Nothing to get even about? Now I know he’s not thinking right. A light goes on, finally. He thinks he deserved to be smothered? “Wes, I forgive you. I did a long time ago. Believe me. What you did wasn’t your fault. Clean slate, okay?” He keeps punishing himself even after all this time. I pull him a little tighter to me. This is the last thing he should be worried about. What’s done is done. Connor’s gone, but he’s alive, and if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I miss him, but Wes is right here and I miss him more. He’s right there next to that ache for Cordelia
( ... )
Let it all out, he says. I almost want to laugh bitterly at that. Let it al out. I can hear my fathers voice berating me for allowing me to let it slide this far. Accepting comfort from a bloody vampire of all things. And not just any vampire, no, the scourge of Europe no less. Father would crucify me alive and burn me on a stake just for that. Well, he’ll probably disown me, but only because he can’t get away with the first. I hope. Actually, I don’t really care
( ... )
He looks so young and lost trying desperately to wipe the tears away. I watch the column of his throat as he swallows, and then track his tongue when it darts out suddenly. Kiss him My body is telling me, yes, yes, yes, but I can't help thinking, no, no, no. This is comfort, that's all. I can't help but notice my head moving in closer and I can feel his breath on my face, quick and hot
( ... )
This is pathetic. The last time I cried was when F-Fred died. Was ripped way, burned from the inside out and that blue thing took over. And now all it takes is Angel’s arms to make me nearly break down. I’ll not do it though, I can’t. To much to let go off. Not just Fred, but years and years of build up anger, frustration, pain just begging to be let out. I can’t do that to him. I can’t do that to anyone.
He is so close by, those familiar lips are so close by. There should be a cool breath on my face, but there’s not. There is no steady heartbeat under the hand on his chest. There is no warmth seeping through from his skin. Yet, he’s more alive to me then anyone else in this building. The rest are dead, walking zombies, much like myself I suspect. He is the only thing I’ve left, the only one. I cannot trust Charles any longer. I’ve no idea where Lorne is. I hardly know Spike and then there’s Illyria. There’s only him left.
So what was he doing messing around with that lawyer with then? Answers me boy! I don’t know father, I don’t
( ... )
His face is burning into my hand. His eyes trap me, and I couldn't look away for one more perfect moment with Buffy, or hearing my son call me Dad and him believing it. Why couldn't this have been years ago? Where would we be then? But Wes is here, right here. So close. So close it's painful; I want it so badly. Want him so badly. To be right here like this. To finally have someone by my side again. Things could be different, but this is good enough right now
( ... )
This is wrong. I shouldn't be doing this. This isn't why he came here, this isn't what he wanted. This is wrong. What about Fred? You just lost Fred. But for some reason I think Fred would understand. She was always far more perceptive then most people assumed. She knew there was a bond between Angel and myself that went beyond friendship
( ... )
He doesn’t respond right away and I’m about to pull away. I’ve done it, ruined everything again. Wrong choice, Angel. Just couldn’t get enough could you, had to break him too.
Finally, when his hand tangles in my hair, I can’t stop the electricity that goes straight to my groin, straight through to my fingertips and toes. He wants this. I kiss him back, fiercely, greedily. Too strong. He’s going to push me away. Run away. Disappear.
But it’s Wes. I think I moan his name, but I’m still reeling from knowing that Wes is kissing meI doubt I’ll ever stop tripping over those words
( ... )
Moaning into his mouth as his kiss become stronger, fiercer, possessive almost I nearly wrench my mouth away to breath. But I can’t, I don’t want to. I need this, I need him, I need his taste on my tongue. Need to know he’ll be tasting me, need to know he wants to taste me. But his the way he’s kissing me is anything to go by, I’ll have to say…yes
( ... )
His moan undoes me, and I'm dragging him onto my lap, but not really focused enough to get him more than halfway. I want so much more, want to touch and feel and taste so much more, because I know this is going to be over soon, and things will have to go back to the way we were before. No touching, no wanting, nothing. My hands get tighter with the fear of losing him.
When we break apart his face is dizzy and his eyes glazed. Thoroughly tired, and well-kissed. A little smile creeps across my face as I try not to think of the other possible ways that I could get to see his face look like this. Imagination is not going to help get myself under control here.
His thumb reaches my lips and the soft, reverent contact pulls a groan from me, and I lick the tip of his finger with my tongue. He tastes like salt and ink and I want to taste more. See what other parts of him taste like. This is probably too far already. He's not ready for this. Fred just basically died, you idiot. He's probably just needs someone in that role
( ... )
There is an answering groan coming from me when his tongue darts out to lick the pad of my thumb. I’m almost temped to push it into that cool mouth, wanting to feel what that’s like. But I don’t, though there as a jolt of arousal going through me when he nips at my skin. A shudder follows suite and I can’t seem to look away from him. Quite mesmerized, magically drawn in by his eyes, his words, his body, his scent. It reminds me of times gone by, times we can never get back
( ... )
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He is so close by, those familiar lips are so close by. There should be a cool breath on my face, but there’s not. There is no steady heartbeat under the hand on his chest. There is no warmth seeping through from his skin. Yet, he’s more alive to me then anyone else in this building. The rest are dead, walking zombies, much like myself I suspect. He is the only thing I’ve left, the only one. I cannot trust Charles any longer. I’ve no idea where Lorne is. I hardly know Spike and then there’s Illyria. There’s only him left.
So what was he doing messing around with that lawyer with then? Answers me boy! I don’t know father, I don’t ( ... )
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Finally, when his hand tangles in my hair, I can’t stop the electricity that goes straight to my groin, straight through to my fingertips and toes. He wants this. I kiss him back, fiercely, greedily. Too strong. He’s going to push me away. Run away. Disappear.
But it’s Wes. I think I moan his name, but I’m still reeling from knowing that Wes is kissing meI doubt I’ll ever stop tripping over those words ( ... )
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When we break apart his face is dizzy and his eyes glazed. Thoroughly tired, and well-kissed. A little smile creeps across my face as I try not to think of the other possible ways that I could get to see his face look like this. Imagination is not going to help get myself under control here.
His thumb reaches my lips and the soft, reverent contact pulls a groan from me, and I lick the tip of his finger with my tongue. He tastes like salt and ink and I want to taste more. See what other parts of him taste like. This is probably too far already. He's not ready for this. Fred just basically died, you idiot. He's probably just needs someone in that role ( ... )
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