In Which The Permafrost Burns
by Soren Nyrond

"You have to do something - I can't stand it like this."

The girl, Eschelle, or something, was pacing round Cordelia's apartment like she was training for the Olympics.

"Angel and Wesley are dealing with the demon now," Cordy said, desperately wondering what else she could do. The whole thing had blown up like a hurricane. The vision - for once - had been bell-clear: name, exact address, even enough of a demon-shape to let Wesley guess it was either a Bobaczuk (big, slobbery, not usually human-eating, but could be when starving) or a Vyellovik (lust-demon with a side-tendency of interdimensional gate-opening).

So Angel and Wesley had set off, but not before deciding that the office wasn't a good place to hide Eschelle, in case the demon knew where she'd gone, whereas Cordy's apartment, with the bonus of Phantom Dennis, might prove more secure.

"I'm burning up." It was true: her forehead felt like a furnace and not for the last time Cordelia Chase wished she'd paid just a smidgen more attention to things in class, rather than to plotting the up-rise of herself and the Cordettes (, the pink ones were Cadillacs...). If she have done she might be able, she told herself, to remember the approved ways of getting a fever down. A damp cloth seemed a good idea. She fetched one. By then Eschelle was ducking in and out of the various rooms like a frenzied... Cordelia's animal similes failed her. Just say 'disturbing', she told herself. Just look at it as a dry-run for a sedative commercial - or a nurse role alongside Gillian Anderson, tending to a feverish and hallucinating Deputy Director Skinner. Now there was someone she could imagine administering bed-care to...

She shouldn't have been hot - Eschelle was barely wearing more than the legal minimum: her blouse had one button and Cordy wasn't looking, but there was no sign of a bra under it, and her skirt would barely have made a Chase hand-towel, in the days before Daddy decided the IRS were stupid.

"He wants me !" Eschelle said, distractedly. Cordelia passed her the cloth, but Eschelle made no attempt to use it. Cordy reclaimed it and tried to mop the other girl's forehead. Eschelle moved at the last moment, and the cloth impacted straight onto her blouse, soaking it. No bra - definitely no bra. Blouse probably half a size too small, too.

Things started to add up. This didn't look like the work of a slobber-demon, hungry or otherwise. Cordelia's bet was some kind of demonic lust-spell.

"You have to calm down," she said. "They'll kill it, and all this will be over."

"I'm burning up - you have to - "

A rattle caught Cordy's attention. The shower.

"Good idea, Dennis !" She steered Eschelle in that direction, and started the water. Eschelle seemed to recognise the cooling possibilities. It was when she was in, and drenching herself, that Cordelia saw the other side of the situation - the blouse was little more than a drenched rag over naked flesh, and the skirt was also hardly water-proof. She managed to tug them off Eschelle (a couple of buttons went adrift - if Cordelia had been at home, a maid would have sewn them back on, even while the shower went on), leaving her in an emerald green g-string, which was rapidly dark-green under the water.

Cordy stripped off her jumper, which had also got damp, and wondered what you wore for potentially all-in shower-wrestling.

"Is that better ? Are you cooler now ? Would you like a drink ?"

Eschelle gripped the shower-head and moved her thighs convulsively. Cordelia wasn't sure, but it didn't look like rational behaviour.

"Are you - " Oh, this wasn't working. It was one thing to take care of a poor little demon-glopped girl (the glop had washed off at Angel's, but at that stage Eschelle hadn't been showing any of these behaviour patterns), it was quite another to have to work out whether she was sane or not.

Suddenly Eschelle lurched out of the shower and at Cordelia. She threw her arms round Cordy's shoulders, and the ex-cheerleader braced herself for an imminent collapse into some sort of hysterical coma. Instead she was kissed, wet-mouthedly, straight on the lips, and then again, with added tongue.

"Get -- !" Cordelia meant to add " - off !", but then she realised that impact with a fresh-from-the-shower Eschelle meant her entire outfit was soaked, right through to her skin. Oh, well, at least the camel-hair sweater was - ohmygod, what was Eschelle using as her bath-mat ??!!

"Love me," Eschelle moaned. "If you don't, I'll die."

"Come and lie down," Cordelia said, deliberately ignoring what Eschelle's words might mean. The shower seemed to have quelled the girl's temperature, anyway. She steered Eschelle into the bed room, and hoped she was a quick faller-asleep.

But Eschelle was obviously not far enough gone - she managed to snag Cordy's arm, and pulled her down, too.

"Love me," she repeated. She kissed Cordy again, and deftly unhooked her bra. Cordy tried to evade, but Eschelle seemed inhumanly agile, and her fingers reached Cordy's nipple, already aroused by the damp, and tweaked. Cordy fell back bonelessly, and could do nothing to prevent Eschelle making swift work of the rest of her clothing, in between kissing her lips, her breasts, his nipples, her shoulder-blades, a deadly onslaught of sweet love...or lust...or something...

Then Eschelle stiffened. "They're there," she whispered: "They've found him." She turned back to Cordelia: "Quickly - we can help your friends - we can distract him. Give him what he wants - divert his attention." She dived at Cordelia and latched on to her lips again.

Startled, at first Cordelia let things happen. Then, catching up to what Eschelle had meant, she began to reciprocate.

Their hands began to explore each other's bodies. Lips followed fingers - breasts were lovingly caressed, and nipples suckled. Each girl rode the other's thigh and their juices began to flow. More, words of love - or lust: neither cared - were exchanged, bringing the emotional temperature up again. Eschelle began to moan her neds, and Cordleia set herself to meet them, squeezing and caressing, stroking and stimulating. And she herself was stimulated: even the thought of doing this was heady - the actuality, the knowledge that she was making Eschelle feel so good...

They moved slightly, and lay, breast to breast, rubbing their bodies into one another, lips sliding...suddenly Cordelia withdrew, for an instant, turned herself end for end, and started kissing again. Beneath her Eschelle followed suit and both of them set out to tease, torment, and make love to the other. Tongues, fingers, lips and (carefully) teeth were employed in the race to ecstasy, until finally both of them cried out within seconds of each other, as their satisfactions overcame them.

"We won," Eschelle murmured: "The demon is dead."

Later Cordelia was to wonder at what stage the victory had come to pass, but for now...well, there was always the lap of honour for victors to take...