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Title: Line
Author: Te (thete1@earthlink.net)
URL: http://strangeplaces.net/te/index.html
Disclaimers: If they were mine, there'd be a possibility that 
I'd grow tired of them. Someday. 
Spoilers: Vague Season 2 thoughts. 
Summary: Angel takes what he wants. 
Ratings Note: NC-17 
Author's Note: Well, this scene has been in my head since I 
read Kita's "Thirty Days." Blame her. 
Acknowledgments: Love, for my beloved Mighty Mighty. 
Feedback: You know it. thete1@earthlink.net 

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Daddy793: Stay for a few more minutes. I wanna tell you a 
little story.
Aurorarowa: Yes ma'am!
Daddy793: Saved by her consent perhaps five seconds from 
rape, and Angel wants the thought to consume him, to light 
up in fire behind his eyes, to drive him from this wonderful. 
Fount. 

Oh, and damn all the Powers, for this is and has always 
been the mystery. Shockingly useful, efficient system of all 
women, the renewing cycle of slough and grow... too much 
to wax blindly poetic now, too much to take him away from 
this. Alive. 

Cordelia wears pads instead of tampons. 

*That* is inefficient. Messy. Wonderful. Tugs at a stained, 
gently clumping curl of hair with his lips. Strong, powerful 
metal. Not just blood here, but every nutrient a fetus would 
need to grow, and is he any more than that now? 

Perhaps less. A parasite, feeding -- yes feeding -- off 
Cordelia, whose crisply manicured nails are digging into 
his scalp, his shoulder. He's just tickling her now, really, 
hasn't moved in to the prize, the many prizes, but Angel 
knows this chance is rare even beyond its monthly nature. 

He has to get everything. 

Thoughts of pacing the office wildly, Gunn and Wesley 
gone, off to examine some demon engraving on the wall of 
an old warehouse, and Cordelia... *ripe* with it. 

Yesterday had been just the tease, today... it was 
everywhere about her. In her walk, in the slight tightness at 
her eyes and mouth. Discomfort. Not enough body fat to 
cushion this. 

Faint edge of irritability on top of just... weary. 

She'd said: "Angel, do we need to talk about the concept of 
personal space again? Because I'm thinking I should just 
type out the lecture and staple it to the wall." 

And all he'd been able to do is drop to his knees. Lean in 
and inhale, broadly. Let her know, right there at her desk, 
daylight blazing outside. 

And yes, Cordy, within your world this *is* sick, and 
wrong, but Angel needs it to keep from being Angelus. 
That's the story, and that's what they both stick to, for 
different reasons. 

Cordelia is happier with a tangible way to keep the demon 
at bay. 

Angel is happier with a chance to let the demon run... if 
only a little and the first carefully calculated flat stroke over 
her clit makes her gasp. Kick her heels a little. Little girl. 
Still so *young*... 

Lips parted, smaller lips twitching a little. Arousal, 
anticipation. Something. He pushes her legs further apart. 
He doesn't need to... but he does. 

And there she is. Spread for him, swollen and deep red. 
Blood so close to the surface, blood and pre-come leaking 
from within and Angel sucks at her hole. Shoves his tongue 
deep, again and again. 

The lean muscles of her thighs flex and jerk and Angel runs 
carefully clipped thumbnails up and down, up and down. 
Not in the deal, probably, but she hadn't been specific 
enough. 

Never, ever deal with a vampire and oh, oh yes the *taste*. 
He wants to call on Jesus. He wants to be in here forever, 
nourished and strong in thick iron and the tang of enriched 
blood and when the flow slows he moves up. 

Back up to the button of her clit, larger than most, peeking 
from the hood. 

He can almost feel the tangled bundle of nerves there, and 
desperately wants to be brutal. Wants to make her scream 
until she whites out from something she can't quite name. 

Laps at her instead, at the hints of blood still here. Spreads 
her legs even wider and knows it has to be hurting, a little. 
Makes up for it by licking like a dog. He hasn't fed enough 
to drool, and he knows his tongue is rough. 

Cordelia is thrusting against him now, writhing, little claws 
digging into the meat of his shoulder. Other hand snaked 
'round to the back of his head, pushing Angel in closer, 
trying to guide him. The sounds she makes are stripped of 
words. Bitten back, choked out reluctantly. 

Heels kicking madly for a few more moment and then she 
stiffens and Angel slips back down to her hole and drinks 
the tiny, wonderful flood of her come. 

Sucking and sucking until he realizes that the hands are 
pushing him away now, that the heel-drumming is 
struggling and then Angel leaps back. Lets himself fall to 
the floor in an ungainly sprawl and tries to recover. 

And Cordelia is standing over him quicker than he would 
have expected, panties up from around her ankles, hidden 
behind her smoothed-down skirt and Angel can't read her 
expression at all. 

Though he thinks he's maybe just hiding the knowledge 
from himself. Not so hard to see the anger, the fear. 
Perhaps the violation. 

He knows that one well enough, at least. 

"*Look* at me, Angel." 

Follows orders and she's searching him, searching his face 
for something and Angel is suddenly aware that he's very, 
very hard and wants. More. 

"Don't even *think* about it, fang boy." 

And she walks off without a word, visibly relaxing once 
within the scope of the sunlight, and disappears into the 
city. 

Angel adjusts himself a little cruelly, and then goes to wash 
up. 

Wonders where the next line will be drawn. 


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