Window Shopping
i. Saks Fifth Avenue
Cordelia hates Beverly Hills. She hates the snobbery, she hates the $3,000 slingback heels, she hates the shopgirls who point out which dresses are passé, which are up-and-coming, and which ones would make boys drop to their knees and beg to buy you dinner.
It's not true at all, but it's how she convinces herself she doesn't mind window-shopping.
She wears her least-thrift-store-looking outfit to shop at Saks Fifth Avenue on Wilshire, but it's really her Queen Bitch expression that gets her in and around without so much as a haughty look from the employees.
This is where she belongs, credit history be damned.
She's perusing the Jimmy Choo display when a familiar and unwelcome voice intrudes on her mental payroll calculations.
"I didn't think you could afford to shop here."
"Lilah." Cordelia doesn't react visibly, aside from an idle turn of her head, a glance of acknowledgement. "I didn't think they let you out during the day."
A smile quirks the corner of Lilah's mouth. "Interesting insult from someone who works for a vampire."
"He's the exception." Cordelia turns on her heel, starts to stride past Lilah. "If you'll excuse me--"
"Wait." Lilah grabs her arm, and her hand is warm through Cordelia's sleeve.
Cordelia arches an eyebrow, folds her arms. "Yes?"
Lilah starts to say something, then stops. Rolls her eyes. "Shop with me?"
Cordelia wants to refuse, but Lilah's wearing an excellent pair of T-strap sandals, and who could reject someone wearing those?
ii. Caroline Herrera
Cordelia's not sure how trying on a leather skirt became tongue-kissing an evil lawyer while getting fingered against a full-length mirror, but she's not going to complain.
The skirt, butter-soft and vanilla-tinted, is rucked up against her hips, and leather scrunched up about your hips? Not the most fun in the world, but she's not going to complain, because Lilah's just had a manicure and her hands are smooth, and there's nothing like the scent of couture to get Cordelia hot.
Cordelia manages to wonder why nobody's stopped by their dressing room to investigate their various grunts, moans, and squeals, but then Lilah's thumb rubs against her clit, and Lilah's mouth descends on her breast, leaving a trail of velvet burgundy that will probably ruin the blouse, but Cordelia's not that attached to Burberry, anyway.
Lilah's mouth ascends, and she bites Cordelia's ear. Cordelia catches the scent of Chanel No. 5, classic and sexy, and then she's coming like a trainwreck.
It's been entirely too long.
iii. Theory
The skirt's relatively inexpensive, and there's some polyester in it, but Lilah said she needs something for days when she expects bloodshed, and there are worse skirts she could ruin.
For now, however, Cordelia's just happy with the way it folds in her hands. She's not sure if she could deal with another leather skirt situation, and she just knows how hellish it would be to stick her head under one.
It's been a while since she's done this with a girl, but it's like riding a bicycle, Cordelia thinks. In a really, really abstract sort of way, because there's no way to figure out how training wheels fit into the picture.
Lilah's making the most delicious panting gasps, and that probably means she's doing things right. Cordelia wants to hear more, and when she twitches her tongue just so, Lilah throws her head back, hitting the mirror with a dull thud.
It's the best of both worlds, Cordelia thinks, because she's making Lilah come and giving her a concussion. Angel would be so proud, because hey, if he gets to boink evil-pretty-undead, then Cordelia can exchange a few orgasms with someone who's tried to kill her.
When Lilah's ridden out her climax, Cordelia sits back, watches her slide to the floor, knees wide and hair mussed.
She wishes, for a second, she has a camera. Then she wonders if there's a security camera, but decides she doesn't care that much. It's not like she's a regular customer or anything.
iv. Escada
The dress is tight around Cordelia's chest, but without her bra, the linen scrapes beautifully against her nipples. It's a nice contrast to the hotwet of Lilah's tongue, fucking her better than the last three guys she dated.
Cordelia's not sure what to think about that, but then again, thinking's overrated. It's much better to just let Lilah do her thing, and maybe she learned how to do this in evil lawyer school, because Harmony wasn't half as good at this, and Faith got most of her points for enthusiasm.
There might have been a couple of other girls, when she first got to L.A., but no one as good as Lilah, because she would have remembered, and she definitely would have stayed in touch, because god, it really has been too long since she's had anyone but her vibrator, and, "Fuck!"
Lilah stands up, smooths her skirt, and kisses Cordelia. Helps her take off the dress, arrange it artfully on its hanger. They dress in silence, and trade lipstick as they finish their last, not-recently-fucked touch-ups.
Cordelia's about to walk out, when she notices Lilah eyeing the leftover clothing speculatively. "Buying something?"
Lilah shrugs, not looking at her. "Maybe the skirt, if I can find another color."
Cordelia rolls her eyes. "Good luck with that."
She doesn't bother to say goodbye as she leaves, and neither does Lilah.
v. Prada
When Cordelia gets back to the hotel, the lobby is empty, save for an impatient looking bike messenger, holding a box.
"Are you," he squints at the delivery order, "Cordelia Chase?"
"Yeah." She takes the proffered box. "What is it?"
He holds out a clipboard, points to where she should sign. "Dunno. I just deliver."
"O-kay." She signs, and waits for him to leave before she turns to the mystery package. Tears off its plain wrapping, and finds shoes underneath. Gorgeous, suede-lined, definitely-made-in-Italy Prada sandals, and a business card underneath it. Lilah's, and on the back, a note.
We're not friends.
Cordelia smiles, kicks off her Payless-specials, and slips into the Pradas. Struts experimentally across the lobby, then picks up the phone and dials.