ALL THAT MATTERS: ANGEL

Category: Angel/Cordelia

Rating: PG-13

Content: Fluff, mush, romantic musings, some sexy fun; oh yeah, and realizations about Her Buffyness (nothing bad)

Disclaimer: The characters were created by Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt. 20th Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, the WB, and some other corporate entities have all rights to them. I am just borrowing them for my own amusement.

Distribution: Anywhere with previous archiving permission. Anyone else, please ask.

Feedback: Makes me one happy puppy.

Author's Notes: I wanted to write a "morning after" scene that was fully of nutty, fluffy goodness. Not enough plotage to make it it's own part to the series, so here we have the infamous "companion piece", a.k.a., read it if you want, but you won't be lost if you don't. For funzies, I wrote one from Angel's POV, one from Cordy's POV.

~All That Matters: Angel~

By Christie

Sleep doesn't come easy for me, and it's not because I'm not completely exhausted. Because I am. But you're here, in my arms, and I can't seem to take my eyes off of you for a minute. The rain is still coming in torrents outside; every once in a while I hear loud cracks of thunder rumble overhead. It's raging out there, but you're warm, and safe, and here, and I find myself not caring what is happening to the world outside this room.

You're sleeping against me, where selfishly, I've thought you belonged for a long time. I can feel every inch of your flesh that's intertwined with mine, and it's like fire against the dull cold of my own skin. If I could have this, every night, I might never feel cold again.

When I start to think that maybe that's too much to ask for, you tremble slightly in your slumber and sigh, a sound so content, I think it will be etched into my memory forever. And for me, forever is a very, very long time. You look peaceful, dare I say happy, your face cradled against my chest, a small, angelic smile threatening to form on your lips. One arm is flung across my stomach, and at my waist you clutch at me with beautiful, slender fingers; not hard enough for discomfort, but enough for me to know that you don't want to let go, at least not tonight.

I briefly wonder if tonight is all I have, if it was too much to hope for that you won't be gone with the night as is slips into sunlight. You could so easily leave me, leave this, because you could go where you know I can't follow. Up, into the light. I used to think that's where you belonged. Why not? It was where Buffy belonged. I know that, now. She's happier there. But you, it's different. You seem happier here, with me. In the dark.

You like the night. The city comes alive, and you use it as your chance to shine. You told me once that it's easier to illuminate at night. I had no idea what that meant at the time, but I do now. It makes me wonder, and hope. I try not to do those things anymore, I did them too much in Sunnydale and ended up getting my heart torn in two. But I can't help it. I want you with me. I know this doesn't mean I'd never have bouts of guilt, but I honestly don't think I could walk away again. For some reason, I don't think you'd let me.

You're stubborn and spoiled as hell, and I love you for it.

I don't want to wake you, but I can't help running a hand down the smooth skin of your back. You do stir, murmuring words I can't make out under the thick sleepiness of your voice. The hand that was holding me at my waist flutters up, and pulls at the silky strands of your hair. I can't help but laugh softly as you fling random locks into your face, then roughly push them out again. I use my own hand to help, gently drawing back the curtain of long, dark hair to reveal your slowly opening eyes.

They're hazel, and absolutely stunning. I'm sure people tell you that every day. Your gaze shifts immediately to my face, and my heart swells as you smile. It's a small, shy smile, but it makes me want to do cartwheels across the living room floor. And trust me, I don't get that urge all that often.

The first thing that comes out of my mouth is how absolutely beautiful you are. I don't mean to say it; 'hey' would have been more my style, but I don't regret it when the smile suddenly gets bigger and the look in your eyes tells me that was far and away better than 'hey' would have been. You struggle to sit up without losing the sheet that you're clinging to your body. That makes me smile even more, since I saw you in your full glory many times over just hours before.

The mere memory, and the fact that the sheet has slipped down your chest just so, brings heat to my groin all over again.

When you're finally comfortably situated, still propped against me but not quite, you lean in and kiss me. I briefly feel sorry for all the trouble you went to sit up, since as soon as your lips touch mine, I push the sheet away and climb over you, wanting, no, needing to feel every inch of you pressed against me.

It's the same, familiar, ache that settles into my chest as we kiss. Your arms move around me, one hand travelling upward and elegant fingers thread through my hair. The other hand travels downward, stopping at the small of my back and pressing me almost painfully to you, until I groan in protest. You don't stop kissing, but part your legs just enough to allow my body through.

The ache is there, all that time, a mixture of ecstasy and fear and excitement that pummels me like a wave washing a rock to shore. Yes, I still fear that you'll leave one day, just walk out into the sun and never look back. I fear that you'll decide you can't let yourself age while I don't; I fear that I'll lose you to one of the horrific demons I fight so hard to keep the entire city of Los Angeles safe from.

It's all of the things that come with love, because it is never simple, and simple love is never enough.

When you have to pull back, you do, pressing your cheek against mine and I can feel your warm puffs of breath against my skin. You hold me like that, clutching me atop you; you're nearly frozen beneath me except for the ragged breaths you're pushing out of your lungs.

I finally move, redistributing my weight to my arms and pushing up so I can look at your face. God, you're beautiful. You're even more beautiful after kissing me, because your eyes are wide, like you're not sure what just happened. Your lips are always a little redder, and swollen, and your cheeks are flushed pink.

It makes me want to kiss you every second of every day.

I'm watching you, and you're watching back; both of us so quiet, I find myself wondering what you're thinking.

Finally, a small smile brushes across your face and you sigh.

"I can't believe this is real."

I agree, but I don't tell you. Instead, I lower my lips to yours again, this time stealing soft, gentle kisses here and there until you giggle underneath me. "It's real," I finally assure you, drawing another laugh that ends in a satisfied sigh.

It's fun, laying with you like this, kissing, teasing, touching. The storm is still raging outside, but you're laughing and moaning, and whispering the things you want me to do to you in my ear. We're happy, and right now, that's all that matters.

End.

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