| Fan Fiction > Fallen Angel -- Chapter Eleven | by Amara Morrigan |
12/10/2005 |
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Title: Fallen Angel
Pairing: Angel/Wesley
Rating: NC-17
Setting: Part way through season 3, alternate universe type of thing (wherein I would take a different road than Joss...because last I checked, I wasn''t Joss....)
Disclaimer: If wishes came true, Angel and Wesley would live in my closet, and I would play with them mightily...but alas...they do not
Feedback: gladly accepted...
Summary: Wesley works to understand what the spell did, and how to fix it, while he and Angel are isolated in the office. Blood leads to sex...and the revelation that Wesley plans to call in magical assistance, in the form of Willow. These things combined set Angel off on a memory...and reasoning out his feelings for Wesley.
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Wesley Wyndham-Pryce was not a man who admitted defeat easily, but the longer he worked the more he realized he was in well over his head. The text of the original scroll was difficult to translate, except for the bits he had already known. The spell he had constructed from those bits was pretty straightforward, at least at first blush.
Fourteen hours he had sat in his office pouring over the materials and he was only just beginning to have a notion what his spell had actually done. Angel was back to pacing around the hallway outside the door, never actually passing the open doorway, but Wesley could feel him.
At least he was moving now, without help. He had been afraid that the incident at the hotel would set his recovery back, but Angel seemed to finally be on the road to returning to himself. Wesley sat back, dropping his glasses on the desk and rubbing at his eyes. His stomach rumbled and he stole a glance at the clock.
As if in echo, Wesley got an overwhelming sense of hunger from Angel as he neared the door. Wesley smiled. “Angel.”
Angel’s head peered into the room and Wesley beckoned him in. “You must be famished. You haven’t fed since we left the apartment.”
Angel looked at the floor, unwilling to admit his need. “I’m okay, Wesley. You don’t need to—“
Wesley was across the floor and in front of Angel, putting one finger over his lips to silence him. “I never needed to Angel. I chose to.”
He kissed Angel lightly, drawing him into the room and over to the low leather couch. He sat and Angel came with him. Wesley kissed him again, a little more deeply this time, his hands inviting Angel’s out to play, moving them up over Wesley’s chest, before Angel took the lead, circling around to Wesley’s back and pulling him close. Wesley relaxed into him, sliding one leg up over Angel’s until he was effectively straddling Angel’s lap.
Finally breaking their kiss, Wesley looked into Angel’s eyes. Even without the inexplicable emotional connection between them he would be able to see the uncertainty, the desire, the fear that danced in them. “I trust you,” he whispered, barely mouthing the words. He felt the break in Angel’s resistance, a sinking of his fear. Despite everything they had been through together Wesley did, in fact, trust Angel with his life.
Slowly, deliberately, Wesley removed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the skin along his collar bone and neck. In his fantasies, when he’d allowed the indulgence, this was how it happened, first he’d offered his neck to Angel as a show of trust and affection. Then there was touching, groping…Wesley guided Angel forward with one hand.
His first touch made Wesley shudder, soft lips against tender skin, just over the pulsing rush of blood that Wesley offered him. Several long kisses…just a touch of tongue. Wesley’s face flushed, unleashing the craving in him for this intimacy. His desire filled the room, pulling Angel in. Wesley felt the transformation, the soft lips replaced by sharp teeth, the smooth cheek gone tough against his. “Wesley.” Angel hissed through his fangs.
Wesley pressed himself closer to Angel, his hardening cock brushing against Angel’s in response. There was a long pause, then the tiniest sting as Angel’s teeth sank into him. Wesley’s eyes fluttered shut, his hands loosening as he fell into the ocean of fire that passed between them.
The only thing more intimate than that moment was the next, as Angel’s hands pushed his shirt from him, fumbling a little with a slow button, his movement urgent but not rushed. He drank slowly, like a kiss, deep and sensual, even as his hands pressed against the heat of Wesley’s skin.
Wesley moaned as those hands found the spot on his back that made him weak and Angel’s mouth moved from his neck to trail kisses along his collarbone, leaving slight tracks of blood to mark his way. His second bite, in the graceful curve of Wesley’s neck was enough to make Wesley come, his body shuddering in Angel’s arms. “Angel.”
Angel pushed them forward, off the couch onto the floor. His hands moved down over Wesley’s hips, cupping his ass, then back around to the zipper. His mouth slipped away from Wesley’s neck and Wesley whimpered. It took a moment of delicate maneuvering, but Angel managed to remove Wesley’s primly pressed pants and pull his own down. Wesley was still semi-erect, his desire plainly written on his face. Angel kissed him, his teeth catching slightly on Wesley’s lip before he let the vampire face fade and deepened his kiss.
Angel moved so he was between Wesley’s legs and bent to kiss down his neck to the still oozing wound. “Want,” he whispered before his tongue dipped down into the wound and his cock slid into place at the opening of Wesley’s ass. Wesley moved his head in a gesture of offering, pushing his neck closer to Angel’s mouth, and moved his ass in a way that let Angel slip inside of him.
As Angel moved slowly into him, he bent back to the wound. Wesley could feel the slow pull of blood out of him, the slow push of Angel into him and his eyes fluttered closed. This was familiar, intimate and familiar. Angel kept his movements slow. Wesley could feel him holding the fear at bay, fighting a memory of using Wesley’s affection and desire against him, breaking Wesley body and spirit before turning Wesley, Wesley could see it all, behind the sensations as his body rode toward another climax, as Angel neared his own.
Wesley slid hands up Angel’s chest, around to his back. He had stopped drinking, his face resting on Wesley’s shoulder as he fucked him. “Angel…” Welling up within his orgasm Wesley felt love, anguish, guilt, and Angel’s own rush of orgasm, emotions that seemed to multiply and intensify as they played back and forth between the two of them and their bodies moved together. Angel cried out first, throwing back his head as he came and Wesley followed, his body clenching tight before he melted into the floor.
Angel’s tears didn’t surprise Wesley when he sat up, but his own did. He reached out to touch Angel’s face, wiping at his cheek. “There now, we’re both just fine.”
Angel smiled and wiped Wesley’s cheek in response. “Maybe.”
Wesley chuckled. “I’m proud of you. No flashbacks.”
Angel looked away, clearly struggling with memories surfacing. “It’s not easy.”
Wesley held his hand and brought it to his lips to kiss it. “No, I know it isn’t.”
“It’s very real.”
Wesley nodded. “I know, I’ve seen.” His own experience was still vivid in his mind. “I haven’t seen all of it, so I can’t know…but Angel-“ It was Angel’s turn to stop him with a kiss, soft and tasting vaguely of blood.
“I know Wes, I know.”
Wesley sat back and nodded. “Then perhaps you’re ready for the next step.” Angel looked at him with confusion. “I’m hopelessly out of my reach with this scroll. I need to call in reinforcements.”
“Willow.” Angel said it hollowly, and sank onto himself a little.
“Willow.” Wesley agreed, searching Angel’s face. It meant more than just Willow, though Wesley had seen a little of what Angel had done to her in his false memory. With Willow came all the baggage of Sunnydale. They hadn’t discussed it yet. Buffy’s death had shocked all of them, and Willow had been the one to bring the news to Angel.
It had been the last blow in a battle Angel hadn’t even been aware he was fighting. By the time that news came that she had returned from the dead, Angel was gone. Wesley looked away sharply, realizing he hadn’t yet told Angel.
“Before I call her, we should talk about—“
“Buffy.” Angel’s voice was soft, hurt.
“Yes.” Wesley touched his face and tried to get him to look up. “She’s alive, Angel.”
Angel, met his eyes briefly. His own burned with hope and fear at the same time. “How?” He got to his feet, pulling his pants back into place and pacing away. “I mean, I am right in remembering that she was dead.”
Wesley nodded slowly. “Yes. She was. She sacrificed herself to save the world.”
“Back to my first question. How?”
“Willow.”
“Wow.” Angel walked around the office, his thoughts scattered, his emotions jumping from one extreme to another, even as Wesley reached for his own pants and pulled them on.
“Yes, she’s become quite a powerful witch. She had a brush with evil after the death of Tara, but she’s better now, at least that’s what I understand from Giles.”
“Giles.” Angel stopped his pacing and turned toward Wesley. “Giles. Is he—No…He’s fine, right?”
Wesley found his shirt and started putting it on. “Last I spoke with him he was. That was…last month, I think. Why?”
Angel shook his head. “I was…cruel…to him.” His eyes were closed and Wesley could sense the memory playing out behind them. It was partly true, brought out of the memory of Angelus when the love between Buffy and Angel had led to that moment of perfect bliss, and then embellished.
Wesley crossed the room and took Angel’s hands, kissing the large palms to draw Angel’s attention back to him. “That was a long time ago, and it wasn’t you…it was Angelus.”
“Call Willow.” Angel paced away and out into the hallway, leaving Wesley alone in an office that seemed far too quiet suddenly.
Angel could taste her, feel her blood coursing through his body, filling him with the strength that only a slayer’s blood could provide. Her body hung lightly in his arms, surrendered to his lust, to his greed. She wasn’t dead yet, but she would be soon. She had come when he called her, because he had said he needed her.
He decided to send her body back to her beloved Watcher, the only other man she had ever really belonged to. Maybe as the start of his next move. As he remembered, Giles was interesting to torture.
His eyes moved to the dark blue ones staring at him from the closet. Wesley wasn’t really seeing, so dazed by his loss of blood and the endless atrocities Angel had subjected him to that he was only nominally conscious, but Angel like his eyes open and pointed at him while rocked his body against Buffy’s. He looked so lost without his glasses and suit, his body marked with bite marks and
bruises.
“Cheer up, Wesley. You’ll get your turn soon enough.”
Buffy’s eyes opened, pleading with him. “Angel,” she whispered. He licked his lips.
“There now, it will all be over soon.” There was the smallest hint of an Irish brogue in the words as he leaned in for the kill. When he raised his face again, Buffy was dead, and he had found a new inspiration. He dropped her lifeless body to the floor and went to Wesley’s side. “Imagine his surprise when he opens his mail and finds a Slayer Vampire in it.” Angel said, pointing at Buffy. Her blood burned inside of him. He wanted more. For the moment however, she was dead. He’d have to act fast if he was to get her to Giles before that changed.
Angel shook off the memory as he paced. As much as he knew it wasn’t real he could taste her in his mouth. It brought a cascade of other images, faces of those he had loved, and killed. Buffy had been the beginning. He had taken Wesley to Sunnydale and watched as Buffy woke, and Willow had barely escaped her…only to run into Angel.
He was stronger now than he had been, but he was no more than a pawn to Naan’s manipulation, as the incident at the hotel had shown. Wesley was so much stronger than Angel had ever imagined…what Wesley had been through, what Angel had in reality done to him…it seemed unbelievable that he should still trust Angel, much less love him.
For his part, Angel had been aware that Wesley had strong feelings for him, and that they weren’t all employer-employee feelings, or even the kind of feelings between friends. His own affection for the bookish Englishman had been originally based on his expertise, his ability to translate demon languages, and his eagerness to please. It had grown into a friendship that had outlived a reversion into Angelus because of a drug, and who knows how many bad moments, bad decisions and threatening apocalypses.
It had taken Naan’s dissection of his memory for him to recognize his attraction for Wesley though, and his treatment of Wesley in the fantasy she induced had cemented the feeling. Even now, when he was repulsed by everything he had thought he had done, those moments with Wesley, when he had drank from him, forced him into submission and fucked him hard, those images still stirred him, aroused him.
He had held it at bay while he was with Wesley, but only barely. In his false memory he hadn’t held back, he had used every ounce of desire and the strength of his unnatural body to hurt Wesley for the crime of loving him…and when Wesley was broken, bleeding and as close to death as Angel could take him without killing him, Angel had offered him the opportunity to turn. At first he had thought Wesley would refuse, but in his warped sense of truth, Wesley loved him so much he would follow him past hell and into the life of the very monsters he had spent a lifetime fighting.
Angel stopped pacing. Wesley had hung up the phone. It was done. Willow would be there the next day. Wesley emerged from the office, his books and the scroll neatly bundled under his arm. “We should probably get back to the apartment, relieve Fred and Gunn.”
Angel nodded tightly, shuttering up the memories and trying to find a smile for Wesley. Wesley deserved that. Wesley saw through it though, and moved to kiss Angel. “It will be okay,” he whispered, putting his free hand around Angel and pulling him close. “I promise.”
Angel shivered, feeling Wesley’s presence wrap around him like a comforting quilt on a cold winter’s night. He let it cover him, buffer him from the pain. It felt inviting and warm, safe. He hadn’t felt safe in a long time. |
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