Title: High Rise
Author: psychofilly
Posted: 06-03-2004
Email: rr1013@ev1.net
Rating: R
Category: Smut, Angst
Content:
Summary: Angel was fifty stories up and caught between a bitch and a hard place.
Spoilers: Season two.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: Posted with Bertha Blue's permission.
Notes:
Feedback:
Thanks/Dedication: Beta’d by the incomperable Claire. This fic is brought to you by Stranger Things very own Bertha Blue for the Angel’s Foodrive in support of the Los Angeles Regional Foodbank. Bertha, this fic and the icons that go with it are yours. I hope you enjoy it. You are one of the sweetest and most generous folks I have ever met and the biggest fucking fan of David Boreanaz ever! Love ya babe.Continued...
Angel cleared his throat, only to be ignored by Cordelia. Her back was still turned to him as she observed the city lights. Angel pushed the black leather belt through the buckle, not bothering to tuck in his shirt. He was neatly tucked away and zipped up. She was buttoned down and her skirt was straight. Appearances were neat enough. It was as close to normal as they were ever going to get, almost as if they hadn't just changed the very foundation of their relationship.
He took a step forward, that overriding need to make sure Cordelia was okay seized him and had the words spilling out of his mouth before he could think better of it. "Cordelia, I'm so-"
"So help me Angel," She whirled on him, windswept and dry-eyed, "If you say you're sorry, I'll throw you over this ledge myself."
Robbed of his apologies, he asked the next most pressing question. "Are you all right?"
Her answer might have carried more weight if he hadn't noticed the way her hands trembled when she let go of the rail. "I'm fine." She stepped around him and strode to the sliding door, her back straight, chin up, every bit the queen. "It's cold out here and I just want to go home."
Angel couldn't help but breathe her in as she walked by. She wasn't afraid, which was a genuine relief. Maybe, just maybe, they would be able to make it to her apartment before this polite facade crumbled to ashes. He just needed to ignore the fact that he'd marked her as *his*, with his essence and with his bite. He hadn't broken the skin, but the red ring of teeth-marks stood out on her otherwise flawless neck. The rising tide of possessiveness couldn't separate man from demon. It was too basic, too primal. She was his now, to care for - to love?
All Angel knew was that, unwilling to wait for him to figure it out, she had disappeared into the shadowy office while he'd been standing like a statue. He thought, as he hastily followed her inside, that he was going to have to learn to keep up.
He spied her easily in the dim light. She had wandered behind Corbin Fries’ big executive desk and was brushing her fingers over a stack of files. The dull sound of voices filtering through the thick door meant they were still trapped.
He wondered how their relationship had missed the slippery slope that he could have easily avoided, and turned into a cliffs’ edge that he had blindly – happily - jumped over. Maybe the slope had begun the day he saw her at that party and had been so gradual he'd never noticed till they had rolled off the end.
His attention snapped into focus when he heard her sharp intake of breath, and the dull sound of paper-flipping stopped. "What is it?"
He rounded the desk to peer over her shoulder. The file was thicker than most of the others and the tag read -
"Desmond Keel," she said. "That was the name from my vision, the Wolfram and Hart type..." She glanced up and flinched as if his close proximity was suddenly bothersome. "He's connected to the prostitution ring."
She nudged him over a step and opened the file, flipping quickly through the thick stack of papers.
Angel had another moment to ponder cold shoulders and cliff diving as she studied the file. They had jumped all right, now on the way down, Angel had time to fear the end of the drop. He might survive it, but Cordelia looked like she would shatter on impact. She straightened, jolting him out of his thoughts. A picture fluttered in his face and he grabbed her wrist to hold it still. He noticed the slight resistance as she tried to pull her arm free, but ignored it. "What?"
With a huff, Cordy relaxed, pointing to the picture. "Asian chicks. They look a lot like the ones from the vision, but who knows."
"I'm sure they are," he murmured, "or they are being held at the same place..." He let his eyes wander, focusing on everything and nothing. He soaked up the details on the 8 x 10 square, the curve of a knee, the sharp upsweep of a cheek, a long cascade of jet-black hair, the rich furnishings, from the elegant sofa to the drapes. His eyes narrowed and he let go of Cordelia's arm and snatched the picture, bringing it up to his nose.
She took a step back. He snagged his coat sleeve and pulled her close, but it wasn't about possessiveness this time. He shoved the picture in her face and pointed to the window. "That look familiar?"
She stared, blinked, then stared harder. She got real still, the kind you got when you were hunting, hiding, or figuring something out. Her head rose and a grin broke out on her face. "Yeah, it does. Do you think you can find it?"
"Yeah," Angel smiled back as he nodded his head. As the set of her shoulders visibly relaxed, a fist unclenched in his gut. He felt like sucking in air, or picking her up and twirling her in his arms, but kept his relief under wraps. "I think it's enough."
"Then let's make like sheep and get the flock out of here."
"Oh, that's just -" Angel shook his head, chuckling at her as he followed her to the door. "You call me a lame ass?"
"Only 'cause you are," she shot back as she put here ear to the door. "Hey, superman, can you hear anything?"
Angel laid a hand on her shoulder, leaning over her so he could listen. "A couple of voices, but they’re heading the other way," he whispered. "Should be clear after that."
She shrugged, sending a flash of irritation through him. He squeezed her shoulder, causing her to look up at him, curious. He scowled down at her, accusations on the tip of his tongue when her full lips curled into a shy smile. The bitter words melted like chocolate. His grip relaxed and instead of wrenching her around to face him, he scooped her hair out from under the collar of his coat, sneaking a sensual stroke of his thumb along his bite. He heard the soft hiss of pain at the firm caress and it fired off that dark need to possess.
Before he knew it, he had Cordy pinned at the wrists, her back against the wall. He wedged his thigh between hers as he dominated her mouth. His tongue was a harsh master, seeking out her deepest secrets and reveling in the red bloom of blood that spread across her cheeks and made her lips swell with desire. He might have felt guilty, but she was grinding down on the hard muscle of his thigh, seeking friction, building heat...
"Fuck!" Angel swore, tearing himself away.
"What?" Cordy asked, rubbing absently at her wrists. She looked ready to throw *him* up against the wall, and except for a small shred of leftover reason, he wanted to let her. "Why'd you stop?"
"The hall is clear," he answered gruffly. "If we’re going it has to be now."
"Whatever."
Angel cracked open the door and peeked outside. "Don't pout, Cor, we'll continue this conversation later."
"Hmph."
Angel sighed, knowing he was in for another tongue-lashing before they got back to the actual tonguing. "Come on." He grabbed her hand and pulled her with him in a mad dash for the elevator. He kept his hand on her back as they skidded to a halt, Cordy jabbing at the button while he scanned the hall for threats.
The doors slid open and they slipped through, slamming against the side wall as he thumbed the button for the parking garage. She backed up to the corner, eyes anxiously locked on the open doors. "Come on, come on!" Her breath seemed to leave her body as the doors slid shut, and she slumped against the wall.
Her attention zeroed laser sharp on the most convenient target, himself. "Next time I tell you that I'm coming with - skip the argument and knock me the hell out."
He scooted closer, leaning in her space slightly. "I'll try to remember that."
She huffed, staring resolutely at the numbers as they ticked downward, anywhere but him apparently. For some reason, her actions didn't hurt. Maybe it was because, even though she still didn't look at him, she did lean in and bump his shoulder with her own. As the elevator continued it's descent, her head finally swiveled and her green and brown flecked gaze sized him up for more dispassionately than he was comfortable with. Cordy the pragmatist was fixing to take the floor, already trying to deflect him from those tender parts of her he'd tasted.
"This thing," she said, "what happened back there..."
Angel stepped in front of her as he covered her mouth with his fingertips. Her eyes glittered with determination, but he shook his head. "Don't," he admonished, stung that she'd slap him with reality so soon after he'd allowed himself to believe in the dream. A part of him, the part that she'd awakened wasn't ready to give that up
"You're not datable and I'm not -" she managed to mumble through closed lips.
"I know all the reasons why we can't. I know, but we can go slow, work it out. Give me time to make it right," he countered, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice. He wasn't sure what he was asking for. He knew as well as she did how impossible a relationship was. However, he didn't think he could ignore it. He didn't *want* to ignore what they had done, how she had made him feel. "You promised to give me that."
"I did." She shifted, leaning on her side. She hesitated, her jaw working as she chose a different path. "This doesn't mean you're my boyfriend, you know."
He grinned, stepping back into her space so that he could run his hands up her arms and cup her shoulders. He couldn't stop touching her. She was his addiction, she was the needle in his arm. She was his high, leaving him craving another fix. "I don't want to be your boyfriend, Cordelia," he whispered as he leaned in, brushed his pelvis against hers and let her feel what she was doing to him. He ran his palm down her arm, took her hand in his and placed it on his erection, squeezing both as he leaned in for a taste of her mouth. As his lips brushed hers she giggled.
That wasn't quite the response he'd expected. He pulled back slightly frowning, "What?"
"Oh god, I just realized - you are going to be such an incredible perv from now on aren't you?"
She asked with such deadpan earnesty that he laughed. "You have no idea." He wanted to get her home, get her naked and-
*ding*
Angel felt her presence before the doors even opened. A flutter of raven's wings at the base of his spine informing him that, soul or no soul, a part of him would always be her darling boy. He whirled around as the stainless steel parted to reveal Darla standing there, frozen mid-step as her head snapped up, nostrils flaring. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
Angel flinched when something solid and sharp poked him in the back. Cordy's warm hand slipped over his and pressed a stake into his palm. Her touch lingered even after he curled his fingers around the length of ash. It was reassuring, but not nearly as much as that simple contact between them.
"Move, Darla."
"It didn't take you long, did it?"
Behind him, Angel heard the rustle and creak of leather as Cordy shifted. He gripped the stake tight, and stepped forward, bringing his arm up with menacing intent. "Darla-"
"I mean, you hardly had time to do it properly. Did you need a little extra 'pep' Angel or are you trying to sleep your way through the *entire* cheer-squad? She glanced over his shoulder. "How many does she make?"
Behind him, Cordy made a strangled sound of indignation. "Oh-kaaay. First off, if you are talking about Buffy, she was only a cheerleader for all of two seconds. I was captain of the squad. Second, I'm sorry for your trauma. Angel was trying to help you and I didn't understand, but you aren't that sick and helpless chick anymore. You're a vampire bitch and third? We don't have time for this crap."
Angel startled as a crossbow twanged and a bolt whistled past his ear to embed itself in Darla's shoulder with a meaty thwack. Darla roared in pain and indignation, falling back against the far wall. Spit and blood clung to her bared teeth; her golden hair fell into her now amber eyes. Angel stood there rooted to the spot, absorbing his sire's image with fresh perspective. He blinked. Cordy was right, the frightened, dying woman he'd tried to save was gone. Her cries were of a wounded animal, a soulless beast... He blinked again, snapping out of his haze as he realized that instead of waiting, Cordy was halfway to the car.
He was going to have to learn to keep up.
End.