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prompt a thon round up pt 2
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eleusis_walks's Angel: The Series prompt-a-thon.
Based onsistergrimmel's prompt, Cordelia/Angel, I don't want to be the filler if the void is solely yours, I don't want to be your glass of single malt whiskey, Hidden in the bottom drawer,I don't want to be a bandage if the wound is not mine, Lend me some fresh air, I don't want to be adored for what I merely represent to you...
Title: Clearing the Air
Characters/Pairings: C/A
rating: R
Cordelia is tired and sweaty, and so very smelly.
Angel leaving things on her desk, trying so hard with the small talk, is not helping. She wants this business running again; she wants to be chasing dead beat clients for payment in full. She wants, more than anything in the world, to forget the piles of dying and suicidal blondes that insist on falling across Angel’s path and fucking up her life.
She wants her imperfect life back on track. And that, much to her resentment, includes Angel.
What she doesn’t want, what she won’t tolerate, is Angel staring at her like a possession that got away from him, and his scheming to win her back. To facilitate her forgiveness because it was easier dealing with friend Cordy when a vision struck, rather than a fuck you, Angel, and your white horse Cordelia.
She knows a truce will help them. To talk at least. To conduct their business. She has to tell him about the visions, and she can't spit nails when it happens, when she has to tell him about the latest crop of helpless.
There is a line, and they have to find it.
But the line is not defined by him. Not anymore.
So when she walks into the office and finds yet another glossy magazine resting on top of her keyboard, another bribe to shake her anger and make her forgive him, she's had it.
She barges into his room at full steam.
"Stop," she tells him, eyes hard on him.
Angel, in the middle of a Tai Chi pose, pauses and looks at her.
"Stop what?" He asks, breaking the pose and straightening to his full height.
She tosses the magazine at his feet and crosses her arms. Angel glances down at it and recognizes his latest peace offering.
His jaw tightens imperceptibly.
"Stop trying to act like we're friends. We're not. If you're afraid I'll quit, don't be. I couldn't quit even if I wanted to. So you'll still get your visions whether I like you or not. So just stop pretending my friendship matters."
Angel's eyes get harder and colder as the words coming tumbling out, and when she's done, he kicks the magazine aside, and picks up his towel.
"You think I just want to be friends because of the visions?" he asks, wiping the sweat from his neck and shoulders.
"Don’t act like it’s anything else.”
He laughs a little and tosses the towel behind him, onto his bed.
“You know, Cordelia, for a Seer, you really are blind.”
Suddenly, he’s right in front of her, crowding into her space.
He puts his hands on her shoulders and she stiffens up, shock freezing her reflexes.
“For someone who supposed to be perceptive, you can be really, really stupid.”
For a sick second, she’s back in their temporary office with Angel threatening to move her. But she didn’t flinch then, and she’s not going to flinch now.
“Oh, the name calling is so very mature, Angel, but then I guess that’s you – you lose so something, you throw a tantrum. Someone doesn’t think you’re the most awesome thing ever, and you sulk for days.”
He laughs derisively and shakes her shoulders gently.
“You think I’d try half this hard with just anyone? You think your face wasn’t the first thing I saw the night I – “ He cuts off whatever he’s about to say, and Cordelia frowns. There’s something in the way his face closes off that sets alarm bells ringing but then he visibly shakes it off and focuses again. “If you weren’t Vision Girl, Cordy, I’d just get another one. Vision Girl is just a vessel for the Powers, and there are plenty of those in Los Angeles.”
Hurt blooms like blood on her body and she tries to pull away but he tightens his grip on her shoulders.
“I’m trying to bribe you because I need you. I can’t stand the idea that you might actually hate me. I can’t stand the idea that you may never smile at me again. I don’t want to pretend to be friends Cordy.” His gaze drops to her mouth and with a shock, Cordelia realizes that he’s thinking of kissing her. “And I don’t want to pretend that being just friends is all I’ll ever want.”
Then he kisses her.
For a long, breathless moment, Cordelia’s mouth is filled with Angel’s tongue. And the smell of his sweaty body is in her nose.
And her world literally shifts on its axis as everything she’d assumed about Angel is swept away in the best French kiss ever experienced in the history of Cordelia Kissing Boys.
When he lifts his head and lets go of her shoulders, she nearly stumbles, catching herself.
Just barely.
He looks down at her.
“I’m going to bring you a venti-sized Starbucks tomorrow night, even though they cost way more than I’ve ever paid for a cup of coffee in my very long life - so how many shots would you like in it? It’s fifty cents per extra shot and I don’t want to overpay if I don’t have to.”
Cordelia blinks up at Angel, unsure of what he just said.
“What?” she asks distractedly.
Angel pinches her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifts her face to his.
“Pay attention. How many shots in your coffee?” he asks, gazing at her softly.
She searches his eyes and sees nothing but adoration in them.
For her.
“Surprise me,” she replies and gives him a small, reluctant smile.
It’s not as easy as a kiss and a cup of coffee; she still has things to say to him, things she’s been carrying for weeks and weeks.
But the worst is over, and the sun is shining brightly in her eyes, even though it’s pitch black outside his window.
~~end~
Sometime this week, I'll haul the drabbles fromanythingbutgrey's Doomed Ship Prompt-a-thon. Good Lord, I haven't written this much in so short a period ever before.
eleusis_walks's Angel: The Series prompt-a-thon. Based on
sistergrimmel's prompt, Cordelia/Angel, I don't want to be the filler if the void is solely yours, I don't want to be your glass of single malt whiskey, Hidden in the bottom drawer,I don't want to be a bandage if the wound is not mine, Lend me some fresh air, I don't want to be adored for what I merely represent to you...Title: Clearing the Air
Characters/Pairings: C/A
rating: R
Cordelia is tired and sweaty, and so very smelly.
Angel leaving things on her desk, trying so hard with the small talk, is not helping. She wants this business running again; she wants to be chasing dead beat clients for payment in full. She wants, more than anything in the world, to forget the piles of dying and suicidal blondes that insist on falling across Angel’s path and fucking up her life.
She wants her imperfect life back on track. And that, much to her resentment, includes Angel.
What she doesn’t want, what she won’t tolerate, is Angel staring at her like a possession that got away from him, and his scheming to win her back. To facilitate her forgiveness because it was easier dealing with friend Cordy when a vision struck, rather than a fuck you, Angel, and your white horse Cordelia.
She knows a truce will help them. To talk at least. To conduct their business. She has to tell him about the visions, and she can't spit nails when it happens, when she has to tell him about the latest crop of helpless.
There is a line, and they have to find it.
But the line is not defined by him. Not anymore.
So when she walks into the office and finds yet another glossy magazine resting on top of her keyboard, another bribe to shake her anger and make her forgive him, she's had it.
She barges into his room at full steam.
"Stop," she tells him, eyes hard on him.
Angel, in the middle of a Tai Chi pose, pauses and looks at her.
"Stop what?" He asks, breaking the pose and straightening to his full height.
She tosses the magazine at his feet and crosses her arms. Angel glances down at it and recognizes his latest peace offering.
His jaw tightens imperceptibly.
"Stop trying to act like we're friends. We're not. If you're afraid I'll quit, don't be. I couldn't quit even if I wanted to. So you'll still get your visions whether I like you or not. So just stop pretending my friendship matters."
Angel's eyes get harder and colder as the words coming tumbling out, and when she's done, he kicks the magazine aside, and picks up his towel.
"You think I just want to be friends because of the visions?" he asks, wiping the sweat from his neck and shoulders.
"Don’t act like it’s anything else.”
He laughs a little and tosses the towel behind him, onto his bed.
“You know, Cordelia, for a Seer, you really are blind.”
Suddenly, he’s right in front of her, crowding into her space.
He puts his hands on her shoulders and she stiffens up, shock freezing her reflexes.
“For someone who supposed to be perceptive, you can be really, really stupid.”
For a sick second, she’s back in their temporary office with Angel threatening to move her. But she didn’t flinch then, and she’s not going to flinch now.
“Oh, the name calling is so very mature, Angel, but then I guess that’s you – you lose so something, you throw a tantrum. Someone doesn’t think you’re the most awesome thing ever, and you sulk for days.”
He laughs derisively and shakes her shoulders gently.
“You think I’d try half this hard with just anyone? You think your face wasn’t the first thing I saw the night I – “ He cuts off whatever he’s about to say, and Cordelia frowns. There’s something in the way his face closes off that sets alarm bells ringing but then he visibly shakes it off and focuses again. “If you weren’t Vision Girl, Cordy, I’d just get another one. Vision Girl is just a vessel for the Powers, and there are plenty of those in Los Angeles.”
Hurt blooms like blood on her body and she tries to pull away but he tightens his grip on her shoulders.
“I’m trying to bribe you because I need you. I can’t stand the idea that you might actually hate me. I can’t stand the idea that you may never smile at me again. I don’t want to pretend to be friends Cordy.” His gaze drops to her mouth and with a shock, Cordelia realizes that he’s thinking of kissing her. “And I don’t want to pretend that being just friends is all I’ll ever want.”
Then he kisses her.
For a long, breathless moment, Cordelia’s mouth is filled with Angel’s tongue. And the smell of his sweaty body is in her nose.
And her world literally shifts on its axis as everything she’d assumed about Angel is swept away in the best French kiss ever experienced in the history of Cordelia Kissing Boys.
When he lifts his head and lets go of her shoulders, she nearly stumbles, catching herself.
Just barely.
He looks down at her.
“I’m going to bring you a venti-sized Starbucks tomorrow night, even though they cost way more than I’ve ever paid for a cup of coffee in my very long life - so how many shots would you like in it? It’s fifty cents per extra shot and I don’t want to overpay if I don’t have to.”
Cordelia blinks up at Angel, unsure of what he just said.
“What?” she asks distractedly.
Angel pinches her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifts her face to his.
“Pay attention. How many shots in your coffee?” he asks, gazing at her softly.
She searches his eyes and sees nothing but adoration in them.
For her.
“Surprise me,” she replies and gives him a small, reluctant smile.
It’s not as easy as a kiss and a cup of coffee; she still has things to say to him, things she’s been carrying for weeks and weeks.
But the worst is over, and the sun is shining brightly in her eyes, even though it’s pitch black outside his window.
~~end~
Sometime this week, I'll haul the drabbles from
anythingbutgrey's Doomed Ship Prompt-a-thon. Good Lord, I haven't written this much in so short a period ever before.
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