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. <g>

Acknowledgments: Love, for my beloved Mighty Mighty.

Feedback: You know it. teland793@sbcglobal.net

*

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.

End.