There I go drabblin' again....
Apr. 10th, 2006 12:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
samsomFallin' is what I was listening to when I wrote this. Thanks to Damnskippy, it's totally a C/A song to me now:)
Utterly raw and unbeta'd.
He can liken the pain tearing inside of his chest to the pain of losing his soul, and he wants to hit and punch until the building falls down on top of their lying, cheating bodies. The images of twisting hips and twisting sheets flashes behind his eyes and Angel wishes he were soulless, yes he does, because then maybe he wouldn't care this much, wouldn't hurt this much, feel the kind of betrayal he never expected to feel this much.
But he knows he'd still care, and then his cheating seerbestfriendunlover and his betraying son wouldn't see the light of morning on their lying, cheating bodies on that filthy bed they made together.
He tightens his fists in his lap, leans his head back against the armchair and squeezes his eyes shut to dispel the images but they follow him and he can feel the rage as some out of control demon vying with his real demon vying with him for control.
No one wins and Angel goes on, spinning 'round in circles in his own mind, rage and grief and anger and say it, admit it desire tugging and pulling at his willpower.
Cordelia's body writhing in the harsh red glow of raining fire, head thrown back, neck bared.
Cordelia....
and then she's there.
He opens his eyes to find her standing by his window, softly lit by the moon this time, face concealed in shadows.
"Angel," she whispers softly to him, sympathy and regret in equal measure.
He stares silently at her, waiting, not letting his rage show.
She moves towards him, body swaying beneath a champagne-colored summer dress, hazel eyes soft with love.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, getting to her knees in front of his chair, hands on his thighs, hands that had been touching his son not so long ago.
He still doesn't answer and she lets her head fall forward, hair shielding the soft curve of her jaw, but baring the vulnerable nape of her neck.
"Things aren't what they seem, Angel." She says, head still down. He can't see her face but he hears the regret coloring her voice.
"I'm not myself."
Not herself.
Then she looks up and the regret is gone, desire in its place.
She smiles playfully, seductively, hands sliding up and separating his thighs. He reaches out and stills her fingers.
"Don't touch me," he orders in a fierce whisper.
"But I want to," she replies in a throaty voice, rising up and straddling her legs over his lap. He doesn't stop her again, but leans away, his face to the side, her perfume sliding over his senses.
She reaches out, fingers under his tight jaw and draws him back to look up at her.
"He's not the man you are, Angel." She says, and he hates the sharp thrill that thrusts up into his chest at her words.
"He's my son," he grinds out between his teeth.
Her answer is to lean down and feather kisses along his closed lips, tongue brushing so slightly against his skin and he doesn't stop her, imagines that same mouth on his son, and he lets her, barely resists the urge to grab her wrists and grind until the bones break, desire bringing his demon straining against the chains.
Her breath is sweet, tongue sweeter as he lets her part his lips, and he wonders if Connor let her do the same thing.
Banishes the thought just as quickly.
She tastes like sweet wine, heady and full of ripening fruit, and he begins to kiss her back before catching himself.
"No." He grabs her arms and shoves her back, but wasn't very forceful and she only smiles down at him again. Her face is different, he notices, eyes full of soft cunning and smile so sweet he can almost smell the jasmine.
"It's you I want, Angel."
It's what he wants to hear, everything he wants to believe.
He looks into the eyes of the woman he loves and doesn't see anything familiar.
There's nothing there for him.
"Who are you?"
She leans back and the weight of her is foreign, the set of her jaw alien, opens her mouth and -
-the banging on his bedroom door wakes him suddenly.
~~end~~
Utterly raw and unbeta'd.
He can liken the pain tearing inside of his chest to the pain of losing his soul, and he wants to hit and punch until the building falls down on top of their lying, cheating bodies. The images of twisting hips and twisting sheets flashes behind his eyes and Angel wishes he were soulless, yes he does, because then maybe he wouldn't care this much, wouldn't hurt this much, feel the kind of betrayal he never expected to feel this much.
But he knows he'd still care, and then his cheating seerbestfriendunlover and his betraying son wouldn't see the light of morning on their lying, cheating bodies on that filthy bed they made together.
He tightens his fists in his lap, leans his head back against the armchair and squeezes his eyes shut to dispel the images but they follow him and he can feel the rage as some out of control demon vying with his real demon vying with him for control.
No one wins and Angel goes on, spinning 'round in circles in his own mind, rage and grief and anger and say it, admit it desire tugging and pulling at his willpower.
Cordelia's body writhing in the harsh red glow of raining fire, head thrown back, neck bared.
Cordelia....
and then she's there.
He opens his eyes to find her standing by his window, softly lit by the moon this time, face concealed in shadows.
"Angel," she whispers softly to him, sympathy and regret in equal measure.
He stares silently at her, waiting, not letting his rage show.
She moves towards him, body swaying beneath a champagne-colored summer dress, hazel eyes soft with love.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, getting to her knees in front of his chair, hands on his thighs, hands that had been touching his son not so long ago.
He still doesn't answer and she lets her head fall forward, hair shielding the soft curve of her jaw, but baring the vulnerable nape of her neck.
"Things aren't what they seem, Angel." She says, head still down. He can't see her face but he hears the regret coloring her voice.
"I'm not myself."
Not herself.
Then she looks up and the regret is gone, desire in its place.
She smiles playfully, seductively, hands sliding up and separating his thighs. He reaches out and stills her fingers.
"Don't touch me," he orders in a fierce whisper.
"But I want to," she replies in a throaty voice, rising up and straddling her legs over his lap. He doesn't stop her again, but leans away, his face to the side, her perfume sliding over his senses.
She reaches out, fingers under his tight jaw and draws him back to look up at her.
"He's not the man you are, Angel." She says, and he hates the sharp thrill that thrusts up into his chest at her words.
"He's my son," he grinds out between his teeth.
Her answer is to lean down and feather kisses along his closed lips, tongue brushing so slightly against his skin and he doesn't stop her, imagines that same mouth on his son, and he lets her, barely resists the urge to grab her wrists and grind until the bones break, desire bringing his demon straining against the chains.
Her breath is sweet, tongue sweeter as he lets her part his lips, and he wonders if Connor let her do the same thing.
Banishes the thought just as quickly.
She tastes like sweet wine, heady and full of ripening fruit, and he begins to kiss her back before catching himself.
"No." He grabs her arms and shoves her back, but wasn't very forceful and she only smiles down at him again. Her face is different, he notices, eyes full of soft cunning and smile so sweet he can almost smell the jasmine.
"It's you I want, Angel."
It's what he wants to hear, everything he wants to believe.
He looks into the eyes of the woman he loves and doesn't see anything familiar.
There's nothing there for him.
"Who are you?"
She leans back and the weight of her is foreign, the set of her jaw alien, opens her mouth and -
-the banging on his bedroom door wakes him suddenly.
~~end~~
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no subject
Date: 2006-04-10 09:49 am (UTC)Oh, if only he'd questioned that much earlier *sniffle* Things could have been so different and we maybe could have had a smile of soft regret on our faces rather than "phew" that travesty is overrrr" (scuse the bitterness, gah!)
Anyhoosy, beautifully written and loved it, Sam. :D Not one for S4/5, but couldn't ignore the power behind the words.
(And good to see you back, hun!)
Cali xx
no subject
Date: 2006-04-10 07:23 pm (UTC)Yeah, I almost never delve into S4 and most especially S5, unless it's to 'fix things' - but I suppose nothing will ever fix what they did to our girl:(. Anyway, your comments made my morning so thanks so much. I'm finally finding a use for my LJ, because I never have a lot to say otherwise.
no subject
Date: 2006-04-10 11:31 pm (UTC)I just grunt and whine and talk about deeply nerdy stuff on mine, lol. I'm supposed to be working on a beige C/A challenge *hides* but have only managed about two pages and it's mostly a Buffy pov *hides again* Muse, come baaaack!
Oh! and caught your other one! *smacks me for not responding* Enjoyed that too! I do love your drabbles, so keep em coming- and maybe you'll shove a few upbeat ones on too- though must admit, I tend to get hung up on the irritation that was pre-post Epipheny a lot trying to make it more exceptable for our gal (she folded too quickly and I truly hated the clothes bribe. So wrong for where she'd got to at that stage, for one.)
...anyhoosy, am on that ramble yet again *sigh* so stopping while I'm ahead, lolol.
*hugs*