around a bit, kicked one leg out, tucked her arm under the pillow, and slipped soundly to sleep while he watched. Once more he was torn between the need to wallow in private and the instinct to protect. He desperately wanted to live up to the faith that both she and Wes had in him, but inwardly he was just waiting for his inevitable downfall.
He had let his father down, had let his sire down, had let down countless people he had failed to save as he wasted away in despair for years. Freshest of all, and most painful, he'd let Buffy down. He'd failed to be the man that she needed, so he'd left.
It awed, mystified and most of all terrified him that Cordelia and Wesley depended on him for their livelihoods. He reached out and touched Cordelia's hair, twirling a long dark lock around his finger. Cordy however, was bound to him by much more than just a paycheck. Some days that thought had him a ghostly heartbeat away from packing his bags and running as fast and as far as the nighttime would allow.
It was her face that kept him here, the image of her expressive features twisted in pain as the worst acts of both man and demon-kind were forced on to her. Cordelia *needed* him, flaws and all. It touched a chord so deep within that not even his demon reacted to her cries of pain or the occasional times she would bleed from hitting her head or biting her tongue. He didn't understand what that connection meant and still hadn't figured it out by the time he fell into a troubled sleep.
The sharp slightly tangy smell of blood and sweat woke him from his sleep. Sometime during the evening he'd closed the gap between them and now lay with his body molded along the length of Cordelia's. One arm was being used to pillow Cordy's head. His other hand followed a leisurely trail from her shoulder down her arm, grazing her hip, sliding down to find the source of her womanhood. The fact that they were both naked seemed like it should have bothered him a hell of a lot more than it did.
Her hand slid atop his, fingers intertwining as he cupped her heat. She gently tugged his hand away from temptation, settling it comfortably on her abdomen. Her fingers stroked against his in a soothing gesture. She pressed her backside against his growing erection. He rubbed her calf with his foot, squeezing her tight and burying his face in her hair.
He breathed in her scent. She smelled of the bright LA sun, sea-laden air and her favorite perfume. As wonderful as it was, it wasn't the only scent that had wakened him. He leaned up and peered at the open doorway of his bedroom. Wesley was standing there watching, his dark blue eyes soaking up the scene in front of him, missing nothing.
"Can I help you?" Angel said with a lilt of sarcasm, noting that Wesley looked as if he'd just finished a shower. His hair was damp, but he was dressed as sharply as ever in kaki slacks and a powder blue button-down shirt. He took off his glasses and began to clean them with a freshly-ironed handkerchief.
"Will you protect her?" Wes asked gravely.
"Always." Angel replied with absolute conviction.
Cordy rolled onto her back, Angel's fingers trailed across her stomach, tracing circles around her belly-button. Her skin contrasted like sunlight against his moon-pale fingertips. Her warm golden eyes met his and she smiled.
"You trust me, don't you?" Angel asked her.
Her hand cupped his cheek, thumb tracing the outline of his lower lip. "You know I do."
The bed dipped, snapping Angel's attention back to the watcher. He drew Cordy closer, guarding her jealously from prying eyes. "Go away, Wes."
Wes put his hand on Angel's shoulder, pulling him around so he could judge Angel's expression. "Do you love her?"
"I..." Angel hesitated. "No, I don't. Not like that." He looked down at the beautiful, trusting woman in his bed, "But maybe, one day...."
Wes shook his head, his face filled with sadness and regret. "If you love her, you will lose your soul."
"Don't be silly Wes." Cordy admonished.
"I'm afraid I'm not young lady, but mostly I'm just afraid." Wes answered.
Angel woke, eyes flying open, arm reflexively tightening. He heard a soft "Ooof," as he squeezed the breath out of his bedmate. He became acutely cognizant of the fact that his waking position mirrored his dream one. The part of his brain that was still half asleep mourned the fact that in the real world, clothes separated his skin from Cordy's. The other part of his brain that was fully conscious was just thankful he hadn't woken up hard. There was no way Cordy wouldn't have noticed.
Cordy gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Afternoon, sleepyhead."
"You're awake."
"I am now," she groused.
He rested his chin on her shoulder. His body was warm with borrowed heat, a rare comfort. Her fingers stroked in and out of his own, bringing his dream and Wes' warning back in vivid detail. "Sorry," he mumbled, fighting the urge to rub his cheek in her hair.
The weight of his curse settled over his soul. This, whatever it was --mutual comfort, maybe-- was nice. Once they got up, by unspoken understanding, they would pretend as if it had never happened. Neither of them could afford to pay the price of getting too close, not when he was just beginning to realize how precious their friendship was to him. "How's your head?"
"Better thanks. So....did you get so drunk last night that you forgot where you put me?"
"More like I forgot where I put me." He chuckled, giving her a good-natured squeeze, "Besides, you're kind of cuddly for a human."
She chuffed, "You're not going all weird again are you?"
"No weirder than normal."
"Okay." She adjusted her position, sliding her cheek over his bicep until she was comfy. "I guess you should take me home soon, then you can have the whole rest of the day to brood." She tried to pull her hand away but he tightened his grip.
Angel wanted to preserve this reality for as long as possible. "There's no hurry." As Cordy relaxed, snuggling deeper into the shelter of his arms, Angel shut his eyes and willed the outside world to stay away.