Tomorrow’s Light


AUTHOR: CORDY69 (aka Pat)
SUMMARY: The point of this little exercise by Lysa was to explore a scene from the perspective of sensation. I chose to challenge myself with Scenario #3: Season 1 or 2, Post-Doyle Era. Angel has a boo-boo and Cordelia has to fix it. He’s all aches & pains, really. The poor manpire needs a massage. Hmm. I did say that clothing was supposed to be on for this. I suppose we can make his shirt an exception.
RATING: PG
POSTED: 19 Jun 2005
CATEGORY: Slight Angst, Angel POV
CONTENT/PAIRING: C/A Friendship with a hint of something more intimate
WARNINGS: None Listed
FICPIC CREDIT: N/A
AUTHOR NOTES: Thank you Stormy for the beta. Thanks Anne for your support and Cyd cause you gave me so much!


Stepping into the elevator shaft I feel the calming wash of relief begin to soothe my aches and pains. I had made it home in one piece. Tonight’s fight was harder than expected. I had not been mentally prepared and my battered body is proof of that mistake.

The skill for holding my own with the underbelly of the demon world is sharp. Finding the urge to use that skill seems to be my problem.

Before Doyle intruded in my life, giving me a friend, anger was my motivation. Fate had granted me what I wanted without any prospect of having it. Whistler offered me the opportunity to make a difference. My love for Buffy made me want to make a difference.

Only years later I broke her heart and life broke mine in return. Leaving Sunnydale was my most miserable moment and in my undead life there have been a lot of miserable moments. Choosing to live apart from a world desecrated by my evil reign can no longer be blamed as the source of my misery. Accepting that the curse will always prevent me from having what I want is a slow, torturous death. Obviously what the gypsies had in mind.

As a lone vigilante I was ridding the world of demons and quenching my swell of rage. Doyle said I needed a humanizing influence. That small connection to life that could save me from my dangerous path and those with the misfortune to cross it.

Wesley is translating a new prophesy, something about shanshu. We don’t know what it means for us. If I’m lucky maybe it will explain where I lost my focus. Wesley thinks Cordelia probably miss-filed it. Right now I have more faith in Cordelia’s ability to reinvent the alphabet system than the cryptic nuances of strangers.

So here I am, emotional upheaval and bruised muscles; searching for that inner strength to continue. Tonight I may settle for finding the couch.

I inhale the spicy fragrance wafting into my confined space. Cordelia is downstairs. Listening to the deafening silence a small alarm sounds inside my head. Cordelia Chase is never silent. Stepping from the elevator I find her lost in daydreams, the Cosmo cover paling against her perfect, scarlet nails.

A raised brow asks why she is at my apartment so late. Her answer is given with doe eyed innocence; she wants to spend time with her champion, her friend. I am stunned by the clarity that seems so simple to her. A few painful strides and I tower over her insisting I am not a champion, not even close.

Cordelia gives me a quizzical look pointing out I have always been a champion and always will be. She reminds me that Doyle would think so too. ‘Get out’ my mind chants incessantly. She gasps realizing my many injuries and scolds me for being stubborn instead of resting.

Within seconds Cordelia is at my side herding me toward the bed. With delicate but determined touches she removes my leather coat and battle worn shirt. I see the horror etch across her beautiful face. She sees nothing but male pride gleam from mine. Now I feel like a champion. A champion writhing in pain but a champion nonetheless.

She gives my shoulder a gentle push urging me to sit down before running for her first aid supplies. With the wound on my thigh sitting is more painful than standing but the pain seems to fade when she is back by my side.

Cordelia is like a whirlwind spinning about the room. A warm cup of blood in my hand, I feel the cool swab of alcohol soaked cotton on my back. Closing my eyes I give into the feel of her fingers as she carefully places each bandage over a freshly cleaned gash. I feel the warmth of her breath as she blows against my skin hoping to ease the sting. Her innocence doesn’t understand I enjoy the pain; one of the few sensations I can take pleasure in without risk. But I am a fool missing the pain when I can bask in the care and attention my friend lavishes on me with her generous heart.

Kneeling between my thighs Cordelia reaches for my empty cup. I drop my empty hands letting them rest at my thighs as she fusses over the blood drying on my chest and throat. I can’t help but worry; if injuries heal too quickly I’ll lose the tender attention of warm hands. Lost in the sensation of being touched I focus on the young woman willingly surrounded by my body. She finds a wound still open and I sigh in relief knowing it will last a little longer. Her head tilts slightly and I slip a little further.

My chest injuries cleaned and bandaged, Cordelia pushes me gently onto the bed. A lifetime of adhering to the ‘avoid or bite’ philosophy summons me to resist. The need to hold onto the innocence of her accepting touch just a little longer pushes the warning aside. I close my eyes giving in as she removes my boots, gently but efficiently. I feel her fingers on my belt; a breath catches in my throat quickly leaving. Her movements relaxed, never faltering, she works the button and zipper opening my pants to reveal another bloody gash. Amazing echoes in my mind, she is truly amazing, this young woman, my friend. My last wound receives its own tender care, my body now clean and bandaged the natural healing process can begin.

I feel the squeeze of my hand and open my eyes to her tender smile. She holds a bottle of lotion and I watch as it pours into her hand warming against the heat of her flesh. It smells of lavender, it smells of her and the warning is calmed again.

My eyes close again and I feel the gentle shifting of my bed. My body shivers as soft hands touch my chest massaging the warm lotion into my skin. I tremble and she pauses briefly then continues her slow, tantalizing movement. The hand circling my navel tickles and I feel my tired face smile. Warm lotion drips onto my left nipple and I moan at the sensation. Her fingers lavish attention on my pulse point ignoring I don’t have one. Thick cream, its texture almost erotic seeps along the waist of my pants teasing flesh that should have been covered by boxers. Underwear had not been considered when dressing. My ego’s satisfaction smiles at me.

She stills and my body stiffens after several long seconds of missing her touch. Settling above my hip, long slender legs tucked under firm, feminine curves, she cradles my arm on her lap. She kneads knotted muscles, stretches fingers curled against denied desire, the heat of her hands radiate into joints chilled by death and loneliness.

Motion svelte and gentle slips her over my body and she settles on the opposite side lavishing my other arm with the same gentle care. The closeness is intoxicating making me dizzy with its deluge of want and need. Blood courses through veins hidden beneath soft skin kissed by the warmth of the sun. It calls to me like a beacon in my dark world welcoming me home.

Another easy shift and she straddles me. With broad strokes spanning from that intimate place just above my groin to my shoulders she smoothes the creamy warmth into my flesh. Circles long and short are soothing, lulling me to sleep but caresses sweeping across my chest and stomach are invigorating and sway common sense to other indulgences.

I am surprised by my reaction, not that Cordelia Chase isn’t a beautiful woman, but that the ever present warning is so easily coaxed into submission. Humans, especially those allowed close, couldn’t be considered food, could never be considered sexual. I push the fear aside and open my eyes finding her luscious breasts just inches from my face.

Roll over, her soft voice calls out and I willing concede hiding the evidence of my forbidden stirrings. She touches every inch of flesh covering my back. My spine, stiff from battle and dangerous desires, is tenderly kneaded and stretched. The pads of her fingers work perfectly easing the tight muscles in my neck and shoulders.

She hums a quiet tune calming my restlessness, releasing the remaining tension and easing the lingering fear. With a drowsy thank you I give into my need to rest. I feel the shift of the bed as I slip into sleep and I whisper, Cordy…stay.


…THE END…


 

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