the harsh light of day that captured and made a gift of the
sun's killing rays
It was four a.m. eternal beneath the orange buzz of the
streetlights, anticipation pulling time in opposite directions
until Angel smelled the coming sun: scents intensified,
sounds lost their distinctiveness as the air thickened and
warmed. Until dawn seared his senses and they adjusted,
he'd grow blinder and deafer by the moment. Blind the way
a cock was blind, seeking home and oblivion in the hungry
dark.
Angel courted sunburn on a regular basis, so it wasn't fear
of sunlight that drove him to blast down the streets of LA at
the wrong end of the night. When Cordy demanded he
'bring the baby' there was a hitch of laughter in her voice.
Angel hummed to himself in anticipation, squeezing the
steering wheel so he wouldn't grab hold of himself and
stroke himself senseless. Phone-sex with Cordelia had his
mind in a whirl. Though he was minutes away, he almost
braved the hazards of his cellphone to get him some more.
"Ghh," bubbled Connor, snapping Angel's attention to the
present.
"Whoa," Angel said, his hatchet-like expression softening
with dismay. Slightly embarrassed, he looked into the rear-
view mirror at his son. "Sorry, 'bout that, Connor." And the
infant beamed at him, and Angel felt is his cold insides
shift with something like warmth and he beamed back.
The urge to hold his son close to his still chest, shore up the
child's heat with his strength, drop kisses on his baby's face
and hands, suffused Angel with warmth. Angel calmed
though his skin continued to vibrate to the tune of
Cordelia's first shuddering moan.
"This is all your fault, y'know," Angel said to Connor.
Angel wasn't sure how but he knew there was a connection.
He could hear Cordelia in his mind, how her voice had
wrapped around him while he stroked himself dry - and
there was Connor's blooming heartbeat which was a
comfort all its own.
Finding parking was a bitch. It was too early for people to
roll-out to work, but it was so late that all the close spots
were taken. Angel found parking five blocks away, took up
his son, the collapsible rocker, the diaper bag, and trotted to
Cordelia's apartment building. Connor's head bobbed
against Angel's chest but otherwise, he didn't seem to mind
the trip. Angel made soothing noises at Connor,
compensating for his lack of heartbeat, but he imagined that
the baby didn't really need it. He responded to Angel's
proximity and Angel liked to think that Connor preferred
his company over anyone else's.
Angel sighed as he reached Cordelia's door and cuddled
Connor closer. Connor's heat radiated through the fabric
between them in a way that made Angel's undead heart
twitch. Angel liked to think that it was his shansu, his death
out of life, arriving a little at a time.
Angel raised his hand to rap on the door, but Connor
wiggled and he caressed the tiny back instead - now, almost
the width of two hand-spans. So much love in that gesture.
Angel was a father - a father - and he was afraid all the time
but braver then he'd ever been before. Before, he hadn't
had anything to lose. Now, now he actually had a reason
to live beyond making up for his existence. He had to be
there for Connor. And Connor was his own reward. He
smelled so - good; it gave Angel a thrill.
There was something about his baby that made Angel . . .
ready. His skin tingled, his nipples tightened. Tension
lathed his muscles tight against his bones. Wanting to kiss
Connor made him want to kiss, and hug, and caress and
hold.
A pressure built in his thighs and balls, drawing them up
into his body, and the soles of his feet, they wanted to be
free of his boots. So why did he want to take Cordy to him
and nuzzle her? Smile and sigh over her, paw at her
breasts, unfasten her waistband and slip his hands down the
cloth and nurse from her, slip his fingers in the soft spot
inside her, slip them in and out and never leave.
Geez. He was a pervert. He had a baby in his arms, a bag of
baby things, and an erection that wouldn't quit.
"Knock knock," he said. There was a brief gathering,
swelling, appropriately enough Angel thought, and
Cordelia's door opened with a squeak of its hinges.
"Thanks, Dennis," Angel murmured and crossed the
threshold. The apartment was blood warm. He smelled
cooling bathwater and the lace of Cordelia's arousal -
slippery and delicate. Soothing. Like the lotion she'd rub
into his sunburns, while she muttered about undead flesh
and cancer-risks-regardless and *think, Angel!*s
"Angel," Cordy called before coming into view. It was
fourteen minutes ago and her apartment was hazy with
steam. Her damp hair was kinking at the roots so her hair
was shorter, wisps rising all over the place. Her skin looked
ruddy. She brought with her the scent of lavender and
roses, clean girl and solitary sex. He smelled daybreak.
Holding his peace, he hugged Connor closer while sealing
his lips.
"Angel?"
"Miss me?" he asked quietly, laying the collapsible rocker
on the ground. Candles flickered alight as she walked
towards him.
She nodded then crossed over to him, raised her arms for
the baby. Angel unloaded, his cradling arm cleaving to
Cordelia's bust. Her nipples were hard and he cupped one
breast, briefly, as he unloosed his son. She leaned into that
touch, her lips parting, her eyes glazing over. Cordelia
looked down at Connor, blushing. Angel swallowed
reflexively.
Cordy's camellia-pink tongue slipped out of her mouth,
wetting her lower lip.
"Hey, Connor," she crooned and laid a trembling hand on
Connor's body. As she leaned forward to kiss the child, her
arm butted against Angel's chest and all the blood in his
body concentrated below his belt buckle. Not in front of the
baby, Angel thought, but he leaned over his son and
brushed his lips against her cheek anyway. She turned her
head towards him at that moment and she gasped, her
breath warm and humid, the real deal, against his mouth.
"Whoa," he said, shaken by the stirring of his borrowed
blood.
"Un-hunh," she replied. Then, "hoo." Wordlessly, she
offered Angel Connor. "Why don't you set him up in here?
I'll be a minute."
"Okay," He was staring. She was staring too. Connor
kicked and settled in Angel's arms. Cordelia cupped
Connor's head with her hand, bending over him and cooing,
"You're hungry, aren't you?"
"He'll sleep like - well, me, once he's fed."
She liberated a bottle from the diaper bag and disappeared
into the kitchen. She returned minutes later with the
temperature-perfect bottle.
They fed their boy.
The nipple fell from Connor's mouth and Cordelia took it
up between her breasts and gazed at him, enraptured. Angel
couldn't imagine that the peaceful look on her face, all
church and love appropriate, could belong to the woman
who'd splashed and groaned and shouted as she told him
about how slick and wet she was, had been, and how
beautiful her breasts felt when her hands were directed by
his voice.
Angel had to clear his throat. "I'll just put him to bed then,"
Angel said.
She looked up at him through her thick lashes, eyes
glinting.
"And then we can . . . I'll just put him to bed."
"Angel."
"Yeah." His eyes narrowed. He didn't blink.
Her fingers wove around each other, ". . . your curse. Have
you thought about this?"
He blinked. "It's not a problem."
"Good, 'cause it's not like I'm in love you with you, well, I
love you, yeah, and sexually, well, icantbelievei'msaying
this, yeah. A little. And I wanna. But not if -"
"Cordy."
She shut up, her mouth thinning comically as she covered it
with her hands and raised her eyebrows. He caught one of her
hands in his.
His eyes said love. His mouth said, "Perfect happiness isn't
gonna happen in my world. Not when all I know is that
surprises are bad, bliss is for idiots, and I've got a son to
protect in addition to raise and mouths to feed and enemies
up the wazzoo."
"Right." Her index finger grazed Connor's wispy hair.
"So after you set up the rocker, we can."
Her eyebrows were arched. She let her hand drop from
Connor's baby-fine hair and hugged Angel's elbows and
leaned forward, careful not to crush his son. The tip of her
nose brushed across his and immediately Angel smiled,
like a minor sun. His lips were closed, and he bit back his
smile, but his nose circled hers.
She nodded, stroking her hand down his arm. The
burgundy silk slid beneath her palm and it raised all the
hairs on his skin.
She set up the rocker on her coffee table and Angel
watched her move. Cut his attention between the pull of
fabric over her hips and back and buttocks and the
fastening of the safety locks of the rocker. While he lay
Connor down, Cordelia came up behind Angel, leaning
over him, pressing the warmth of her breast into his arm.
Angel settled Connor on the cushion, tucked the yellow
receiving blanket under Connor's soft chin. They stood,
Cordelia's sharp jaw burned him through his sleeve. Her
slim arms circled his waist.
"Hey," she said drowsily, "Where were we?"
He made a low, crumbling sound of acknowledgment in his
throat, smoothing down the length of his son's body and
gazing at that sleeping face. He closed his eyes, wishing
that he could remember what his own heartbeat sounded
like, shoring himself between the bloodsong of Connor and
Cordelia.
"Is he all right?" Cordelia asked, peering past Angel's
shoulder.
Angel loosened his arm and settled it over her shoulders.
"Yeah. Is now."
Cordelia rubbed her head against his chest and side, shifting
her weight from foot to foot. "You feel good, Angel," she said.
His eyes opened, a smile touched the corners of his face.
"So do you."
He set a baby monitor in the rocker, palmed the other.
It was only right that she slid around him, got between him
and Connor. Angel was hard against her stomach and she
ground her belly against him. Her eyes squeezed shut, she
swallowed, her slim throat working. He pushed against her,
leading with his hips and her quick little fingers were
unbuttoning his shirt.
"Kiss me," she murmured, opening her eyes partway. Shuttered,
they glowed a deep and sparkling gold-brown. It was the center
of his gravity, exerting its own inexorable pull. His lips parted, his
tongue touched the roof of his mouth as he scented her.
He went to grasp her closer, his hands climbing over one
another and the skin of her back, rucking the roomy folds
of her pajama top up over her skin so his fingers splayed
and played against her bared lower back. This pushed
the top forward, her shoulder rising golden above the dull
cotton cloth.
His mouth clouded over hers. Damply, gently, imperceptibly
at first, but soon drawing on her tongue. The kiss was a
current between them: its source their attraction, the slip
and slide of their tongues against one another, the high
and low tide of their suctioning kisses, the clean strokes
he took into her with the reach and coolness of his tongue,
and the slow, steady cry it brought out of her.
One wordless but frenzied, her fingers raking his arms, his
shoulders, his back. Her hands on his pectorals, blind
fingers searching for his hard nipples, smaller than she
expected, and doodling through the fine hairs on his chest.
Biting her lip, Cordelia took him by the hand, and walked
backward to her room. He followed, blind the way his cock
was blind.
He started breathing, just for the heck of it. The air here
was wetter, denser. He could smell older arousal and roses
and lavender. It was like the flicker of candles in a strong
wind and suddenly, he wanted to look into her eyes, to see
himself there.
The monitor went on the bedside table. His fingers shook a
little as he set the volume.
He stood and watched her draw the curtains against the
lightening sky. The gloom was pleasant and mist-shrouded.
Her eyes were like lilies under water. Just his open lips
over hers and her tongue in his mouth was enough to make
her pant and groan.
"We're gonna have to be quiet," he warned, against her
moist lips, holding her face immobile. Her hair was still
damp in his hands with water he'd made her pour over
herself earlier.
Cordelia stilled. Gasping almost. Her arms tightened
around his waist. Then, she began to stroke up the sides of
his stomach, and then down, up and down. She worked the
buckle of his belt. He made another low sound in his throat,
heard it echoed by Cordelia.
"I missed you," Cordelia confessed, her eyes shut as he
raised his arms and she skimmed off the sleeves of his shirt.
Immediately, she ran her hands over his iron wrists, corded
forearms, and solid and gorgeous biceps and triceps. She
licked at his nipple and it was too much, he scooped her
into his arms, strode to the bed, dropped her on it and
pounced.
"What do you do when you're alone?" he asked.
"Jude," she mumbled against the smooth column of his
throat and welcomed him between her legs, clasped him
around his back. "Now you."
He bowed his head, his pale neck sliding into the breadth
and majesty of his shoulders. She traced the edges of the
tattoo embroidering his shoulder blade, crisped her fingers
through his soft hair.
"You skipped the gel," she breathed.
He kissed her covered shoulder.
"Talk to me," she said.
He spoke through his hands, lay his lips everywhere but her
mouth, dampening her clothes, only cooling the barest
sliver of skin between her shirt and pajama bottoms. Her
hands he made alive, stretching them over her head and
following her pulse. Only her hips and legs were free and
she did her best to shove his pants down with her feet. But
he was everywhere, and he was so fast, he hardly gave her
a chance to catch her breath at first, just massaged and
stroked her until she was sopping and hungry for him.
"What do you do when you're alone?" Angel asked.
"You *know*," she said squeezing the globes of his ass.
Rubbing her hands down as far as they could reach.
"Tell me."
"Touch myself," Cordelia groaned.
He nuzzled her ear. "Show me," he insisted. And he undid
the ties of her pajama bottom.
Her skin was a furnace. And she lifted her ass as he drew
her pants down.
Dark hair curled at the apex of her thighs. She covered her
mound. His hand covered hers, obscuring it completely.
His fingers shifted over her hand, curled past her fingers,
grazed the honey-moist skin beyond her smooth nails.
"Who do you think of?" he asked, breath catching, "before
me."
"Faces," she groaned, "so many faces."
"Who?"
"Jude," she mumbled against the smooth column of his throat.
"Brad . . . Wes."
His eyebrows arched. He removed their hands from her
Venus mound, wet his lips and chin with her dew while
rocking against her and she keened. He chuckled and
nipped at her ear, her hands turned into claws.
"About that bonus," he purred.
"You better kiss me," she countered, sliding open the top
button of his fly. He laughed at her silently, peeling down
the collar of her shirt. "And tell me about my breasts."
Angel's long fingers covered her belly, petalled over her
belly button, grazed her ribs. She vibrated under his touch.
He'd cupped both of her breasts, and with quiet concentration
was gliding his fingers across her areolae with varied strokes.
She gulped for air. Her hands twisted ineffectually against her pillows.
"Who do you think of?" he repeated and he did that thing,
that ballet night thing and it made her head spin.
"You, Angel, God, I think of you! Ever since - what the
hell are you doing?" she growled, her eyes flying open.
"Worth ten grand?" he asked.
"You are such a -" She kissed the hell out of him.
And he was lifting her top off of her and the cool air on her
skin was just about more than she could take. Her neck
arched, her eyes squeezed shut. He pinned back her knees,
opening her wide and wider.
She could sense the tip of his calloused thumb right over
her clit. Sweat ran from her hairline past her ears. She was
so slick she knew she'd hear him go in, even if everything
went quiet.
"You're shining, baby," he told her. His shoulder filled her
vision, he captured her gaze with his eyes, framed her face
with his hands.
"What do you want?" she ground at him, rocking her hips a
little. "C'mon already. Give it to me."
"But, Cordy, its not like you waited for me," he whispered
low and heavy against her ear.
She blushed, but her eyes sparked with annoyance.
"Preternatural strength," she panted. "Vamp reflexes: sure
you can keep up."
That was a taunt and Angel knew it. Cordy turned her face,
sucked his thumb into her mouth, bit on it gently, worked it
with her tongue. His eyes went half-mast and his mouth
hitched to the side. He started to shake but stopped it. His
index finger went into her mouth and he fucked her with it,
eyes narrow, face still as he pumped it in and out of her
glistening lips. He let his chest come down against hers.
Cordy went still with the shock of the solidity and growing
warmth of him and then she began to rub against him, slide
her feet up and down the length of his thighs, his hard,
round calves. He had fine hair growing on his legs, and his
ass pulsed and clenched beneath her thighs, and he all but
covered her, but where was his cock?
"Angel!" she rapped out, biting down on frustration and his
wrist. He pulled his hand free, braced his hands on the
headboard. He would not be moved.
"Light," he said in a choked voice and Cordelia grabbed
hold of one of his cheeks and pulled him closer. "Light," he
repeated and she huffed, bouncing her butt on the mattress
and he relented with a kiss.
"I want to see it when I disappear inside you."
Long white fingers, black hair and skin so tan he knew she
gave the sun a show. Arm shaking, Cordelia reached for
and turned on the light.
He grabbed Cordy's hips and lay back, pulling her first
toward then over him. She braced her hands on his chest,
slid them to his neck, scrunched them into the short locks
waving behind his ears while pressing her breasts against
him. Angel's fingers dug into her hips, caressing, soothing,
and squeezing. She braced herself with her elbow, reached
for his cock, seized the base of it and grinned to herself
when he moaned. Her mouth traveled, her lips lighter than
air, her wet tongue insistent and hard on his cool skin. She
nibbled and licked his cheek, jaw, ears and when his hands
worked up the slight ridges of her ribs to circle her breasts,
she hummed in surprise. His skin was like glass but he held
her tight, warming her nipples unbearably tight - and his
cool touch made it worse - better.
"Angel!" she panted, her thumb working the slit of his
cock. The crisp hairs at the base of his penis brushing her
hand on the down-stroke, making that skin tingle and shout.
She jerked him ruthlessly and he rocked with it, his lean
hips pistoning as his hands twisted in her sheets.
"Don't stop, don't stop," he chanted through gritted teeth.
Her hand became a blur. He thrashed beneath her and she
coaxed him.
"No!" he growled, pushing her hand away. He
brought his head forward, kissing her tenderly while his
hand curved and crawled over her breasts. She arched
towards him, pushing her breast harder into his hand.
holding his hand closer to her. The knuckles of his other
hand skated down her belly. His thumb touched her pubis
and his fingers turned, settling three right over her entrance.
"Jesus, Cordelia: you're wet."
"In," she muttered and he obliged, but only with his hand
because he was that kind of demon. She miaowled and
shuddered above him and ground against and around his
hand, her inner depths clasping at the long fingers inside
her. Her tongue plunging in and out of his mouth as she
thrashed and he growled, stroking and pinching her until
the wet ran down his fingers and encircled his wrist.
The sun was almost here, searing the air, vaporizing sound
and scent, Deafening, thinning the pleasant gloom of the
room, razing the haze.
"Smile for me, Cordy," he panted, rolling his fingers out
of her and down her thigh. She did, nakedly. Grabbing her
haunches, he flipped her on her back and reared over her.
He ran his hands over her skin, settled himself between her
legs, shut his eyes against brightening air. Her fingers
trailed up and down the length of his cock. He slid his
fingers into her, rotated his hand. Her fingers clenched
around him, she gasped something he couldn't hear.
"You're always -" he gasped into the well of Cordelia's breasts,
pumping three fingers into her, rocking with the sound of
the wet and their frictionless skin, "- so *warm*."
He stared into her hazel gaze, saw gold shining back at
him. He felt himself slide into her, increase in size and
strength. Angel gave a shout and she laughed as dawn burned
into day.
