I actually gasp when he tugs at my lip, his teeth light on my mouth, and I grip him tighter. I wiggle a little underneath, not sure if I'm trying to get closer or further away from his body melting against me. And when he breaths my name and gives the slightest shiver it feels like my whole body is on fire. This man is mine. I rock my hips against him, unable to hold back. My mouth at his throat and the response he's given to it have set my demon on pins and needles. It's hungry for more, I'm hungry for more. Just the feel of Wes on top of me makes me feel the hunger that's been building all these years.
But his hands on my face steady me for a moment, pull me back to the moment. I know he's wrong about the curse, but the desire to find him a little piece of happiness right now overpowers the urge to argue too much. "It's you, Wes, not just anybody." I want to tell him how happy that makes me, how in spite of everything, having him right here is enough happiness to do plenty of damage later when he's gone. When he's driven away. I kiss him then, my hands holding his face just the way he's holding mine. Mirroring that need, that pain... Thinking about the unhappiness that he's had to wallow and feeling the anger rise to the surface. The kiss gets fiercer, but I keep holding him, my tongue finding his.
Knowing that his happiness has slipped away time and time again makes me keep kissing him, my hands urgently searching for skin, wanting to make him feel something. My hands finally find their way under his shirt and they splay across his back, absorbing his heat. My mouth slows, letting our foreheads remain touching when I break away to say, "Having you right here makes me happy. Might not be perfect now... Want you, Wes." Want to give him what I can whether I should or not. Want to drive out that pain and make him feel something besides lost and lonely.
Nearly snorting at his words, I resist the urge to roll my eyes. It's just me. Is he kidding? Of course he is. I'm not perfect happiness to him. I'm not perfect happiness for anyone. Everyone I love dies in the end. Cordelia, Lilah....Fred. I guess in some very ironic way, I guess it's someone's idea of a cosmic joke to have me love Angel. He's already dead, I can't really kill him can I?
Except for the fact that I can. He can still really die, adn that's not something I ever wish to face. I cannot let him end like everyone else I've loved. Cared for. Maybe this is wrong. Maybe he is right. But it's not his curse we have to worry about. It's mine. It's the one I seem to carry. But before I can pull away, say that he's right, letting him believe that rather then hurt him, he takes my face in his hands.
I blink at him surprised, but then his lips are on mine again and I can't *not* respond. It's a different kiss then before, taking me by surprise. Moaning into his mouth, I slide a hand back into his hair, rubbing my tongue over his as I willingly let him in. I've no idea what's going on with him, but there's this sudden need going through him. One I can't seem to deny no matter what.
I am his faithful servant after all.
When his cool hands are skin of my back, my hips jerk forward and I gasp for air. I look at him surprised, slowly licking my lips, arching into his touch. God, this feels so good, I’m having a hard time believing his is really happening. Tentatively, I pull his shirt out of his trousers, glancing up at him to make sure this is still okay. My hand runs gently over his stomach, as small smile of wonder and awe appearing when I can feel them jump as I move on to his chest. Flicking my thumb over a nipple, sucking in my breath when it hardens under my touch.
His words surprise me even more. Stun me, humble me, nearly make me cry. Again. Can't have that. Giving him a sad smile, I lean in for another gentle kiss. "I want you to, Angel. I‘ve always wanted you," I whisper. "But you don't have to lie to me, Angel. I can't make anyone happy. I can only kill the ones I love." It's the truth, and he should know it. "Don't lie to yourself, please. I'm not."
His skin is hot under my fingers and when his hips rub suddenly against mine I moan, gritting my teeth, wondering how long I can keep from letting this hunger swallow us both. Slick and shiny, begging to be tasted, his tongue wets his lips and my fingers massage his back harden, my fingernails lightly grazing the skin as they slide lower.
When he goes to pull my shirt free, I suck in a breath, the need rising in me quick and sharp. And the little glance of permission is more than seductive, it's enticing. Then his hands are on my stomach and my eyes flutter closed, tormented by his smooth fingers that skate strong and sure up to my nipple. I match his pull of breath with my own and I want to whisper, "More," over and over. That's what my body is saying loud and clear even if my throat has closed tight on the words.
That light little kiss almost makes me sadder than his words do. Like he would give up so easily so he wouldn't get hurt. I want to tell him exactly how he makes me feel, and how that's better than perfect. Better than happy. But I know that words can be gifts as well as weapons to Wes and I don't want him to misinterpret this. Because I know there will be plenty of time for that later.
"This isn't a lie." I pull one of his hands from under my shirt and gently, reverently kiss his palm. I wish for second I could let him feel just how much my heart would be racing for him, but the thought is fleeting I move on to firmer territory. "And this isn't a lie" I smile and kiss him lightly letting him feel my smile against his mouth. "And this is definitely not a lie." I guide his hand between us and place it over my groin where I'm getting hard. For him. A moan escapes without thought when his hand makes contact. "Wes." My head falls back for moment, sensation flying through me. "But maybe we should stop." My hips arch involuntarily into his hand. "Before I can't." I give him a smile hoping he sees how much I want this and doesn't feel rejected anyway.
Its rather mesmerism to watch someone you know that doesn’t need to breath suck in his breath. It’s even more enchanting to know you’re the reason for making him do so. I smile at him as the look on his face takes my breath away. And unlike him, I actually do need to breath. Still, I’m not entirely sure this is what he wants. I know it’s what I want, what my body wants, what my mind needs. But I’m not alone in this, I refuse to use him to ease my mind and body. Though, oddly enough, I’d have no problem if he used me. And that’s just wrong, I know this, just can’t seem t care.
When we pull back from the kiss, I let my hands roam over his skin. Smooth and cool under my touch, nipples growing in hard as I work them between my fingers. I’d have never dared or allowed to let myself dream that this would happened. That I’d actually be touching him, kissing him. And now that I am, I want more, need more, crave more. But he pulls my hand away and I look at him confused.
My brow furrows in confusion as I watch him kiss the palm of my hand. I eagerly lean into the light kiss that follows. For some reason my mind is already bracing itself for some form of rejection. This is the part where they say this is nice and all, but it’s not what they’re looking for. Or more specifically, not with whom they’re looking for it.
He guides my hand between our bodies, pressing it between his legs. I can feel his growing erection and can’t help but grin at that. Squeezing it, my grin grows wider when he groans out loud and I start to rub it through the cloth. The smile hurts, it feels unnatural, but it’s still there nevertheless. “Angel,” I whisper as he moans my name and a small flutter goes through me at that. But just as I’m about to press forward, my own throbbing cock needing some friction, he says we should stop.
I freeze, the smile fading from my face as I look at him with panic in my eyes. No, no I can’t stop now. I need this, I need him. Why? What did I do wrong? Slowly, I take my hand away from him and drop it limply at my side. His smile confuses me as I search his eyes for something. Was this all a dream after all? This….this didn’t really happen?
I want to just move away, climb off him and hide in some corner. Hide in a dark closet and don’t come out ever again. I can feel part of the walls that had been crumbling thanks to him starting to build back up again. But I can’t seem to move, I can only sit there and look at him with wide eyes. My mouth opens several times before I finally manage to get a very quiet, very small “Why?” out.
When he whispers my name, I wonder at his need. How is it possible that we've both wanted this for so long and I didn't even notice? Wouldn't notice is more like it. Some part of me wouldn't let myself. It was too good. Looked to easy; loving him. But now he's here, whispering my name and making me groan with pleasure and frustration, and all I can imagine is finally having him and then having this all go away. Like it never happened. All awkwardness and old thoughts running through our heads. None of this goodness. Maybe this is our only chance. I don't know.
All I know is that tiny voice that asks me why seems to hurt so much more than anything else. He could have said he hated me, or walked away entirely and I would have been fine, but that tiny, tiny, barely a word, "why" says too much. Hurts too much. I thread my fingers through his even though they've deserted my aching body and let my thumbs slide over his wrists.
"I don't want to stop, Wes, I want you. But if we don't stop, I'm going to take you right here on this couch. In your office. Where anyone can interrupt us. I want you all to myself. You deserve better." God, do I want this. But I can't hurt him again. I can't. And if we do this, I will. When he finds out about The Circle, he'll blame me. Think I've betrayed him. Again. He won't understand. He'll leave me. And he won't come back.
The war inside to hold him close and fuck him through his sofa is strong, and if that's what he wants then I don't think I could deny him, but I know this will only make things worse in the long run. At least we'd have this one moment. Just us. Together and perfectly right. "Is this what you want, Wes?" I watch his blank, emotionless face, and hope like hell that I can get that better than perfect smile back.
Confused, I glance down at my hands. Our hands, as he threads his fingers through mine. I let him, though I cannot hold back the small shiver running through my body when he rubs his thumbs over my wrists. My mind for one fleeting moment escaping with imagined that do absolutely nothing to calm me down in any way. Old dreams coming to the fore to haunt me again. Things that will probably never be. Because he doesn't really want me.
Not like I want him.
His voice tears me out of my thoughts once more. We've stopped moving now. No more breathtaking kisses. No more touching and shivering at that. No more nice friction that makes him make those lovely sounds. Nothing, I can only stare blankly at him as he speaks. It does not make sense to me.
My mind is scream at me to ask him 'then why did you stop?' when he tells me he doesn't want to stop. But of course nothing comes out. Already drawing back, crawling into the little shell I've created over the years. But when he continued, I can only blink at him in confusion and wonder once again how unobservant he can be. And I thought I was oblivious.
"Angel?" I whisper, since for some apparent reason my voice can't reach above the volume of a whisper. Maybe I'm just afraid I'll scare him off if I talk to loud. I've no idea. "Don't you know? Have you never noticed in all these years?" When there was no one? Cordelia had her boyfriends. Gunn had Fred. It was only when he left me I sought my refuge elsewhere. Lilah. It was only when I thought there was no hope I turned to someone else. Fred. Only to get hurt over and over again.
"You've always had me to yourself. I don't want to deserve better. You are the best." I wonder briefly if I should get that brick now. Hit him over the head with it. Or maybe I should kiss him, but I'm afraid he'll push me away again. Tilting my head, I swallow hard and look at him worried. Why can't we even have this? What is he hiding? Why is everything always denied? It has to be some deities idea of a cosmic joke.
Well guess what. I'm not laughing. It's not funny. I'm not amused.
I let go of one of his hands and slide it lightly up to the back of his neck, skimming his arm and shoulder as I go. I can't stop from wanting to comfort him anymore. I want him to be okay. I want him to feel right about this even if I don't. I should let him pull away. Let him crawl back into hiding, let him linger on death's door. I shouldn't have started this at all. But that blue...so vacant and screaming...
I can already see the distrust forming on his face. That worried look. That look that is saying, "Angel, what's going on?" Not yet, not yet. Not so soon. That was too easy. Ruined his trust without blinking an eye. Angelus couldn't have done better. This is why Wes. Why I never did anything, because we can't be together. Because I don't know how to do it right. To do it the way you deserve. To make things turn out better instead of worse.
"Can't be the best." I mutter sadly, if I were the best, you wouldn't be looking at me like this. You wouldn't have hurt for so long. I wouldn't have punished you. My face edges closer, looking in his eyes until the last second, and giving him a light, slow kiss, chastely pulling away and letting our lips linger millimeters apart. Hearing him say I've always had him makes a spark and a chill run through my spine. What did I just lose? Have I really lost it yet? "I'm sorry, Wes. I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long." I murmur in the silence.
I don't know if he'll kiss me back after my indecisiveness, whether he'll feel like this is pity, but it's harder to simply let go than I thought. I don't know if I'll ever be able to. Cordy, Buffy, there still there, why would Wes be any different. I don't ever want to. I want this whole place to crumble, take my son, Wes, and go back to the way things were. Leave the lawyering and paperwork and everything else to the bad guys. God, I remember when I knew which side of right and wrong I stood on. But I do know one thing. This is wrong. Watching Wes die every day. Definitely wrong. And if it's because of me that he stays, even more wrong. I got him into this, and he shouldn't have to keep grinding himself to pulp because of me.
My eyes look down, not wanting to see him. Not wanting to know that I've pushed him away. I keep my hand in his still though, hoping that I haven't lost everything. It's ridiculous to want this, knowing what's going to happen. But I can't keep wondering what if. Neither of us should. Maybe if we keep going, let myself be with him he'll understand what I really am. Understand what really happens to the people I love.
This is so confusing. He's utterly confusing me. Body saying one thing, words another. And then it's the other way around. I don't what to do anymore. How stupid do I feel, sitting here on his lap nearly grinding myself into him. Nearly letting go and letting him have it all? And then he's the one who's starting to pull away. Why? Because he thinks he's not the best? Can't be the best? How would he know what is the best for me?
He is, from my point of view. He is the best. The reason I keep on going. Everytime I get beaten down, I picked myself up and move on. Because of him. Perhaps...Perhaps that scares him? I don't know. I'm starting to realize that I know him probably the best of everyone bar Cordelia. But when it comes to this? I don't know him at all. I've no idea what he's thinking, why he's thinking it.
"I could've..." I start to say, but then his lips are on mine again. Just when I was about to slide of his lap, feeling rather awkward there. But when those soft, cool lips are on mine again, I freeze and then kiss him back uncertain. I want this, I need this, but I'm not sure anymore. Sure of him, or us. Even though there is no 'us'.
When we pull from the much to short kiss, I open my mouth several times to try and say something. Anything to get this doubt in himself away. And god, I thought I was bad. But he's not looking at me, and now I'm back to being confused again. Ducking my head, I put my fingers under his chin in an echo of his earlier gesture. I tilt his head up and search his eyes. "I could've said something too," I mumble, running my other hand through his hair in a hopeful soothing gesture. Besides, how many chances to I get to mess with his hair.
I could've said something, but I always thought it had been pretty obvious. Even Cordelia had noticed at one point, making veiled remarks. Those must've flown right over his head as well. "And you are worth the wait, but..." Swallowing hard, it me who looks down again this time. "...if you don't want this," now "I suppose I better...." Unable to finish the sentence, because I don't *want* to leave him, I clear my throat. Not now, so close. With a sigh, I start to move from his lap, trying to regain a little bit of dignity.
I feel him return the kiss and my heart feels like it might start beating. This is my chance. The only chance. After this, who knows what will happen. But this can't go to waste. His words are calming and his hand in my hair makes me feel safe. Feels like nothing can hurt us when we're like this. I lean gently into the touch, not wanting to scare him away. His eyes are searching and confused and hopefully he sees how much it means to me, him trusting me like this, wanting me. This feels right, and I can't talk myself out of that.
He says I'm worth the wait. It's hard to imagine how much he's wanted this, and how often he's been denied it, because I was too... scared, distracted, angry... He's always been there, though. Right by my side, and when he wasn't I still wanted him there. And I want him here now. Worrying about the consequences never worked for me anyway.
"No, please." Don't go. My hands are like lightning to his hips, stilling him before he gets too far. Something catches in my throat, feels like maybe tears, but I swallow it and try to steady myself with a deep breath. My hands tighten on his hips and pull him back. "Stay."
"I do want this. Too much. I don't want to hurt you." My eyes pleading with him to understand. It's the truth, and he can take it how he likes, it would all be true. He makes it hard to keep control, but that's only the beginning of the ways I could hurt him. But if he's willing to take that risk, then so am I.
His hands fly to my hips so fast. I hardly see the move. It’s not completely unexpected. That I didn’t see them move, that is. He is a vampire after all. The fact that he moved them at all does come somewhat as a surprise. My eyes glanced down as he tightens his grip and pulled my back onto his lap. Automatically, I straddle him again, still feeling rather awkward and out of place.
But he tells me to stay and when I look up into his eyes they are pleading me for something. I don’t know what though. He says he doesn’t want to hurt him and I just want to really hit him over the head. But then I realize that he must already know how many times he’s hurt me in the past. By denying me, by pushing me away, by trying to kill me. Then again, I’ve hurt him as well. Taking over the roll of boss, taking Connor, though both had never been really my choice. They were choices which were forced upon me. With large consequences.
Sighing, I put my hand on his face again, rubbing my thumb over his cheekbone. I need a drink, I can feel the urge to just flee back to the safety of my books and my insanity. It scares me how much I want that. I don’t want to want that, I don’t want to flee anymore. Focusing on Angel and trying to reassure him for now keeps me firmly away from that now though. I’d do anything for him, even risk my own life. I have in the past.
“Where there’s…” love, “….care, there will always be hurt as well, Angel. You should know that. And I know you don’t want to hurt me. Just as I never meant or would want to hurt you. If-if you’re not s-sure about this then….p-perhaps we shou-should stop.” I whisper those last words, quickly looking down to hide the pain and disappointment sure to be visible in my eyes. I don’t want to stop. I want this, need this, but not at his cost.
But his hands on my face steady me for a moment, pull me back to the moment. I know he's wrong about the curse, but the desire to find him a little piece of happiness right now overpowers the urge to argue too much. "It's you, Wes, not just anybody." I want to tell him how happy that makes me, how in spite of everything, having him right here is enough happiness to do plenty of damage later when he's gone. When he's driven away. I kiss him then, my hands holding his face just the way he's holding mine. Mirroring that need, that pain... Thinking about the unhappiness that he's had to wallow and feeling the anger rise to the surface. The kiss gets fiercer, but I keep holding him, my tongue finding his.
Knowing that his happiness has slipped away time and time again makes me keep kissing him, my hands urgently searching for skin, wanting to make him feel something. My hands finally find their way under his shirt and they splay across his back, absorbing his heat. My mouth slows, letting our foreheads remain touching when I break away to say, "Having you right here makes me happy. Might not be perfect now... Want you, Wes." Want to give him what I can whether I should or not. Want to drive out that pain and make him feel something besides lost and lonely.
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Except for the fact that I can. He can still really die, adn that's not something I ever wish to face. I cannot let him end like everyone else I've loved. Cared for. Maybe this is wrong. Maybe he is right. But it's not his curse we have to worry about. It's mine. It's the one I seem to carry. But before I can pull away, say that he's right, letting him believe that rather then hurt him, he takes my face in his hands.
I blink at him surprised, but then his lips are on mine again and I can't *not* respond. It's a different kiss then before, taking me by surprise. Moaning into his mouth, I slide a hand back into his hair, rubbing my tongue over his as I willingly let him in. I've no idea what's going on with him, but there's this sudden need going through him. One I can't seem to deny no matter what.
I am his faithful servant after all.
When his cool hands are skin of my back, my hips jerk forward and I gasp for air. I look at him surprised, slowly licking my lips, arching into his touch. God, this feels so good, I’m having a hard time believing his is really happening. Tentatively, I pull his shirt out of his trousers, glancing up at him to make sure this is still okay. My hand runs gently over his stomach, as small smile of wonder and awe appearing when I can feel them jump as I move on to his chest. Flicking my thumb over a nipple, sucking in my breath when it hardens under my touch.
His words surprise me even more. Stun me, humble me, nearly make me cry. Again. Can't have that. Giving him a sad smile, I lean in for another gentle kiss. "I want you to, Angel. I‘ve always wanted you," I whisper. "But you don't have to lie to me, Angel. I can't make anyone happy. I can only kill the ones I love." It's the truth, and he should know it. "Don't lie to yourself, please. I'm not."
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When he goes to pull my shirt free, I suck in a breath, the need rising in me quick and sharp. And the little glance of permission is more than seductive, it's enticing. Then his hands are on my stomach and my eyes flutter closed, tormented by his smooth fingers that skate strong and sure up to my nipple. I match his pull of breath with my own and I want to whisper, "More," over and over. That's what my body is saying loud and clear even if my throat has closed tight on the words.
That light little kiss almost makes me sadder than his words do. Like he would give up so easily so he wouldn't get hurt. I want to tell him exactly how he makes me feel, and how that's better than perfect. Better than happy. But I know that words can be gifts as well as weapons to Wes and I don't want him to misinterpret this. Because I know there will be plenty of time for that later.
"This isn't a lie." I pull one of his hands from under my shirt and gently, reverently kiss his palm. I wish for second I could let him feel just how much my heart would be racing for him, but the thought is fleeting I move on to firmer territory. "And this isn't a lie" I smile and kiss him lightly letting him feel my smile against his mouth. "And this is definitely not a lie." I guide his hand between us and place it over my groin where I'm getting hard. For him. A moan escapes without thought when his hand makes contact. "Wes." My head falls back for moment, sensation flying through me. "But maybe we should stop." My hips arch involuntarily into his hand. "Before I can't." I give him a smile hoping he sees how much I want this and doesn't feel rejected anyway.
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When we pull back from the kiss, I let my hands roam over his skin. Smooth and cool under my touch, nipples growing in hard as I work them between my fingers. I’d have never dared or allowed to let myself dream that this would happened. That I’d actually be touching him, kissing him. And now that I am, I want more, need more, crave more. But he pulls my hand away and I look at him confused.
My brow furrows in confusion as I watch him kiss the palm of my hand. I eagerly lean into the light kiss that follows. For some reason my mind is already bracing itself for some form of rejection. This is the part where they say this is nice and all, but it’s not what they’re looking for. Or more specifically, not with whom they’re looking for it.
He guides my hand between our bodies, pressing it between his legs. I can feel his growing erection and can’t help but grin at that. Squeezing it, my grin grows wider when he groans out loud and I start to rub it through the cloth. The smile hurts, it feels unnatural, but it’s still there nevertheless. “Angel,” I whisper as he moans my name and a small flutter goes through me at that. But just as I’m about to press forward, my own throbbing cock needing some friction, he says we should stop.
I freeze, the smile fading from my face as I look at him with panic in my eyes. No, no I can’t stop now. I need this, I need him. Why? What did I do wrong? Slowly, I take my hand away from him and drop it limply at my side. His smile confuses me as I search his eyes for something. Was this all a dream after all? This….this didn’t really happen?
I want to just move away, climb off him and hide in some corner. Hide in a dark closet and don’t come out ever again. I can feel part of the walls that had been crumbling thanks to him starting to build back up again. But I can’t seem to move, I can only sit there and look at him with wide eyes. My mouth opens several times before I finally manage to get a very quiet, very small “Why?” out.
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All I know is that tiny voice that asks me why seems to hurt so much more than anything else. He could have said he hated me, or walked away entirely and I would have been fine, but that tiny, tiny, barely a word, "why" says too much. Hurts too much. I thread my fingers through his even though they've deserted my aching body and let my thumbs slide over his wrists.
"I don't want to stop, Wes, I want you. But if we don't stop, I'm going to take you right here on this couch. In your office. Where anyone can interrupt us. I want you all to myself. You deserve better." God, do I want this. But I can't hurt him again. I can't. And if we do this, I will. When he finds out about The Circle, he'll blame me. Think I've betrayed him. Again. He won't understand. He'll leave me. And he won't come back.
The war inside to hold him close and fuck him through his sofa is strong, and if that's what he wants then I don't think I could deny him, but I know this will only make things worse in the long run. At least we'd have this one moment. Just us. Together and perfectly right. "Is this what you want, Wes?" I watch his blank, emotionless face, and hope like hell that I can get that better than perfect smile back.
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Not like I want him.
His voice tears me out of my thoughts once more. We've stopped moving now. No more breathtaking kisses. No more touching and shivering at that. No more nice friction that makes him make those lovely sounds. Nothing, I can only stare blankly at him as he speaks. It does not make sense to me.
My mind is scream at me to ask him 'then why did you stop?' when he tells me he doesn't want to stop. But of course nothing comes out. Already drawing back, crawling into the little shell I've created over the years. But when he continued, I can only blink at him in confusion and wonder once again how unobservant he can be. And I thought I was oblivious.
"Angel?" I whisper, since for some apparent reason my voice can't reach above the volume of a whisper. Maybe I'm just afraid I'll scare him off if I talk to loud. I've no idea. "Don't you know? Have you never noticed in all these years?" When there was no one? Cordelia had her boyfriends. Gunn had Fred. It was only when he left me I sought my refuge elsewhere. Lilah. It was only when I thought there was no hope I turned to someone else. Fred. Only to get hurt over and over again.
"You've always had me to yourself. I don't want to deserve better. You are the best." I wonder briefly if I should get that brick now. Hit him over the head with it. Or maybe I should kiss him, but I'm afraid he'll push me away again. Tilting my head, I swallow hard and look at him worried. Why can't we even have this? What is he hiding? Why is everything always denied? It has to be some deities idea of a cosmic joke.
Well guess what. I'm not laughing. It's not funny. I'm not amused.
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I can already see the distrust forming on his face. That worried look. That look that is saying, "Angel, what's going on?" Not yet, not yet. Not so soon. That was too easy. Ruined his trust without blinking an eye. Angelus couldn't have done better. This is why Wes. Why I never did anything, because we can't be together. Because I don't know how to do it right. To do it the way you deserve. To make things turn out better instead of worse.
"Can't be the best." I mutter sadly, if I were the best, you wouldn't be looking at me like this. You wouldn't have hurt for so long. I wouldn't have punished you. My face edges closer, looking in his eyes until the last second, and giving him a light, slow kiss, chastely pulling away and letting our lips linger millimeters apart. Hearing him say I've always had him makes a spark and a chill run through my spine. What did I just lose? Have I really lost it yet? "I'm sorry, Wes. I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long." I murmur in the silence.
I don't know if he'll kiss me back after my indecisiveness, whether he'll feel like this is pity, but it's harder to simply let go than I thought. I don't know if I'll ever be able to. Cordy, Buffy, there still there, why would Wes be any different. I don't ever want to. I want this whole place to crumble, take my son, Wes, and go back to the way things were. Leave the lawyering and paperwork and everything else to the bad guys. God, I remember when I knew which side of right and wrong I stood on. But I do know one thing. This is wrong. Watching Wes die every day. Definitely wrong. And if it's because of me that he stays, even more wrong. I got him into this, and he shouldn't have to keep grinding himself to pulp because of me.
My eyes look down, not wanting to see him. Not wanting to know that I've pushed him away. I keep my hand in his still though, hoping that I haven't lost everything. It's ridiculous to want this, knowing what's going to happen. But I can't keep wondering what if. Neither of us should. Maybe if we keep going, let myself be with him he'll understand what I really am. Understand what really happens to the people I love.
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He is, from my point of view. He is the best. The reason I keep on going. Everytime I get beaten down, I picked myself up and move on. Because of him. Perhaps...Perhaps that scares him? I don't know. I'm starting to realize that I know him probably the best of everyone bar Cordelia. But when it comes to this? I don't know him at all. I've no idea what he's thinking, why he's thinking it.
"I could've..." I start to say, but then his lips are on mine again. Just when I was about to slide of his lap, feeling rather awkward there. But when those soft, cool lips are on mine again, I freeze and then kiss him back uncertain. I want this, I need this, but I'm not sure anymore. Sure of him, or us. Even though there is no 'us'.
When we pull from the much to short kiss, I open my mouth several times to try and say something. Anything to get this doubt in himself away. And god, I thought I was bad. But he's not looking at me, and now I'm back to being confused again. Ducking my head, I put my fingers under his chin in an echo of his earlier gesture. I tilt his head up and search his eyes. "I could've said something too," I mumble, running my other hand through his hair in a hopeful soothing gesture. Besides, how many chances to I get to mess with his hair.
I could've said something, but I always thought it had been pretty obvious. Even Cordelia had noticed at one point, making veiled remarks. Those must've flown right over his head as well. "And you are worth the wait, but..." Swallowing hard, it me who looks down again this time. "...if you don't want this," now "I suppose I better...." Unable to finish the sentence, because I don't *want* to leave him, I clear my throat. Not now, so close. With a sigh, I start to move from his lap, trying to regain a little bit of dignity.
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He says I'm worth the wait. It's hard to imagine how much he's wanted this, and how often he's been denied it, because I was too... scared, distracted, angry... He's always been there, though. Right by my side, and when he wasn't I still wanted him there. And I want him here now. Worrying about the consequences never worked for me anyway.
"No, please." Don't go. My hands are like lightning to his hips, stilling him before he gets too far. Something catches in my throat, feels like maybe tears, but I swallow it and try to steady myself with a deep breath. My hands tighten on his hips and pull him back. "Stay."
"I do want this. Too much. I don't want to hurt you." My eyes pleading with him to understand. It's the truth, and he can take it how he likes, it would all be true. He makes it hard to keep control, but that's only the beginning of the ways I could hurt him. But if he's willing to take that risk, then so am I.
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But he tells me to stay and when I look up into his eyes they are pleading me for something. I don’t know what though. He says he doesn’t want to hurt him and I just want to really hit him over the head. But then I realize that he must already know how many times he’s hurt me in the past. By denying me, by pushing me away, by trying to kill me. Then again, I’ve hurt him as well. Taking over the roll of boss, taking Connor, though both had never been really my choice. They were choices which were forced upon me. With large consequences.
Sighing, I put my hand on his face again, rubbing my thumb over his cheekbone. I need a drink, I can feel the urge to just flee back to the safety of my books and my insanity. It scares me how much I want that. I don’t want to want that, I don’t want to flee anymore. Focusing on Angel and trying to reassure him for now keeps me firmly away from that now though. I’d do anything for him, even risk my own life. I have in the past.
“Where there’s…” love, “….care, there will always be hurt as well, Angel. You should know that. And I know you don’t want to hurt me. Just as I never meant or would want to hurt you. If-if you’re not s-sure about this then….p-perhaps we shou-should stop.” I whisper those last words, quickly looking down to hide the pain and disappointment sure to be visible in my eyes. I don’t want to stop. I want this, need this, but not at his cost.
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