Phone Sex

AUTHOR: Lamia Archer
RATING: NC-17. I know, I’m shocked, too.
FANDOM: “Angel”
PAIRING: Cordelia/Angel
WORD COUNT: 6,262
SUMMARY: Angel’s repeated buffoonery re: his cellular telephone gets him into trouble with Cordelia. Her attempts to rectify the situation get her into trouble via the PTB. Or is the whole thing Angel’s fault?
SPOILERS: Takes place after “War Zone.”
CLICHÉ/KINK: Phone sex.

“Now, I know you’re all old and whatever, and that you know stuff, but you’re apparently retarded when it comes to working anything that was minted after 1950—”

Angel squirmed. “I’m not retarded—”

Cordelia frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. She did that a lot, Angel had noticed, but it had never struck him as authoritarian until now; she’d made him sit down to listen to her, and standing over him, her jaw fixed, her arms crossed over her breasts, one eyebrow quirked, she looked not unlike a schoolmarm. A sassy, Fred Segal-clad schoolmarm, but still, the impression was there. Angel squirmed again. He was a little worried any missteps were going to be met with the ruler.

“—I mean, when I was alive, we didn’t even have regular phones,” he continued lamely, trying to divine where the thoughts of Cordelia wielding a measuring stick and bending him over his desk were coming from.

“That’s no excuse,” Cordelia said sharply. “That’s been, what, like a million years ago?”

Angel sighed. “Cordelia, I’m not a million years ol—”

She sent him a look that not only told him that she didn’t care how old he was as long as he was older than Keanu Reeves, but also reminded him forcefully of that ruler issue again. He stopped mid-word.

Cordelia uncrossed her arms and took Angel’s cell phone from his desk and handed it to him. He looked down at the evil little machine doubtfully; it hardly weighed anything. He remembered when phones were first available, in post offices and government buildings, the solid cold weight of them in your hand. There was no way this thing had enough in it to transmit communications from one place to another. God, Cordelia made him feel really, really old sometimes . . .

“You are going to keep this on you at all times,” Cordelia instructed, her voice going back to schoolmarm. “And you are going to learn how to use it. What if there’s another emergency, some sort of evil hell beast out to get me, and I can’t reach you because you don’t know how to turn your phone on? And did you enjoy being locked in that freezer?”

He sighed again. “No. But—”

“No buts. I’m going to be testing you periodically through the day, and you are going to be in big trouble if you don’t answer or call me back when you’re ‘sposed to, got it?”

Angel nodded wearily. This had not been covered in hell. “Yeah. I got it, Cordelia. I don’t have to know how to use the voice mail thing, do I, because I don’t even understand why you’d want to mail a phone . . .”

Cordelia stared at him blankly for a long moment.

“How did you even survive this long?” she demanded finally. “Go, you’re supposed to be out beheading things for the Martins. And they paid already, so don’t screw up. I have an audition at three; I’ll be checking in on you throughout the day. Keep your phone with you or else, mister!”

***

The Martins had a nest of zendri demons living in their basement, a fact they’d only discovered when a plumber they’d hired to fix a leaky water main had been eaten by one of the monsters. Angel was well into the unpleasant task of debeasting the place when his cell phone went off. Flustered, Angel stopped swinging his sword like a baseball bat, two-handed, freeing a hand to pat down his coat for the incessant ringing while leaving one hand to keep the damn zendris at bay with his weapon.

“Hello?” he answered testily.

“That took you, like, forty rings,” Cordelia’s annoyed voice filtered over the line.

Angel gritted his teeth and slashed at gleaming claws as they came whistling past his face.

“Sorry, Cordelia, fighting for my life here.”

She snorted. “Yeah, whatever. Just try not to make too big a mess, okay? You have to do recon for the Hendersons’ hex thing before close tonight and you’ll never get it done if you’re down there in the basement mopping up demon goo for hours.”

Angel bit his tongue. Cordelia was a lady; there were certain things one did not say in the presence of ladies. . . . He seemed to be reminding himself this a lot lately. A zendri screamed, high-pitched, as he skewered it on the end of his blade. He withdrew his weapon quickly; there was still a mess of them left.

“Is there something you needed . . . ?” he asked after a long pause.

“Huh? Oh, no, I’m just checking in. Sounds very Mariah over there.”

“What?”

“You know, all up in the upper registers?”

Angel neatly sliced one of the beasts’ heads off. The monster collapsed into a puddle of its own bubbling green blood with a sickening thud.

“Cordelia, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he managed finally, painfully controlling his tone.

“Not a newsflash,” she replied. “Anyway, I’ve got to go, I have an audition. But I’ll be checking in.”

“Looking forward to it,” he muttered, folding his phone closed and sliding it back inside his jacket’s inner pocket just in time to evade a trio of snapping jaws.

***

Angel was not particularly fond of warlocks. For one thing, they weren’t really known for starting fair fights, what with the sneaky under-the-table hexing that tended to go on. For another, after his skirmish with the gypsies, he was wary of magic folk in general; they just grabbed you by surprise, by the scruff of your neck. Angel liked to play to his strengths, and while he was fair with magic, he was much better with fists and fangs, and that’s where he liked to keep his fights if it was at all possible.

Because of warlocks’ aforementioned affinity for foul play, the recon for the Hendersons had turned into a full out brawl. Luckily for Angel, this particular warlock had bad aim; Angel was having pretty fair success dodging the curses that were being hurled at him, definitely a plus even with his growing frustration with this type of fight. He wanted to be in there, to get his hands on the skinny little bastard; this acting the sitting duck, waiting for the guy to run out of steam was wearisome as hell.

The warlock was brewing a sizable fireball. It would hurt like hell if it hit – shit, Angel hated fire – but it was sapping the man of his energy pretty quickly. Luckily, he had no idea where to throw it; they were fighting in the man’s office building – the guy was a dentist, would you believe that? Guess magic didn’t pay the bills – and Angel had taken up refuge behind the charred remains of the guy’s receptionist’s desk; with the lights off, and the waiting room filled with so many overturned chairs, it was like a battlefield shell game. Only a matter of time until one of them found the advantage.

Angel sank lower into his cat’s crouch and waited silently – the no breathing thing really came in handy sometimes – as the warlock walked slowly past him. The man looked down briefly at Angel’s hiding spot, but evidently missed the lurking vampire: he kept right on walking with his burning ball o’ weapon. Angel was about to leap out and knock the man to the ground when his goddamn cell phone went off.

The warlock turned much more quickly than Angel would have given him credit for, and Angel was barely able to duck the flames as they rushed past him. Son of a bitch.

***

“Now remember, I’m doing this extra thing until, like, eleven, so don’t call me unless it’s an emergency. Like, I’m talking the world is ending, the gates of hell are opening, Neiman Marcus is closing their doors forever . . .”

“Right,” Angel replied obediently. He was just relishing the few hours he’d have without worrying that she’d be checking up on him.

“You look very nice,” he offered, the hours of freedom buoying his spirits considerably. Not that she didn’t look nice; she’d been preening for hours in preparation for her big debut, and in all honesty, she was not far from ravishing.

Cordelia beamed, relaxing slightly. “Thank you.” The calm didn’t last long; soon she was back to disciplinarian. “I mean it about not calling me. I mean, I’m going to put my phone on vibrate anyway, but—”

Angel wrinkled his brow. “What’s that?”

“Huh? Oh, you don’t know anything.” She took her cell out of her purse and walked close enough to him that he could watch the screen as she illustrated setting the phone to manner mode. “Look, you just go to Menu, and then go to Settings, then Ring Styles, then Vibrate.”

The little phone shook in her hand as she selected the command.

Angel brought his eyes up to her slowly. “And then . . . what does that make it do?”

She heaved a mighty sigh. “God, you are impossible. Then when somebody calls you, instead of ringing, the phone vibrates.”

Angel nodded slowly. “I see.”

Cordelia shot him the look she gave him when he was unable to decipher her gossip about current celebrities, or he went into too much detail about eviscerating something. “Yeah, it’s a real miracle of technology, right next to waterproof mascara.” She paused. “Turn around.”

Angel regarded her without comprehension. “What?”

She huffed a sigh. “Turn around!”

Confused but not really wanting to incur any Queen C wrath, Angel turned around. He heard a little scuffling behind him and then Cordelia’s chipper voice broke back through his baffled brain.

“I have to go,” she said, starting out the door sans-purse. “Try—”

He frowned.

“You’re not taking your pocketbook?” he asked, proffering it to her.

She made a face. “Pocketbook? You sound like my grandmother. No, I’m not taking my purse; I don’t want to be lugging things around the studio like some B-lister who can’t afford a personal assistant.”

“Oh . . .” Angel said dully, not really getting it. “What about your . . . lipstick and things? And your phone . . . ?” He was confused about why he’d had to be lectured if she wasn’t even taking the thing.

Surprisingly, a sheen of blush rose over Cordelia’s unflappable visage.

“Since you must know, nosy,” she said unsmoothly, “I have a little garter wallet. You know, like for clubs and stuff, when you don’t want to carry a bag around? Well, of course you wouldn’t know, but a lot of girls do it, and . . .” She looked worried all of a sudden, smoothed her tight leather skirt self-consciously over her shapely thighs. “You can’t tell, right? I mean, I only put my phone and my driver’s license and my credit card in there, it doesn’t make me stand funny or anything, right?”

Angel was a little taken aback, but he’d spent a hundred years with Darla, a woman who met the wrong answer with a backhand or worse, and he answered immediately.

“You look flawless, Cordelia. You’ll be great.”

She relaxed immediately, the flush paling from her skin, her usual cocky smirk rising back in its place.

“Great. Thanks. Well, I have to go. Try to keep yourself occupied; maybe do some filing, hmm? We’re kind of behind.” She flashed a radiant smile before he could sputter a response. “Bye!”

***

Cordelia was exultant. She was on a real studio lot, getting paid to do real acting! Okay, the getting paid was less than she would have been if she’d stayed at the office – or, well, she was technically still getting paid at the office; hey, as a vital part of Angel’s team, and the person in charge of the books, she was on salary! – and the real acting was sitting in a booth in the background shots of a restaurant scene pretending she was eating a gelato, but still. She was on a real lot, she was getting paid, and she’d been in Hollywood way less time than a lot of struggling actors. How cool was this?

***

When Wesley couldn’t understand why Angel would want him to go home early, Angel gave him a not-at-all crucial backlog assignment that would take hours and hours and told him it was pressing. Wesley, pleased to be needed, ran off immediately with several books and a weapon three or four sizes larger than was appropriate, leaving Angel – amused – alone in the office.

Angel relaxed back in his chair. He put his feet up on his desk and looked at the cell phone Cordelia had given him. The day under her tutelage had caused him a huge amount of grief, but to her credit, he did know how to use it a little better now. And, in her misguided, Machiavellian way, she’d really only meant to help him. And she was just a girl, not much more than a child. Maybe he should just let it go.

He shifted slightly and his shirt caught on raw flesh: burns, the leftovers of his fight with the warlock. Angel winced. God, he hated fire.

Well . . . maybe if he taught her a lesson this once, she wouldn’t do this kind of thing again.

Angel flipped open his cell phone, dialed Cordelia’s number, and pressed Send.

***

Cordelia had everything figured out. She could pretend to eat her gelato for hours and still look artful and gorgeous if she very carefully took the edge of her spoon around the inside edge of the glass and then carefully laved away the chocolaty mousse. Really carefully . . . not porn star carefully. She didn’t want to do anything indecent here. She had that figured out definitely. And she had decided that she’d keep her legs crossed so that her skirt would show her figure perfectly, and show just the right amount of her flawlessly – that’s right, Cordelia Chase is flawless – toned thighs. Well, who knew how much the camera would actually catch, but presentation was everything.

It was the leg crossing that got her into trouble. With her legs crossed, her garter – and the little wallet with her cell phone – was pressed firmly against her pudenda. So when Angel called, her phone vibrated right against her unwitting sex which was covered – because she was Cordelia Chase, fashionista, even if she had fallen somewhat from her position as queen of Sunnydale society – only with the most delicate of La Perla Black Label. So when Angel called, Cordelia gasped, and she dropped her spoon, and she almost lost her cool. Almost.

“Oh, that son of a bitch . . .” she muttered under her breath.

Nobody ever touched her like that, only she . . . when she was alone . . . shut up, a girl had needs. It was a teasing touch, almost a tickle, but it was still making her wet, making her hot, making her pant. To be perfectly honest, if she’d been alone, if she hadn’t been busy, if it hadn’t been Angel – okay, the last part had some negotiating, but that was hardly the point – then she would have loved to lie back and just ride the sensation out, but right now she was blowing a really big opportunity. This had to stop, it had to stop now.

Cordelia tried to uncross her legs, but bringing the top leg down only put more pressure onto the pulsing phone, and that was maddening. She tried, instead, putting her hands back behind her on the seat of the booth she was sitting in and leaning back on those, redistributing her weight; that helped somewhat, but she realized, suddenly, that she must look incredibly foolish. She flushed all over, all at once, and looked around to see if anyone was watching her. It didn’t look like it; it looked like they were going on filming just like they had been, but still, she was in the middle of all these people . . .

Cordelia straightened, tried to look normal. She even picked up her spoon again, but she couldn’t maintain a normal grip on it; the vibrating was infuriating, driving her to distraction, and her hand curled into an unnatural fist around the utensil and just fell to the tabletop with it. She gasped again and clenched her legs together around the buzzing, held her breath. She didn’t know how much longer she could stand this: it was getting worse. It was starting to . . . build. She knew that eventually her phone would have to give out, go over to voice mail, but it seemed like every time it did that, he’d just call back. There’d be a little pause, and then it would be back, and that was worse than if it had just continued unabated, because her raw flesh was given a respite and then attacked again and . . . oh, that son of a bitch. She was pretty sure she was flushed all over now, and panting . . . and what was the worst thing of all is that the feeling had gotten so bad that she . . . she wanted more. The fire between her legs was hungry, her flesh felt unsound and she just wanted . . . more. God, she was going to kill Angel!

Feeling more than a little dirty, but not caring incredibly much, Cordelia very carefully uncrossed her legs and leaned forward to bring more pressure onto the phone. But as careful as she was, it was still too much: she moaned aloud. God, yes. Using the table as leverage, Cordelia adjusted her weight over the phone until it was directly under her most aching center. She almost moaned again, but managed to keep herself in check. She was good at that: Cordelia Chase was nothing if not manicured. Reigning herself in with a deep breath, Cordelia closed her eyes and concentrated on her granted pleasure, on the pulsations quaking through her sex.

***

Angel was preparing the office for close – light filing, tidying up a bit, putting new grounds in the coffee maker, all the things he paid Cordelia to do – when he heard a noise behind him: the door swinging open and shut. He turned, confused; Wesley had phoned not too long ago saying that he’d hit a bit of a snag and that he’d probably be another few hours.

It was not Wesley standing before him; it was Cordelia, looking perfectly coiffed and perfectly pissed, her arms crossed over her chest in that schoolmarm pose and her lips tightly pursed.

Angel was genuinely surprised; he hadn’t expected her to come back to the office after . . . well, he hadn’t expected to see her so soon.

“Cordelia,” he said uncertainly. “I—you’re in late. Have a . . . have a nice debut?”

She smiled sweetly. “Yeah, it was great. Up until the part where you almost made the movie into Cordelia Does Dallas, that is.”

She dropped something heavily to her desk. Angel looked to see what it was, and to avoid her punishing glare: it was the garter wallet and belt, fat with her cell phone and its various other contents.

Angel tried to look innocent, but he was pretty sure he’d never been very good at that.

“I don’t know what you—”

“Save it. What the hell was that about?”

He frowned, dropping his act.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through today, with all your little tests?” he asked sharply. “You almost got me eaten by a nest full of zendri demons, which are pretty far down the list of demons you want to hang around with. And you did get me set on fire!”

Cordelia relaxed a little, the purse going out of her lips, her arms falling to her sides.

“Fine. Then we’re even, okay? Well . . . almost.”

He raised his brow. “Almost?”

She shot him a look. “Do we need to get you fitted for a hearing aid? Almost. I figure you getting almost eaten and set on fire was already in the cards for you re: the PTB. I wasn’t going to put on a little peepshow through my normal course of events, so you owe me.”

He relented, smiling a little. “Okay. What do I owe you?”

She sidled up to him, throwing her shoulders back a little.

“Another go.”

He studied her for a long moment without understanding then finally laughed and shook his head.

“Okay, I give up. Another go . . . ?”

“Your little prank was fun for you, I’m sure. . . . But it was a little fun for me, too. But as nice a ride as it was, it was still in the middle of a huge group of people, you ass! So I figure you owe me a decent ride sans-audience.”

There was a long moment before comprehension dawned on his face.

“You want me to . . . but Cordelia, we . . . I—”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a prude! There are plenty of things we can do without you losing your soul. And you owe me. And don’t think of it as me using you; we’re friends, and we love each other, right?”

The shock softened from his face. “Of course, Cordy. But—”

“No buts. Are you going to do it, or not?”

He sighed. “Well . . . if you really think—”

She frowned. “I’m Cordelia Chase. I don’t think; I know.”

***

She made fun of him for being old-fashioned when he insisted on taking her downstairs to a proper bed, but she was actually really touched. He asked her again if she was sure she wanted this, and she caught herself just before she asked him if he’d been this nervous with Buffy.

“Yeah. Of course. I trust you like I’ve never trusted anybody . . .” Angel started getting that soft, Hallmark Channel look in his eyes, and Cordelia worried she was getting it in hers, so she added quickly, “plus, you totally owe me, jerk,” and he laughed.

Angel sat her on the edge of the bed and then knelt in front of her. Cordelia looked down at him and all of a sudden felt really light-headed, really dizzy . . . maybe this was a bad idea. Angel stood up on his knees and, cradling her jaw lightly with his fingertips, brought his lips to hers. Oh, God, okay, so maybe Buffy wasn’t such a spaz, because this . . . this was really nice, he . . . he was really not bad at this. Angel’s touch was very gentle but not at all timid; Cordelia felt herself surrender to him almost completely, and that was a new thing: she was used to being in charge. She just let go and let herself experience the feel of him: he was kissing her very softly, a slow, easy cadence. She opened her eyes after a moment; he had his eyes closed, and something about that struck her as endearing on a really primal level.

When Angel broke off the kiss, he opened his eyes and studied her. She was flushed, a little, and a little near tears. She wasn’t sure why.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

She took a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” She paused. “You know, you’re cold. I mean, kissing you . . . ? It was great, but your mouth, it’s . . . cold.”

He smiled a little. “I’ve heard that.” He sobered. “You sure you want to do this?”

This time, she was unable to summon her usual bravado, and just nodded weakly.

“Okay,” he said, nodding a little and squeezing her shoulder, her waist, reassuringly. “Will you stand up for me?”

The question took her off guard; it actually made her a little less nervous, because it took her away from Dizzying Bedroom Angel back to Regular Friend Angel.

“Huh? Why?”

He smiled a little. “I want to undress you.”

Oh. There was Bedroom Angel again.

“Oh. Um . . . okay.”

Angel – still on his knees – slipped his hand from her shoulder and extended it instead palm up. She took it awkwardly and came to her feet; Angel stood after her, still regarding her in his quiet, not quite sexual manner. God, he was tall. And broad. Very . . . very broad. Had he always been this big, and she just hadn’t noticed it all the time they’d been working together?

Angel placed the hand not in her possession on the small of her back and used that to very gently guide her towards him. Cordelia took the step forward like she was in a trance: weightless, mindless, numb. When she was close, Angel withdrew his other hand from Cordelia’s and used it to tip her chin up to him, started kissing her again. She still felt panicked, but she tried to remind herself that it was just Angel and that she needed to cool it, but the way he was making her feel was a little too close to perfect for her body to listen to all the completely reasonable things her mind was saying, and this time he slipped his tongue into her mouth and her knees actually got weak; it was lucky Angel still had his hand on the small of her back, because if he hadn’t he would have had to bust out the preternatural speed to catch her before she hit the floor.

Cordelia was so absorbed in Angel’s dizzying kisses, in fact, that she completely missed Angel undressing her. By the time she’d caught up, Angel had unzipped her leather skirt, worked it down her thighs, had her step out of that and her heels, and was now well on his way unbuttoning her shirt.

She broke off their kiss.

“How did you do that?” she demanded.

He was nonplussed. “How did I do what?”

“I—nothing. Here.”

She finished unbuttoning her blouse and threw it to the floor in the vicinity of her skirt, completely forgetting that she was nervous near Bedroom Angel. Angel cracked his Cordelia-Surprises-Me-Sometimes smile.

“Good. That, uh, that moves things along.”

“Well, I couldn’t wait for you all night,” she said breezily, and threaded her fingers through his hair as she went in to kiss him again. Okay, no lies, but the man had great hair and she’d been wanting to get her hands on it for a while. That felt good.

Somehow – she wasn’t sure, but it if she had to guess, she’d say that Angel was as quick and graceful in the bedroom as he was on the battlefield – they were all of a sudden on the bed, and Angel was unclasping her bra – damn, he was good at that, too. Not like a high school guy – and she was getting nervous again.

Angel paused – he seemed to know when she was getting nervous; could he tell? Maybe he was just that experienced . . . or, ew, maybe he could tell through some creepy vampire sense – and studied her, his hands stilling around her rib cage. It felt like he was holding her, cradling her; when they paused, when he was looking at her and not kissing her, his touches, his appraisal didn’t seem sexual.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was a little tinny, and she didn’t feel as strong as she had a moment ago, but she didn’t want to stop. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just . . . go slow, okay?”

He nodded and then kissed her – her forehead, Cordelia noticed, not her mouth – and held her close for a moment.

“Tell me if I go to fast, okay? I’m on your time.”

Cordelia really didn’t want to be the kind of girl who would be comforted by that, but she found herself relaxing perceptibly.

“Okay.”

Angel nodded again and Cordelia closed her eyes, losing herself in the sensation of Angel’s mouth pressing tiny cool kisses over her collarbone and throat, of one cold hand cradling her hip, the other working her bra off and tossing it to the floor. She kept her eyes closed as Angel lowered her to the plush mattress, as the cool kisses worked from her collarbone to locations south. She arched into Angel’s touch, then put her hand on the back of his head and guided him along – she was a little surprised at how bold she was being, but it felt right and she felt good, and Angel certainly wasn’t complaining, so she guessed it was okay – as his talented mouth found her bared breasts. He started just kissing, his touches teasing like the cell phone had been earlier in the day, but then he traced his tongue around the dark taut circle of her areola, nipped at her alert nipple with his flat human teeth and that was much, much closer to gold. She bucked, her eyes flying opened.

“God.”

Angel was amused, smiling a little half-smile. “Lie back.”

“I—”

“We’re not even close. Lie back.”

Normally she wouldn’t stand for a guy giving her orders, but with Angel she half wanted to slug him in the arm and she half wanted to laugh because he looked so close to laughing himself, which was weird because he never laughed. Instead of doing either of those things, she lay back because if they weren’t even close, she wanted to see what the rest of the ride felt like.

Angel – still smiling a little, Cordelia noted; she kept her eyes opened this time, and watched him and his little smirk as he lowered himself over her – brought his mouth to her breast again. He took his time, this time, slowly sucking her nipple into his mouth and then gradually closing his teeth down around it. It still felt . . . God, good, and when he released it, the sweet pain was fresh and open to the air; Angel blew a thin stream of icy breath to reignite the pain tenfold. Cordelia flinched, writhed; the untended fire between her legs raged.

“Angel,” she gasped.

He looked up at her passively.

“Remember that thing that I said about taking it slow?”

“I do.”

“Forget it.”

Angel smiled. “Sure.”

Quickly, quietly – It must be that bedroom/battlefield grace thing, Cordelia thought; she had never seen a man move like that, sensual but not sluggish – Angel moved to the end of the bed, positioned himself between her legs. He paused a moment, looked up at her.

She met his eyes, gave him her No Nonsense look. “If you ask me one more time if I’m sure about this, I’m gonna put more hurt on you then any zendri demon or warlock ever dreamed. Got it?”

Angel grinned. “Yeah. I got it.”

He made short work of removing her La Perla Black Labels. Cordelia was almost taken aback; he looked all quiet and well mannered, but he could get a lady out of her underpants fast.

“Wow,” she breathed.

Angel chuckled, which made her giggle a little. Great. Time for sex, and she was giggling. Angel looked up at her, met her eyes, and they shared a smile. Well, okay. Maybe it was all right.

“Spread your legs a little for me, would you, Cordy?”

“Oh. Sure thing.”

Angel was still grinning, and she was worried for a minute about his perfect happiness thing . . . except for the fact that he was still completely dressed, and so perfect happinessing probably wasn’t going to be on his menu tonight. Oh! So he was going to . . . oh.

Cordelia sat up and almost broke Angel’s nose. He jumped back, startled.

“Sorry! I’ve just . . . I didn’t know you were going to . . .”

He surveyed her for a moment. “Is that not okay? I mean . . . you know we . . . I can’t . . .”

“No, I know, I just – no, it’s fine, I just—” She blushed. “A guy’s never . . .”

Comprehension dawned on his face. “Oh. Okay. Just . . . lie down. Relax.”

He nodded encouragingly and she lay back down. He patted her thigh and it totally wasn’t weird that it was naked; it was reassuring just because it was Angel and he was looking at her with that I can take care of anything look. She took a deep breath and tried to relax, reminding herself of how he’d made her feel earlier, that this wouldn’t be like a pelvic, it would be like what he’d done to her breast, only . . . multiplied by like a hundred or something.

Angel settled back between her legs and Cordelia closed her eyes and spread her legs again, like he’d asked. This felt . . . kind of weird; she was pretty aroused already and her sex was exposed, and . . . well, she’d never done anything like this before; for all the rumors floating around Sunnydale High, Queen C parted her legs for hardly anyone. A girl of her standing had standards. So she wasn’t sure of what to expect and – oh, God, not that. A shock of cold running across the throbbing ache that had caused all this trouble in the first place: Angel’s tongue running over her labia. It felt good, but it was a shock, and Cordelia almost jerked up again and that definitely would have broken Angel’s nose; she settled for the middle ground of taking a deep breath, opening her eyes.

Angel was still, watching her.

“It’s all right,” he murmured. He met her eyes.

Cordelia’s voice was small when she spoke: “How do you always know when I’m upset?”

“I can hear your heart beating,” he answered honestly. “It beats faster when you’re upset.”

“That’s kind of neat. And, you know, kind of intrusive and weird.”

He smiled sadly. “Sorry. Vampire.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t mean to get nervous, you’re just—”

“Cold?”

She nodded again. “Yeah.”

“Sorry,” he repeated. “Vampire.”

“So, is this, like, the worst sex of your life?” she asked lamely.

He shook his head. “I’m having a good time.”

She searched his face desperately. “I don’t believe that.”

He locked onto her gaze. “I like being with you, Cordelia. You don’t need to prove anything to me; I’m happy just being with you.”

Cordelia relaxed. Completely.

“Yeah,” she said. “Me too. Or . . . you too. You know what I mean.”

He smiled. “I do.”

She motioned to where he was sitting. “I’m ready to do this. Sorry for the delays.”

He lowered his head gallantly. “It’s all right; I’m not getting any older.”

She grinned. “Was that a joke?”

“Watch it; probably won’t be another one for a long time.”

“I’ll make a note of it.”

Angel settled between her legs for a third time, his hands cradling her hips. Cordelia lay back and breathed deeply as Angel’s head bowed between her dark curls. The cold shock of his tongue was a little alarming this time, but not only was she legitimately relaxed, she prepared herself for it, and she was able to ride out the shock and just enjoy the pleasure. Soon that’s all she felt: the waves of pleasure lapping up to the shore, one after another. Soon, she was raising her hips to meet his cool undulations; soon, she had her hands tangled in his hair again, had her hands on the back of his head, pressing him down against her intense need. And she did. Need. God, she felt like she contained a fire that would never burn out; the more he gave, the more she consumed. She just kept growing tighter and tighter and tighter, climbing higher to an impossible peak, sweating and panting and undulating her hips, until finally he released her. His teeth closed on her clitoris like they had on her nipple earlier and she climaxed, arching her back and maybe screaming a little, but who cares, she was with her friend.

Cordelia collapsed, wonderfully sated, in a spent mess on Angel’s bed. Angel crawled up beside her, looking a little bemused.

“Can I get you a glass of water?”

“Huh? What? No, just . . . stay, okay?”

He relaxed beside her, smoothed some of her sweaty hair out of her face.

She flinched. “Do I look horrible?”

“You look wonderful.” He paused. “So. Are we even now?”

Cordelia punched him in the shoulder as hard as she could, which was, at the moment, not very hard at all. Angel laughed, actually laughed, which was ridiculous, and started Cordelia laughing too.

“You are so not a gentleman,” she accused through her laughter. “How did you get so much ancient booty?”

“I’m very, very cute,” he deadpanned.

“You’re also not horrible in the sack,” she admitted.

He smiled fondly at her.

“I’m glad you had a not horrible time,” he said.

Cordelia smiled fondly back. “I really did. Thank you.”

She sat up and kissed him, full on the mouth; Angel tautened at first, caught off guard and unsure of her intent. After a moment, though, he relaxed and kissed her back.

“You-you’re welcome,” Angel stuttered when Cordelia broke off the kiss.

Cordelia beamed back at him.

“Now we’re even.”

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