Rating: NC-17. Sex and some cussing. You know, I could show Angelus torturing someone to death in explicit detail, and it would just be R.
Characters: Connor/Cordelia
Spoilers: Apocalypse Nowish
Summary: A Songfic look at the encounter between Connor and Cordelia
Disclaimer: I don’t own either of these characters, or the new little character that’s coming along. That’s okay, they’re getting fun to sit back and watch again. The song "Tonight Is What It Means To Be Young" is by Jim Steinman, and it’s from the soundtrack of the movie "Streets of Fire". Get the soundtrack, but avoid seeing the movie at all costs.

Note 1: A lot of people have identified Cordelia’s sex scene with Connor as a pity fuck, and cite her apparent lack of passion as evidence. That may be, but as that old song says, it ain’t necessarily so. Notice that I change nothing that appeared on our screens.

Note 2: Congratulations to Charisma Carpenter and her husband. The plot contortions your forthcoming blessing will cause are already getting amusing. Come on, didn’t anybody notice how much time they spent covering up Charisma’s belly in this episode? "She’s not pregnant! Yet! Really!"

First Night, Last Night
By Matt
-----

I look out the window at the end of the world. Turns out all the Bible thumpers were right. The world isn’t ending billions of years from now when a dying sun bloats until it swallows the Earth and then cools to a cinder. No, it’s ending now with blood and fire and plagues.

I saw it coming, and I tried to stop it. Oh, God, I tried, but all I got was this handprint that’s turning black on my throat. Oh. Right. And I got Connor hurt worse than he’s ever been, even in Quortoth. He’s much better already, though. He doesn’t heal quite as fast as Daddy does—after all, he needs all of his body parts. But he’s much faster than an ordinary person. Probably something along the lines of Little Miss—Buffy. Her name is Buffy. The world is ending and this is no time to be catty. After all, when she tried to save the world, she succeeded.

Could I have tried harder? Would it have accomplished anything? I don’t know. I do know that I’ve never wished so hard for the powers I had last year back. But as I look out the window and see that column of fire shoot into the sky, I know that it’s too late.

The fire starts to fall from the sky, and I come to a decision


I've got a dream 'bout an angel on the beach
And the perfect waves are starting to come
His hair is flying out in ribbons of gold
And his touch has got the power to stun

I love Angel. I’m not sure how I love him. Are we both so lonely that we’re confusing one kind of love for another? I know I’m not the one who loves him best. There was someone else who looked straight into the demon’s eyes and still loved him.


I've got a dream 'bout an angel in the forest
Enchanted by the edge of a lake
His body's flowing in the jewels of light
And the earth below is starting to shake

But Angel isn’t here. Connor is.


But I don't see any angels in the city
I don't hear any holy choir sing

 

And I love Connor. I don’t love him like Buffy loves Angel. I don’t love him like Angel loves him. I don’t love him like Willow and Xander love each other. I’m not sure if there’s a word for how I love him. It may be sick and it’s probably wrong, but there it is. I’m still honest enough to admit that.


And if I can't get an angel
I can still get a boy
And a boy'd be the next best thing
The next best thing to an angel
A boy'd be the next best thing

I try to explain, and I do a terrible job of it. Like I said, there really aren’t words. The way I explain it, it sounds like a pity fuck. If he was anything but an eighteen-year-old boy, he’d be put off. If there was going to be a Morning After, he’d probably be hurt.

But he’s invincibly horny the way only a teenage boy can be, and there isn’t going to be a morning. That’s the whole point.

Strange how I made such a mess of something so simple: I love you, but I’m very confused about it, and a lot of my other feelings right now. Maybe this would have happened sooner or later, once I’d figured out exactly how I feel about you, and where I stand with your father. After all, you’re brave and you’re decent-looking and you’re so sweet, trying to take care of and protect me and make me feel better. And you do say all the right things, but unlike all the boys in high school who were trying to chat their way into my pants, I suspect that you mean them. But it would have been a while.

We don’t have a while, and I want you to have one good thing in your lousy life before the lights go out.


I've got a dream 'bout a boy in a castle
And he's dancing like a cat on the stairs
He's got the fire of a prince in his eyes
And the thunder of a drum in his ears


I've got a dream 'bout a boy on a star
Lookin' down upon the rim of the world
He's there all alone and dreamin' of someone like me
I'm not an angel but at least I'm a girl

He’s trembling as I pull my shirt off. Trembling. He’s spent his whole life fighting demons, most of it in "the darkest of the Dark Worlds". He earned himself the name "the Destroyer" there. And his trembling grows more violent as I unhook my bra and free my breasts.

Trembling. Fear and desire. More than horniness, desire. Horniness is blind. Desire—he wants me, he wants to be with me, he wants to love me. It’s an honor, one I’ve rarely received. How many people really do?

I’m honored, but it also makes me want to cry. It would be so much easier if he was just horny and this was just a pity fuck. But he desires me, and I don’t know if I deserve that. Even if I do, it shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t die after one night.

But it is. And it will. The world is dying and there’s just the two of us, the Adam and Eve of the End.


I've got a dream when the darkness is over
We'll be lyin' in the rays of the sun
But it's only a dream and tonight is for real
You'll never know what it means
But you'll know how it feels

 

Trembling. He’s staring at my breasts, which, you know—big surprise. Every few seconds he glances up at my face, this amazed, unbelieving look on his face, like he’s asking "You’re doing this for me?"

He’s too excited. We have sex now, and he’ll come in thirty seconds at best. I’ll be frustrated, he’ll be embarrassed, his First Time will be a no-show. Can’t let that happen.

"I’m going to do something for you," I say softly. "Then we can take our time and do this right."

His trembling eases and he looks a bit confused as I kneel in front of him. Bet Holtz never told him about anything like this. His trembling stops entirely and he goes rigid as I slide his pants down. He almost stops breathing.

"Relax, honey," I say, gently stroking my fingertips along his shaft. "This is for you. All for you."

He’s big. Not the biggest I’ve ever seen, but still worthy of the word. Uncircumcised. That’s a bit new—I don’t think I’ve really seen an uncut one in the flesh before. Just pictures. Looks a little weird. Not really a surprise, though. Don’t suppose penile cosmetic surgery was much of a priority in Quortoth.

His cock is high and hard and straining, twitching like a living thing. It’s almost purple and fluid is already weeping from the tip. I stroke it a few times—gently, I learned from my first backseat handjob that boys need lubrication, too—then I lean forward and lick the fluid away.

I taste sweat in addition to pre-cum. That’s okay, mostly. I know he’s clean. I guess he picked up the habit of bathing from Fred and Gunn, though I don’t know where he goes now. Maybe he sneaks into the Hyperion, like I do. This is the sweat he worked up while saving my life.

Hello, salty goodness, I think, and I can’t stop two hot tears from welling up and running over. I hope he won’t notice them. Best way to prevent that…

I take him into my mouth.

I slide him in and out, sometimes taking as much as I can (not that much, really—strong gag reflex), sometimes just holding his tip in my mouth and sucking while I stroke his shaft.

He rests a hand on my head, and for a moment I’m scared. I remember this one guy, sophomore year—he grabbed and pressed and just kept pressing, and then he wondered why I was upset. I nearly puked and I have a bruise in the back of my throat. Why do you think?

And Connor is so strong.

Instead, he starts to stroke my hair.

Oh.

I don’t generally like giving blowjobs. My mouth gets tired and starts to hurt before too long. But I don’t think it’ll take too long.

It doesn’t. After no more than a minute or two, Connor starts panting and trembling. I cup his balls in my hand and I feel them tighten up to his body, and I brace myself. An instant later, he floods into my mouth. I can’t think of another word. Thick, hot, salty spurts fill my mouth and I can’t take it all. It dribbles down my chin and onto my breasts. Good thing I took my shirt off.

That gag reflex I mentioned almost kicks in, but I regain control and swallow.

"Are you okay?" Connor asks.

I nod, wiping my chin as I rise to my feet. While I’m at it, I surreptitiously wipe my eyes. "That’s a gift," I tell him. "Whenever a woman does that for you, you should be very grateful."

He stares at me blankly for a moment, maybe startled by my matter-of-factness (what? I should get all worked up over a BJ when there’s fire falling from the sky outside?) then says "Thank you."

I realize even as he says it what I’m doing. I’m educating him, preparing him for future women, future lovers. But there won’t be any, because there’s no future. Just me.

I angrily blink back the tears. It’s the end of the world and we’re loving against the darkness. There’s no time for tears.

It's gonna be over (over)
Before you know it's begun
(Before you know it's begun)

It's all we really got tonight
Stop your cryin' hold on (tonight)
Before you know it it's gone (tonight)
Tonight is what it means to be young
Tonight is what it means to be young

"Now you’re ready," I say. Then I unbuckle my belt and let my pants fall into a pile at my feet. I slide my panties down to the floor after them and step out. When I look back at Connor, his eyes are eating up his face.

I hold out my hand to him. When he takes it—he’s starting to tremble again—I guide him over to the bed.


Let the revels begin
Let the fire be started
We're dancing for the restless and the broken-hearted
Let the revels begin
Let the fire be started
We're dancing for the desperate and the broken-hearted

"You’ve never seen a naked woman before, have you?" I ask as we sit down on the bed.

He shakes his head, his eyes still wide.

It’s hard to imagine. An eighteen-year-old boy who’s never flipped through his father’s Playboys, raided his big brother’s porno tape collection, gone skinny-dipping, or felt some girl’s budding, pubescent boobs as they make out under the bleachers. Hard to imagine, but pretty much what I expected.

"Well, here I am," I say. Then I lay back, letting my legs fall open and pillowing my head on my hands, opening—exposing—myself to him completely. "Explore."

Then Connor does something that surprises me very much: he does exactly what I said. I thought that, like most teenage boys, he’d want to get straight to the main event. Maybe he’s not entirely clear on what the main event is yet. Maybe it’s just plain curiosity. Maybe it’s some instinct he inherited from Angel—after all, dear old dad had Darla, Drusilla, and the Three Weirdass Sisters pining for him decades after the fact.

It’s not that he isn’t horny. It just takes a glance to let me know that his cock is rising back up into the ready position. But still, he’s exploring.

He’s exploring with all five senses.

He’s touching me all over. He runs his fingertips over my eyebrows, my cheekbones, down my nose, through my hair. Up my legs, inside and out, but when he reaches my crotch he detours across my hips and up my flanks. Then he cups my breasts.

"Soft," he says.

"Yes." What else is there to say?

He gently kneads them for a moment, testing their texture, I guess. Then his fingertips start stroking, feeling the delicate skin, tracing my veins until he comes to my nipple. He traces his fingertips around it, feeling the difference in the skin. Finally, he takes the nipple itself and rolls it between his fingertips. "Hard," he says.

"Yes," I say raggedly. I’m starting to have trouble controlling my breathing. "Hard." I reach down and stroke his cock. "Just like this."

He moans, but returns to his explorations.

He bends his head and listens to my heart. I stroke his head and he purrs, and I think of times when I’ve heard Angel making that same contented sound, usually when he was drowsing with Connor in his arms. What kind of freaked-out, fucked-up version of love is this? Not that it matters now.

Connor starts to taste me. Yes, he sucks and licks at my nipples, but he keeps alternating that with licks at my belly, my thighs, my face, as if he’s trying to taste-test every part of me.

And he kisses me. He’s clumsy, his tongue thrusting and poking around my mouth, but he’s not bad—and he must taste his own cum, but he doesn’t seem to care.

Huh. A guy who doesn’t mind kissing after a blowjob. Oh, Connor, you had such potential.

Then, finally, shyly, almost reverently, he lays his hand on my pussy. By now, I can’t control my breathing at all, my abdomen is heavy and congested with desire, and I’m dripping wet. At first, he just presses down with his palm, feeling the texture of my pubic hair, and I’m ready to scream Get on with it when he slips a finger in.

I gasp, and he immediately withdraws the finger. "Are you alright?" He asks.

"That felt good," I say. "Feel that…wetness?"

"Is it supposed to be like that?"

"Oh, yes. Don’t stop," I say. "Explore."

I think he understands. He lays down between my legs and peels my lips open. He just lies there for a moment after that, staring.

"Pretty?" I ask at last. The question was mostly rhetorical. But the answer…the boy has a genuine gift with words.

"Yes," he answers, still staring, entranced. "Like a rose. All pink and wet with dew, like I see in the park at sunrise."

He runs his fingers around my lips, over each fold of my labia. He finds my clit and I gasp. "There," I say, taking his hand and holding it there. "That’s good. Right there."

"You like that?" He asks, a bit of the family arrogance seeping into his voice.

"Watch it," I warn him.

He smiles and says nothing. Instead, he raises his fingers—shiny and slick with essence of me—to his mouth.

I’ve heard that it’s a primal thing for some guys. They meet a pussy, they have to start eating it. I’ve never met a guy like that. Instead, I’ve met a few who’d rather lick used ashtrays, while all the rest just want to get past it to the Main Course.

Now I’ve finally met one.

Connor gets one taste of me and his face lights up. Then it clouds doubtfully and he looks up—past my pussy, past my boobs, to my face. His ability to focus is impressive.

"Do men give women that gift as well?" He asks.

It takes a moment for me to figure out what he’s talking about. Then I remember the "gift" I gave him. His native talent made me forget for a moment just how totally inexperienced he is. "The ones who are good at this do," I answer.

That was all he needed to hear. He buries his face in my crotch, sucking and licking. He’s new and he’s clumsy but that doesn’t matter—he’s eager, and he’s hungry, and he wants nothing more than to keep feeding on me.

My hands clench in the sheets and I arch my back, pressing hard into his mouth.

I feel it. I feel it building inside me, in my belly, in my womb, burning in the walls of my pussy. I’m going to come, I’m going to come in his mouth and I’m going to come screaming and there’s only one thing I can scream that won’t frighten him, make him think he’s hurt me.

Then he sucks up my clit.

Pull the trigger. I explode.

"Connor! Oh, God, yes! Yes, yes, YES!"


Let the revels begin (Tonight is what it means to be young)
Let the fire be started (Before you know it it's gone)
We're dancing for the restless and the broken-hearted
Let the revels begin
Let the fire be started
We're dancing for the desperate and the broken-hearted

I lay there for a moment, catching my breath. I reach down between my legs and stroke his hair.

"Are you okay?" We both ask simultaneously. We both laugh.

"Now that I can breathe again, I’m fine," Connor assures me.

"I’m wonnnderful," I purr. Then I reach down, take his head between my hands, and pull him up to me. "Come here," I say. Then he’s up to where I can look him in the eye, and he’s holding himself up off me with his arms, not that his weight would be at all uncomfortable. "It’s time," I say.

He must have expected this, but his eyes go wide again. He nods eagerly anyway.

I reach down between us, take hold of his cock, spread my pussy with my fingers, and fit tip to lips.

"Now," I whisper. "Slow…and gentle. Remember how strong you are." True to my directions, he slides into me slow, slower than I meant or expected, achingly slow. I feel him slowly filling me up, stretching me out, until he’s all the way in. He holds there, trembling, waiting for me to say something more, or for his need to thrust to overcome him.

Perhaps I should be on top. After all, I’m the teacher here, no matter how gifted my student is. But what the hell. Let the Young Wolf ride the Alpha Bitch if this is going to be his one time out. Besides—I look out the window and I see that the sky is on fire and the Earth is catching, and I want to hold him in my arms after it’s over.


Say a prayer in the darkness for the magic to come
No matter what it seems
Tonight is what it means to be young
Before you know it it's gone
Tonight is what it means to be young
Before you know it it's gone

"It’s okay," I say, stroking his back. "Go ahead. Take it. I’m yours. I’m all yours." I don’t even really know what I’m babbling. I’m just trying to encourage him. It seems to be working. He starts to thrust, and I swivel my hips up to meet him.

I've got a dream when the darkness is over
We'll be lyin' in the rays of the sun
But it's only a dream and tonight is for real
You'll never know what it means
But you'll know how it feels
It's gonna be over (over)
Before you know it's begun

He starts slow, pulling almost all the way out, then sliding in until he’s pressed tight. Then he runs out of patience for that, I guess, and he starts thrusting in earnest.

He experiments, trying out everything he can think of—slow, fast, deep, shallow, side to side—God damn the kid is a natural.

Any other time, I’d be loving this. Not now. Now I want him deep, I want to press him close, hold him deep inside me, make him a part of me.

I wrap my legs around him and hug him tight and start thrusting hard and begging "Harder, please harder, you won’t hurt me." He starts going a little harder, just enough to drive me crazy. I start using my legs to pull him down into me, and I jam myself up onto him.

"Pound me, goddamn it, pound me." I snarl, pulling him in harder.

He’s startled, but he obeys.

I’m scared and confused and I want to make him a part of me, is that so wrong? Isn’t that what this all about? To cleave to each other and become one flesh? What does it take to make the scared and alone stop?

I realize that I’m crying.


It's all we really got tonight
Stop your cryin' hold on (tonight)
Before you know it it's gone (tonight)
Tonight is what it means to be young
Tonight is what it means to be young

He’s pounding into me now, just like I told him to, and it feels good, it feels amazing. It doesn’t hurt, not now, but if there was going to be a tomorrow, I would be damn sore. But there isn’t, so I thrust up to meet his thrusts, driving him deep into me.

He’s starting to wheeze and moan.

"Can’t…hold it…"

"That’s okay, baby," I tell him. "Go ahead. Come for me. Let me have it."

He groans so loud that it’s almost a shout and I feel him twitching inside me, then spurts of hot fluid fill me up.

It’s a first for both of us. I’ve never had a man come inside me before. I’ve always used condoms, but hey—no time for babies or any other sexually transmitted diseases to develop, is there?

His groaning and thrusting, the feeling inside my pussy, the thought that I’m the one who did that for him—somehow, it’s all unbearably erotic. And I’m close, so close, he’s still thrusting, milking himself out press up hard one…last…time…

Uhhhhh.

Release. More of a great relaxation than the huge explosion before. My body shivers out the last of the tension and I’m left lying boneless on the bed, watching Connor thrust a few last times. Then he collapses on top of me with a groan of satiation that turns into a groan of pain.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"I will be," he winces. "I think I did something to my ribs."

"Oh, no—I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have asked you to go harder. Maybe I should have—"

He kisses me again, this time just on the lips. "I said I’d be okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

How much does it really matter anymore? I hold him to me, and I lay my cheek against his, and I stroke his hair. "You did very well," I murmur to him.

"Thank you," he says, and I think he means for more than the compliment. "Thank you."

We lie there quietly in the flame-lit darkness for a little longer, lost in the soft warm.

 

The things they say
And then the things they do
Nothin's gonna stop us if our aim is true

 

Damn. If there was going to be a future, we’d have to change these sheets. Judging by the sheer volume of goo I got from this kid, I don’t think he’s ever pulled his poker, either.

Wait a second. Was I just flippant?

Something’s changed. Something inside me. I don’t know what it is, but it’s real. I clutch Connor to me tight as I realize it. I relax my grip a second later, but if I hurt him, he doesn’t show any sign.

I don’t know what it is, but something’s changed. Something is beginning. The Seer in me knows it. And there can’t be a beginning at the End, can there?


The things they say
And then the things they do
Nothing's gonna stop us if our aim is true

Maybe we aren’t as doomed as I thought.


The things they say
And then the things they do
Nothin's gonna stop us if our aim is true
Tonight is what it means to be young



end

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