Cordelia is inspired by a Cosmo article on roleplay and decides to give
her #1 fan a taste of her Sunnydale cheerleader routines. 

CONTENTS: C/A in AtS
CATEGORY: Established Relationship / Roleplay / Smut & Fun
RATING: R / NC-17
LENGTH: Short Story / 1,700 words
CHALLENGE CREDIT: Illusion / Lysa Says: Challenge Me / Challenge #14
FICPIC CREDIT: Lysa
SEQUEL: Roleplay Rivals: Private Dick 
SERIES DEVELOPMENT: Potential for standalone serial stories.
STATUS: Completed. Posted May 2026

Cordelia Chase had read a lot of stupid things in her life, but this one took the pom-pom.

She was sprawled across the Hyperion’s front desk, one bare leg swinging, flipping through the battered Cosmo she’d swiped from the lobby magazine pile. The article title screamed at her in hot-pink letters: Roleplay 101: Turn Your Bedroom into a Fantasy Zone.

Cordy snorted so hard she almost dropped the magazine. “Yeah, right. Because what every girl wants is her boyfriend pretending to be a pizza delivery guy.”

Still… the idea stuck. Angel was already creative in bed—creative enough that she sometimes forgot her own name—but they’d been together long enough for the occasional spark of what if to feel like a challenge. And Cordelia Chase never backed down from a challenge.

The rest of the gang was out—Wesley and Gunn had dragged Fred to some new action flick, leaving the Hyperion blissfully empty for the night. She glanced toward the weapons cabinet, then up the stairs toward their suite, and that familiar mischievous glint lit her eyes.

The old Sunnydale High cheer uniform was still in the back of the closet, wrapped in dry-cleaning plastic like a guilty secret. She’d kept it for… reasons. Reasons that involved late-night fantasies and the way Angel’s eyes went gold when she wore anything short and tight.

An hour later the lobby looked like a pep rally had exploded. Pom-poms on the counter. A mini boombox ready to blast 90s cheer mixes. The big “S” megaphone from her senior year perched beside a bottle of massage oil she’d labeled Victory Oil just to be obnoxious. And Cordy?

Cordy stood in the middle of it all in full uniform: burgundy-and-gold pleated skirt that barely brushed mid-thigh, tight top with the big “S” for Sunnydale stretched across her chest, white Keds, hair in a high ponytail with the little blue bow. She tested a high kick and grinned at her reflection in the lobby windows. Still fits like sin.
Thank you, half-demon metabolism and that ridiculous power-yoga phase I went through last year. She’d even grown her hair back out into the long dark waves Angel had always loved — the short blonde phase had been cute for a minute, but this felt like her again.

The front doors banged open. Angel strode in, leather jacket slung over one shoulder, already growling, “Cordy, where are you? I wrapped surveillance early. Knew the gang was out, so I hurried back to have you all to myself.”

He stopped dead.

A spike of arousal surged through him, surprise and amusement flickering in his golden eyes at the bold little role-playing game she’d sprung on him out of nowhere.

Cordy hit the boombox. The opening bars of an old cheer chant thumped through the lobby. She grabbed the megaphone, planted one foot on the bottom step like it was the fifty-yard line, and let the roleplay roll.

“Gimme an A!” she shouted, voice bright and bossy.

Angel’s eyebrows shot up.

She cupped a hand to her ear. “I said gimme an A!”

“A,” he managed, voice already dropping into that low rumble she loved.

“Gimme an N!”

“N.”

“Gimme a G-E-L!” She spun, skirt flaring, and the megaphone made her sound like a stadium announcer. “What’s that spell?”

Angel’s eyes tracked the movement of the pleats like a man hypnotized. “Angel.”

“Damn right it does!” She dropped the megaphone, grabbed both pom-poms, and launched into the full routine she’d improvised in the five minutes she had. High kicks that flashed gold panties, splits on the counter that made the skirt ride up, pom-pom shakes that jiggled everything exactly where she wanted his eyes.

Every move came with commentary.

“You like what you see, season-ticket holder?” She winked, ponytail swinging. “Been watching me all season from your usual spot on the fifty-yard line, haven’t you? All those high kicks just for you.”

Angel’s jacket hit the floor. He didn’t move closer yet—just stood in the doorway, mesmerized. “Cordy…”

“Nuh-uh.” She pointed a pom-pom at him. “You’re not allowed to talk yet, fanboy. You’re supposed to be cheering for your cheer captain. Louder.”

A slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth. “You’re going to kill me all over again.”

“Good. Now sit.” She pointed to the big leather couch they’d christened more times than she could count. “Hands on your knees. Eyes front. This is my victory routine and you’re getting the private show.”

He obeyed—because of course he did—and she rewarded him by peeling the top off slowly, inch by inch, until she stood in just the sports bra and the tiny, pleated skirt. The bra followed. Cool air hit her skin and she felt his gaze like a physical touch. Angel’s breath hitched, a low hungry rumble escaping him as his golden eyes traced the perfect curves of her breasts—curves long since memorized by his hands and mouth. Surprise and amusement still lingered in his gaze, only sharpening the raw desire that tightened every line of his body.

Cordy climbed onto the couch, straddling his lap without breaking character. “Tell me, big fan… you been thinking about this all season?” She rolled her hips once, slow and deliberate. “Every time I did a split on the field?”

Angel’s hands finally moved, sliding up her bare thighs under the skirt with slow, deliberate possession that sent heat blooming across her skin. “Every damn night.” His voice was gravel and smoke. “Dreaming about the cheer captain giving me my own private victory celebration after the game.”

She leaned down, lips brushing his ear. “Then score, baby. I’m all yours.”

The roleplay cracked open like a dam.

He flipped them in one smooth move, laying her back on the couch, mouth on her breast before she could finish her next cheer. Cordelia arched into it, the perfect pressure of his teeth and swirl of his tongue. She laughed—breathless, delighted—tangling her fingers in his hair.

“Still in character?” she gasped as he tugged the skirt up around her waist.

“To hell with the character,” he growled against her stomach, kissing lower. “I want you.”

Clothes disappeared in a flurry. Her Keds went flying. The skirt stayed, bunched teasingly around her hips—neither of them willing to lose the last delicious scrap of that cheer-captain fantasy—while he worshipped every inch of skin he could reach. When he finally slid inside her, deep and perfect and home, Cordy’s head fell back against the cushions and she moaned his name like a chant.

“Angel… God, yes—”

He set a rhythm that was all vampire stamina and pure devotion, hands gripping her hips, eyes locked on hers. Every thrust came with a filthy little commentary of his own. “This what you wanted, Cheer Captain? Your biggest fan giving you everything?”

She laughed again, noting that he was still fully in the game, the sound turning into a moan as he hit that spot that made her see stars. “Harder, fanboy. Earn it.”

They stayed on the couch, the heat between them only growing hotter and more inventive. Angel shifted them with effortless strength, turning Cordy so she faced the back of the couch, her hands braced on the cool leather as he knelt behind her. His palms roamed greedily over her body—caressing the curve of her waist, sliding up to cup and tease her breasts, his fingertips tracing slow, maddening circles around her nipples until she shivered and arched back into him with a needy moan.

“Angel…” she gasped, pushing back against him, the pleated skirt still bunched around her hips like a victory flag.

He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along her spine, one hand slipping between her thighs to stroke her slowly while the other continued its delicious torment of her breasts. “My cheer captain deserves the full victory treatment,” he murmured against her skin, voice low and rough with desire.

Cordy laughed breathlessly, the sound turning into a moan as his fingers found the perfect rhythm. “Only for my number one fanboy,” she managed, voice husky. “No one else gets this show.”

She twisted in his arms, pushing him back against the cushions so she could slide down his body. With a wicked little smile she took him in her mouth, using every trick she’d learned that drove him wild—slow, teasing licks followed by deeper, more intense strokes, her hand joining in perfect rhythm. Angel groaned, fingers tangling gently in her ponytail, his hips lifting just enough to show how much he loved it.

When she finally straddled him again, sinking down onto him in one smooth motion, they moved together in a slow, deep rhythm that felt brand new and utterly perfect. Angel’s hands never stopped exploring—caressing her thighs, her breasts, the small of her back—while he whispered how beautiful she was, how much he loved her private performances just for him.

Cordy came hard with a cry, clenching around him, and Angel followed seconds later, burying his face in her neck with a low growl.

They stayed locked together, breathing hard, her arms around his neck and the pleated cheer skirt fluttering back down around her thighs like it had never left.

“Go team!” she crowed, still a little breathless, a delighted laugh escaping her.

Cordy finally broke the silence with a soft, satisfied laugh. She reached blindly for the Cosmo, waving it like a trophy. “Looks like you owe me a lifetime subscription to Cosmo after that welcome home, fanboy.”

Angel kissed the tip of her nose, eyes golden and content. “Next time,” he murmured, voice still rough, “I pick the scenario.”

She arched a brow, already intrigued. “Oh yeah? You got something in mind?”

His smile was slow and wicked. “You have no idea.”

Cordy grinned, tugging the little blue bow from her ponytail and dropping it on his head like a crown. “Bring it, fanboy. I’ll be ready.”

The End.

THE CHALLENGE: Illusion / Lysa Says: Challenge Me / Challenge #14

The Challenge: Roleplay! Cordy in Cheerleading uniform!
Pairing: Cordelia / Angel of course!
Genre: Smut! Smut & Smut! Fun! Fun! Fun!
Rating:  Would you believe me if I said G? Didn’t think so! NC-17 please!
Pick One Quote: Oooh! It’ll have to be – “Go team!”.