Fanfiction: Angel The Series: I Can Still Feel You (Even So Far Away)
Title: I Can Still Feel You (Even So Far Away)
Pairing: Angel/Cordelia
Rating: R
Word Count: 753
Summary: When Angel tells everyone what happened to Cordelia later, he leaves out this part. The night she spends in his penthouse. In his bed. Post-You're Welcome
Author's note: Written for bellonablack's Five Act request: emo-kink. Unbeta'd. Holy shit guys, I wrote something.
When Angel tells everyone what happened to Cordelia later, he leaves out this part. The night she spends in his penthouse. In his bed. When he goes back up there after the phone call he can smell her in everything, proof that maybe she had been really there after all.
He remembers talking to her for the longest time, finally admitting to someone how lost he's felt the past few months. Cordelia had always been his priest, his confessional, the one person he could tell anything and everything too. Except how he felt, because even then, the words got tangled up inside of him. They felt too small and she was too important. He couldn't lose her again.
But he did. And it aches like someone ripped his heart out of his chest. Not that he's been using it lately anyways.
He lies down on his bed and he can smell her there still. Sense memory is a bitch. Before he can stop himself, he starts picturing what had happened when they finally started talking. Lips pressed against other lips. Desperate embraces. The way he had pretty much torn off both of their clothing. He hadn't needed to worry about the curse (he'd never find perfect happiness when his son didn't know who he was and he worked for Wolfram and Hart) but he probably wouldn't have stopped anyways. Not after how long he had wanted her. Not after everything they had gone through. He had thought foolishly that it was the start of something, finally.
Little did he realize that it was only the beginning of the end.
But he still remembers how she felt, how she tasted. The way she keened and moaned when he had his head buried between her legs, lapping up her juices like they were the blood that sustains him. The way she cupped his face and kissed him, like he was still something worth saving. Worth loving. For the first time in a long, long time he had felt hope. With her by his side, maybe things could be okay again.
He remembered how her nails had dug into his back, scoring him, anchoring him. He hardens at the memories in spite of himself. He knows it's disrespectful, put part of him doesn't care. He'd rather lose himself in the memory then face the truth.
He only got Cordelia back to lose her again.
He unzips his pants, tugging them down before grabbing his erection in hand, rubbing it frantically. He can almost feel her hand around him instead. He can feel her breath brushing against his ear, whispering words of comfort like I love you and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.
He had wondered at the time why she had been apologizing, what she could possibly be apologizing for, but he knows now.
He wishes he didn't.
He remembers her expression as she came, his name on her lips. She had looked peaceful, but sad too. He thought it was just because of everything else that happened. He could understand it, it was hard to just be happy these days. They had more chances to get it right. They'd get out of all this together.
Except not.
It doesn't take him long to work himself to completion, closing his eyes and losing himself in Cordelia's scent. He doesn't want to wash his sheets. Not anytime soon, anyways. Wants to have any part of her he can cling to for as long as he can. It's selfish, but that's the thing. He's always been kind of a selfish guy. It's one of his character flaws. One of many
He comes, but he barely feels it except for the mess over his hands. It doesn't make him feel better. If anything, he just feels that much more empty, that much more aware that anything he shared with her the night before was a onetime deal. And now he's alone. Again.
And she's not coming back.
He'd cry, but he just doesn't have it in him anymore. It's not like anyone is here to comfort him.
Not that he ever let anyone but her do that anyways.
He cleans up, he goes to bed, and then the next day, he tells the other she's gone, and closes the door to the office before they can ask him questions like why or how.
And when he sinks into his seat and closes his eyes, he can almost feel her there with him again. He remembers.
He wishes he didn't.
Pairing: Angel/Cordelia
Rating: R
Word Count: 753
Summary: When Angel tells everyone what happened to Cordelia later, he leaves out this part. The night she spends in his penthouse. In his bed. Post-You're Welcome
Author's note: Written for bellonablack's Five Act request: emo-kink. Unbeta'd. Holy shit guys, I wrote something.
When Angel tells everyone what happened to Cordelia later, he leaves out this part. The night she spends in his penthouse. In his bed. When he goes back up there after the phone call he can smell her in everything, proof that maybe she had been really there after all.
He remembers talking to her for the longest time, finally admitting to someone how lost he's felt the past few months. Cordelia had always been his priest, his confessional, the one person he could tell anything and everything too. Except how he felt, because even then, the words got tangled up inside of him. They felt too small and she was too important. He couldn't lose her again.
But he did. And it aches like someone ripped his heart out of his chest. Not that he's been using it lately anyways.
He lies down on his bed and he can smell her there still. Sense memory is a bitch. Before he can stop himself, he starts picturing what had happened when they finally started talking. Lips pressed against other lips. Desperate embraces. The way he had pretty much torn off both of their clothing. He hadn't needed to worry about the curse (he'd never find perfect happiness when his son didn't know who he was and he worked for Wolfram and Hart) but he probably wouldn't have stopped anyways. Not after how long he had wanted her. Not after everything they had gone through. He had thought foolishly that it was the start of something, finally.
Little did he realize that it was only the beginning of the end.
But he still remembers how she felt, how she tasted. The way she keened and moaned when he had his head buried between her legs, lapping up her juices like they were the blood that sustains him. The way she cupped his face and kissed him, like he was still something worth saving. Worth loving. For the first time in a long, long time he had felt hope. With her by his side, maybe things could be okay again.
He remembered how her nails had dug into his back, scoring him, anchoring him. He hardens at the memories in spite of himself. He knows it's disrespectful, put part of him doesn't care. He'd rather lose himself in the memory then face the truth.
He only got Cordelia back to lose her again.
He unzips his pants, tugging them down before grabbing his erection in hand, rubbing it frantically. He can almost feel her hand around him instead. He can feel her breath brushing against his ear, whispering words of comfort like I love you and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.
He had wondered at the time why she had been apologizing, what she could possibly be apologizing for, but he knows now.
He wishes he didn't.
He remembers her expression as she came, his name on her lips. She had looked peaceful, but sad too. He thought it was just because of everything else that happened. He could understand it, it was hard to just be happy these days. They had more chances to get it right. They'd get out of all this together.
Except not.
It doesn't take him long to work himself to completion, closing his eyes and losing himself in Cordelia's scent. He doesn't want to wash his sheets. Not anytime soon, anyways. Wants to have any part of her he can cling to for as long as he can. It's selfish, but that's the thing. He's always been kind of a selfish guy. It's one of his character flaws. One of many
He comes, but he barely feels it except for the mess over his hands. It doesn't make him feel better. If anything, he just feels that much more empty, that much more aware that anything he shared with her the night before was a onetime deal. And now he's alone. Again.
And she's not coming back.
He'd cry, but he just doesn't have it in him anymore. It's not like anyone is here to comfort him.
Not that he ever let anyone but her do that anyways.
He cleans up, he goes to bed, and then the next day, he tells the other she's gone, and closes the door to the office before they can ask him questions like why or how.
And when he sinks into his seat and closes his eyes, he can almost feel her there with him again. He remembers.
He wishes he didn't.