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Genlemen Prefer Blondes

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She really was quite beautiful – standing out like Venus rising from the waves. Wait, had that been Venus? Whatever. In a sea of sun-kissed blondes, her glossy dark locks shone with health and vitality, just like a hair commercial. He loved how long it was – all the easier to wrap around his hand whilst he held her head back and kissed her. Or bit her. But he was getting ahead of himself. He had some fish to kill and a beautiful, hand drawn portrait to leave on someone's pillow before he could get to the reward portion of the evening. Strange how even his taste in women was different to that of the soul-having gutless bastard. Or maybe not. Both shared the innocent sensuality that drew the eye; both moved with a natural grace that served to enhance their natural beauty; both had the potential to be queens of high school.

But where Buffy had that enhanced physical strength that gave her confidence that bordered on arrogance on occasion, Cordelia had something else, something more. Her strength wasn't physical, it was mental. She could strip a man of his pride and manhood at 50 paces using only the power of her wit; he had seen her use that incredible brain to fox demonic opponents long enough for the 'muscle' to ride in and save the day; and there was just something about her – something that he knew that no amount of torture, no amount of taunting, teasing or attempts at bullying could or would ever break. But God-damn, it made him hard just thinking about trying.

Angel had wanted to make love to Buffy, to hold that innocence in his hands, hide behind what he perceived as her strengths, to bury himself in her mission in order to give himself purpose. He, on the other hand, wanted pretty much nothing to do with the Slayer sexually. Oh he wanted to torture her for leading that bloody idiot around by his dick; he wanted to make her suffer for all that virginal soul-mate bullshit she had spouted so much that Angel had started believing it; he wanted to eviscerate her then remove any sign of her from this plane of existence, wipe out everything about her.

Sexually, he wanted Cordelia with a deep seated lust that sat in his balls and made him physically ache. He wanted her thighs wrapped around his head; he wanted her legs around his waist while he pumped into her welcoming body; he wanted those pouty, gloss covered lips stretched around his dick – basically he wanted to fuck the ever loving shit out her. But surprisingly, it wasn't just sex – he actually liked her. He found her sharp tongue and dry wit amusing and some of her more evil put-downs made him feel unaccountably proud of her. There were times prowling around in the misbegotten whore son's subconscious that he had wanted to slap him around the head for listening to Buffy's vapid chatter and completely missing Cordelia's sharp wit. But that just meant that Cordelia was all his. He'd quite happily snap the neck of that mouthy little bastard Xander Harris and then he would take her away from Sunnydale and show her the world. He wouldn't even turn her – to start with anyway. Whistling cheerfully, he set off to complete his chosen taunts for the evening before claiming his prize.

Being around Willow and Buffy had given her a headache and Xander made it that much worse, acting like a bobble-headed doll agreeing with everything they said. It was all she could do to accept a damp kiss on the cheek at her front door before he scuttled back to Giles' car. Dammit, if Buffy had just kept her damn legs together – she sighed guiltily, knowing that it wasn't really Buffy's fault.

Angel was - had - been Buffy's boyfriend and a damn fine looking specimen of manhood, so Buffy couldn't be expected to keep playing the V-card. Shame really, all that hotness pretty much completely ruined by the stick Angel had up his ass all the time. Now though, he was a completely unknown quantity, and under a heavy dose of fear she wondered just how much of his personality would have changed.

Working her way up to her bedroom, she registered the fact that her parents were obviously out or away – again – so she had the house to herself. No doubt, Roberta would have left her something to eat but she wasn't feeling particularly hungry, taking the steps two at a time in her eagerness to get to her bedroom. She froze in the doorway, staring open-mouthed at her bed. Or rather, at who was on her bed.

Angel – no, Angelus she reminded herself absently – was sprawled across her bed, black silk shirt rumpled around his broad chest and lean waist, leather pants tugged open so that he could stroke himself unencumbered. In the hand that was working furiously at what she could only describe to her virgin eyes as a huge cock was what looked like a pair of her panties! He had wrapped it around the head of his cock and was sliding the smooth material up and down rapidly. That it itself would have been enough to render her speechless and lock her in place, but no, there was more. His other hand held a scrap of material to his face and she could hear how heavily he was breathing as he huffed in the aroma. All of the blood that wasn't pooling in her crotch rushed to her face as she realised the scrap of material was the panties she had discarded and put into the laundry basket the night before.

Holy hell, Angelus was jerking himself off in her bed whilst sniffing a pair of her panties – there was nothing in any of her 'how to be a lady' training that could prepare her for this. But she couldn't make herself look away from the quick, practiced movement of his hand on his dick, the rhythmic thrusting of his hips as he fucked up into his fist; the paleness of his skin against the darkness of his shirt and leather pants; the flush visible in his cheeks as his thrusting and jerking lost their rhythm and became more spasmodic, the grunts he was making become deeper and more guttural. She had seen Xander jerk off before – had even kinda given a hand – but it had been nothing like this.

Dragging her gaze away from the cock she could quite clearly see pulsing and throbbing in his grip, her eyes travelled up from his lean hips, the broadness of his chest straining the material of his shirt; his throat working to take in gulps of air spiced by her personal scent until she was looking him straight in the eye. She flushed even deeper as she wondered just how long he had been watching her watching him, then gasped as he shouted out loud, arching his back as he gave several spasmodic thrusts into his hand. She leaned against the door jamb, her legs feeling weak as she tried not to be overwhelmed by what she had just witnessed. Somewhere, a little voice was screaming at her to get the hell out of there before he recovered from what seemed to be a pretty powerful orgasm, but she couldn't seem to make herself move. Her lower body felt like it was on fire, her nipples taut and aching as they pressed against the sheer lace of her bra. She had never felt anything like this with Xander – never felt anything like this in her entire life, and she was completely thrown.

She watched through stunned eyes as he sat up gracefully, cleaning his cock with her panties, tossing them to the floor before tucking his cock away and doing up the leather pants without a trace of self-consciousness at being caught mid-jerkoff. He stood up, shaking his legs casually to get his trouser legs to sit properly.

“Whoops – guess you got home sooner than I was expecting. Looks like it took less time than I thought for Willow and Buffy to analyse everything to death.” Her eyes flew to meet his, the syrupy feeling of arousal slowly beginning to dissipate at the reminder of just who she was facing across the width of her bedroom. He inhaled deeply and a smile she had never seen move across Angel's face spread his lips, the gleam of his teeth almost mesmerising in the light of the room. “And surprise, surprise, it looks like you're not exactly sad to see me here. Well, well, well – just what shall we do about that?!” She didn't even have time to scream before he was standing right in front of her, smiling gleefully into her face before he clipped her jaw with his fist and the world went black.