Summary: Angel and Cordelia both have secrets. A sequel to Angel, Hear My Cry
Spoilers: Set during BtVS s3, and uses elements from that season.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Whedon, Fox, ME owns them.
Notes: This my incredibly late entry for the Stranger Things
Halloween Ficathon this year. My thanks to nikkiwawa79
, and of course, damnskippytoo
, without whom I'd be a lost little fangirl. :D This fic wouldn't have happened without any of you.
The bad section of town was surprisingly pretty, Cordelia thought.
Turning, she surveyed the barren landscape of train tracks and old brick buildings with busted windows. Remnants of an earlier time when the railroad was a major player, before Highway 101 stopped it cold. Now it was just another decaying graveyard of shadows and pollution that turned the sky overhead a dull shade of rust.
Not the kind of place a girl needed to get lost in, especially with the creeping cold of midnight seeping into her bones.
But she’d seen him come this way, a black silhouette moving with purpose.
And she followed.
“Just call me Lois Lane,” she muttered as she stumbled in her heels, party dress glittering like red scales on a dragon.
Her scar pulled, a ghost of an ache.
She walked further, eyes sharp on the distant buildings. She left her purse in her car, her cell phone and keys, her money. She wanted to just walk into the black decay by herself, without anything to remind her that her name was Chase.
She wanted to find out where he
Walking on, she stepped as carefully as she could over pebbles and broken bits of wood and metal. Her heels were already scuffed beyond repair just from the walk from her car but that was the beauty of being rich. She had fifty more pair in her closet. Pretty things were easy to replace.
She ought to know.
The closest building had a tower on one end with square sides and the word FEED
in chipped white paint on the north side. A granary, her dad had told her once as they drove by in their Benz. She’d made a face at the ugliness of the rotted wood, and went back to her nails.
She’d seen him walk around the side, into the blackness beyond, and she followed, not thinking about why or for what purpose.
It was higher than ground level, the first floor windows on the north side above her head. She wondered what lived inside, in all that black grime and neglect. The windows were either broken or boarded and she imagined eyes peering down at her from between the slats.
She didn’t look up though, just kept walking.
The rails were laid across the ground behind the building, snaking off into every direction, railway cars like black masses to the right and left of her. Sleeping giants who didn’t know they were dead.
It was like the surface of an alien planet.
She kept walking, to a smaller building where they must have sold tickets for the railways.
She stopped and listened.
Nothing but silence, nothing but the rusted sky and the sound of her breathing. .
She should be afraid but she wasn’t. It was as if her fear were broken, tested and stretched too many times since Buffy came to Sunnydale, trailing monsters like a vapor trail.
Cordelia scanned the cars carefully, and the buildings beyond.
A shadow separated from one of the cars, and she blinked, waiting.
It seemed as though he were floating rather than walking but eventually she heard the crunch of the gravel beneath his boots. She watched him come closer, trying to discern the lines of his body and clothes against the rest of the blackness.
“What are you doing here?” he asked in that sotto voice that betrayed nothing of his feelings.
Maybe there weren’t any to betray.
She shrugged, unable to stop staring at his shadowed face.
“I saw you. I followed.”
So simple but so fucking complicated.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he replied, flicking his eyes past her shoulder.
She wondered if something were behind her but she didn’t turn to look.
“The words I could say the same
are too clichéd to actually say but you get the idea.” She lifted her eyebrows and stared up at him, almost smiling. Mostly grimacing.
“Please leave, just go,” he said softly, sounding like he was almost begging. “There are things here, things you don’t understand.”
She saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, and Angel’s face turned in that same direction.
“You could say that about a lot of things in my life, Angel. And you’d be at the top of that list.” She cleared her throat slightly, looking down and then looking at him again. “Like why you keep going back to Buffy.”
She felt the way his eyes sharpened, flicking around her and then back at her face.
“Is that what this is about? Buffy?” He sounded angry but she didn’t care.
She didn’t seem to care about a lot anymore, personal safety being one of them.
Gravel crunched in the distance behind her.
“Maybe,” she replied. “But mostly it’s about you. And me. And –“
“I know what you need, Cordelia,” he interrupted her, sounding sure. He approached her carefully, afraid of scaring her away. She could have told him that nothing on this earth or in hell could scare her away from him.
Not even the things that she felt staring at them from the railcars.
“I know what you need,” he whispered as he stood in front of her, taking her cold arms in his even colder hands.
Eyes watched as Angel bent and kissed Cordelia on her cold lips.
When he lifted his head, she was still looking at him.
“What was hell like?” She whispered, stepping closer to him. Khaki pants and a leather duster over a black shirt. Everything felt expensive under her touch, and she explored him with her fingertips, trying to read him like tea leaves. It was like touching the icy surface of a frozen-over lake.
There was nothing to read.
Lifting her arms to his shoulders, she hooked her hands behind his neck and pulled his head down, kissing him. They were both cold, but she didn’t shiver.
Even cold his mouth was good, moist enough, urgent enough. She moaned when she felt his tongue slip between her lips, thinking about that first time in the back of his car.
He shrugged out of his jacket and it fell to the ground. He pulled her down, spreading her on top of the duster as he straightened it along the cold earth.
She stared up at him as he ran his hands along her thighs.
“Like this,” he answered, gesturing around them. “Barren, cut off. Cold.”
He pushed her skirt up until he exposed her underwear.
They were white, shining in the dull night like a beacon. He pulled them off, her knees bent and her legs propped.
She closed her eyes and welcomed the chill between her legs, loved his mouth as he loved her cunt. She knew they were being watched, that whatever brought Angel back from hell was still with him.
She didn’t care about that, not about any of that.
She only cared about the weight of his body as he pushed her spine into the gravel scattered along the ground. And the way he uncovered himself and thrust inside of her.
It was like being fucked with an ice pick, cold and hot at the same time. Pain and pleasure twisting together until she felt herself heat up inside, slicking around his cock and squeezing him tighter.
Until he was groaning in the hot furnace of her body.
He straightened and sat up, grabbing her waist and impaling her as she laid spread in front of him, churning his hips into the heat of her body. One finger pressed the spot right above her clit and she arched her back from the burn as he circled it.
He stared down at her and she stared up at him, unwilling to look away. He let go of her with one hand and yanked her camisole up, pulling at her bra until it ripped. It hurt and she winced but then screamed when he fell on top of her, surging inside of her and then out again while he sucked on her nipple, trying to cram as much of her breast into his mouth as possible.
He growled and she felt the bite of his fangs. When he lifted his head, she saw his demon eyes and the white gleam of razors in his mouth. She lifted a hand and fingered an incisor with the pad of one finger. It felt like sharpened bone.
The wind that lifted around them was cold and she felt chilled despite the fire they made with their bodies. She grimaced as she felt the blood arc out of her nipple and careen down the side of her breast.
The world spun crazily as he pulled her up into a sitting position, still impaled, and held her hands in his, spreading her arms wide like she was a Christ-figure and he wanted to pray.
“I knew you’d come if I waited,” he whispered, changing faces again like a Kabuki dancer, human eyes boring holes in her. Searching.
But he wouldn’t find anything. Not now. There was barely enough of her to take his cock, his misery. When this was finished, there wouldn’t even be that.
“I wanted to kill her. Dreamed about it, her throat ripped out. I want so much to lose myself again,” he continued in that same agonized whisper. He thrust, using his knees for balance and his thighs for drive. She wrapped her legs around his hips and fell back, trusting that he’d hold her up.
The blood dried in a trail along her ribcage, her nipple throbbing from the puncture.
“I was gonna do it, thought I’d already done it. And then I saw you and I thought maybe I’d kill you.” He pulled her forward and captured her mouth in a kiss meant to own. She thrust her tongue into his mouth and he sucked on it before pulling back again.
She stared at him, knowing he could vamp again any second and rip her apart as he fucked her. She also knew he wouldn’t.
She came, eyes slamming closed and hips bucking, grinding into his cock until his pubic bone rubbed her clit and drove her orgasm past the point of simple sex.
“I can’t kill you,” he whispered against her neck as he waited for her to finish.
He pushed her gently off and laid her on his coat again. She watched through half closed eyes as his wet cock bobbed in the night air, before he pulled his trousers up again.
She stirred and pulled the remnants of her party dress around her. It seemed like she was always losing dresses around him.
The thought didn’t irritate her like it should have.
Sitting up, she tossed her ripped bra away and pulled herself up on unsteady legs.
He was staring at her like a zombie, head cocked as though someone were whispering in his ear.
“You should go,” he said, turning to walk back the way he came.
She swallowed, tasting him in her mouth.
“To what?” she asked the air.
But she turned anyway, and left.
Dawn was still an hour away when Cordelia went home.
She crept along the driveway at five miles an hour, unwilling to be home.
But she wasn’t, not really.
She parked behind a large moving truck. A light shone from her father’s study, on the right side of the house. She knew he’d be up. Cornell Chase had a lot of arrangements to make.
None of which included his daughter.
Angel stood in the railcar he’d been in when he smelled Cordelia’s approach.
Even through the blood of a dozen others, he would still know her.
“You’re a real surprise, champ,” the voice in the dark corner crooned. “Who knew you went for brunettes too?”
Scattered around the floor of the cargo car, a dozen blond girls laid in various states of repose. And decay.
Angel’s cock throbbed in his trousers.
“Not her,” he said dully, turning to the shadowed figure.
“Oh yes, her. Her. And Buffy, and anyone else that makes your dead heart light up like a Christmas tree.”
Jenny stepped from the shadows, smiling at Angel as she twirled a strand of hair between her fingers.
“We’re just getting started, stud,” she smiled at him.