Disclaimer: I don't own them, but if I did I would let them have way more fun than Joss does!

Routine
by Ice (ice001nz at yahoo.com)

Summary: Angel's POV on Wesley's insecurities, major angst, kinda darkish.

Spoilers: Eternity (S1 Angel)

Rated: NC-17 for M/M slash

Dedication: To all the writers who have inspired me in the 6 months I have been reading slash particularly Kita, Jess, Lar, Saone, Kay, Kassie and Spirit, and to Kate and Kassie for the beta.


He's been having those dreams again. Okay, so dreams isn't the right word, they're nightmares. Frighteningly horrible, all-too-real nightmares that haunt him so much he won't discuss them, he can't and won't ever tell me what they're about.

I can always tell when he starts having them. First he rolls away from me in bed, curls into a foetal position and pretty soon after that the noises start.

I have killed a lot of people, a hell of a lot, so I know what the sounds of desperation are, and that is exactly what comes from his mouth, desperation. He begs, pleads, whimpers and then does the thing that scares me the most.... he gives up. He relents, accepts his fate, accepts what he believes he deserves and a little part of him dies with that acquiescence.

Yeah, to hear him like this frightens me, and if I still had my heart I know it would break, because I can guess who it is in his dreams, his nightmares, who he is pleading with...everyone who has ever hurt him and that includes me.

It takes a cruel, cruel person to hurt him. The man does not have the capacity to hate and when he gives of himself he gives absolutely, completely, heart, soul and body. But most importantly of all, he gives his devotion, which never falters, no matter what.

I know this (Christ, I know this) from experience. I hurt him deeply, not by torturing him like Faith did or rejecting him like the council did, and not by committing God knows what unspeakable acts like I know that bastard father of his did.

No, I hurt Wesley by telling him he was inferior.

I hurt him physically also, that's true. However, he was prepared for that, he knew there was every chance that Angelus would come back to visit, perhaps even to stay forever, and he knew he would have to fight me and lose.

But what he would not have expected, and could never have been prepared for, was his Angel, the one person he trusts, admires and adores, treating him like everyone else has in his life, like nothing.

How can I convince him otherwise? Why would he believe me after my demon had told him exactly that to his face? (*Good news Wes old boy, you don't really have an inferiority complex, you're just simply inferior*).

Oh, he knows that it was the demon that said those things to him, but he also knows that the demon wears my face and lives in my body. A part of him truly believes it was me who said those words, and of course he can't admit to himself or to me that I hurt him so deeply.

So he suffers these hideous dreams.

Everyday, I have the guilt of that encounter hanging over me, and as if this wasn't bad enough, he forgave me, never once mentioned it again, never felt the need to hate me for it and still thought of me as his master (* I am your faithful servant, Angel *).

So all I can do is hold him through his nightmares, hold him really tight and murmur meaningless words of comfort, like "Shhhh" and "It's okay". Then when he wakes I will roll him over to face me and kiss his tears away and tell him that he is special and oh so beautiful and that he is loved. I know that I can never take away what was said or done to him, but he should know in his heart that he's safe now.

When I kiss his neck he stares at me with those beautiful eyes, and starts to pant really hard, pressing his hips against mine, and he whispers my name, his voice catching in his throat and I realise that I have never heard anyone else say my name like that. It makes my knees go weak, my mouth water and my cock grow hard.

I groan against his neck and move him carefully, so he is underneath me, and I wish he hadn't worn clothes to bed, because I can see his nipples through his shirt, and I am so painfully hard, I desperately need him now.

I breathe in deeply, marvelling at that scent that is all him, and I can't explain it, but there is nothing like the smell of an aroused Wesley. It makes me so damn hungry, for blood, or...something else.

I stick out my tongue and begin to lap at his left nipple through the thin material of his undershirt, and then just ever-so-slightly nibble at it. I must remember to tell him later that it isn't necessary for him to wear clothes to bed. When I lick the right nipple, he is almost keening with delight. Then he's pushing me away. I don't understand what I've done, I start to panic, 'cause he's pushing me from him, rejecting me.

But then it's okay, because he sits up and raises his arms above his head, so that I can remove his shirt. As soon as it is off, he is breathing audibly and he grabs me around my waist and kisses me really hard, his lips bruising mine, his hands entangled in my hair, his tongue sucking on my tongue, fucking my mouth "Oh Jesus, Wes" and then he lies back down, quickly removing the rest of the offending clothing.

Now there is nothing preventing me from owning that body, which I intend to do, fully and completely, and as my teeth graze his earlobe, I whisper to him.

"Don't ever leave me, please Wes, don't ever leave"

And he grabs my head in his hands and tells me exactly what I want to, need to hear, "Angel, you own me, nobody knows me like you do".

The tears well up in his eyes again and also in mine. I know that if I can stop him thinking about that pain, that everything will be all right, but if I am honest, a part of me wants this, I want him to feel the pain, so that I can protect him from everything.

Including me.

"Angel, I need you now" he pleads, and I laugh and tell him softly, "Patience love, all good things for those who wait".

I re-position myself, kissing him on the mouth again, just the once before licking his neck, starting at that pulse point and working my way up to his chin. He tastes so sweet, and when I realise I'm growling, I know that the demon is there, just under the surface and so wants to play...

I move down, kissing the bony part of his hip, before flipping him over, so that I can lick that crease at the back of his knees. This drives him crazy, and he starts thrusting against the sheet, this will make him come very soon, "no Wes, I won't allow you to do that", so to stop him from moving, I pull him up onto his knees and push his head into the pillow and he opens for me.

My tongue stretches him gently, then, without warning, I thrust up into him, his heat always astounds me at first. He begins to moan, this long moan that makes him almost sound like he's in pain. The deeper I go, the hotter it gets and the more he moans, until he is thrusting back against my tongue, fucking himself on it. I can always tell when he's about to come, because he arches up even further, offering himself to me, so I quickly flip him over again and take all of his cock into my mouth, and suck hard, just the once.

That's all it takes, and he's shrieking and shrieking and shrieking. I take it all, all of that bitter-sweetness that is Wesley, my Wesley. When he has stopped screaming,I brush the hair away from his face, and trace his lips with my finger and he grabs my hand and laces his fingers through mine and mouths "I love you"

 I nod and press my forehead against his. "And I love you", I whisper.

 

Soon, very soon, Wesley will tilt his neck to the side and offer his throat to me, pleading, begging me to drain him, and I will. I will bury my fangs in him and drink deep, because he needs that possession just as much as I do and while I drink I will fuck him. I can never quite work out what tastes better, his semen or his blood, and I guess it doesn't really matter because they are both his, which means they are mine too, but the one thing I am sure of is that I will come quickly, so quickly, and I will tear my fangs from his throat and scream his name over and over, until there is silence.

After that, I lick his wound so as to heal it, and retreat into my head, where I imagine how it would be if I were to turn him. Oh yes, I think about it often, draining him to the point of death, slashing myself so he can drink from me, creating that deeper bond that only the sharing of the blood can do and then waiting for him to be born again.

I imagine Wesley would be almost as skilled as I was without my soul, a particularly brutal vampire, because he has the knowledge of the worst sins vampires have committed, giving him plenty of morbid inspiration to draw on. All the abuse he suffered has instilled in him such passion and anger that, believe it or not, reminds me so much of Will.

I for one would love to be there when he tears out his father's throat so he can bid me to share not only in the blood, but the hours of torture and rape which that monster deserves, and then some...oh yes, the temptation to turn my lover is sometimes almost unbearable.

But I made a promise that I would work to preserve life, not destroy it and so I will not allow myself to take his life. Were I to lose my soul again, however, perhaps that would be another story, the thought of which always leaves me with that smirk on my face, which always suited Angelus more than me.

And I know that tomorrow night and the next night and the next, we will go through this whole thing again. Firstly the nightmares followed by weeping, then the comforting, then the taking, then finally the feeding. Then my fantasies of claiming Wesley, making him my childe forever, and I know it's morbid and sadistic, but this is us, this is who we are, and I wouldn't want it any other way.


The End


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