fic posting, the second
Here's the second part. I hope it follows in the same vein as part 1 because I have no plan for this story at all. I stayed up til 5 a.m. writing three pages, got up later in the morning and drank some coffee, read what I wrote, then deleted everything and started over. It's not long, but I got nothin' left right now but the urge to go out and do some shopping.
Title: Pandora (2/?)
Rating: Adults only please.
Pairing: C/A
Summary: Mutual obsession and need come to a head when Cordelia discovers Angel’s sketchbook.
Category: Dark
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, though I’d give Lindsey’s right hand and Xander’s left eye if they were.
~~
He waits a moment and then lets her go, stepping back and going around her. She turns, keeping her back to the door, and stares at the stiff lines of his body as he seats himself in his chair.
There is a cool rush of wind through her body as she waits.
“Angel, talk to me.”
He peers up into her questioning eyes.
“Have you already made up your mind?”
She shakes her head slightly, not taking her gaze off him.
“Not really capable of higher thinking at the moment. Blind panic, on the other hand, is a distinct possibility.”
He nods, and leans back against the wing backed cushion, eyes on her face.
She wants to tell him he’s not making it better, but when he looks at her like that, she loses the thread of her thoughts, forgets her outrage, her shame, forgets everything but the urge to take his hurt from him. She is suddenly, frighteningly aware of how deep the water is around her head, and staves off the panic by focusing on him.
She goes to the edge of his bed and sits, aware that she’s already making a choice.
“Tell me, talk to me.” She keeps her voice soft, willing him to tell her something she can live with, something to replace the dysfunction their friendship has sunk into in the last few minutes.
“When you’re having a vision, Cordelia, it scares me.”
The soft tone of his voice has the hushed quality of a confessional, and for a moment, sitting in the half darkness of Angel’s bedroom, the scent of incense smoke is heavy in her lungs.
She rubs at the tattoo on the inside of her left wrist, waiting for him to go on.
“You’re convulsing so much, and your eyes will roll into the back of your head and I’m trying to hold onto your body to keep you from hurting yourself.”
She remembers his arms around her, keeping her anchored, keeping her safe, and doesn’t tell him how many times she wished he would squeeze harder, make it hurt so she knew she wasn’t dying.
“But,” he pauses for a moment, chin buried in his chest. “There’s another part of me that loves your pain.”
He glances over watches her with shame in his eyes, and she has to stop herself from reacting, but she can’t stop the way her heartbeat picks up, surging hard at his words.
"I'm not a man, Cordelia, I'm a vampire and the demon craves the agony that you go through. Every time you see something I can't, I want to know what you feel, what you see."
“Angel-“she falters, not knowing what to say.
“I can’t tell you I don’t want the things I drew.” He gets up and crosses over to her, kneeling in front of her clasped knees. “I can’t even tell you that I won’t ever hurt you or that I don’t want to hurt you, but-“
He stops and she waits for more, but realizes that there really isn’t anything more to add, no reassurances or promises, just his confession that she forced by violating his trust. She brings her right hand up and cups the side of his cheek, just under his ear, thumb soft over the stubble that grows over his jaw.
His face is raw with need and fear, and she knows he’s afraid she’ll get up and leave, reject him for being what he is.
“Angel.” She whispers his name because it’s still her safe word, and leans down and touches her mouth to his.
He tries to pull back but she won’t let him, using both hands on the sides of his head to bring him forward, deepening the kiss but he yanks his mouth away just as quickly, to the side, and her lips drag across his cheek.
She stops and presses the spot, arms around his shoulders, holding him, giving him the absolution of her touch.
She can feel him shudder against her, mouth against the bare flesh of her shoulder and though his touch is cold, it burns all the way through her.
Then the burn reaches up through the back of her skull and suddenly she is thrown out of her body and into a vision of hell -
Mirrors within mirrors and she’s dizzy with pain, the world spinning in sickening circles, her brain frying with heat and blood
she realizes that someone is screaming Angel’s name but she can’t connect to the voice at all, and just holds onto the rock holding onto her, watching Angel take her blood as she shudders on the bed, dying, his eyes gold with lust and grief and even now she wants to comfort and hold and then nothing but pain and pain and hot, scalding pain….
is thrown back up and screams once, her throat closing in.
“Cordelia!”
Angel is staring down at her and she realizes he is pressing her into his bed, palm cupped to her forehead, forcing her head back so that her throat is arched tight.
She struggles then, wanting out of his hold before she throws up, rolling off the bed when he releases her and stumbling over to the door.
He makes to follow her -
“No, don’t, please-“
Lurching through the door, she runs away.
She still feels his hard cock pressed between her legs, the way her thighs clenched his hips closer as she watched him take her blood, the rushing intensity when she finally came, thrashing in the throes of her vision.
He killed her, and she orgasmed as she died.
(tbc)
Title: Pandora (2/?)
Rating: Adults only please.
Pairing: C/A
Summary: Mutual obsession and need come to a head when Cordelia discovers Angel’s sketchbook.
Category: Dark
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, though I’d give Lindsey’s right hand and Xander’s left eye if they were.
~~
He waits a moment and then lets her go, stepping back and going around her. She turns, keeping her back to the door, and stares at the stiff lines of his body as he seats himself in his chair.
There is a cool rush of wind through her body as she waits.
“Angel, talk to me.”
He peers up into her questioning eyes.
“Have you already made up your mind?”
She shakes her head slightly, not taking her gaze off him.
“Not really capable of higher thinking at the moment. Blind panic, on the other hand, is a distinct possibility.”
He nods, and leans back against the wing backed cushion, eyes on her face.
She wants to tell him he’s not making it better, but when he looks at her like that, she loses the thread of her thoughts, forgets her outrage, her shame, forgets everything but the urge to take his hurt from him. She is suddenly, frighteningly aware of how deep the water is around her head, and staves off the panic by focusing on him.
She goes to the edge of his bed and sits, aware that she’s already making a choice.
“Tell me, talk to me.” She keeps her voice soft, willing him to tell her something she can live with, something to replace the dysfunction their friendship has sunk into in the last few minutes.
“When you’re having a vision, Cordelia, it scares me.”
The soft tone of his voice has the hushed quality of a confessional, and for a moment, sitting in the half darkness of Angel’s bedroom, the scent of incense smoke is heavy in her lungs.
She rubs at the tattoo on the inside of her left wrist, waiting for him to go on.
“You’re convulsing so much, and your eyes will roll into the back of your head and I’m trying to hold onto your body to keep you from hurting yourself.”
She remembers his arms around her, keeping her anchored, keeping her safe, and doesn’t tell him how many times she wished he would squeeze harder, make it hurt so she knew she wasn’t dying.
“But,” he pauses for a moment, chin buried in his chest. “There’s another part of me that loves your pain.”
He glances over watches her with shame in his eyes, and she has to stop herself from reacting, but she can’t stop the way her heartbeat picks up, surging hard at his words.
"I'm not a man, Cordelia, I'm a vampire and the demon craves the agony that you go through. Every time you see something I can't, I want to know what you feel, what you see."
“Angel-“she falters, not knowing what to say.
“I can’t tell you I don’t want the things I drew.” He gets up and crosses over to her, kneeling in front of her clasped knees. “I can’t even tell you that I won’t ever hurt you or that I don’t want to hurt you, but-“
He stops and she waits for more, but realizes that there really isn’t anything more to add, no reassurances or promises, just his confession that she forced by violating his trust. She brings her right hand up and cups the side of his cheek, just under his ear, thumb soft over the stubble that grows over his jaw.
His face is raw with need and fear, and she knows he’s afraid she’ll get up and leave, reject him for being what he is.
“Angel.” She whispers his name because it’s still her safe word, and leans down and touches her mouth to his.
He tries to pull back but she won’t let him, using both hands on the sides of his head to bring him forward, deepening the kiss but he yanks his mouth away just as quickly, to the side, and her lips drag across his cheek.
She stops and presses the spot, arms around his shoulders, holding him, giving him the absolution of her touch.
She can feel him shudder against her, mouth against the bare flesh of her shoulder and though his touch is cold, it burns all the way through her.
Then the burn reaches up through the back of her skull and suddenly she is thrown out of her body and into a vision of hell -
Mirrors within mirrors and she’s dizzy with pain, the world spinning in sickening circles, her brain frying with heat and blood
she realizes that someone is screaming Angel’s name but she can’t connect to the voice at all, and just holds onto the rock holding onto her, watching Angel take her blood as she shudders on the bed, dying, his eyes gold with lust and grief and even now she wants to comfort and hold and then nothing but pain and pain and hot, scalding pain….
is thrown back up and screams once, her throat closing in.
“Cordelia!”
Angel is staring down at her and she realizes he is pressing her into his bed, palm cupped to her forehead, forcing her head back so that her throat is arched tight.
She struggles then, wanting out of his hold before she throws up, rolling off the bed when he releases her and stumbling over to the door.
He makes to follow her -
“No, don’t, please-“
Lurching through the door, she runs away.
She still feels his hard cock pressed between her legs, the way her thighs clenched his hips closer as she watched him take her blood, the rushing intensity when she finally came, thrashing in the throes of her vision.
He killed her, and she orgasmed as she died.
(tbc)