c o m f o r t

Comfort
[by victoria p.]

Summary: Angel and Cordelia comfort each other after a phone call from Sunnydale

Rating: R

Spoilers: Buffy, Season 5 - The Body and Angel, Season 2 - Epiphany

Notes: Thanks as usual to Pete, Dot, Meg, and Jen - the best betas anyone could ask for.

It was supposed to be about comfort, but mostly it was just sad.

She put the phone down, trying not to cry. Xander's voice had been so matter-of-fact, so there, and yet so ... empty when he gave her the news.

Angel, aware of her mood as always, looked up from the book he was reading to see her standing at the desk, stunned. "What is it? What's wrong, Cordelia?"

She blinked and sniffed. "Buffy -- Buffy's mom," was all she was able to get out before she started crying.

He moved quickly, as only a vampire could, and cradled her in his arms. "Cordelia, what was it? What happened?"

"Joyce. She just, she died." Cordelia said it with all the finality that death entails. "It wasn't -- It wasn't anything anyone could have stopped. She, she had an aneurysm," she trailed off, crying in earnest now.

Neither of them was good at accepting death, especially when it hit so close to home, but they'd gotten used to it, gotten used to fighting against whatever caused it. But this, this was something no one could fight, certainly not a Z-list starlet who had visions and an ensouled vampire.

She wondered why she was so affected. She had known Joyce, liked her, even, but they weren't close. It was just the whole idea of it, of losing a parent. She wasn't particularly close to her own mother, and especially not now, when she and Daddy were in jail, but she couldn't even conceive of them not being alive. It would ruin any chance she'd have of ever getting close to them.

She thought about how much worse it must be for Buffy -- Buffy, who fought against the darkness and always won.

"Angel," she murmured, looking up at him with tear-swollen eyes.

She wasn't a pretty crier, some part of his mind noted. Her eyes swelled and her nose ran and she made this weird choking noise. But he held her and whispered comforting sounds, crying himself a little, for Joyce, whom he'd liked, and for Buffy. He comforted Cordy simply because he couldn't comfort Buffy.

When she pressed her lips to his, her warm, soft lips, he didn't protest. He kissed her back, gently, with his mouth closed.

She gasped at the feel of his cool lips against hers, and when her mouth opened he slipped his tongue inside, needing to feel warmth, life. Her tongue met his and he groaned. This was different from Buffy, different from Darla. This was all need and warmth and comfort, nothing of love or lust or power.

Her hands slid beneath his black silk shirt to trace circles on his chest. He pushed her back against the desk and moved to stand between her legs. He traced kisses along her jaw line and down her neck, stopping to regain some control as his lips pressed against her carotid artery, pulsing with life.

She wrapped one leg around his hips, pulling him closer as her hands raked through his hair. He grasped the hem of her shirt and she drew back to allow him to raise it over her head, leaving her lace-covered breasts exposed to his suddenly ravenous mouth. He cupped their heaviness and pushed the lace out of the way so he could suck the tight bud of her nipple into his mouth. After a few moments, he moved his mouth to her other breast and she dug her fingers into his scalp, her head thrown back, arching into him.

She bucked against him, her hands already working the zipper on his pants, her voice husky with need as she whispered his name.

She stroked his hard length gently while he slid his hands up her skirt and removed her underwear. She raised herself up and guided him into her wet heat. He pressed her head against his chest as he thrust into her, slowly at first, but growing quicker as she matched his rhythm. She came, her muscles clenching around him as she buried her face in the hollow of his neck. He could feel the warmth of her breath, the warmth of her tears, and vaguely he wished he could do more to comfort her before he himself went over the edge, the world going bright behind his eyelids as he drove into her one last time.

They stayed like that for a few moments.

"I, I don't know what to say," he murmured as he finally pulled out and re-zipped his pants.

"Don't say anything," she replied. "It was comfort sex, that's all. We needed comfort and we had sex. It doesn't change anything. It's just -- I knew I was alive, really alive, for those few minutes."

"Me, too."

And then she realized what she'd said. "I'm sorry, Angel," she whispered. "Not for this, but --"

"It's okay, Cordelia," he said. "I've been undead a long time."

"I know. That's why I'm sorry."

He pulled her into a tight embrace. "It's okay. We're going to be okay, Cor," he murmured into her hair.

She knew he was right. But it was just so damned sad.

End

~*~

Disclaimer: All Angel characters belong to Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon, Greenwolf Productions, David Greenwalt, the Kuzuis and Sand Dollar; this piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.

~*~

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