Get Cordy Laid Ficathon
Title: The Joys of Truck Sex and Other Erotic Musings of Cordelia Chase
Author: Maren
Pairing: Cordy/Gunn, Wes/Angel innuendo
Rating: R
Summary: Cordy knows what turns her on. (Set in S2, directly after "First Impressions")
Author Note: Written for mireille719 in karabair's Cordy Spring Fling Ficathon. Requests were Cordy/Gunn set after "First Impressions", Gunn's truck, mention of Phantom Dennis, with a maximum rating of R. Of course I decided to be difficult and attempt to write a PWP with an R-rating. Thanks to southernbangel for giving it a quick beta.
*****
The Joys of Truck Sex and Other Erotic Musings of Cordelia Chase
Cordelia Chase is the first to admit she has very particular tastes. Some people would call her high maintenance and mean it as a diss, but honestly, she wears the description with something between indifference and pride. Much better to be picky than wishy-washy, in her opinion. The fact is, Cordy just knows what makes her happy, what makes her feel good, and she definitely knows what turns her on.
Watching two fully grown men bicker about who has to wear the pink helmet? So not on the turn-on list. She doesn’t know why Angel told her she could take his car home if he was going to just turn around and bitch about getting a ride from Wesley. Except it occurs to her there’s the very distinct possibility that they think the bickering is a turn on and wow, she is not letting her brain go down that road again.
Cordelia’s about to tell Angel he can take his car and she’ll walk home if they will just shut up when she hears the loud rumble of an engine coming toward her. She turns and is surprised to see the gray and blue monstrosity that is Gunn’s truck rolling to a stop behind her. Angel and Wesley barely look up from their man flirting to see who’s approaching, but Cordy frowns and waits for Gunn to pull up beside her, sure that he’s coming back with bad news. He left not two minutes ago; something has to be wrong.
“What’s up? Another big bad around the corner or are you just aching to go out and find more trouble?” She crosses her arms under her chest and raises an eyebrow. Gunn is itching to get himself killed and as far as Cordy is concerned, he is way too fine to be wasted as demon bait.
He smirks at her and she catches his eyes flick down to her chest before they’re back on her face.
Pervert.
Still, he’s a hot pervert and to be fair, she’s had a perverted thought or two about him as well so she subtly shifts her arms in a way that pushes her breasts up and out a little more.
There have been sparks between them all day and it doesn’t matter that an outsider would probably call them sparks of annoyance-Cordy knows a spark from a spark. Annoyance is not attraction, except when it is of course, and so what if she’s been on the receiving end of both enough to know the difference? Annoyance alone does not make her stomach flutter or her palms feel a little sweaty and it certainly doesn’t make a guy look at her the way Gunn is looking at her now.
Gunn slides an arm out the open window of his truck and moves it back and forth over the metal of the door before giving it a little pat. Cordy’s guessing it’s an unconscious movement; she’s had a few boyfriends before who love their transportation just a little more than they probably should and she remembers how they’d caress hoods and doors and leather interiors with hands so slow and worshipping you’d think they were touching a lover. Sometimes that meant they knew how to touch her, too, and sometimes it was clear that they’d never touch a girl with the same reverence they touched their cars.
Cordy wonders which camp Gunn falls in. No, seriously, she is really curious.
“No trouble, unless you count yourself in that category and I’m beginning to think maybe I should. Actually, I ...” Gunn keeps going and for a moment Cordy’s confused. What is he talking about? She was having all of those nice thoughts of his hands and then had to start babbling on about. . .
Oh yeah. Why he came back.
“. . . and I thought maybe I should swing back and see if you need a ride home.”
She’s a little surprised by the offer but she doesn’t even have to think about it. Escaping from the bickering ambiguously gay duo would be a no-brainer even if the guy offering her a ride home wasn’t so good looking.
“Angel,” she calls out, twisting around to look at him. He barely lets his eyes flick over at the sound of his name, but Cordy’s tired of this whole scene. She wants to go home, hop in the bath tub, and let Dennis scrub her back with that knobby massager thingy she bought at the mall. She’s done wasting time on Angel and Wesley’s antics and if she hears either of them say pink one more time, she may just become the first girly-girl in the world to develop a hatred for the color.
“Take your keys and shut up about the helmet already.” She throws the keys in the vicinity of Angel’s head, not caring that he’s not really looking at her. He would totally deserve to get a face full of keys-in fact, with the way he’s been acting lately Cordy thinks maybe a knock upside the head with something metal would do him some good.
Gunn slides across the cab to open the passenger door for her and Cordy’s opinion of him goes up another notch. She guesses some girls would be offended, but Cordy is firmly in the shave-your-armpits, wear-a-bra, let-guys-open-doors camp. Not that she couldn’t do it herself, of course, but guys opening doors? Definitely a turn-on.
“Thanks,” she says, and Gunn glances over at her to nod. A quick exchange with directions to her apartment, and they’re on their way.
Gunn mostly keeps his eyes on the road, but she catches him glancing at her out of the corner of his eye every once in a while. They ride in near silence for most of the way, the sounds of a local rock station a tinny hum over the louder rumble of the truck, and Cordy uses the time to admire her companion.
Oh, not just the way he looks, although that’s definitely part of it. Just . . . there’s something about him that she’s drawn to, a strength of character and a drive to do good that infuriates her and intrigues her at the same time. He’s smart, except when he’s being completely stupid and bull-headed-- like tonight with Devac. And he’s strong, not vampire-slayer-superhero strong but regular guy strong.
Turn-on strong. Hard body under soft hands strong. Lift you up by the hips and hold you off the floor strong. Deep thrusts while you’re against a . . .
Cordy puts a stop to that train of thought and hisses out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. Her face is hot and flushed, her skin a little tight and dry except where it’s not.
Yep. Definite sparkage.
“Need some air?”
She turns to see Gunn looking at her between quick glances back at the road. Cordy shakes her head and leans her face against the cool pane of the passenger window. She has a feeling that the “air” he is referring to is not the cool conditioned kind but the smoggy, unfresh kind that’s right outside the window. And while she’ll tolerate her hair whipping into her face while she’s in a sleek classic convertible, the same can not be said for Gunn’s truck.
Before she knows it, Gunn is turning onto the quiet side street next to her apartment building and pulling up next to the curb. He shifts the truck into park and Cordy feels a jolt of disappointment. Sure, a hot bath and sleep sound good but there’s still this tension between them and it’s been a while since Cordy has felt this way about a guy. She’s not ready for the ride to be over.
Gunn reaches forward and turns down the radio, then nods toward her building. “Nice neighborhood,” he says, eyes scanning the empty street. “Angel must cut you a fat check every month. Wish I got paid for dusting vamps.” There’s a note of censure in his voice, like he doesn’t actually think it’s cool that she gets a paycheck for working with Angel.
Screw that. Skull splitting pain for the good of human-kind and she barely earns enough cash to live on. For god’s sake, she hasn’t even been able to afford a single pair of new shoes in months!
She tells him that. He rolls his eyes.
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for Bean Pole Barbie because she can’t buy another pair of $100 shoes?”
Cordy mentally adds another $100 to his shoe-price estimate, but decides it’s one of those times when keeping her mouth shut is the wiser choice. Besides, there are more pressing things to consider at the current moment. Namely, this is the third time he’s called her some variation of skinny and or Barbie tonight as an insult, and she’s beginning to think maybe he’s been living in windowless basements for too long if he actually thinks that’s going to hurt a girl’s feelings.
Of course it could be his way of flirting with her in that grade school pull-my-hair-harass-me-on-the-playground kind of way and if that’s the case, while so not impressed with his methods, she could totally get behind the intent.
Cordy decides to test her theory. That buzz of attraction she’s been feeling has only grown since he started insulting her, and god, what kind of sexual freak did Xander Harris turn her into?
She turns her body to face him, pulling her left leg completely onto the seat and folding it in front of her. “Am I supposed to find the “skinny beauty queen” comments insulting? Because, news flash, most girls I know would consider it a compliment.”
Gunn shifts so they’re staring right at one another and she can see the amusement glinting in his eyes from the light cast from the streetlamp.
“I just don’t get you white girls who freak at the thought of a little meat on your bones. I happen to like a woman with a little more in the back, that’s all.” He shrugs, shoulders loose and casual, his eyes roaming down to the exposed skin of her flat stomach and lingering there for a moment before moving back up. The look on his face is appreciative in spite of his words and it takes some of the sting out.
“Excuse me? I have a great ass.” She crosses her arms under her breasts again and taps a finger against her upper arm.
Is he vision impaired? Sweatpants or no, her backside always looks good. She’s got a well-worn Pilates tape sitting in her VCR to prove it. Or at least give evidence in support of it. Hell, she’s sitting on all the proof she needs right now.
He raises an eyebrow, and grunts in this annoying, skeptical way. It pisses her off, and it turns her on, and Cordy can’t resist the chance to defend her . . . assets.
She tilts her body forward, leveraging her weight on her bent leg as the toe of her other shoe digs into the floorboard, and grabs his left hand. His look turns from smirk to surprise as she plants it on her ass and settles back into his palm. She doesn’t say a word because please, her ass totally speaks for itself.
Gunn’s speechless for a long moment. The way she has her body tilted puts her face close to his and he stares, wide-eyed for a second before he manages to get his cool back. Cordy is breathless and a little anxious as she waits for him to finish reacting to her come-on and would he hurry it up already?
His palm is big and warm and the first gentle squeeze is accompanied by a twist of his lips. Cordy’s pelvis twists in response and she rocks into his hand even more, fighting against the nearly uncontrollable urge to kiss him. The second grope is less gentle as he pulls her even closer and before she’s even fully realized she’s gotten her way, his lips are almost on hers.
“I’m man enough to admit when I’m wrong,” he murmurs against her lips. Then he’s kissing her hard, just the way she likes it, as his hand supports her bottom and his other hand knots into the hair at the base of her skull.
Sparks? Not anymore-this is full on burn.
It’s been a long time since Cordy has felt this way, on fire from the first touch and wanting it all, right now, no waiting. His kisses are perfect, his hands are strong, and he seems to know exactly where she wants to be touched a split-second before she know what she wants (And that? Practically unheard of.)
The best thing about it is that she knows she can trust Gunn and trust is right at the top of her turn-on list.
Cordy plants a hand on Gunn’s chest and wraps her other arm around his neck. His skull is smooth and shiny and she has the urge to rub it. Since it’s her firm belief that if there is any moment in time when it is perfectly acceptable to give in to urges, it’s when making out with a hot guy, she does. Gunn must feel a similar urge because he reaches up to pull out the scarf and elastic that’s holding her hair in a messy ponytail and combs his fingers through her long waves. She moans into his mouth and he moans into hers and the twin sounds seem to break down whatever barriers remain between her, Gunn, and sex.
She kisses him and he kisses her. He touches her and she touches him. It’s frantic but not clumsy, firm but not too hard, his hands on her body and his mouth on her mouth, jaw, neck. And somehow, through the haze of pulsing want Cordy knows that this ride could not have ended any other way. This whole thing was inevitable. . . maybe from the very first time she met him, probably from the moment the PTB sent her a full techni-pain vision of him and she crowned herself his protector. . .
Definitely since she slid into his truck.
See, because Cordelia has a thing for making out in cars, and even though this isn’t technically a car it has the necessary components.
Foggy windows?
Check.
Fear of being discovered at any moment by anyone with a flashlight or the ability to cup their hands against the glass and squint?
Check.
Tightly enclosed space with limited maneuverability?
Check.
(She’s not sure why that’s hot, except that it is. Hot that is. Temperature-wise, every humid breath fueling the furnace, sweat prickling out of skin and making everything slicker than it normally is. Plus, hot in the not-temperature-sense and she’s not sure why that is and look, circular logic.)
Cordy is thinking way too much and she isn’t even making sense so she tries to shut off her brain and concentrate on how she feels.
Somehow they’ve worked their way across the bench seat so that Gunn isn’t trapped behind the steering column anymore and Jesus he’s even better with the full, relatively unhindered movement of his body. She’s leaning back against the door and he’s half laying over her and any discomfort she might have been feeling with the cold steel of the handle digging into her is made completely irrelevant by the feel of his slim, muscular waist trapped between her legs. Gunn is nibbling at the sensitive skin right under her jaw, rocking his hips into her and. . . .
Gah. She needs to feel some skin that doesn’t belong to his head or hands.
Cordy slides her hand from his chest to his back, dips it down and worms it under his vest and his sweatshirt and his shirt and damn how many layers is this man wearing? Okay, only three, and Cordy makes a mental note to have a talk with him some other time about the art of layering. But right now she’s distracted by the smoothness of his chest, the swell of his pectorals and the firmness of his stomach. And that’s only one hand; the other slips under his clothes (more easily navigated, this time) and traces the ridge of his spine all the way to the waist of his pants, then under.
There are things about trucks that are apparently even better than cars, as far as Cordy’s kink goes. The engine is still running and it makes the truck vibrate, a steady rumbling hum that rocks the seat beneath her and sends shock waves straight up her. . . Then there’s the fact that she doesn’t have to worry as much about bumping her head on the roof, or that she can lay down without having to awkwardly shimmy over the console and into the backseat. And she guesses it’s all of those perks together that make it feel so damn good when Gunn grunts at the feeling of her hand cupping his ass (just as fantastic as hers, by the way), moves more fully on top of her, and traps her pelvis between his rolling hardness and the vibrating seat beneath her.
Hell-o.
Gunn lets go of her just long enough to grab the rolled hem of her sweater and pull it up and over her head.
“Not a vamp,” he grunts, balling her sweater up and dropping it on the floor and he’s so lucky it was an old one or she’d. . .
“Huh?” she breathes, because duh she knows he’s not a vamp or she wouldn’t be here with him, like this. She likes her guys hot and hot and is she really back to that line of thinking?
He ignores her question and spans her lower back with one large hand, uses his other to push her shoulders back so that her back is arched and her head thumps against the door. She’s about to protest but then his mouth hits her in the crease between her breasts and his tongue darts out to lick at the skin there.
“Blood . . . all over your sweater. Not a turn on. Cause I’m not a vamp.”
His tongue hits her breasts again, the upper swell this time, then trails down over the white cotton that covers her straining nipple.
“Oh.” Whatever. And then. . .
“Oh. Yes.”
Things speed up then, more clothes joining the sweater on the floor, her mouth on his bare chest and his mouth on her breasts and then he’s pulling her upright again, helping her straddle his lap, reaching into the glove box to grab a condom and then. . .
“Nnnngah.”
She closes her eyes and arches back, hair brushing the dashboard, forehead almost touching the cool glass of the windshield. Gunn’s hands tighten at her waist as an appreciative groan rumbles from his throat.
“Beautiful.”
They don’t talk after that, just make incoherent noises of appreciation, breath mingling as they kiss and gasp and moan. There’s a buzzing in her ears that gets louder with every rocking movement, every slide of his mouth, every brush of his hand, every rub of his fingers until Cordy can’t hear anything at all. Gunn drinks down the sounds of her orgasm, then joins her.
After, they cling together as Cordy tries to catch her breath. The heat that was fueling her only minutes before is already diminishing, the sweat beginning to dry on her body cooling her temperature down. She shivers and snuggles into his chest, mumbling in approval when he wraps his arms around her and hugs her to him. Of course he’s a guy, so his body is still like a furnace and she wonders what it would be like to sleep next to him in a big bed on a cold night, like when she used to go to Aspen with her family. It occurs to her that this should feel weird or awkward or whatever but it doesn’t and she’s glad.
He touches her chin and tilts her face up, placing a lingering kiss on her lips before pulling away and smiling.
“If this is your way of taking care of me, I gotta tell you I love your methods.”
Hey, if getting naked with him is all it takes to keep him from risking his neck on reckless demon grudge matches, Cordy’s game . . . not that she can let him know that. She rolls her eyes and shifts off of his lap. The pile of clothes on the floor is a jumbled tangle of his and hers and she starts to sort them.
“Somehow I doubt even my spectacular charms can keep your dumb ass safe,” she drawls. He lunges at her and she squeals, a sound that quickly turns to a sigh as he kisses her hard. When he pulls away this time, he brushes his thumb gently over her cheek. His eyes are warm and sincere and there’s a soft smile on his face as he looks at her.
“Seriously, I went back there to tell you . . . well, to say thanks. For caring. For sticking by me and not letting me scare you off. I probably owe my life to you, Cordelia, so . . . thank you.” The serious look on Gunn’s face bleeds away and he grins. “Now if I’d known we’d end up like this, I never woulda left in the first place.”
Cordy could be a smart ass-she’s an expert at deflecting real emotion with a well-chosen barb after all-but she just doesn’t feel like it with Gunn. She can tell how hard it was for him to say this to her.
“You’re welcome,” she says, simply.
A passing car shines illuminates the interior of the truck cab and Cordy holds her breath, hoping they aren’t about to get busted by L.A.P.D. That would so be her luck. Never around when there are actual vampires killing people, but they always seem to know when someone is engaging in public indecency. She lets out her breath in relief as it passes them by, and gets back to getting dressed.
“I better go inside before my neighbors call the cops, or worse, Angel. They think he’s my boyfriend,” Cordy announces when she’s decent again. Her whole body is limp and relaxed, and it’s definitely time for that bath and bed. This night has turned out to be much better than she thought it would be but she’s still exhausted. The visions are taking more out of her each time and now that her body is satiated, it’s definitely time for some sleep.
“Angel? Thought he and Wesley. . . never mind." Gunn leans forward and tucks a curl behind her ear, then kisses it. "Sorry we didn’t make it inside to your bed in the first place,” he rumbles. There’s a pause, then a little laugh. “Truth is, I loved being with you like this, in my truck. Guy thing I guess.”
Yeah. Guy thing.
Cordy resists the urge to snort and smiles instead, wide and bright so he can have no doubt that she absolutely did not mind. She smoothes her hands over her hair, checks to make sure her clothes are roughly back to where they started, and pops open the passenger side door. Gunn moves to go with her, walk her inside like the gentleman he is, but Cordy lays her hand on his arm and stops his momentum. Scooting back toward him, she leans in and kisses him one last time.
“Go ahead and go home,” she says when they finally break apart. Gunn’s eyes cloud and Cordy shakes her head and smiles. “You can see my apartment when you come pick me up for our date tomorrow night.”
His face brightens with a smile of his own. “Tomorrow night, huh?”
“Eight o’clock sharp,” she commands, letting go of his arm and slipping out of the truck and onto the pavement. “And Gunn... ”
“Yeah?”
“Make sure you bring the truck.”
His laughter follows her all the way to her door.
It’s the biggest turn-on of all.
*
Author: Maren
Pairing: Cordy/Gunn, Wes/Angel innuendo
Rating: R
Summary: Cordy knows what turns her on. (Set in S2, directly after "First Impressions")
Author Note: Written for mireille719 in karabair's Cordy Spring Fling Ficathon. Requests were Cordy/Gunn set after "First Impressions", Gunn's truck, mention of Phantom Dennis, with a maximum rating of R. Of course I decided to be difficult and attempt to write a PWP with an R-rating. Thanks to southernbangel for giving it a quick beta.
*****
The Joys of Truck Sex and Other Erotic Musings of Cordelia Chase
Cordelia Chase is the first to admit she has very particular tastes. Some people would call her high maintenance and mean it as a diss, but honestly, she wears the description with something between indifference and pride. Much better to be picky than wishy-washy, in her opinion. The fact is, Cordy just knows what makes her happy, what makes her feel good, and she definitely knows what turns her on.
Watching two fully grown men bicker about who has to wear the pink helmet? So not on the turn-on list. She doesn’t know why Angel told her she could take his car home if he was going to just turn around and bitch about getting a ride from Wesley. Except it occurs to her there’s the very distinct possibility that they think the bickering is a turn on and wow, she is not letting her brain go down that road again.
Cordelia’s about to tell Angel he can take his car and she’ll walk home if they will just shut up when she hears the loud rumble of an engine coming toward her. She turns and is surprised to see the gray and blue monstrosity that is Gunn’s truck rolling to a stop behind her. Angel and Wesley barely look up from their man flirting to see who’s approaching, but Cordy frowns and waits for Gunn to pull up beside her, sure that he’s coming back with bad news. He left not two minutes ago; something has to be wrong.
“What’s up? Another big bad around the corner or are you just aching to go out and find more trouble?” She crosses her arms under her chest and raises an eyebrow. Gunn is itching to get himself killed and as far as Cordy is concerned, he is way too fine to be wasted as demon bait.
He smirks at her and she catches his eyes flick down to her chest before they’re back on her face.
Pervert.
Still, he’s a hot pervert and to be fair, she’s had a perverted thought or two about him as well so she subtly shifts her arms in a way that pushes her breasts up and out a little more.
There have been sparks between them all day and it doesn’t matter that an outsider would probably call them sparks of annoyance-Cordy knows a spark from a spark. Annoyance is not attraction, except when it is of course, and so what if she’s been on the receiving end of both enough to know the difference? Annoyance alone does not make her stomach flutter or her palms feel a little sweaty and it certainly doesn’t make a guy look at her the way Gunn is looking at her now.
Gunn slides an arm out the open window of his truck and moves it back and forth over the metal of the door before giving it a little pat. Cordy’s guessing it’s an unconscious movement; she’s had a few boyfriends before who love their transportation just a little more than they probably should and she remembers how they’d caress hoods and doors and leather interiors with hands so slow and worshipping you’d think they were touching a lover. Sometimes that meant they knew how to touch her, too, and sometimes it was clear that they’d never touch a girl with the same reverence they touched their cars.
Cordy wonders which camp Gunn falls in. No, seriously, she is really curious.
“No trouble, unless you count yourself in that category and I’m beginning to think maybe I should. Actually, I ...” Gunn keeps going and for a moment Cordy’s confused. What is he talking about? She was having all of those nice thoughts of his hands and then had to start babbling on about. . .
Oh yeah. Why he came back.
“. . . and I thought maybe I should swing back and see if you need a ride home.”
She’s a little surprised by the offer but she doesn’t even have to think about it. Escaping from the bickering ambiguously gay duo would be a no-brainer even if the guy offering her a ride home wasn’t so good looking.
“Angel,” she calls out, twisting around to look at him. He barely lets his eyes flick over at the sound of his name, but Cordy’s tired of this whole scene. She wants to go home, hop in the bath tub, and let Dennis scrub her back with that knobby massager thingy she bought at the mall. She’s done wasting time on Angel and Wesley’s antics and if she hears either of them say pink one more time, she may just become the first girly-girl in the world to develop a hatred for the color.
“Take your keys and shut up about the helmet already.” She throws the keys in the vicinity of Angel’s head, not caring that he’s not really looking at her. He would totally deserve to get a face full of keys-in fact, with the way he’s been acting lately Cordy thinks maybe a knock upside the head with something metal would do him some good.
Gunn slides across the cab to open the passenger door for her and Cordy’s opinion of him goes up another notch. She guesses some girls would be offended, but Cordy is firmly in the shave-your-armpits, wear-a-bra, let-guys-open-doors camp. Not that she couldn’t do it herself, of course, but guys opening doors? Definitely a turn-on.
“Thanks,” she says, and Gunn glances over at her to nod. A quick exchange with directions to her apartment, and they’re on their way.
Gunn mostly keeps his eyes on the road, but she catches him glancing at her out of the corner of his eye every once in a while. They ride in near silence for most of the way, the sounds of a local rock station a tinny hum over the louder rumble of the truck, and Cordy uses the time to admire her companion.
Oh, not just the way he looks, although that’s definitely part of it. Just . . . there’s something about him that she’s drawn to, a strength of character and a drive to do good that infuriates her and intrigues her at the same time. He’s smart, except when he’s being completely stupid and bull-headed-- like tonight with Devac. And he’s strong, not vampire-slayer-superhero strong but regular guy strong.
Turn-on strong. Hard body under soft hands strong. Lift you up by the hips and hold you off the floor strong. Deep thrusts while you’re against a . . .
Cordy puts a stop to that train of thought and hisses out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. Her face is hot and flushed, her skin a little tight and dry except where it’s not.
Yep. Definite sparkage.
“Need some air?”
She turns to see Gunn looking at her between quick glances back at the road. Cordy shakes her head and leans her face against the cool pane of the passenger window. She has a feeling that the “air” he is referring to is not the cool conditioned kind but the smoggy, unfresh kind that’s right outside the window. And while she’ll tolerate her hair whipping into her face while she’s in a sleek classic convertible, the same can not be said for Gunn’s truck.
Before she knows it, Gunn is turning onto the quiet side street next to her apartment building and pulling up next to the curb. He shifts the truck into park and Cordy feels a jolt of disappointment. Sure, a hot bath and sleep sound good but there’s still this tension between them and it’s been a while since Cordy has felt this way about a guy. She’s not ready for the ride to be over.
Gunn reaches forward and turns down the radio, then nods toward her building. “Nice neighborhood,” he says, eyes scanning the empty street. “Angel must cut you a fat check every month. Wish I got paid for dusting vamps.” There’s a note of censure in his voice, like he doesn’t actually think it’s cool that she gets a paycheck for working with Angel.
Screw that. Skull splitting pain for the good of human-kind and she barely earns enough cash to live on. For god’s sake, she hasn’t even been able to afford a single pair of new shoes in months!
She tells him that. He rolls his eyes.
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for Bean Pole Barbie because she can’t buy another pair of $100 shoes?”
Cordy mentally adds another $100 to his shoe-price estimate, but decides it’s one of those times when keeping her mouth shut is the wiser choice. Besides, there are more pressing things to consider at the current moment. Namely, this is the third time he’s called her some variation of skinny and or Barbie tonight as an insult, and she’s beginning to think maybe he’s been living in windowless basements for too long if he actually thinks that’s going to hurt a girl’s feelings.
Of course it could be his way of flirting with her in that grade school pull-my-hair-harass-me-on-the-playground kind of way and if that’s the case, while so not impressed with his methods, she could totally get behind the intent.
Cordy decides to test her theory. That buzz of attraction she’s been feeling has only grown since he started insulting her, and god, what kind of sexual freak did Xander Harris turn her into?
She turns her body to face him, pulling her left leg completely onto the seat and folding it in front of her. “Am I supposed to find the “skinny beauty queen” comments insulting? Because, news flash, most girls I know would consider it a compliment.”
Gunn shifts so they’re staring right at one another and she can see the amusement glinting in his eyes from the light cast from the streetlamp.
“I just don’t get you white girls who freak at the thought of a little meat on your bones. I happen to like a woman with a little more in the back, that’s all.” He shrugs, shoulders loose and casual, his eyes roaming down to the exposed skin of her flat stomach and lingering there for a moment before moving back up. The look on his face is appreciative in spite of his words and it takes some of the sting out.
“Excuse me? I have a great ass.” She crosses her arms under her breasts again and taps a finger against her upper arm.
Is he vision impaired? Sweatpants or no, her backside always looks good. She’s got a well-worn Pilates tape sitting in her VCR to prove it. Or at least give evidence in support of it. Hell, she’s sitting on all the proof she needs right now.
He raises an eyebrow, and grunts in this annoying, skeptical way. It pisses her off, and it turns her on, and Cordy can’t resist the chance to defend her . . . assets.
She tilts her body forward, leveraging her weight on her bent leg as the toe of her other shoe digs into the floorboard, and grabs his left hand. His look turns from smirk to surprise as she plants it on her ass and settles back into his palm. She doesn’t say a word because please, her ass totally speaks for itself.
Gunn’s speechless for a long moment. The way she has her body tilted puts her face close to his and he stares, wide-eyed for a second before he manages to get his cool back. Cordy is breathless and a little anxious as she waits for him to finish reacting to her come-on and would he hurry it up already?
His palm is big and warm and the first gentle squeeze is accompanied by a twist of his lips. Cordy’s pelvis twists in response and she rocks into his hand even more, fighting against the nearly uncontrollable urge to kiss him. The second grope is less gentle as he pulls her even closer and before she’s even fully realized she’s gotten her way, his lips are almost on hers.
“I’m man enough to admit when I’m wrong,” he murmurs against her lips. Then he’s kissing her hard, just the way she likes it, as his hand supports her bottom and his other hand knots into the hair at the base of her skull.
Sparks? Not anymore-this is full on burn.
It’s been a long time since Cordy has felt this way, on fire from the first touch and wanting it all, right now, no waiting. His kisses are perfect, his hands are strong, and he seems to know exactly where she wants to be touched a split-second before she know what she wants (And that? Practically unheard of.)
The best thing about it is that she knows she can trust Gunn and trust is right at the top of her turn-on list.
Cordy plants a hand on Gunn’s chest and wraps her other arm around his neck. His skull is smooth and shiny and she has the urge to rub it. Since it’s her firm belief that if there is any moment in time when it is perfectly acceptable to give in to urges, it’s when making out with a hot guy, she does. Gunn must feel a similar urge because he reaches up to pull out the scarf and elastic that’s holding her hair in a messy ponytail and combs his fingers through her long waves. She moans into his mouth and he moans into hers and the twin sounds seem to break down whatever barriers remain between her, Gunn, and sex.
She kisses him and he kisses her. He touches her and she touches him. It’s frantic but not clumsy, firm but not too hard, his hands on her body and his mouth on her mouth, jaw, neck. And somehow, through the haze of pulsing want Cordy knows that this ride could not have ended any other way. This whole thing was inevitable. . . maybe from the very first time she met him, probably from the moment the PTB sent her a full techni-pain vision of him and she crowned herself his protector. . .
Definitely since she slid into his truck.
See, because Cordelia has a thing for making out in cars, and even though this isn’t technically a car it has the necessary components.
Foggy windows?
Check.
Fear of being discovered at any moment by anyone with a flashlight or the ability to cup their hands against the glass and squint?
Check.
Tightly enclosed space with limited maneuverability?
Check.
(She’s not sure why that’s hot, except that it is. Hot that is. Temperature-wise, every humid breath fueling the furnace, sweat prickling out of skin and making everything slicker than it normally is. Plus, hot in the not-temperature-sense and she’s not sure why that is and look, circular logic.)
Cordy is thinking way too much and she isn’t even making sense so she tries to shut off her brain and concentrate on how she feels.
Somehow they’ve worked their way across the bench seat so that Gunn isn’t trapped behind the steering column anymore and Jesus he’s even better with the full, relatively unhindered movement of his body. She’s leaning back against the door and he’s half laying over her and any discomfort she might have been feeling with the cold steel of the handle digging into her is made completely irrelevant by the feel of his slim, muscular waist trapped between her legs. Gunn is nibbling at the sensitive skin right under her jaw, rocking his hips into her and. . . .
Gah. She needs to feel some skin that doesn’t belong to his head or hands.
Cordy slides her hand from his chest to his back, dips it down and worms it under his vest and his sweatshirt and his shirt and damn how many layers is this man wearing? Okay, only three, and Cordy makes a mental note to have a talk with him some other time about the art of layering. But right now she’s distracted by the smoothness of his chest, the swell of his pectorals and the firmness of his stomach. And that’s only one hand; the other slips under his clothes (more easily navigated, this time) and traces the ridge of his spine all the way to the waist of his pants, then under.
There are things about trucks that are apparently even better than cars, as far as Cordy’s kink goes. The engine is still running and it makes the truck vibrate, a steady rumbling hum that rocks the seat beneath her and sends shock waves straight up her. . . Then there’s the fact that she doesn’t have to worry as much about bumping her head on the roof, or that she can lay down without having to awkwardly shimmy over the console and into the backseat. And she guesses it’s all of those perks together that make it feel so damn good when Gunn grunts at the feeling of her hand cupping his ass (just as fantastic as hers, by the way), moves more fully on top of her, and traps her pelvis between his rolling hardness and the vibrating seat beneath her.
Hell-o.
Gunn lets go of her just long enough to grab the rolled hem of her sweater and pull it up and over her head.
“Not a vamp,” he grunts, balling her sweater up and dropping it on the floor and he’s so lucky it was an old one or she’d. . .
“Huh?” she breathes, because duh she knows he’s not a vamp or she wouldn’t be here with him, like this. She likes her guys hot and hot and is she really back to that line of thinking?
He ignores her question and spans her lower back with one large hand, uses his other to push her shoulders back so that her back is arched and her head thumps against the door. She’s about to protest but then his mouth hits her in the crease between her breasts and his tongue darts out to lick at the skin there.
“Blood . . . all over your sweater. Not a turn on. Cause I’m not a vamp.”
His tongue hits her breasts again, the upper swell this time, then trails down over the white cotton that covers her straining nipple.
“Oh.” Whatever. And then. . .
“Oh. Yes.”
Things speed up then, more clothes joining the sweater on the floor, her mouth on his bare chest and his mouth on her breasts and then he’s pulling her upright again, helping her straddle his lap, reaching into the glove box to grab a condom and then. . .
“Nnnngah.”
She closes her eyes and arches back, hair brushing the dashboard, forehead almost touching the cool glass of the windshield. Gunn’s hands tighten at her waist as an appreciative groan rumbles from his throat.
“Beautiful.”
They don’t talk after that, just make incoherent noises of appreciation, breath mingling as they kiss and gasp and moan. There’s a buzzing in her ears that gets louder with every rocking movement, every slide of his mouth, every brush of his hand, every rub of his fingers until Cordy can’t hear anything at all. Gunn drinks down the sounds of her orgasm, then joins her.
After, they cling together as Cordy tries to catch her breath. The heat that was fueling her only minutes before is already diminishing, the sweat beginning to dry on her body cooling her temperature down. She shivers and snuggles into his chest, mumbling in approval when he wraps his arms around her and hugs her to him. Of course he’s a guy, so his body is still like a furnace and she wonders what it would be like to sleep next to him in a big bed on a cold night, like when she used to go to Aspen with her family. It occurs to her that this should feel weird or awkward or whatever but it doesn’t and she’s glad.
He touches her chin and tilts her face up, placing a lingering kiss on her lips before pulling away and smiling.
“If this is your way of taking care of me, I gotta tell you I love your methods.”
Hey, if getting naked with him is all it takes to keep him from risking his neck on reckless demon grudge matches, Cordy’s game . . . not that she can let him know that. She rolls her eyes and shifts off of his lap. The pile of clothes on the floor is a jumbled tangle of his and hers and she starts to sort them.
“Somehow I doubt even my spectacular charms can keep your dumb ass safe,” she drawls. He lunges at her and she squeals, a sound that quickly turns to a sigh as he kisses her hard. When he pulls away this time, he brushes his thumb gently over her cheek. His eyes are warm and sincere and there’s a soft smile on his face as he looks at her.
“Seriously, I went back there to tell you . . . well, to say thanks. For caring. For sticking by me and not letting me scare you off. I probably owe my life to you, Cordelia, so . . . thank you.” The serious look on Gunn’s face bleeds away and he grins. “Now if I’d known we’d end up like this, I never woulda left in the first place.”
Cordy could be a smart ass-she’s an expert at deflecting real emotion with a well-chosen barb after all-but she just doesn’t feel like it with Gunn. She can tell how hard it was for him to say this to her.
“You’re welcome,” she says, simply.
A passing car shines illuminates the interior of the truck cab and Cordy holds her breath, hoping they aren’t about to get busted by L.A.P.D. That would so be her luck. Never around when there are actual vampires killing people, but they always seem to know when someone is engaging in public indecency. She lets out her breath in relief as it passes them by, and gets back to getting dressed.
“I better go inside before my neighbors call the cops, or worse, Angel. They think he’s my boyfriend,” Cordy announces when she’s decent again. Her whole body is limp and relaxed, and it’s definitely time for that bath and bed. This night has turned out to be much better than she thought it would be but she’s still exhausted. The visions are taking more out of her each time and now that her body is satiated, it’s definitely time for some sleep.
“Angel? Thought he and Wesley. . . never mind." Gunn leans forward and tucks a curl behind her ear, then kisses it. "Sorry we didn’t make it inside to your bed in the first place,” he rumbles. There’s a pause, then a little laugh. “Truth is, I loved being with you like this, in my truck. Guy thing I guess.”
Yeah. Guy thing.
Cordy resists the urge to snort and smiles instead, wide and bright so he can have no doubt that she absolutely did not mind. She smoothes her hands over her hair, checks to make sure her clothes are roughly back to where they started, and pops open the passenger side door. Gunn moves to go with her, walk her inside like the gentleman he is, but Cordy lays her hand on his arm and stops his momentum. Scooting back toward him, she leans in and kisses him one last time.
“Go ahead and go home,” she says when they finally break apart. Gunn’s eyes cloud and Cordy shakes her head and smiles. “You can see my apartment when you come pick me up for our date tomorrow night.”
His face brightens with a smile of his own. “Tomorrow night, huh?”
“Eight o’clock sharp,” she commands, letting go of his arm and slipping out of the truck and onto the pavement. “And Gunn... ”
“Yeah?”
“Make sure you bring the truck.”
His laughter follows her all the way to her door.
It’s the biggest turn-on of all.
*