F A N F I C T I O N > B U F F Y V E R S E
Beautiful Disaster by Amberina
Wesley remembers when Angel used to look at him with desire, when he'd come to him, and he'd fuck him, and he'd make him come so hard. Wesley remembers when things were simpler, when Angel was more focused - or at least focused on something other than Darla. He remembers when Angel used to focus on him.
Now Angel's caught up in a twisted obsession, and he's hardly even Angel anymore. He's not the man - vampire, he's a vampire, Wesley used to forget so easily - Wes used to think he was in love with.
What a joke.
Wesley used to live such an illusion. He even imagined that Angel loved him back. He used to fantasize of a happily ever after - oh even then he wouldn't have admitted to it, of course. But nonetheless, Wesley had the delusion that someway, somehow, he and Angel would be together forever.
But that dream was shattered, like so many before.
And Wesley's a little bitter. He wonders if he bought a blonde wig, if he'd have more of a chance. If, perhaps, that would tip the scales in his favor. Of course he realizes Angel's not a scale, and he could never pass for Darla, but he's beginning to feel a bit desperate.
He actually does go as far as purchasing a blonde wig. One with glossy, honey-blond tendrils of hair, that shimmer in the light as he holds it up, contemplating what Angel's reaction would be. It'd be almost worth it just to see the look on his face. Wesley shakes his head and discards it. He's truly pathetic, he's decided.
All the other times he thought he was pathetic, well this certainly topped them all. He's beyond pathetic, he's a mess, a feeble excuse for a man. And he could probably use a good fuck.
But he can't go to Angel. Not now. Not after everything. And Gunn - that's really not going to happen. He could just imagine his face if he brought it up, and he'd rather like to keep him as a friend, so that was out.
It always comes back to Wesley. Alone, with only his own hand to satisfy his desires. Perhaps he should simply get used to it.
Wesley sighs. This has to stop. He has to get over him. He's just - Angel. Nothing special. Just - a bloody champion with a mouth like no one would believe.
"Right now the three of us are all that's standing between you and real darkness." He chose the darkness. He chose Darla. He could be Angelus by now for all Wesley knew.
Something told him to go there, to go to him. He shouldn't - especially if he's Angelus again, at least not alone. But he wanted to see him. He, of all things, missed him.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Angel asks, his gaze hard.
"I'm not quite sure," Wesley admits, studying Angel. He seems - rather like Angel, or at the very least, not Angelus.
"You really should go." Angel doesn't even look at him now. He turns, and pretends to be occupied by something on his desk.
Wesley clears his throat. "This has to stop, Angel."
And Angel looks at him, his voice so cold. His eyes, emotionless. "I really don't think that's any of your business anymore."
This is getting to Wesley. It really is. But he tries not to let it show. "As that may be - " he tries to think of what to say, what he could possibly say . . . he's coming up blank. "Angel, I miss you." Well that certainly wasn't right.
"I don't miss you," Angel says quickly, no hesitance at all in his voice.
Wesley looks down, trying to keep himself together. "Right then. Perhaps I should go." He holds on to the hope that maybe, just maybe, Angel will come to his senses and tell him to stay.
"Now you're catching on." He's so cold, how did he get so cold? Wesley knows the answer, but he finds it hard to fathom.
But Wesley can't force himself to move. He should of course, but his feet remain planted.
Angel watches him now, and there's silence. Thick silence that hangs between them like the wall that Angel has built around himself.
He comes closer, and Wesley's heart beats faster with each step Angel takes, until Angel is right in front of him. And then Angel's hands fall on his back. Wesley sucks in a deep breath, his eyes going shut. To have him touch him again -
Angel's lips are against his ear. "What do you want, Wes? Why did you come here? Did you want me to bite you? Because I can if that's what you really want."
Wesley's shaking slightly, as Angel's tongue slides along his neck, along a vein. This is the point where he should run, he knows. But his brain and his body aren't really working together right now.
"Why don't you run, Wes?" Angel asks softly, almost tauntingly. "You want to. You're shaking. So why don't you run?"
Wesley shakes his head slightly as Angel's teeth graze against his neck. Angel laughs. "You don't think I'll do it, do you?"
And then his teeth break the skin, and Wesley gasps, his eyes going wide. "Stop," he manages to get out.
Angel back away, his face serious. "So run. Leave. Get the hell out and don't come back."
Wesley nods, and turns, his hand softly touching the wound on his neck. When he pulls away, his fingers are smeared with blood.
And Wesley leaves, like he came. Alone. And a mess.