Lookin' for Love

Or, just how far will a single girl go for a little satisfaction?
Author: starlet2367
Feedback: Uh huh, that's right, c'mon, baby, OH YES! starlet2367@comcast.net
Rating:: Pshaw, y'all, it's smut. Whaddaya think? NC-17!
Summary: Jeez. Who needs a summary with a title like that? Let's just say: I am *so* over the angst at this moment, I could scream.
Dedication: Thanks to Jen for a down and dirty (heh) beta. And to Princess Twilite, whose Private Messages make me feel like that spy-chick on Alias, only cooler. Does this mean I get a decoder ring? And to Gracie, who has the flu and needs some livening up.

---

Once, way back in her high school days, she'd heard overheard Xander making a snarky comment.

"What a surprise! Xander snarking," she muttered as she flung her sooty hair out of her eyes and zipped up the stairs to her apartment.

Really, the surprise wasn't that he'd made the comment. It was that he *hadn't* made it about her.

Instead it had been about Faith. Crazy-ass rogue slayer with an appetite for destruction and a penchant for leather pants. "Hungry *and* horny?" he’d said. "I didn't think it took slaying to bring that out in her."

It was rare, but it happened occasionally: Xander had been right. It took very little to bring out the hungry or the horny in Faith.

He would know.

So did Cordy. From her prized seat at the Bronze, she’d watched that girl eat and screw her way from one end of Sunnydale to the other.

And after several years of her own brand of demon hunting, Cordy could truthfully say that slaying brought out a hunger in her, too. But it was the one for ribs, pizza, barbecue, and chips. No matter what time it was, whenever the L.A. crew got back from a good brawl, Cordy was starving.

In the beginning, Angel had cooked huge breakfasts. She'd steadfastly ignored the loverlike quality of their dawn assignations--because, ewww, walking corpse *and* Buffy's ex--and instead had wolfed down stacks of pancakes, piles of bacon and mounds of home fries. Then she'd go home and collapse in a sated heap and sleep until it was time to get up and start it all over again.

And, sure, she was as horny as the next girl.

But slaying as an aphrodesiac? Nuh uh.

So who was to say what triggered it? Had she finally hit that mysterious age that Cosmo readers worldwide called the Peak? "Of course Stella got her groove back," she muttered as she unlocked her front door. "She screwed a boy half her age. And since that would make my guy, like, ten, I don't really think that's the answer."

Or maybe it was that Kokopellis demon they slayed last week--the one known for spraying its, uh joy juice, when stabbed? Ya had to duck quick or be slimed. Her dive had taken her under the shining, pearlized arc; Wes hadn't been so lucky, but he hadn't shown any sign of succumbing to the demon’s powers, either.

"Well, he hasn't been sporting visible wood, anyway," she murmured to the quiet apartment. Speaking of Wes and visible wood, maybe that was it. Not Wes, per se, but if working with three hot guys got combined with not getting laid in 18 months then, ding, ding, yes, Pat, we might have a winner.

"Surrounded by hotties and can't get a piece of the action," she complained to Dennis as she locked the door behind her.

Here she was, nearly three years later. And, dammit, not only Xander had been right, but so had Faith.

Because after tonight’s kill she was hornier than hell.

And like every other woman in America who didn't have a steady gig, she'd just have to make do with a bath and her own hand. Again.

"Dennis? Fill the tub? Hot, please."

There was a squeak of the taps then the splash of water on porcelain. She left her clothes behind her like a bread-crumb trail.

"Come and get me, boys," she giggled, knotting her hair on top of her head with a scrunchie. It was barely long enough to stay, but at least it got it off her neck.

By the time she got to the tub, she was bare-assed and, despite her aching muscles, nearly vibrating with heat. "I can't get no," she hummed, "satisfaction."

She sank up to her shoulders in steaming, fragrant water. The stereo in the living room flickered on, sending out some seriously sexy Bonnie Raitt. The candles on the side of the tub flared.

She smiled. Dennis knew what she liked. In oh, so many ways. "Too bad you're a ghost, babe. You're my perfect man, otherwise."

Rose and lavender permeated the air as the steam rose. She reached for the soap, kicked a leg out of the water, and ran the finely-milled bar from foot to thigh.

If she'd been a cat, she would have purred.

That leg dropped down with a soft splash and the other rose, getting the same treatment. The soap was heavy and smooth, and it fit her hand like a lover's....

Her eyes popped open. Soap. Now there was an idea. She held the bar up for inspection.

Nahhh. Wrong shape. And it'd probably sting. And wasn't there some story about Richard Gere and a gerbil? She shuddered. Nope. She'd use that soap for its intended purpose.

Water sloshed as she sat up and grabbed the loofah. The thing took the suds like a pro, frothing and creaming with lather. She rubbed the scratchy sponge over her elbows and shoulders, down her back. Gave the sensitive nape of her neck a good, hard scrub.

"Ahhh," she moaned, arching against the long, slim wand.

Down her chest and, oh, God. Nipples. She eased back, letting the loofah dawdle between her breasts, letting her fingers follow the glistening trail.

Slick and hot and.... The loofah dropped out of her hand to float, forgotten, on the bubbles riding the surface of the water. Her other hand slid up, found the other nipple, and tweaked.

Her womb clenched happily, sending a shower of sparks through her entire body. "Yesss," she hissed, letting her hands glide and slide over soap-slicked skin. Beneath her fingers, her nipples were tight and flushed, pink as camellias and hard as diamonds.

She rested her head against the side of the tub and began to sort through her list of fantasies. "Jude Law," she mumbled, imagining his bronzed skin slipping over hers. His eyes, that eerie, metallic silver, watched like a cat with a bird as her hand ambled down her belly and ended up in the crease where thigh met pelvis.

He was just unbuttoning his gorgeously expensive linen and silk shirt when the phone rang.

She jolted, hand skittering out of its hiding place and coming to rest on the side of the tub. "Dammit," she muttered.

Dennis floated the phone to her and she took it from him with a flick of her wrist. "Yeah," she said, closing her eyes again so she wouldn't lose sight of Jude.

"Hey, Cordy, it's Fred."

Crap.

"Hey, Fred. What can I do for you?"

"Oh, nothing. Really. Ya see, I just noticed that, after you left, you know, ‘cause you didn't come back here after the fight, that...."

"Fred?" She cut her off mid-sentence.

"Yeah?"

"Do you have a point?"

"Sure," Fred said, happily oblivious to the fact that Jude was now climbing out the window and waving goodbye, and Cordy was lying in the tub, tapping her foot impatiently on the tile.

"Could you find it?"

"Ya left your purse. You want me to bring it over?"

"That's nice, Fred. Thanks. And, no. I don't need it. I've got my bus pass with me. I'll just pick the bag up in the morning, 'kay?"

Cause I really, really wanna get off this phone, like right now.

"Well, all right. If you're sure. Gunn and I are goin' out for breakfast. You sure you don't want to come? You usually like breakfast after a good...."

"Fred?"

"Uh huh?"

"I'm hanging up now."

"'kay. Bye! Oh, wait!"

Cordy huffed. "What?"

"Angel says can you bring one of those pints of blood from your fridge? He's out."

Her mouth dropped open. It took her entire seconds to recover. "Angel has a car, last time I checked. Tell him to get his undead ass out of the bed and get it himself."

"Angel!" Fred called.

Cordy hung up and dropped the phone to the mat. She tilted her head back against the tile and started again. Jude Law. Jude Law in A.I.... No. Too mechanical. Jude Law in.... Oh, yeah. The Talented Mr. Ripley. All those tidy little suits, and that scene in the jazz club....

She had Jude down to his boxer shorts before the phone rang again. "Dammit!" she yelled, yanking her hand out of the water and grabbing the phone in mid-air.

"WHAT?" she barked.

"Uh, Cordy?" Wes asked meekly.

"I said, WHAT?"

"Um, well, you see, I, uh. Shall I call you back later? Am I disturbing...?"

"Wes, it's four a.m. Of *course* you're disturbing me."

He cleared his throat. "Yes, well. I thought you might be up, you know, having breakfast or...."

"What is it with everyone and my breakfast? Not only am I not having breakfast, I'm trying to take a bath. A bath, for God's sake! You know, where you lie down and RELAX?"

"Oh, yes. Erm. A bath, yes, well, I see. It's just that.... No, Angel, she's not coming back here right now. She's taking a bath. Yes, a bath, you know where you…. Cordy?"

Her fist banged the tub in exasperation. "What?"

"He wants to know what time you're coming in tomorrow, and could you please bring that black sweater he left over because he's going to be doing laundry."

"Does he want that with or without the pint of blood imbedded in the fibers?" she hissed. Under the flat of her hand, the water made sharp little splashes. "Look, Wes, did you call to relay messages for the Vamp-Who-Needs-A-Mommy, or did you actually have a reason of your own?"

"I was researching, actually, and I came across a file in the pending section, and I had a question about the demon...."

"Pending? Like, when?" She turned on the tap with her toe. The water was getting chilly.

"Week after next."

Her teeth clenched. "Wesley?"

"Yes?"

"I. Am. Hanging. Up. Now." The phone went dead in her hand and she pitched it across the room, waited for the water to heat back up, and counted to 50.

When the phone didn't ring, she flipped off the tap and settled back in.

Since she was having such bad luck with Jude, she turned her attention to Brad. He wasn't her favorite, but he'd do in a pinch. And this was definitely a pinch.

So. Brad in...hmmm. Ocean’s Eleven? Cute, but no. She needed something…rougher. How about Fight Club? He was pretty hot in Fight Club. Bare-chested and bare-fisted, just like some guys she knew in real life. Well, the bare-knuckled part, anyway.

She sighed as her fingers trailed lower, and lower still, parting her thighs and slipping between wet, warm folds. "Ahhhh, Brad," she whispered, ignoring Jennifer's nasty looks and letting Brad's bare chest jump-start her idling libido.

Since he didn't have a shirt on to begin with, it was pretty quick work to get his pants off. (And Brad went commando! Who knew?) He'd joined her in the tub and was covering her lips with his own when.... With a shriek, she jerked the phone out of Dennis's invisible hand.

"So help me God, if you people don't leave me alone, I'll...."

"You'll what?" Angel asked, sounding genuinely surprised by her ferocity.

"What now, Angel? More blood? Another sweater? Can't find Connor's pacifier?"

"Actually, I was a little worried about you. You usually stick around after, you know. And you seemed sort of edgy tonight."

"I just wanted to come home and take a bath," she wailed. "Is that too much to ask?"

There was a beat of silence. "You're still in the tub?"

"Jesus Christ on a moped, Angel! What difference does it make?"

"None. I just.... Jesus Christ on a moped? You've been hanging around Lorne too long."

She shrieked. "I'm home. I'm fine! I'm not hungry! I'm...."

"You're what?"

"Frustrated!"

"Oh. Yeah. I get that. We've been calling all night and...."

She could almost see the light bulb go off over his loveably dim head.

"Uh. That's not what you mean, is it?"

She banged her own loveably dim head against the tile. "Angel, I'm hanging up this phone right now and going back to Jude or Brad or who-the-hell-ever I can conjure up at four-frickin'-a.m. And if you people don't leave me alone, I'm gonna...."

"So what you're telling me is, you're in the tub. Alone?"

"Hell yes, I'm alone! And that's part of the problem isn't it?"

"Naked? Covered in bubbles?"

"Not anymore! Jeez! The way I have to keep heating the water back up you'd think...."

"So you've been in the tub for how long, now?"

"How the heck should I know?"

"And still no luck with the, uh...?

"Self gratification? Jesus, Angel. It's not like you haven't been around for two and some change. Spit it out, already. Jilling off? Digitizing? God!"

He laughed outright. "I'll tell you what, Cordy. Since I disturbed you, the least I can do is make it up to you, right?"

"How? By sending me a mail-order husband? 'Cause at this point that's...."

"Close your eyes."

"What?"

He sighed long-sufferingly. "Just do it."

Her eyes blinked closed. "Fine. Whatever."

"Now. Where's your hand?"

"Huh?"

"Your hand, Cordy. Where's your hand?"

"On the side of the tub."

"Which isn't gonna get us very far, is it?"

"Ummmm, no?"

"Do I get to pick where it goes?"

Her heart did a long, slow turn in her chest. "What?" she gasped.

"Do I get to pick where it goes?" he repeated, voice warm and amused.

She gulped. "Angel? What are you doing?"

"Let's just call it a bonus for all those years of putting up with me."

"I'd rather have ten grand," she said wryly.

He laughed. "Say that again after we're done."

"Oh, holy crap," she said, as the reality of the situation hit her. Angel? And phone sex?

"Now, close your eyes."

She shivered and let her eyelids fall shut.

"Now take your hand and…."

Okay, this was too weird. "Angel?"

"Cordy, I’m trying to help you out, here."

"By having phone sex with me? Not that I mind, it's just.... First, are you sure you know how to do this? And second, you're not gonna wanna hug are you? And, like, go around announcing to the world that we’re, uh…. 'Cause…."

"Hmmm." He seemed to be giving it serious consideration. "Well, first, I'm actually pretty good at this, although I know you have difficulty believing that."

She snorted.

"And second, nah. Not if you don’t want me to. I mean, I can’t promise not to *think* about…."

"Thinking, huh?" Her mind turned like a dog looking for a place to lie down. "Well, I’d probably allow for thinking, especially if you're as good as you say you are, and the slaying thing keeps...."

"Cordy?"

"Huh?"

"Shut up?"

Her mouth slammed shut. She sighed. "Okay, eyes closed."

He hmph’d. "’Bout time. So where were we?"

"Hand," she reminded him. "Side of tub?"

For a few moments there was nothing but the sound of the heat system cycling air through the vents. "Angel?"

"Sorry. Lost in thought there."

She whined. "I’m getting off the phone if you’re gonna lose it."

"I’m not losing it. I’m getting it together."

"Whatever."

"Cordy?" His voice seemed to have dropped two octaves.

And God help her if a hot little thrill didn’t race up her spine.

"Mmmm…." She closed her eyes helplessly.

"I want you to take your hair down."

Her eyes blinked open. "How’d you know it was up?"

"Just slide your hands up there and untangle that cute little elastic thingie."

She sighed gustily, then cradled the phone in the crook of her neck so she could untwist the scrunchie and drop it to the floor. "Okay."

"It’s down?"

"Uh huh."

"Now cup some water in the palm of your hand."

It pooled there, warm and sheened with the last of the bubbles.

"Lean your head back and let it run down your forehead and into your hair."

"But…."

"Do it," he growled.

She tilted her head back and undammed the little pond. Water trickled over her scalp, streaking her hair with fingers of dampness.

"Again," he said.

Handful by handful the water weighted her dark tresses, flowing through and taking with it the last wisps of soot and sweat.

"Tell me how it feels."

"Warm. Wet." She giggled. "Tickles. I’ve got chill bumps."

"Good," he breathed. "Perfect. Now run your fingers through it. Slick it back from your face."

As she did, the air, already rich with scent, became redolent. She took a deep breath, held it in as her muscles eased, slid deeper under the heated layer of water.

"Relaxing?"

"Mmmm. Smells good. Rose and lavender."

Under his breath he laughed. "A classicist. Cordelia, I never would have expected it of you."

"What," she murmured, rubbing her hair with long, lazy strokes. "You thought I’d be all Aveda, or something? Hey, I grew up with money. I know what class is."

"That you do. Now I want you to take your hand…."

She moved, sloshing water.

"No, slowly. Really slowly. I want you to move your fingertips—just the tips—to your mouth. Touch your lips gently. Let your fingers trail over them. Feel the shape, the texture. Imagine how you taste…."

Little explosions of light went off behind her eyes. They’re just words, Cordy. Just words…. Against her fingers, the air left her mouth in tiny bursts.

Her lips were like petals unfolding.

"Now slip one of them inside. Not too far. Just enough to feel the heat. And come back out. That’s right," he crooned. "Imagine what that would feel like if it was someone else, touching you, tasting you…."

She pressed her fingers to her lips, cutting off the shuddering sound of her groan. Her body grew restless, churning water, kicking up heat. The steam seemed to increase, a dense fog that cut them off from the rest of the world.

"Now move your fingers down your chin, under your jaw. Down your throat," he whispered.

Warm, slightly pruned digits trailed over the warmer satin of her neck.

"Stop. Right there."

She knew what he wanted. Her hand stilled, letting her fingers caress the indention where her pulse fluttered madly, a moth on a light.

"That’s right. Tell me, Cordy…."

"It’s…." She gasped a breath, and the image in her brain shifted from any man to this man. From unspecified want to most focused desire.

"I can see it," he breathed, answering his own question. "Your skin, it’s iridescent. And when you turn your head, the shadows flicker right there, right in the curve of your throat. I want to run my fingers…." He paused, voice stuttering to a halt. "Can I say that? Can it be my fingers?"

Her head nodded frantically. "Oh, God, yes," she gasped, unable to get out anything more coherent. She heard the quick intake of breath, could sense his growing arousal.

"Over your skin, over that living, pounding pulse. Just let them rest there, Cordy, right there…."

"So fast," she breathed.

"You’re aroused," he groaned. "You’re alive."

"And kicking," she moaned. Her heart pounded in her temples, in her throat, in her wrists. Her belly throbbed golden and warm, a pulsing sun drawing him into her orbit.

"Let your hands move again, Cordy, this time wherever you want. Just…you have to tell me what, where, how it feels," he whispered.

Her eyes opened languidly as an idea occurred to her. "Do something for me first," she said huskily.

"Anything."

"Where are you?"

"I…in my chair. Sitting in my reading chair."

"Feet propped up?"

"Yes."

"Good. I want you to be as comfortable as possible."

He groaned. "Cordy…."

"Hey, life’s short for most of us. I say, any time you can get two for one? Go for it." She heard him shift, the creak of leather companionable through the phone line. "You comfy?"

"For the most part."

She giggled. "Well, we’re about to fix that, aren’t we? Now, every place I touch, you have to touch, too."

His little puff of breath was intoxicating. "This wasn’t what I’d planned."

"So? Take a risk."

He laughed huskily. "Like my life isn’t risky enough already?"

"Like you weren’t gonna do this after we got off the phone?"

There was a long pause. "Got me there," he finally admitted.

"So, where do you wanna start?"

"The first time?" His voice was like rough silk. "I’d wanna take it really slow."

The repartee’s edge dulled, leaving her brain floating in a warm pool of desire. "Okay, we’ll…go…slow…." She drew in breath, long and deep, and let it out in a soothing rush. "I liked it when you touched my mouth," she admitted. "I could feel your fingers there, on my lips, on the tip of my tongue."

He groaned.

She dipped her fingers in, sucked on them, drew them away shiny. "I’m imaging what you taste like. How rough your skin is, how it’s tangy, a little bit bitter, like biting lemon after you’ve licked salt."

Her taste buds lit up at the sense memory, mouth watering in anticipation. She ran her spit-slick fingers around her lips, marking them with her own scent, her own flavor. "I like the way you taste, all hot and male. Your fingers are a little bit rough and you like it when I bite down, you like the feel of my teeth digging in."

"Cordelia," he rasped.

"You wanted me to tell you," she murmured huskily.

"I know, I know."

"You push me down under the water, submerging me, then pulling me back up. The water tickles." She moved and the water rushed around her, eddies and whorls pulling and pushing softened flesh.

"What are you doing? I hear the water."

"Restless, can’t stop moving. My hands…your hands…. Trail down so slowly. Over my throat, pressing the pulse, caressing my shoulders. They stay there, massaging softly, melting me." The sound of rustling fabric told her that he was doing the same, letting his hands roll tense muscles into relaxed oblivion.

"Your hands are so strong, and they know…they know where to touch me," she breathed, imagining the feel of his big hands covering her, from collarbone to shoulder blade.

"You think I haven’t imagined this a thousand times? That I *wouldn’t* know?"

"Oh," she panted. "Then what do I want now?"

"You can’t lie to me. Your eyes tell me what you want. But you’d never beg for it, would you?"

"In…" she gasped, words cut off by the air struggling through her wind pipe. "Independence is a good thing," she got out. "Especially when you work with men."

He chuckled. "It’s definitely a good thing. Your wit, your courage, your independence, they’re what make you beautiful. But wanting, needing, that doesn’t make you less." His voice was chapel-quiet, reverent, and hot as a penitent’s flame.

Again she heard the creak of leather, imagined him shifting, maybe taking off his shirt, dropping it to the floor.

"I know you, Cordy. What you want, what you need. And right now, you want me to move my hands."

Her head thrashed against the tile. "God, yes." Her hands slithered over trembling shoulders, crossed the bony points of her collarbones, eased south.

"Where are you?"

Her hands stilled. "Top of my breasts."

"Ah, that’s good. Now trail around to the sides. Feel the weight, the way they round out under your arms." His breath caught in his throat. "So soft," he rasped.

Her fingers were like spider legs on silk, and they sent her heart skittering.

"Now under, and cup them, lift them. That’s right." The want in his voice would have been enough encouragement on its own. But add the words to it and every erogenous zone, from brain to clit, went red hot.

She groaned, cooling water, fading steam, rising fragrance and his voice working together to overload her senses. "They’re heavier than I realized," she admitted, startled by the feel and the weight.

"You never touch yourself the way I do. They...you just take care of them, wash yourself, get dressed, go about your day. But I know how you feel," he confessed. "Your breasts fit perfectly in my hands. Pale and full, like the moon. They draw me in. *You* draw me in," he murmured, and she could almost feel his breath on her face, his hands on her body.

She arched against him. "Touch me, Angel."

"Slide your thumbs up," he whispered, and they rose, finding the hard peaks of her nipples.

She cried out at the contact, belly clenching, mind expanding to nothing but light.

"Can you feel me? Flicking my thumbs across, back and forth. Now dip one hand in the water. That’s right, get it nice and wet."

Now the water was only slightly warmer than her hand. Just enough to set off a temperature differential that kept her head spinning.

"You know what I want, don’t you?"

"Your mouth, wet, kissing me," she gasped.

"Do it."

Her hand rose and her fingers covered her breast, circling the nipple like lips and tongue. Plucking and pulling and creating the almost-feel of a mouth, suckling deep and hard. Her hips plunged out of the water, sending a wave crashing over the edge of the tub and sailing the loofah to the floor.

"The other one, Cordy. I want to taste you," Angel said over the sharp splash.

She gasped, hands working frantically, imagination on over-drive.

The water shuddered over the tub's edge again, soaking the mat and flooding the tile. To compensate for the rapidly dropping water level, the taps twisted on. Hot water poured down, cascading through the cool to create a hot, wet wedge against her feet.

As the steam returned with the jetting water, she could see him, shadowed and fey, rising over her in the mist. She cried out as his weight pressed her down, back into the porcelain.

"Yes," he breathed. "You’re amazing, the way you feel, the way you taste. I don’t want to move from here, ever."

"So don’t," she moaned. "Stay with me."

"Baby," he crooned, his voice almost hidden by the flood streaming from the pipes. "If I don’t touch you now, I’m gonna die."

She giggled.

"Don’t say it," he rasped. "Just…."

She gasped when her fingers hit their goal. "Oh, God! Angel, are you…I want to touch you, too."

"You are. Hands all over me. God, it’s so good."

As Cordy's hands raced over her body, Dennis turned off the tap and returned the room to near silence.

"I hear you," Angel whispered into the sudden stillness. "Hear the water," he gasped. "Hitting the side of the tub. Tell me. Tell me what you feel like."

"Wet, so wet," she groaned. "Different, slicker than the water. Soft, and…." She slid her hand lower, finding the entrance to her body and thrusting her fingers deep.

"You’re…inside…" he gasped. His voice was raspy, lost. Circuits fried, it seemed to say.

"Y-yes. No, Angel. You, you’re inside. And…." She arched higher, letting her fingers slip and slide, in and out, stroking her clit and dipping back down. Fast circles, deep plunges.

"Your eyes, Cordy. You’re watching me, feeling me inside you. You want me deep, deeper."

She groaned. "Yeah, yeah, as deep as you can go. Wanna feel you…."

"When I, oh, God, when I touch you like this…."

"No, wait!" she cried, fingers crashing to a halt. "Don’t—it’s too fast. Let me," she gasped, pulling her hands away and rubbing them over her belly. "You. Need to feel you, Angel."

He hissed.

"You’re so…." Her hand slipped again between her legs as her mind went wild. "And you feel so good. I can’t even think now. All I can do is touch you. Your balls, they’re in my hand; and my mouth, I’m kissing your stomach. Licking your, oh, yeah, licking your cock. You’re in my mouth, now, all hard and hot. I can taste you, bitter and salty and I want to eat you alive."

His groan was raw, pleading. "Cordy, I’m getting close. You gotta slow down, baby."

Her fingers flew, hitting all the right spots, sending her already stressed system to the breaking point. "No," she gasped. "Too late.... Angel, you gotta…c’mon…."

She heard his teeth grind, "Can’t…stop. Jesusgod…."

"C’mon," she wailed. "Don’t stop! Don’t…oh! OH!"

She exploded into a million, diamond-bright fragments. Water lapped, candles floated and her voice flew on the steamy, scented air like the cries of a sea-bound gull.

On the other end, Angel moaned her name, a jagged sound that sent her up again.

She trembled, overtaken by ecstasy, lost under the steamy blanket of their watery world. From the sounds of labored breathing, she knew Angel hadn’t yet broken the surface, either.

They floated, body and mind, hanging loose and at peace. Her rushed breathing slowed, calmed. Between her legs, her still hand chased away the loneliness, at least for now.

They lay in silence until the last of the shivers died away.

Finally, she heard Angel shift. "So, you gonna be okay?" he asked huskily.

Cordy sighed. "Mmmm, I think so." She blinked her eyes open, looked around the darkened room. Became aware of the music twining from the speakers. Sting, now, dreamy and romantic. "You surprise me, Angel," she said quietly.

He made a sexy little rumble in the back of his throat. "What makes you say that?" His voice was lazy, unanchored. "Because I actually...you know? Over the phone?"

She wanted to take a fistful of his sweetly spiking hair and pull his mouth to hers. Just because. "Huh. Nice surprise, there. But, no. Because you trusted me. Us."

There was a pause. "But I do trust you. Us. Cordy, you know that."

"Yeah. It’s just. This is so…." She slipped her hand from between her legs and trailed it over her thigh.

"Intimate?"

"Uh huh. I wish...you know. I wish I was there with you now. Because as good as this was? And this is the big surprise...."

"Yeah?" he whispered.

"I miss you."

"Huh," he said, and the little sound sent shivers over her shoulders. "I can be there in 15 minutes."

"Bring the baby?"

"You only want me for my baby?"

She laughed and leaned up to pull the plug. "I've never heard it called that before."

"You know, this isn’t at all what I expected when you started this," he said wryly.

"*I* started it?" she parried, standing slowly, waiting for the water to sluice off her skin before reaching for a towel. "Who was the one that offered the bonus?"

"Hey, speaking of that bonus," he said, and in the background she could hear the rasp of a zipper and the creak of leather as he rose from the chair.

"You think that was worth ten grand?" she teased, wrapping the towel around her, toga-style and stepping onto the sloshy floor.

"You wanna ask me that again when I get there?"

She laughed, feeling warm and sleepy and--kind of, almost, maybe, and only in a sexually-induced way, of course--in love. "You have to hang up, or you’re never gonna get here."

"Your propensity for overstating the obvious never fails to amaze me."

"Whatever. Look, I’m hanging up this phone, and then I’m gonna put on my pajamas, and clean up this mess we made. And when I’m done, I expect you guys to be here." A cool breeze brushed the back of her neck. "Dennis says he’ll let you in."

"’kay. Hey, baby boy, you wanna go see Cordy?" She heard a sleepy whimper and then the soft shush of Connor’s breath as his daddy rested him on his shoulder next to the phone. "He says, yes, he’d like that very much, and we’ll be there really soon. Oh, and, Cordy?"

"Uh huh?"

"You're not gonna wanna hug are you?"

She stopped fiddling with the towel. "I'm sorry, tell me your name again?"

"Geraldo. Geraldo Angel," he said, and over Connor's sweet, shifting breath, she could hear the impatient rattle of keys.

"Oh, yeah," she sighed. "Sure, Geraldo, no hugging. In public, anyway."

"Great. That's a deal we can work, isn't it, little guy? See you in a few?"

"Yeah. In a few." She thumbed off the phone and stood gazing into the mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed, her eyes sleepy. She reached out and touched her reflection, running her fingers over her lips and down her throat.

"Hey," she asked herself. "Wonder what’s in the fridge?"

***

For people who like to know this sort of thing, Kokopelli is a Native American fertility god. I got tired of making up demon names and just, you know, stuck an "s" on the end.

Also, the story started out with the title "Loofah Love." After Cordy's hilarious slip in WitW, I had to wonder, what's the first time like with a ghost and a loofah? But then I got started and, guess what? Angel decided to make an appearance. So let's all give him a round of applause for stepping up to the plate. Who wants a scratchy old sponge when you can have a real, live (uh, dead?) vamp?

Besides, the loofah got a cameo. So the way I see it? It's all good!

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