The Last Time
Fandom: ANGEL
Title: The Last Time
Author: palmaceae
Pairing/Character: Faith/Wesley
Word Count: 1,160 words
Rating: PG-13
Summary: This is the last time Wesley will ever succumb to one of temptation’s girls.
Spoilers/Warnings: Salvage, character death
Author's Note: Repost of an older fic.
This is the last time. The very last time, because it can't go on any longer. This is the last time he’ll do something like this, the last time he’ll ever succumb to one of temptation’s girls. He’s certain that this is the reason that bad things happen to him, that whatever sort of higher power up there is punishing him for daring to bed fallen women. He’s not that type of man; he’s from the higher echelons of society, and it’s frankly degrading to be doing what he’s done.
Faith lies next to him, the covers barely covering her bare breasts, her dark hair spread over the pillow as she sleeps the sleep of the dead. But she’s not dead; her body is warm against his back, and she twitches slightly, causing the bed to lightly creak. He turns over and studies her, noting the bruises on her arms. Most of them are from Angelus, but he’s ashamed to admit that the freshest ones are from him.
Yes, the freshest bruises are from him. They had walked into his apartment earlier, eager for a rest from chasing Angelus. Faith had looked exhausted, weariness etched into her eyes. Yet they had still snipped at each other, and he had backed her into a wall to tell her his mind. His mind had been effectively confused when Faith had shut him up by grabbing his neck and hungrily kissing him. She hadn’t been as tired as she’d looked. And he’s mortified to say that he hadn’t been as tired either. He had dragged her down to the floor and used her body as ruthlessly as she used his. His back aches from where she had dug her nails in, his skin throbbing from rug burn, the bruises pulsing with dull pain.
What he did is completely wrong and he has no excuses. Watchers are forbidden to develop intimate relationships with their Slayers; it’s part of the rules. Even though he isn’t her Watcher anymore, he still feels that it’s wrong. He’s been trying to tell himself that it’s okay, that no one really cares what he does now.
He’s been trying to tell himself that it’s okay for a while, but it never is. He’s never going to fully make up with the lot of them for taking the baby, or trying to steal Fred, or sleeping with Lilah, or taking Angel’s soul out. He tries to tell himself that it’ll be okay and they’ll find Angelus, and Angel will be back any day now, but it’s a faraway hope, and he’s starting to doubt it. And because he doubts, he makes mistakes, which leads him back to the reason Faith is lying next to him: a big mistake.
A gentle, almost imperceptible noise startles him, and on any other night he wouldn’t have given it any thought at all, but during nights like these he goes for the gun on his dresser. He sits up and waits breathlessly, heart beating wildly in his chest. He can almost picture Angelus lurking in the shadows, waiting for him to calm down and go to sleep, then pounce and rip his body apart.
But Faith continues to sleep. She’s been through a long, hard week, searching and finding Angelus, fighting and fleeing him. Angelus, the monster that follows in the shadows, the shadow they’ve been following. He thinks that Angelus is the purest form of evil he’s ever seen, and it chills him to the bones. He’s so paranoid, always checking behind him and around corners to see if Angelus is lurking there. He can almost hear gentle footsteps in the other room…
Of course his imagination is running wild with each and every little sound startling him. The darkness is thick and enveloping and frightening. Faith rolls over, creaks the bed again, and throws the blanket off; now all that covers her is a thin sheet twisted around her body. He silently curses the bed and wishes it didn’t make so much noise. He lies down again and tries to arrange the pillows comfortably. Another light squeak from the bed and he can’t quite shake the feeling of anxiety in the pit of his belly, so he gets up and pulls on a pair of pants, one hand securely holding the gun.
Fear. Fear rushes through his veins and he has to admit that he’s afraid. Afraid of the dark and what may lurk in it. His fingers find the light switch and flick it on, but the light remains off; the electricity must be off, or someone cut the wires, he thinks, his eyes suspiciously trying to see in the dimness. He gropes around his closet until he finds a flashlight and turns it on to survey the dark corners of the room.
The darkness extends its smoky fingers to him, and beckons for him to come closer, to fall into the unknown. He shines the light into those unknown nooks and crannies, inspecting for the telltale signs of an invader, for the source of the noises. With each step he can hear the pounding of his heart, his deep breaths of air, and the creaking of the bed. But he finds nothing, and no one.
He turns around to leave the room, when he hears another noise, this time sharper than before. He swerves around and frantically shines the flashlight in all the corners of the room, searching again for his intangible fears. He silently curses Faith for being such an uneasy sleeper. This is the last time he’s going to search the rooms, the last time he’s going to let his imagination control him.
This is the last time, he tells himself again as he heads back to bed, that he’ll let himself be weak and fall into bed with a woman that isn’t good for him. He has self-control, he’s going to use it. He climbs in beside Faith and looks at her, mentally rehearsing the speech he’ll say when she wakes up. Almost regretfully, almost fondly he leans down to brush his lips against her cheek and stops when he realizes that her head is tilted at a rather odd angle.
The feelings he has just banished come flooding back, all the fear and dread and anxiety. He brushes her hair back off her face and lightly examines her neck, then places his fingers on her pulse.
This truly is the last time; the last time for anything, bedding women or otherwise. His ultimate punishment is here, lurking in the shadows behind him. Noiseless, stealthful, watchful; he doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s there. He gazes down at Faith and tries to tell himself that it’ll be okay, it’ll be quick and easy.
Then the hand grabs him around the neck and slowly tightens, almost leisurely, and he hears that evil frightening chuckle, and he knows that it won’t be okay.
It never is for him.
Title: The Last Time
Author: palmaceae
Pairing/Character: Faith/Wesley
Word Count: 1,160 words
Rating: PG-13
Summary: This is the last time Wesley will ever succumb to one of temptation’s girls.
Spoilers/Warnings: Salvage, character death
Author's Note: Repost of an older fic.
This is the last time. The very last time, because it can't go on any longer. This is the last time he’ll do something like this, the last time he’ll ever succumb to one of temptation’s girls. He’s certain that this is the reason that bad things happen to him, that whatever sort of higher power up there is punishing him for daring to bed fallen women. He’s not that type of man; he’s from the higher echelons of society, and it’s frankly degrading to be doing what he’s done.
Faith lies next to him, the covers barely covering her bare breasts, her dark hair spread over the pillow as she sleeps the sleep of the dead. But she’s not dead; her body is warm against his back, and she twitches slightly, causing the bed to lightly creak. He turns over and studies her, noting the bruises on her arms. Most of them are from Angelus, but he’s ashamed to admit that the freshest ones are from him.
Yes, the freshest bruises are from him. They had walked into his apartment earlier, eager for a rest from chasing Angelus. Faith had looked exhausted, weariness etched into her eyes. Yet they had still snipped at each other, and he had backed her into a wall to tell her his mind. His mind had been effectively confused when Faith had shut him up by grabbing his neck and hungrily kissing him. She hadn’t been as tired as she’d looked. And he’s mortified to say that he hadn’t been as tired either. He had dragged her down to the floor and used her body as ruthlessly as she used his. His back aches from where she had dug her nails in, his skin throbbing from rug burn, the bruises pulsing with dull pain.
What he did is completely wrong and he has no excuses. Watchers are forbidden to develop intimate relationships with their Slayers; it’s part of the rules. Even though he isn’t her Watcher anymore, he still feels that it’s wrong. He’s been trying to tell himself that it’s okay, that no one really cares what he does now.
He’s been trying to tell himself that it’s okay for a while, but it never is. He’s never going to fully make up with the lot of them for taking the baby, or trying to steal Fred, or sleeping with Lilah, or taking Angel’s soul out. He tries to tell himself that it’ll be okay and they’ll find Angelus, and Angel will be back any day now, but it’s a faraway hope, and he’s starting to doubt it. And because he doubts, he makes mistakes, which leads him back to the reason Faith is lying next to him: a big mistake.
A gentle, almost imperceptible noise startles him, and on any other night he wouldn’t have given it any thought at all, but during nights like these he goes for the gun on his dresser. He sits up and waits breathlessly, heart beating wildly in his chest. He can almost picture Angelus lurking in the shadows, waiting for him to calm down and go to sleep, then pounce and rip his body apart.
But Faith continues to sleep. She’s been through a long, hard week, searching and finding Angelus, fighting and fleeing him. Angelus, the monster that follows in the shadows, the shadow they’ve been following. He thinks that Angelus is the purest form of evil he’s ever seen, and it chills him to the bones. He’s so paranoid, always checking behind him and around corners to see if Angelus is lurking there. He can almost hear gentle footsteps in the other room…
Of course his imagination is running wild with each and every little sound startling him. The darkness is thick and enveloping and frightening. Faith rolls over, creaks the bed again, and throws the blanket off; now all that covers her is a thin sheet twisted around her body. He silently curses the bed and wishes it didn’t make so much noise. He lies down again and tries to arrange the pillows comfortably. Another light squeak from the bed and he can’t quite shake the feeling of anxiety in the pit of his belly, so he gets up and pulls on a pair of pants, one hand securely holding the gun.
Fear. Fear rushes through his veins and he has to admit that he’s afraid. Afraid of the dark and what may lurk in it. His fingers find the light switch and flick it on, but the light remains off; the electricity must be off, or someone cut the wires, he thinks, his eyes suspiciously trying to see in the dimness. He gropes around his closet until he finds a flashlight and turns it on to survey the dark corners of the room.
The darkness extends its smoky fingers to him, and beckons for him to come closer, to fall into the unknown. He shines the light into those unknown nooks and crannies, inspecting for the telltale signs of an invader, for the source of the noises. With each step he can hear the pounding of his heart, his deep breaths of air, and the creaking of the bed. But he finds nothing, and no one.
He turns around to leave the room, when he hears another noise, this time sharper than before. He swerves around and frantically shines the flashlight in all the corners of the room, searching again for his intangible fears. He silently curses Faith for being such an uneasy sleeper. This is the last time he’s going to search the rooms, the last time he’s going to let his imagination control him.
This is the last time, he tells himself again as he heads back to bed, that he’ll let himself be weak and fall into bed with a woman that isn’t good for him. He has self-control, he’s going to use it. He climbs in beside Faith and looks at her, mentally rehearsing the speech he’ll say when she wakes up. Almost regretfully, almost fondly he leans down to brush his lips against her cheek and stops when he realizes that her head is tilted at a rather odd angle.
The feelings he has just banished come flooding back, all the fear and dread and anxiety. He brushes her hair back off her face and lightly examines her neck, then places his fingers on her pulse.
This truly is the last time; the last time for anything, bedding women or otherwise. His ultimate punishment is here, lurking in the shadows behind him. Noiseless, stealthful, watchful; he doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s there. He gazes down at Faith and tries to tell himself that it’ll be okay, it’ll be quick and easy.
Then the hand grabs him around the neck and slowly tightens, almost leisurely, and he hears that evil frightening chuckle, and he knows that it won’t be okay.
It never is for him.