co-written with Winterlive
Angel lazed in a deep chair, brooding at the wall, remembering. Cordy's annoying, high-pitched laugh. Gunn's stupid gangsta slang. Wesley's timid, trusting willingness... He almost smiled. They had to be kept safe, at all costs, and that meant they needed to be far, far away from him. Angel tossed the remaining whiskey down his throat and set the tumbler on the side table, noting absently the little tink of glass on hard wood.
He'd come across Buffy and Willow doing those silly quizzes that came in teen magazines, back in Sunnydale. On a scale of one to ten had been the rating for various actors, acts, and in one humiliating case, positions. On a scale of one to ten, his coming here broke the land-speed record to reach 'monstrously stupid and possibly dangerous'.
But Angel was sinking even further into himself. He needed to be brought out, not abandoned.
Years of training made him knock politely on the door. He knew Angel was inside -- he heard a glass and assumed that Angel was indulging himself. Another thing he did too much of.
There was only one person who'd knock on that door. Only one person who would enter an abandoned hotel, come to the one room with someone in it and knock on the damned door. "Go away, Wesley."
"No." You couldn't fire someone not there on company business, he reminded himself. Although he supposed this was similar to company business. Being a Watcher included this kind of training -- although it was very brief, with the further injunction to call about the wet-works team and remove a recalcitrant Slayer. He'd have to simply ignore that part. "I know the door isn't locked, Angel."
Fucking Wesley. Gunn and Cordy, at least, could take 'no' for an answer. Angel was at the door in a flash, wrenching it open and startling the man on the other side. He loomed menacingly - Angel was good at looming. "What part of 'get out, Wesley' was unclear to you?"
"The part where I'm supposed to obey."
Brushing past Angel took almost all Wesley had and he sank into a chair not because it made him look more relaxed but because he doubted his knees would hold him much longer. Angel knew how to scare humans.
Angel stood at the doorway in disbelief. That was my best loom... Okay. Clearly other tactics were necessary. He considered a moment before letting his body relax, loosen. He let his senses sharpen, taking in Wesley, sprawled in the fireside wingback - lightly spiced aftershave, salt skin, thudding music of his heartbeat. Well tailored suit, sharp-scented polish on his shoes. Something else… too faint to identify. Angel let his feet take him closer to Wes's chair - gentle, silent steps, measured movements. Stalking him. "I fired you, but here you are. I told you to leave, but you won't." He let his voice sink into a low tone, smooth over the edges, slick and dark. "Kinda courting a little risk there... aren't you, Wes?"
Wesley was careful not to let his dry mouth affect his voice. Dear god, what Angel could do with a few words and a trick of the lighting ... He sternly told his cock no. "Nothing without risks is worthwhile," he quoted. "And you gain nothing by hiding."
Angel felt a surge of irritation as he moved, slowly, around Wes's chair. "It's not your job to worry about that anymore." What Angel did or didn't gain wasn't Wesley's business anymore. But that was Wes - still wanting to fight the good fight, even when it'd get him killed. "Just do as you're told, Wesley." And again came the slick, insinuating voice, because the things that Angel had accomplished with that voice were shocking in their sheer breadth. Standing behind Wesley's chair now, he leaned down and hoarsely whispered, "I don't think you want me to make you."
Several responses flashed across his mind, none of them covering up the yes, god please, I do that thrummed through his body. Soon Angel would know how much, too -- he knew vampires could scent desire. And each carefully manipulated word was driving him wild with desire.
"It was never my job to worry about you, Angel. Nor was it to do only as you told me."
It was on the tip of his tongue to answer that. Something about how that was exactly his job, and now it wasn't, so he should get the hell out before something terrible happened to him... And then the long, slim body shifted in the chair, and the previously unidentifiable scent strengthened, rose up to Angel and invited him to take it in. Angel was blindsided by the scent of Wesley's desire, deep and rich.
He shot up, instantly, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. About half of them involved running out of the room so fast that Wes would see only a blur. The other half involved taking. Taking Wesley. A thousand ways, with a thousand meanings, Angel wanted what Wesley was offering, and it didn't matter that Wesley didn't know he was offering it. So, of course, when his mind and body caught up with each other, he stalked over to his chair, flung himself into it, poured a finger of scotch and growled at Wes again. "Just leave. Go home. Go have a drink, or get laid, just get the hell out of the hotel." And quietly, he added, "Get away from me."
"Have you thought about what isolating yourself is going to accomplish?" Wesley asked instead. Folding one leg over the other allowed him to use primness to cover his debasement. "You were given a partner for a reason, Angel. And no, that reason was not just to treat you like a crossbow to be aimed and fired on command."
More and more, Cordelia spoke of his predecessor, this Doyle. Several of the things she'd mentioned – the camaraderie he shared with Angel, two men pushed to the fringes of society – were part of the reason he was here. The other part was busily throbbing in his trousers, already a humiliating half-hard.
All right, this was dangerous territory. Wesley was talking about things he didn't fucking understand, shouldn't think about, because he was fired, goddammit, and that meant the fight was over for him. Over.
Back to the scary. Like lightning, with the demon's speed, Angel moved to Wesley's chair - the front, this time - and leaned down. He put his hands on the arms of the chair, let the muscles in his arms stand out sharply, and moved his face into the hot crease of Wesley's neck. He felt the man beneath him suck in a breath as he realized where Angel was, and he let his own breath drift across Wesley's skin. "Listen carefully, because I'm not saying this twice. Last chance. You leave now... or you don't leave."
He'd had no idea that a vampire's breath was so cool. Not cold, but lacking the moist heat of his own. "I will not abandon you simply because you're acting like a child in a snit," he tossed out.
Slowly, so Wes could hear the grinding as the bones beneath his face rearranged themselves, Angel let his fangs slide out. "Not playing," he growled, the demon's voice. And then he lightly - so lightly - dragged those fangs across the tender skin just under Wesley's ear.
He would not whimper. He wouldn't. "I never accused you of playing, I believe. Simply of acting like a selfish brat."
Oh, God, the scent was everywhere. Everywhere, sinking into his clothes, into the chair, all through the room. Fucking Wesley. Now, even if he left, Angel would still be able to smell him. "I can smell you," he said darkly, like a threat or a curse. "Smell your... what you..." and then it wasn't enough to use English, and he just snarled, let the demon speak for him as he moved one hand up the side of the chair, closing in on Wesley's head. Angel might be forced to live like a monk, but he wasn't a fucking saint. Fucking Wesley, walking into the room with his scent and his Englishness, and his total unwillingness to get the hell out. But he'll fucking move now, Angel promised himself.
His gut clenched even as his cock grew even harder. Real fear mixed with his want, Angel's movements far closer to the one glimpse of Angelus that he'd had than the vampire he'd thought he could call friend. Remaining perfectly still took a kind of strength Wesley knew wouldn't last long -- but hopefully long enough.
"I'm so glad to know your senses are working correctly," he said in a purposefully bored voice, though it trembled on 'senses'. "Are you done threatening me, or have you decided wh -- what it is you need from me?"
That was not what he'd intended to say.
"What I need..." Angel almost laughed. "You don't want to know what I need." His hand tangled in Wesley's hair and clenched, pulling the fine strands gently, but hard enough to tilt his head back. Wes's head moved back, but other than that, he didn't budge. Angel let his head dip lower, his mouth so close to Wesley's neck that he might have felt the skin brush against him. "I told you to go, I warned you." Without thought, his other hand began to drift as well. In moments, he felt the scratchy wool of Wes's sweater under his fingertips, and the resilience of the stomach beneath. "Why'd you come, Wes?" Angel was almost talking to himself now, Wesley's fate decided somewhere deep in his mind. "Why couldn't you just leave it alone?"
Movement was impossible. That gentle tug, firm but still something less than actual pain, so good to him, made moving or even thinking about moving impossible. It made breathing impossible.
I want you. I need you. I can give you something you want, Angel. And something I need as well. Something I want. "You're important," he croaked. "You deserve a -- a friend."
Angel did laugh at that - bitter, short. It was like a splash of cold water. "I don't deserve anything, nothing good. If you only knew..." He withdrew his hands and ducked his head, slipping his hand under Wes's legs and hauling him over his shoulder. The plan went like this - pick Wesley up, carry him down to the lobby and chuck him out the door. Then go, get very, very drunk, and pass out alone, thank God. It just didn't turn out that way.
Wesley nearly choked when Angel's grip changed. He knew exactly what Angel wanted -- he'd already threatened, so now Angel was simply going to remove the obstacle.
He knew that he had to do something drastic to get Angel's attention. But as soon as he felt Angel grab him, controlling his body as easy as he would a doll's, Wesley lost his restraint. He moaned, body going utter lax in Angel's hold until he was that rag doll Angel treated him as. His cock, the only part of him not boneless, pressed up against Angel’s shoulder, its identity unmistakable.
Angel stood, completely still, the weight and heat of Wesley's body bearing down on him. Wouldn't fight, wouldn't move, wouldn't do what he was goddamned supposed to. "Christ, Wes..." Burning into his shoulder, the length of Wesley's rigid cock was the total center of Angel's focus. Surrounded by the scent... He tried to shake it off, took a step toward the door - but the movement jostled Wes, settled him, made him slide down over Angel's shoulder, and the friction... A battle raged inside him, do or don't, and he stood, locked in indecision. "Wes... stop it..." he pleaded, total nonsense, but truth, all the same.
Wesley shook. His entire world was shaking. He'd told himself, promised himself, ordered himself never to give in to this. Angel's preferences came first, and Wesley was not to burden him with the magnitude of his selfishness. And to be here, now, pressed up against Angel's body and so hard, so hard. . .
They hung there, frozen, for a moment that stretched and lengthened like warm taffy. Then, knowing that something would be irreparably broken, Wesley whispered, "Make me."
No, no, no, groaned a tiny voice in Angel's mind. It's Wesley. I'm supposed to protect him, and he'd never forgive me if I... Even as he tried to push the idea away from him, the images flooded through his mind, and he got weak at the knees, just picturing it. Wesley on his knees, sucking, eyelashes fluttering with the pleasure of it. And he'd love it, he would, Angel knew he would... "Wes..." he groaned softly. "Don't make me..." Gently, carefully, Angel's hand touched one of Wesley's dangling calves, feeling the rough, starched fabric, fingers climbing slowly, so slowly, up to the back of the knee.
The tenderness was unexpected. Sensitive fingers curled around his flesh, telling tales of encounters that held no pain, no rough possessiveness. Only desire and appreciation and other things that Wesley had never once believed for himself. He'd learned long ago not to look for them, though convincing himself not to want them was nearly impossible. . .
Dead-weight over his shoulder, Wesley still managed to press his face against Angel's back and arse. "Yes," he said, Angel’s cotton shirt muffling the word.
Angel stood, stunned, feeling the burning hot flesh under his hand, searing him right through the fabric. Wesley, Wesley, it's Wesley, his mind kept screaming at him, but somehow it failed to sink in. He knew he should let Wes go - he was taking advantage of Wesley's trust, being selfish, dragging him back into a dangerous life for no better reason than that Angel wanted him. But the visions playing at full, pornographic volume in his head distracted him from the guilt, kept his fingers drifting further up, along Wesley's thigh, now, the urge to rip the cloth away surging through him. Quietly, feeling oddly vulnerable, Angel asked, "Do you trust me?"
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't." Did Angel still doubt that? After so long, after so much, did he honestly think that Wesley was still afraid of him? That he couldn't -- his thought broke off, moaning as Angel's fingers found a sensitive spot right underneath his arse. Wesley's hands closed in Angel's shirt, giving it a slight tug. "Angel ... please."
Still allowing his fingers to wander as they would, Angel savored the sound of the begging. It was satisfying, deeply, and he wanted more of it. The tiny voice (conscience) inside him was getting quieter and quieter, and the less it talked, the more Angel wanted to push. Push Wesley, little by little, and see how far he'd go. "What if I told you..." He paused, trying to think of something that wouldn't make his intentions obvious. "What if I told you to close your eyes?" Too subtle. "What if I blindfolded you... tied your hands together? Still trust me then?" He let his hand spread out over the soft curve of Wesley's raised ass and squeezed. "You know I've tortured people to death with less."
Wesley moaned again. It was impossible for him to grow more lax, but the possessive touch made him want to. "I know," he said quietly. He did, of course, know full well what Angel could do. The chronicles were full of Angelus' exploits, some of the highly detailed. The stories gained from those who'd met Angelus, and later Angel, only confirmed that the real thing was infinitely worse.
And he was handing himself to that.
There had to be a way to turn this to an advantage. Giving Angel the keys to his body and mind would only give him the opportunity to push Wesley further away. That couldn't be allowed to happen. And not just because Wesley feared what would happen to him, should Angel cast him out totally. He needed Angel, but Angel ... Angel needed him.
"Do you trust me?" he asked, voice so low only a vampire could've heard it, aching with things Wesley didn't recognize as part of himself. "If you told me to close my eyes, I would. If you blindfolded me and chained my hands together I would still trust you. But you would then be responsible for me, Angel."
It was awe-inspiring, that Wesley would trust him that much. That he'd know exactly what to say to make Angel instantly aware of how totally alone he was. That the scent of arousal poured off him, rich and strong, whenever Angel touched him. These were the reasons that Wesley came off of Angel's shoulder, held firmly in Angel's hands, and stood now on the floor.
Eyes locked, Angel's entire body challenged the man in front of him. "You're a fool." He was invading Wesley's space, holding fragile bones and muscle in his hands. "And now you have two choices." He pressed his mouth to Wesley's neck, hand tangling in the thick, brown hair again. "You either hit me, try to get away, try to run - and I promise, it won't work." He ran his free hand down Wes's back, pulling the slim hips into his own, grinding gently. "Or, you can kneel down, right now, and do exactly what I tell you." The next phrase was nothing less than an insulting verbal slap. "Since you trust me." Please. Please run.
If he ran now, Angel would truly be abandoned. There would be nothing left but seething resentment and bitterness. And he hadn't hurt Wesley. All of the growls and threats had been for nothing but the kind of touch Wesley would've happily begged for. Had begged for, truly, though Angel had been unaware of it.
Settling on his own feet, Wesley met Angel's gaze for a moment. Quietly, he assessed everything he saw in Angel's eyes, the dim lighting doing nothing to hide the seething mass of emotions -- need and hate, loneliness and disgust. Want. Caring, though Angel never would've called it that. Something that made him totally certain that this was the right thing to do.
His eyes didn't leave Angel's until his knees pressed against the flooring. Only then did he look down.
Angel was floored. He'd been sure that would work, sure Wes would run screaming... and yet. He'd used every trick in the book, every underhanded scare tactic he had... and yet.
Angel lightly threaded his fingers through Wesley's hair, drifting to the back of Wes's head and then gripping the soft strands hard. He pulled so the face turned upward, exposed. Looking down into Wesley's eyes, he felt so much that it settled into a din of noise inside his head, which he pushed away until he was clear, could focus.
"Open your mouth."
The hand on his head said control, the fingers toying with his hair, affection. His words, debasement of a kind that made Wesley's stomach twist with want. It was his voice, though, that he truly wanted to study. There were qualities in it that he'd never heard before. He didn't understand it, yet, the undercurrents swift and changing with each moment.
He trusted Angel, though. He did.
Without comment, Wesley opened his mouth.
Angel watched the pink lips part at his command, and nearly shivered. "Do you know how many times I thought about this? Dreamt about this? Wanted you so much, Wes..."
Angel drew the tip of one finger over Wesley's bottom lip before sliding it inside, feeling the softness inside. He traced over Wesley's tongue, his teeth, the little ridges on the roof of his mouth - caressing, smooth. Very gently, he slid his finger out... and then pushed it back in. "God, Wes, you're burning, you're so..."He let his other hand trace Wesley's neck, tempting himself by feeling the fluttering of the artery just under the skin.
Words like that could undo a man faster than any threats. Wesley forced himself to remain still, fighting the need to tremble and moan and swoon at Angel's feet. That wasn't what Angel needed, no matter how much Wesley may want it.
He couldn't stop his tongue from moving as Angel touched it, tasting as he was touched. He wanted so much to close his lips and suck. On anything that Angel gave him, only please. Please. . .
Wesley twitched under his finger, breath bathing him in moisture. He wanted it, Angel knew it. The musculature, the way he breathed in as though that would somehow give him more... This was a tease. A big, screaming tease for Angel, and the longer he drew it out, the more exquisite it became.
"Ever felt another man's cock, Wesley?"
Wesley nodded as much as he could without dislodging Angel's touch. Yes, he'd felt one. Once, long ago, before he'd been truly able to handle the needs and desires he had. It simply wasn't proper for young Watchers to require someone to use them in the manner Wesley wanted. It didn't show the proper discipline and confidence needed to control a Slayer.
That Wesley had preferred such control from a male hadn't gone over well, either. Oh, homosexuality was common in the Watcher's Council -- most were boarding-school trained, after all. But having a relationship with another man, that simply was not on.
He'd only done it the once, with another person, and that been the purest of accidents, neither one of them realizing the other wanted the same thing until they were already in bed together. They'd both woke the next more confused and upset over what they'd done -- he wondered, sometimes, whatever happened to Geoffrey. Where he was now.
For just a moment, the image of Geoffrey -- tall, broad shouldered and dark haired, with an open, laughing face -- superimposed itself over Angel. His body reacted immediately, the image banishing to reveal what Wesley truly wanted. Angel. Staring down with disdain wrapped in confusion and anger, eyes so dark. . .
Angel felt his control slipping, felt the urge to tear open his pants and thrust into Wesley's liquid warmth become almost overwhelming. God, I fucking hate myself.
He pulled his finger from the tempting lips and stepped back. Had to compose himself, had to get control of this situation. He closed his eyes for a moment, let the blackness there center him, focus his attention. When he opened them again, Wesley knelt before him, looking up at him.
Angel turned to one side and, with a few leisurely, slow paces, brought himself to Wesley's back. He reached out a hand, let his fingers drift over Wesley's ear, neck, nape. Every bit of skin was hot, the blood just under the surface. Wes's heart beat a sly staccato inside his chest. The words came from him like black oil, like a whisper of silk. "I want to see you naked. Take your clothes off."
Wesley's chest constricted, the silk and satin death in Angel's voice robbing him of breath -- will he'd lost long ago, when it came to Angel. Gooseflesh rose on his skin where Angel touched him. As he slid his unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders, Wesley's mind frantically tried again and again to convince him not to do this. That once he'd started, Wesley knew that he'd never be able to stop. This was the kind of addiction he'd always feared for himself, eschewing cigarettes for that reason. But Angel, oh god, Angel. . .
Undressing slowly helped hide the tremors, though he knew Angel could probably hear each vibration through his skin. It was difficult sliding his pants and undershorts off without rising from his knees, but a command he knew he'd not disobey forced him to figure out how. Lifting one than the other accomplished the task, twisting around to remove shoes and socks and -- and he was naked. Kneeling. Hard.
"Beautiful boy," Angel breathed. Wes was shaking, a leaf in November, slender body wanting to be touched. Angel felt dirty, contaminated - this pale, vulnerable man knelt naked at his feet, trusting and innocent, and he was going to...
He wasn't doing that. Couldn't do it. Wes knew what Angel was when he walked in here. He was a watcher, he read the books about Angelus, about what he'd done. Wesley knew.
"How does it feel, Wes? To be on your knees for me?" Wesley didn't speak, knew the question wasn't meant to be answered. Good boy. His tone grew hard, insinuating. "Wonder how long you've been after this. Wonder how long you've been watching me, waiting for a chance to get down on your knees, open your mouth for me. Has it been a few weeks, Wes? A few months?" He was stalking now, prowling around Wesley and letting the words drip down over the kneeling figure like poisoned honey. "Maybe longer. Maybe since before you ever met me. Was it like that, in the Watcher's academy? Did you page through the moldering tomes like Playboy, looking for pictures of handsome devils to keep you company?"
Angel took Wesley's chin in his hand and forced his head up. "Did you touch yourself? Hmm? In the dark, in your dorm, when nobody could see? Put your hand on your cock, Wesley."
His hand dropped instantly, his brain only aware of it seconds later when the shock of a touch there, where he'd denied himself for so very long, registered. He could feel himself gasping, breath wet and hot in his throat. Yes, yes, Wesley had wanted that. He'd learned long ago that with women he could, after a time, become the aggressor, the one who made the decisions. But never with men. Men were not supposed to feel affection towards him, only need. And now, here, with Angel, that need grew to danger. Because of all the men he'd thought about, the few he'd actually gone to -- Angel could hurt him the most.
Angel stroked his face, lightly, along the smooth cheeks with the tips of his fingers. He could scent the trace of fear fluttering under the arousal, and it was so sweet. "Don't move it, just hold it. I'm doing you a favor. If I let you free, if I don't control you, you'll come all over my floor, won't you? Just from this. You could come, just by hearing my voice."
He leant down, laid his cheek along Wesley's so his mouth just barely brushed the tender curve of the ear. "Such a little slut, aren't you? You know me. You know what I've done. But you still want me. Look at you."
Again, Angel stood, stepped up as close as he could to Wes's knees, and laid his palm over the darkly bulging fabric of his pants. "Want this, Wes? Want me to let you suck my cock?"
The need to made a noise -- whimper, moan, absolute denial -- vibrated in his throat. His cock throbbed in his grasp and in that instant, Angel's words were true. Without that hold he would come, just by hearing Angel call him a slut in that dark voice. Just by offering him what Wesley had wanted for so very long.
As much as he wanted it, though, this wasn't truly about what Wesley wanted. Not the way Angel understood it, anyway. Lifting his eyes in blatant challenge, Wesley stared. He didn't respond, crossing boundaries he couldn't bring himself to cross. He could only stare -- glare -- silently telling Angel what he thought. Goading him.
Take the bait, Angel. But please don't kill me for it.
Angel laughed at that, a dark, sinister sound. "That's quite a glare, for a man on his knees and naked," Angel said, sweet molasses and blood in his voice. Again, that lightning-fast motion, and he had Wesley's wrists, lifting them effortlessly, dragging Wesley to his feet.
"Maybe you're looking for something else? Want something extra?" One second, just one ticking of the clock hand, and Wesley was through the double doors, bent over, with his face pressed down into Angel's bed. Angel pressed his body against Wesley's, feeling the pale, shivering man beneath him pumping out pheromones, twitch with his fear and shock and lust.
"Have you been bad, Wesley? Have I caught you in your little fantasy, fumbling with yourself in the dark? You know me. You know what I do to people, what happens to them. You've forgotten your Watcher's lessons. Maybe you just need a better teacher."
The first slap, ringing through the room, was hard enough to send the prickling sting over Angel's palm as he pressed his erection against Wesley's side.
The shock of it was unexpected, despite the warning in Angel's voice. He gasped, jerking in an iron grip as his body rode out the wave of pain.
"Is that what you want to hear?" he murmured, using the smack to finally make his mouth work again. "That I'm forgetful and foolish? Will that keep you interested?" The in me was not spoken, but Wesley heard it in his head. He heard older litanies, too, patterns he'd though he'd given up when he first came to the United States. Then again, when he'd gone home -- or tried to. "Or perhaps you want me to be tarnished. Does that make it easier for you?"
Wesley's words hit him like fists. They bloodied him. Fucking Wesley, knew him too well.
"Shut up," he growled, perhaps too harshly. He smacked Wesley's ass again, but it lacked the punch of the first, more a reminder of who was boss here than anything. "You came to me, Wes. I warned you, told you to leave. I told you what would happen. You can't put it on me." He spanked Wes again, and this one was almost a caress. He laid his hand on Wesley's back, held him down.
The next words were pure challenge, undeniable. "You want this, Wesley, for me to beat you and hold you down and call you names until you finally beg me to fuck you. You want me. Deny it, and you're a liar."
Was Angel aware of how hurt he sounded? His anger, his rage -- all of it masked the kind of pain that made Wesley feel the need to curl up and cry. Naked and exposed to more than just greedy eyes upon his skin, Wesley very carefully did not move.
"I did come here, Angel, and never once did I say I didn't want this. But I know why I want it. Do you?"
"It doesn't matter," Angel breathed, barely even aware of what he was saying. He had to get Wes to stop talking, had to get him silent again. When he talked...
Angel let his fingers drift over the reddened skin, feeling so guilty for putting the marks there that he could barely see. He let his forehead drop down on Wes's back, feeling the smooth skin, so hot and flushed with Wesley's lingering arousal. Angel brought his lips down, kissed the heated expanse, tracing Wesley's spine down and down. "Just shh," he urged between kisses, between tentative licks. "Shh."
'Shh' would include the harsh sound of Wesley panting, would it not? The sudden change from angry seduction to confused affection left him aching, unable to keep up. But 'shh' he did, holding still as Angel placed cool, wet kisses along his skin.
Blessed silence filled the air, but Angel could only feel the relief of it for a few moments before replaying Wesley's painful questions in his head. The hell with that.
"Let me do this," Angel urged. "I'll make it good, Wes, make it everything you wanted." He kissed lower, toward the gentle rise of flesh at the small of Wesley's back, letting his tongue play over tender skin. He smoothed the downy hairs with his tongue, trailed it lower and lower until he felt Wesley's rounded ass under his tongue, tasted the sweat and musk. Kissing, then, he worked his way lower, over the super sensitized skin where he'd spanked Wesley only moments before, and lower, until his nose and mouth were buried in scent and flesh.
It felt good. It felt some massive word where 'good' was only an understatement. Angel was worshiping him, allowing the balance to shift when that was the last thing Wesley wanted -- and the last thing Angel needed. Angel wasn't supposed to find true love with Wesley, not even the affection of two friends. No, this was about power. About focusing wants and needs and desires and relieving them with screaming and blood and sex. And Wesley was going to give Angel that. He would.
"What I want?" he asked, ignoring the way his voice trembled as Angel began working him in earnest. "You've no idea what I want, Angel. You barely know what you want. First we're to have nothing to do with you, then you want to treat me as your bitch -- " and oh, did that word make him shiver -- "and then an object you supposedly cannot do without? Pick one, Angelus."
Face buried in Wesley's ass, Angel growled.
Full on vampire growl, rumbling through his chest and shoulders and fingertips. His fingers clamped tight on Wesley's thighs and wrenched them open, exposing Wesley's tenderest parts to Angel's gaze. "You want to play, boy? We'll play."
He ducked his head to Wesley's body and scented him, memorizing it. Days after Wesley had passed, weeks after he'd had sex in a given spot, Angel would be able to tell from now on. He dragged his face over the hot skin, let Wes feel the scrape of fangs over his thighs. Angel's mouth watered for the blood, he'd known it would.
"You have no idea," he snarled. "None." Angel raised his head, braced himself against the bed, and delivered a series of hard, stinging slaps to Wesley's ass, delighting in the way the resilient flesh sprung back against him.
Wesley didn't bother trying to muffle his cries. Not yet. Angel needed to hear his reaction, to know how deeply Angel was affecting him. And oh, god, how he was affecting Wesley. The power in that growl, the menace that tied torture and sex together with ribbons of molten heat. Wesley bucked as his arse was tanned a nice, even red. Bucked back, towards Angel's hand.
"Is this the menace of Europe?" Wesley asked when the barrage finally slowed. Tears shimmered behind his eyes, waiting but not yet falling. It didn't hurt that much, yet. "Or are you so used to weak, foolish people that you've no idea what to do with someone who has a little pain tolerance?"
He played a dangerous game, goading Angel like this. As grey as he was after Darla's games, there was a very real chance this could backfire. Spectacularly. But Wesley ... trusted.
God, he must shut up. Angel set a knee into the small of Wesley's back and pushed down. "Stay. There."
He lifted the knee, leaned down and swiped Wes's shirt up off the ground and, with a few sharp tugs, tore off a long strip. “Jesus, Wes, I thought you were a watcher. The scourge of Europe, didn’t you study? Well. If you can’t say something nice, you shouldn’t say anything at all.”
Oh, dear god. Angel's voice -- hints of hard cruelty and so mocking it fairly dripped -- went straight to Wesley's cock. Every hair on his body rose as worked past the bolt of lust and actually listened to Angel work with his now-ruined shirt. He was making a gag. If he did that ... shuddering, Wesley tried to fight his want for the restraint and the need to badger Angel into the appropriate frame of mind. He had to keep his ability to speak.
Which, of course, was why he said, "Oh, that's very strong, Angel. Tying up the poor human you can break in a second, if you wanted. Do my words hurt you so much?"
Angel paused. "Yes," he replied, voice quiet and sincere.
Angel was on Wesley in an instant, knee pressing him down into the bed. He wrapped the length of soft cotton around Wesley's head, tucking it into his mouth, but not tying it. He held the ends like reigns, holding the dark head up, firm but not painful yet.
"Don't want it, do you?"
Wesley didn't move. He knew his body gave the answer away, anyway -- he was so aroused the slightest touch would make him come, and his harsh panting wasn't of fear.
"No," continued Angel, in a soft, clear tone. "You want me to take it away, get rid of this cloth so you can have your mouth free again." He leaned in closer, tugged a little harder. "Maybe you've got a better way? Better way to gag you?"
The image of the thick, rubber ball gag he'd always wanted flashed through his mind. He said nothing, trying to relax his body so that Angel's twists didn't hurt as much. The gag grew damp, cloying.
"Because I can think of one." Carefully, he relaxed the cloth, let Wesley's head return to the mattress. Still, Angel kept the makeshift gag wedged in his mouth.
"You'd like it, I think. What was it you said earlier? I wanted to make you my... bitch?" Angel dragged out the word, playing it around his tongue like blood, or honey. Wesley shivered beneath him, and he could smell the arousal brought on by just that one word. "What if I made you suck me, Wes? That'd shut you up, wouldn't it?"
Wesley was so near to coming he ached with need. To be allowed to suck Angel off, to finally taste what he'd wanted for so long -- and hear Angel say those words ... Oh, yes, he wanted that. So very much.
Instead, he turned as much as his make-shift restraint allowed -- and glared.
Angel grinned. "I think you like the sound of that. I'm no Einstein, but I think I'm figuring out how you work, Wes. When I say something you want, you glare at me. When I do something you like, you won't stop talking. I just wish I could get you to say something better, something I want to hear."
Angel flipped Wesley over with ease, let his eyes slide over the naked body, hard and wanting. "So here's what we're going to do. Listen up, because this is the only instruction time you get. I'm going to tempt you, Wes. Gonna tease and tempt and otherwise make you crazy until you can't take any more. When that happens, you're going to beg me to give you what you want. If you do it well enough, I will. Understand?"
He'd forgotten how predictable he could be. Bugger. Forcing himself to go totally lax -- not that he could do so everywhere -- Wesley blinked up to the ceiling and didn't respond. So far, Angel was coming along beautifully. A half an hour ago, Angel wouldn't have cared what Wesley wanted and he certainly wouldn't have bothered doing anything but trying to remove the temptation.
"I'll take that blink for a yes."
Angel straddled Wesley's thighs and considered the expanse of raw, shivering need before him. Drawing cool fingers over Wes's belly, he whispered, low and smooth. "You will beg, y'know. And it's not me. I mean, not the centuries of experience in making men beg. It's you." Angel let his fingers drift along the baby-soft skin of Wesley's hips. "This used to be my favorite place to bite men, right here," he mused aloud. Wesley sucked in a breath, and Angel smiled. "Sorry, where was I? Oh, yeah. I was saying: it's you. You'll beg for me, Wesley, because you won't be able to stop yourself. You'd come, right now, if I just kissed you."
So lightly, so much he could barely feel the skin at all, he brushed his fingers over the tender bit of flesh just beneath Wesley's balls, then dragged that finger up, up, up, over the heated skin. Balls, base, rigid shaft, and finally slick tip of his cock, Angel slid up with the gentle touch of a musician.
Wesley's body remained unmoving only through the most stringent application of will. He had no idea how he remained silent -- he wanted to scream. To shout and moan and yes, beg, for everything Angel was giving him and more.
Except ... Angel already was wasn't he? He didn't require any begging. So Wesley swallowed and breathed shallowly through his clenched teeth. He could withstand this. Not forever, of course -- Angel was correct in that time would break him quickly. But for a little longer. Until Angel was as broken as he was.
Angel lifted his fingers to his lips. "Look," he gently ordered, and when Wesley's eyes reluctantly met his, he licked the tip of his finger, just once. The musky, salt flavor burst over his tongue, and he visibly savored it, licking his lips and closing his eyes. It was rich, human, full of life...
When he opened his eyes again, he felt dangerous. Wesley was staring, reaction building in his eyes, and Angel chuckled darkly. "Want it? I might, if you asked pretty enough. Come on, Wes. Beg me."
No. He would not. His throat vibrated with the need to make some kind of noise, but Wesley fought it.
Idly, Angel let his finger fall to Wesley's skin again, and drew it up the surprisingly muscular chest. "Figured you for skin and bones, ex-watcher and all." Angel had the tone of a man talking to himself. "Guess not. Good thing." He let the pad of his finger slide over one of Wesley's nipples, then let it slide just as softly over his side, his chest, his belly, and finally the other nipple, just tracing patterns on Wes's skin. "You surprise me. Thought for sure you'd be screaming for me by now. I know you want it, want me to fill your mouth up, let you suck on it. Don't you want it, Wes?"
Yes. Yes, please, I want it. I'll do anything for it. The words pressed against his teeth, fighting the clenched jaw he could not loosen. Tears swam in his eyes, but he did not let them fall. No. He needed to hold on as long as possible. Angel needed him to.
"I wonder," Angel mused, still tracing his fingers over Wesley's sensitive skin. "What if I did? What if I undid my pants, brought out my cock and just set it against your lips. You're being surprisingly stoic on this begging thing. Would you just lie there, and wait? Feel me trace your lips with it, let me push in, like I did before with my finger? Would you be able to stop yourself from closing your lips, from sucking me in? From licking me, holding me in your mouth and milking me with your tongue? From being my bitch? What do you think, Wes? Tell me." And he drew the gag from between Wesley's teeth.
Wesley opened his mouth, knowing that a direct order such as this must be answered -- it was part of the game. What the answer was, however, was up to him. He could tell Angel that he was being an insufferable little boy. He could say yes, yes, yes. He could scream for help.
"Apparently," he rasped, his voice suprisingly hoarse, "I was wrong about you. I thought you'd already know by now."
"I do know," said Angel, surprising himself with how honest that sounded. "I say it because I want you to hear it. I ask you because I want your answer."
He leaned forward and touched Wesley's lips with the same finger he'd used to torment him thus far, still slick with spit, teased the soft skin. "I want you to hear you beg for me, and mean it with everything you have. We could stay here for hours, I've got time. I'll do whatever it takes, because I want to hear it. How a man begs says so much about him. You don't really know someone until he begs you for something. I think I know you... but maybe I don't. Not as well as I thought."
"Let me hear it, Wesley. Beg me for something - whatever you want. I'll forgive you if you make a mistake." And with that, he moved his fingers to Wesley's nipples and pinched them both, hard enough to bring the blood rushing to the surface.
The pain felt like a knife, slipping under his skin the way the prior smacking hadn't. Wouldn't ever -- the slow burn was something Wesley craved as much as breathing. But this, to hurt him this way ... He gasped, jerking up, trying to get away from Angel's touch. Not because he wanted to be free of it, but because with it Angel could cut him closer than Wesley was prepared to go.
"And what shall I beg for," Wesley said. His voice trembled and shook, as fragile as a leaf in a gale. "I could beg you to learn manners. Or to listen to when your friends tell you things. I could beg you to talk to us. To let us help you."
Angel relaxed his grip, traced his hands down Wesley's ribs, light once again. He leaned down, blew cool air on the flushed skin. "I'm listening now. How do you know it won't help, if you talk to me now? I'm asking you."
Tenderly, he leaned even closer, lying on top of Wesley now, and drew his tongue over Wesley's right nipple. He could feel the intense heat of the skin, after the gentle abuse it had endured, and, with much effort, didn't bite.
Wesley couldn't breathe. His body strained against the bonds his mind created for it, arms and legs totally unmoving as he tried to make his mind work. He had to remain in control. Had to. "Angel ... " he begged. "Angel, please, I need ... "
"Need... what?" Angel breathed against Wesley's nipple, letting the cool air drift over the wet skin. He drew his head slowly off, left, toward the other nipple. "What do you want, Wes?" Closer... closer... He could feel the heat on his cheek.
You. Control. Someone else's control.
Wesley whimpered. The high, tight sound made him think of wounded animals trapped in the corner, unable to find a way out. He'd put himself here. He wanted to be here. Just not yet. Not so soon. He didn't know how to say the words Angel demanded from him. He didn't know how to let go of the tension he'd held tight since he was a child. Since he'd known ...
This was about Angel!
"God, please," he begged, as broken as butterfly wings, torn into strips.
Light, so light, Angel licked at Wesley's abraded nipple, soothing and arousing at once. "One day," he breathed, "I'll make you say it."
And then he rose up, using the demon's speed once more to move up Wesley's body, straddle his chest, and tear apart his own clothes. Belt and buttons and zipper all tore apart in his hands, shredded under his ruthless assault, until he finally held his cock in his hand. As soon as he touched, he realized how much he wanted the man beneath him, how urgent was the need to take his pleasure from those lips, which could twist his heart so effortlessly.
Gently, he touched the head of his cock to Wes's lips, felt the breath ghost over him, and shuddered. "Open your mouth, Wesley."
Something shattered the moment Angel accepted ... whatever it was Wesley had offered. He'd lost the thread of the conversation they were having and now there was nothing. Just listen and obey and try so hard not to come before Angel did.
His mouth opened with a creak of relief, tongue extending to taste.
The first touch of that tongue was fire to Angel, pure and intense. He pushed his hips forward, so small a movement, and let the tip of his cock push through Wesley's lips. Wes licked, too far, too much, fuck, fuck, clever tongue darting along the ridges and lapping him like candy.
Inside his mind, a tiny voice of sanity screamed at him. Can't do this, can't chance it, can't, won't, got to back up, get off, can't do it! Angelus!!
But Angel didn't want to listen to that voice, didn't want to give this up. For right now, in this instant, Wesley belonged to him. So the hell with it. There's no way I'm gonna be that happy anyway. Just go away, he told that sane little voice, and leave me alone.
Wesley couldn't think. For a man that had spent his life thinking far too much, the lack of voices clamoring in his mind was terrifying. The kind of silence he'd sought all his life boomed with in him, echoing with a single, focused determination: Angel.
No commands, but Wesley didn't need those. Not when Angel had pushed further into his mouth, giving Wesley the smooth dome of the head of his cock for him to play with. And play Wesley did: he used techniques he didn't know he'd known, playing with the rapidly vanishing foreskin before finally touching the very tip of his tongue to the dilating slit. Tasting Angel.
He felt that, felt the tiny flick right at the very tip. A twitch raced through his muscles, and he brought his hands to Wesley's head, threaded his fingers through the sable hair and held it in place as he thrust, once. It was gentle, but firm - Angel wanted in.
The sensation of Wesley's fluttering tongue gliding under his cock as he pushed into the heat of him was almost enough, and Angel paused, clenching his fingers in Wesley's hair to let him know - enough, wait. Angel gritted his teeth and waited for the surge of need to slow.
Reins. Wesley whimpered at the image of himself, on all fours, gagged with ropes coming from the sides of his mouth for Angel to control. He froze as he'd been 'told', his mouth growing hotter and wetter and needier as Angel tortured him with waiting.
He was caught off guard when Angel pushed his way forward. The blunt head filled him, stretching his jaw to the point of pain, pushing in farther than he could handle. He choked. Throat working until his eyes watered, Wesley tried to control himself so Angel wouldn't leave. Not when bitter musk and something metallic filled his tongue, his mind, his every sense. Angel.
Jesus, so hot, so good, so much, Wesley...
The nudge against his cock of the back of Wesley's throat was fucking heaven, and Angel barely resisted the urge to just thrust, just hammer into that welcoming mouth until he came, like he used... to...
Shock to his senses, rush of memory, and he pulled out of Wesley's mouth completely. He endured it, as he always did when it happened. Memory of so much pleasure...
But a tiny movement of Wes's head caught his attention, drew his eyes, fingers still tangled in his hair. Angel saw the silver tear tracks and brushed soft fingers over them, almost wistful. "I told you," he said, almost to himself. "You weren't supposed to be here."
He almost lost teeth in Angel's quick removal -- which would've been preferable to the kind of gut-wrenching rejection he felt. A bullet to the gut hurt less than the slow, rising burn of failure, wrong, so wrong, can't do anything at all right. Tears that had been from undue physical pressure changed to bitter humiliation. Even this, he couldn't do. Even for this, he was unwanted.
Almost, he said Obviously, on this too, I was mistaken. But that was petty and backhanded and it would give Angel all the license he needed. So instead he said nothing, naked and growing softer with every moment, hating himself for not being enough.
"But you're here now," Angel continued, still tracing Wesley's tears, feeling the wetness on his fingers. "I warned you, but you wouldn't leave. And now... now you'll do what I tell you. And if you don't like it... well, you can't say I didn't warn you, can you?"
His heart was breaking. To abuse Wes this way, when he obviously didn't want... But it had to be done. It was the only way that, once he left, he'd stay gone.
Hurt tearing through him, he gripped Wesley's hair again and pushed his cock between the swollen, pink lips.
He ... didn't understand. Angel sounded so sad as if this was breaking him apart. Was pandering to Wesley's base needs so painful for him? Wesley moaned as his mouth was filled again, and immediately started sucking, tongue slick and agile against the bottom of the shaft.
He couldn't help but study Angel's face as he sucked, working his head back and forth as much as his prone position allowed. He searched for clues to Angel's dismay -- and clues to his own success. Would Angel look less pained if Wesley were to do a better job?
Angel couldn't believe it, didn't know how it was possible for it to still feel this good. Slowly, the guilt over what he was doing began to melt in the heat of Wesley's body, strip away under the onslaught of his tongue. Angel thrust shallowly, gently, not wanting to hurt Wes despite all of it, and the slick suction all around him make his head swirl, his hands twitch in Wes's hair.
"God, Wesley..." His voice cracked under the pressure building in his cock, his belly, his fingers and toes. "Where... where did you... oh..." He heard the little noises of pleasure, high and broken, and couldn't stop them.
Wesley groaned in time with Angel's reactions. His flagging cock revived, harder than before. Angel was enjoying this. Finally taking the things Wesley had silently offered for so long. It wasn't the acceptance Wesley wanted -- but it was more than enough in its own right.
Wesley allowed his teeth to scrape very, very gently -- the Watcher's chronicles occasionally gave highly useful information. Everyone else called it 'lewd'.
"God, you're a pretty little slut, Wes, you know that?" The teeth made him growl, made his hair stand on end, made his teeth itch to sink into Wesley's flesh. He could feel the demon, bestial and hungry, so close to the surface, and for a moment felt something almost affectionate for the sensation. Want, want, want, it said, and Angel agreed completely.
Again, he pulled away from Wesley's mouth, and this time swung one leg over him, so he knelt by Wesley's side. He couldn't stop touching him - hands moved from hair to chest to belly to legs, and Angel saw Wesley's cock and wanted it, wanted to make it twitch and beg.
"Move up the bed and turn over. I want your pretty ass high in the air. Now."
Breath rattling with excitement, Wes scrambled onto his knees and into the position Angel requested. He trembled as he waited, probably visibly, his heartbeat loud in his own ears -- he could imagine that to Angel, it was deafening. His cock leaked clear fluid onto the bed; he watched it, mesmerized at the slightly fuzzy drip. His glasses had disappeared at some point and he didn't want them back.
Angel moved off the bed fluidly, hunting for something, anything, to ease his cock into Wesley's body. He was far gone, hurting Wesley, forcing him, but there was no way he'd hurt him that way.
Small voice, so small, whispering: too familiar.
He tore open a bedside drawer, fumbled around inside and emerged with, blessedly, an old tube of lubricant. He remembered buying it - red-faced with embarrassment, but unable to resist the lure of the packaging, proclaiming it 'self-heating'. He climbed back on the bed and worked himself right up behind Wesley, hips to hips, cock tucked firmly between heated cheeks. He felt Wesley tremble under him and was struck again with that intense guilt - but then the scent of arousal swirled into his head, and he smiled.
"Like that, hm? Want me, feel me already, stretching you open." He lowered his voice to a whisper, traced his fingers over the broad expanse of pale skin before him. "Do you feel me, Wesley?"
"Yes." The word was croaked, floating out on currents Wesley couldn't read any longer. He hadn't expected this. Not like this. The act itself he'd known was given, in this kind of situation. But he recognized the frantic fumblings of a man looking for something slick. And a man who took delight in drawing out the moment of perceived torture, working it past skin and bruised muscles to lay along the bone, seeping into veins and blood so it'd never leave again.
Wesley knew he was a patch-work. Too many expectations beside his own laying along his body.
His hips moved, back towards the cool hardness that lay behind him. God, yes, he wanted. He could imagine it -- had, in times past. He'd dreamed of it, what it'd be like that final moment as Angel took him. Sometimes the fantasies were romantic, more often they were brutal and harsh. They were never like this reality, hovering somewhere in the middle.
Angel pushed his hips against Wesley's, loving the feel of the hot flesh under him. "I can feel you," he said, voice subtle, designed to work into his victim's head, fill his mind with images, scents and sounds. "I smell your need for me, I hear the way your cock drips onto my quilt. Beautiful slut, pretty bitch, that's what you are. You're dying for me to take you... fuck you. You can't hide it, even though you want to."
He trailed his fingers lightly over Wesley's back, drawing them down over his ass and pulling himself away, giving himself room to work. With quick movements, he covered his fingers with the lubricant - which wasn't warm - and reached for Wesley.
When he touched his fingers to the tight bud of muscle, he felt Wesley jump, and smiled with the instant reaction. He smoothed the wetness over the skin, not dipping below, and when Wes was covered with it, Angel withdrew his hand, left Wes kneeling, shivering. He let the seconds tick by, waiting until Wes was moving, tensing and fidgeting with the need to be touched, near crazy - and then he reached underneath, between Wesley's legs, and stroked his cock, tip to balls, in one long, unhurried sweep.
Dear god, he was going to come. Explosively. That very moment. Stopping the orgasm nearly killed him, the ache of blue balls a fond memory -- Cordelia being the last in a very long line of similar fantasies -- as the pain set up along his spine and slithering down into his gut. He panted roughly, shivering, his body so tensed that he knew he was going to lock that way and never move again. He would wait for Angel forever.
He could smell the desperation, feel the change in the air as Wesley's balls drew up tight to his body. Time to get the hell on with it.
Angel slid one slicked finger deep into Wesley, pushing in strong and hard. The stretch, the close tension around his skin - God, it was heaven. He wanted in. But he wouldn't hurt Wes, could never hut Wes, had to prepare and make sure and Jesus, God, was waiting always this hard?
To distract himself, he talked, driving his finger back and forth in Wesley's body, loosening him. "You feel good, Wes, tight around me. You're so tight... nobody's been here, not for a long time, I bet. Beautiful Wesley, you're only a dirty whore for me, aren't you? Saved it, until I wanted it, and now that I do, you'll take me any way you can have me - in your mouth, fucking your ass... cock-hungry slut, just for me."
Second finger, widening, stretching, opening. Mine.
Yes, yes, yes, Wesley's mind chanted since his body couldn't. His body was too busy finding air to breathe, not worrying about how right Angel's words were or how a lifetime of repression and shyness translated into exactly what Angel wanted it to be. Waiting. For this. To be told exactly what he'd always known he was, harder for the audible confirmation. Wanting more.
God, "Please," he groaned, only aware of it after he heard himself speak. "Angel. Please." His voice was too high, too soft, too weak. Too right.
Third finger, opening, more, more, more, until Wes was finally ready, could finally take him, and the anticipation was fucking murder.
And then Wes begged. "Please... Angel, please..."
There was no holding back after that. Fast as he could, he slicked his cock and pressed up behind Wesley's hips. "My pretty bitch," he groaned, sliding the tip of his cock around the reddened, waiting hole, pushing gently. "You're mine, Wes. Mine. I'll fuck you any time, anywhere I want." In, in, in, gentle pressure, needing more, slick heat parting for him, letting him in, letting him have. "Jesus, Wes. I'll bend you over my desk, fuck your mouth in the lobby, in front of everyone if I want, and you'll do it, won't you? Fucking beautiful little thing, sucking me off for anyone who wants to see. God, yes..."
And then his hips touched Wesley's ass, and he was there, inside, like... God, there were no words.
"Yes. Oh, yes." The pain was intense. He'd never had anyone this way, no matter how much he'd wanted or how many toys he'd played with. The thought of trusting someone enough to let them, to hurt him without breaking him -- and that trust, feeling it thrum through him, was what ached now. The slick and slip and slide of Angel was glorious.
"Yes, Angel," he promised, his body proof and collateral. "Anytime. Anywhere." Show the world that prim and proper stick up his arse Wesley really was the whorish slut he'd known himself to be. He could almost feel the eyes of his friends -- Cordelia, Gunn, random clients -- as he was taken hard and fast by Angel. Like now. "More."
'More', he'd said. More he'd have. Fast, too fast, Angel withdrew, and then rammed back in again, slapping against Wesley's skin, pushing him forward on his hands. "Beautiful slut, my beautiful..." The visions danced in his head - Cordy's annoyed hip-twitch as she walked out, Gunn's wide eyes, staring at the spectacle on the big round couch. Wesley - dark lashes sweeping over his cheeks, lips stretching over pale cock, hands gripping hips for balance. Little moans of pleasure, nobody could deny. Flushed and pink.
Like now. Wesley's back was covered in that pale blush, the back of his neck almost red. Shivering and beautiful. His.
I don't deserve this.
He knew it. Knew he was defiling Wesley just by touching him, damning him, screwing him in every possible way. But it was too good to give up, felt too good to stop, so he drove into the hot flesh again, and again, wanting and taking and having. The pleasure flooded his body, and he strained to keep it back, hold onto this for as long as possible - just keep fucking Wesley until everything else went the hell away.
Wesley grunted with each slam of Angel into him. Tears dripped down his cheeks to mix with sweat and only on a particularly harsh thrust did he realize he wasn't just crying. He was sobbing. Each push of Angel inside him meant more of the walls he'd created for himself shattered. Each shard and piece cut free until Wesley felt shivery cold in the kind of winds he'd hidden himself from when he'd been a child.
"Angel, please. Please," he begged, fast losing the ability to speak. "I'll d-do it. I want it. T-take me while we're working. Just reach out and shove me down and in and god, please, Angel, please." He sobbed again, nearly hiccupping.
Angel could smell the tears, but the words were all that mattered - I want it, please, take me - and the pleasure was too much, too intense. It was coming, he could feel it, Sword of Damocles, inevitable. Rushing and surging, his blood raced through his body, and it was only a matter of time, just a matter of time, any time now...
Barely thinking, he reached out with his hands, took Wesley by the shoulders and yanked him upright, into strong arms that held him close. Angel felt Wes burn against his chest, heard the blood coursing through him, pounded into his ass with need and heat and a total, frightening absence of thought...
So close, just on the edge, and he wanted Wes coming with him, wanted to feel him, taste him, everything. He snaked a hand down and curled it around Wesley's cock, drove into him hard and fast, pulled at the throbbing, wet flesh. And when his body tightened and the orgasm hit him, he laid his blunted, imperfect, human teeth against the skin of Wesley's shoulder and bit.
Wesley screamed. Men weren't supposed to scream -- it didn't sound nearly as theatrical as a woman's. There were no comparisons to larger cats hunting their prey. Just pain and the scent of blood that had nothing to do with the teeth embedded in his shoulder, and the horrible sound of a man finally breaking into pieces.
It was bliss, blinding bliss, nothing in the world but the beautiful sound of...
As the world slowly came back, a horrible reality began to permeate Angel's mind. There was a taste in his mouth - perfect, wonderful, excellent, better than anything for months, for years.
He tasted Wesley.
His head jerked back, and he saw the reddened teeth marks - shallow, really, but welling with tiny droplets of blood here and there. The sheer horror of it blasted through him, and he scrambled back, nauseous at the pleasure that rippled through him when he slid out of Wesley's body.
Wesley slid onto the bed bonelessly. He felt ... wonderful wasn't quite the right word. There was too much pain and too many unhealed wounds to call it wonderful. But he understood now why orgasm was called the Little Death. He had died. The part of him he'd wanted rid of for so long was gone and he was ... free.
His body refused to move, but he still managed to send a hand groping outward, trying to find Angel.
Wes collapsed on the bed, that hand groping to push Angel away... God, he would remember this scene for years, decades... one more in the endless litany of hurt and wounded by his hands, even when he hadn't meant to, even with the soul, so what difference did it make...?
He had to get away. Had to make Wes safe, get away from him so he'd be safe. God, he felt like shit.
"Wes..." he choked out, "God, Wes, I'm so sorry... I hurt you, I didn't mean to, I just... I'm so..."
Couldn't do it, couldn't say it. Such a coward. Angel ran from the room, away from Wesley. Protecting him. Saving him.
The despair cut through his lassitude. Struggling to get his body functional, Wesley sat up -- just as Angel disappeared. "What the bloody hell?" he asked the empty room. Angel had gone. Some nonsense about hurting him and ... Wesley reached around to touch the back of his shoulder, where a perfect set of imprints curved through his skin.
Dear lord. Had he given Angel his moment of perfect happiness? No. That wasn't possible, Wesley was certain of that. But ... was Angel afraid that he was about to lose his soul? That he'd left to try and prevent that from happening?
He had to believe that. Because if he didn't, Wesley knew the shattered bits of himself would never be put together again.
Wobbling on weakened, sticky legs, Wesley hobbled to the restroom and cleaned up. There was no one there to see his nude state, so he tottered back, still nude, before fumbling into his clothes.
Then he left. Angel would come back. Angel always came back, like that accented lummox on the screen. Angel wouldn't leave. Wesley clung to that thought, knowing it was all that could save him.