Author:
For: thomasina75
Fandom: AtS
Pairing: Cordelia/Gunn.
Rating: NC17.
Setting: Post-"Disharmony."
Request: Set in S1 or S2, would love to see Wesley included, banter.
Warning: Snags a couple of lines from Bridget Jones.
Words: 1320.
Summary: Cordelia wants a night out.
Cordelia's pathetic. She'd spent her Friday night curled up on her couch watching Bridget Jones' Diary and her Saturday running around with the dork twins, Angel and Wesley. It isn't her fault that she's a little trigger shy with inviting people over since the whole Harmony vampire-and-not-lesbian thing. Or that time she was impregnated with demon spawn and went all Mommie Dearest.
Of course, these days she doesn't even know anyone cool enough to invite out dancing. She's seen Wes dance; and as for Angel, she doesn't want to imagine, hearing him sing Manilow was enough. Then again, maybe she does know someone.
Cordelia puts the TV on mute and grabs her phone off coffee table, dialing Gunn's number. He is, after all, the only not-socially retarded person she knows and trusts.
*****
The club's music thrums and the floor's lit with neon lights. Not too classy, but not trashy enough that Cordelia feels the need to guard her valuables: her ass and wallet. She wears heels so tall that Gunn almost bets her that she can't dance in them. That's until she jumps in his truck like a rabbit into her warren.
"Nice," Gunn says when they stand under the street light and he can fully appreciate her outfit. She's made an excellent decision in choosing her company tonight.
Gunn buys them both drinks, and they vow to keep from talking about work, Angel, or Wesley. Of course, they then sit next to each other in silence. "So." Cordelia swirls her drink's umbrella. Dammit, she's going to have a good, non-work and no head-splitting visions time. "What would you do if you didn't know me?"
Gunn shakes his head. "Let me see." He grins. "I see a gorgeous, single woman in a bar, and I buy her a drink."
"Got the drink." Cordelia holds up her glass and takes another sip. The ice is making her fingertips cold. "And not-so-patiently waiting for the next part of your plan."
"Then I'd get a feel for whether or not she's interested in me." Gunn has a mischievous smile on his face; one that tells Cordelia he's sure she's into him.
"Since we're pretending that in the pathetic-ness of my life I didn't call you..." Cordelia lifts her fingers up to touch his. The tips of his fingers are calloused, though not as rough as she expects for someone who spends his life fighting demons. "I'm looking for a nice, sensible boyfriend and trying to stop forming romantic attachments to any of the following: alcoholics, workaholics, sexaholics, commitment-phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, actors, or perverts. Also demons or those willing to impregnate me with their demon master's seed."
"Seed?" Gunn wrinkles his nose. "Sounds kind of gay to me."
Cordelia snorts. "Oh, I have no doubt those sickos had a hard on for their demon master." She looks down at their hands, noticing just how good her new rusty red polish looks. Being stuck at home most Friday nights guarantees that she has plenty of time to work on her manicure, even with the dangers of her day job. "Going to take me out on the dance floor?"
"Of course." Gunn's hand fully clasps hers as he leads her to the dance floor. It's crowded, but they make their way through.
She's always a little surprised at how well he can dance. Most men she knows have two left feet and possibly ants in their pants. Gunn also suggested a trendier club with a decent DJ, another surprise. A place she didn't know about. But Gunn had lived in L.A. all his life. He once mentioned that he's never even been out of the state. Cordelia would feel bad, but even when her parents had money, they always ended up going to the French Rivera without her.
Their bodies dip and brush together. Gunn pulls her closer and blocks her from the creep at the bar checking her out. Gunn's hands are on her hips and Cordelia wonders just when she became so hyperaware Gunn's every movement, of the little jolts that his touch sent through her body.
Cordelia pulls Gunn lower, just enough so she can kiss him. She wasn't planning on doing this. She'd looked just nice enough for night out, a pretend date since she hadn't had a real one in so long. Cordelia didn't even bother to put on getting-laid underwear.
Turns out Gunn's a good kisser. He's enthusiastic, but not swallowing her face, and soft, but not sloppy. She groans as his tongue pushes into her mouth.
But soon, she realizes that this is not going to work. Gunn's too tall, her heels aren't enough compensation, and she wants more than making out on a dance floor with everyone watching. She drags him toward the bathrooms, because she's not waiting.
Once upon a time, Cordelia wouldn't have peed in this restroom, much less fucked in it. But times have changed, and she has far more in common with Jennifer, the girl who sells her cheap Payless shoes for fighting demons, than Jennifer Aniston.
But she pulls Gunn into the women's room - because boys are still grosser than women - and slams the stall door shut. Cordelia pushes him against the wall and starts to unzip his pants.
"Damn, girl." Gunn tips his head against the metal. He groans when she grabs his cock. He's firm and eager. She can tell that he's trying not to fuck her hand.
Cordelia runs her thumb over the slit and licks her lips just to see the hungry look on his face. "I want you to fuck me." There's something desperate and needy flashing across his eyes, and Cordelia knows that she has his full attention for this moment. She gives him a moan as his finger rolls over her cloth-covered nipple.
As his other hand reaches for her thigh, Cordelia's thankful she's wearing a skirt for easier access. She always thought that this part of sex, this transition from clothed to fucking was awkward, but Gunn makes it smooth. He's ready to go and rubbing her clit; her underwear's around her ankles before she realizes it.
"Those are some enormous panties," Gunn says. She's about to slap him for his smart comments, before he adds, "Is it wrong I find that incredibly sexy?"
Cordelia goes up on her tippy toes to kiss him, because any guy that finds giant, tummy-tucking underwear sexy deserves some thanking. But she's not quite graceful enough to take them completely off and wobbles.
But Gunn's strong arms hold her, and he grins as he snatches them from her hands and sticks them in the pocket of his mostly still on jeans.
"In my bra," Cordelia says and watches as Gunn's expression turns to confusion. "Condom. In my bra, next to my lipstick."
Gunn's nods and starts his search. His hands are deft and touch her breasts in a way that makes her moan again. Cordelia's glad for her low-cut top. She leans into the quick, rough, soft touches.
Cordelia's tugging down his pants and then reaching up to scrape her nails against his abs. "I want you to fuck me," she says.
And then Gunn's turning them around so Cordelia's back's against the wall. He's hoisting her up and she's wrapping her legs around his waist.
Cordelia groans when he enters her. They shake the stall with every thrust, but it goes with the thump of the bass that radiates through the club. No one cares. She's flying high with her hand between them, flickering over her clit. Gunn's grunting under her, hips thrusting upward.
She licks his neck and mutters, "Cordelia Chase, wanton sex goddess, with a very bad man between her thighs" because she's clearly spent too many nights on the couch. Many, many nights when she could've had Gunn in her bed. No more pathetic-ness, she thinks as her first orgasm over takes her.