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| a.connor a.doyle a.lindsey a.oz a.spike a.wesley a.xander a.other three.somes het.fic character.study |
| Title: The Longest Night Author: Olwen Pairing: Angel/Wesley Rating: R Setting: Immediately Post-'Reunion' Leaving was never an option. When his world was ripped apart so gently by those three little words (you're all fired), actually going didn't cross Wesley's mind for a moment. Gunn had stomped out in a fine show of anger and resentment, sculpting in profanity as he did so. Cordelia had pattered after him in her designer heels, equally angry though expressing it rather less colorfully than the young street fighter had done. That neither of them noticed that their companion remained behind was rather too perfectly in character. Didn't make much difference, as Wesley hardly blinked at their departure either. He just sat there on the couch, his memory stuck on instant replay; showing Angel's final words, delivered with such simple arrogance and finality. When he finally shook himself out of the reverie, most of the night had passed, dawn was well on it's way, and he was tired and worn. Pulling off his glasses, rubbing weary eyes, Wesley moved stiffly over to the little coffee maker in the office. Setting it up, measuring coffee, water, adjusting things, all the little routines were obscurely comforting. He was able to watch it brew and bubble, and not think about anything for a few more blessed moments. Afterwards, seated behind the desk with coffee and stale donut, Wesley tried to take stock of the situation. He even dug out paper and attemped to work out various plans of action. But most of them involved him leaving the Hyperion at some point, and right now his mind refused to even contemplate that. It was like a roadblock in his head. He'd start down a mental path, perhaps one where he got Buffy, or one of the other Scooby gang to try and come talk sense to Angel, and then he'd *bang* up against the part where he'd have to leave and go to Sunnydale. And another train of thought derailed. Leaving was not an option. Then he spent several trying minutes attempting to figure out *why* he couldn't leave; and that was, if anything, more frustrating. It was as though contemplating leaving the hotel was as the same as leaving Angel himself, and that... hurt. Did no good to firmly tell himself that Angel showed no sign of wanting him there, or even within a thirty mile radius. Did no good when he pointed out to his recalcitrant psyche that staying could be hazardous to his health. Did no good to explain that remaining in a semi abandoned building with a vampire that might well be evil -- was very, very stupid. He couldn't go. And somehow, once that option was eliminated, there weren't that many other paths open to him, and leaving his now cold coffee and very stale donut and going upstairs to Angel's room... that didn't seem stupid at all If he couldn't go out, then he may as well go further in.... He didn't need to knock, the door was ajar. Wesley peered round the doorjamb, feeling a bit of deja-vu and wondering if he would see endless crumpled sketches of Darla scattered about the floor. No wads of paper this time, just Angel sprawled in a easy chair, reading something French and existential. "Still here?" Angel asked shortly, without looking up. "Yes." Wesley contemplated going into the room, but hesitated, waiting to see what Angel's reaction would be first. "I'm not leaving." "Why?" Still reading. Still not looking up. "I do seem to remember firing you." Unable to deny that, uncertain in his own heart of the truth, Wesley remained silent. Several slow, silent minutes crawled by. Leg starting to cramp, Wesley stretched to ease it, then carefully moved into the room and perched on the edge of a chair. At this, Angel finally looked up. "So. Why are you still here Wes?" Expression unreadable. But... in his eyes, a glimmer of *something*, and it raised the tiny hairs on the back of Wesley's neck. "Isn't that the basic purpose to a firing? The employee leaves," he added. Only a slight emphasis on the last word, only a minute fraction of cruelty in the tone. "I'm not going." Wesley repeated, at a loss for an explanation he could put into words. His heart said only //stay//. His soul said //don't let him be alone//. His mind knew that Angel would scoff at this, and bade his tongue remain still. Angel tilted his head, studying the slender form sitting across the room from him. "Well, if the purpose of a firing is to get rid of employees," he said musingly, as if working out a math problem, "And you are, as you say, not leaving; then you must not be an employee." He didn't wait for an answer, but rose with his usual grace. Setting aside his book, he walked across the room and picked up a decanter from his nightstand. The crystal sparkled as he poured two glasses half full of amber liquid. He came back, handed one to Wesley, and took a sip from the other before setting it down by his chair. Wesley took the proffered glass with sweaty fingers, but managed not to drop it. The whiskey burned going down, then settled in his middle and spread a warm glow there. "Normally, I wouldn't encourage drinking on the job of course," Angel went on, as he strolled around behind Wesley. "But you're not an employee. What I *do* want to know is...." Wesley flinched as chill fingers laced through the hair at the back of his neck. With a grip just this side of painful, Angel pulled, and Wesley had no choice but to rise, the whiskey glass slipping from his nerveless fingers. And of a sudden Wesley's whole world was composed of Angel's cool, soft breath on his cheek, and the words whispered in his ear: "What *are* you Wesley?" Angel's fingers still threaded through his hair, tugging his head back to rest awkwardly on the other man's shoulder. The vampire's other arm was tight about his chest, pinning his arms down, pulling him close (so close) with effortless strength. Pressed full length against him, Wesley could feel the hard evidence of Angel's arousal prodding at him, and he was hit with a burning rush of desire and fear so strong he almost wept. Now Wesley's heart said //take me//; and his soul replied //too late, I'm already his//. "Wes, what are you?" Angel inquired softly, nuzzling the tender skin behind his ear, breath behind the words a cool balm on his heated flesh. "A friend perhaps?" Sniffing at the fear/lust sweat springing up on his neck. "A fuck?" Licking at that sweat, lightly, delicately. "A meal?" A light nibble, Angel's teeth blunt and human, on his jugular. "What?" the word again, the question, whispered in his ear, tongue flicking at the earlobe so close. "Yours," the single damning word slipped from Wesley's lips, as if the hold Angel had upon him had squeezed it out. He closed his eyes, gave up pointless struggle, relaxing into the strong arms holding him and awaited the fury of tearing teeth.... Which never came. Next thing he knew, his butt hit the floor. Brain belatedly putting together the sequence of events, he realized that Angel had released him, stepped away, and without that bulwark his knees had given out. From his crumpled seat on the floor, Wesley attempted to straighten his clothes, cover the evidence of his arousal, but to small avail. He had the feeling he'd been permanently rumpled. Wesley did not rise, but awaited the next move in whatever game Angel was up to. Somehow he knew that if he ran, if he bolted for the open door, Angel would not pursue. An unwilling prey was not nearly as much fun as a willing one. Why he remained, why he was being such well-behaved prey... Wesley did not want to think about just now. "Mine, huh?" Angel said musingly from somewhere behind him. Braced this time, half expecting it, Wesley did not flinch when Angel touched him on his shoulder. He helped Wesley up off the floor, cool impersonal hands under his arms, and went on, "Still doesn't answer my first question, you know. Why are you still here?" Standing now, pulling his dignity and clothing into some semblance of normality, Wesley hesitated, but said, "I didn't want you to be alone." Gaining courage, he went on, "You're headed into a very dark place, Angel. If I can help, if I can do anything to bring some light to your path..." Finally looking up, meeting Angel's eyes, "then I have to try." Angel said nothing for a moment, though Wesley could still see something dark and hungry in the set of his mouth. "What are you going to do Wes, save me?" he asked, with a touch of sarcasm. "If I can," Wesley replied, simply. "If that's what you need." "Because you're *mine*." "Yes." "Damn," Angel said softly, coming up to him. "I haven't owned anyone for a long time. Not sure if I remember how...." He ran one cool fingertip teasingly down the other man's nose. Smirked at the slight flinch Wesley could not surpress. "Not quite ready yet, huh?" Angel asked with a cryptic smile, then turned away, going back to his book and glass of whiskey. "You look like hell; go get some sleep Wes." he added. "No, I told you I'm not--" "Leaving. Yes, I did hear you the first twenty times," Angel said, looking for his place in the book. "This is a hotel, it's just chock full of beds. Go use one." "A-alright," Wesley said quickly, before Angel could change his mind. He slipped out while Angel dived back into his book as if he'd never left it, and went into the room across the hall. Suddenly exhausted, Wesley could not even pull off his shoes, but fell onto the bed fully clothed. Sleep claimed him before he could begin to worry about the bargain he seemed to have made.... and perhaps that was for the best. -Finis |