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samsomWell, drabblish ficlets, anyway.
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
damnskippytoo, xlivvielockex and nikkiwawa79 for coming up with some quick prompts when I asked them this morning. Consider these exercises to keep my writing muscle from atrophying completely.
~~
Fornikkiwawa79 who asked for tension, heat. C/A, post-Hearthrob.
Cordelia inhales roses and jasmine and lifts her face to be kissed by the Santa Ana winds.
The sky looks like a shade of indigo silk she used to own, the air warm and charged like static electricity. Even the stars are brighter than usual.
Everything seems more alive, she thinks, with him back.
“Cordelia.”
Angel appears at the doors leading to the garden, as though she conjured him up just by thinking about him.
She turns her head and watches as he descends the steps, hands in the pockets of his black slacks. His shirt is black too, despite her best efforts. The cuffs are folded back in acknowledgement of the late summer heat, his forearms paler than normal.
Something in the way he’s looking at her makes her think he’s got a secret he wants to share with her.
“What’s up?” she asks, convinced he’s going to tell her they have a new client with a butt load of money to spend.
Instead he shrugs.
“Nothing,” he replies, his eyes on her face. She waits but he doesn’t say anything more, and that makes her even more curious.
“It’s not nothing, obviously. What are you thinking about?” She smiles at him.
“Nothing.” He protests, scratching his neck. “Well, just about James thinking…” he pauses and looks at her. “Well, you know, that you and I…that we….”
Her skin prickles suddenly, like someone rubbed her bare spine with fur.
“Oh,” she says. “That.”
“Yeah, pretty crazy, huh?” He huffs in a sound that might have been a laugh, looking at her.
“Right,” she laughs a little, playing the game so long she doesn’t know how else to act, what else to say. “Totally nuts.”
It seems like the air thickens, so much so that she can’t swallow past the lump of tension in her throat. He looks down at the ground between their feet, and then up at her again, and she can feel his gaze over her face, her neck, as though he’s deciding something.
“Right,” he whispers.
Then he steps closer, grips her elbow, and kisses her mouth.
Warm and electric, like the Santa Ana winds. Hot and cool like the desert can be, with the promise of more.
So much more.
She kisses him back, her tongue barely brushing the front of his teeth.
He jumps a little and breaks away, swallowing. She watches his Adam’s apple bob with the action, feeling the urge to lick it like a salt stick.
Silence stretches thick between them, like the scent of jasmine and roses.
“Didn’t feel a thing,” he says finally, and at first she thinks he’s serious, until she sees the rueful smile hitching the corner of his mouth.
She bursts out laughing, feeling more light-hearted than she has in months.
“Like kissing my brother,” she agrees with a nod. He considers her for a second.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, and the smile falls from her mouth.
“Ravenous,” she whispers back.
He nods a little and takes her elbow.
“What about an omelet?” He asks playfully as he leads her back towards the lobby doors.
“For starters,” she teases him. “Then we’re calling Wesley. He’s got some gypsy research to do.”
His hand slips lower, to the small of her back, and his fingers feel like indigo silk on her skin.
She thinks, though of course she’s not sure, that he’s tracing letters on the surface of her tattoo.
I love you
~~end~~
Fordamnskippytoo who asked for warm shirt from the dryer. Cordy and Angel, during Room w/ a Vu.
Cordelia puts the plate down on the floor next to Angel’s bed, licking a trace of peanut butter from her finger and burping discreetly.
She peeks over at the Angel-shaped lump lying on the couch in the other room. He hasn’t moved in an hour, since he pulled the covers over his head after making her a quick dinner of eggs and toast.
Maybe she was a little bit pushier than she had to be when she barged in earlier, but since it was an emergency it couldn’t be helped, and she knew when she explained that Angel wouldn’t mind.
Well, he would, but it wasn’t like he’d die from it.
She puts her head back against the wall behind his bed and sighs.
She misses her room. Her closet full of clothes and perfumes and makeup.
She misses money and all the security that came with it.
She misses feeling safe.
The last few months in LA have taught her more than she ever wanted to learn about herself and she shies from the memory of what she was willing to compromise to get that security back, before she realized Russell Winters was a vampire.
She never though she’d find herself seeking refuge with yet another vampire, especially one that had tried to kill her and everyone she knew less than two years ago, but life is full of strange twists, isn’t it?
In the half dark of Angel’s apartment, with the sound of the dryer going in the background, she breathes easier than she has in months.
When the dryer stops she pushes the covers aside and pads over to the corner bare foot, liking the feel of the cool tile on her sensitive skin.
The scent of dryer sheets wafts out with the heat when she pulls the lid open, and she reaches in and pulls out the first thing she grabs.
Angel’s shirt, warm and smelling springtime fresh.
She must have mixed it into her laundry when she loaded the washer.
Without thinking she shrugs off her worn t-shirt and slips it on, loving the way it instantly engulfs her and warms her skin. Her nipples harden under the fabric.
He won’t mind, she thinks, buttoning it up and padding back over to his bed.
She’s not sure what she’ll do tomorrow, but for now, surrounded by the smell and feel of Angel’s things, and assured by his nearby presence, she feels safe again.
Her eyes drift close and she falls asleep easily, fingers curling around his pillow.
~~end~~
Forxlivvielockex, who asked for Cordy and Angelus, peppy. I cheated a bit, though, and threw in Cordy and Angelus, pin-up. During BtVS s2.
He chooses a place under the stands, feeling the vibration of hundreds of stomping feet, smelling pheromones in the air like perfume in a lady’s wardrobe.
His nostrils twitch, teeth itching for more than homeless bums and gothic wannabes trolling the cemeteries for a secret thrill.
He wants……
He smiles when he sees her, the cure for his ennui.
An all American girl.
Cordelia is such a peppy cheerleader, enthusiastically waving her pompoms and shaking her ass for the cause. Ever the team player.
He wonders if she’d give him a private show, jumping up and down so that her skirt bounced up and her tits jiggled invitingly.
Maybe she would if he pinned her boyfriend to a wall and stuck a spigot in his neck.
Cock twitching at the image of Cordelia straddling his lap in her uniform, pulling her hair back from her throat, he slips out of the stadium to make some plans.
~~end~~
Thanks to
damnskippytoo, xlivvielockex and nikkiwawa79 for coming up with some quick prompts when I asked them this morning. Consider these exercises to keep my writing muscle from atrophying completely.~~
For
nikkiwawa79 who asked for tension, heat. C/A, post-Hearthrob.Cordelia inhales roses and jasmine and lifts her face to be kissed by the Santa Ana winds.
The sky looks like a shade of indigo silk she used to own, the air warm and charged like static electricity. Even the stars are brighter than usual.
Everything seems more alive, she thinks, with him back.
“Cordelia.”
Angel appears at the doors leading to the garden, as though she conjured him up just by thinking about him.
She turns her head and watches as he descends the steps, hands in the pockets of his black slacks. His shirt is black too, despite her best efforts. The cuffs are folded back in acknowledgement of the late summer heat, his forearms paler than normal.
Something in the way he’s looking at her makes her think he’s got a secret he wants to share with her.
“What’s up?” she asks, convinced he’s going to tell her they have a new client with a butt load of money to spend.
Instead he shrugs.
“Nothing,” he replies, his eyes on her face. She waits but he doesn’t say anything more, and that makes her even more curious.
“It’s not nothing, obviously. What are you thinking about?” She smiles at him.
“Nothing.” He protests, scratching his neck. “Well, just about James thinking…” he pauses and looks at her. “Well, you know, that you and I…that we….”
Her skin prickles suddenly, like someone rubbed her bare spine with fur.
“Oh,” she says. “That.”
“Yeah, pretty crazy, huh?” He huffs in a sound that might have been a laugh, looking at her.
“Right,” she laughs a little, playing the game so long she doesn’t know how else to act, what else to say. “Totally nuts.”
It seems like the air thickens, so much so that she can’t swallow past the lump of tension in her throat. He looks down at the ground between their feet, and then up at her again, and she can feel his gaze over her face, her neck, as though he’s deciding something.
“Right,” he whispers.
Then he steps closer, grips her elbow, and kisses her mouth.
Warm and electric, like the Santa Ana winds. Hot and cool like the desert can be, with the promise of more.
So much more.
She kisses him back, her tongue barely brushing the front of his teeth.
He jumps a little and breaks away, swallowing. She watches his Adam’s apple bob with the action, feeling the urge to lick it like a salt stick.
Silence stretches thick between them, like the scent of jasmine and roses.
“Didn’t feel a thing,” he says finally, and at first she thinks he’s serious, until she sees the rueful smile hitching the corner of his mouth.
She bursts out laughing, feeling more light-hearted than she has in months.
“Like kissing my brother,” she agrees with a nod. He considers her for a second.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, and the smile falls from her mouth.
“Ravenous,” she whispers back.
He nods a little and takes her elbow.
“What about an omelet?” He asks playfully as he leads her back towards the lobby doors.
“For starters,” she teases him. “Then we’re calling Wesley. He’s got some gypsy research to do.”
His hand slips lower, to the small of her back, and his fingers feel like indigo silk on her skin.
She thinks, though of course she’s not sure, that he’s tracing letters on the surface of her tattoo.
I love you
~~end~~
For
damnskippytoo who asked for warm shirt from the dryer. Cordy and Angel, during Room w/ a Vu.Cordelia puts the plate down on the floor next to Angel’s bed, licking a trace of peanut butter from her finger and burping discreetly.
She peeks over at the Angel-shaped lump lying on the couch in the other room. He hasn’t moved in an hour, since he pulled the covers over his head after making her a quick dinner of eggs and toast.
Maybe she was a little bit pushier than she had to be when she barged in earlier, but since it was an emergency it couldn’t be helped, and she knew when she explained that Angel wouldn’t mind.
Well, he would, but it wasn’t like he’d die from it.
She puts her head back against the wall behind his bed and sighs.
She misses her room. Her closet full of clothes and perfumes and makeup.
She misses money and all the security that came with it.
She misses feeling safe.
The last few months in LA have taught her more than she ever wanted to learn about herself and she shies from the memory of what she was willing to compromise to get that security back, before she realized Russell Winters was a vampire.
She never though she’d find herself seeking refuge with yet another vampire, especially one that had tried to kill her and everyone she knew less than two years ago, but life is full of strange twists, isn’t it?
In the half dark of Angel’s apartment, with the sound of the dryer going in the background, she breathes easier than she has in months.
When the dryer stops she pushes the covers aside and pads over to the corner bare foot, liking the feel of the cool tile on her sensitive skin.
The scent of dryer sheets wafts out with the heat when she pulls the lid open, and she reaches in and pulls out the first thing she grabs.
Angel’s shirt, warm and smelling springtime fresh.
She must have mixed it into her laundry when she loaded the washer.
Without thinking she shrugs off her worn t-shirt and slips it on, loving the way it instantly engulfs her and warms her skin. Her nipples harden under the fabric.
He won’t mind, she thinks, buttoning it up and padding back over to his bed.
She’s not sure what she’ll do tomorrow, but for now, surrounded by the smell and feel of Angel’s things, and assured by his nearby presence, she feels safe again.
Her eyes drift close and she falls asleep easily, fingers curling around his pillow.
~~end~~
For
xlivvielockex, who asked for Cordy and Angelus, peppy. I cheated a bit, though, and threw in Cordy and Angelus, pin-up. During BtVS s2.He chooses a place under the stands, feeling the vibration of hundreds of stomping feet, smelling pheromones in the air like perfume in a lady’s wardrobe.
His nostrils twitch, teeth itching for more than homeless bums and gothic wannabes trolling the cemeteries for a secret thrill.
He wants……
He smiles when he sees her, the cure for his ennui.
An all American girl.
Cordelia is such a peppy cheerleader, enthusiastically waving her pompoms and shaking her ass for the cause. Ever the team player.
He wonders if she’d give him a private show, jumping up and down so that her skirt bounced up and her tits jiggled invitingly.
Maybe she would if he pinned her boyfriend to a wall and stuck a spigot in his neck.
Cock twitching at the image of Cordelia straddling his lap in her uniform, pulling her hair back from her throat, he slips out of the stadium to make some plans.
~~end~~
