Title: Redneckin’

Pairing: Cordelia/Lyle Gorch

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: Through “The Wish”

A/N: I wanted a challenge and I got one. Cordy/Lyle smut in canon? Eeee, take a look. A big thanks to Savvy, the world’s best beta, for reading this over and for helping find just the right title.

Cordelia stormed to her car. Yet again Buffy had managed to make a bad situation worse. Not only was she a laughing stock, but now she was a laughing stock who smelled like garbage. Maybe she could transfer schools. Not like she had any friends left.

Suddenly, Cordelia realized she wasn’t alone.

“Just stay away from me, Bu—” she stopped when she realized it wasn’t Buffy who followed but—

“Howdy do,” Lyle Gorch tipped his hat. “Betcha didn’t reckon on seeing me again, didja, Slayer?”

Wonderful! Cowboy Creepo from homecoming was back. Cordelia was too annoyed to be worried. One more thing to thank Buffy Summers for.

“I always did like ‘em feisty,” he leered, stalking closer.

“Listen, Bucko, I’m not in the mood. Unless you want to finally join your wife, I’d suggest you get on the next bus back to the Alamo,” she stood her ground.

Lyle came to a halt just out of arm’s reach. “Why didn’cha stake me when you had the chance?”

“I was feeling generous at the time.” Then she added, “I can assure you I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“Mebee, mebee not,” he said, reaching out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

Cordelia couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped, but she could ignore the fact that it wasn’t caused by shock or fear. Now that she looked at him again, there was almost something attractive, in a hick-sort of way. She’d always been a sucker for accents.

“Oh no, no, no, no, no,” she spoke more to herself than to Lyle, as she began to back away. Maybe she’d picked up blood poisoning from the rebar. Or maybe it was post-Xander-Harris-traumatic-stress. She couldn’t be in her right mind to think that . . . that this thing, this over-dressed redneck vampire was even remotely not repulsive. And yet . . . her back hit the wall.

“I knew you weren’t interested in gettin’ rid of me,” he grinned as he leaned over her.

He did have nice eyes. Eyes! Thrall! That could be it. She almost laughed at the thought. Old needle-brain wouldn’t know a thrall if it hit him. So then why was she suddenly finding it difficult to breathe? Fear? Liar, a voice said.

Just when she thought the day couldn’t get any worse.

“Would you get it over with already?” Cordelia sighed, closing her eyes. At least she wouldn’t have to go to school tomorrow if he killed her.

Her eyes flew open in surprise when she didn’t feel the sharp prick of fangs, but instead felt his lips upon hers. Before she could think, Cordelia granted his tongue entrance. Of their own volition, her hands pulled him closer. Fashion sense and intelligence aside, Lyle sure knew how to kiss a woman.

Through her haze, Cordelia realized one of Lyle’s hands had migrated farther than she’d ever let Xander wander. This was no fumbling boy, this was—“Oh God!” she gasped, pulling back as his fingers brushed ever so lightly over the silk covering her sex.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he growled, increasing the pressure before snaking a finger around the elastic to rub along her slit. “So wet and hot, jest for me. What’s your name, pretty thing?”

“Cor—Cordel—ia,” she panted, trying to focus.

“Cordelia? Mmm,” he hummed, continuing his languid strokes. “Ready for somethin’ new?”

Not giving her the opportunity to reply, Lyle slid his finger into her.

Cordelia’s head jerked up at the intrusion. Words failed when he began to move around inside her. When his thumb traveled across her throbbing clit, she moaned.

“Like that?”

She nodded imperceptibly as he leaned in and began kissing her again. When a second finger joined the first, she groaned into his mouth. The double ministration was driving her over the edge.

“Show me that fire, Cordelia,” he said huskily. “Come for me, darlin’.”

He angled his fingers just so and increased the pressure on her clit. Cordelia let out a scream as the orgasm ripped through her.

She sat up suddenly, too dazed at first to realize where she was. She was no longer the alley behind the Bronze. No, she was in her own bed.

A knock at her bedroom door jarred her thoughts. “Cordy, honey, are you alright? We heard you scream,” the woman on the other side asked with concern.

“I’m fine, Mom,” she managed to control her voice. “Just a nightmare.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Mom. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Cordelia held her breath until she heard footsteps retreat from her door. She flopped back, the aftershocks of the climax still washing over her.

What in the hell was that? Apparently the best orgasm she’d ever had, but with Lyle Gorch? The idiot vampire and cowboy wannabe? He was so skeezy and, if she remembered correctly, smelled and not in a good way. Couldn’t it have at least been Angel or some nameless, good-looking vampire? It just went to show how low her life had sunk.

The motel was third-rate and flea-infested, but she didn’t really mind. Location really wasn’t an issue when they were together.

He lay naked on the bed. “There ain’t nothing sexier than a woman wearing naught but your hat and a pair of shiny, red cowboy boots,” he grinned, eyeing her from head to toe.

“I knew all those horse riding lessons Daddy got me would pay off one day,” she said, slinking up the length of his body until she hovered just over his erection. “What do you say, Lyle?”

“Giddy-up,” he said, grasping her hips and impaling her.

Cordelia sat bolt upright, jarring herself from the dream. There was no way that—she shuddered. She looked at her clock, still two hours before she had to get up. Well, she would just get up two hours early. Not for all of Prada’s spring line would she risk going back to sleep.

She ran into the new girl, Anya, at school the next day. The last thing she need to do was alienate someone else, but Cordelia needed to vent.

Out of sympathy, the new girl offered Cordelia her necklace for luck. Luck, she could really use some of that. Too bad she didn’t have a fairy godmother who could just erase the past two years of her life. Actually, she’d be content to forget about last night.

Sighing, she looked at Anya, “You know what, I wish Buffy Summers had never come to Sunnydale.”