Summary: Angel and Cordelia have sex. If you need a timeline, its early s2 and they’re at the Hyperion.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, ME and Fox all own a piece of these characters.
Notes: This is a PWP, that’s all. No plot, no story, no context of why they’re doing it or why the curse isn’t an issue. Joss made the curse a non-issue in s5 anyway, so I’m just trumping canon by three seasons. POV is also kind of dicey here, just so you know. :D
It’s midnight, and the hotel lobby is shadowed by low light.
The hum of the computers, and an occasional rustle of a page, interrupts the quiet.
Wesley is sacked out in a spare room, worn out from running around in the Los Angeles heat, looking for reference books for translating the Scroll.
Cordeila is at her desk, bent over the computer monitor.
Her hair spills forward on either side of her shoulders, exposing the back of her neck. She is still like a shaded pond in the middle of summer, absorbed in her task.
Angel watches her from the shadows beyond the pool of light coming from her lamp, feeling her breath as if her face were pressed in the hollow of his shoulder.
When her heartbeat gets louder than he is willing to bear, he appears next to her desk, standing close so he crowds her space.
She looks up at him, a question in her eyes.
He puts his forefinger to his lips - sshh - and beckons her.
She blinks slowly and rises to her feet, her breath suddenly shallow.
He remains facing her and backs up, leading her into the cool shadows of his office, his lip curling up in a half smile of sin and corruption, eyes burning with stoked fire.
She follows like a marionette pulled by his strings, hands at her sides, watching as he sits himself in his chair.
She comes around the desk, the clack of her heels muted by the rug, and stands between his spread knees. She watches as he reaches down with those lean hands and undoes his belt. The sound of his zipper is explosive in the quiet room, and she bites her lip, her body opening itself for him the way it does for no one else.
Only for him.
Her blood is slow and heavy, like syrup in her veins, as he tugs his pants apart and reaches in.
He pulls his erection out, and she can’t keep from looking at it the way he wants her to, her eyes clouding with desire and want and need. Curving up from his body, he runs his palm down the length, his eyes closing slightly from the sensation.
Opening them, he leans forward and gently cups the curves of her hips, pulling her slowly forward. Her knees buckle and she grabs onto the wings of his chair, holding on with curling fingers.
He slides her skirt up and she opens her legs, straddling his lap as the cool air touches the bare skin of her thighs and ass.
Gazing up at her, he reaches between her legs and moves her panties aside,sliding his fingers up, and she makes a sound that’s not quite a whimper at the collateral brush of his knuckles against her inner thighs.
A flood of warmth dampens his fingers and he smiles at this sign of her desire for him.
He pulls her forward, fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, and settles her on his erection.
Eyes sinking shut, mouth opening wide, she throws her head back and sinks all the down the length of him, slowly at first so she can feel all of him, all the way inside, her clit pressing against the rasp of hair above his pubic bone.
Every thrusting slide makes her wetter, drives her higher, undulating in his lap.
His hands glide up her thighs, brushing her ass before pulling her shirt up and tracing the moving snake of her spine with his fingers. She feels the tremor wrap around her torso and tighten her nipples to aching points.
She whimpers as his fire-lit eyes burn all the way inside her. The tight clench of her body around his cock, the way she feels every groove and vein as she fucks him, is like a feeling unlike any that came before.
Hot, hard, soft, clenching
A heartbeat away from orgasm.
He leans up and grabs the back of her hair in a fist.
“Come for me.” He says through the clench of his jaw, and then he pulls her head down and kisses her, tongue thrusting into the warm cavern of her mouth, holding her to him in an iron grip.
Her hair cascades over his shoulders and curtains them both, and the pressure breaks over her body.
She goes rigid, canting her hips into the breaking flood. He keeps his fist clenched in her hair and wraps his other arm around her waist, crushing her against him so that he can feel every shudder and break from the inside out.
His hips jerk when she sucks on his tongue, pulling his orgasm from his body effortlessly, and he surrenders everything, every shudder and jerk, breaking their kiss to bury his face in the cradle of her clavicle, a low cry from his throat like he's dying.
Eternity passes between heartbeats, the whole world narrowing down to the inches between their bodies.
She holds onto his shoulders, gathers him to her, breathing deeply as she tries to steady her body. Angel keeps his face buried in her shoulder, and she smoothes his hair, strokes the nape of his neck.
When he stops shaking, he runs his hands up her flanks, smoothing the sides of her breasts.
Then he gets up, holding onto her hips. He's playful, nipping at her mouth with his teeth, and she almost giggles at the velvet feel of his tongue tickling her lips.
Reluctantly, she lowers her legs to the ground and he steadies her as she wobbles.
He smoothes her skirt down her legs, tries to smooth the wrinkles but there’s no helping it, and he ends up running his hands over her thighs in a futile gesture.
When he straightens she smiles up at him, still as shy as the first time despite her reaction to him, despite her dominance over him. Unable to resist her, he leans down and takes her mouth in another kiss that threatens to begin the dance again.
But he can hear Wesley stirring, and breaks it off, setting her back from him.
Her eyes are glassy, and he gives her that half smile again, pushing her gently in the direction of her desk. She’ll sit there with the smell of him all over her, his come leaking from her body while she works.
He settles back down in his chair, opening a book.
His eyes scan the pages, picking up what he wants to, but he’s still listening to the sound of her heart beating, letting it soothe him.
Until it doesn’t.
Then the dance begins again.