thenyxie (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} thenyxie) wrote,@ 2007-08-04 17:34:00 |
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Fic: Something Borrowed (Buffy/Angel/Cordelia)
I'll be migrating my fic slowly, from most recent to oldest. This being the most recent.
Title: Something Borrowed
Author:thenyxie
Rating: R
Pairing: Buffy/Angel/Cordelia (B/C, C/A, with a B/A focus)
Genre: Angst
Notes: Eeeevil errant triangle plot bunny that refused to be silenced. I wrote it quick, down and dirty this at work, so if there are any errors, that would be why.
When Angel discovers that rumors of her death have been greatly exaggerated in yet another ploy by Wolfram & Hart, he comes to rescue her.
Limbs shaking with disuse, her hair unkempt and her face make-up free, he takes her in his arms and kisses her like she’s never been kissed before in her life. He’s had centuries to learn how to use his tongue, and he hasn’t wasted them. She isn’t able to get over the sight of him, the feel of him in her arms.
Thankfully, she doesn’t have to.
*
She’d never thought she could be this happy. That love could be this simple and easy. With nothing to hold them apart, they grow together; lovers, partners, confidant’s.
She should have known it couldn’t last.
*
When Buffy arrives, she knows. Feels it deep down in the clench of her belly. Knows it to the marrow of her bones, before even a single word has been spoken.
Angel gives her a big speech about cookie dough, and baking, and there are tears, and plenty of recriminations, and a truly staggering amount of apologies. She’s too shell shocked to understand much of it.
All she knows is; it’s a lot of words and fanfare to say something very simple. To tell her what even a child could glean.
Nothing in this life was ever hers.
Everything in her life is about to change.
*
Cordelia has no illusions about her place in the scheme of things. She knows that she’ll never truly be part of what Buffy and Angel share. Never be part of that big, smooshy, angsty, star-crossed love. She knows she’ll never be as necessary, or quite as needed.
Angel’s in no danger of being too happy in this situation. No one is. They limp along like a three-legged mutant thing that should have died a long time ago, but just keeps dragging on.
Some days, she thinks she could leave. There is comfort in that thought. Solace and peace. Sometimes, she sits alone and holds the thought like a candle to her breast, a ward against the darkness, a talisman against the pain.
Sometimes, in her darkest moments, when the light of comfort leaves her and she stands naked in the truth of her soul, she contemplates killing them both. She’s never understood homicide or suicide before. Never understood what could drive people to the edges of sanity, beyond the fringes of rational thought. She’ll never do it, of course. She’s just not quite that unhinged. Besides, it would give Buffy and Angel that one last shade of Romeo & Juliet and she refuses to give them that satisfaction, even in memory.
Yes. She could walk away. But everything that gives her life meaning, everything she has ever loved and cared for, is all right here. The memory of her happiness is still too close, too well remembered to be abandoned. She lives and hopes and prays for those days to come again—-for Buffy to leave and Angel to smile again. To feel like a woman in love instead of like a freak trapped in this travesty, this farce.
Some days, she wishes Angel had left her for dead.
*
“I could take him from you,” Buffy says, sliding her arms around Cordelia’s waist from behind. Her voice flutters against Cordelia’s ear, sending shivers down her spine.
“You’re so sure that you’re not even going to try?” Cordy shoots back, and it sounds weak even to her ears. She knows Buffy is right, but her pride, her insufferable, unflagging pride will not let her keep the words.
“No, I won’t.” Fingers tracing the contour of her hip, sharp bone and soft skin that steals her breath away and fills her with hatred.
“Why not?”
“Because it would kill him to hurt you.”
She closes her eyes, lets loose the truth held close to her heart. “It hurts more to share him.”
“You can leave, anytime.”
Bitch. She’s such a bitch. But Cordelia’s never been a very nice girl, herself.
“And let you win? Oh, I don’t think so.”
She turns, kisses Buffy full on the mouth, lips bruising, almost crushing.
She knows it hurts her more than it hurts Buffy—-after all, Buffy’s the Slayer. But maybe, if she kisses her hard enough, fucks her hard enough, Cordelia can drive out the pain of knowing in her heart.
Buffy already won a long time ago.
I'll be migrating my fic slowly, from most recent to oldest. This being the most recent.
Title: Something Borrowed
Author:
thenyxieRating: R
Pairing: Buffy/Angel/Cordelia (B/C, C/A, with a B/A focus)
Genre: Angst
Notes: Eeeevil errant triangle plot bunny that refused to be silenced. I wrote it quick, down and dirty this at work, so if there are any errors, that would be why.
Sometimes, in her darkest moments, when the light of comfort leaves her and she stands naked in the truth of her soul, Cordelia contemplates killing them both. She’s never understood homicide or suicide before. Never understood what could drive people to the edges of sanity, beyond the fringes of rational thought.
When Angel discovers that rumors of her death have been greatly exaggerated in yet another ploy by Wolfram & Hart, he comes to rescue her.
Limbs shaking with disuse, her hair unkempt and her face make-up free, he takes her in his arms and kisses her like she’s never been kissed before in her life. He’s had centuries to learn how to use his tongue, and he hasn’t wasted them. She isn’t able to get over the sight of him, the feel of him in her arms.
Thankfully, she doesn’t have to.
*
She’d never thought she could be this happy. That love could be this simple and easy. With nothing to hold them apart, they grow together; lovers, partners, confidant’s.
She should have known it couldn’t last.
*
When Buffy arrives, she knows. Feels it deep down in the clench of her belly. Knows it to the marrow of her bones, before even a single word has been spoken.
Angel gives her a big speech about cookie dough, and baking, and there are tears, and plenty of recriminations, and a truly staggering amount of apologies. She’s too shell shocked to understand much of it.
All she knows is; it’s a lot of words and fanfare to say something very simple. To tell her what even a child could glean.
Nothing in this life was ever hers.
Everything in her life is about to change.
*
Cordelia has no illusions about her place in the scheme of things. She knows that she’ll never truly be part of what Buffy and Angel share. Never be part of that big, smooshy, angsty, star-crossed love. She knows she’ll never be as necessary, or quite as needed.
Angel’s in no danger of being too happy in this situation. No one is. They limp along like a three-legged mutant thing that should have died a long time ago, but just keeps dragging on.
Some days, she thinks she could leave. There is comfort in that thought. Solace and peace. Sometimes, she sits alone and holds the thought like a candle to her breast, a ward against the darkness, a talisman against the pain.
Sometimes, in her darkest moments, when the light of comfort leaves her and she stands naked in the truth of her soul, she contemplates killing them both. She’s never understood homicide or suicide before. Never understood what could drive people to the edges of sanity, beyond the fringes of rational thought. She’ll never do it, of course. She’s just not quite that unhinged. Besides, it would give Buffy and Angel that one last shade of Romeo & Juliet and she refuses to give them that satisfaction, even in memory.
Yes. She could walk away. But everything that gives her life meaning, everything she has ever loved and cared for, is all right here. The memory of her happiness is still too close, too well remembered to be abandoned. She lives and hopes and prays for those days to come again—-for Buffy to leave and Angel to smile again. To feel like a woman in love instead of like a freak trapped in this travesty, this farce.
Some days, she wishes Angel had left her for dead.
*
“I could take him from you,” Buffy says, sliding her arms around Cordelia’s waist from behind. Her voice flutters against Cordelia’s ear, sending shivers down her spine.
“You’re so sure that you’re not even going to try?” Cordy shoots back, and it sounds weak even to her ears. She knows Buffy is right, but her pride, her insufferable, unflagging pride will not let her keep the words.
“No, I won’t.” Fingers tracing the contour of her hip, sharp bone and soft skin that steals her breath away and fills her with hatred.
“Why not?”
“Because it would kill him to hurt you.”
She closes her eyes, lets loose the truth held close to her heart. “It hurts more to share him.”
“You can leave, anytime.”
Bitch. She’s such a bitch. But Cordelia’s never been a very nice girl, herself.
“And let you win? Oh, I don’t think so.”
She turns, kisses Buffy full on the mouth, lips bruising, almost crushing.
She knows it hurts her more than it hurts Buffy—-after all, Buffy’s the Slayer. But maybe, if she kisses her hard enough, fucks her hard enough, Cordelia can drive out the pain of knowing in her heart.
Buffy already won a long time ago.