Princess in His Room (and His Heart)
Apr. 9th, 2016 04:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katleeptTitle: Princess in His Room (and His Heart)
Author: Kat Lee
Dedicated To: See the Prompts info for the actual dedication, but, as the singers say, this one goes out to my baby (Drew)! =)
Fandom: Angel/Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Character/Pairing: Angel/Cordelia, mentions of past Angel/Buffy and Groo/Cordelia
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
writers_choice #656: Diet; 1_million_words Comment Fic Friday: "You're a pain in my ass!" (not the exact words, but close enough, I think); prompt_in_a_box: Shadows; and in honor of nekid_spike's April Monthly Nekid Guest: Angel (I had to do a new Corgel for it!); and, because I'm just so pleased with the way this one came out and Angel's thoughts for Cordy, I'm dedicating it to my own Angel, my own beloved, Drew! =)
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 1,447
Date Written: 9 April, 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
After all this time, Angel still sometimes marvels at his amazing luck. His friends think he's always brooding, and he does spend a great deal of time brooding over his past. He has to remember every face of those he's tormented and killed. He has to remember every single soul he's ravaged lest his grip loosen on the monster within and he kill again. He has to remember, but although his past may be cursed, his present is definitely blessed.
He's never been one to spend time worshipping Gods. He still doubts deities really care about them, but he simply can think of no word that fits his current situation better. He's got friends. He's got a son when all logic and laws of magic and science decree that Vampires can not have children. Best of all is the fantastic woman whose beauty is only eclipsed by her secret kindness for him and a few select others for which they both care, the woman who's absolutely crazy about him and bustling about his kitchen even now.
Angel smiles as he watches her, not yet coming out of the shadows. The night is just beginning. He doubts she realizes the sun has set and he's risen. Her purse and jacket are thrown haphazardly onto the counter. He can tell she thought no more of them than to toss them quickly out of her way when she arrived. She was probably late from one of her many auditions. He pretends not to care about her auditions, but in truth, they worry him. Cordelia is an awful actress, but she's a beautiful woman. Eventually, some lucky director is going to see that and may well steal his starlet away from him.
She's mixing blood, swiftly stirring cinnamon into his drink, and she's not even making a face. He remembers how she used to react to his diet, and he knows the blood always bothered Buffy, for whom the world thinks he's still pining away. He was astounded the first time she brought him blood with a little cinnamon in it. His expression must have betrayed him, because she'd simply shrugged, shot him one of her thousand watt smiles, and chirped to him that she was sure always drinking only blood must get awfully boring.
Since then, he's found other surprises in his drinks, but the cinnamon is a steadfast favorite of both of theirs. It's easy and quick for her to stir in and really adds some flavor to the blood for him. What he's never told her, and never will, -- or, at least one of the many things he'll never tell her -- is that what really adds the flavor to his blood, what makes it taste oh so much better than it ever did before her, is that she's always fixing him a mug. He can smell the scent of her flesh, perfume, and her own blood where her hands touched his drink. He can smell her, and her scent is intoxicating.
Angel leans into it now, silk brushing across his handsome face. His eyes drift closed, and his mouths opens partially. "Hey, personal bubble!" His dark eyes snap open again, and he has to fight to refrain from laughing or smiling at the look she's shooting him. She's not scared of him, although she should be. She's shivering, and it's not from cold.
He's shivering, too. Quickly, he steps back and lifts his mug from where it sits on the table between them. He sips it and lets the blood linger on his tongue for a moment. It's still cow's blood. He won't allow himself to drink human blood, even though she's offered many times to slip by the hospital and pay an orderly extra to sneak her a few bags. Most of those male nurses would do it, too, in a mortal heartbeat just to get a smile from her. Angel knows he'd do it, if he were in their shoes. He'd do a lot of things, and does, just for Cordelia's smile.
Doyle was the first he heard call her a Princess in reverence. The name has stuck and well it should. She glides amongst them, casting her riches where she will, a warm glance here, a gentle hand there, a smile for which every man he knows grasps. Even Lorne, who he knows isn't romantically inclined toward his Princess, goes out of his way to make "Brown Eyes" smile, and every other man Angel knows would fall over themselves in a hurry and fight others without hesitation to win her hand.
But she doesn't even look at other guys any more. The actors and models she stares at in magazines and on the TV screen can't be counted, Fred and Lorne have both assured him, and Cordelia hasn't been on a single date since the Groosalugg. Everybody knows, too, Angel thinks with a sly smile, after just whom she tried to model that one.
Groo actually told him, too, when he left that he knew he was leaving her in good hands, in the hands of a fellow hero who was more worthy of her than he. Angel tried to dissuade him from leaving her, although it had pained him to do so. At least the warrior had been able to bring her more happiness than he will ever be able to offer her. He knows she loves him, and he knows he's blessed to have her love, but he can not act on it. He can not tell ever that he reciprocates her feelings.
If he does, Angelus will come out again, and the bastard's already told him exactly what he'll do to his Princess. He heard his hunger and hatred snarling deep within him when she exclaimed, "Personal bubble!", only a second ago. "Personal bubble, my ass," he'd snarled. He considers her a pain in his ass, because she is one of the greatest driving factors in Angel's life and in his determination to be heroic and keep fighting to make amends for a past from which he knows he can never deserve forgiveness.
He can never deserve forgiveness, but maybe sometimes, if he's really, really lucky, he can deserve one of those amazing smiles she gives him that would stop his heart in a second if it ever decided to beat again. The force behind her smiles is almost enough to make his heart beat again, and she's giving him one again now, although it's slyer and almost a little shy. "What?" he asks, finally swallowing his blood and lowering his mug.
"Nothing," she says and turns away. He wants to reach out to her. He wants to stop her from turning from him and pull her close to him instead. He wants to bury his face in her luxurious, raven hair and inhale every part of her. That's right, me boyo, Angelus snarls, and Angel stiffens, his pale fingers becoming like a vice grip on his mug. We want to eat every part of her.
He doesn't reach out for her. He doesn't dare. But it's okay, because she's already looking back at him from underneath her thick eyelashes. God, the woman's beautiful! He moans inwardly, and Angelus snarls and snaps his teeth in Angel's mind, a clear warning of what he'll do if Angel ever tells her he loves her.
"It's just," she's saying with a shyness that is so completely, he knows, unlike Cordelia Chase, "you haven't actually drank blood around me in a long time."
He lowers his mug further. "I'm sorry," he begins to apologize, but her radiant smile stops him again.
"No. No! It's okay! I like you drinking blood around me! Hum, that didn't come out right, but I like that you feel comfortable enough with me to drink your blood around me. God, I'm babbling like a dork! Have you checked on Connor yet?" She all but runs from the room.
He lets her go, even though it's nowhere near what he wants to do. He wants to grasp her wrist, whisk her back to him, kiss her senseless, ravish her mouth with his, lay her down, make love to her, proclaim his love for her! He wants to let his love be open for the world to see and claim her for his lady love, as they did in the olden times when Princesses truly did exist (that mess in England can't be counted now, Lorne says)! But he can't. So he loves her from afar, but he's blessed and his cold heart is warmed because he knows, even though neither of them will ever say anything, that she loves him, too.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Dedicated To: See the Prompts info for the actual dedication, but, as the singers say, this one goes out to my baby (Drew)! =)
Fandom: Angel/Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Character/Pairing: Angel/Cordelia, mentions of past Angel/Buffy and Groo/Cordelia
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt:
writers_choice #656: Diet; 1_million_words Comment Fic Friday: "You're a pain in my ass!" (not the exact words, but close enough, I think); prompt_in_a_box: Shadows; and in honor of nekid_spike's April Monthly Nekid Guest: Angel (I had to do a new Corgel for it!); and, because I'm just so pleased with the way this one came out and Angel's thoughts for Cordy, I'm dedicating it to my own Angel, my own beloved, Drew! =)Warning(s): None
Word Count: 1,447
Date Written: 9 April, 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
After all this time, Angel still sometimes marvels at his amazing luck. His friends think he's always brooding, and he does spend a great deal of time brooding over his past. He has to remember every face of those he's tormented and killed. He has to remember every single soul he's ravaged lest his grip loosen on the monster within and he kill again. He has to remember, but although his past may be cursed, his present is definitely blessed.
He's never been one to spend time worshipping Gods. He still doubts deities really care about them, but he simply can think of no word that fits his current situation better. He's got friends. He's got a son when all logic and laws of magic and science decree that Vampires can not have children. Best of all is the fantastic woman whose beauty is only eclipsed by her secret kindness for him and a few select others for which they both care, the woman who's absolutely crazy about him and bustling about his kitchen even now.
Angel smiles as he watches her, not yet coming out of the shadows. The night is just beginning. He doubts she realizes the sun has set and he's risen. Her purse and jacket are thrown haphazardly onto the counter. He can tell she thought no more of them than to toss them quickly out of her way when she arrived. She was probably late from one of her many auditions. He pretends not to care about her auditions, but in truth, they worry him. Cordelia is an awful actress, but she's a beautiful woman. Eventually, some lucky director is going to see that and may well steal his starlet away from him.
She's mixing blood, swiftly stirring cinnamon into his drink, and she's not even making a face. He remembers how she used to react to his diet, and he knows the blood always bothered Buffy, for whom the world thinks he's still pining away. He was astounded the first time she brought him blood with a little cinnamon in it. His expression must have betrayed him, because she'd simply shrugged, shot him one of her thousand watt smiles, and chirped to him that she was sure always drinking only blood must get awfully boring.
Since then, he's found other surprises in his drinks, but the cinnamon is a steadfast favorite of both of theirs. It's easy and quick for her to stir in and really adds some flavor to the blood for him. What he's never told her, and never will, -- or, at least one of the many things he'll never tell her -- is that what really adds the flavor to his blood, what makes it taste oh so much better than it ever did before her, is that she's always fixing him a mug. He can smell the scent of her flesh, perfume, and her own blood where her hands touched his drink. He can smell her, and her scent is intoxicating.
Angel leans into it now, silk brushing across his handsome face. His eyes drift closed, and his mouths opens partially. "Hey, personal bubble!" His dark eyes snap open again, and he has to fight to refrain from laughing or smiling at the look she's shooting him. She's not scared of him, although she should be. She's shivering, and it's not from cold.
He's shivering, too. Quickly, he steps back and lifts his mug from where it sits on the table between them. He sips it and lets the blood linger on his tongue for a moment. It's still cow's blood. He won't allow himself to drink human blood, even though she's offered many times to slip by the hospital and pay an orderly extra to sneak her a few bags. Most of those male nurses would do it, too, in a mortal heartbeat just to get a smile from her. Angel knows he'd do it, if he were in their shoes. He'd do a lot of things, and does, just for Cordelia's smile.
Doyle was the first he heard call her a Princess in reverence. The name has stuck and well it should. She glides amongst them, casting her riches where she will, a warm glance here, a gentle hand there, a smile for which every man he knows grasps. Even Lorne, who he knows isn't romantically inclined toward his Princess, goes out of his way to make "Brown Eyes" smile, and every other man Angel knows would fall over themselves in a hurry and fight others without hesitation to win her hand.
But she doesn't even look at other guys any more. The actors and models she stares at in magazines and on the TV screen can't be counted, Fred and Lorne have both assured him, and Cordelia hasn't been on a single date since the Groosalugg. Everybody knows, too, Angel thinks with a sly smile, after just whom she tried to model that one.
Groo actually told him, too, when he left that he knew he was leaving her in good hands, in the hands of a fellow hero who was more worthy of her than he. Angel tried to dissuade him from leaving her, although it had pained him to do so. At least the warrior had been able to bring her more happiness than he will ever be able to offer her. He knows she loves him, and he knows he's blessed to have her love, but he can not act on it. He can not tell ever that he reciprocates her feelings.
If he does, Angelus will come out again, and the bastard's already told him exactly what he'll do to his Princess. He heard his hunger and hatred snarling deep within him when she exclaimed, "Personal bubble!", only a second ago. "Personal bubble, my ass," he'd snarled. He considers her a pain in his ass, because she is one of the greatest driving factors in Angel's life and in his determination to be heroic and keep fighting to make amends for a past from which he knows he can never deserve forgiveness.
He can never deserve forgiveness, but maybe sometimes, if he's really, really lucky, he can deserve one of those amazing smiles she gives him that would stop his heart in a second if it ever decided to beat again. The force behind her smiles is almost enough to make his heart beat again, and she's giving him one again now, although it's slyer and almost a little shy. "What?" he asks, finally swallowing his blood and lowering his mug.
"Nothing," she says and turns away. He wants to reach out to her. He wants to stop her from turning from him and pull her close to him instead. He wants to bury his face in her luxurious, raven hair and inhale every part of her. That's right, me boyo, Angelus snarls, and Angel stiffens, his pale fingers becoming like a vice grip on his mug. We want to eat every part of her.
He doesn't reach out for her. He doesn't dare. But it's okay, because she's already looking back at him from underneath her thick eyelashes. God, the woman's beautiful! He moans inwardly, and Angelus snarls and snaps his teeth in Angel's mind, a clear warning of what he'll do if Angel ever tells her he loves her.
"It's just," she's saying with a shyness that is so completely, he knows, unlike Cordelia Chase, "you haven't actually drank blood around me in a long time."
He lowers his mug further. "I'm sorry," he begins to apologize, but her radiant smile stops him again.
"No. No! It's okay! I like you drinking blood around me! Hum, that didn't come out right, but I like that you feel comfortable enough with me to drink your blood around me. God, I'm babbling like a dork! Have you checked on Connor yet?" She all but runs from the room.
He lets her go, even though it's nowhere near what he wants to do. He wants to grasp her wrist, whisk her back to him, kiss her senseless, ravish her mouth with his, lay her down, make love to her, proclaim his love for her! He wants to let his love be open for the world to see and claim her for his lady love, as they did in the olden times when Princesses truly did exist (that mess in England can't be counted now, Lorne says)! But he can't. So he loves her from afar, but he's blessed and his cold heart is warmed because he knows, even though neither of them will ever say anything, that she loves him, too.
The End
