Title: Once S’more Unto the Breach
Author: DamnSkippyPosted: 09-15-2007
Email: damnskippytoo@gmail.com
Rating: PG-13 through NC-17
Content: C/A, F/G, AI Gang Friendship
Category: Humor, Fluff
Summary: A challenge by Sarah at the Fire Still Burns - Summer Beach House forum. I will post the challenge at the end to avoid spoiling you but, in general, the gang needs a break and go on a picnic.
Spoilers: Through S2 and first part of S3 I guess
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt and are owned by Fox. No infringement is intended, no profit is made and no enjoyment was received from asshat’s treatment of them.
Distribution: Anywhere, but please ask
Notes: I posted this a few years ago solely at FSB where the challenge originated but only just this week finished it. I will post the last two parts in a few days. Enjoy!
Part 2 Continued
“Shoot.” Cordy said to herself when she heard Angel bellowing. Guess he finally figured out he wasn’t dreaming. Why couldn’t he have been a little slower on the uptake? I would’ve been on my way to the grocery store in another minute.
“Yes, Angel?” She bent over her desk drawer to grab her purse and heard Angel’s next attempt at her name gagged in his throat.
She rose, slipping the handle of the loaded-for-bear satchel over her shoulder, tipped slightly to her side from the weight and turned to see him swallowing hard and sharply turning his gaze to the floor.
She couldn’t help but smile. He was so adorable when he got caught checking her out. She’d managed to snag him doing that a lot lately. He was getting sloppy in his old age or she was looking better.
But at first it was just a feeling – an instinct. The prickly needles sensation all over that said not only were you being watched, but the watcher was getting off doing it.
She hadn’t actually discovered him leering or undressing her with his eyes for a long time, but whenever he was in the room and out of her line of sight, she could feel wet tingly licks on her neck. Then ghostly fingertips would softly reach under her blouse and plot the valley of her back. Nature would arch her back into the feathery spirit and she would slowly twist her neck to loosen the cords that constricted under that invisible tongue. When the sensation would reach the small of her back she couldn’t stop the shivers racing up her spine, her eyes shutting tight or the sudden rush of a salient trembling breath.
Invariably at that point she would turn quickly expecting him to be staring at her, hunger-filled eyes peering at her beneath his sexy brow, but she was always disappointed. She could never hear the paper rustle as he brought it back up to hide his face, or the file suddenly open or the book, or even on one strange occasion the flicking of a fan. Did he even get hot to warrant fanning himself, she wondered.
He was just too fast, she surmised, because there was no way it was all her imagination.
And then one day she’d managed to catch him ogling her breasts when he thought she was too busy arguing with Wesley to notice. She saw him dip his head in her peripheral vision and turning quickly pinpointed exactly where his eyes were glued before his embarrassing glance zoomed to the floor and his feet shuffled nervously.
That was the first moment she was sure she had a chance. Before that, she’d only hoped and before that – well, before that she didn’t know what she felt.
Sure she knew she loved him. How could she not love a guy who saved her over and over again and spent his life helping others? But she didn’t think she love loved him until, oddly enough, Fred. All that drooling and anxious energy that poured from Fred had her stomach churning and her mood pissy every day.
But she didn’t connect the dots until she had the puppy love talk with Angel. When it became obvious he had no clue about Fred’s feelings and didn’t return them, she felt a wild hot surge of relief burst from her center and shower her skin with a deep red flush. Then she’d touched his leg and pow - a jolt of electricity shot up her arm and kick-started her heart into overdrive.
In that instant the puzzle was solved and she knew that what Fred had subconsciously evoked in her was jealousy and possessiveness. She’d been in a foul mood all the time because she thought Angel was falling for someone else.
There she was warning him about Fred’s crush and she’d just fallen head first into the deep end of the love pool.
Since that first realization there had been plenty of giddy fantasies but, unfortunately, just as many “woe is me” moments. The curse was always going to be there, and she definitely didn’t want to end up as a Buffy bookend. So she had done what she knew best and researched. Surprisingly, the LA public library has a lot of porn. She uncovered lots of non-sex sex they could share and most of it looked mighty damn fun – mouth-watering delicious in fact - but not perfect bliss worthy.
With that issue tackled, she naturally wondered if he could possibly feel the same about her. The evidence suggested that he cared deeply, but could he look at her and get all goose bumpy and, more importantly, erect? Mostly that thought, however, just seemed ridiculous because…duh, Cordelia Chase here. But he had fallen for Buffy My Life is Grayer so maybe her own brilliance was too thousand watty for his “insert sixty-watt bulb only” brain.
Now, however, the signs of sexual interest and even moments of unabashed flirting were clear. It had become so obvious that even Wesley, Mr. Nose Perpetually Stuck in a Book, had become aware of the tension. He’d done his best lately to keep them apart from sending her on errands while Angel was in the office to insisting she stay and research when he knew she would otherwise have joined Angel in the fighting.
She hoped whatever happened between herself and Angel, and that was still an unknown slightly scary prospect, would not cause a problem with Wesley. She loved them both, but she would not give up a chance at romance and happiness even for Wesley. She had compromised too much in her life to give up the one thing she never thought she could have – Wesley be damned.
A cool, shadowy palm-like breeze passed in front of her face and the sound of a snap brought her out of her thoughts.
“What?”
“I said why would you think I would want to wear this?” Angel shook the offending garment inches from her face.
Pushing it back with a huff, Cordy replied, “Duh, for the luau obviously.”
“What?”
“Loooooo. Owwwww,” Cordy enunciated slowly. “You know, that thing where people in Hawaii roast meat in a pit, wear ugly clothes like that,” she pointed at the shirt while making a stinky face, “ugh...and drink unholy amounts of spiked punch so that a good time is had by all?”
Angel dropped his arms to his side and sighed rolling his eyes. “I know what a luau is, Cordelia, but why would I – why would any of us – be going to one?” He suddenly gripped her arms, did a fast once-over of her body and stared piercingly into her eyes. “Did you have a vision? Are we going to Hawaii to kill something?”
“Pfft, I wish. Not likely that the Powers That Be Cheap would ever send us anywhere that cool to kill and maim – all in the name of good, of course.”
“Cordelia,” Angel warned, his infamous impatience showing in that one word.
“Wow, it’s a good thing Wesley suggested we have a break. You’re very tense there, aren’t ya?” she confirmed his state of stress by running her hands up and down his triceps and kneading several times to loosen the banded muscle.
For a second there, she thought she had him. His whole face relaxed and he closed his eyes and just let her touch him. Then it was as if the material in his hand had poked its ugly fingers at him and said, “Hey, remember me!” because his eyelids flew up and he shimmied his body out of her clutches.
“My tension is none of your concern and what break?”
Cordelia wanted to shout But I sure do want it to be. Instead she merely crossed her arms and yelled for Wesley.
Coming from his office, a book opened in his arms still reading as he walked, Wesley started, “What is it Corde...,” then switched gears when he looked up and saw Angel. “Oh, Angel, you’re up. Good.”
“No, it’s not good. Not when I’m apparently the last to know about some kind of break we’re taking that for some reason requires me to wear this!” he said, eager to have someone else’s face to stuff the monstrosity into and share his discomfort.
“Ah, yes, the relaxation attire. I understand it’s perfectly acceptable and even required for a proper luau.”
“And I will ask this one more time: what luau?” Angel tilted forward on the tips of his toes and spit the words out trying to keep calm but obviously failing as Wesley bent backward at his aggressive posture.
“Really, Angel, there’s no need to get testy.” He set the book on the counter and removed his glasses to hankie off the spray from the irate vampire. “After all you were right here last night when we discussed it and agreed it was a good idea.”
Angel’s eyebrows rose. “Wha...I...there was no...what?”
“Remember, the beach...eating demons from teacups...Tiffany’s?” Wesley reminded him.
“But that...that was a dream. I was asleep. You can’t consider anything said while dreaming as agreement. Besides there was definitely nothing said about a luau.”
“Oh, that was my idea,” Cordy said, her smile immediately radiated her entire being.
“Yes,” Wesley said. “And a very fine idea at that.” He returned her smile, both enjoying the rare moment of mutual admiration.
Angel looked from one to the other. Sensing a unified front, his shoulders sagged. “Fine, you want an outing at the beach, I’ll go. But no way am I wearing this thing.” He tossed the lightweight fabric on the couch and swiped his hands together several times cleansing them of any possible remaining orangeness.
“But if you don’t, then Gunn won’t,” Cordy said with a detectable screech as the decibel and octave levels rose. “And that’ll leave Wesley feeling all stupid dressing up alone so he won’t either.”
“That’s good then. None of us will wear them, and we can all be comfortable.” Angel crossed his arms over his chest, obviously pleased at getting his way.
“Fine. Spoil it for everybody.” Cordy began pacing in a tight line, her arms flinging this way and that. “We’ll just have a boring old picnic with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Cokes and be home before ten due to the extreme boredom factor.”
Humphing and mumbling to herself, the human tempest reached her desk, jerked open the bottom drawer and threw her purse back in. She kicked the compartment shut and yanked her chair out. Deciding against sitting, she turned back around, planted her feet and faced off.
“You know, it’s not like you were going to have to itch from the grass skirt and make sure your breasts were covered by a couple of coconut shells all night like me and Fred. At least you were going to be in 100% cotton and fully clothed.”
Wesley inched toward her, hesitant to engage her when she was fuming but attempting in his meager way to calm the storm. “Cordelia, I’m sure Angel wasn’t trying to ruin the evening.”
“He never tries to ruin anything, Wesley. He doesn’t have to; it’s a gift. Color me beige ring a bell?”
She glared at Angel, the flame of anger still searing her slatted eyes but the evidence of her hurt betrayed by a quivering lower lip.
At the mention of grass skirts and coconuts, Angel had begun to seriously reevaluate the fashion importance of a tacky shirt. Really what was the harm? It would be dark, the beach would most likely be deserted, and the possibility of another vampire seeing him dressed as an orange Popsicle – highly improbable. There was also the fact that at least sixteen of his fantasies involved Cordy in just such an easily accessible grass skirt.
He was on the verge of relenting when the zing of her beige comment ripped through his goodwill like a hot knife and stuck in his craw gagging his apology. It had been almost a year since his bout with insanity, and he had practically worshipped at her feet for months to make it up to her.
After all, that’s when he’d known the depths of his feelings for her because he crawled like that for no one. For her to use that time when both of them suffered so much to get back at him, was almost enough to let go with a “screw you” and beat a path for his room and some well-deserved self-flagellation.
Almost.
He sighed at the thought of having to postpone a great brood, because once he saw her lip tremble and the slight blurriness in her always brilliantly sharp eyes, he knew no matter how she had hurt him, he had done as much or more to her first. All she had wanted was a nice, relaxing, fun evening for everyone, and he and his little demon macho act had rained all over her parade like they always did.
Gathering up what little dignity he had left, he went to the couch and scooped up the shirt. Holding it up in the dim light, he stretched it out trying to convince himself it wasn’t so bad.
“Can I at least wear black pants with it?” He dared to look at Cordy and was rewarded for his bravery with the immediate return of his personal sun, the rays from her smile and eyes bathing him in its sinful glow.
“No, silly. This is a real luau. You have to wear a sarong.”
He let go of the shirt and began backing up, shaking his head and hands as he went. “Huh-uh, not a chance in hell, Cordelia. Just get that insane thought…”
The sound of Wesley and Cordelia’s uncontrolled snickering caused him to stop mid stride.
“Really, Angel,” Wesley said, “you should see your expression. Simply priceless. That was bloody marvelous, Cordelia.”
She turned her laughter and smile toward her boss and said, “Thank you, Wesley. I thought it was kinda fun and well deserved.”
Facing the not as amused Angel, she said. “Oh, suck it up, Champ. Here.” She reached into the shopping bag on her desk that Angel hadn’t even noticed before and pulled out something else to wear and brought it to him. “Just your regular, every day khaki shorts. Yes, I realize they’re not black and not long enough to actually qualify as pants, but I’ll bet you’re counting your blessings I decided to let you guys off the sarong hook. Aren’t you?”
He fingered the vile gabardine while that trapped animal feeling coursed through every fiber of his being. What could he say? She was right. He was exceedingly grateful she hadn’t handed him a sarong. But khaki shorts? Why was it that in order for them to have fun, he had to be humiliated?
“Well, since you’re obviously so overwhelmed by my generosity to speak, I’ll leave you to take that long-overdue shower because – whew boy,” she said as she waved her hand in front of her nose.
Once more she retrieved her purse from her desk drawer and was heading out the door. On her way out she yelled, “Be clean and dressed when I get back because you’ve got a lot of cooking to do, vampire chef of mine. Pigs and cows don’t cook their own ribs you know.”
He watched her turn around in the open door to pause and give him one of her biggest and brightest smiles along with a sexy wink and then she was gone.
Angel just stood there like a man who had just seen the snakes of Medusa.
Wesley watched the interchange and observed Angel’s stony yet love-struck expression.
“Angel,” he said timidly, almost afraid the man would disintegrate into chalky powder if disturbed. “Angel,” this time a little louder but still unsuccessful in his attempt to rouse the statue. Disgusted by Angel’s lovesick display, he walked over to him and punched his arm.
That got his attention.
“Ow, what the hell was that for?” Angel asked while rubbing the sore spot.
“That was for being a putz and almost ruining a potentially lovely evening for everyone. And if you don’t want another one, you’d better say something to Cordelia very soon about how you feel about her. A man can stand only so much schoolboy angst before advising a certain seer to look elsewhere for love for her own good.”
“Wesley, I can’t…I don’t…”
“Don’t start stammering with me. Everyone, including that woman who just left, knows exactly how you feel even if you don’t. So, as Cordelia so eloquently puts it, suck it up and be a man. My God, do you think she’ll wait for you forever? Have you looked at her? Do you even realize what a stupendous woman she is? If not, you’d better take a quick course, because I dare say even her patience is wearing thin, and she’s already waited a lifetime for you.”
“Do you really think she…likes me that way?” Angel asked, afraid even after all of Wesley's assurances to hope too much.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’re hopeless.” Wesley threw up his hands and headed back to his office, Angel dogging his every step.
“Wesley, really, do you know or are you just guessing?”
“Shut up, Angel, I’m not listening.”
“Come on, Wes, tell me what she said.”
“Angel, my hand is reaching into my desk drawer for a stake.”
“Seriously, does she love love me or just think I’m a hottie?”
“I’ll give you a three-second head start and then you’re dust. One-one thousand…”
“Don’t be so melodramatic.”
“Two-one thousand…”
“Wes, I just need to know…”
“Three-one thousand!”
“Jesus, Wes…Wesley!”
The sounds of screaming vampire and growling rogue demon hunter echoed throughout the cavernous halls as Gunn and Fred entered with the luau decorations Cordy had carefully instructed they purchase.
“Huh-oh,” Fred said. “I think Cordy must’ve shown Angel and Wesley what they’re wearin’ tonight.”
Gunn’s eyebrows shot up. The faraway sounds of Angel and Wesley’s battle cries sent chills down his spine. However, it was the sight of the orange and khaki pile on the floor that caused him to let out a tiny shriek.
“Don’t worry, sweetie. I made Cordy save the red one for you.” She pinched his cheek. “You’re gonna look so cute!”
Gunn suddenly knew real fear for the first time.
Part 3
The Game's Afoot
3:30 p.m.
"Oh, God." she moaned.
Angel had to agree at this point. He had discovered that Cordy was right: pigs and cows don’t cook their own ribs. And, standing in a hot kitchen while dead meat roasted was not how he preferred to spend the late afternoon.
He was just grateful he had talked Cordy out of actually digging a pit in the garden to cook them in the Hawaiian tradition. Melting in the sweltering kitchen heat was preferable to bursting into flames – a detail she had momentarily forgotten about in her enthusiasm for authenticity.
Okay, so he wasn’t exactly melting. Being dead did have its advantages when it came to temperature. But he could feel the oppressive humidity and what the temperature around him couldn’t do, the presence of Cordy in a thin, white t-shirt definitely could. Angel was sweating.
However, he couldn’t complain too much as he watched the fabric practically become transparent in spots where it clung to Cordy’s perspiring torso. He licked the beads of sweat from his upper lip as her breasts, the silky skin of which was almost visible, jiggled from the force she was exerting trying to separate the pineapple from its crusty shell.
Sighing with the effort, she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and then arched her back to relieve the ache there. Angel almost dropped his knife and reached for her when he saw the evidence of how hot it was beneath her breasts as the crescent shaped wetness was revealed. His hands itched to palm them, knees weakening at the weight of them, and hear her hiss in pleasure as his coolness sizzled against her blazing skin.
But he thought he would pass out when she grabbed her bottled water and splashed it on the back of her neck and then, praise all that is holy, down the front leaving most of that gorgeous rack covered by only a gossamer layer.
“If I ever ask you to teach me to cook, please bite me,” Cordy said as she poured more water into her hand and craned her neck to stroke it with her wet palm.
Angel had to turn around at that point. Bearing her neck and saying “bite me” at the same time almost made him come.
“And why in the world did I buy whole pineapples? The ones already sliced and in the cans are just as Hawaiian as these and a whole lot friendlier. I think I’ll leave the rest of the fruity eviscerating to the expert. Damn I am so hot!”
Angel heard a wet plop behind him. He knew what that sounded like, and he was too afraid to turn around to confirm it. If he was right, he was sure he wouldn’t make it out of the kitchen without a large stain on the front of his pants. Luckily they were black so it might not be too noticeable. No, he decided, he’d better not risk it and remained turned away from her and facing the blasting oven heat.
“Angel, I don’t think watching the pig and cow pieces will make them cook any faster. Unless you have some vampire cooking thrall that I don’t know about.”
"Nope, no thrall. Just making sure they don't burn. Wouldn't want the evening ruined by dried-up dead meat."
"Well, you can't help what you are, Angel. We know that."
He was just about to be offended when he felt a searing warmth glide across his shoulder and hook around his neck while one side of his body was completely engulfed in flames. He jerked his head left to see Cordy next to him leaning her head against his bicep while she hugged him close.
She peeked up and gave him a cheeky smile telling him that, of course, she was kidding and he couldn't resist smiling back.
"Wow, you're so cool. I could just snuggle up to you all afternoon. How would that be, huh?"
Angel frowned. How would that be? That would be… He couldn’t think of any words strong enough to describe how unbelievably incredible that would be. He thought and pondered but nothing came to mind. He was a complete blank.
"Don't strain yourself, big guy," Cordy said as she pulled away. "I get it. There's fruit to disembowel and animal ribs to draw and quarter. An undead cook's work is never done."
"But…."
"Besides, I've got to get all the theme-y accessories and decorations ready so no time to play manpire air conditioner today. Maybe some other time!"
She patted his back and walked past him to leave.
That's when he noticed she had, as he'd thought, tossed off her t-shirt and was wearing a skin-colored bikini top. It was her skin color anyway because at a glance she looked like she wasn't wearing anything at all.
"Oh, God," he moaned.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
5:23 p.m.
Cordy huffed and blew off the errant shred of tissue paper that had landed right between her eyes.
"Never say Cordelia Chase can't be crafty. Look!"
She proudly displayed the lopsided, multi-colored bird of paradise flower for Wesley's approval. If he didn't know what it was supposed to be, he might have pulled out a dagger and stabbed it.
"Yes, well...never say never, as they say."
"Oh, poo," Cordy said as she threw it at him and watched the lightweight menagerie float a foot in front of him.
"By the way, who says that, Wes? As far as I know only James Bond and you say that and, no, you're not one and the same," Cordy winked as she stuck a lavender dendrobium orchid behind her ear.
"I wasn't going to suggest that we were. Bond is a fictional character and as much as I may resemble said character in many aspects…"
"Such as?"
"I would think that would be obvious."
"British?"
"Of course."
"And?"
"Really, Cordelia, I refuse to be forced to compare myself to a figment of someone's imagination." Wesley looked at the paper anthurium he was creating and then at the instruction sheet and back again. He decided he would just invent a new species instead and reached for the floral tape.
"Can't think of anything else, huh? That's okay, ex-Watcher man. I'd take your skinny body and big brain over all of those hunky Bond guys any day of the week. Except maybe Sean Connery because…dayum!"
"I never realized you had a father complex."
"If you knew my father, you'd realize just how stupid that comment was. Besides I'm talking young Sean not old, crusty, curmudgeony guy."
"Then I guess I was wrong about your attraction to Angel because that would be the ultimate father complex, wouldn't it?"
Cordy was quiet for a moment, the urge to deny and feign disgust lying wait in the back of her throat. It was pretty much ingrained in her after so many years of convincing herself of his no bone-ity.
But the sparkle in Wesley's eyes – the dare to deny normally a challenge she would take up with glee – stripped her resolve. She sighed and twisted a flimsy fake lei in her fingers.
"How did you know?"
"It was…
"If you say it was obvious, I will break every brittle bone in your body."
"…very difficult to discern but my enormous brain eventually picked up the subtle clues."
"And was my subtlety too subtle for the dork and handsome one?"
"Well, I don't believe he's completely in the dark, but I dare say he's gun shy and probably not anxious to risk your friendship for a possibly tragic love affair especially after only recently gaining back your trust."
"That's just like him. Go all out to save a helpless innocent, but fight for something worthwhile for himself?"
"Yes, well, we are speaking about Angel here."
"And me. Why do I always fall for the dumb ones?"
"I suppose that explains why you never fell for me."
"But I did. You were dumb once a long time ago. But you had to go and get smart and ruin it."
"That was a fatal error on my part. I do apologize."
"I forgive you. You can't help what you are," she smiled warmly and he reflected her affection. For a moment, time halted and a silent wish for something that could have been past between them.
Cordy blinked and cleared her throat. "So, swami of all of the big swami heads, what should I do?"
"I wouldn't think you'd need my advice. What do you normally do when you want something?"
"Borrow someone's credit card and not tell them? And by someone I in no way mean you."
"I'll try to remember to forget that, but no. What do you do when the something you want can't be purchased?"
"I know what you're saying, Wes, I just…for once, I wanted to be the prize. Would it have killed the dumbass to chase me?"
"And here is where I would normally point out that he is already dead in a tragically inept effort to lighten the mood. Instead, I'll just say that in the end it doesn't matter who does the chasing as long as you're both caught."
"For such a smart guy that was a very lame attempt at a pep talk."
"Cliché's are not my strong suit. Neither is origami apparently. My flowers are almost as atrocious as yours."
"Here, let me try."
In the hallway, hidden around the corner from the lobby steps, stood a stunned but happy vampire.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
10:45 p.m.
As hoped, there were no sea demons – at least not on this night. There was sand and the sound of the lapping tide, a campfire that crackled and blazed high fed by the gentle salty breeze, the soft glow of Tiki torches, and ukulele music from the boom box to soothe their weary champion bones in a faux Hawaii of their dreams.
"I'm about to bust a gut and I'm talkin' about my own. Angel, man, you cook a mean pig." He nodded his approval to the chef and let out a burp that no doubt reverberated all the way to the islands.
"Thanks." Angel smiled and gave him a thumbs-up for his manly display of satiation.
Gunn stared at his stomach - the wild, red Hawaiian print covering his now old-man pooch making it look even bigger. Groaning, he fell back on the blanket with a thud.
He peered up at Fred who was kneeling next to him, knobby knees and boy-like thighs parting the strands of grass skirt. Her braided hair was pulled back and trailed down her spine while unfettered wisps fluttered in the soft wind. He knew there wasn't much there to keep that coconut bra in place, and he could see the shadow of her ribs even in the moonlight. No matter how much she ate, she would never be anything other than this waif of a girl who gnawed on a rib like a starving she wolf, her mouth a circle of sauce and grease.
He thought she'd never looked cuter. "Will you still love me when I'm old and fat, baby?"
"Nope." She smiled and tore another strip of meat off the bone.
"What? Girl, that ain't right."
"You tell him, Fred." Cordy stood and smoothed out the prickly grass of her skirt the best she could.
"You, too? I thought women were supposed to love us for our minds and personalities and all that crap." Gunn looked to Wes and Angel for support, but they could both see the mine field he was stepping into. One gave him the back off signal while the other just shook his head.
"You really are from Mars, aren't you? When you take Mama Cass on an ice skating date to hell, I'll change my mind. Until then, you'd better work that body and lay off the Heineken." Cordy cut off his sputtering with a huge smile and a, "Who's ready for s'mores?"
Only Fred raised her hand, her mouth still busy with a piece of gristle that she was determined to chew into submission.
The rest of them, the males, were patting their soft middles and at once grumbled a chorus of "I guess not," "Later," and "Hell, no."
"What exactly is a s'more?" Angel asked as he sipped the last of his blood laced with papaya and pineapple juices. He had tried to hide his disgust of the tart concoction that Cordy had created just for him, but the last few drops were heavy with fruit. He cringed at the bitterness coating his mouth and couldn't stop the natural reaction to purse and smack his lips to wipe away any lasting tang.
Cordy sneered, hands on hips and he cowered a bit in her glare before faking a gagging cough. "Sorry...ahem...must have gone down the wrong pipe."
"Uh-huh. Humph. A s'more is a gift from God or the PTBs or, ya know, the Girl Scouts, for suffering through this joke called life. It's sweet and crunchy and gooey and melts in your mouth like a chocolate cloud. We're only allowed to have them on picnics so it's a rare treat. And you don't get any because you're mean, Mr. Big Fat Hero."
She turned to Fred and Angel pulled up his shirt to find this fat she was talking about.
"Looks like we'll have to wait a little while for the overeaters among us to digest their first ten courses, Fred." She finally lowered her hand and sunk down on her haunches with a mumbled "shoot."
"I'm going for a walk. Any of my knights in shining khaki want to join me?" Cordy asked.
Angel was still pinching the fat around his middle when Wesley elbowed him.
"Huh?"
"Go with her," the boss-like tone clear even through clenched teeth.
Clueless as ever, it took Angel a second to puzzle out his meaning, but when he did he jumped up showering Wesley with sand as his heels dug out a path to Cordy's side.
Angel bounced a little and grinned at her.
"You're such a dork and the shirt's not helping," her bright smile cut the sting out of the kid, her earlier irritation with him already a ghost. "Come on, Don Ho, Jr. Protect me from the demon sand fleas."
As they walked away from their friends, the twanging ukulele coming from the Hawaiian mix tape and the sound of tumbling ocean tides began to drown out their spurts of laughter and muffled conversation from the ears of those left behind.
The rest of the gang waited until they disappeared into the blue-black horizon before daring to speak.
"You think it's finally gonna happen?" Gunn asked.
"If it doesn't," Wesley said, "I'm firing them."
"Wesley! You can't fire them for not…ya know." Fred threw her balled up napkin at him. It barely made it past Gunn before the wind snatched it and carried it toward the ocean. "Oops." She got up to chase the airborne litter.
"I dare say I can and will." He shouted after her.
"Did you hear that?" Gunn boomed, his stomach gurgling from the extra effort. "He dare says."
Fred just swatted at them behind her back and continued her paper butterfly chase.
"You really can't fire them."
"I know. But I'll make every day a bloody living hell."
"Wes, our lives are already a living hell not to mention bloody. How you gonna make it more hell-like? And don't say a dying hell because we've pretty much got that covered, too."
"Yes, it does pose a challenge. But I wasn't head boy at the Academy for no reason."
"Got it!" Fred's yell was almost not heard above the crash of waves from the point down the beach where the wind finally gave up its captive. She waved her barbeque stained prize over her head.
Both men waved back, a silent moment passing as they watched the woman they both admired twirl and skip back toward them through the ocean spray.
Nymph, fairy, siren –surging and swelling in the motherland of tide and moon.
"Damn, I'm the luckiest man in the world." Gunn's eyes remained glued to the source of his good fortune, a dreamy smile etched in dark granite.
Wesley stood and spared one last glance at the two of them. "Yes. Yes you are." He turned and headed in the opposite direction saving his jealous sigh for a more private time and place.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The slap of Angel's bare feet at the ocean's edge could be heard piercing the roar of the waves. He was stomping his way down the beach and Cordy couldn't help thinking he was trying to kill the water.
"I know it's tough for you to just relax and get out of defense mode, but really, Angel, the ocean's not evil."
"Wha…I wasn't…huh?"
He was too adorable when he turned clueless. She thought maybe the reason she liked putting that look on his face so much was because it was the only time she got the chance to save him even if it was from his own dorkishness.
"You! With the big feet of doom. You're almost pouncing at every wave that comes toward us."
"I'm not pouncing. I'm…ummm…playing." His eyes darted back and forth as if unsure where they should look when saying those words.
Okay, she thought. That's new.
"Playing? You? With the water kicking? What's next, Huck Finn? Wanna skip some stones?"
When he didn't look crushed like she expected, but instead bright yellow lightening skittered over his irises, she stopped and took a step back.
"Angel," she warned, "whatever you're thinking just unthink it right now."
He loomed over her crowding the air she breathed.
"Why? Don't you want me to play?" Angel's lips smirked in a decidedly Angelus-y way as he advanced.
Cordy backed up slowly. "Uh, sure. Play's good. Go play. Look!" she pointed toward the ocean. "Behind you! Water! With the fish and the whales and the…the fish! Go play with the fishies. Nice fishies," her voice tried to placate but the high pitch squeak ruined it.
The soft footing made a reverse getaway unwise and she knew her voice would never carry over the ocean din if she screamed. Glancing behind her for shelter, all she could see was a wall of pitch. So, no hiding in the tall grass, she thought. Backing up it is then.
"I'm not much of a fisherman, Cor. Never cared for the slime. But, then, you know that about me, don't you?"
She did. She knew him so well but she didn't know this. The wall of heat that hit her like a shockwave with each step he took was new. It was an animal's stalk – a radar scan slamming into her chest like a heat seeking missile – warning her to run but hypnotizing and soothing at the same time drawing her into its net.
"Oh, sure," she said softly staring at his lips and moistening her own. "Slime and you – so not a good match. Competes with the, uh, stiff gelled look. Umm, so, maybe a little surfing?"
"I had in mind a non-water sport. Involves a body, a beach and lying down."
"Really? Huh. Wonder what that could be? Hmmm. Nope. Don't know it. Must be a guy thing. I'll just…uh…run and get Wes or Gunn to play with you."
She didn't move more than a few inches before his hands clasped her arms and she fell backwards.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
25 minutes later
"Are you having a good time?" Cordy asked.
Angel glanced to his side. "Yes. Actually I am, except...." He stopped and picked up the hem of the awful orange shirt and studied his midsection. "Do you really think I'm fat?"
She backhanded his arm. Only she didn't because her arms and hands couldn't move.
"Well, I'd try to pinch an inch and let you know… if I could. Are you done yet?"
"Almost." Angel swept his arm through the sand and bulldozed another load on top of her. He patted it down on a spot directly above her left breast which caused a little earthquake in her belly.
"There. I think that should do it." He scanned the length of his work from clavicle to toe. "Yes, I'm done," he said, with a smile so big and bright she couldn't be mad at him no matter how much her mind said she should be.
He had his nerve getting her all hot and bothered and then burying her in the dirty sand instead of doing all kinds of other dirty things to her. But, oh God, he did look so damn pretty when he smiled like that. It just wasn't fair.
"Okay, sand boy. Play time's over. Get me out of here. I don't think my coconuts are going to hold up under the pressure much longer."
Angel's eyebrows ping ponged up and down. "Really? Maybe I should add a little more and find out."
"Ha ha. You do that and I know of a few other nuts that will need crushing."
He paused for a moment, tilting his head as if studying a model for a portrait. Then he leaned over her, inching up her body with catlike grace until his face was so close his eyes the only heavenly objects she could see. They sparked with red heat and blue ice like newborn stars. She felt the burn between her thighs and the cool stream of her melting core.
He moaned – a timbre like the darkest, most sinfully smooth chocolate. "Is that a threat or a dare?"
Her throat parched and shriveled while her mouth became sticky and arid like the Sahara. She could almost feel her lips cracking. If he didn't kiss her soon and douse this fiery thirst, she was sure she would spontaneously combust.
His starry eyes began to fall measured and deliberate in their movement. She shivered as his icy breath met her scorched one, the moist air trapped between their mouths turning into a steamy mist that dampened her lips.
"Ready for dessert?"
The question threw Cordy for a mini loop, but she decided if he wanted to play sex games now, she'd go along. "Oh, yeah," she panted.
"Great!" He bounded up and away from her in a flash. He began swiping at the sand on his clothes and knees.
"Huh?"
"I want to try that stuff you were talking about. I've never had a schmorp."
"It's s'more not schmorp. And, again, I say huh?"
"Whatever it's called, I want to try it."
"Now? Like right now? Because I thought...I mean you were…and then…NOW?"
"Sure, why not? Oh, right. Let me get you out of there."
It didn't take him more than a few minutes to dig her out and it wasn't nearly enough time for Cordy to calm down.
Once he helped her up, she snatched her hands away from his and began shaking the sand from her skirt while Angel attempted to clean off her back. She tried to jerk away from his touch, but he kept returning like a gnat.
"This is going to take forever. Maybe I should just toss you in the water to clean off."
She turned as quick as a top her hands up to fend him off. "Don't even think about it, buster. This is real grass, not that fake plastic stuff. It gets wet and we're talking seaweed skirt in a flash, and I am not wearing weeds. Got it?"
"Hey, no problem," Angel said, backing off. "I just thought it would save some time. I'm kinda hungry."
"You don't even eat!"
"So? Doesn't mean I don't get cravings," he said as he gently began dusting the sand off her shoulders and arms, "and that chocolate thing sounds texturally interesting. I think it might stimulate something – like a sense memory."
"Uh-huh. I'll sense memory your ass if you don't stop pawing at me. I can clean myself, thank you."
Swatting his hand from her body, Cordy turned and stormed back toward the beacon of torches and campfire that was a muted golden glow on the horizon.
Her body haloed by the faint picnic light, Angel smiled and adjusted himself in his khakis as he watched her grass hips sway and her hands brush at the sand on her butt as she got further away from him.
"Oh, yeah," he whispered. "It might stimulate something."
Continue on...