(no subject)
Dec. 22nd, 2007 08:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
samsomTitle: Ghost Story
Pairing: C/A
Rating: R
Genre: AU
Summary: Angel watches Cordelia sleep. (Titles and summaries, I suck at both, okay?)
Notes: For the Christmas challenge at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
ca_atlast. It was an honest attempt at fluff but....I think I'm probably short of that mark. Big thanks to Debs for helping me over a couple of really important obstacles.
~~
There was another girl, another time, lying in front of another fireplace.
That girl was tied up, trembling with terror, smelling so good for it. His teeth lengthened as his cock hardened, Darla’s excitement feeding his own, his feeding hers and the girl in front of the fireplace trembled even more, knowing she was in the presence of evil.
That she wouldn’t see the end of the night.
This girl, in front of this fireplace, raises his hunger, but of a different sort.
He doesn’t want her terror, or her beating heart tripping a rhythm in her chest that didn’t come from the same kind of excitement she rouses in him.
And love.
He wants love from this one, this girl in front of this fireplace.
She’s on her side, limbs unbound and lying softly tucked in, her hand under her cheek. The dancing light from the fire makes golden shadows on her skin, a tawny glow that has the qualities of a sunset.
She’s wearing something soft, something to greet him with, at the end of a long night’s work. It’s gauzy and white and reminds him of the white cotton shifts the nuns used to wear under their garments. It skims her thighs and brushes her shoulders like the whispered strokes of a rose.
The rug she lies on is soft to the touch, like he knows her skin is, and white like her slip.
He shrugs off his torn and stained black coat, kicks off his muddied boots.
The rain outside sheets down his French doors, beveling his view of the outside world.
It’s cold and black out there; full of bad evil things whose only joy is destruction, pain, and degradation. Vampires and demons pretending to be a fat man in a red suit, grabbing little children. Christmas is just another opportunity to profane the good of the world, the innocent.
He used to be one of them.
The king of them.
But here in his suite, it’s quiet, with her scent perfuming the air, and the rain outside making a hushed sound as it falls.
It lulls the beast inside his chest, the bloodlust in his throat.
Cordelia tames the monster inside his skin.
He kneels on the rug next to her sleeping body and peers down into the quiet of her slumberous face, half reaching with his shaking fingers, wanting to touch but so afraid of making her dirty.
She’s clean, unlike him.
She thinks she was evil in high school, tormenting and torturing and hurting just because she had power, because she could. She thinks her life now is a punishment, atonement for causing such misery.
If it is, then he thanks whatever power was responsible for her downfall, for condemning her to a life with him. He needs her, needs her like an ache he feels in his bones.
When she touches him, with respect and reverence and care, he feels something close to forgiveness wash over him, like cooling rain.
It’s a dangerous feeling, one he should turn away from, before he becomes dangerous to her. But he soaks it up, until he can’t.
Then he turns from it, like now.
Getting up to his feet, he steps back from her, pulling off the rest of his clothes.
Standing naked over her sleeping body, he lets himself feel that temptation, that sweet addiction, before turning away.
He’s beginning to feel every blow the demons landed, every healing bone and sprained muscle, and desperately wants to wash away the blood and mud before she wakes up.
The shower hisses and the water is scalding, beating at his torn and bruised body, warming him. He braces his arms against the wall and hangs his head in between, letting the water wash over him in waves.
He has nothing to offer her, except maybe a bad way to die.
He thinks, sometimes, that if he were the good man she sees when she looks at him, he’d let her go off and find her rightful life. Live it and forget about him and the darkness that follows him.
Then her hands slide around the breadth of his chest, and her fingers tickle his ribs gently as he feels her soft, bare skin pressing his back. Breasts to the hollow of his spine, belly to his ass, legs brushing his thighs.
If he had a breath, he would have lost it then.
“You’re all dirty,” her sleepy voice against his skin.
He ducks his head.
“I am.”
He is.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Give me the soap, let’s get it washed off.”
One hand, palm up, sneaks under his chin and he smiles.
He hands her the soap, and slowly, inch by inch, Cordelia washes the dirt away.
~end~
Pairing: C/A
Rating: R
Genre: AU
Summary: Angel watches Cordelia sleep. (Titles and summaries, I suck at both, okay?)
Notes: For the Christmas challenge at
ca_atlast. It was an honest attempt at fluff but....I think I'm probably short of that mark. Big thanks to Debs for helping me over a couple of really important obstacles. ~~
There was another girl, another time, lying in front of another fireplace.
That girl was tied up, trembling with terror, smelling so good for it. His teeth lengthened as his cock hardened, Darla’s excitement feeding his own, his feeding hers and the girl in front of the fireplace trembled even more, knowing she was in the presence of evil.
That she wouldn’t see the end of the night.
This girl, in front of this fireplace, raises his hunger, but of a different sort.
He doesn’t want her terror, or her beating heart tripping a rhythm in her chest that didn’t come from the same kind of excitement she rouses in him.
And love.
He wants love from this one, this girl in front of this fireplace.
She’s on her side, limbs unbound and lying softly tucked in, her hand under her cheek. The dancing light from the fire makes golden shadows on her skin, a tawny glow that has the qualities of a sunset.
She’s wearing something soft, something to greet him with, at the end of a long night’s work. It’s gauzy and white and reminds him of the white cotton shifts the nuns used to wear under their garments. It skims her thighs and brushes her shoulders like the whispered strokes of a rose.
The rug she lies on is soft to the touch, like he knows her skin is, and white like her slip.
He shrugs off his torn and stained black coat, kicks off his muddied boots.
The rain outside sheets down his French doors, beveling his view of the outside world.
It’s cold and black out there; full of bad evil things whose only joy is destruction, pain, and degradation. Vampires and demons pretending to be a fat man in a red suit, grabbing little children. Christmas is just another opportunity to profane the good of the world, the innocent.
He used to be one of them.
The king of them.
But here in his suite, it’s quiet, with her scent perfuming the air, and the rain outside making a hushed sound as it falls.
It lulls the beast inside his chest, the bloodlust in his throat.
Cordelia tames the monster inside his skin.
He kneels on the rug next to her sleeping body and peers down into the quiet of her slumberous face, half reaching with his shaking fingers, wanting to touch but so afraid of making her dirty.
She’s clean, unlike him.
She thinks she was evil in high school, tormenting and torturing and hurting just because she had power, because she could. She thinks her life now is a punishment, atonement for causing such misery.
If it is, then he thanks whatever power was responsible for her downfall, for condemning her to a life with him. He needs her, needs her like an ache he feels in his bones.
When she touches him, with respect and reverence and care, he feels something close to forgiveness wash over him, like cooling rain.
It’s a dangerous feeling, one he should turn away from, before he becomes dangerous to her. But he soaks it up, until he can’t.
Then he turns from it, like now.
Getting up to his feet, he steps back from her, pulling off the rest of his clothes.
Standing naked over her sleeping body, he lets himself feel that temptation, that sweet addiction, before turning away.
He’s beginning to feel every blow the demons landed, every healing bone and sprained muscle, and desperately wants to wash away the blood and mud before she wakes up.
The shower hisses and the water is scalding, beating at his torn and bruised body, warming him. He braces his arms against the wall and hangs his head in between, letting the water wash over him in waves.
He has nothing to offer her, except maybe a bad way to die.
He thinks, sometimes, that if he were the good man she sees when she looks at him, he’d let her go off and find her rightful life. Live it and forget about him and the darkness that follows him.
Then her hands slide around the breadth of his chest, and her fingers tickle his ribs gently as he feels her soft, bare skin pressing his back. Breasts to the hollow of his spine, belly to his ass, legs brushing his thighs.
If he had a breath, he would have lost it then.
“You’re all dirty,” her sleepy voice against his skin.
He ducks his head.
“I am.”
He is.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Give me the soap, let’s get it washed off.”
One hand, palm up, sneaks under his chin and he smiles.
He hands her the soap, and slowly, inch by inch, Cordelia washes the dirt away.
~end~
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-12-23 05:11 am (UTC)He hands her the soap, and slowly, inch by inch, Cordelia washes the dirt away.
Girrrrrl, that hit me, in the sweetest way. I was all *gasp* lol
Thanks for taking the time to write this for the holidays :D
no subject
Date: 2007-12-23 09:33 pm (UTC)It should've been fluffier, but I shouldn't have written it at work. That place does not inspire fluffy in me. lol
no subject
Date: 2007-12-23 12:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-23 09:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-27 06:55 am (UTC)