The Toy

~*~*~*~*~*~

The halls of the Hyperion were cold, dark and deserted.  Just perfect for Marley’s ghost to haunt or something very nearly a ghost.  Like a vampire. 

He loved them this way.  Especially today.  Christmas.  The one day of the year he wanted to be alone more than any other.  At least he used to.

His abhorrence for the day was not due to any religious objections but because of the insistence by everyone that happiness was mandatory all damn day.  Please.  He’d spent over 150 years being extremely happy torturing, maiming, raping and instilling fear on an entire continent.  Why would anyone insist on him being happy ever again?  Because people are selfish.  They can’t stand to have anyone upsetting their perfect day.

As Angel sat in his plush, overstuffed chair and stared into the evening sky, he was pretty much convinced that he was right not to go to the party.  It was much better for him that he didn’t have to put up with the constant badgering to “lighten up” and better for them that he didn’t bring down the festivities.

This was better.  This was what he wanted.  Then why did he feel so...lonely?  No, not lonely.  Just lacking something.  Damn it, it was just another day.  It held absolutely no significance for him.  But, he’d never felt this way on Christmas before and it was bugging the shit out of him.

Damn Cordelia!  It was all her fault.  Chirping around the place putting up decorations and singing carols with a voice that could curdle milk.  Pestering him with cinnamon sticks in that awful Hot Blood Toddy and constantly trying to stick that ghastly red Santa hat with the bell on his head.

“Didn’t I tell you one day I’d get you a bell?  Well, hello, bell day!  Now suck it up and wear it like a man.  Or vampire.  Or...whatever.  Just do it and don’t argue with me, or I’ll make you come to my party.”

Like that was going to happen.  That’s *not* why he wore that hat.  He did it because he was just tired of hearing her bitch about it.  And, because when he did she smiled really big and laughed.  That was nice.  But that was the only reason!

Why is that woman always having parties anyway?  It’s not like she has that many friends any more.  He’d taken care of that with the blindingly painful visions and making sure she worked fourteen hours a day and was on call all day, every day.  And, who was going to be at the stupid party?  Fred, Wesley, Gunn and Lorne.  Don’t we see too much of each other as it is?  Why couldn’t she just take the day off and rest like him?

And what was up with all that frickin’ mistletoe?  Someone who didn’t know better would think she actually wanted to kiss him.  But, he knew better.  It was all about trying to force him to be happy even if he didn’t want to because they were all so damn selfish!  Maybe happy for him is being morbid.  Did they ever think of that?

There was some hung over the spot by the big palm where he sometimes stood to stare at her.  Not that he did that a lot.  He wasn’t a pervert.  He just enjoyed watching her work and joke around with the others sometimes.  It was like watching a good sitcom, and cable was ridiculously expensive.

She even put some up in the corner on the landing, another favorite spot of his for discreetly observing her...uh...them.  Not to mention the sprig hung in the shadowed corner in the garden.  He’d discovered that spot was dark any time of the day and yet allowed an unobstructed view of anyone who might just happen to enjoy a few hours of sunbathing in a red bikini.  Thank God that isn’t Wesley.

There was no place he could stand without her rushing up and planting one on him.  Okay, there were plenty of places, but all of the good places were plastered with mistletoe, and he wasn’t going to let a little kissing...well, a lot of kissing...make him change his habits.

And, he’d been kissed a lot in the past couple of weeks.  More so than in the past...well, maybe more than the past 100 years.  Which was pretty sad.  Not for him because he didn’t need to be kissed.  Nope.  Cordy’s warm, moist, soft mouth on his was not something he needed.  It was sad for Cordy.  She had to be desperate to make this Christmas perfect if she would degrade herself to kiss him over and over and over again.

Well, perfect for her wasn’t necessarily perfect for him.  Perfect for him was this.  Sitting alone, in the dark thinking about why they...mostly she...wanted him to be perfectly happy.  It made no sense whatsoever.  Did she think Angelus would make Christmas all cheery and bright?  Did she really hate him and his brooding nature so much that she’d rather have a psychotic killer there because he was better with the jokes?

Maybe it was the leather.  Several of them have commented on liking the leather pants.  Maybe if he wore those more often, they’d let him sulk in peace and stop trying to make him happy.  Did they realize how much those things chafed?  Of course not.  Selfish, selfish, selfish.

Damn it!  What did she want from him?  Didn’t she know by now that all she had to do was ask and he’d give her anything?  Well, except for going to that party.  And going caroling.  And wearing that wig and beard *with* the belled Santa hat.  Okay, maybe not *anything*...

~*~*~*~*~*~

That man was going to ruin her.  Here it was Christmas evening and she’d practically thrown her friends out of her home so she could come to this dreary, drafty hotel.  And why?  Because she couldn’t get *him* out of her mind.  Angel would be sitting in his room pondering his sins, or world affairs, or the cost of postage stamps...any excuse not to be with his family on Christmas. 

It shouldn’t bother her.  Intellectually she understood Christmas was not high up on the vampire holiday calendar.  Every year it was the same and she really should be used to it by now.  So, what was it about this year that made her miserable doing the same thing?  She had felt bad all during the party and tried to drown that feeling by consuming half her body weight in every mixed drink Lorne had created.  But that only made her feel more morose. 

The only thing that had given her any peace and happiness was thinking about him and talking about him.  When she finally worked that out, she knew her Christmas wasn’t going to be complete until she saw him.  Maybe seeing him would help clear up the jumble of thoughts and feelings she'd been experiencing all day. 

Or, maybe, seeing him would just ruin the whole damn day.  No, that couldn’t happen.  It was already ruined.  He’d already managed to mess it up for her and he wasn’t even there.  Damn stupid vampire!  Why couldn’t he just admit he loved her and get it over with?

Whoa!  What the hell?  Where did that come from?

“The bottom of a bottle of Absolut probably.”  She laughed at her own drunken stupidity.  “Angel doesn’t love me.  And that’s good, because if he did, my little gift here,” she patted the gift bag clutched to her breasts, “would be a total waste of my very, very hard earned money.”

I am going to be happy on fuckin’ Christmas if it kills him.  Oops.  I mean me.  No!  No killing me.

“Shit, he’d better not love me.  I’m just drunk enough not to care.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Angel was so wrapped up in solving the mystery of Cordy that he didn’t hear the persistent knocking.  He finally turned when lilac and spice filled his head and looked into the wide and tipsy eyes of Cordelia peeking around his door.  He didn’t know why, but he could swear his blood started circulating the moment he sensed her.  Odd.

“Angel, knock, knock.  Are you here?  Merry Christmas, Heat Miser.”  She snickered seeing him in his usual chair, brood face plastered firmly in place.  She tiptoed toward him as if making any noise would crack his face.  “Ssshhh...don’t say a word.  We don’t want to wake up good time vamp.  He’s such a party whore.”

“What are you doing here, Cordy?”  He almost smiled.  She looked pretty damn adorable for someone interrupting his annual Christmas brood.  A red sweater clung to her breasts so tightly you could read her bra size.  White boa-feathers trimmed the neckline and cuffs and tight black slacks were poured over her hips.  Her cheeks and nose were flushed by alcohol and her eyes glittered from hours spent laughing.

A Christmas gift bag hung from her left hand and her right gripped an open bottle of champagne.  He had to admit she looked pretty Christmassy and try as he might to avoid it, his lips did curl up at the corners just a smidge.

“What do you think I’m doing?  I’m giving you your damn Christmas present, dumbass.  And having a drink.”  She held the bottle out to him and brought the gift bag up to her lips and then realized her mistake and switched.  Taking a swig, her head jerked back so far she got dizzy and lost her balance.  He watched her fall on her butt by the foot of his bed.  Expecting to be reamed out for not catching her, he was shocked instead to hear her unashamedly howling.

Before she came to her senses and grasped what had just happened, he said, “Why aren’t you at your party?  You could’ve given me the present tomorrow.”

She sucked in oxygen to try to speak.  “I...it...it’s...”  She started to laugh again shutting off any chance he had at her answer.  She rolled over onto her side still cackling and tipped the bottle over.  Angel shot from the chair and grabbed it from her fingers just before it spilled.

Having her crutch removed, instantly stopped the hilarious time she was having.  “Hey!  Sure, Cordy falls on her ass and you stit like a sone...uh, sit like a stone.  But, spill a little alcohol on your precious Prussian rug...”

“Persian rug.”

“Whatever.  The point is I’m not a rug.”  She attempted to stand but couldn’t figure out how to do it still holding the bag, so she just sat back down.

“I’d never confuse you with a rug.  You’re too lumpy for a rug.”  Angel put the bottle on the kitchen counter, far from her reach.

“Was that a joke?  Or was that you trying to be procov...provat...?”

“Are you trying to say provocative?”

She put her finger to the tip of her nose and nodded her head in the affirmative.

Angel couldn’t help but smile at her fumbling mouth.  She was never at a loss for words and it was refreshing to feel like he had the upper hand for once.

“It was a joke.  Now why aren’t you at your party?  Won’t they miss you?”

“Pfft.  The party’s over.  It wasn’t a real party, just a gathering of my family of which you are a part.  But since you couldn’t haul your pwecious bwooding ass out of that chair for one night, I had to bring the party here.  So, here.”  She once again shoved the bag out for him to take.  "Merry Christmas, Scroogey McScrooge."

He took the bag and sat on the foot of the bed.  “Thank you, Cordy, but you didn’t have to.”

She twisted around and put one hand on his knee and the other on the bed to leverage her body onto the bed next to him.  She flopped her head to rest it on his muscled upper arm and snuggled against it trying to dig out a comfortable spot to fit her noggin perfectly.

“Of course I did.  I mean I wanted to.  It’s Christmas.  Christmas!”  She flung her arms open and hit him upside his head with the back of her forearm.”

“Holy shit!  You almost broke my nose,” Angel gingerly felt the tip to make sure it wasn’t broken.

“I’m sorry.  Want me to kiss it better?”  Cordy leaned forward not waiting for his consent, but he pulled his head back and warded off her advance with a palm to her shoulder.

“No thanks.  Enough with the Christmas kissing already.”

“S’okay by me.  I was just trying to help.”  She slapped his arm.  “Open your present!  It took me a long time to figure out the perfect thing to get you.  You’re hard to shop for, stupid 250 year old undead fart.”

“Yeah, well, you’re no picnic either.  Especially for someone like me who:  one, hates to shop; two, hates to spend money; and three, hates to shop.  And did I mention I’m a vampire who really doesn’t celebrate the birth of the guy who gave us the cross?”

“Only about a gazillion times.  Angel, are you trying, in your not so subtle way, to tell me you didn’t get me anything?”

He looked down to the head making a pillow out of his arm and saw warm hazel eyes peering up at him beneath long, velvety lashes and a plump lower lip jutting out just enough to make him want to stake himself.

“Um, well, it’s not like I didn’t want to...”

“Dork.” Cordy smiled and slid her arms around his waist and squeezed.  “S’okay.  I know you didn’t.  You’re just a Christmas retard.  It doesn’t mean you don’t love me.”

Angel felt a bit queasy.  He was never comfortable expressing emotions and even more uncomfortable when others expressed them.  But, this wasn’t that kind of feeling.  He couldn’t really put a name to it, but her sudden display of affection didn’t suck.  In fact he felt a twinge of disappointment when she took her arms away and sat back.  Disappointed and cold.

“Well, the suspense is killing me, and I know what’s in there.  Open, open, open!”  She pushed his arm toward the package hoping he’d get a clue about what his job was in this tradition.  Just as he finally decided to look inside the bag she stopped him.

“Wait!  You need a drink.  Your sober...rioty....is pissing me off.  Bottle, bottle, who’s got the bottle?”  She rose too fast and swayed.  Angel’s palm in the small of her back stopped her from falling on top of him.

“It’s in the kitchen, but I don’t...”

“Hush now lil’ vamp o’ mine.  Who’s the Queen of Christmas here?”  She waited, her body slightly spinning, staring at him.

Angel finally figured out she actually wanted him to answer that.  “Oh...uh...you?”

“Damn skippy!”  She gave him two thumps up and weaved a path to the kitchen.  “I think I know what’s best for this occasion, and you with a little...no a LOT...of alcohol is of the necessary here.”

She caught her heel on the edge of the rug on the way back and almost fell again.  Stomping on the offending object to kill it and grumbling some obscenities, she finally plopped down next to him and brought the bottle to his lips...almost.

“Drinky, drinky.”  Angel couldn’t drink if he wanted to.  The opening kept moving.  Cordy might’ve gotten one of the three bottles she was seeing close to his lips, but not the real one.  Before she angled it so far it dribbled down his sweater, he tried to take it from her but her fingers were glued to the neck.

“Uh, uh, uh...you’re not hiding it from me again.  Now drink some for me.  Pwease.  I hate you not being as happy as I am.”

There it was again.  That damn ‘had to be happy’ crap.  Angel almost slapped her arm away but made the mistake of looking into her glistening eyes and that huge ear-to-ear smile.  Maybe he was too tired from thinking all day, but he didn’t have the strength to fight her.  Not when she looked at him in that way that always made his brain switch from cogent thought to fantasy central.

“Okay, Cordy, I’ll drink.  But, I’m only doing this to for you.  Call it your Christmas present.”

That’s not the only thing you’re giving me, buster.

Both of their hands held the glass to his lips.  He took a fairly large gulp and pushed it away.  “Oh, no.  More.  I’m about halfway to New York on the drunk train and that taste barely got you out the front door.  You’re chugging the rest of this bottle, mister.”

“Even if I do, it won’t make me as ‘happy’ as you are.  It might get me to Pasadena, but I’m a big guy, and this stuff is like water to me.”  He took another swig, this time emptying almost half of the contents.  Cordy let go and got up again.

“Okay, where’s the good stuff?”

“In the cabinet above the sink.”  Angel pointed with the champagne bottled hand.

“Keep drinking.  I’m the hostess.  I’ll take care of you.”  She found whiskey, scotch, vodka and gin.  Grabbing the whiskey and scotch, she headed back and then thought of something.  “You don’t need no stinkin’ glass do you, ‘cause I don’t think I can balance one on my head right now.”

“No, I can take it straight.  Although a good hostess would’ve at least tried.”  He downed the rest of the champagne just as she returned with the liquor.

“Pfft.  A good hostess would’ve made you go get the stuff and be grateful to do it.  Here.”  She handed him the whiskey.  “We’re going to play a drinking game.  Every time I say ‘dork’ or ‘dumbass’ you have to take a drink.”

Angel had to think for a second but nothing that made sense came to mind.  “That’s not a game.  That’s just you talking and me drinking.”

“I knew you weren’t drunk enough yet, dumbass.”  Cordy arched her brow and, too many seconds later, Angel figured it out and took a swig.

“Dork.”  She smiled as the bottle met his grinning lips one more time.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Eleven dorks and eight dumbasses later, Angel was coming up on Okalahoma City and feeling pretty darn celebratory.  They had slid to the floor somehow and now Cordy’s shoes were off and they were laughing about her toes.

“There’s nothing wrong with my toes.”  She tried lifting one leg to show him up close, but found it weighed a ton so she dropped it and wriggled them instead.

“No, there’s nothing wrong if we’re talking troll annananemy...ananata...body parts.”  He reached for the scotch, but Cordy slapped his hand.

“You’ve reached speech ssshhlurring stage, so that’s it buster.  I don’t want you dead.  Well, more dead.  I’m gonna need some functioning body parts later,” she mumbled as she wobbled onto her knees.  “And, you are so going to pay for that troll remark.”

“Huh?  What did you...”

He lost his train of thought when the sight of her ass appeared in his face.  Cordy leaned over his outstretched legs and with much effort dragged her torso down his limbs until she reached his feet.  Luckily he was wearing loafers and not anything with strings and knots.  She slipped one and then the other off.

Angel had watched and felt her trek with interest.  He had no clue about what she was doing, but he didn’t really care once he saw her plump rump shimmy in clear view and felt her breasts scrape against his thighs.  His knees were wedged underneath her weighty globes and her rear became a nice resting place for his left hand.  Then he felt his feet being released from their confines and his socks being tugged off one at a time.

“Wow!  You’re feet are huge!  You should rent these puppies out as surfboards.  And, you’ve got finger toes!  Look how long these suckers are.  Well, except for these two, itty bitty tiny ones on the end here.”  She wriggled the two smallest ones causing Angel to jerk his leg and push up on her left breast.

“Hey!”  He playfully slapped her rear.  “Stop it.  I’ve got sensitive feet.”  He splayed his hands around her waist, pulled her back and sat her next to him on her haunches.  She pouted and huffed and took hold of his arm to balance while she stretched her legs out again.

“Sensitive, schmensitive.  Compared to my *normal* toes, you, my undead dead friend, have chicken fingers.  So, there.”  She stuck her tongue out at him.

He almost said something about how freakishly long her tongue was, but there were just enough sober brain cells left to stop him.  They didn’t stop him, however, from thinking about what that long, wet tongue would feel like snaking around his.

I’m either very drunk or very stupid, but if she doesn’t pull that tongue back in right now...

Angel looked around to find something to distract him from any more kissing thoughts, when he saw the still unopened gift by his side.  “Hey!  Unopened present!  I think we’re pretty even on the happy scale now.  So should I go for it?”

“Oh, my God.  Sorry.  Forgot all about it.  Merry Christmas, Angiekins.”  She watched with eager anticipation oozing from every pore.  She bit her lower lip as he pulled the object from the bag and started unfolding the tissue paper.  Once he revealed it, she hugged his shoulders and squealed in delight.  “Don’t you just love it?”

Angel stared at it.  Then he stared some more.  “Cordy.  You got me a...vibrator?”

“No!  It’s not a vibrator.  It’s a massagererer thingy.  See.  It’s called the ‘Magic Wand’.   I thought it was, ya know...whatever...with us being in the freaks and demons business.”  She looked into his dumbfounded face and her smile dropped.

“Whatsamatter?  Doncha like it?  Angie, it’s for when you get all sore and everything from fighting.  Like when some ten foot tall demon smashes you up against a wall a few times?

“Cordy, it’s a vibrator.  Believe me, I know what a vibrator is and this is definitely in the vibrating family.  It’s a nice one, but still...”

“Don’t be a baby.  Are you telling me you’d rather be in pain than have a massage?”  Quirking her brow, she dared him to lie about that.

“No, but this is...well...it’s not something a guy would like to have around.”  He leaned toward her motioning with his finger for her to get closer and whispered secretively, “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

Her eyes blazed and her face drained of all traces of inebriation. 

“You know, you could’ve just said ‘Thank you, Cordy’ and thrown it away later if you hate it that much.  I swear.”  She had trouble doing it, but she managed somehow to get on her feet to tower over him.

“I’m sorry.  Thank you.  It’s very thoughtful.”  Angel felt her hot gaze before he looked up to confirm it.

“Save it.  Get up and get on the bed.  On your stomach.”  When he didn’t move, she crossed her arms over her chest.  “Now!”

He seemed perplexed about what to do with the offensive thing in his hand, so Cordy reached down and took it from him and hunted for the electrical outlet.  Grunting, he flipped over onto his knees and climbed onto the bed and stretched out.  His pillow-muffled voice said, “Really, Cordy, you don’t have to...”

“I suggest you not say anything else for now.  Just close your eyes.”  She crawled onto the bed and straddled his waist, her butt sitting on his.   "Geez, buying a gift for you is twice as hard as a normal person.  First I have to spend hours and hours figuring out what to get you, and then I have to convince you to like what I do get you."

She flipped the switch to “hi” and dug into his shoulder with the bulbous, vibrating end.  Instantly a long, drawn out pleasured moan sounded in his throat pulsating in rhythm with the machine. 

“See?  Doesn’t this feel great?”  Cordy moved up to his tightly corded neck muscles and inwardly crowed as his face dug into the pillow and his back arched up to give her free reign of the area.  When see moved beneath his neckline to touch his skin directly, he let out a loud, "Ahhh...yessss."

Snickering, she turned off the wand and pulled away.

“Hey,” he whimpered.

“Relax, I’m not done.  Take off your sweater.  It feels better on bare skin.”

“Oh?  And, how do you know?”  The tone in his voice said he knew exactly how she knew.

“Smart ass.  I’ve got one of these, as if you didn’t already guess that.  Now off with the sweater.”

“Why do you need one, hmmm?  You don’t get slammed against walls by ten foot tall demons.”  He was sure he had her trapped and couldn’t wait for her to squirm out of it.

“I don’t, huh?”  She leaned down, pressing her body against his.

Mmm, there are those breasts again.  Hi, guys.  Welcome back.  When did I become obsessed with Cordy’s breasts?

She whispered in his ear, “Remember the visions?  The ones that make me feel, smell and hear everything that happens to ev-er-y-bo-dy?”  Then she got back up and smacked his head.  “Is that painful enough for ya?”

“Ow.  Yeah, I guess it is.”  He started to pull the knit up and over his head, but with Cordy on his back, it was difficult to get it completely off.  Seeing him struggle with it stuck around his shoulders, she put the massager down and slid her palms along his shoulders, under the fabric and then up his arms freeing him. 

When the hard planes of his back were exposed to the subdued lighting of the bedside lamp, the sight was so temptingly delicious that she tossed the garment on the floor and casually and unconsciously began to stroke the expanse bared before her.

Angel froze at her touch on his skin and stifled the sigh that almost escaped.  Of course, he’d felt her fingertips lightly touch him while she patched him up after a fight, but he’d never felt the weight and heat of her two full palms and all ten digits on his body before.  He felt sure there were scorch marks on him that would scar him forever, and he wouldn’t mind more.

Mmm, his skin is so smooth and damn he’s hard all over.  Well, if he’s not yet, he soon will be or my name isn’t...uh...shit...whatever my name is.

“Cordy?”

“Yes!  That’s my name.”

“Are you going to massage me with your hands or the vibra...massagererer thingy?  Not that I’m complaining.  Your hands feel really good...and warm...and very, very soft...”

She slid her hands up his back silently giggling as she felt him quiver under her touch.  Kneading his shoulder, she brought her lips to his ear.  “I’m saving the hand massage for later.”

He involuntarily growled.  He couldn’t help it.  Her hot breath on his ear, her deep sultry voice, her hands stroking his skin, and her words sent millions of tiny erection feet padding from all points of his body directly to his groin.