So Many Faces by Ebonbird
Summary: Sequel to Starlet's "Looking For Love." (http://www.rebel-rebel.net/starlet/lookin'.htm) After phone craziness, Angel rushes to Cordelia's.
Spoilers: Late Season Three.
Notes: Home + earth = hearth, and as P. Diddy said, "I need a woman who can stand me, so we can raise us a family." To Starlet for the inspiration, Donna and Becky for the betas and Y just because.
A vampire's last
refuge was always the earth: shelter from 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 muttering 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.
"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 breast 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."
"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 -"
She shut up, her mouth thinning comically as she covered it with her hands and raised her eyebrows. He caught her hand 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.
"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."
"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 her 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 breast, 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. Grabbing her thighs, 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, gasped something he couldn't hear.
"You're always -" he gasped into the well of her 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. He gave a shout and she laughed as dawn burned into day.