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View from Hell, The

by rachel lee arlington

<The View from Hell>
by Rachel Lee Arlington

Rating: weak NC17? Sex, but hardly any anatomy and not a single rude word. Disclaimer: I deserve this, Buffy and Spike stopped having sex.

<The View from Hell>

"What's the matter?" Lilah goads, watching Wesley over the rim of her whiskey glass. "Crushed because we've been bumped to second place as the couple most likely to sicken Angel?"

"What are you babbling about?" Wesley sneers, glancing at her in undisguised loathing.

"I assumed you knew," Lilah lies, smiling venomously. "Cordelia and Angel's son."

Moonlight, or maybe just reflected street light softened to gray by the dirt of the window panes, turning the curve of Connor's cheek to silver. He waits, head bowed a little, dark gaze sliding from side to side in wary expectation.

"Connor?" Wesley protests, as if there's another possibility. "Don't be ridiculous -- he's a child."

The tattered blue gray of Connor's sweater drops and pools beside one scuffed and mud caked boot. Long lean colt's leg in faded denim with a tear across the knee. Narrow hip, whipcord muscle covering a slender ribcage.

"Funny thing about hell dimensions -- time really doesn't mean anything," Lilah observes mildly. "No one knows how old he is -- I doubt he knows himself. How old do you think he looks? Sixteen? Seventeen? I think there's something a little hard around the eyes ... I'd say nearer twenty. That's only two years younger than she is."

Slim shoulders ridged with spare, dense muscle, crisscrossed with the thin white lines of old scars. Tendrils of fair brown hair curling at the corner of his jaw. Connor's lips part, a silent gasp, and his eyes flicker wide as Cordelia's fingers trace inwards along the ridges of his collarbones and down the smooth hollow of his breastbone.

"He's still too young," Wesley counters coldly.

"At twenty?" Lilah scoffs. "It'd be weirder if he wasn't doing ... anything. Not all boys wait as long as you did, dear."

Connor reaches out tentatively, fingertips brushing across the thin cotton of Cordelia's shirt, ghosting the curve of her breast. Cordelia stirs under his touch, pressing herself more firmly against his hand. Connor's eyes narrow in greedy anticipation.

"It isn't a question of age," Wesley says scornfully. "It's a question of experience. Connor's very ... new."

Lilah smirks.

"I think you need to forget the little bundle of baby flesh Holtz took to hell with him. That's not Connor -- not anymore."

Connor's a scant couple of inches taller than Cordelia; when he gathers her in close they're eye to eye, mouth to mouth. He kisses her slowly and deliberately, taking carefully controlled bites of her open mouth. His hands are under her shirt, exploring every turn and curve and hollow, calloused palms learning the softness of skin and the rasp of lace. He shifts a little, reaching down, hands shaping out the curve of her hips, then gathering up the soft stuff of her skirt, rubbing fistfuls of cloth against the bare skin of her thighs.

"So you think growing up in a hell dimension makes him a man of the world," Wesley observes sourly.

"I think it makes him ... intriguing," Lilah admits. "He's certainly got an aptitude for revenge, which is always attractive."

Connor pushes Cordelia against the grimy wall, cushioning the impact with his hands even as he grinds his hips hard against hers.

"I want to do it," he mutters harshly. "Can I -- please?"

Cordelia makes a wordless sound of acquiescence, her fingers tangling in the thick cool fall of his hair, dragging his mouth back to hers.

Wesley smiles sardonically.

"You wanted him for yourself," he challenges.

Connor's hands are at the fly of his jeans, buttons pulling easily through buttonholes worn to soft obedience. Cordelia's hands slide between denim and skin, shrugging Connor's jeans off his hipbones, exposing his narrow flanks. Connor reaches under Cordelia's skirt, rucking the fabric up around her hips and hooking his fingers into the crotch of her underwear.

"Well -- yes," Lilah returns, rolling her eyes. "He's a little unfinished, but he'll be even more attractive than his father when he's done. He's young -- and that's more than anyone can say for Angel. Plus, vampire stamina and adolescent sex drive. Pretty irresistible."

"Poor Lilah," Wesley mocks.

"Lucky Cordelia," Lilah retaliates.

Cordelia has one bare brown leg hooked over Connor's hip and both arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders as Connor pins her bodily to the wall. Connor's slender body flexes, his narrow hips twisting a little as he pushes himself inside her. Cordelia gasps, her spine arching away from the wall in a spasm of pleasure. Connor cries out, a small exclamation of angry surprise, and clenches his eyes shut, his breath coming in short rhythmic breaks.

"Cordelia would never betray Angel's trust like that," Wesley says, refusing to let Lilah provoke him any further.

"You're forgetting, Cordelia doesn't know there's any trust to betray. The Powers That Be sent her back here with a clean slate and a blank memory. Angel's just some guy with a long past and too many issues. Connor must look as fresh and uncomplicated as a wolf. I know which I'd choose," Lilah finishes pointedly.

"Oh ... it's okay," Cordelia croons, her hands soothing the tremors still quivering through Connor's body.

Connor's eyes snap open, still blazing.

"Oh my God -- it is okay," Cordelia grins, as Connor wraps his arms around her and lifts her slightly against the wall, getting enough purchase and the right angle to rock into her slowly.

"More," he growls, burying his face in the heat at the side of Cordelia's throat.

"I think you're lying," Wesley announces, though he knows Lilah's far too subtle to simply invent something like this.

Lilah smiles, tipping her head to one side. She knows the accusation is purely formal.

Cordelia's hands fisting in Connor's hair, her head thrown back as she cries out in shocked exultation.

"I can feel it -- I can feel you," Connor snarls, barely breaking his rhythm as he claws the neckline of Cordelia's shirt away from her throat and fastens his mouth on the tender skin at the side of her neck.

"Does Angel know?" Wesley asks, concern softening the edges of his voice.

"Not yet. But it won't take long ... he spends too much of his time watching Connor for it to stay a secret."

"Connor -- oh God -- yes -- right ... there -- don't ... stop," Cordelia manages, arching away from the wall in a desperate attempt to find the last particle of sensation she needs to put her over the edge.

Connor laughs shakily at the absurdity of her fearing that he'll stop.

Cordelia screams, a bright blade of sound as her body turns rigid in Connor's arms, and Connor's eyes widen with delight at the sensation of her flesh pulsing and grasping and drinking greedily.

"Poor Angel," Wesley murmurs, almost entirely without sarcasm. "He loses Cordelia to his own son, but she doesn't even remember there was anything between her and Angel. So, I suppose one really can`t hold her responsible for Angel's pain."

Cordelia devours Connor in kisses, his mouth and eyes and throat. Connor's relentless rhythm suddenly trips, his body convulses and he lets out an honest unguarded yell of triumph. He grips Cordelia tightly enough to bring rose colored pressure bruises to her pale skin, then after a few seconds, he gives a long shuddering sigh and relaxes against her.

Cordelia palms the tendrils of sweat darkened hair off Connor's face, watching the chaos of pleasure and exhaustion and vulnerability on his features gradually rearrange itself back into his habitual expression of wary amusement.

"Good job," she hums, making the curve of Connor's mouth stretch into a fully fledged grin.

"No," Lilah smiles cruelly. "But Connor knows exactly what was going on between Cordelia and his father."

Wesley smiles, a forlorn smile tinged with both distaste and pleasure.


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