Ruminations II
In a box, somewhere off the coast of Los Angeles--
*The air feels thick. I wonder if there's actually any left?*
Curious, Angel took a breath. He felt his lungs expand and examined the physical sensations. Finally he decided that yes, there had been some air sucked in. Not much, but some. He expelled it. After all, he didn't need it.
*Okay, I know this thing is watertight, or I'd be blowing bubbles right now. Is it airtight, though? Watertight and airtight aren't the same things, are they? Am I playing mind games with myself? You damn betcha I am.*
Anything, anything to distract himself from the situation. He put his hands up again and felt the surface less than a half-foot above his face. Smooth plastic. What was this thing, anyway--a refrigerator? It was hard to tell--he hadn't gotten a good look at it before he was chained inside, and it was so dark inside that even with his preternatural vision he couldn't see anything. It was pretty much the same whether his eyes were open or shut.
*No, I think it's a little brighter with my eyes shut, because then I can think of light.*
He closed his eyes. No change. What could he think about to bring a little light into this crate? *Light and warmth, that's what I need.* He tried to remember what it had been like on a summer afternoon back in Ireland. He thought, and thought. Eyes closed, he frowned in concentration. No, it was just too long ago and far away. He hadn't seen the sun for more than two centuries.
What else could he think of? Light, light... All kinds of light. He thought of the yellow-orange glow of streetlamps as he stalked under them, looking for someone he was meant to protect, or a demon he was set to destroy. Then there was the glare of fluorescents in his office, but that was so sterile and impersonal. What else? Starlight and moonlight were beautiful, but too cold and distant. The usual lamplight in Cordy's apartment, the strobes in some of the clubs he haunted in the course of his work... Candlelight...
Yes, candlelight. Candlelight was warm, golden, flickering, and moving like a live thing. He used candles in his room in the basement of the office building. Candlelight and firelight were all he'd known during his lifetime, and it was familiar--comforting. It softened the hard edges of reality, and made things closer, more intimate.
Yes, candlelight was what he wanted to remember. All right, candlelight. It would be best if he tried to remember a particular place, a particular time.
Angel picked through the centuries of memories and settled on one. As he recreated it in his mind, he relaxed. His expression smoothed there in the black confines of his underwater coffin. If anyone had been able to see him as he lay there, trapped, they might have been startled, because the corners of his mouth curved in a tiny smile. What could he be thinking of to make him smile, even in this hopeless situation?
*****
Gunn held Cordelia's jacket as she shrugged into it. He glanced over at Wesley. The Englishman was sitting at his desk, elbows propped on either side of a large, musty book, hands in his hair and eyes fixed on the arcane gibberish printed there. "Wesley?" No response. He raised his voice. "Yo, English!"
Wesley blinked and looked up at him. "Um?"
"Cordy and me are taking off."
Cordelia buttoned her jacket. "We're going to hit that new fifties themed diner over on Montana Avenue. Want to come?"
"Oh, no, thank you. I ate a late lunch."
"C'mon, man," Gunn urged. "It'll do you good to get out and socialize."
"Thank you, Gunn, but I've run into a rather fascinating section about obscure Byzantine incubae that I'd like to finish."
Cordelia and Gunn exchanged glances as the door opened and Angel entered. Cordelia said, "Angel, will you have a talk with Wesley? He'd rather sit here and read about ancient sex demons than go out to dinner with us."
"Cordy, you're talking to the wrong person. I happen to find ancient sex demons very interesting."
Wesley had gone back to reading after a brief nod at Angel. Now Gunn leaned toward Angel and whispered, "Seriously, the dude is alone too much."
Angel answered quietly, "It's all right. I'm not going out tonight, so I'll keep him company. Go on--have fun."
They left, and Angel leaned back against the door, watching Wesley. The dark haired Englishman seemed unaware of his presence--he might as well have gone with the others. Angel took a moment to observe him. He had his hands buried deep in his hair, stirring it up from its usual order into messy curls. He was wearing his glasses and, as Angel watched, they slid another fraction of an inch down his nose. Wesley poked them back up with an almost graceful, absent movement that spoke of long practice.
Angel walked over to him, moving with the sort of silence only a vampire can achieve. He came up behind Wesley, reached around, and quickly and neatly plucked his glasses off his face. Wesley blinked rapidly, sitting up, and looked back. "Oh, hello Angel."
"Hello, yourself." He reached past him and flipped the book shut.
"I say, I was reading that!"
He started to open it again, but Angel pressed his hand flat on the cover, holding it closed. "You've done enough research for now."
Wesley sat back. His head was still turned to look back at Angel, and he arched one eyebrow. "Suppose I'm reading it for pleasure?"
Angel laughed. He bent till his forehead touched Wesley's and said, "Only you, Tweeds, only you. Why can't you buy a copy of Manwatch, like anyone else?"
"Because this way I don't have to suffer through knowing smirks from newsstand clerks."
"Just knowing smirks from your friends."
"Well, what are friends for, if not to embarrass you?"
"They're to see that you don't overdo it." Angel grabbed the back of Wesley's chair and pulled it out. Wesley, never the most graceful of people, clutched the arms tightly as he was rolled backward. Angel took hold of his collar and tugged. "Up."
Wesley stood, but Angel didn't let go. He led him toward the door by his grip on the other man's collar. "Really, Angel," Wesley protested. "I'm perfectly capable of following you without being on a lead."
Angel stopped abruptly, turning back to him. Wesley found himself toe to toe with the vampire, their chests brushing; Angel's face only a few scant inches from his own. Angel's expression was blank, but his eyes were bright with mischief. "Maybe I'm afraid you'll bolt--make a run for it. I don't want to lose you." Wesley swallowed.
That night in the motel had been over a week ago. They'd been awakened by Angel's pager. Cordy had had a vision, and they had to scramble into their clothes and rush off to save some hapless soul--there hadn't been time to talk about anything but the best way to kill the demon-of-the-week. And after the blood and guts had stopped flying...
For the first few days they just weren't ALONE. Cordelia and Gunn seemed to be underfoot constantly when he was at the office. He found himself hoping that there would be a knock on his apartment door, and Angel would be standing in the hallway when he opened the door, but it didn't happen. He considered staying over and going down to the basement to visit Angel, but, well... You just didn't walk into a vampire's lair without an invitation. The days had stretched out, and Wesley had just about concluded that the one night in the motel was going to be just that--one night. He tried not to let it bother him, but it did. Now this.
He looked directly into Angel's eyes and said quietly, "You won't lose me. I have no desire to run."
Angel reached up and ran one finger down Wesley's cheek. "Good." He let go of Wesley's collar and went out of the room. Wesley followed Angel out into the hall and down the stairs.
The basement was like the entrance to a cave, dark and a little forbidding. Angel paused just before stepping down into the room, looking back up at him. "Wait here for a minute."
He went in. Wesley came down another step, peering into the dark. Angel could see well enough, with his vampiric vision, but he thought of what it must look like to Wesley. He would appear like a shadow moving among shadows. Angel found the candle on the table, and the matches. He struck a match and touched it to the wick, watching as the flame caught, flickering to life. Again he thought of what Wesley would see--the tiny yellow bloom, lighting his face from below.
Angel took the candle and walked around the room, lighting a score of others till the room was lit by a dim glow. He set the candle down, looking back to where Wesley stood in the doorway, then gestured him to enter. "Mi casa, su casa."
Wesley advanced into the room. "I know very well that the power isn't out, since it's working upstairs." He stopped near Angel, cocking his head with a faint smile. "Out of light bulbs?"
Angel shrugged. "Things look better by candlelight." He reached over and touched Wesley again, gently pinching his earlobe. "The offer to give you an earring still goes."
Wesley rolled his eyes. "I am not going to one of those bally kiosks in the mall. I refuse to have my body pierced while listening to Brittany Spears."
"There's always a tattoo parlor."
"No. I may deal with demons on a regular basis, but people who hang about in those places scare me."
"I could do it for you."
Wesley stared at him. "You're joking." Angel shook his head. "You're not joking?"
"Wes, how do you think people got pierced ears before there were malls? They did it themselves. Just a second." Angel went to his nightstand and opened the drawer, then came back and offered Wesley a small velvet box. Wesley snapped the box open. There was a thin gold hoop nestled on the satin inside. "Kinda plain, I know, but it's real gold--solid, not plated."
Wesley picked up the earring, watching it glitter in the candlelight. "I don't know what to say. No one has ever given me jewelry before. Well, not if you don't count the wristwatch my father gave me on my eighteenth birthday--and I don't." He looked at Angel. "Can you really do it?" Angel nodded. Wesley smiled. "I rather like the idea of what Cordelia's face will look like when she sees it. All right--I'm game."
"Okay. We can't put the earring in right away--it'll need to heal up for a few days first. Put the earring back in the box and go sit on the bed. I have to get the supplies."
As Angel went to the bathroom, Wesley replaced the earring and closed the box, tucking it into his jacket pocket. After a moment's thought he took off his jacket and hung it over a chair, and went to sit on the side of Angel's bed.
Angel returned, his hands full. "Scoot down, I need to sit by the nightstand." Wesley did, and Angel spread his supplies out on the stand. Wesley peered around him, studying the objects. A large sewing needle, a bottle of alcohol, some cotton balls...
He looked at Angel and said, curious, "Why do you have a felt tipped pin, a spool of thread, and a clothespin?"
"I have to mark where I'm going to pierce to be sure that it's not lopsided. The thread is because you need something to keep the hole from growing closed while it heals. I leave a loop of thread in. Every day you soak it with alcohol and pull it through, and voila! Sterile."
"I can see that. But what do you need a clothespin for?"
"Anesthesia."
"Beg pardon?"
Angel reached down, grabbed Wesley's earlobe again, and pinched. Wesley yipped faintly. "Sorry. But can you feel it starting to go numb?"
"I'd nod, but that would be rather hazardous right now."
Angel let go and said, "Right or left ear?" Wesley hesitated. This wasn't as much of a consideration as it had been back in, say, the seventies, but there were still places where wearing an earring or a key chain on the wrong side could invite the wrong sort of attention.
Angel said quietly, "I'll just do the left for now." When Wesley gave him a questioning look he shrugged. "Unwanted submissives are easier to beat off than unwanted tops." Angel clipped the clothespin on his earlobe. "It'll go numb very quickly, and it will hardly hurt at all when I stick you. Take your shirt off." When Wesley looked at him he said, "Hey, I thought that in our line you had enough chances to get blood on your clothes without doing it deliberately."
Wesley stripped off his shirt, tossing it on the foot of the bed. Angel unspooled a length of thread and nipped it off with his teeth, then threaded it through the eye of the needle, leaving one short end and one long. He uncapped the alcohol, soaked a cotton ball, then used it to wipe the thread and needle. He spread a tissue out and laid the needle and thread on it. "How's the ear now?"
"Do I still HAVE two ears?"
"It's ready." Angel removed the pin, then took Wesley's chin in his hand, turning his head slightly and studying his ear. The pen hovered, and Angel murmured, "You know, now that I have you like this, I'm tempted to give you a quick moustache."
"Resist."
"Party pooper." Angel touched the nib of the pen to Wesley's earlobe, studied the result, and shook his head. He scrubbed the bit of flesh with the alcohol-dampened cotton, then wiped it dry, and tried it again. "Better."
Angel dipped his fingertips in the alcohol, then picked up the needle and held it in the flame of the bedside candle. Wesley winced. "Good God, Angel. Not just a needle, but a HOT needle?"
"I told you, English--sterilization. And it won't hurt any more than a cold one would. Hold still."
Wesley froze as Angel knelt, straddling his lap. Angel's left arm went around Wesley's neck, his hand taking a firm grip on Wesley's earlobe. It really WAS numb--Wesley only knew he had done this because he felt the tug. Angel pulled him closer, pressing the other man's face down on his chest, and murmured, "Take a breath, Wes, and don't jump."
Wesley did as he said. There was a sense of pressure on his earlobe, then the very odd sensation of something sliding THROUGH his flesh, instead of over it. "Perfect! Just a sec and we'll be done." Angel released him and his hands made motions at the side of Wesley's face as he tied the thread. Then he leaned forward. For a second Wesley thought he was about to be kissed, then Angel leaned farther over and nipped the end of the thread short. "All done."
Wesley reached up to touch the ear, which was starting to ache a little, and Angel caught his wrist. "Don't go playing with it, Wes. I know you'll be tempted, but try to touch it only when you clean it--and you're going to do that at least twice a day, more if you can remember to. Soak the thread in alcohol or peroxide and slide it through a few times. In about a week or ten days we can put the ring in."
"I'm going to look like a right twit till I get that earring in."
"Tell 'em you're getting in touch with your punk roots." Angel let go, then suddenly went very quiet, looking down at his hand.
"Angel?" Wesley followed the vampire's eyes. There was a red smear on Angel's index finger.
Angel's voice was distance. "It wasn't hot enough to cauterize. You bled a little." His tongue crept out, running slowly over his lips in a gesture Wesley was sure was unconscious. Then his expression tightened and he grabbed the alcohol soaked cotton and wiped his finger. Wesley watched him for a moment. Then he silently reached over and picked up the needle. "What are you doing?" Wesley looked back at him, his blue eyes unreadable. But somehow Angel suddenly knew what he was going to do. "Don't!"
Wesley jabbed his finger, wincing slightly, and tossed the needle back on the nightstand. He gripped the base of his finger and stroked up firmly, milking it. A bright bubble of blood welled up, shimmering like a ruby. He silently offered his finger to Angel.
Angel stared. "Oh, God, Wes." Suddenly he was trembling. "No, I can't."
"You don't want to?" He reached a little closer.
Angel's nostrils flared as the rich, warm sent of Wesley's blood hit him. He grabbed Wesley's wrist again, and his lips pulled back in a snarl, exposing fangs. For a split second he went to game face, the planes and angles of his face shifting liquidly. Wesley gasped, eyes going wide. Angel shook his head violently, closing his eyes, and raked Wesley's hand over the bedspread, wiping away the blood.
Just as suddenly he was back to normal. "I want it too damn much, Wes. This is why I can't. Understand? It's not you--it's me." He gripped Wesley's head and pressed a kiss to his forehead, murmuring against the warm skin, "I can't risk losing control like that, not with you, Wes. The cost would be too high. Don't try it again." This time he kissed Wesley's lips, his touch feather light. "I might weaken."
"I understand," Wesley said quietly.
Angel moved off of Wesley, standing before him. He pulled his dark sweater over his head, dropping it to the floor. His nipples were dark against the pale skin of his chest. Angel took Wesley's hand and drew it to his chest, settling his fingers against one nipple. It was already firm. Angel squeezed the back of Wesley's hand, and his friend answered the unspoken request by rubbing and pinching gently. He felt the flesh harden even more. Angel whispered, "It was easier when I didn't have my soul, Wes. I never had to worry about restraint. Hell, let's be honest... I ENJOYED losing control. It was a power rush, a rush on SO many levels. It isn't easy to hold back the dark side all the time, to ALWAYS be in control. Do you understand?"
"I think I do," Wesley said quietly. He touched the other nipple, stroking and even scraping a little with his nails till Angel moaned, his eyes half closing. "Do you want to give up control for a little while?" Angel nodded. "How much?"
Angel gave him a level, serious look. "All of it."
Wesley reached to the end of the bed and picked up his tie and looked at Angel. For a second Wesley thought that he saw a red spark deep in the vampire's eyes, then Angel held out his hands, wrists crossed. Wesley wrapped the tie around his wrists, tying him firmly. He tugged at the strands, saying, "This is fairly broad, but is it too tight?"
There was a hint of amusement in Angel's voice. "Wesley, I don't HAVE any circulation to cut off."
"Oh. Quite."
"But you do." He brushed the back of his tied hands against Wesley's cheek. "That blush proves it."
Wesley stood and unfastened Angel's jeans, then pushed them down his thighs, exposing his tight black briefs. With his left hand Wesley gripped the tie that bound Angel's hands, pressing his right hand to Angel's crotch, kneading as he kissed him.
The vampire made a purring sound, leaning into him, pressing his awakening cock more firmly into Wesley's grip. Wesley pulled away from Angel's mouth and pressed his face against his lover's throat, licking at the pale skin. "It's so bloody unfair," he whispered. "I could suck from now till the next century and never raise a hickey on you." Angel laughed, and Wesley could feel it rumbling through his chest.
Wesley continued the massage, feeling Angel stiffen and grow, distending the smooth material of his briefs. Finally Angel whispered, "Wes, please."
Wesley looked up at him, expression stern. His accent was more evident than ever as he said archly, "Who's in charge here, Angel?"
"You are." Angel hardly recognized his own voice. It was almost... meek.
Wesley nodded. He hooked a finger in Angel's waistband and pulled it out from Angel's body. Angel's cock had lifted as it hardened. Now the dusky head peeked over the rim of elastic. Wesley let go, and the band trapped Angel's hard-on against his body, the glistening glans exposed. Wesley began to massage again. Every few rubs he would swirl his fingertips over the cockhead, then slowly lick his fingers clean. The pre-ejaculate flowed more copiously as Angel became even more aroused, drizzling down to dampen his briefs.
Finally he pushed Angel's garments down, removing his shoes before stripping him completely. "Lie down on your back," he instructed. Angel obeyed, and Wesley finished stripping. He took his belt and looped it between Angel's tied wrists, then drew Angel's hands up over his head, looped the ends around the top bar of the headboard, and buckled it.
Angel smiled at him. "What is it with Watchers? First Ripper, now this."
Wesley lifted his shoulders. "You have to be a bit bent to survive the lifestyle, I suppose." He ran his hands down Angel's arms, feeling the solid muscles flex, then down Angel's sides. He said, "I'm going to assume that I won't have to resort to a body lotion sample?"
Angel nodded at the nightstand. "In the drawer."
Wesley opened the drawer and removed a small bottle. "Oh, my. You got the good stuff."
Angel shrugged. "I was hoping we'd have a chance to use it together."
"You spoil me, dear boy."
Angel's voice was surprisingly tender, "That's the idea." Wesley opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure of what to say. "It's a heating oil. You know, it'll give a sensation of warmth, especially with friction. Nothing very strong," he assured Wesley quickly, "but I thought that with the way I am it would be more comfortable for you."
Wesley sat on the bed. "Legs up." Angel lifted and spread his legs, bending his knees, to present himself to Wesley. Wesley trailed his hand down his cleft, watching the muscles of his thighs twitch at the sensation. He laid a fingertip against the pucker of Angel's anus. "I'm going to assume that it's been awhile for you?"
Angel nodded. "Darla used to like to pass me around when she first made me. Sometimes I liked it."
"Well, I'll see if I can't make it one of those times." Wesley opened the bottle and poured some of the oil onto his fingers, then reached back and swabbed it down Angel's crack. "I can already feel it beginning to warm." He rubbed slowly around Angel's exposed rectum, pressing firmly to relax the muscles. "Does it do anything for you?"
Angel's eyes half closed. "It's DEFINITELY doing something for me right now. I don't need it personally, Wes. You humans are so blissfully warm to start with. Most of us vamps are kinda like cats--we like to cuddle close with humans to absorb body heat... ahhhhh..."
Wesley had carefully slid one finger deep into Angel's anal passage. "Mm, I see. And you purr like cats, too, don't you?" He pumped slowly, and Angel did, indeed, purr.
Wesley prepared him meticulously, using more oil several times. After he pressed in the second finger he twisted and spread them, opening the taut ring of Angel's sphincter gently and gradually. It was a little odd compared to Wesley's previous experiences. Angel was just as moist and tight inside as anyone else he'd ever done this with, but there WAS a distinct coolness, though that was lessening with the effect of the oil. It was decidedly erotic.
When he pulled his fingers free Angel groaned, "I hope you're ready to replace those with something nice."
Wesley didn't answer--he was too intent on getting inside that tight coolness. He anointed his rigid cock, slathering on the lubricant with a generous hand. He had Angel well loosened, but he wanted to be sure Angel would experience no pain.
Wesley knelt on the bed, edging up close to Angel and draping Angel's legs over his shoulders. He moved and lifted Angel till the vampire's ass rested on his upper thighs. "Do you need me to go slowly, Angel?"
Angel hooked his legs, pressing himself against Wesley, his greased split cradling the ex-Watcher's hard-on. "I need you to take me, Wes--hard. Please, I'm already close."
Wesley saw the heat and need in his eyes, and it fanned his own desire to a fever pitch. He fitted himself against Angel's loosened hole, then paused. Smiling wickedly he rubbed the head back and forth, pressing so that only the rounded tip penetrated.
Angel moaned, "Wes!" He tried to thrust down on the tantalizing staff that was teasing him, but Wesley grabbed his hips and held him back. "Wes, PLEASE!"
Wesley jerked his hips hard, sliding completely into Angel with one smooth stroke. Angel and Wesley both cried out in shocked pleasure. "Oh, Lord, you're so tight!" Wesley gasped. He started fucking hard and fast, their bodies meeting with wet, emphatic smacks.
Angel squirmed and strained under the erotic assault, wanting desperately to grab Wesley, but unable to do anything but experience the pleasure his lover was giving him. As he'd told Wesley, it had been lifetimes since he'd experienced this, and it had never been with anyone that he KNEW cared about him as anything other than a tight ass. The fact that Wesley was a friend *maybe more than a friend?* and was concerned about Angel's pleasure made this as different from those other encounters as day from night. Those others had been dark and cold, this was so bright that it glittered, and it flooded him with warmth that was more than physical.
As he'd told Wesley, he was close. When Wesley's cock passed over his prostate he came with a strangled cry, his seed spurting so strongly that it splattered his throat, almost to his chin. Never missing a stroke, Wesley pushed Angel's head up and back, bent down, and licked the thick, slightly bitter fluid away. The clenching of Angel's back passage, triggered by his orgasm, was exquisite.
Angel seemed to go boneless, melting around Wesley's buried, thrusting prick. Wesley continued pumping into him, driving quickly for his own climax. Then he felt another rippling squeeze that wrung a moan from him. He looked down in surprise to see Angel grinning lazily up at him. There was another squeeze. "You fucking treasure! You're doing that deliberately." Angel nodded, doing it again. "It works." He came, spilling himself into Angel's cool depths.
Angel closed his eyes, twitching with delight. Though it was too soon for him to begin getting hard again, there was a distinctly sexual thrill to the feel of Wesley's hot, hot spunk bathing his insides, slipping back to begin oozing out around his filling cock.
Wesley pulled free of Angel's body, being careful to move slowly, so as not to cause any pain. He lowered Angel's legs to the bed, then lay in the vee so that their soft, sticky cocks pressed together. He rested his head on Angel's chest. After a moment he murmured, "It's rather strange, not hearing the thunder of heartbeat. I've always enjoyed that--hearing it slow back to normal after a good romp."
Angel craned his neck and managed to brush his lips against Wesley's tousled hair. "Sorry, Wes. That's something I can't give you."
Wesley hugged him, then turned his head to look up at Angel. His pupils were so wide that his irises were only a thin blue ring, but whether it was from the dimness or passion, Angel couldn't tell. "It's all right, love. You give me so much more."
*****
*Love. That was the first time he called me love. I told myself it was just one of those British speech affectations--like Spike always calling Xander Pet. I remember that it hurt a little, thinking that he could say it without any real meaning behind it. I also thought Spike was being sarcastic to Xander. Wrong on both counts.*
Somehow the blackness of the box didn't seem quite so absolute, and there was a sound. It was hard to identify--sort of a rhythmic, rushing sound. Was the weather getting nasty, or...
Or could that be a boat?
Angel closed his eyes again and reached out with every particle of his being. It was there--distant, but pure and clear--Wesley's life force. He was coming.
"Knew it, English," he whispered, Angel smiled in the dark. "Knew you'd come."
