Title: Touch
Author: Misty Flores
Teaser: It's just touch. But it's more.
Rating: NC-17
Series: Dark Midnight - sequelly vignette thingy to First Night. You
don't have to read that monster but ... just know that Angel is human but
still vampirey, and Cordelia is an empathic mutant. (Just go with it.)
Notes: It's Second POV - I don't know. Never do it. I don't know what
I was thinking. I never do NC-17 either. It's just... oh what the hell. Blame
the drugs I'm on. Blame Oral surgery. Bad Codeine.
Dedication: To oral surgery. And Codeine. And, oh yeah. Shaz and Jenn
for making sure I didn't make a complete fool of myself with this. And
to Christie and Florrie. For the hell of it.
~*~
Touch.
The basest of instincts, so simple and so utterly deceiving.
The feel of flesh on flesh, of feeling another body pressed intimately
against you, to feel the silkiness that you can never emulate as your hand
skims across a bare back, fingers caressing, feeling the rise and falls.
Every twitch of the muscles contracting as she moves, the bumps in her
spine, and there's no barrier.
The need for the physical that's so much more. Every smile, every touch,
every rake of fingernails down your body means more than just a touch.
It's so simple, so deceiving.
It's life. It's obsession and it's love.
It starts so simply, with a smile, a caress, a look as she walks by
you. The smell of her perfume that hasn't changed since the moment she's
pushed your way into your life, into your soul. You're listening to Wesley,
but in that second, when your eyes happen upon her and the hazel orbs connect
there's a jolt, and nothing is the same as she looks away.
Nothing exists but the connection, the simple bond as your eyes train
on her, like a hunter, like a predator, seeking for something to devour.
Memories of the vampire inside you make you inhale, closing your eyes as
you take in the marked scent you know so well.
And it resonates inside of you. Mine. Mine. Mine. Free to touch and
love and soar.
A smile as she meets your eyes, you can hear the way her heartbeat accelerates
and for a moment you're confused by the pace, until you realize it's your
own. A dead heart made alive and it's pumping so quickly now.
You wonder if your cheeks are as flushed as hers, a delicate rose that
seeps onto her cheek as she looks away, talking to Fred with a voice that,
if you listen carefully, is a little strained, a little hoarse.
And you smile, and the smile falters when the hand that holds the ring
that you've given her on the third finger reaches up to massage at the
crook on her neck, and your eyes have found another place to worship. The
curve of her sleek neck, and thanking God, you still have those extra senses
and you can narrow your eyes and see the pulse, if you look hard enough,
concentrate.
There are other people in the room, but you don't see them. They say
things, but you don't hear them, and the room is slowly getting smaller,
and your eyes connect with hers again, and she sighs.
You never have to say one word.
Your hands push down against the armrests, and you mutter some excuse,
you can't remember what it is. You walk past her, you don't touch her.
She doesn't look at you, but her cheeks are flushed, and eyes are focused
on the table top.
Fred has to ask her the question twice.
You take the steps two at a time, and by the time you enter the room,
you're flushed with anticipation.
She has you at your mercy now, the way you pause, fists clenched, waiting
for the door to open, waiting with a body already hardening, at just the
thought.
One time will never be enough, and each time it happens, your heart
beats so hard you feel faint, and you'll never get used to it.
And you'll never take it for granted.
You consider taking your shirt off, but you barely touch the sweater
before a hurried ‘Don't' comes from the doorway.
Every bit of your body goes still, all attention is suddenly focused
on the woman in the doorway.
Eyes meet, and a soft, breathless smiles curls onto the face of your
princess, as she shakes her head, leaning back, closing the door with her
weight.
"You are so obvious," she whispers, and you can only smile, not moving,
not saying anything as she continues to watch you.
She has you under her thumb, with her eyes, and her waist. Her smile
and her heart. Her hair, now longer than before, dyed back to its natural
brown, all silk and sunshine.
She's come to you for that reason, because you need it.
Because she needs it as much as you do.
It's more than touch. But that's where it starts.
There are no more complete sentences, you don't need them. Centuries
of brooding has allowed you to connect with this Seer by speaking with
your eyes, with your mouth, and your legs cross the space that never seemed
more expansive and suddenly that's what you have.
A touch of a palm on the face, cherishing the softness, feeling her
lilting sigh, the warm breath on your skin as your fingers thread between
the silk strands. Your eyes meet, and she waits, as the quirk of a smile
reminiscent of a demon long gone falls onto your face.
She knows. She knows what you need. Years, centuries without touch,
and it's so basic but it means so much more. But she knows you need it.
So her palms slide up, and you know why she didn't want you to take the
shirt off.
She wanted to do it herself.
Long, graceful fingers curl around the dark sweater she still hasn't
broken you from wearing, and you smile, hitching in your breath as her
colder than usual digits slide under, pulling up. Your hands move to her
waist, watching, as the love of your life, LIFE, not undead but human and
living, palms wrapped possessively as she exposes your torso. A nudge and
your hands break their position, obediently rising up as she stands on
her tip toes, chest nudging against your now bare one.
Taking the lead you pull the sleeves off the arms, and then freeze,
a gasp cut off with a sigh broken in coming from your mouth when her fingers
suddenly place themselves carefully against your torso.
And now it's your turn to wait, as an expression floats on Cordelia's
face that you almost never see, always live to see. In these moments where
there's nothing to hide from, no hidden pain to endure with stoic heroism,
no mutant rights to fight for and the battle, which will never be won,
seems so far away.
For now, she's here, she's yours, and more importantly, you're hers.
You wonder why she never seems to believe it except for now, as her eyes
wander over the bare chest, a light in her eyes that set your heart on
fire, and your chest rises and falls as suddenly a mouth descends, and
a nipple is encased in warm, liquid, heat.
It's tender, and soft, but it leaves you with an ache, as your head
lowers and you groan, hands on her arms, her mouth gently sucking on you.
The beast remnants left inside of you have had enough, and your hands tighten,
pulling her in, hand cupping her chin, and tilting that glorious mouth
up.
A kiss is just touch. Nothing more than two pairs of lips sliding across
each other, but it's enough to make everything harden stiffly, and it's
enough for now, to plunder her mouth, to explore every crevice and its
fun to do this. It makes you ache to explore her like you've never known
her, but always loved her.
Hands have suddenly gained a life of their own, and they're furious,
spurring on your mouths as your palms are under her shirt, and suddenly
that's off, but not before you accidentally hook her under the chin and
she makes a slight choking noise.
It breaks the kiss and you stammer an apology but she's already laughing,
stepping back an inch to pull the offending shirt off herself, and this
time she smiles, taking your hands in hers as she leads you, wraps your
arms around her body and four hands are at her clasp.
A lot of fumbling, some cursing, and a chuckle that comes from the spunky
lover in your arms, and a roar a triumph that comes from you as the secret
button is pushed as the bra snaps forward, no longer stable, spilling forward
with the weight of her glorious breasts.
Yes, you're a guy. Yes, breasts are important to you. And yes, you pay
particular attention to hers, because quite simply, she has some of the
best damn breasts you've ever seen.
There's an almost tolerant expression on her face, and you can only
smile sheepishly, before gently reaching for the straps at her shoulders
and pushing down, and then away, tossing the black silky garment and never
seeing where it landed because of the view you have now.
Cupping one, gently, waiting to hear her indrawn hiss as you skim with
your palms underneath, teasing the flesh, as her head falls forward onto
your shoulder and her arms rest against your ribs. It's her need to touch
you that drives you forward, the way that when you touch her this way,
she has to feel a little bit of you too, has to connect with you with the
basest of needs.
When her mouth presses against your shoulder, all it really is, is touch,
but it's more. And when your thumb flicks over the nub of the sensitized
bauble, she gives a ragged sigh, and her body trembles and all it is, is
touch.
But it's more.
Her mouth opens on your shoulder, and it's sweaty and hot, and it makes
your body contract, and your grip tightens on your current handful and
it makes her body stiffen. A tiny, "Angel" is all you need.
You bend, carefully, taking backward steps as your mouth tastes, sucks,
and you're not watching where you're going and neither is she, because
suddenly the bed is much closer then either of you anticipate and you fall
forward, on top of her, knocking the breath out of you and her.
"OOMPH."
Silence, and suddenly there's a grin coming from your face and she's
cracking up under you and you can only prop yourself up, stare at her.
Words again, are never a problem when you're in love with an empathic.
She smiles, tenderness flicking over her features, as her leather encased
legs sling over one hip, and your mouth meets the junction at her throat.
It draws a long sigh, fingers are sliding into your hair, and it's a
sign: Keep going.
No problem.
Hips are now encased snugly together, and a part of you likes that,
really likes that, as your mouth moves, trailing kisses down, down, back
to where you wanted to be in the first place.
You have to understand. It's very rare that you really come across a
truly perfect breast. Symmetrical and not too big and not too small but
perfectly sized, and they fit into the palm of your hand, and your mouth
slides over them perfectly and her ragged sigh makes you ache.
Hands are already roaming, and her chest is heaving and suddenly her
fingers grab you by your belt and pull you up, and your mouths are melting
against each other. A kiss is just a kiss, but who you're kissing, how
you're kissing her, it can mean so much more and her hands slide up
your back, her body arches and your hips come into contact with hers, grinding
down and-
GOD.
Yes, you're male. Yes, you have a penis.
Yes it's at attention.
You break off the kiss with a ragged groan, and you can feel her smile
underneath your lips, and your body shakes, trembles and suddenly she shifts,
hooks a knee between you and in a second you're flat on your back and breathless.
She's astride you, and you're not complaining, as your lover smiles
down at you, a wicked glint in her eyes, that you can only smile at, as
her hands now are on your belt.
Oh no, not yet. He comes out and it's over, baby.
So you growl, and she glances at you at surprise, and hands are moving
over her shoulders as you rise, moving down the bare arms, and chest presses
against chest, and the gasping brings them closer, and closer, clinging
together in sweat and salt.
Gently your fingers slide down her back, gentle over the tattoo, and
your fingers slide underneath the waistband.
She's gone absolutely still.
Softness, mingled with moistness and sweat and her mouth is on your
neck, tender suckles that distract you as your hands spread, carefully,
over her bottom, cupping, holding, pressing against you.
She whimpers, and mutters something about "tease" into your ear before
nipping that, and her hands are suddenly on her stomach, unbuckling, fumbling,
and finally your fingers slide up after a pinch that gets you a smack on
your shoulder, and fingers, entwined, push down.
She rolls, warmth that was spreading onto your lap now curiously gone
as she slips to her side, and you move with her, rising, taking over, mouth
pressing into the softness to her stomach, as you continue the leather
pants' journey.
Cordelia has had a fetish for leather pants ever since she became a
mutant, and you relish it, knowing that part of you that was Angelus, loves
it too. The smoothness of the skin against the skin is just touch, but
it's more.
But they peel like plastic, and the moment is almost surrendered when
you realize, Cordelia's boots never came off.
With a curse and yank, you get one off, moving impatiently to the next,
turning to glare at your lover who is now in nothing but underwear and
wearing a more dignified smirk.
Another vicious yank, and you never realized how close to the end of
the bed you are until there's no more of it, and your arms flail.
*CLONK*
Owww.
"Angel!"
The world is dizzy for one second, as she slides down next to you, hands
cradling your face as she looks down in worry.
You blink, once, twice, and your world focuses again and Cordelia smiles
down at you, giving a sheepish shrug.
"Sorry."
And all you can do is smile, as she shakes her head and you whisper,
"Not going very well tonight, is it?"
"Stupid. It's going perfectly."
And it's all you need, as you lean up, and kiss her, wrap your arms
around her body and bring her closer and the kiss is desperate, pent up
passion.
It's just touch. Two bodies moving against each other, two pairs of
hands sliding against each other and a smaller one snaking down your chest,
and you never realize where it's going until she cups and squeezes and
you gasp, breaking off the kiss with a widened look in her eyes.
But the smile on her face and smirky glint in her eyes tells you it's
more than touch. More than a hand job.
It's just touch. But it's more.
You watch, spellbound as she leans over you, fingers pulling the leather
belt out of its buckle and your hips jerk as she moves toward the zipper
and it's not fast enough.
Bed. It's probably a good idea to do this on the bed.
Through the haziness, you're pretty proud that you've managed to come
up with that all on your own, and it's provided the crucial distraction
that's immediately thrown out the window when the little demon is set free.
An indrawn hiss and suddenly it's agony, ecstasy. Your hands reach out
for something to clench and find the rumpled bed sheet, as your head falls
back and your mouth is dry and the stroking continues.
She's whispering now, words that are sweet and soft, and rasping, and
strangely enough, it's the words that make your insides tremor, that make
you clench your teeth to stop the inevitable.
Words of love, of life.
Because it's just touch, but it's more.
And you whisper her name, tortured, pleading, and there's a hitch in
it that she knows, and it's time, GOD it's time.
Her hand moves away and your eyes squeak open. Her hazel orbs meet yours
and you swallow, gently reaching for her hand, taking her fingers in yours
as she moves over you.
You like her on top. So many reasons, seeing her astride you like a
queen in her glory, watching every emotion on her face, and seeing the
sweat glisten on her naked body- those are all great.
But when she's on top, you get to touch.
One hand holds hers tightly, another brings her chin down for another
kiss, and your tongue snakes in, and the gentleness is almost contradictory
to the ravaging pulse, the NEED to be completely consumed by her.
"Soon," she whispers against your mouth.
"Now."
"Angel-"
Your hands are your ultimate weapons. Fingers glide over the soft, delicate
skin, linger on the tiny scar that she gained so many years ago, and you
feel a soft growl take over you in response, pushing away the memories
of her broken heart as your mouth buries in her shoulder.
Down, past the beautiful, supple breasts, over the soft dark mound,
and into the moist, wet heat.
Her whole body stiffens, a small whimper coupled with a gasp and you
smile, as her body rocks against you.
"Damn you," she whispers, voice hoarse, barely giving the words breath.
Her hands cling to your shoulders and her eyes close as her body shudders.
"Fine, dammit. You win."
And you take her mouth in one long kiss, as the fingers continue to
move, feeling her contract beneath you, and suddenly you pull out, pull
away, watching her as she bites on one pink lip. Her face is flushed, her
hair now plastered with sweat.
She's beautiful, with her brilliant eyes and gorgeous smile and she's
yours.
Mine, Mine, Mine, are the words that are ringing through you as she
moves, your hands on her hips as she steadies herself with hands on your
shoulders and your eyes meet.
Careful, get it right, get it-
FUCK.
A long groan comes as she finally surrounds you, and your body goes
still, eyes shut tight as she keeps coming, slowly, slowly, and it's all
around you, tight and wet and smooth, a velvet passage encasing you and
you can't move, not yet ,not yet-
"Angel." Her voice is a whisper. "Open your eyes, Angel."
And you swallow, and you can't stop touching her as your eyes connect
with hers.
"Cordelia..."
It's good, it's good, and God it gets even better, as she gently pushes
your upper body down, just as the moving starts and your hips jerk.
She's pinned you down, literally, and you try to thrust, use every ounce
of strength you have to drive her deeper, keep her there, but she's already
moving.
She's in control, she's always -
"Oh, God, Cordy."
"Angel..." It's ragged, and you pump faster, and it's hard at first, she's
up and your down, but a second, two seconds, and suddenly it's moving,
and her walls are slick and God she feels good.
Your heart. It's pumping, it's pumping so fast, and your fingers slide
over her, watching in wonder as she continues to move, hand gently closing
over a breast as it moves with her, watching as she throws her head back,
and everything moves with fierce abandon.
Her throat is exposed and the vampire left inside rejoices, and you
sit up, pulling her closer, driving her in deeper as your mouth latches
to the beating pulse of her neck, hips jerking up as well as they can as
you take her, and the words keep coming through your mind.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
It throws her off, makes her body stiffen, and in a surge of strength
you push over, and suddenly she's on her back, and you're in control. Hands
clasp hers, fingers tangled as you hold them over her head, eyes connecting
her with hers as your entire body rests on hers, rocking, moving.
"Angel," her voice is near tears, and her thighs move up, calves over
your thighs and you're in deeper than before and it nearly makes you explode.
But you growl and grit your teeth and your mind splinters as you watch
her face, careful, always careful.
It's just touch, two bodies sliding against, in each others. Flesh against
flesh, vibrant flesh, but it's just touch.
And it's more.
As her eyes open and meet with yours as you pick the time, you know
when to say it, know exactly when -
When her eyes are glazed over and her body trembles and she's trapped
underneath you with no place to look, no place to think and no other option
but to hear you as you whisper those three final words, "I love you."
And everything tightens, shatters and her hands clench yours in desperation
as her hips thrust up and just like that, it takes her.
Her face is never so beautiful as when it's taken in complete rapture.
It makes your chest tighten and you push, deeper, try so hard to ride it
out in just the right places, until her mouth is on yours and it's hot
and wet in desperate and she's just so tight-
"Angel, I love you. I love you so much."
She knows just when to say it, because just like that, it takes you,
makes your body lose control and everything explodes and you're shouting
and don't know what it is you're shouting and everything so bright and
SHIT-
A tremor, a rush, a look into those brilliant eyes-
When your eyes open, you're sprawled over her. Fingers are gently caressing
your ribcage, tickling slightly. Chests are heaving against each other,
and you look and see that damn... you never made it to the bed.
But she's fine with that, as you move as well as you think you can,
collapsing at her side, falling onto your back as she grabs the rumpled
sheet that's hanging from the bed and tosses it haphazardly over you.
Your tired arms welcome her, her naked body spooned against yours sweaty
and hot and perfect. Her hair, damp and wet is spread over your chest and
you like it that way, as you finger through it carefully, pulling it away
from her face, flushed and pink.
Satisfied.
A rumble of male primeval dominance comes over you as you touch her,
fingers skimming over her skin, down her bare back, across her cheek.
Mine, Mine, Mine.
And when it comes down to it, it's just touch. Bodies lying next to
each other, taking in the heat. Bodies, skin against skin.
The basest need. Animal instinct.
But it's more. It's friendship and love, and trust. It's humanizing
and full of obsession and life and love.
You just... you have to understand, why touch has this hold over us.
Because it's just touch.
But it's so much more.
FIN
