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samsomTitle: Snake Dance
Author: Samsom
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It’s not holding hands they’re doing.
Pairing: C/A, of course.
Notes: Written spur-of-the-moment and with no higher aspirations other than being a hit of pure smut. I meant to write another fic, but whatever, I’m just glad something was bouncing around in my head. Set vaguely in s3 BtVS.
~~
She barged into his mansion at exactly the wrong time, her voice relentless and mean and her body lush and full underneath the cute little cheerleader’s uniform.
Angel glared at her as she rambled on about the dangerous game he and Buffy were playing, eyes raking her as she stood with her hands on her hips as though she owned the world and everyone in it.
She wagged her finger at him and told him he needed to just leave town because it was clear Buffy was never gonna make him, and the world did not need another repeat of the spring from hell, and he had to be the bigger man-vampire-whatever, and rip that band-aid right off and blah, blah, blah –
And Angel looked at her, this privileged girl he could offer nothing to, was nothing in her eyes, just another animal that needed to be muzzled.
Cordelia’s buzz-saw voice dimmed and another buzzing took over, one that crawled through his head like a swarm of ants and suddenly he had to shut her up, just shut her up –
And then he was in front of her, and grabbed that cheerleader rope at the back of her scalp, yanking her head back on her neck until she yelped. His mouth didn’t so much crush hers as slapped against her teeth, tongue drilling in relentlessly, practically ramming down her throat.
She almost gagged and pushed on him, tried to get his big body to back off but he was too frustrated, too hungry and Cordelia tasted better than anything he’d had in a very long time.
He tried to drag her into his chest, one arm locking around her shoulders but the sudden, agonizing jab in his ribs made him pull back just as quick.
He looked down between them and saw the stake pointed at his ribcage, her tiny hand wrapped around the base, ready to thrust.
He looked up and met her deadly serious eyes.
Did he think she’d come without a weapon, she asked him, her lips pressing back against her teeth and one eyebrow raised, looking at him like he was dirt under her shoe.
His cock almost punched a hole in his trousers, and he resisted the urge to pull her closer. Her body was stiff with resistance, her ready-to-rock posture not giving an inch.
But he wanted her.
He held her eyes and slowly lowered his hands from her shoulder and the back of her head, both of their bodies rigid with tension, smoothing his palms roughly down her flanks.
She asked what the hell he thought he was doing but he wouldn’t answer, preferring to show her, dropping to his knees and making the sharp point of the stake scrape up his ribs. A thin red line formed, bleeding at an angle, drops of red against his bruised, white skin.
She didn’t relent, holding the weapon in a downward angle, ready to plunge it through his shoulder to get to his heart.
Angel put his hands under her skirt, and she drew in a sharp hiss of a breath, like a snake about to strike, and asked him again what the fuck he was doing.
He stared up at her, seeing the panic in her eyes as he lowered her school-issued, cheerleader spandex underwear. Her grip on the stake tightened and he paused for a second, waiting.
When she didn’t move again, he pulled the red spandex down around her ankles and lowered his head until her skirt obscured her to his view.
Her pubic hair was neatly trimmed, almost an inverse triangle. She was a pampered, milk-fed lamb.
And he was a ravenous wolf.
He pressed his face against her thighs and licked at the closed seam of her cunt.
Cordelia’s knees buckled and he braced himself but she never fell, locking her knees and gasping, unseen, above him. The stake jabbed into him, drawing more blood.
He peered out of her skirt and saw her wild eyes, the way she clutched the stake.
If he so much as vamped, she whispered, if she so much as felt his teeth, she’d dust him and leave without even sweeping him up.
His cock throbbed harder, like his absent heartbeat, and he went back to her, pressing his face into her fragrant body, parting her with his tongue so that her clitoris peeked out, pink and shining.
She made a noise and he felt her thighs clench, torn with the need to stand her ground or fall like water into his arms.
He maneuvered her stiffly held body until the sides of her knees hit the couch and then he gave her a gentle shove. She fell awkwardly, knees together, death grip on her stake, which was now pushed against his neck.
He parted her stiff legs, pushing at both knees until they fell apart, until her center opened like a flower after a hurricane.
He dove, mouth opening over her flesh, tongue sliding up and down into the growing wetness.
The salt was like tasting blood, and the more he took his roughened tongue to her inner lips, the top of her clitoris, and back down again, the more it flowed, mixing with his saliva, running down his chin.
He felt like the animal he knew she thought he was, grunted while she squirmed, the stake jabbing into him like a needle into an addict, over and over, his blood running down over his shoulder, dripping onto the fabric of the couch. He took her clit into his mouth and watched as her chest and chin arched outward, a low keening sound from her mouth. He pressed his nose into the top of her hood and rubbed as his tongue did its snake dance.
Her free hand grabbed the back of his head, the other never letting go of her weapon.
Her legs straightened over his shoulders as she jerked suddenly, panting and keening, and his mouth flooded with her come.
And still he ate her.
The moon climbed the sky and a breeze carried the fragrance of jasmine from the garden. The old clock in the corner chimed, once, twice, three times.
Softly clicking heels sounded out front, pausing in the entryway. A pair of eyes gazed through the never-quite-closed door and flared wide.
A moment later, the footsteps faded away without hesitation.
~end~
Author: Samsom
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It’s not holding hands they’re doing.
Pairing: C/A, of course.
Notes: Written spur-of-the-moment and with no higher aspirations other than being a hit of pure smut. I meant to write another fic, but whatever, I’m just glad something was bouncing around in my head. Set vaguely in s3 BtVS.
~~
She barged into his mansion at exactly the wrong time, her voice relentless and mean and her body lush and full underneath the cute little cheerleader’s uniform.
Angel glared at her as she rambled on about the dangerous game he and Buffy were playing, eyes raking her as she stood with her hands on her hips as though she owned the world and everyone in it.
She wagged her finger at him and told him he needed to just leave town because it was clear Buffy was never gonna make him, and the world did not need another repeat of the spring from hell, and he had to be the bigger man-vampire-whatever, and rip that band-aid right off and blah, blah, blah –
And Angel looked at her, this privileged girl he could offer nothing to, was nothing in her eyes, just another animal that needed to be muzzled.
Cordelia’s buzz-saw voice dimmed and another buzzing took over, one that crawled through his head like a swarm of ants and suddenly he had to shut her up, just shut her up –
And then he was in front of her, and grabbed that cheerleader rope at the back of her scalp, yanking her head back on her neck until she yelped. His mouth didn’t so much crush hers as slapped against her teeth, tongue drilling in relentlessly, practically ramming down her throat.
She almost gagged and pushed on him, tried to get his big body to back off but he was too frustrated, too hungry and Cordelia tasted better than anything he’d had in a very long time.
He tried to drag her into his chest, one arm locking around her shoulders but the sudden, agonizing jab in his ribs made him pull back just as quick.
He looked down between them and saw the stake pointed at his ribcage, her tiny hand wrapped around the base, ready to thrust.
He looked up and met her deadly serious eyes.
Did he think she’d come without a weapon, she asked him, her lips pressing back against her teeth and one eyebrow raised, looking at him like he was dirt under her shoe.
His cock almost punched a hole in his trousers, and he resisted the urge to pull her closer. Her body was stiff with resistance, her ready-to-rock posture not giving an inch.
But he wanted her.
He held her eyes and slowly lowered his hands from her shoulder and the back of her head, both of their bodies rigid with tension, smoothing his palms roughly down her flanks.
She asked what the hell he thought he was doing but he wouldn’t answer, preferring to show her, dropping to his knees and making the sharp point of the stake scrape up his ribs. A thin red line formed, bleeding at an angle, drops of red against his bruised, white skin.
She didn’t relent, holding the weapon in a downward angle, ready to plunge it through his shoulder to get to his heart.
Angel put his hands under her skirt, and she drew in a sharp hiss of a breath, like a snake about to strike, and asked him again what the fuck he was doing.
He stared up at her, seeing the panic in her eyes as he lowered her school-issued, cheerleader spandex underwear. Her grip on the stake tightened and he paused for a second, waiting.
When she didn’t move again, he pulled the red spandex down around her ankles and lowered his head until her skirt obscured her to his view.
Her pubic hair was neatly trimmed, almost an inverse triangle. She was a pampered, milk-fed lamb.
And he was a ravenous wolf.
He pressed his face against her thighs and licked at the closed seam of her cunt.
Cordelia’s knees buckled and he braced himself but she never fell, locking her knees and gasping, unseen, above him. The stake jabbed into him, drawing more blood.
He peered out of her skirt and saw her wild eyes, the way she clutched the stake.
If he so much as vamped, she whispered, if she so much as felt his teeth, she’d dust him and leave without even sweeping him up.
His cock throbbed harder, like his absent heartbeat, and he went back to her, pressing his face into her fragrant body, parting her with his tongue so that her clitoris peeked out, pink and shining.
She made a noise and he felt her thighs clench, torn with the need to stand her ground or fall like water into his arms.
He maneuvered her stiffly held body until the sides of her knees hit the couch and then he gave her a gentle shove. She fell awkwardly, knees together, death grip on her stake, which was now pushed against his neck.
He parted her stiff legs, pushing at both knees until they fell apart, until her center opened like a flower after a hurricane.
He dove, mouth opening over her flesh, tongue sliding up and down into the growing wetness.
The salt was like tasting blood, and the more he took his roughened tongue to her inner lips, the top of her clitoris, and back down again, the more it flowed, mixing with his saliva, running down his chin.
He felt like the animal he knew she thought he was, grunted while she squirmed, the stake jabbing into him like a needle into an addict, over and over, his blood running down over his shoulder, dripping onto the fabric of the couch. He took her clit into his mouth and watched as her chest and chin arched outward, a low keening sound from her mouth. He pressed his nose into the top of her hood and rubbed as his tongue did its snake dance.
Her free hand grabbed the back of his head, the other never letting go of her weapon.
Her legs straightened over his shoulders as she jerked suddenly, panting and keening, and his mouth flooded with her come.
And still he ate her.
The moon climbed the sky and a breeze carried the fragrance of jasmine from the garden. The old clock in the corner chimed, once, twice, three times.
Softly clicking heels sounded out front, pausing in the entryway. A pair of eyes gazed through the never-quite-closed door and flared wide.
A moment later, the footsteps faded away without hesitation.
~end~
