Dreams of the Past (1/3)
By Christie
Category:  Doyle/Cordy
Rating:  NC-17
Content:  Drama, romance, sex
Spoliers:  any AtS episode up to (but not including)
"Hero" is fair game
Summary:  Doyle and Cordelia are trying to build a
relationship but Doyle's past catches up with him.
Feedback:  Makes me one happy puppy.
Distribution:  Archives for any list I've sent this to
(but could you drop me a line and tell me where it's
going?), Cleo, anyone else please ask!
Disclaimer:  Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy (grr...argh),
The WB, not me.
Author’s Notes:  ** is used for emphasis, // is used
for thought.  This story is slightly AU: Cordelia
knows Doyle's a demon, "Hero" didn't happen.  Ahh, all
is right with the world.  : )  I'd also like to
preface this by saying this is a conversation-driven
story, something I'm not as comfortable doing as
description-driven pieces.  


~Dreams of the Past~
Part I

The pale fingers of dawn were just beginning to caress
the night sky when Cordelia started awake.

"Doyle!"

The half-demon beside her jolted upright, his own
breathing coming as fast and furious as Cordelia's. 
She was pulling the covers tightly to her body,
leaving him in a resplendently naked state with
nothing to conceal himself.

Leaning halfway down the bed, Doyle pulled his boxers
on and turned his body toward his counterpart.  She
was still trembling, pushing thick locks of her dark
hair from her face in frenetic movements.  Doyle
circled pale arms around her and pulled her to him.

"Shhh, it's okay,"  he soothed.  "It was just a
dream."

In his arms, Cordelia whimpered.  

"Just a dream, princess,"  he repeated, pressing his
lips to the side of her head.  He felt the sweat
bathing her temple and sighed, turning his head and
brushing his cheek against hers.  Tentatively, he
brought a hand up and fingered the silky locks,
slipping beneath the long mass and massaging her neck
lightly.

She still hadn't spoken.  

"You okay?"  Doyle finally asked, relieved that her
urgent panting had abated slightly.  "Cordy, say
something."

Cordelia blinked twice, forcing herself out of the
trance and back into reality.  She looked toward the
window to the left of her bed, focusing on the muted
shades of light just beginning to peak over the
horizon.  "What time is it?"  she asked, her voice
surfacing as a sleep-hazed croak.

"Uh..."  Doyle craned his neck around the woman next
to him and read the numbers off of her night stand
clock.  "5:14."  He managed a tight-lipped smile. 
"Why?  You got a hot date?"

Again, Cordelia reacted as though he hadn't spoken,
sitting silent for a long moment before blinking
several times and shaking her head.  Finally, for the
first time since they'd woken up, she turned her head
and looked at him, eyes widening in wonder as though
she was just realizing he was there.  "You're here. 
You're... you're still here?"  she asked softly,
reaching a hand out and stroking a trembling finger
down his cheek.

Doyle narrowed his eyes and bit down on his lower lip,
emitting a nervous chuckle.  "Well yeah," he murmured
softly, tilting his face into the hand that was slowly
caressing him.  "I'm still here, why wouldn't I be?"

It was always strange, Doyle reasoned, the morning
after the first night spent together, but this was
taking the cake.  A slow, urgent feeling settled into
the pit of his stomach and began churning there. 
Cordelia's moods were hard to predict, that was for
sure, but the one thing he could always count on: she
didn't have the foresight to keep anything inside. 
Speaking her mind, come hell or high water, was one of
the things he liked best about her.  No guessing as to
how she felt about anything, or anyone.

Something wasn't right.  That was certain.  Doyle was
running out of things to say, figuring that soothing
*it's okays* and *I'm heres* would only go so far. 
'Specially when she wasn't even listening.  He was
starting to panic, and he hated to panic.  It made him
feel out of control.  

Slowly, he released her from his arms and climbed off
the bed.  He pulled his pants on before rounding the
mattress, then knelt at her side.  "Cordelia, I'm
getting worried.  What's wrong with you?"  

She blinked, turning her head to look at him before
quickly looking away.  Doyle felt his heart jump in
his chest.  At least she'd heard him.  

"What can I do?" he said, practically begging.  "Can I
get you something?  Cordelia, tell me, please."

"Make love to me, Doyle."  Her voice was tiny, but
Doyle heard it, as clearly as if she'd shouted it from
the rooftop.  

He hesitated, saw a tear slip down her right cheek and
leaned forward to kiss it away.  That kiss led to
another, on her nose, and finally a soft, tentative
kiss on the mouth.  Cordelia deepened it almost
immediately, slipping her arms around his neck and
threading her fingers though his hair, pulling him
closer, almost desperately, to her.  Doyle fumbled
with the clasp of his pants, shrugged them off, and
climbed back onto the bed with his new lover.

**

Slumped over in complete exhaustion, Cordelia exhaled
sharply and snuggled into Doyle's chest.  "I thought
you would leave," she murmured against his shoulder,
placing small kisses from his neck to his collar bone
and back again.  "I thought--"

Doyle cut her off.  "Why would I do that, princess?"

"I don't know,"  Cordelia frowned.  "You're telling me
you've stayed all night with every woman you've ever
been with?"

"No, but you're not every woman."

"No, I'm not."  Cordelia laughed.  "Don't you forget
it."

"You won't let me, princess.  You won't let me."

It was silent for a long while, the pair just holding
each other as though there was nothing else to hold on
to.  When Doyle finally spoke, a voice surfaced
sounding nothing like his own.  It sounded vulnerable,
and he hated that, hated that she could hear just how
much power she held over him in a simple question.

"Cordy, what happened earlier?  Huh?  You were
freakin' out and I--"

"No, Doyle."  Cordelia shook her head.  "It was just a
dream.  It was you, in the past.  You were still
married to Harry, and you were a teacher, like she
told me you were, which is just *weird* by the way, I
still think you're using it as a cover; it's a good
one too, saying you're *teaching* third grade when
you're really *in* the third grade.  Did you ever see
Billy Madison?  Same thing--"

"Cordelia.  The dream?"  Doyle shifted on the bed. 
"What else happened?"

Cordelia rewarded the half-demon with an exasperated
look but continued.  "Anyway, I dreamed about when she
found out you were a demon.  The fight you had, the
things you did, the things she did, everything.  It
was weird.  I mean, it's weird that I even *care*, and
it's weirder that I care enough to have a version of
what went on... you know, even if it was in my
subconscious, it was a version, and that's buggin'
me--"

"What did I do?  In the dream, Cordy?  What did I do
after Harry and I fought?"

Cordelia snorted.  "Went to a bar.  I know, *big*
stretch of the imagination there.  Harry went to some
guy, and ex-boyfriend?  Something."  She watched as a
pained look crossed Doyle's face.  "I'm sorry, Doyle. 
I don't mean to be making your ex-wives cheat on you
in my dreams.  And I didn't really see *cheating*, I
mean, it flashed back to you pretty quick.  You were
at the bar, loaded as usual, though I don't think you
were quoting Angela's Ashes this time, but then these
evil...things...came for you, took you out back, one
of them had a knife, or a claw, or something sharp,
and that's when I woke up."

"You woke up,"  Doyle repeated softly, running his
hands absently down Cordelia's leg.  "That was it?"

Cordelia nodded, wide-eyed.  "I freaked out cause it
seemed so real... I mean, it *was* real.  It wasn't, I
know now, but it was at the time.  I was afraid,
afraid I was going to lose you, or that I already had
and you weren't really here..."

Doyle pulled her head down to his chest, running his
hands lightly through her dark hair.  "Shhh,"  he
whispered, leaning down to kiss her forehead.  "I'm
here, princess.  I'm not going anywhere, right? 
You're not going to lose me."

**

Angel looked up from the book he was reading and
slipped his feet off the desk when Doyle burst into
the room.  

"Morning Doyle."

The Irish half-demon only nodded at his vampire
friend, looking quickly around the office, as if
taking inventory of it.  Angel scowled.  "Something I
can help you find?"

"Cordelia.  She been here this morning?"

Angel gave a half-smile, pushing himself up from the
chair and moving toward the coffee machine.  "Long
enough to brew a delicious pot of coffee, using the
grinds from yesterday, which I think are from the day
before.  Want some?  Tastes like mold."

"So she's not here now?"

Angel took a sip of the rancid coffee and grimaced,
then looked solemnly at his friend.  "No.  Bank,
shopping, lunch with some girlfriend.  She said she'll
be back after that...what's going on, Doyle?"

He followed the solemn demon around the room, until he
realized the two of them pacing was more
nerve-wracking than just the one.  Angel stilled,
perching himself on the edge of the desk.  He watched
Doyle pace a few more steps before finally holding a
hand out.

"Doyle.  You're making me dizzy.  What's going on? 
Something wrong with Cordelia?  Something I should
know?  She seemed fine this morning."

"I spent the night at her place last night."

Angel smiled, interest crossing his usually
expressionless face.  "Oh."  He paused, then frowned. 
"*Oh,* she hates you now?"

Doyle shook his head.  "No, nothin' like that."

"Good.  That's good, right?  What's the problem? 
Things not go exactly as you planned?"  He waved his
hand in the direction of his groin and raised his
eyebrows.

Impatience formed a tight smile on Doyle's mouth. 
"No, Angel, jeez.  For someone who's celibate you sure
think about sex a lot.  This isn't about that."

Angel shrugged.  "So what's it about?"

"Cordy had a dream last night.  About my past," Doyle
said.

"So?"

"It *was* my past.  It came to her in a dream but it
was real.  She described when Harry found out I was a
demon exactly the way it happened.  Where I went,
where Harry went, what I did, what she did,
everything."

Angel stood, suddenly interested.  He sipped his
coffee, nearly spitting it back into the cup before
finally setting the cup far away from where he could
reach it.  "Did you tell her?  I wonder if this is
some kind of vision... gift, or something."

"No, I didn't tell her,"  Doyle said irritably.  "And
it ain't a gift.  There's stuff about my past Cordy
just doesn't need to know.  She already knows too much
anyway.  Girls like her, they don't go for guys like
me as it is, much less if she knew how much trouble
I've been in... how much trouble I'm still in."

"How much trouble is that?" Angel asked, slipping his
hands onto his hips and cocking his head.  He knew
Doyle was always in way deeper than he cared to admit,
and knew that the time he caught his demon friend in a
lie wasn't the first time Doyle had had the big bad
out to collect on him.

Doyle ignored the implication.  "You're missin' the
point, old fella."

"You don't want Cordelia to find out about your past,
yet she's dreaming about it."

//Okay, so he got the gist.//  Doyle shrugged.  "What
do I do?"

"For right now, nothing.  This is the first dream
right?"  Angel reasoned.

Doyle nodded.  "That I know of."

"Okay then.  If she doesn't have any more, you just
wasted ten good minutes out of my book."  Angel
dismissed it with a wave of  his hand.  "If she does,
we'll just worry about it then."

Doyle clapped Angel on the back.  "Great.  Why do
today what you can put off till tomorrow yeah? 
'Specially when you're in the middle of a good book."

Angel watched Doyle's retreating form until guilt
threatened.  "Hey, Doyle, seriously," he called,
smiling tentatively when Doyle turned back.  "Don't
worry about it.  It was probably just one dream, which
Cordelia's probably already forgotten about.  And if
its not, I mean, we're all trying to make up for our
pasts aren't we?"

"Some more than others,"  Doyle joked.

Angel raised his eyebrows.  "And she still likes *me*,
right?"

Doyle watched his friend doubtfully, then shrugged. 
"Sometimes," he murmured softly, then grinned wildly
as he backed out the door.

**

Second nightmare, second night in a row.  Cordelia
managed to awaken quietly this time, and slipped out
of bed without waking the half-demon who slept beside
her.  She slipped her robe over her shoulders and
walked into the living room, throwing open the balcony
doors and allowing the cool night breeze to drift in
around her.  It was nearly fall, and the nights were
getting blessedly cool, despite the oppressing heat
that enveloped Los Angeles during the day.  She leaned
over the railing and looked down, watching as people
drifted aimlessly through the dark streets.  She
thought of Angel, wondered if he was out there
tonight, hunting the demon she'd helped him research
all afternoon.

A sound from the living room brought her back.  Doyle
stepped out onto the balcony and muttered something
sleep-ridden that Cordelia couldn't understand.  She
turned around, giggling slightly as Doyle leaned up
against her, pressing her back directly into the
railing.

"'Nother dream?" Doyle asked, winding his arms around
Cordelia's waist and pulling her closer to him.  He
nuzzled her hair out of the way and found her ear,
giving it soft kisses and licks as he waited for her
answer.

"Mmmm, but you're just about making me forget," she
mumbled, tipping her head up and allowing Doyle access
to the line of her throat.  He followed it, nibbling
gently down to the base of her collar bone.  Cordelia
exhaled sharply as his hands found their way beneath
the robe and drifted down her body.

"'Bout me?"  Doyle asked, torn between continuing this
path of least resistance and discussing her latest
journey into his past.

Cordelia grumbled something Doyle couldn't hear and
pressed her mouth toward his, catching him in a kiss
that bordered on desperation and passion.  Doyle
allowed her to propel them back into the apartment,
making it as far as the inside of the balcony door
before both tumbled to the ground in a fit of laughter
and kisses.

Doyle pushed the robe from her shoulders, flinging it
abruptly across the room and instantly slipping his
hands beneath the thin fabric of the silk chemise she
had donned after their lovemaking earlier.  Cordelia
moaned softly at his touch, using her own hands to
push his boxers down his sinewy thighs.  She arched up
into his swelling erection, drawing a low, hungry
growl from the man atop her.

Capturing Doyle's lips with her own, Cordelia drew him
into a deep kiss, tongue lazily circling the cavern of
his mouth as they explored each other with their
hands, rediscovering spots they'd found before, and
finding new ones to make the other groan.  When they
finally broke, Cordelia was gasping for breath,
murmuring Doyle's name with each exhale.  She lifted
her knees, moving her hands down between them to
position him at her opening.

"Now, Doyle," she whispered, groaning deep in her
throat as he pushed forward, slipping into her easily,
as though he belonged there always.

"God, Cordy," the Irish half-demon murmured, as she
arched against him, pulling his hardness deeper into
her tight channel until hips were flush with hips,
their pelvic bones grinding desperately together.

Doyle began to move, slowly, picking a rhythm that
Cordelia easily matched, sliding himself deeper each
time he pushed in.  She whimpered slightly with each
thrust and Doyle leaned down, shifting his lips onto
hers and swallowing her sated cries into his own
mouth.

Every place their skin touched, Doyle felt set afire,
and he pulled himself up on his arms, just enough to
look down at the beauty beneath him.  Her eyes were
closed, an expression of complete rapture dispersed
across her face.  Her head was thrown slightly back,
hair scattered like dark, silken threads across the
carpet beneath them.  She heaved breath each time he
drove into her, bringing her breasts tantalizingly
upward, then sending them back down again, over and
over until Doyle had to close his eyes to keep from
coming right then.

//The most beautiful,// he thought absently, lowering
himself back to his lover and capturing one nipple in
his mouth, rolling it gently between his teeth as he
listened to Cordelia's whimpers grow into urgent
moans.  He moved from one breast to the other, then
back again, until her legs lifted of their own accord,
wrapping around his back, and her fingernails
scratched down his shoulders, her entire body going
rigid.

She cried out just as orgasm hit her, clamping down on
his wiry frame with every muscle she had.  It brought
a haze of white light before Doyle's eyes, and every
sensation was heightened tenfold:  her soft, ragged
breath against the heated skin of his neck, the gentle
thrusts of her hips, up then back, up then back, as
she rode out her orgasm, and the sound of his name,
coming off her lips in soft, heady whispers, sounds
she probably wasn't even aware she was making.

Doyle felt his heartbeat begin to drum erratically in
his chest, and with one last thrust he cried out, his
resolve and control shattering along with everything
else before his eyes.  He trembled violently for long
moments, until he felt Cordelia still beneath him, and
her long, slender fingers stroke through his
sweat-dampened hair.

CONTINUED in Part II