HEART OF GOLD: BURNINGCHAOS
My Gift is for : burningchaos
My Gift includes: 30 sigtags, 10 wallpapers, 1 fanfic, 1 flashfic, 5 icons and fic/site/comm recs!
Fandoms included: Angel, Generation Kill, Disney, Eddie Izzard
Warnings Image heavy! Some lightly implied naughtiness in some sigtags and a good hearty R in the slash fic! Enjoy! ♥
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[ICONS]
[FLASHFIC]
Title: Hickey
Fandom: Angel
Pairing: Angel/Lindsey
Wordcount: 312
Rating: What's one nibble? G?
”Hello Lindsey.”
The voice came from behind him and he froze at once. The backseat. He’s in the backseat. Lindsey McDonald had never been a huge fan of Angel, the man no legal measures could control or even slow down. Some small part of him admired the vampire for that, but he would die before he confessed it. Judging by the deadly softness in Angel’s voice, that might actually happen.
”Leave mine alone,” Angel said and Lindsey stared at his own hands, refusing to meet the hard stare in the mirror. ”I won’t tell you again.” And then Lindsey said something he regretted a second later.
”How can you be sure I won’t?” A moment passed and Lindsey wondered if Angel had left. Then a strong hand grasped his chin and jerked his head back against the headrest. Cold lips pressed against his neck and he could feel them pulling into a smile as he tried to jerk his head away.
No such luck.
”You’re not afraid, are you Lindsey?”
Lindsey swallowed hard, too scared to speak. A meaty, rustling sound made his heart pick up the pace as if urging him to run as well. And then the lips pulled away and were replaced by something sharp and horrible that slid effortlessly into his skin. It burned and it took all his self-control to hold back a scream. A moment later the mouth was gone and Lindsey slumped back, too relieved to be alive and alone to care about his throbbing neck.
And he just plain refused to acknowledge the tightness in his pants.
When his hands had finally stopped shaking he adjusted the mirror to inspect the damage. The bite mark was not overly savage in itself, but the bruise around it was vivid.
Bastard gave me a hickey.
Red-faced with fury and shame, Lindsey adjusted his collar and drove off.
[FIC]
Title: Heartbeat
Fandom: Angel
Pairing: Angel(us)/Wesley
Wordcount: 3136
Rating: Nibbles and fondling... I'd say a light R!
Part I
He didn’t know how it had started. He couldn’t remember feeling any kind of attraction to him in Sunnydale, but back then Buffy eclipsed everything with her strawberry smile and warrior heart. She was impossible to hold unto in the end and during the lonely nights following his departure he tried to comfort himself with the thought that nobody would be able to hold unto her. She would eventually slip through everyone’s fingers and he wondered if it was the Slayer part of her putting her forever out of reach… and then he thought, so what? A lonely ex was probably not the right person for objective speculations anyway.
Angel turns in his bed, staring up into the dark ceiling, watching every stain and crack through the darkness. Counting them like sheep.
He didn’t know how it had started. Maybe the first time Wesley stepped out of the shadows with a crossbow aimed at Angel’s chest, a thin veneer of steely resolve covering the quick hammering of his heart. He thought of how it reminded him of the tick-ticking of a terrified little furry thing. That had to be the beginning; ever since then the sound of Wesley’s beating heart had been a constant background noise in his head, soft, comforting and mildly disturbing. It wasn’t that he disliked it, far from it. As a matter of fact, the opposite had become the problem. The problem was made worse by the fact that Angelus wholeheartedly approved of and shared the obsession.
Every time Angel bent down to have a look at a text over Wesley’s shoulder and discreetly inhaled his scent, Angelus rolled over in his chest and growled.
Purred, his inner demon whispers, gloating. I purred.
Angel always resisted the urge to fist his hand in Wes’ hair and press him face-first into the desk, resisted the need to tear his clothes off and fuck him. The fantasy was always ruined in the end; he imagined it was his soul that couldn’t help but include the look of betrayal and disgust on Wes’ face. Or the tears in his eyes streaming down his face as pain and pleasure turning his dull gray eyes to bright blue… and he had to wonder who included the last part, him or Angelus. Because as far as he could tell, both of them liked it. The difference, he told himself, was that he would never do anything like that. Angelus would do that, and much more, in a heartbeat. Wes’ heartbeat. Angel would never jeopardise their friendship, would never risk finding out how much he would be willing to do to Wes, wouldn’t want to risk finding out just how close he was to Angelus in that particular area.
Angel shifts on the bed, uncomfortable and somewhat aroused at the thought of hurting Wes.
It had to be the vampire part of him, he decided. He had never felt anything like this with Buffy. With her it was sublime, beautiful, the worship of a goddess, pure and untouchable. Except for the touching part, the sullying of the pure, Angelus had yawned and Angel had felt safe with his demon’s disinterest. When Angelus had escaped in Sunnydale it had been about revenge, nothing else.
But Wesley was another matter entirely. Vampire love, or their version of love, was about ownership. Dominance. Belonging. It was predators living in a pack with shifting loyalties and an eternity to fill with amusing projects. Angel would be the first one to claim the vampires can’t love - but of course he knew different. He would claim that he never loved Darla - but of course he had. He had worshiped her and he would have done anything, anything to see those red lips stretched into a smile. He had loved Drusilla, the damaged little thing, with fierce pride and he had loved Spike as an older brother would, half annoyed enough to sell him to a circus.
But with a soul it wasn’t what he had wanted. Back then he wanted kindness, forgiveness and warmth and Buffy had given him all of that, including faith in himself. He wanted to become the person she saw when she looked at him. And eventually he had.
Sort of.
He shifts restlessly on the bed, listening as Wesley and Cordelia move around above him.
And now he wanted Wesley, more intently than he had ever wanted anybody else. Buffy, Darla, Drusilla, and endless stream of pretty faces from his human years be damned. All their soft flesh will never compare to what he imagines Wes to feel like, taste like, sound like…
At first it the desire had infested his dreams, gradually and horribly, dreams in which he had hurt Wes, bent and broken him like a doll, marked and claimed and toyed until he had woken up gasping for unneeded air, pushing the dream to the back of his mind. Back then Wesley had been a timid little thing, hungry for recognition and the slightest bit of kindness. Angel and Cordelia had accepted him as part of the family and Angel had ignored Angelus’ hungry need to tear him apart. It was Wesley’s vulnerability, he knew, that had first called to Angelus. To Angel as well, when he dared to think about it.
But Wes had grown stronger and Angel had realized that he was both incredibly stubborn and proud with an integrity that made Angel fall in love while Angelus was sulking in a corner of his mind.
And then there was the darkness in Wesley, possibly fueled by the vulnerability that never quite left him, perhaps by things done to him in the past, things he never talked about that Angelus would love to dissect. Yes, a streak of cruelty so thin and sharp that it cut you when you least expected it, invisible and rarely used. Angel accepted it as a part of a dear friend, but his inner demon was delighted at the potential.
Angel closes his eyes, massaging the eyelids until color bursts behind them in little blue sparks.
Because the balance had shifted and Angelus no longer wanted Wesley as a mere victim to violate. He finally wanted Wesley as Angel wanted him - as a lover. The mere notion of them agreeing on something seemed dangerous to Angel. He felt as if he was teetering on an edge and the comfort of having his demon as an entirely different person was slowly slipping away from him. And that was why giving into the temptation was unthinkable.
Angel looks up into the ceiling, ears straining to catch the words as he listens to the soft murmur of Wesley’s voice from above.
Part II
A month after Angel’s daily musings…
Wesley read through the fading text a third time, then a fourth, but each time the translation came out the same. The poison of the N'imran demon has to have a certain antidote to be purged from the undead body (or the literal translation would be something along the lines of ‘from the dead-but-not-dead body the liquid/water/poison death/life must me cleansed/purged/baked gently on both sides(?) with an antidote/cure/small furry mammal containing ingredients/family/fungus). The rest was a long list, of which Wesley was reasonably sure he had managed to translate all correctly - or so he sincerely hoped.
For the hundredth time he cast a worried look in the direction of Angel’s room. He had been sitting outside it for hours, researching and double-checking, and then he had gone away for a couple of hours to collect the ingredients and make the antidote. During the whole time Angel was laying on his bed, chalk white and unblinking, very slowly dying from the poison. Wesley had removed the stinger from the demon, but the poison was already at work. As far as he could tell, Angel would be dust in a few hours.
And so he was checking his notes again. Possible side effects include rash, headaches and a word that Wesley in the end had translated to ‘temporary contact with spirits of the upper levels’. Not knowing what to make of it, he had decided to proceed with caution. Hugging the faintly glowing bottle in his hands, he carefully stepped into the room, seating himself beside Angel.
“Angel,” he said softly. “It’s me. I have the antidote. Just hold on…” He grasped the back of Angel’s head, propping him up and pressed the bottle to his lips, tilting it so that he could drink. The first drops dribbled down the side of his face and Wesley felt a stab of panic. Was he too late? Then he saw Angel’s throat working and he felt such immense relief when he saw him drink that he feared that he would drop the bottle.
While watching Angel intently something in the back of his mind was poking him. Much too busy watching every possible muscle movement in Angel’s face, he ignored it.
Poking again. More insistently this time.
Wesley relented and immediately the side effects popped into his mind. ‘Temporary contact with spirits of the upper levels’? What kind of a side effect was that? Even in an antidote to a demonic poison…
Beside him Angel stirred and Wesley watched in relief as his friend’s skin color shifted from chalk white to merely pale.
Temporary… temporary contact… contact/meet/begin/reach… upper level spirits… upper level/high/elated spirits… high spirits? Wesley frowned, a cold drop of unease running down along his spine.
On the bed Angel opened his eyes and smiled up at him. Wesley blinked, eyes widening.
Temporary euphoria.
“Hello Wes,” Angelus purred and something in his voice made Wesley bolt from the bed, stumble back so fast he nearly lost his balance. “Careful,” Angelus said as he sat up, his eyes never leaving Wes.
“Angel, you can fight this,” Wesley began desperately, glancing at the door. “You’re not Angelus, it’s not real. Fight it! “ Angelus chuckled and tossed the covers aside, glancing down at himself briefly before looking at Wesley again.
“You left my pants on,” Angelus noted. “Wesley… you’re so considerate.” Wesley swallowed hard and inched in the direction of the door.
“What do you mean..?” he asked.
“You didn’t know where the stinger was, did you? Anybody else would have ripped all clothes off at once, but not you… not kind-hearted, timid Wesley Wyndham-Pryce,” Angelus said in a soft sing-song voice. “You respected my privacy, didn’t you? If you take one step closer to the door I’ll break one of your legs. Just one, mind you,” he adds, smiling like a shark. “See? I can be considerate too.”
Wesley froze and stared at him, a deer in the headlights of an oncoming truck. Angelus, still smiling, laid back down again with his hands behind his head, looking like a poster boy for relaxation. Then Wesley made a bad decision. He knew it as he darted across the room with the intent to run for his life once he was out the door. Warn Cordelia…
Naturally, Angelus tackled him before he could reach the door, sending them both to the floor. All air was squeezed out of Wesley’s lungs under the heavy weight pinning him down. Angelus pinned Wesley’s hands above his head with one of his own and tilted his head to the side, watching him with interest. Then he shifted and let one of his hands wander down the ex-Watcher’s body, watching his face intently for every reaction. Wesley, on the other hands, was determined to give him no such satisfaction and pressed his lips together tightly. He didn’t know how rewarding his expressive eyes were to the demon, though. Bright blue, terrified and so close to tears Angelus could smell the salt.
Despite Wesley’s fears Angelus’ hand only brushed over his crotch and clamped down on his thigh.
“I believe I promised you something…” the vampire said in a voice that could almost be described as mild if you didn’t know the context. Wesley’s whole body tensed and he squeezed his eyes shut as he brazed himself for the pain. When it didn’t come he opened his eyes again to look up into the face he had secretly loved for a long time, one of those admiration-filled, fiercely loyal loves that is so pleasantly safe in its impossibility. The demon wearing it was looking at him in complete silence. Studying him. Then before he knew what was happening, he was lifted from the floor and thrown unto the bed. He attempted to roll off of it but no such luck; Angelus was already behind him, wrapping a strong arm around his waist and using his other hand to grasp his chin, tilting his head so that his throat was fully exposed. Wesley squirmed, but found that his movements only made certain parts of his body come in contact with certain parts of his enemies… and he certainly didn’t want to give him any ideas. “Wes, Wes, Wes…” Angelus purred, and Wesley’s heart sank. “Is that an invitation?” Wesley tried to shake his head, but Angelus had it in a steel grip. He could hear the rustling sound of Angelus changing into his demon face, and shivered as he felt cold lips exploring his neck. Angelus took his time, testing the soft skin with his fangs, pressing and scraping just enough to tease the blood to the surface before licking it off drop by drop. A low growl began to emanate from his chest and the Watcher part of Wesley perked up and began to take notes. Is-is he purring?
To his intense shame (and Angelus’ obvious delight) he felt himself harden and when Angelus’ hand went further down to explore Wesley tried to fend him off with shaking hands. It didn’t help very much. A few moments later he had to hold on to Angelus’ arm as he felt his dick being jerked in movements that were just long enough to introduce a little pain to the pleasure.
“Angel has been wanting to do this for a long time,” Angelus whispered into his ear. “Isn’t it just awful that I got here first?” Wesley trembled and bit back a moan, using more energy to keep the words from his than the hands. He’s lying. Angel doesn’t want me that way.
“Would you like to know what Angel thinks about when he’s all alone in this bed? I know everything he knows, you know. Would you like me to tell you?”
Please don’t. I don’t want to know.
“He’s listening for your heartbeat, Wes. Can you believe it?”
You’re lying.
“Oh yes, when you’re up there hoping to make him proud by reading another book, hoping to make yourself useful - he’s down here imagining different ways to make use of you.”
Wesley felt the color rise in his cheeks.
“Angel wouldn’t-“ he began angrily but Angelus bit down on his neck and the sentence ended with a pained yelp.
A second later there was a sound like a frying pan hitting a tree and Wesley was very nearly squished by the heavy weight of Angelus slumping forward bonelessly.
“You stay down, you..! “ Cordelia’s voice was angry, a sure sign that she was afraid. “Are you okay?” She helped pushing the dead weight to the side and Wesley snatched the covers and pressed a handful to his neck, effectively hiding his open pants and erection from view.
“Just a bite,” he mumbled and gave her a grateful smile. “You came in the nick of time. How did you know?”
She lowered the actual frying pan to her side with a little grin.
“Found your notes. Really? ‘Temporary contact with spirits of the upper levels’? Was that a three-in-the-morning-translation or what?” While she talked she chained Angelus to the bed thoroughly.
“More like eleven-cups-of-coffee-translation,” Wesley admitted with a sheepish smile. “It doesn’t matter, though. Angel will be fine when he wakes up.” Cordelia nods, hoisting the frying pan over her shoulder as if it was a battle ax.
“Okay. I’m going out for take-out. Do you want something?”
“No, thank you,” he replied without taking his eyes off the chained up vampire. “I’m just going to sit here for awhile.”
“Okay.” Cordelia walks away, but hesitates by the elevator. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she calls back to him.
“Yeah. I’m sure,” he says, sitting down in a chair by the bed.
Part III
Angel sighs, rubbing his neck as he stands outside Wesley’s apartment. It had been three weeks since Angelus got out, however briefly, and by the time Angel was done gently marinating in his own guilt he noticed that Wesley had more or less turned into a ghost. And not the good, haunting kind - the kind that never showed up.
The door opened suddenly, interrupting Angel’s musings. Wesley’s startled face became visible and Angel gave him what he hoped was a friendly smile. To his dismay Wesley kept himself carefully within the boundaries of the barrier.
“You do know you’ve invited me in before, don’t you?” Angel said, suddenly annoyed. Wesley only nodded but Angel thought he could see a spot of color on his cheeks. “Look,” Angel said, pushing himself past him. “We need to talk.”
“If this is about the Angelus incident, I’m fine,” Wesley said quickly. “I’m completely over it.”
“That’s good,” Angel said, angry now without knowing why. This was exactly what he had hoped for when he came here, after all. “That’s… great. Good for you, Wes.” He turned away when he saw the look of confusion on Wesley’s face as the anger leaked into his voice.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” Wesley said and Angel can smell the nervousness. “I mean, you can’t be held responsible for the games Angelus played.”
Games? Angel thought, his lips pressed together into a thin line. He thinks it was a game?
“I mean,” Wesley continues like a man valiantly trying to kick-start an engine for the tenth time. “Don’t worry about the things he said. I know better than to believe what he says.” Angel listened and fumed silently. He heard Wesley walk closer and felt him touch his shoulder tentatively. “You know he was just trying to ruin out friendship,” Wesley said earnestly.
A moment later he found himself pinned against the wall, a hungry mouth possessing his until he tasted iron. And then, just as suddenly, it was gone.
“See you on Monday.” The dark voice had an edge to it that made Wesley’s heart beat faster and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was alone. He raised his hand to his mouth, fingering the swollen lips and smiled to himself.
On the other side of the door Angel rested his face against the cool wooden surface , listening to the sound of heartbeat.
[RECS]
The Long Term by Helen Raven (Angel/Wesley fic)
angel_wes (Angel/Wesley lj comm with loads and loads of goodies!)
Shadows and Dust (A small Angel/Lindsey fanfiction archive)
Slashing the Angel (A fanfiction archive with various Angel slash pairings, among others Angel/Lindsey and Angel/Wesley)
My Gift includes: 30 sigtags, 10 wallpapers, 1 fanfic, 1 flashfic, 5 icons and fic/site/comm recs!
Fandoms included: Angel, Generation Kill, Disney, Eddie Izzard
Warnings Image heavy! Some lightly implied naughtiness in some sigtags and a good hearty R in the slash fic! Enjoy! ♥
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[ICONS]
[FLASHFIC]
Title: Hickey
Fandom: Angel
Pairing: Angel/Lindsey
Wordcount: 312
Rating: What's one nibble? G?
”Hello Lindsey.”
The voice came from behind him and he froze at once. The backseat. He’s in the backseat. Lindsey McDonald had never been a huge fan of Angel, the man no legal measures could control or even slow down. Some small part of him admired the vampire for that, but he would die before he confessed it. Judging by the deadly softness in Angel’s voice, that might actually happen.
”Leave mine alone,” Angel said and Lindsey stared at his own hands, refusing to meet the hard stare in the mirror. ”I won’t tell you again.” And then Lindsey said something he regretted a second later.
”How can you be sure I won’t?” A moment passed and Lindsey wondered if Angel had left. Then a strong hand grasped his chin and jerked his head back against the headrest. Cold lips pressed against his neck and he could feel them pulling into a smile as he tried to jerk his head away.
No such luck.
”You’re not afraid, are you Lindsey?”
Lindsey swallowed hard, too scared to speak. A meaty, rustling sound made his heart pick up the pace as if urging him to run as well. And then the lips pulled away and were replaced by something sharp and horrible that slid effortlessly into his skin. It burned and it took all his self-control to hold back a scream. A moment later the mouth was gone and Lindsey slumped back, too relieved to be alive and alone to care about his throbbing neck.
And he just plain refused to acknowledge the tightness in his pants.
When his hands had finally stopped shaking he adjusted the mirror to inspect the damage. The bite mark was not overly savage in itself, but the bruise around it was vivid.
Bastard gave me a hickey.
Red-faced with fury and shame, Lindsey adjusted his collar and drove off.
[FIC]
Title: Heartbeat
Fandom: Angel
Pairing: Angel(us)/Wesley
Wordcount: 3136
Rating: Nibbles and fondling... I'd say a light R!
Part I
He didn’t know how it had started. He couldn’t remember feeling any kind of attraction to him in Sunnydale, but back then Buffy eclipsed everything with her strawberry smile and warrior heart. She was impossible to hold unto in the end and during the lonely nights following his departure he tried to comfort himself with the thought that nobody would be able to hold unto her. She would eventually slip through everyone’s fingers and he wondered if it was the Slayer part of her putting her forever out of reach… and then he thought, so what? A lonely ex was probably not the right person for objective speculations anyway.
Angel turns in his bed, staring up into the dark ceiling, watching every stain and crack through the darkness. Counting them like sheep.
He didn’t know how it had started. Maybe the first time Wesley stepped out of the shadows with a crossbow aimed at Angel’s chest, a thin veneer of steely resolve covering the quick hammering of his heart. He thought of how it reminded him of the tick-ticking of a terrified little furry thing. That had to be the beginning; ever since then the sound of Wesley’s beating heart had been a constant background noise in his head, soft, comforting and mildly disturbing. It wasn’t that he disliked it, far from it. As a matter of fact, the opposite had become the problem. The problem was made worse by the fact that Angelus wholeheartedly approved of and shared the obsession.
Every time Angel bent down to have a look at a text over Wesley’s shoulder and discreetly inhaled his scent, Angelus rolled over in his chest and growled.
Purred, his inner demon whispers, gloating. I purred.
Angel always resisted the urge to fist his hand in Wes’ hair and press him face-first into the desk, resisted the need to tear his clothes off and fuck him. The fantasy was always ruined in the end; he imagined it was his soul that couldn’t help but include the look of betrayal and disgust on Wes’ face. Or the tears in his eyes streaming down his face as pain and pleasure turning his dull gray eyes to bright blue… and he had to wonder who included the last part, him or Angelus. Because as far as he could tell, both of them liked it. The difference, he told himself, was that he would never do anything like that. Angelus would do that, and much more, in a heartbeat. Wes’ heartbeat. Angel would never jeopardise their friendship, would never risk finding out how much he would be willing to do to Wes, wouldn’t want to risk finding out just how close he was to Angelus in that particular area.
Angel shifts on the bed, uncomfortable and somewhat aroused at the thought of hurting Wes.
It had to be the vampire part of him, he decided. He had never felt anything like this with Buffy. With her it was sublime, beautiful, the worship of a goddess, pure and untouchable. Except for the touching part, the sullying of the pure, Angelus had yawned and Angel had felt safe with his demon’s disinterest. When Angelus had escaped in Sunnydale it had been about revenge, nothing else.
But Wesley was another matter entirely. Vampire love, or their version of love, was about ownership. Dominance. Belonging. It was predators living in a pack with shifting loyalties and an eternity to fill with amusing projects. Angel would be the first one to claim the vampires can’t love - but of course he knew different. He would claim that he never loved Darla - but of course he had. He had worshiped her and he would have done anything, anything to see those red lips stretched into a smile. He had loved Drusilla, the damaged little thing, with fierce pride and he had loved Spike as an older brother would, half annoyed enough to sell him to a circus.
But with a soul it wasn’t what he had wanted. Back then he wanted kindness, forgiveness and warmth and Buffy had given him all of that, including faith in himself. He wanted to become the person she saw when she looked at him. And eventually he had.
Sort of.
He shifts restlessly on the bed, listening as Wesley and Cordelia move around above him.
And now he wanted Wesley, more intently than he had ever wanted anybody else. Buffy, Darla, Drusilla, and endless stream of pretty faces from his human years be damned. All their soft flesh will never compare to what he imagines Wes to feel like, taste like, sound like…
At first it the desire had infested his dreams, gradually and horribly, dreams in which he had hurt Wes, bent and broken him like a doll, marked and claimed and toyed until he had woken up gasping for unneeded air, pushing the dream to the back of his mind. Back then Wesley had been a timid little thing, hungry for recognition and the slightest bit of kindness. Angel and Cordelia had accepted him as part of the family and Angel had ignored Angelus’ hungry need to tear him apart. It was Wesley’s vulnerability, he knew, that had first called to Angelus. To Angel as well, when he dared to think about it.
But Wes had grown stronger and Angel had realized that he was both incredibly stubborn and proud with an integrity that made Angel fall in love while Angelus was sulking in a corner of his mind.
And then there was the darkness in Wesley, possibly fueled by the vulnerability that never quite left him, perhaps by things done to him in the past, things he never talked about that Angelus would love to dissect. Yes, a streak of cruelty so thin and sharp that it cut you when you least expected it, invisible and rarely used. Angel accepted it as a part of a dear friend, but his inner demon was delighted at the potential.
Angel closes his eyes, massaging the eyelids until color bursts behind them in little blue sparks.
Because the balance had shifted and Angelus no longer wanted Wesley as a mere victim to violate. He finally wanted Wesley as Angel wanted him - as a lover. The mere notion of them agreeing on something seemed dangerous to Angel. He felt as if he was teetering on an edge and the comfort of having his demon as an entirely different person was slowly slipping away from him. And that was why giving into the temptation was unthinkable.
Angel looks up into the ceiling, ears straining to catch the words as he listens to the soft murmur of Wesley’s voice from above.
Part II
A month after Angel’s daily musings…
Wesley read through the fading text a third time, then a fourth, but each time the translation came out the same. The poison of the N'imran demon has to have a certain antidote to be purged from the undead body (or the literal translation would be something along the lines of ‘from the dead-but-not-dead body the liquid/water/poison death/life must me cleansed/purged/baked gently on both sides(?) with an antidote/cure/small furry mammal containing ingredients/family/fungus). The rest was a long list, of which Wesley was reasonably sure he had managed to translate all correctly - or so he sincerely hoped.
For the hundredth time he cast a worried look in the direction of Angel’s room. He had been sitting outside it for hours, researching and double-checking, and then he had gone away for a couple of hours to collect the ingredients and make the antidote. During the whole time Angel was laying on his bed, chalk white and unblinking, very slowly dying from the poison. Wesley had removed the stinger from the demon, but the poison was already at work. As far as he could tell, Angel would be dust in a few hours.
And so he was checking his notes again. Possible side effects include rash, headaches and a word that Wesley in the end had translated to ‘temporary contact with spirits of the upper levels’. Not knowing what to make of it, he had decided to proceed with caution. Hugging the faintly glowing bottle in his hands, he carefully stepped into the room, seating himself beside Angel.
“Angel,” he said softly. “It’s me. I have the antidote. Just hold on…” He grasped the back of Angel’s head, propping him up and pressed the bottle to his lips, tilting it so that he could drink. The first drops dribbled down the side of his face and Wesley felt a stab of panic. Was he too late? Then he saw Angel’s throat working and he felt such immense relief when he saw him drink that he feared that he would drop the bottle.
While watching Angel intently something in the back of his mind was poking him. Much too busy watching every possible muscle movement in Angel’s face, he ignored it.
Poking again. More insistently this time.
Wesley relented and immediately the side effects popped into his mind. ‘Temporary contact with spirits of the upper levels’? What kind of a side effect was that? Even in an antidote to a demonic poison…
Beside him Angel stirred and Wesley watched in relief as his friend’s skin color shifted from chalk white to merely pale.
Temporary… temporary contact… contact/meet/begin/reach… upper level spirits… upper level/high/elated spirits… high spirits? Wesley frowned, a cold drop of unease running down along his spine.
On the bed Angel opened his eyes and smiled up at him. Wesley blinked, eyes widening.
Temporary euphoria.
“Hello Wes,” Angelus purred and something in his voice made Wesley bolt from the bed, stumble back so fast he nearly lost his balance. “Careful,” Angelus said as he sat up, his eyes never leaving Wes.
“Angel, you can fight this,” Wesley began desperately, glancing at the door. “You’re not Angelus, it’s not real. Fight it! “ Angelus chuckled and tossed the covers aside, glancing down at himself briefly before looking at Wesley again.
“You left my pants on,” Angelus noted. “Wesley… you’re so considerate.” Wesley swallowed hard and inched in the direction of the door.
“What do you mean..?” he asked.
“You didn’t know where the stinger was, did you? Anybody else would have ripped all clothes off at once, but not you… not kind-hearted, timid Wesley Wyndham-Pryce,” Angelus said in a soft sing-song voice. “You respected my privacy, didn’t you? If you take one step closer to the door I’ll break one of your legs. Just one, mind you,” he adds, smiling like a shark. “See? I can be considerate too.”
Wesley froze and stared at him, a deer in the headlights of an oncoming truck. Angelus, still smiling, laid back down again with his hands behind his head, looking like a poster boy for relaxation. Then Wesley made a bad decision. He knew it as he darted across the room with the intent to run for his life once he was out the door. Warn Cordelia…
Naturally, Angelus tackled him before he could reach the door, sending them both to the floor. All air was squeezed out of Wesley’s lungs under the heavy weight pinning him down. Angelus pinned Wesley’s hands above his head with one of his own and tilted his head to the side, watching him with interest. Then he shifted and let one of his hands wander down the ex-Watcher’s body, watching his face intently for every reaction. Wesley, on the other hands, was determined to give him no such satisfaction and pressed his lips together tightly. He didn’t know how rewarding his expressive eyes were to the demon, though. Bright blue, terrified and so close to tears Angelus could smell the salt.
Despite Wesley’s fears Angelus’ hand only brushed over his crotch and clamped down on his thigh.
“I believe I promised you something…” the vampire said in a voice that could almost be described as mild if you didn’t know the context. Wesley’s whole body tensed and he squeezed his eyes shut as he brazed himself for the pain. When it didn’t come he opened his eyes again to look up into the face he had secretly loved for a long time, one of those admiration-filled, fiercely loyal loves that is so pleasantly safe in its impossibility. The demon wearing it was looking at him in complete silence. Studying him. Then before he knew what was happening, he was lifted from the floor and thrown unto the bed. He attempted to roll off of it but no such luck; Angelus was already behind him, wrapping a strong arm around his waist and using his other hand to grasp his chin, tilting his head so that his throat was fully exposed. Wesley squirmed, but found that his movements only made certain parts of his body come in contact with certain parts of his enemies… and he certainly didn’t want to give him any ideas. “Wes, Wes, Wes…” Angelus purred, and Wesley’s heart sank. “Is that an invitation?” Wesley tried to shake his head, but Angelus had it in a steel grip. He could hear the rustling sound of Angelus changing into his demon face, and shivered as he felt cold lips exploring his neck. Angelus took his time, testing the soft skin with his fangs, pressing and scraping just enough to tease the blood to the surface before licking it off drop by drop. A low growl began to emanate from his chest and the Watcher part of Wesley perked up and began to take notes. Is-is he purring?
To his intense shame (and Angelus’ obvious delight) he felt himself harden and when Angelus’ hand went further down to explore Wesley tried to fend him off with shaking hands. It didn’t help very much. A few moments later he had to hold on to Angelus’ arm as he felt his dick being jerked in movements that were just long enough to introduce a little pain to the pleasure.
“Angel has been wanting to do this for a long time,” Angelus whispered into his ear. “Isn’t it just awful that I got here first?” Wesley trembled and bit back a moan, using more energy to keep the words from his than the hands. He’s lying. Angel doesn’t want me that way.
“Would you like to know what Angel thinks about when he’s all alone in this bed? I know everything he knows, you know. Would you like me to tell you?”
Please don’t. I don’t want to know.
“He’s listening for your heartbeat, Wes. Can you believe it?”
You’re lying.
“Oh yes, when you’re up there hoping to make him proud by reading another book, hoping to make yourself useful - he’s down here imagining different ways to make use of you.”
Wesley felt the color rise in his cheeks.
“Angel wouldn’t-“ he began angrily but Angelus bit down on his neck and the sentence ended with a pained yelp.
A second later there was a sound like a frying pan hitting a tree and Wesley was very nearly squished by the heavy weight of Angelus slumping forward bonelessly.
“You stay down, you..! “ Cordelia’s voice was angry, a sure sign that she was afraid. “Are you okay?” She helped pushing the dead weight to the side and Wesley snatched the covers and pressed a handful to his neck, effectively hiding his open pants and erection from view.
“Just a bite,” he mumbled and gave her a grateful smile. “You came in the nick of time. How did you know?”
She lowered the actual frying pan to her side with a little grin.
“Found your notes. Really? ‘Temporary contact with spirits of the upper levels’? Was that a three-in-the-morning-translation or what?” While she talked she chained Angelus to the bed thoroughly.
“More like eleven-cups-of-coffee-translation,” Wesley admitted with a sheepish smile. “It doesn’t matter, though. Angel will be fine when he wakes up.” Cordelia nods, hoisting the frying pan over her shoulder as if it was a battle ax.
“Okay. I’m going out for take-out. Do you want something?”
“No, thank you,” he replied without taking his eyes off the chained up vampire. “I’m just going to sit here for awhile.”
“Okay.” Cordelia walks away, but hesitates by the elevator. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she calls back to him.
“Yeah. I’m sure,” he says, sitting down in a chair by the bed.
Part III
Angel sighs, rubbing his neck as he stands outside Wesley’s apartment. It had been three weeks since Angelus got out, however briefly, and by the time Angel was done gently marinating in his own guilt he noticed that Wesley had more or less turned into a ghost. And not the good, haunting kind - the kind that never showed up.
The door opened suddenly, interrupting Angel’s musings. Wesley’s startled face became visible and Angel gave him what he hoped was a friendly smile. To his dismay Wesley kept himself carefully within the boundaries of the barrier.
“You do know you’ve invited me in before, don’t you?” Angel said, suddenly annoyed. Wesley only nodded but Angel thought he could see a spot of color on his cheeks. “Look,” Angel said, pushing himself past him. “We need to talk.”
“If this is about the Angelus incident, I’m fine,” Wesley said quickly. “I’m completely over it.”
“That’s good,” Angel said, angry now without knowing why. This was exactly what he had hoped for when he came here, after all. “That’s… great. Good for you, Wes.” He turned away when he saw the look of confusion on Wesley’s face as the anger leaked into his voice.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” Wesley said and Angel can smell the nervousness. “I mean, you can’t be held responsible for the games Angelus played.”
Games? Angel thought, his lips pressed together into a thin line. He thinks it was a game?
“I mean,” Wesley continues like a man valiantly trying to kick-start an engine for the tenth time. “Don’t worry about the things he said. I know better than to believe what he says.” Angel listened and fumed silently. He heard Wesley walk closer and felt him touch his shoulder tentatively. “You know he was just trying to ruin out friendship,” Wesley said earnestly.
A moment later he found himself pinned against the wall, a hungry mouth possessing his until he tasted iron. And then, just as suddenly, it was gone.
“See you on Monday.” The dark voice had an edge to it that made Wesley’s heart beat faster and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was alone. He raised his hand to his mouth, fingering the swollen lips and smiled to himself.
On the other side of the door Angel rested his face against the cool wooden surface , listening to the sound of heartbeat.
[RECS]
The Long Term by Helen Raven (Angel/Wesley fic)
angel_wes (Angel/Wesley lj comm with loads and loads of goodies!)
Shadows and Dust (A small Angel/Lindsey fanfiction archive)
Slashing the Angel (A fanfiction archive with various Angel slash pairings, among others Angel/Lindsey and Angel/Wesley)