FIC: "Cowboy Up!" B/A, NC-17 for ba4ever
I have owed Karla this story for a looooong time. Karla and I are both super busy with school right now, so I haven't talked to her hardly at all lately, and apparently I am showing my PANGS for her through fanfiction, because I finally finished her damn fic. I hope you LUB it, sweetie!
TITLE: Cowboy Up!
AUTHOR: Lamia Archer
RATING: NC-17. I know, I’m shocked, too.
FANDOM: BtVS/AtS
PAIRING: Buffy/Angel
WORD COUNT: 3,592
SUMMARY: Turnabout is fair play.
SPOILERS: Ambiguous future after Angel shanshus; a sequel to Hot Sex.
DEDICATION: For Karla-with-a-K. She makes me do these things, against my better judgment.
NOTES: SEXY STUF - spelled just like that, I swear! - is a real store about an hour from where I live; a few of my girlfriends and I stopped in there on the way to The Smoky Mountain Deer Farm & Exotic Petting Zoo - shut up, we’re adults; it’s awesome! Don’t knock it ’til you’ve been! - and it is just as hilarious as you would imagine a porn peddler who wouldn’t deem fit to put two f’s in “stuff” would be. Look, they even have a web page!
“Do you need some help in there?”
Buffy could hear her husband’s growl through the bathroom door separating them. She rolled her eyes.
“I’ll take that as a no,” she sighed, collapsing heavily onto their bed. Since she was wearing a baby pink silk teddy, her collapsing actually created quite a lovely scene; if Angel wasn’t being such a big baby, he could be enjoying it. “Come on, you’re taking forever!”
To be fair, Buffy was not the world’s most patient woman, and she had, in fact, very often subjected Angel to just this sort of waiting game, but she ignored both these facts at the moment. She’d been waiting a Long. Time. and she was getting bored, and she suspected the cause might be Angel’s pride and not any wardrobe malfunction.
“What’s the problem?” she whined. “Are you not feeling sexy?”
“Buffy-” Angel began, his tone highly dangerous.
“I’m not kidding!” Buffy soothed. “Would it help if I told you how attractive I find you, that my big, strong, brave man is the only soul walking the earth that does it for me, that the thought of what you’re in there doing has me so, so hot-that I’m so wet already I may start without you so you better hurry it up if you want a piece of my glorious, golden-”
Angel opened the door.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, young lady,” he murmured, eyeing her with a fairly noticeable sheen of lust lighting his eyes.
Buffy immediately broke into a grin upon seeing him, scrambling to her feet and prancing to greet him.
“You look wonderful.”
He frowned. “You tricked me.”
She beamed. “I so did. But don’t worry; you’re going to get your treat.” Her grin widened as her mind caught on something. “Ooh, Angel . . . I’ve been naughty, tricking you like that. Are you’re a sheriff, do you come with handcuffs? You could tie me up!”
Angel motioned briefly down to the very little he was wearing. He had on - thanks to Buffy’s giddy insistence and a trip to SEXY STUF, the local one-stop smut shop - a black Speedo, black vinyl chaps, and a matching vest that covered nothing but was adorned with a festive tin star to complete the ensemble. He had a flimsy plastic holster with a tiny, shiny toy pistol slung around his hips, but that didn’t do anything but call attention to his barely covered assets. All in all, the most cover was given by his black Stetson, which shaded his eyes some.
“Do you see anywhere I could hide handcuffs?” he asked, then blinked, a bit stunned. “I can tie you up? We’ll-we’ll improvise.”
Buffy flounced to her vanity and whisked a flowy, filmy red scarf from where it was dangling decoratively about the mirrorstand.
She returned to Angel and handed the scarf to him.
“It kind of goes with your outfit! Anything goes with black! But shouldn’t you at least have that rope circle thingie-”
“A lasso?” Angel asked. He dropped the scarf absently to the bed - his eyes and his attention were fixed on his lovely wife - where it pooled quietly to a drop of scarlet against the dark comforter.
“Yeah, that.” She rolled her eyes at his nonchalant correction. “Like you’re some expert on the Old West-”
“I was actually alive back then, you know-” The look on Buffy’s face suggested that she did not know- “Although I was in Europe at the time. And evil. Sorry, sweetie, the costume did not come with a lasso. However, it does include a pistol.”
He slid the small toy weapon out of its holster and trained it on Buffy’s heart. She plumped her lips into an attractive pout.
“You wouldn’t shoot me . . .”
Angel’s mouth curled into a shark smile. She was cute when she pouted. “Never said I was a white hat, darling.” The smile disappeared altogether. “Strip. Now.”
Buffy’s jaw dropped for a moment in indignant disbelief before Angel used his thumb to pull back the hammer and she got her gorgeous, golden ass in gear.
Angel loved pre-show - all of it, from banter to candlelit dinners to kissing; God, the man loved to kiss - so Buffy knew she had plenty of time . . . in fact, the more time she took, the better. So she took the scenic route following Angel’s command, very much aware of her husband’s eyes on her - she was watching him, to begin with, and as things progressed, she could hear his breaths shortening - and growing drunker and drunker off the rush. She began by slipping the thin straps of her baby pink silk teddy off her shoulders. The straps caught further down on her arms, and the lingerie was fitted enough that it only fell from her breasts enough to make Angel insane. Properly, she should have just slipped the garment off over her head one, two, three, but if she wriggled and danced just right, she could get it to pool around her feet without touching it, and torture her husband. So that’s what she did. First, she pulled her arms through the straps, and then she performed a subtle, exotic snake charmer’s dance to get gravity to undress her. As she undulated slowly, rolling her hips and shoulders - Angel’s breath growing more and more labored; it was getting hard for Buffy not to giggle - the decadent silk tickled down her breasts and tummy, off her swaying hips and thighs, past her dancing feet, and to the floor, leaving her clad in nothing except a white lace thong. Since Angel was, by the sound of things, in need of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation by this point, Buffy decided to see if she could drive him to a proper heart attack by bending over as far as was conceivably necessary to remove her knickers, which provided an excellent view of her now bare breasts. Rising from this position, now completely nude as she’d tossed her panties aside like a girl you’d hire to jump out of a cake, Buffy ran her hands sensually up the lengths of her legs and, as a topper, tossed her hair back like Rita Hayworth - which, beyond the immediate feisty sex kitten milieu, proved to send her bare breasts bouncing quite attractively.
Angel stared at her speechlessly for almost a full thirty seconds before he remembered that he was supposed to be ordering her around.
“Lie facedown on the bed,” he commanded, velvet voice belying how fast his heart was pumping just from her little performance, just from looking at her gorgeous body.
Buffy turned away from Angel and planted her hands in the plushness of the bed - imagining with a grin what Angel’s face must look like now that he was being treated with an excellent view of her well-sculpted hindquarters - and then crawled to her belly. The comforter was soft and cool against her bare flesh, and it smelled soothing and familiar: their detergent, her perfume, and Angel’s warm scent, leather and metal. She closed her eyes for a moment and just indulged in the sensation of the blanket against her skin and the comforting smells enveloping her. She wasn’t sure what Angel was going to do-she was excited, of course, but a little nervous, and it was nice, just for a minute, to have this reminder of ground state.
Angel seemed to understand what she was doing - because he was somehow psychic when it came to her; he always knew what she needed as well or better than she did - because it was a long moment before she felt him moving over her, a long moment before she felt his big hands close around her little wrists. Gently, he pulled her arms from her sides to the small of her back and began to wind the scarf around them. A little flutter of anxiety spiked in Buffy’s stomach. She trusted Angel - more than she had ever trusted anybody - but she had difficulty giving up control. Even to him. But she . . . she wanted to, in a weird way. Found it a little sexy, the thought of it, letting him take over completely. Still, she’d never been tied up during sex, and she was nervous.
“Angel,” she said uneasily.
“I’ll go slow,” he said seamlessly, like he was finishing her sentence for her.
Buffy swallowed thickly. “Should we . . . do we need a . . . like a safe word?”
Behind her, Angel laughed. “No, sweetheart. If you want me to untie you, say, ‘Angel, please untie me,’ or something to that effect.”
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. He’d finished tying her hands ages ago; Buffy pulled experimentally at the knot. She wasn’t bound tightly, but he’d redoubled the scarf so that she wouldn’t be able to jerk free. She looked over her shoulder; he was watching her struggle. She blushed.
“You all right?” he asked kindly.
She turned her face quickly back to the comforter.
“Yes,” she mumbled, slightly horrified that he’d seen her weak . . . and also that she’d felt a sudden hot rush to her nether regions when she’d realized he was watching her. He was completely in control . . . and she didn’t totally hate it. Or at least her body didn’t.
She blushed furiously, but her face was buried in the comforter so at least Angel couldn’t see it.
Angel brushed her hair off her neck-Buffy was briefly terrified that he was trying to see her face, to see how red it was, but he was only trying to kiss her. He pressed a gentle kiss to the joint of her neck and didn’t say anything about her flush or anything else, and then moved quietly to the edge of the bed.
Buffy felt Angel’s hands on her bottom, his palms resting there, his fingers tracing the contour. Her breath caught a few times as he continued this same quiet, testing touching down her legs: fingers just wandering along the top of her skin, palms cupping the muscles. Finally, she felt his hands between her legs, encouraging them apart; she complied willingly, spreading eagerly for him.
“Good girl,” he murmured, and patted her bottom.
It was weird to not be able to see him at all. Buffy sometimes closed her eyes during sex, and Angel had blindfolded her a couple of times, but it was rare, and it was rarely right from the beginning. And what was weirdest was she couldn’t see him, but she still knew exactly how he looked doing all of these things: his expressions, the way he’d hold his head, his hands. And to not be able to touch him . . . that was almost painful, and she had to remind herself it was a game, a tease, and when it was over she could tie him down and do whatever she wanted to him, if that’s what she needed to do to rid herself of the tickle.
Buffy felt Angel’s fingers brush her raw sex, and then she wasn’t able to think about these things anymore. She mewled softly, arching into the mattress.
“You’re very wet for not liking this game, baby,” Angel said.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She seemed to have no breath. She paused. “Am I allowed to talk?”
Angel responded in a voice that easily let her know he was smiling. “Of course. And don’t apologize. I was just teasing.”
The first two fingers of his right hand ran firmly over Buffy’s swollen labia, up to the nub of her clitoris. Buffy moaned and arched into his touch, her whole body swelling with sensation. Angel continued petting her, running his slick fingers counterclockwise over her enraged bead. Buffy writhed beneath him, up into his touch, with more insistence with every passing touch.
“Are you mad at me for the thing with the gun?” Angel asked softly after a long while.
Buffy was sweating and her thighs were trembling; it took her a long moment to work out exactly what he was talking about, let alone to find a voice to reply with.
“What? N-no . . .”
“Because I thought maybe you were putting me in my place with that striptease. Not, don’t get me wrong, that I didn’t enjoy that . . . but I thought maybe you were trying to, you know, alpha female me.”
Buffy’s head was swimming, and her breaths were starting to come very shallow.
“I was. A-a little. Okay . . . a lot.” She took a long moment to moan and bite her lip, and then to pant desperately. “I-is that what this is about? The tying me up thing? Are you trying to g-get me back? Alpha male me?”
“No.” Angel paused. “I just . . . you said I could, and I thought you wanted me to, that it turned you on. And it turns me on, too. So I thought . . .”
Buffy suddenly felt very bad for accusing him of alpha male-ing her.
“I guess we do have power issues,” Angel continued. “Although, if you must know, I kind of get turned on by the fact that my girl is stronger than me. But I would really appreciate that never leaving our bedroom, thanks.”
“Really?” Buffy gasped. “You’re turned on that I’m-that I’m stronger than you?”
Angel’s tone was somewhat begrudging. “Yeah. I am. Always have been, even before I lost the fangs.”
“So . . . does this mean I can tie you up?”
The begrudging tone was still very much in effect. “We’ll see.”
Buffy didn’t have time to respond; the next thing past her lips was Angel’s name, several times, loudly, as she came.
She collapsed into a sweaty, sated pile on the comforter; Angel crawled quietly up and lay beside her.
He watched her bring her breathing back to normal, laving her juices off his fingers.
“Are you going to untie me now?” she asked when she’d calmed sufficiently.
He smiled and shook his head. “No.”
She whined and pulled against the scarf. “But Angel-”
He laughed and shook his head again. “Don’t be petulant. You’re still owed a spanking, if I remember correctly, and now seems a very opportune time to give it to you, don’t you think? Now that you can’t squirm away anywhere . . . ?”
Buffy immediately adopted a vacant expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Angel rolled his eyes. “Uh huh.”
He stood up and went to the head of the bed, where he grabbed a large pillow. Buffy watched his actions without understanding, still pouting over not being allowed to be untied. Angel crawled back to Buffy with the pillow in hand.
“Come on, I’m going to help you up onto your knees.”
Buffy looked slightly panicked. “Why are you going to do that?”
“I’m going to put this pillow under you-”
“Why?”
Angel sighed. “I’d like to fuck you properly, but I don’t want to put you over onto your back because it’ll hurt you - remember I was a very mean man and tied up your hands? Do you want to lie on those while we’re making love? - and it’ll be easier to take you from behind if you’re elevated a little. Now, really, stop being difficult or I am going to spank you. Come on.”
Buffy allowed Angel to help her up onto her knees, but as soon as she was there, at eye level with him, she stopped and mucked up the works again.
“From behind?” she demanded, all flustered again. “Do you mean-”
Angel sighed again, so deeply that his eyes closed and his head bowed with the exhalation, like he was deflating.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said slowly, meting out the words carefully, “and you’re wrong. I promise, you will completely approve, and what’s more, we’ve done this before, Buffy.”
“We have?”
“Yes,” he explained patiently. “Remember, I can get to your girl parts from behind.”
She relaxed. “Oh. Right. Okay.”
Angel kissed her soundly before lying her down with the pillow under her stomach, then - as soon as Buffy’s face was buried in the comforter - gritted his teeth furiously. He loved her, God knew he did, but the woman drove him crazy sometimes!
Angel slid off the bed for a moment and stripped off his costume-another evidence of the crazy. The things he did for her . . . well, hell, he’d walk through fire for her, so a few hours of looking like an ass was certainly worth it if it made her happy. Especially if it encouraged more naughty outfits out of her; she’d looked damn fine in that doctor’s costume . . .
“Just relax, baby,” Angel said calmly, crawling back onto the bed and positioning himself between Buffy’s legs.
“Okay,” Buffy agreed, not feeling very relaxed. She felt nervous again, because she was still tied up and she couldn’t see and she’d made Angel cranky even if he was acting like he wasn’t cranky - and, dammit, she thought he’d forgotten about that spanking! - and she was also very excited because she was going to have sex with her man . . . none of these things were at all like being relaxed.
Angel parted Buffy’s legs - she was not relaxed, he could feel that just by putting his hands on her - and carefully guided himself into her. Perhaps she was not relaxed, but she was wet, ready for him. He closed his eyes. She felt like home, every time.
Buffy felt her entire body wake up. The anxiety she’d been feeling dissipated - who cared about being tied up and not seeing and making Angel cranky and maybe getting a spanking later; none of that stuff mattered right now - and she closed her eyes, melted into the sensation. The whole world existed in the tide of Angel rocking in and out of her, but the feeling wasn’t located in just one place; it was everywhere: her whole body sang with it, the way a tidal wave left ripples on the beach miles away. She could feel her heart pumping furiously within her chest, pumping something heady into her bloodstream.
“I’m drunk on you,” she whispered, not sure if the words were absorbed into the comforter, not caring. He didn’t need to hear it: he would know, he had to, because he had to feel the same way. This kind of spell couldn’t be cast without affecting the magician.
Angel must have heard her, because for a moment his pace slowed, like a slur.
“I know the feeling.”
His voice was rough with sex, and just the sound flushed Buffy with intense desire. She thrust hard against him, trying desperately to quell this fire, to get it out, to put it back into him. Her body was far too small to keep all this feeling in it.
But Angel only pushed harder in retaliation, and soon they weren’t even close to making love but rutting, almost fighting, moaning and bucking against each other with all the ferocity they could muster, the intensity necessary to get the need out and back into the vessel from whence it came. And when she climaxed, Buffy wasn’t looking for the pleasure but for the release: she didn’t know how she’d be able to hold all of that love and want any longer.
Angel collapsed against her, breathing hard, sweatslick and very hot. She wished her hands were untied so she could hold him, or push him away.
“Are you okay?” he asked after a long moment. He sounded weak.
Buffy wondered about how they could still impact one another so much, every time. If it would ever stop.
She hoped not. She was pretty sure she did, anyway.
“You’re pretty good in the saddle, mister,” she breathed.
After a moment of shock, Angel laughed exhaustedly against her, then clapped an affectionate hand down on her thigh. Buffy jumped a little; Angel was a very skilled in the workings of her body, and he’d only applied enough pressure to thrill her, but her skin was so sensitive that she was . . . well, thrilled.
“Are you going to untie me now?” she asked once she could still her body enough to bring air into her lungs again.
Angel paused long enough for Buffy to begin to panic, and then swiftly freed his wife’s hands. Buffy lost no time wheeling on him and flattening him to the mattress.
She pouted immediately upon seeing him. “You took your costume off.”
“I thought you liked me best in this costume,” Angel challenged, motioning briefly down to his nude form.
Buffy tried not to grin, but she couldn’t help herself. He wasn’t wrong.
“How ’bout we do it again, and I’ll wear the hat this time,” Angel offered. “Will that make you happy?”
If Buffy’s pressing tiny kisses to her husband’s face and neck was any indication of her mood, then the answer was yes.
“I’ll be on top this time,” she volunteered. “Sitting up. That’s called The Cowgirl Position, didja know that?”
“Then I think you should wear the hat.”
Buffy started to argue, but then she remembered something. “Okay-but only if I get to tie you up.”
She hopped up from his lap and ran to retrieve the hat and scarf before he could answer. Angel smiled; at least life was never boring. Yee-haw.