Rough and unbeta'd, just because the stress of getting two babies ready for a birthday party brings out the procrastinator in me!
Title: In the Closet
Summary: Cordelia and Angel get trapped in a closet. Smut happens. Total PWP.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just giving them both some needed nookie
"Cordelia, stop fidgeting," Angel commands her in a quiet voice, grabbing the elbow she's about to jab into his ribs.
"Sorry," she replies, keeping one eye on the crack in the door. "Terror doesn't exactly inspire a Zen-like mood in me."
She turns to gaze at Angel in the half dark of the closet, seeing only the curve of his jaw, and the collar of his dark shirt from the slants of dim light coming in through the cracks in the door.
A feeling whizzes through her, ruffling the small amount of calm she's managed to hold onto within the confines of this too-small space.
She blinks and returns to her vigil.
Just then, two men in blue uniforms steps through the doorway of the room they found to hid in, and something hulky and black follows them. She draws back, stepping on his foot with her heel, and Angel barely manages to slap his palm across her mouth in time to stifle her gasp.
"It's just a zombie," he whispers near her ear, the length of his body pressing hers from behind. "Don't get excited."
Wide-eyed, she nods, trying not to freak but she can't stop shaking. This is what they'd been feeding the homeless to, and she saw it.
In her visions.
Unable to stop, she makes a sound, like the squeak of a mouse caught in the grip of a hungry cat, about to be eaten.
"Quiet, Cordelia, or they'll know we're here." Angel warns her again, tightening his hold. The vision, though, was vivid, and overtakes her brain again, replaying everything she saw the night before.
"Cordelia," he whispers, pulling her hard up against his back. "I can smell your fear." His voice is low, hard, and she feels him swallow against the back of her head.
"If I can smell it, that zombie out there probably will too," he continues. "stop thinking about it."
She wrenches his hand from her mouth.
"I can't." She breathes erratically, on the verge of hyperventilating, eyes unblinking against the memory of her vision. It's so ugly, so ravenous, it just ate and ate and made crunching noises while she screamed and gagged.
"It's okay," he reassures her in a voice that isn't reassuring. "I'll help, don't worry."
Then he covers her mouth again, and his hand drifts down her hip to her thigh, fingers tangling in her skirt and dragging it up.
While she struggles with the horror of her vision, he runs his hand over her bared upper thigh. Goosebumps rise against the cold feel of his palm, and shock nudges against the wall of fear in her mind.
He keeps his hand over her mouth so she doesn't make a sound, and before she can try, he slides under her thong, and connects with her hidden flesh.
She jerks sharply in his hold but he doesn't make a sound to reassure her, merely unfurls her flesh by degrees, until he reaches the core with his fingers.
His fingers are so cold, and against what her mind is screaming at her, she feels her body begin to respond, cunt dilating with heat, warm honey drifting over his fingers like thick rain.
His fingers glide further in, forefinger and middle finger, spearing her while his thumb smooths her wetness over her clit, then between her inner lips to cull more, up again to her throbbing button.
"Fear is very close to arousal," he whispers to her, fingers continuing to glide up and down, up and down. "It doesn't take much - a slight touch - to turn one into another. Just follow where it leads you, baby." His fingers hitch higher, until everything down between her legs to her ass throbs urgently, working towards an orgasm.
Breath hitching in spastic rythmn, fire consumes her brain. There's no question of anything other than feeling what he's doing, moaning silently, limp in his hold. Her thighs clamp on his hand, keeping him there.
She'll die if he moves his hand.
He works her and works her, and she turns her head, trying to bury her face in his neck as much as she can, and he leans down, breathing in her frantic breaths. He's hard as steel against her ass, grinding and grinding while his fingers drive into her and his thumb strokes her clitoris, pushing her further.
She wrenches her head in the other direction, pressing the side of her face into his arm, feeling the pull of tendon and muscle as he works and works her cunt into an orgasm.
He keeps his face close to hers, mouth biting her neck gently with blunt teeth.
"Feel like the sun on my fingers," he whispers in a voice rough with greed. "Want you, I -"
She spasms once, and he stops, pushes her roughly against the wall so that her breasts flatten against the hard surface, and pushes his cock against her clothed ass, grinding against her like he's fucking her, like there's nothing between them.
The pressure builds in her core, builds and tightens and tightens, and she's crying and crying while he grunts in the shell of her ear,
Then it's gone, drifing away like a storm passing, and she's still.
He holds her pressed against the wall with his shaking body, and she feels the wetness against her ass.
He came when she did.
Sliding down the wall, she slumps to a sitting kneeling position, trying to keep her legs together.
She looks up at him, and can't see much more than his jaw and the open collar of his shirt in the dimness. He's so close he's almost straddling her and she raises herself up on her knees, unbuttoning his pants with trembling fingers. She yanks them down past his ass and reaches in, cupping his balls while her mouth strokes over his cock.
He tastes like bitter salt, filling her mouth, and she sucks hard, bringing him back to life, tongue swirling the underside like this is what she was born to do.
He gasps hard, twining his fingers in her hair, cupping her head and bringing her hard up until she gags slightly. He stops until she gets her breath back and then when she begins to stroke and suck again, he moves with her, hips back and forth.
Gazing up, she sees the clench of his jaw.
She sucks hard, dragging her mouth back over his cock until the tip remains between her lips.
"Look at me," she whispers up at him.
Swallowing, he bends his head, watching her with black, black eyes.
Holding his gaze, she opens her mouth again and takes him in, sucking, tongue stroking the underside.
He makes a single sound, a grunt, and then he comes again, hands holding her so she doesn't move.
Not that she would.
She wants him, every part of him.
He stops finally, slipping from between her lips with another animal noise, and pulls her up to her feet, pushing her against the wall and taking her mouth with his, tongue spearing in.
She wonders if he minds tasting himself.
When he pulls away, he licks his lower lip, and she has her answer.
"The zombie," she says because the silence is getting too loud after a few seconds.
"It's gone," he replies, keeping his eyes on her mouth. "The cops too."
She stares at him as he cups her belly with his palm, pressing her.
"What now?" She asks, unsure of everything.
"We go back to the office," he answers, not moving. "And Wes begins to look for a way to lift the loophole in the curse."
"I don't know where this is going, Cordelia. But I want to find out. With you."
She smiles, and takes his hand.
I wanted to take this in another direction but I'm out of time. Must get to the party now. I'll revise tonight if I can.