Okay, definitely not ignoring. Freaking out, as Harmony would say.
"Hey! Ow." I whine in protest, not out of pain, but shock. What the hell was that? What am I talking about? What the hell is he talking about? The urge to get up and walk out of there is pretty damned tempting. It's a lot easier to run away than it is to listen to him say this stuff and glare at me, like I just told him Fred hated tacos. But his arms are locked around me pretty tight. Tight to keep me there, but tight that also means that he believes this stuff. I guess he can believe what he wants to believe.
"Okay, Wes." Helpful doesn't equal good. I've hurt plenty of people in the process. He should know. I hate listening to him talk so blindly about me like this. I thought he knew me better than that. If I want someone to hero-worship me I'd be in this shower with Nina right now. I squirm a little, wanting him to let go, and hating that he will.
I chuckle a little when he says "manpire." All the fight goes out of me at the little pause in between, and this whole conversation feels so ridiculous I have to smile. "Manpire, huh? I think I liked love better. As far as... descriptions go." Maybe if I can make him blush enough, he'll get distracted and quit telling me how wonderful I am. And more importantly quit making me feel so fucking guilty for what's going to happen once we get out of this cocoon outside of reality.
Good lord, was that a whine? Of course it was. It's not as though I've not heard it before, but it *has* been quite a while. And it stings a little that the reason I've not heard that is because we've not been very close. Before the mind wipe. We were getting there, but I was so certain it would never be the same again. I guess I was wrong. Very wrong.
Or right. We didn't have *this* before the...whole mess. The entire mess. Not thinking about the mess now. Focus here, Pryce. Or Angel will take whatever little scrap he can get and run off in a completely different direction with the subject. And how strange is it, to stand in underneath a shower, naked, discussing this. And I really ought to stop clinging onto Angel like that.
I'm still glaring at him, though the heat has gone out of it a little bit. Almost as though I've used up my allotted energy for today on that small rant. And to think I could lecture him for hours on end. If I wanted to. If they let me, which they never did.
Pulling him closer, but trying to loosen my grip - try being the keyword here - I sigh as he actually manages to change the subject. Bastard. It's the smile. It's that stupid, silly smile I've not seen for so long. The one I was never able to resist with one of my own.
"Oh you do hmm?" Leaning in, I lick away some drops of water from his throat, resisting the urge to suck on a patch of pale skin. Hard. Mine. And if I say that long enough, I might actually one day believe that myself. "Well, you are quite lovely," I murmur, nipping along his throat to the other side. "And you're a good manpire, love."
He has to be, everyone else I love had turned evil, by choice or otherwise. Cordy, Fred, Gunn...Angelus. Pulling away, I tilted my head back and looked at him from under my eyelashes. Christ, he's bloody gorgeous. And he is good, the champion. Why can't he see that? Why won't or can't he believe that?
And locking up human lawyers in a cellar with two infamous vampire is good? Smothering you with a pillow is good? Wiping your memory is good?
Okay, good, changing gears. This I can do. Praising Wes, piece of cake.
"If we're going with lovely, mmm," I moan at what he's doing to my neck, "you're lovelier. And that thing you're doing? Pretty lovely, too. Ah!" I gasp a little when he starts nipping my throat. If I hadn't just come... I slide my arms around his waist enclosing him in the same grip he's got me in. "Hot, might be a more masculine adjective. And you are that, Wes. Dangerous, too. Gonna be the end of me, if you keep that up."
There are tiny moments when I wish he was a vampire too so we could play a little rougher, and the biting wouldn't be such a thing, but they're tiny, fleeting moments because then I remember how touchingly innocent it is that he does this anyway; that he tries so hard to appeal to the vampire in the man. The contrast between us isn't bad either. That heat. Never gonna get tired of that. And the panting, his hot breath against my skin, and the pounding of his heart. Yeah, never gonna get tired of any of that.
When he looks at me out from under his eyelashes, water clinging to the ends, I can't not kiss him. I tilt his chin up gently and softly press my lips to his. I want to be as good as he thinks I am, I really do, but I can't be what I'm not. It's a series of long slow kisses, gentle, and as "good" as I can make them. If he remembers nothing else about this, I want him to feel loved. Because he is. He's mine.
Gotta get out of this shower sometime, though, unfortunately. Finally, I break the kiss, still holding him. "Not that I don't want to spend all day in here with you, Wes..." If that isn't an enticing image... "but maybe we should get you dried off soon. Gonna be all wrinkles if we don't."
“Do the Irish say ‘lovely’?” I murmur amused against his neck. I’d let the subject slide for now. But I wasn’t about to forget it, I wasn’t about to let him forget it either. He could, for now, but when it came to that, I was like a small terrier. Well, at least that’s what Cordy always said. God, I miss Cordy and I really ought not think about her to much while standing naked under the shower with our arms locked around each other.
Oh, and kissing.
My lips part when he tilts my chin up. Mostly because I’d like to say something, but when his lips are on mine, his tongue gently searching my mouth, I forgot what it was. The kiss slow, gentle, soft, taking my breath away and leaving me panting for air by the time he pulls away to let me breath. Damn trade that breathing. Would be so much better if I’d not needed to breath. I could kiss this man for hours on end. Spend days exploring his body with my mouth, my teeth, my tongue. Mapping his skin and memorizing every crook, dip or curve.
“You mean to tell me I loose my hotness and dangerous edge when wrinkled” Raising my eyebrow at him, I cock my head to the side and give him a look. My hands can’t seem to stay still as they stray all over his body, sliding over soft, wet slicked skin. Combing through his hair, rubbing his neck and pulling him closer to me for another kiss.
“Have you objections to prunes as well?” I mutter against his lips, unable to take my eyes away from his brown ones. A man could drown in there, just like I’m doing now. I suppose he’s right and we should get out. Eventually. We do have a firm to run after all. Right? Right. I suppose.
He's giving me That Look. The mischevious, sly, adorable look that doesn't make me want to look away. "Not at all." I whisper drinking him in with my eyes. His hands feel too good, and I know if we keep sitting here I'm not going to want to let him go.
I rub my thumb down his spine and lean in for his kiss. Another sweet, slow, scorching kiss. I think his mouth has been burned onto my lips, and his tongue etched into my mouth. Which is good, because I don't want to forget what this feels like. I don't want to forget the dip of his tongue, the bluntness of his teeth, the pressure of his lips. We part, and I'm looking at the eyes of a man who it seems like I've never seen before. Now, I can see Wes, the man that makes me ache, and want, and need rather than the man that makes me wish, and hurt and pull away.
I listen to him breath, and run my hand tenderly over his cheek. "My lover, the prune. That might actually raise eyebrows around here. For about two minutes." I give him a smile. This teasing is nice, I've missed it. One more reason I'm not going to be able to take my hands off him if we don't move.
"We can always continue this elesewhere...and later." I say, my hands skating over his body, following the patterns he was making over mine before. A small tingle goes through me at the thought that we could be doing this everyday for the rest of our lives. Or Wes's life. If I didn't think there'd be something to screw this up.
My hands aren't in agreement with any of my plans and they pull him closer, and one goes to hold the back of his neck, as if I were going to kiss him again, but my thumb curls around and skirts over his pulse. That manages to wake me out of this dream. Fate has been tempted a few too many times for one afternoon. Okay, out of shower. Now. "You dry me, I'll dry you?" I attempt to unfold myself gently from both of our arms, and I reach for his hand to help him up as I stand.
It should probably be wrong to be addicted to his touch. I’ve craved it for so long however, I feel like a starving man who’s thrown a bone to gnaw on and finds out it’s a seven course meal. My body seems to have a mind on it’s own when it comes to his hands, his lips, his tongue. It easily curls and moves into those touches without me having to think about it. And every time he does, it takes my breath away, quite literally at that.
Not for the first time do I wish I didn’t need to breath. Because when he kisses me I want to go on forever and never stop. His lips are like fire on mine, his tongue is like sweet torture as it swoops through my mouth. With one hand I clutch his hips while the other hangs onto his shoulder, because those kisses make my knees week and I’d be very close to collapsing if we weren’t already on the floor. For which I’m really getting to old, I can feel my lets trembling though they’re on the verge of cramping up.
His remark might raise an eyebrow or two, it certainly raises mine. “Your lover the prune?” Blinking, I give him another look while I try to figure out if I’ve just been insulted. I’m still to busy to catch my breath from those kisses though to come to a coherent conclusion. “I suppose it matches peaches.” I can’t help but chuckle at his expression, shifting a bit under the shower and intensely grateful that it’s enchanted in a way. Though, I’m not sure I should be, because it the water were cold we’d at least be moving by now. Not, mind you, that I particularly want to move.
My hands are still moving over his body as his seem to make a mental map of mine, until he reaches the point where he can feel my heartbeat quite clearly. I feel those fingers skirt over the scratches on my neck, making me shiver in the most delightful way. “What?” I breathe out hoarsely, blinking to get my thoughts together. I suppose it would be useful if they weren’t scattered all over the place. “Oh, yes, alright.” And even I can hear the disappointment in my voice as he helps me up. Turning off the taps, I run a hand through my wet hair and then accept a towel from Angel with a small smile. Automatically, I wrap it around my waist while reaching for a second one and start to dry him off. So what if I linger at certain parts a bit more then is needed? Look at him? I doubt anyone can blame me.
“So elsewhere and…later?” I try very hard not to sound to hopeful that he means that, to fearful that once we leave here this will be over, to disappointed that we have to stop. Too…everything.
He shivers when I brush my fingers over his throat, and as much as I want to believe that it's because he likes it, the other more realistic, fatalistic part says that he can't possibly and it just stirs me more into getting out of this shower before I start to really disillusion myself.
I wait while he turns off the water and and take my time looking over his naked body before grabbing a towel, conveniently waiting for us. When he wraps it around his waist and grabs another towel, I smile a little, and wait until he finishes drying me. What a tease! He's taking his time going over my shoulders and I think he pretty much stops at my neck, rubbing lightly at where the marks from his teeth were. He's got my body humming happily already with just a little pat down. Doesn't even spare me a glance while he drags the towel a little slower down my chest and...other places. He looks like he's about to hand me the towel, but my hand goes to the one at his waist. That one's wet; got to have something to dry him with, right? My grin is wicked as I pull the towel around him and start drying his back and ass, hands lingering just the way his did over my nipples. Don't start something, Angel. Business, remember? It's so much easier to pretend to soak up all that water than it is to think about telling him that he needs to make Hamilton into a personal project.
I bend down to dry his legs sneaking quick kisses on his thighs before straightening up and drying his chest a little speedier. I ruffle his hair with the towel and give him a short kiss. "All dry." I say, still feeling a little mischievous as I wrap the towel back around his waist. "Ready for clothes?"
I get a few butterflies when he sounds a little bit hopeful about continuing this later. I want him to sound hopeful, anyway, whether he actually is or not. I try not to respond right away and sound like an over eager teenager, so I move to the door so we can grab our clothes. I open the door slowly so we don't get a blast of cold air...though that might not be a bad idea. I glance back as he follows me back out to his office. "So, yeah, elsewhere? Later?" I say trying to sound casual and not as eager as I know I sound. "If you're not busy, or something. If you want to. I mean, yeah, I'd like that. If you want to." I say making ineffectual hand gestures and looking around for my pants. I know I sound insecure, but I don't want to pressure him if he changes his mind.
When he touches my throat again, I can’t help but shiver. It feels so good I actually lean into the touch. The Watcher in me warns me about the dangers of doing that, about the dangers of me wanting him to bite me there. Mark me there properly. But this will have to do, the larger part of me knows and doesn’t care about the dangers. It feels good, it feels as though I belong. I’ve felt so lost and alone for a long time now. Knowing I still have him, even if it’s only for now, makes me feel as though I can take on the world again.
I’m done drying him off much to soon and lament about the fact that there really isn’t a patch of skin left I’ve not already dried twice, or even three times. Ruefully I reach for a towel to hand to him when he removes the one around my waist. I blink and look up at him confused, but he’s already thrown himself in the job of drying me off. And he’s certainly making it into a project of trying to get a full body shudder out of me. Which isn’t really all that difficult. I can feel his lips on my thighs as he moves down and there it is.
When he moves up again, speeding up the toweling, I can’t help but smile at him. Though I have to wonder why there is sadness in his eyes. I don’t know what that is about, but I want to kiss it away. Wrap my arms around him and keep him close until it leaves those gorgeous eyes and that little shining light is put back again. I let him do whatever he want to do, even if he does make me feel like a small child when he even dries off my hair. “Are you sure?” I ask hopefully, leaning into the kiss like a starved man at a banquet. I can never get enough of him, of this, but I’ll have to. Can’t very well molest him at one of the board meetings now can I?
Now there’s a thought.
Padding behind him dutifully to get our clothes, I wait for him to reply to my question. It takes him so long, that the butterflies in my stomach turn into the ones that make you want to run to the nearest toilet and throw up. Gathering my clothes and getting dressed again, even though I don’t really want to, I look at him thoughtfully. It could be my imagination, but he sounds a little insecure. Why? Is he having second thoughts about what we did? I am your faithful servant, Angel. Don’t ever forget that.
“I don’t have anything to do now or later. I’ve not had anything to do but watch a blue goddess for quite a while now.” Fred. Illyria. Just seeing her walk around drives me mad. Reaching out, I touch his shoulder, needed the conformation that he’s really here with me. That this isn’t just another one of my crazy dreams, thoughts, make believe wishing. Anchor me, my love.
Hope. Such a tiny thing, but in his eyes, it's so big. I could wrap myself up in it and still have enough left over for him, and anyone else who wanted some. It seems like every question ends in that little lilt of hope, and I think I might be getting addicted to it. I want to hear it over and over. Although, a tiny part of me doesn't want him to have to hope about things between us. He should just know. But I can't blame him for doubting me. I'd doubt me too, I had just been told my crush of the last four years liked me back and never bothered to tell me. I can't imagine what he must think I want from this.
I watch him from the corner of my eye, as he gets dressed, feeling a little sad that all that skin is getting covered up. I find my clothes and get dressed as well, while I listen to him tell me he's free later. It prompts a tiny smile to my lips and I feel some of the ridiculous tension I was feeling slide out of me. I can't help but worry though... I can hear the ache in his voice when he mentions Illyria, and I wish there was something I could do to ease his grief. He's so fragile. So fragile in a way that I can't fix. That's the hard part; not being able to fix what's hiding in the shadows of his eyes. I know I'm not Fred, but maybe I can at least distract him. If that's what he wants.
I'm still working on the last few buttons of my shirt when I feel his hand on my shoulder. There's not much pressure, but it's a welcome feeling to have him reach out to me. An impossible gesture an hour ago is now a necessary thing.
"Hey." I say softly and turn to look at him curiously. Okay, a little worriedly. My hand slips lightly around his waist. "What is it, Wes?" I brush a finger through his still damp hair and stroke his cheek. It's not much, but I don't have much else to offer.
I look at the hand on his shoulder mesmerized for long moments. Just feeling the cool skin underneath, thought there is still heat coming from the shower seeping through the fabric of his shirt. Feel the muscles moving underneath my touch as he gets up and doesn’t dislodge my hand. He’s here, with me. This has really happened and the pain I feel in my body isn’t make believe. And I can’t help but wonder that if I let go of him, let my hand drop, if he will shimmer away like most everyone else in this room has done.
“What?” I look at him, my mouth still hanging open and my eyes wide and round. My breath catches as I slowly look at my hand on him again as I swallow hard. If I let go, will he fade away into nothing? Like Cordy, and Fred, and Lilah and…all those others who’ve been here? I’m afraid to let to, but I must look like some fool. Standing there with my hand on his as though it’s frozen to his body.
But then his arms circle around my waist and I’m able to let my own hand drop. Did he hear my thoughts? Anchor me. Because that’s what he’s doing at the moment. “Nothing,” I mutter, leaning into his touch. Letting myself tip forward a bit, I nuzzle his neck and take in his scent. Showergel and myself, danger, darkness, security. Angel. home.
“Everything,” I whisper against his neck. I don’t want him to go. I don’t want him to let go. But he’ll have to. He can’t very well stand here forever and hold me. That would be to ridiculous for words. But right now I just want this, I want to feel him for as long as I’m allowed to. As long as he lets me. Before we both turn around and walk into the real world again. The one who is cruel and knows no mercy. The one who plays a game with those who walk upon it day by day.
Nothing. Everything. I don't know how to respond, so I keep holding him. I doubt I'm going to get much more of an answer if I do respond, and right now, I'm not sure I want one. The bubble might burst, and I might have to let go.
I like finally being able to be his protector. He's been so independent, or wanting to prove himself, that he hasn't wanted to let go with me, so this is good. Very good. Maybe we're getting somewhere. Always did like 'em vulnerable before you ripped their throats out, didn't you? Shut up. My teeth grate a little, but I just hold onto Wes, he's mine, and I'm not going to rip his throat out literally or otherwise.
"Shh." I whisper, "I've got you." The sweet fan of his breath on my neck where he's nuzzling, and that calming weight of him gently leaning against me makes me feel like we're back in the shower, apart from the world. It's almost like cradling a child Connor so it's automatic when my hands start rubbing soothing circles along his back. I could stand here forever, and maybe we do, or maybe it's only five minutes because in this non-reality I have no sense of time, nor do I want to. It feels like so much time and not nearly enough. But it would never be enough.
I run my hand through his hair, feeling each strand under my fingers, before I quietly break the mood. "I've got some work to do, and we still need to talk some shop, but maybe you should take the rest of the day and relax, Wes." He looks a lot more worn now, but maybe I didn't notice it before. "We can still meet in my suite later." If you want to.
Standing there with his arms around me, it’s hard to pull myself together. I’ve always done it before. I’ve always sucked it up, as Cordelia would say, and move don. Play the stoic British fellow who pretended everything was fine. It almost seems as though I’ve forgotten how to do what now that he’s finally holding me the way I’ve dreamed he’d do a thousand times before. But it was never like this in my dreams. And reality never was on the others side of the door, knocking this hard to be let in.
His words only make it worse and I know I’m close to crying. There’s a voice I know so well in the back of my head. Scolding me for being so weak. Scolding me for letting a vampire coddle me like this. And as usual the words hurt, they’ll always hurt. Even though I knew they’re not true. But Angel’s arms around me and his whispered words make it alright. If only for a moment. He’s got me, he says. But I know that when it comes to life, everyone is alone. Always.
As the voice grows louder, - “Stop sniffling boy! You’ll never amount to anything If you keep sniffling!” “I’m s-sorry, father.” “And for gods sake, *don’t* stammer! And this work? It’s Appalling. Sometimes I wonder why I bother. Honestly boy, can’t you do anything right?” “I’ll t-try harder, Sir.” “You’ll end up disgracing our family. Look at you, boy! Seeking comfort in the arms of a vampire. Disgusting!” - I steel myself to pull away. It needs to be done, I need to move on.
Work. Right. There’s work to be done.
Quickly wiping the sleeve of my shirt over my face, I clear my throat and nod. I pull away from him and take a few shaking breaths. “No,” I mutter, “ I can’t relax,” I don’t know how without you. “I still have this translation to work on and…things.” When I finally have myself somewhat under control, I look at him and offer a weak smile. Or what passes as a smile these days.
“I’d like that very much. I can bring some whiskey?” I’ve plenty of that just in the drawer of my desk. pathetic
"Hey! Ow." I whine in protest, not out of pain, but shock. What the hell was that? What am I talking about? What the hell is he talking about? The urge to get up and walk out of there is pretty damned tempting. It's a lot easier to run away than it is to listen to him say this stuff and glare at me, like I just told him Fred hated tacos. But his arms are locked around me pretty tight. Tight to keep me there, but tight that also means that he believes this stuff. I guess he can believe what he wants to believe.
"Okay, Wes." Helpful doesn't equal good. I've hurt plenty of people in the process. He should know. I hate listening to him talk so blindly about me like this. I thought he knew me better than that. If I want someone to hero-worship me I'd be in this shower with Nina right now. I squirm a little, wanting him to let go, and hating that he will.
I chuckle a little when he says "manpire." All the fight goes out of me at the little pause in between, and this whole conversation feels so ridiculous I have to smile. "Manpire, huh? I think I liked love better. As far as... descriptions go." Maybe if I can make him blush enough, he'll get distracted and quit telling me how wonderful I am. And more importantly quit making me feel so fucking guilty for what's going to happen once we get out of this cocoon outside of reality.
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Or right. We didn't have *this* before the...whole mess. The entire mess. Not thinking about the mess now. Focus here, Pryce. Or Angel will take whatever little scrap he can get and run off in a completely different direction with the subject. And how strange is it, to stand in underneath a shower, naked, discussing this. And I really ought to stop clinging onto Angel like that.
I'm still glaring at him, though the heat has gone out of it a little bit. Almost as though I've used up my allotted energy for today on that small rant. And to think I could lecture him for hours on end. If I wanted to. If they let me, which they never did.
Pulling him closer, but trying to loosen my grip - try being the keyword here - I sigh as he actually manages to change the subject. Bastard. It's the smile. It's that stupid, silly smile I've not seen for so long. The one I was never able to resist with one of my own.
"Oh you do hmm?" Leaning in, I lick away some drops of water from his throat, resisting the urge to suck on a patch of pale skin. Hard. Mine. And if I say that long enough, I might actually one day believe that myself. "Well, you are quite lovely," I murmur, nipping along his throat to the other side. "And you're a good manpire, love."
He has to be, everyone else I love had turned evil, by choice or otherwise. Cordy, Fred, Gunn...Angelus. Pulling away, I tilted my head back and looked at him from under my eyelashes. Christ, he's bloody gorgeous. And he is good, the champion. Why can't he see that? Why won't or can't he believe that?
And locking up human lawyers in a cellar with two infamous vampire is good? Smothering you with a pillow is good? Wiping your memory is good?
Shut up.
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"If we're going with lovely, mmm," I moan at what he's doing to my neck, "you're lovelier. And that thing you're doing? Pretty lovely, too. Ah!" I gasp a little when he starts nipping my throat. If I hadn't just come... I slide my arms around his waist enclosing him in the same grip he's got me in. "Hot, might be a more masculine adjective. And you are that, Wes. Dangerous, too. Gonna be the end of me, if you keep that up."
There are tiny moments when I wish he was a vampire too so we could play a little rougher, and the biting wouldn't be such a thing, but they're tiny, fleeting moments because then I remember how touchingly innocent it is that he does this anyway; that he tries so hard to appeal to the vampire in the man. The contrast between us isn't bad either. That heat. Never gonna get tired of that. And the panting, his hot breath against my skin, and the pounding of his heart. Yeah, never gonna get tired of any of that.
When he looks at me out from under his eyelashes, water clinging to the ends, I can't not kiss him. I tilt his chin up gently and softly press my lips to his. I want to be as good as he thinks I am, I really do, but I can't be what I'm not. It's a series of long slow kisses, gentle, and as "good" as I can make them. If he remembers nothing else about this, I want him to feel loved. Because he is. He's mine.
Gotta get out of this shower sometime, though, unfortunately. Finally, I break the kiss, still holding him. "Not that I don't want to spend all day in here with you, Wes..." If that isn't an enticing image... "but maybe we should get you dried off soon. Gonna be all wrinkles if we don't."
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Oh, and kissing.
My lips part when he tilts my chin up. Mostly because I’d like to say something, but when his lips are on mine, his tongue gently searching my mouth, I forgot what it was. The kiss slow, gentle, soft, taking my breath away and leaving me panting for air by the time he pulls away to let me breath. Damn trade that breathing. Would be so much better if I’d not needed to breath. I could kiss this man for hours on end. Spend days exploring his body with my mouth, my teeth, my tongue. Mapping his skin and memorizing every crook, dip or curve.
“You mean to tell me I loose my hotness and dangerous edge when wrinkled” Raising my eyebrow at him, I cock my head to the side and give him a look. My hands can’t seem to stay still as they stray all over his body, sliding over soft, wet slicked skin. Combing through his hair, rubbing his neck and pulling him closer to me for another kiss.
“Have you objections to prunes as well?” I mutter against his lips, unable to take my eyes away from his brown ones. A man could drown in there, just like I’m doing now. I suppose he’s right and we should get out. Eventually. We do have a firm to run after all. Right? Right. I suppose.
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I rub my thumb down his spine and lean in for his kiss. Another sweet, slow, scorching kiss. I think his mouth has been burned onto my lips, and his tongue etched into my mouth. Which is good, because I don't want to forget what this feels like. I don't want to forget the dip of his tongue, the bluntness of his teeth, the pressure of his lips. We part, and I'm looking at the eyes of a man who it seems like I've never seen before. Now, I can see Wes, the man that makes me ache, and want, and need rather than the man that makes me wish, and hurt and pull away.
I listen to him breath, and run my hand tenderly over his cheek. "My lover, the prune. That might actually raise eyebrows around here. For about two minutes." I give him a smile. This teasing is nice, I've missed it. One more reason I'm not going to be able to take my hands off him if we don't move.
"We can always continue this elesewhere...and later." I say, my hands skating over his body, following the patterns he was making over mine before. A small tingle goes through me at the thought that we could be doing this everyday for the rest of our lives. Or Wes's life. If I didn't think there'd be something to screw this up.
My hands aren't in agreement with any of my plans and they pull him closer, and one goes to hold the back of his neck, as if I were going to kiss him again, but my thumb curls around and skirts over his pulse. That manages to wake me out of this dream. Fate has been tempted a few too many times for one afternoon. Okay, out of shower. Now. "You dry me, I'll dry you?" I attempt to unfold myself gently from both of our arms, and I reach for his hand to help him up as I stand.
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Not for the first time do I wish I didn’t need to breath. Because when he kisses me I want to go on forever and never stop. His lips are like fire on mine, his tongue is like sweet torture as it swoops through my mouth. With one hand I clutch his hips while the other hangs onto his shoulder, because those kisses make my knees week and I’d be very close to collapsing if we weren’t already on the floor. For which I’m really getting to old, I can feel my lets trembling though they’re on the verge of cramping up.
His remark might raise an eyebrow or two, it certainly raises mine. “Your lover the prune?” Blinking, I give him another look while I try to figure out if I’ve just been insulted. I’m still to busy to catch my breath from those kisses though to come to a coherent conclusion. “I suppose it matches peaches.” I can’t help but chuckle at his expression, shifting a bit under the shower and intensely grateful that it’s enchanted in a way. Though, I’m not sure I should be, because it the water were cold we’d at least be moving by now. Not, mind you, that I particularly want to move.
My hands are still moving over his body as his seem to make a mental map of mine, until he reaches the point where he can feel my heartbeat quite clearly. I feel those fingers skirt over the scratches on my neck, making me shiver in the most delightful way. “What?” I breathe out hoarsely, blinking to get my thoughts together. I suppose it would be useful if they weren’t scattered all over the place. “Oh, yes, alright.” And even I can hear the disappointment in my voice as he helps me up. Turning off the taps, I run a hand through my wet hair and then accept a towel from Angel with a small smile. Automatically, I wrap it around my waist while reaching for a second one and start to dry him off. So what if I linger at certain parts a bit more then is needed? Look at him? I doubt anyone can blame me.
“So elsewhere and…later?” I try very hard not to sound to hopeful that he means that, to fearful that once we leave here this will be over, to disappointed that we have to stop. Too…everything.
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I wait while he turns off the water and and take my time looking over his naked body before grabbing a towel, conveniently waiting for us. When he wraps it around his waist and grabs another towel, I smile a little, and wait until he finishes drying me. What a tease! He's taking his time going over my shoulders and I think he pretty much stops at my neck, rubbing lightly at where the marks from his teeth were. He's got my body humming happily already with just a little pat down. Doesn't even spare me a glance while he drags the towel a little slower down my chest and...other places. He looks like he's about to hand me the towel, but my hand goes to the one at his waist. That one's wet; got to have something to dry him with, right? My grin is wicked as I pull the towel around him and start drying his back and ass, hands lingering just the way his did over my nipples. Don't start something, Angel. Business, remember? It's so much easier to pretend to soak up all that water than it is to think about telling him that he needs to make Hamilton into a personal project.
I bend down to dry his legs sneaking quick kisses on his thighs before straightening up and drying his chest a little speedier. I ruffle his hair with the towel and give him a short kiss. "All dry." I say, still feeling a little mischievous as I wrap the towel back around his waist. "Ready for clothes?"
I get a few butterflies when he sounds a little bit hopeful about continuing this later. I want him to sound hopeful, anyway, whether he actually is or not. I try not to respond right away and sound like an over eager teenager, so I move to the door so we can grab our clothes. I open the door slowly so we don't get a blast of cold air...though that might not be a bad idea. I glance back as he follows me back out to his office. "So, yeah, elsewhere? Later?" I say trying to sound casual and not as eager as I know I sound. "If you're not busy, or something. If you want to. I mean, yeah, I'd like that. If you want to." I say making ineffectual hand gestures and looking around for my pants. I know I sound insecure, but I don't want to pressure him if he changes his mind.
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When he touches my throat again, I can’t help but shiver. It feels so good I actually lean into the touch. The Watcher in me warns me about the dangers of doing that, about the dangers of me wanting him to bite me there. Mark me there properly. But this will have to do, the larger part of me knows and doesn’t care about the dangers. It feels good, it feels as though I belong. I’ve felt so lost and alone for a long time now. Knowing I still have him, even if it’s only for now, makes me feel as though I can take on the world again.
I’m done drying him off much to soon and lament about the fact that there really isn’t a patch of skin left I’ve not already dried twice, or even three times. Ruefully I reach for a towel to hand to him when he removes the one around my waist. I blink and look up at him confused, but he’s already thrown himself in the job of drying me off. And he’s certainly making it into a project of trying to get a full body shudder out of me. Which isn’t really all that difficult. I can feel his lips on my thighs as he moves down and there it is.
When he moves up again, speeding up the toweling, I can’t help but smile at him. Though I have to wonder why there is sadness in his eyes. I don’t know what that is about, but I want to kiss it away. Wrap my arms around him and keep him close until it leaves those gorgeous eyes and that little shining light is put back again. I let him do whatever he want to do, even if he does make me feel like a small child when he even dries off my hair. “Are you sure?” I ask hopefully, leaning into the kiss like a starved man at a banquet. I can never get enough of him, of this, but I’ll have to. Can’t very well molest him at one of the board meetings now can I?
Now there’s a thought.
Padding behind him dutifully to get our clothes, I wait for him to reply to my question. It takes him so long, that the butterflies in my stomach turn into the ones that make you want to run to the nearest toilet and throw up. Gathering my clothes and getting dressed again, even though I don’t really want to, I look at him thoughtfully. It could be my imagination, but he sounds a little insecure. Why? Is he having second thoughts about what we did? I am your faithful servant, Angel. Don’t ever forget that.
“I don’t have anything to do now or later. I’ve not had anything to do but watch a blue goddess for quite a while now.” Fred. Illyria. Just seeing her walk around drives me mad. Reaching out, I touch his shoulder, needed the conformation that he’s really here with me. That this isn’t just another one of my crazy dreams, thoughts, make believe wishing. Anchor me, my love.
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I watch him from the corner of my eye, as he gets dressed, feeling a little sad that all that skin is getting covered up. I find my clothes and get dressed as well, while I listen to him tell me he's free later. It prompts a tiny smile to my lips and I feel some of the ridiculous tension I was feeling slide out of me. I can't help but worry though... I can hear the ache in his voice when he mentions Illyria, and I wish there was something I could do to ease his grief. He's so fragile. So fragile in a way that I can't fix. That's the hard part; not being able to fix what's hiding in the shadows of his eyes. I know I'm not Fred, but maybe I can at least distract him. If that's what he wants.
I'm still working on the last few buttons of my shirt when I feel his hand on my shoulder. There's not much pressure, but it's a welcome feeling to have him reach out to me. An impossible gesture an hour ago is now a necessary thing.
"Hey." I say softly and turn to look at him curiously. Okay, a little worriedly. My hand slips lightly around his waist. "What is it, Wes?" I brush a finger through his still damp hair and stroke his cheek. It's not much, but I don't have much else to offer.
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“What?” I look at him, my mouth still hanging open and my eyes wide and round. My breath catches as I slowly look at my hand on him again as I swallow hard. If I let go, will he fade away into nothing? Like Cordy, and Fred, and Lilah and…all those others who’ve been here? I’m afraid to let to, but I must look like some fool. Standing there with my hand on his as though it’s frozen to his body.
But then his arms circle around my waist and I’m able to let my own hand drop. Did he hear my thoughts? Anchor me. Because that’s what he’s doing at the moment. “Nothing,” I mutter, leaning into his touch. Letting myself tip forward a bit, I nuzzle his neck and take in his scent. Showergel and myself, danger, darkness, security. Angel. home.
“Everything,” I whisper against his neck. I don’t want him to go. I don’t want him to let go. But he’ll have to. He can’t very well stand here forever and hold me. That would be to ridiculous for words. But right now I just want this, I want to feel him for as long as I’m allowed to. As long as he lets me. Before we both turn around and walk into the real world again. The one who is cruel and knows no mercy. The one who plays a game with those who walk upon it day by day.
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I like finally being able to be his protector. He's been so independent, or wanting to prove himself, that he hasn't wanted to let go with me, so this is good. Very good. Maybe we're getting somewhere. Always did like 'em vulnerable before you ripped their throats out, didn't you? Shut up. My teeth grate a little, but I just hold onto Wes, he's mine, and I'm not going to rip his throat out literally or otherwise.
"Shh." I whisper, "I've got you." The sweet fan of his breath on my neck where he's nuzzling, and that calming weight of him gently leaning against me makes me feel like we're back in the shower, apart from the world. It's almost like cradling a child Connor so it's automatic when my hands start rubbing soothing circles along his back. I could stand here forever, and maybe we do, or maybe it's only five minutes because in this non-reality I have no sense of time, nor do I want to. It feels like so much time and not nearly enough. But it would never be enough.
I run my hand through his hair, feeling each strand under my fingers, before I quietly break the mood. "I've got some work to do, and we still need to talk some shop, but maybe you should take the rest of the day and relax, Wes." He looks a lot more worn now, but maybe I didn't notice it before. "We can still meet in my suite later." If you want to.
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His words only make it worse and I know I’m close to crying. There’s a voice I know so well in the back of my head. Scolding me for being so weak. Scolding me for letting a vampire coddle me like this. And as usual the words hurt, they’ll always hurt. Even though I knew they’re not true. But Angel’s arms around me and his whispered words make it alright. If only for a moment. He’s got me, he says. But I know that when it comes to life, everyone is alone. Always.
As the voice grows louder, - “Stop sniffling boy! You’ll never amount to anything If you keep sniffling!” “I’m s-sorry, father.” “And for gods sake, *don’t* stammer! And this work? It’s Appalling. Sometimes I wonder why I bother. Honestly boy, can’t you do anything right?” “I’ll t-try harder, Sir.” “You’ll end up disgracing our family. Look at you, boy! Seeking comfort in the arms of a vampire. Disgusting!” - I steel myself to pull away. It needs to be done, I need to move on.
Work. Right. There’s work to be done.
Quickly wiping the sleeve of my shirt over my face, I clear my throat and nod. I pull away from him and take a few shaking breaths. “No,” I mutter, “ I can’t relax,” I don’t know how without you. “I still have this translation to work on and…things.” When I finally have myself somewhat under control, I look at him and offer a weak smile. Or what passes as a smile these days.
“I’d like that very much. I can bring some whiskey?” I’ve plenty of that just in the drawer of my desk. pathetic
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