by Yseult deBreton
RATING: R (m/m sexual situations)
TIMELINE: Set just after "Sanctuary"
SUMMARY: He knew that Angel didn’t love him, but this hadn’t been a mercy fuck.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Thoughts are in italics. Thanks to Rhi for help with the (ahem) sex and Cerisaye for asking the obvious questions and the critique on the um... the um... well, she knows what she was critiquing!.
DATE OF COMPLETION: 7 August 2003
DISTRIBUTION: List archives, Yseult’s Passion, and my permission.
DISCLAIMER: Last time I checked, characters didn’t belong to me.
FEEDBACK: Always welcome. Send it firstname.lastname@example.org
I could get used to this, thought Wesley. He lay on his stomach, one arm thrown lazily over Angel’s pale form. Human fingers gently smoothed cool unblemished skin. Angel was asleep, or so Wesley guessed. It was hard to tell without doing something purposeful. I could ask. But that would shatter the spell.
Wesley was here by chance. A poor man’s substitute for love. He had been in the right place at the right time. Except… it wasn’t all chance. In spite of Faith's actions, Wesley did believe that Angel had been right to help her. That's why he had taken Buffy to the police station. But after… Wesley had deliberately shadowed Angel. His employer, his friend, was reeling from a Slayer double whammy. Faith was in jail; Buffy had professed her love for someone else. Wesley had seen Angel wince as the blonde Slayer stormed out of the police station. The vampire’s crumpled face and devastated stare were quickly covered by his bitter comments, but Wesley had glimpsed the pain. In that instant, Wesley’s future changed.
The drive back to Angel Investigations was filled with meaningless conversation and random silence. When they arrived, Angel walked blindly through the offices and waited for Wesley to join him in the caged elevator. In the basement apartment, he splashed scotch into two tumblers. In tandem, both glasses were emptied and refilled. Somewhere around the fifth glass (it might have been the sixth), Wesley heard the word "kiss." He wasn’t sure who said it. He suspected it was Angel; it might have been him. Regardless, Wesley interpreted it as an invitation. He leaned awkwardly across the couch and kissed Angel. It wasn’t a world-ending Buffy and Angel kiss. In truth, it resembled what it was: a sloppy, half-drunk kiss that was supposed to bestow comfort. Angel did not respond. Wesley retreated to his side of the couch and downed the remnants of the bottle. When the last drop of fiery liquid trickled down his throat, he raised his eyes and saw Angel staring back.
"My apologies. That was rather presumptuous." Apologies were second nature to Wesley. He had spent his life apologizing for his inadequacies and incompetence. He could formulate an apology for any event on a moment’s notice. "And not particularly well done."
"Yes." Angel’s response was slurred although his eyes were clear. He focussed on Wesley’s lips.
"I could try again," Wesley offered. He waited for Angel to agree or disagree. Hearing nothing, he assumed it was acquiescence. This time Wesley let his tongue briefly rest against Angel’s lips before drawing each lip into his mouth and sucking delicately. He released Angel’s warmed lips and waited.
"Shhhhh." Angel’s tongue swept the interior of Wesley’s mouth. The kiss was passionate, yet carefully controlled. His fingers traveled along Wesley’s jaw and anchored themselves in his hair. The kiss lengthened and deepened, and Wesley thought I have never been kissed. Angel’s mouth devoured him; he didn’t want it to end. Wesley gingerly rested one hand on Angel’s tapered waist and pulled him closer.
At some point, Wesley realized that kissing Angel’s chest was like kissing velvet. It was soft and cool with a hint of texture, yet it had no taste. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. There was no hint of perspiration or lingering scent of soap. He could smell the laundry detergent on Angel’s shirt, but his skin hadn’t picked up the odour.
He squinted at the bare nipple before him. It was puckered and erect from Wesley’s unceasing attention. Angel’s shirt covered his other nipple, but Wesley knew it was identical to this one. He had nursed from Angel until the vampire had finally broken his silence with a throaty moan. Wesley would never have guessed that nipples could be so succulent.
Their arms and legs were jumbled on the couch. In the dimly lit room, it was impossible to separate them. Wesley sat up, roughly pulled Angel’s shirt from his body, and tossed it to the floor. He’d lost his own shirt earlier. The buttons from his shirt were scattered throughout the room. He would need to borrow one of Angel’s before he went home.
Wesley slid the palm of his hand down Angel’s chest. Slowly he skimmed over the belt buckle and halted on the muscular cloth-covered thigh. His fingers drew tight circles on the fabric as they inched closer to the zipper. The alert part of his mind still waited to hear "no" or "stop". But Angel hadn’t uttered a word since he’d kissed Wesley, and that was perfectly fine with him. Speech was never part of his fantasy.
There was a rapid fumbling before Wesley’s cock was suddenly free and wrapped in Angel’s hand. Wesley’s groan was equal parts relief and pleasure. Angel’s fingers were firm and confident. Under their guidance, Wesley’s cock begged for resolution.
In contrast, Wesley’s hands were clumsy and inept. When he finally touched Angel, his fingers blatantly explored every centimeter with graceless finesse. He was fascinated by the protective sheath covering the vampire’s large cock. He pushed back the foreskin and watched as the head swelled before him. In Wesley's wildest dreams, Angel was naked and churning beneath him. Wesley decided that reality was better; for starters, it was three-dimensional. Secondly, as inane as it sounded, it was real.
His thumb wiped the drop of Angel’s precum and brought it to his mouth. He was surprised to discover that it tasted salty and sweet, like a human’s.
"You have taste," he uttered.
Angel pushed one of the bed’s pillows under his head and regarded him with a slight smile.
"I mean," Wesley stammered. "This. It." He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together and tasted them again. "It has taste."
Angel shook his head and pushed Wesley backwards. He kissed a line from Wesley’s nose to his cock. He stopped along the way to pay extra attention to the artery pulsing in Wesley’s neck, the soft spot at the base of his throat, the tip of each nipple, the swirl of his navel, the fragile skin of his sac. When Angel’s lips closed around his shaft, the human almost came in the vampire’s mouth. Wesley was unable to squelch the "Good God" that escaped his lips as Angel’s mouth journeyed up and down his suddenly enflamed cock. Angel teased him mercilessly, driving him to the brink of orgasm several times before giving him what he needed. Wesley would have sold his soul for that orgasm. He wasn’t sure that he hadn’t.
When Angel flipped him onto his stomach, his sated body complied happily. As Angel’s oiled fingers fluttered down his back and slid between his buttocks, Wesley idly wondered if he should worry about his safety. Vampires were rumored to bite during sex. He glanced over his shoulder and noted that the hovering vampire still didn’t look half as drunk as Wesley felt. Then Angel smiled at him, and Wesley thought He’s beautiful.
The sex had been … "fucking awesome" was a phrase he’d once heard Cordelia use. It seemed completely appropriate. Angel was a giving lover. Wesley had never been with anyone who didn’t immediately show him to the door once they were done. The accumulated scotch had finally found him just before Angel coaxed a fourth orgasm out of him. Wesley lay spent on the bed. His body ached all over. He didn’t even want to think about the impending hangover.
He glanced at Angel who lay beside him. The sheet covered the vampire’s lower limbs. In the light from the outer room, Wesley could see the muscles of Angel’s arms. His dark hair contrasted sharply against the white pillowcase. Wesley buried his nose in Angel’s hair; he could smell shampoo, gel, perhaps even hairspray. He felt totally and completely satisfied and content. He’d never experienced this before.
Wesley rested his stubbly cheek on Angel’s tattoo. He wasn’t foolish. Angel didn’t love him, but this hadn’t been a mercy fuck. He’d analyse it later when he had less alcohol in him. Right now, right now, I just want to enjoy this.
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