Morning Will Come by Criss Moody

In the English language, there exist many words that are said easily, if you have no sense of what you are saying. Words like love, hate, fuck, me, you, us, forever, never roll off the tongue into life simply and fluidly when the person saying them is intensely aware of how much impact just one word can have. Often, a fierce battle is fought between what must be said and what might be better left unsaid, what is destiny and what is needed.

Wesley had fought this inner battle, and he had come out the loser, though he preferred to think of his role as the noble conquered, voluntarily giving up petty wants and desires for the better of all. He was not, however, righteous enough to forsake every bit of the bittersweet joy he had so recently discovered without once more tasting of the fruit, forgive the cliché.

Thus, he lay encircled within his love's arms, breathing deeply of the spicy, cool, and luscious scent of his lover. For the time being, Wesley's mind was blissfully free of thought. There was very little room for deliberation left. The decision had been made. It was, after all, the right thing to do.

The slimmer, taller man turned into his lover, shifting so that his sated penis nudged the muscled hip of the hunky vampire. A hand lazily stirred in his hair, and cool lips leaned down to kiss the head which was moving down the vampire's body. Wesley grinned as he nipped his lover's belly button and Angel bucked his hips in answer. Two hands slid into his hair as he sank onto the eager early-morning erection. Wesley let his hands slip up under Angel's lower back to caress and tease the flesh there. Gently, sweetly, the mortal first laved the cock with broad sweeps of his tongue, then moved onto light nips up the underside of the pulsing flesh. A sigh whispered from Angel's lips as his lover's mouth popped in the cool head the vampire's erection. With swift, brutal strokes of his tongue, Wesley soon knew the gratification of making a 245 year old vampire beg.

"Oh, please…Wesley, sweet, Wesley, so…" Angel froze, arched up, and his mouth fell open as his lover enveloped his cock in the warm mortal throat. Wesley bobbed up and down on the cock just once, before returning to a slow, torturous sucking motion on the head.

Moments like this came so rarely; this made them all the more delicious. A soft, unhurried evening blowjob, given or received. Waking up to the gentle, oiled motion of his lover's cock rocking back and forth into him, teeth nibbling along the bumped curvature of the spine. A cool wet mouth suckling at his nipples, the vibrations of purring echoing through his body as Angel would express his contentment. All these things and more, oddly enough, gave Wesley the strength to do what he must.

Angel's body arched up once more as Wesley applied a hard suction to the head, drawing his lover's creamy fluid into him and swallowing it down. Despite its cool temperature, the semen warmed the mortal, filling him again with the knowledge that he had brought this pleasure to Angel.

Returning to his earlier position, Wesley cuddled back into Angel, the vampire's arms once again wrapped around the warm mortal body, and allowed himself to follow his lover into sleep, for the moment.

~~~~~

Six hours later, approximately noon

~~~~~

Angel stirred in the lingering heat of the bedclothes. With one arm, he searched the other half of the bed for his lover, only to find a whole lot of empty air. The vampire frowned. It wasn't like Wesley to run off first thing in the morning, or least not recently. Angel shrugged, deciding that the Englishman had probably just showered first and gone up to the office to beat Cordelia there. Wesley liked to pretend that Cordelia didn't know that the boss had intimate knowledge of the way he sounded when someone bit one of his nipples.

Unashamed, the vampire rose from the bed, letting the sheet fall from his nude body as he went into the bathroom. Ten minutes later, clothed in black jeans and a white shirt, Angel opted to take the stairs and made his way up to the offices of Angel Investigations.

He found Cordelia staring blankly at the computer screen, her hands in her lap. And he was pretty sure she was slumping.

"Cordelia, is this some new kind of meditation technique? Ten new slumps to a better you?" When Angel's early afternoon humor failed to elicit a quick quip from his secretary and friend, his smile dissipated and he kneeled next to her chair. "Cordelia?"

"Angel, he's gone."

Gone? The vampire's first thought was that something had happened to Xander, or Giles, or even Oz, or at best her father. But as Cordelia turned to look at him, and the agony in her brown eyes wasn't self-directed, the truth snapped onto Angel.

Wesley.

~~~~~

Three Hours Earlier, Sunnydale, CA

~~~~~

Wesley felt that he owed it to Buffy to offer his apologies in person. Perhaps the Slayer would be willing to share them with Angel. After all, the short, concise note he had left for Cordelia, and in turn Angel, had hardly contained anything in the way of an 'I'm sorry'. The note had merely been a few words of terse goodbye. With every effort to include some explanation, Wesley had felt his heart rip, tear, and shred, so in the interest of remaining more or less whole, he had fled L.A. leaving nothing but a short note behind.

The former Watcher had circled the streets of Sunnydale for almost an hour, trying to decide how to do what had to be done. He knew that Ms. Summers lived in a dorm, Stevenson Hall to be exact, with Ms. Rosenberg. From what he had gleaned from Angel's secret conversations with his former lover, the Slayer had been spending less and less time at Mr. Giles'. Nevertheless, Wesley felt uncomfortable creeping into a student dorm at 9 am and hunting about for Ms. Summers. Thus, he headed for his former co-worker's apartment, found a quiet spot to hide in amongst some bushes, and promptly fell asleep.

~~~~~

Approximately Two and a Half hours later, Sunnydale

~~~~~

Wesley softly sighed as Angel's lips tattooed circles on his stomach. The vampire's mouth drifted up, his preternaturally strong hands gripped the ex-Watcher's skull, and..pulled very, very hard.

"Nywahhhhh!!!!" Wesley howled as he felt his hair nearly being ripped from his scalp, the burning sensation bringing tears to his eyes. His body was hauled up to a standing position before he could even open his eyes.

"Wesley?" Just as suddenly as he had been yanked upright, the hand released his hair and he fell to the ground, quite befuddled. Opening his eyes, blinking against the strong California sun, he saw a petite blonde goddess standing over him, her nose wrinkled up in confusion, her hair backlit beautifully by the sun.

Competition was hell.

"Wesley, is there some reason that you're crouched in the bushes outside of Giles'…wearing leather?" The Slayer's voice contained a heavy dose of disbelief, underlined by a thick note of incipient humor. Several answers sprang to mind, but none made any particular sense, so Wesley merely shifted his body upright, stood up, and proceeded to ignore Ms. Summers while dusting his clothes off.

"Come on, Wes, I promise not to hurt you. Or even insult you. Well, some of those might just slip out, but I promise to try to be of the polite. So, what are you doing here?" The patented banter slipped easily past her lush, beautiful lips as Wesley finally faced her. He made every effort to keep his face calm, even severe, so as to not immediately reveal his purpose. Ms. Summers, however, took his severity for a "I've got something horrible to say but I don’t really want to say it" look.

"Wesley, what's up? Is there something wrong?"

"Not at all, Buffy, I'm just here to er…well…um…"

Buffy rolled her eyes. She walked up to Giles' front door and used the heavy brass knocker. Wesley used the moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath. Hopefully, in less than half-an-hour, he would be on the highway, swiftly moving away from California, Sunnydale, L.A., and Angel.

The heavy wooden door swung open to reveal a casually dressed Rupert Giles, glasses in hand. He offered a happy, mellow smile to his Slayer.

"Buffy, hello, didn't expect to see you on a Saturday. Is anything amiss?"

"Besides the fact that Wesley was lurking outside of your apartment? Nope." Buffy waved one hand at Wesley. "Found him snoring in the shrubbery. He can't seem to tell me why without hemming and hawing." The blonde's brow wrinkled, and she looked at Wesley. "What exactly is hemming and hawing? Why hem and haw? What is up with that?"

Giles rolled his eyes, without actually physically rolling them in a way that only the British have managed to master, and spoke to Wesley.

"Please, Wesley, do come in, and you as well Buffy. No reason to have this, er, conversation outside."

Wesley followed Buffy into the cool apartment, wringing his sweaty hands together desperately. Giles took up a position before the fireplace, and Buffy plopped herself on the couch, and availed herself of the small plate of cookies on the coffeetable. Wesley, however, chose to remain relatively close to the door, in the event that he might need to evade a furious Slayer.

"So, Wesley, what brings you to Sunnydale again? Has something happened in L.A. that might require a Slayer?" Giles calmly cleaned his glasses as he spoke before putting them back on his face.

The tall, leather clad man stood completely still. He had assumed that Mr. Giles knew something of his being in L.A., working for Angel Investigations, but he seemed to speak of it so casually in front of Ms. Summers. Wesley knew of the Thanksgiving visits between the two former lovers, but he had assumed that the Sunnydale contingent of warriors of good wouldn't know much of what was happening with the L.A. faction. Clearly, his thinking had been erroneous.

"No, no, rest assured, there is nothing overly harmful or demonic happening in L.A.. I just felt that I should stop here…and speak to Ms. Summers before leaving." He drew himself to his full height and hooked his chin up, as to dare someone to pound on it.

"Speak to me? Huh? Why? And why are you leaving? Does Angel know?"

"Uh…perhaps I might speak to you in private? Outside?" Looking straight at Buffy, Wesley attempted his best pitiful look, not a difficult task at the moment.

Buffy rolled her eyes, in a way that left no doubt in Wesley's mind of her opinion of him. The petite girl bounced off of the couch and made for the door, opening it with a flourish and bowing down before letting Wesley walk out before her.

"Oh, Buffy?"

"Yeah Giles?"

"Don't hurt him."

"Damn."

~~~~~

Angel cursed as he heard Cordelia grind the gears of his precious car. With any luck, he might actually still have a transmission left after Cordelia got him to Sunnydale, but the vampire wasn't counting on it. Seconds after the words, "he's gone," had sunk into Angel, he had thrown a large black tarp over his head and the keys to his precious black vehicle had sailed into the hands of his nearly gleeful secretary. Just because the third member of their family had inexplicably left, leaving nothing but a horribly polite note behind, was no reason to pass up an opportunity to drive the "Angelmobile."

They were undoubtedly near the Hellmouth because Angel had been squished in the back seat under the tarp for at least an hour and a half. Or so his glow in the dark Timex watch claimed. He closed his eyes for no other reason than the comfort of having them closed, of keeping even the blackness of the tarp outside of his thoughts. Wesley had said he would be meeting with Giles, but that could have been hours ago, and Wes could be halfway to Mexico by now. The vampire focused on what he would do to Wesley when he found him. His plan went pretty much along the lines of 'tie him up and fuck him 'till he can't move'.

After all, there was a reason it was a classic.

~~~~~

Buffy sat down on one of the wrought-iron chairs gracing the small courtyard. For several minutes, she watched the tall, vaguely scruffy looking man pace in front of her. Over and over again he stopped, faced her and opened his mouth as if to speak, but would snap his mouth shut and resume he pacing.

"Wesley, spit it out would you? I can hear my nails growing."

Fine then. Wesley took a death-grip hold on his resolve and spoke.

"I am leaving L.A.. I have determined that my services are not truly needed by Angel." The former Watcher winced at his choice or words. Perhaps 'services' was not the best word to use. "I…" Wesley looked down at his shiny black boots. "I want you to know something. Not quite a year ago, when Angel was poisoned…"

"And you got all official in a Watcher capacity with me? What of it?"

Wesley struggled to find words that could make his message less horrible. He failed.

"The Council did not just inform me of their refusal to help Angel; they also told me that his soul was quite permanent."

His eyes rose to meet the newly tear-stained green orbs of the Slayer. Nothing he could have imagined was quite as bad as just seeing the quiet grief on her face. He opened his mouth, then shut it yet again as the apologies he had so wanted to make stuck in his throat. Everything that came to mind rang false and dry, and suddenly Wesley knew there were no words that could make this alright.

"You knew this all this time and you said nothing? You've worked side by side with Angel and you've said nothing?!?" The pained fury in Buffy's eyes made Wesley cringe, yet somehow he felt satisfied. He might not have the words to make this better, but beating someone had always seemed to improve his former charge's mood, and he was perfectly willing to be her victim of the afternoon.

"How dare you? How dare you walk into his life, work for him, sleep with him, and then lie to him?!?"

Wesley barely had time to register her words when a powerful right hook drove him to his knees, and a swift kick to his mid-section left him gasping for air. Her soft sobs surrounded him and he felt his heart twist.

"Now…" He dragged in a painful breath. "Now, Ms. Summers, you and Angel no longer have to touch each other only through phone lines. I wish…I wish to most heartily apologize for my actions. They were petty and far beneath even I."

As he struggled to his feet, he felt Buffy's hands haul him into an upright position.

"Ya know Wesley, I knew you needed some clueage, but I never thought that you were this obtuse. Angel and I are trying very very hard to be friends. If nothing else, we need to be that. I love him, and I need him to be happy, and he needs me to be happy. Now, last time I checked, you were giving him some major happies…though we were pretty sure that it wasn't whatever the hell 'true' happiness is."

Suddenly, Buffy giggled. She was such an odd girl.

"Oh my God, you really thought we were all sneaking behind everyone's backs and seeing each other? Puhleaze, I hope I've learned my lesson about secret relationships. Yeah, we've been talking on the phone, keeping each other up-to-date, but that's it. No snookage has occurred, nada, complete zilch. And anyways, since I am one half of the clever team that set you two up to get happy…"

"Excuse me!!?? You helped Cordelia tie me up like a…a…"

"Box of candy? Yup…I did the knocking of heads; she tied the bow. We make one hell of a team when not sniping."

The strain of the last few days, the long drive to Sunnydale, being assaulted by the Slayer, and now finding out that not only was Buffy ok with his relationship with Angel, but she had helped to engineer its birth, became too much for the former Watcher and he fell down in a dead faint.

"Ooops…"

~~~~~

"How long has he been here?"

"Don't know, got here awhile ago and found him lurking in the bushes…he was snoring, it was kinda cute."

"Thanks…could I have a moment alone with him?

"Sure. Cordelia, wanna go push some credit card limits?"

"I'm there. Angel? I'll be charging this to the office card."

"Yes ma'am."

"Oh, Angel, I'm headed off for the day. A job interview oddly enough. Feel free to spend the daylight hours here."

"Thanks Giles."

As Wesley swam into an unwilling conscious state, he prayed that he was dreaming and that he wasn't really in Mr. Giles' apartment, alone with Angel. He let one eye drift open only to find a somber looking vampire almost glaring down at him. Lord, but that man did know how to loom. Wesley went with his best defense.

"Ohhh…ahh…my head…"

"Please, she hit you once, and I've seen demons hit you twice as hard and you came back swinging. Moaning will get you nowhere."

There went that defense.

"Angel, I…"

Before Wesley could even begin, he heard the vampire begin to pace back and forth in front of the couch. Opening his eyes fully, he watched as Angel did a lap around the rug, clenching and unclenching his fists. If nothing else, Wesley could at least be sure that Angelus would not be making an appearance, and thus there would be no Filet de Wesley.

"You could have asked. You should have said something. You don't just fuck and leave Wesley; it's not fun to be the left party, ask Buffy."

Angel halted next to Wesley's head, and kneeled down.

"Wes," he began to stroke his lover's hair as he spoke. "I don't know what to say to you. And I don't know what I expect of our relationship. But I love you as much as I've loved anyone, and I'm very possessive about the people that I love. So, you leave me again, I'll tell Buffy you were mean to me and she'll really beat you up."

Tears flooded Wesley's eyes. He had to tell Angel about his soul, and then the vampire wouldn't feel this way anymore. His duty, as the Sunnydale gang would say, really sucked.

"Angel, I must speak. Your soul…"

Once again, the handsome vampire cut his lover off.

"I know, Buffy told me. My soul is permanent. Don't worry, if it'll make your conscience feel better, I'll tie you up and torture you later. I was pretty much planning on it anyway."

Caught between being flabbergasted and being tremendously tired, Wesley got caught up in a huge yawn. He fished for words to say, and drew a huge blank. The only thing he could see and smell was Angel and that presence appeared to have blocked everything else out.

With a sly grin, Angel lay his lips gently on Wesley's, moistening the other's lips with his knowledgeable tongue. He scooped Wesley up and then laid down, arranging his lover's body on top of his. In vain, the Englishman tried to speak, but found himself lulled into sleep by the feel of his lover rubbing his back. The tide of the battle to do the right thing had taken an odd and unexpected turn, and Wesley only knew one thing for sure at the moment.

Worse things could happen than having a vampire love you.