So I felt extra creative Christmas Eve. Here's my second attempt at fluffy, and it went a lot
Title: All Our Christmases
Pairing: Definitely C/A
Summary: Christmas Eve 2005, and an intimate family of three.
Rating: R for some sexyfun times, but nothing overly graphic.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Written Christmas Eve 2010. This is quite possibly one of the schmoopiest things I’ve ever written. I'm blaming it on the holidays. AU after Lullaby
. Thanks to HBIC damnskippytoo
for her amazing willingness to beta this before her post-Christmas nap.
“Do you think it’s enough?”
Cordelia turned incredulous eyes on Angel, who was staring worriedly at the overflow of presents under the tree.
“Are you kidding? Connor’s gonna be opening presents until New Year’s Eve!” She laughed, getting up and walking into the kitchen to refill her mug. Steaming hot chocolate drifted up to her nose, and she sniffed appreciatively.
Outside, the rain continued to fall.
It would still be raining tomorrow morning when Connor woke up, and although it was approaching Biblical flood proportions out on the streets, Cordelia was happy if it kept falling. Rain meant clouds, and clouds meant Angel could go out with his son and walk around. See the Christmas lights before the New Year.
She’d take her digital camera and snap some memories up, put them in her album.
She turned and watched Angel fussing over the presents, repositioning them this way and that, adjusting the lights on the tree. Over in the corner of Angel’s bedroom, Connor lay sleeping peacefully, a Tonka truck still clutched in one small fist.
It had been a little over four years since Darla had staked herself and left her baby crying in the rain. Four years since Angel had become a father to a human child. Three Christmases, in which Angel had gone totally overboard, insisting on giving Connor every traditional Christmas experience.
But this Christmas would be the first where Connor would be fully aware of what it all meant. He’d asked questions about Santa Claus and understood the whole ‘naughty or nice’ deal, refraining from dropping his Match Cars down the various working toilets in the hotel.
Angel hadn’t complained about the plumbing bill once all month, and that alone was worth the twinge of guilt she felt at lying to Connor about the existence of Santa Claus.
“Cordy?” Angel called softly.
“Here,” she said, coming back over. Angel was sitting with his back to the couch, a blanket held up invitingly. She slipped down next to him, snuggling close.
They watched the Christmas tree twinkle silently, and Cordelia took a deep breath, amazed at the happiness glowing brightly in the center of her chest.
The night Connor had been born, she’d sat in the car and waited, dripping wet and more afraid than she’d ever been in her life. For Angel, and for the baby that Darla carried. She’d gone back out, unable to deal with the waiting game, and saw Holtz aiming his cross bow at Angel and the crying bundle in his arms. Her very blood had screamed at the sight, instincts she never knew she possessed roaring like an animal.
As Holt lowered his cross bow, she hadn’t hesitated, raising her own and letting a bolt fly.
It had hit Holtz to the left of the spine, drilling a hole straight through his heart.
He dropped like a wet meal sack.
Sometimes it bothered her that it didn’t bother her to take a human life like that. She thought she’d have felt some regret, an ounce maybe.
But she didn’t.
And every time Connor came tearing through the lobby of the hotel, battling giant robots and screaming his little lungs out, she knew she’d made the right decision.
“What are you thinking about?” Angel asked softly, right next to her ear.
She shivered, just a little, just like she always did when he was close to her, and shrugged.
“How perfect everything is,” she replied, turning to look at him. His mouth looked so good, she reached up and gave it a kiss. “How excited Connor will be tomorrow morning…and how early he will be waking up.”
Angel nuzzled her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her skin, and chuckled.
“It’s going to be at least a couple of hours before we’re through the bigger presents,” he sighed, his hand rising from the blanket, holding onto a small, brightly wrapped box. “So I guess I better give this to you now.”
Cordelia smiled. Angel got her something every year, even though she insisted, genuinely, that she had everything she could ever want or need.
“Thank you,” she said as she reached for it. It was light, and she wondered if it was the pair of earrings she’d seen him looking at through a jeweler’s window a month ago.
“Open it,” Angel urged her with a small smile.
She ripped through the paper to find the jeweler’s name embossed on the top of the black box.
When she opened the lid, she didn’t find a pair of earrings.
“Angel?” she squeaked, gazing at the square cut solitaire nestled in black velvet like the North Star hanging in the winter sky.
“Since I’m technically dead, I can’t legally get married, but I know a mage…” He stopped and gazed at her. “I can’t offer you much, we still don’t know if my soul is anchored or not, and our lives are in danger pretty much every minute of every day, but…”
“I’ll take it,” she said, joy bubbling up over her previous happiness and drowning her in tears. She gazed at him with what she hoped was all the love she had to give. “I’ll definitely take it.
“So you’ll marry me?” he asked hopefully, still so unsure.
“Yes!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him and laughing out loud. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his hold firm and unyielding.
“That’s great,” he whispered against her shoulder. She pulled back and took the ring from the box, sliding it on her finger. The platinum band looked stronger than steel wrapped against her finger, the diamond glittering in the glow of the Christmas lights.
It was four carats.
“Oh, God, Angel, you didn’t mortgage the hotel for this, did you?” she asked worriedly.
“Just about,” he admitted. “But it was worth it. And we’ll make it back inside a year.”
“Damn right we will,” she confirmed. “You may hate it, but you’ve got celebrity duty for the foreseeable future. You and Gunn.”
“What about Wesley?” he asked, sounding like Connor asking why he was the only one who had to take a bath before bedtime.
“Wesley is needed for research, plus those sleeve-stakes of his never work right, and we don’t
need another Miley Cyrus incident, do we?”
She smiled, moving under the blanket until she straddled Angel. The couch did a great job hiding them from Connor’s corner of the room, and she widened her thighs, feeling his growing erection against her center.
Rubbing softly, she leaned down and kissed him.
“We’ve got some time before Santa gets here,” she whispered, kissing along his cheek until she reached his mouth. “How can I thank you for the perfect night you’ve given me, and the perfect Christmas morning you’re giving your son tomorrow?”
giving him, you mean,” Angel corrected softly as his hips worked his erection against her. She gasped and angled her hips, silently begging for more. “None of this works without you, you know that right?”
“It’s nice to hear anyway, daddy-o,” she groaned. “Now shut up.” She opened her mouth over his, welcoming the thrust of his tongue.
They had to be careful, still unsure of the permanence of his soul after last summer’s quest to get it anchored, but every time they had gotten intimate and nothing bad had followed, she breathed a little easier.
Another quietly urgent minute passed while Angel had her sweatshirt pulled up over her breasts, and Cordelia forgot to breathe completely.
Tangled limbs and muffled gasps filled the space in between and around them, hands through hair and caressing kisses and Angel’s whispered confessions of love, as though he had never said them before, as though he could never say them enough.
But he didn’t need to say it, even though he gasped it over and over - I love you, I love you
- because she already knew.
And then, after Angel had wrung the last orgasm she was able to give, it was her turn to trace I love you
against his skin.
An hour before dawn, they climbed limply into bed, Angel curled up behind her.
Two hours later, the sweetest voice she’d ever heard screamed into her ear.
“Guys! Wake up! It’s Chwistmas!”