Strategy Part 3
Jul. 13th, 2003 06:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebratqueenOkay, bunny's not dead yet.
PART THREE
It's however many days later when Wesley wakes up. Connor is there, behind him and the expression that suggests itself is "spooning" but Wesley flat-out refuses to use it.
Upon seeing that Wesley is awake, Connor is all to happy to get up, skitter into the kitchen, return with coffee and toast.
Wesley slaps the dishes onto the floor. They refuse to break, much to his annoyance, but the coffee makes a nice spill.
Connor is taken aback. He essays a suggestion about Wesley not being well enough yet but Wesley nips *that* idea in the bud when he launches himself up, managing to get two good hits in before the demon child grabs him by the wrist and slams him down right next to the puddle on the floor.
Connor's mad. Wesley doesn't care. The plan - the stupid, bloody *plan* - means nothing to him. The whole place is a prison and Wesley's claustrophobia is rearing its ugly head. He wants out, he wants *gone* and since words to express these desires are meaningless he does it instead with actions.
He holds his own in the tussle, but ultimately Connor's not the one left wondering if bones will need to knit.
This is it then. The true test. He got himself *into* this mess, it's his job to get out of it.
He sits still, back against the wall, as Connor rages and breaks things. The temper tantrum is all too familiar, but in their four year history together Angel never ended one of his by forcing himself upon a foolhardy ex-Watcher.
Granted, Angel would have never needed force in that matter.
Connor does, though, and it's a comfort to know that no charade of compliance is needed here since even Angel's son wouldn't be stupid enough to believe it. Wesley instead settles on passivity, tumbling into whatever position Connor puts him into and offering no encouragement, but at the same time no fight.
Wesley is already naked. Connor does the mere courtesy of undoing his pants. Small hands crush themselves on Wesley's shoulders as the far too human sounding child attempts to match his heritage by snarling "You're *mine*. I had you *first*!"
It's all so ludicrous and immature that Wesley almost wants to laugh at it. Only awareness of how quickly those hands could snap his neck keeps him from doing so.
Somewhere between the declarations, the half-remembered need for lube (taken care of by Connor's spit) and the actual penetration Wesley rediscovers his Zen-like peace with it all.
He's been shot, tortured, left for dead. What's *left* really?
He takes it, then. Closing his eyes and thinking only of a vampire - the same vampire that got him through each and every other true crisis of his life, even though Angel's probably unaware of it.
He imagines it's Angel's touch, Angel's hands, Angel's dick.
His imagination isn't that strong, but it's enough to get him through it.
Connor finishes, looks far too self-satisfied, and Wesley knows they've found yet another thing he'll never be able to protect himself from.
***
The sex doesn't come free, however. Wesley lets Connor have his fun then starts in on him the very next day.
"Where's Jasmine? What is she doing? Where did she take Cordelia?"
They verbally fence with this - much as Connor is able to verbally do anything - but Wesley eventually manages to tease out some of the truth. Jasmine is elsewhere, quite possibly in China. She's extending her influence of mind control. Cordelia, the only subject which manages to get Connor feeling defensive for a change, is in parts unknown.
Wesley doesn't like having to add these facts up to the conclusion that Jasmine probably left not only to gain more followers but to take Cordelia away as well. The smart move would be another continent - for that matter to place her on top of the highest mountain. But Wesley doesn't know how alive Cordelia really is so it's possible she must still be kept somewhere that humans can survive in.
Even so, tracking her has now become more problematic.
Fortunately Jasmine had *two* parents to chose from. With one gone, Wesley focuses all of his attention on the other.
Frog in slowly boiling water that he is, Wesley moves past the violation that Connor's sex life has now become. He puts the reality of it on a shelf in the back of his brain and then leaves it there undusted. He resumes his habit of Being British, and Connor happily resumes *his* habit of treating him in a manner not unlike a pampered pet.
What this says about the boy's desires towards bestiality Wesley doesn't care to think on.
But it's progress, of its own sort, and it's the kind that lends itself towards usefulness. They have conversations over meals now, and Connor stupidly reveals too much about the things that occupy his time outside of their home - how the Hyperion commune works, where all the supplies are located, how the troops train to help deal with "traitors" like Angel and Fred.
In truth it's not *entirely* stupid on Connor's part. Wesley has no communication with the outside - or underground - world. He has the knowledge but can do nothing about it. It's his own personal Hell.
Wesley's own status as a heretic becomes something of a curiosity. Connor never mentions it, and based on the non-reaction of the people in the hall Wesley can only conclude that either they don't know or they don't care. He asks Connor about it and finds out that no, everyone knows his face and his crime, but he's with Connor now and that's all that matters. After all - and here Connor puffs himself up - he *is* Jasmine's father.
Wesley wonders what Jasmine herself thinks about this, but doesn't pursue that avenue of conversation. He doesn't like talking about her much, and can't help but feel that saying her name will invoke her - even if only inside of the mind and body of one of the people in the hotel.
***
The goddess herself proves to be Wesley's only true weakness. The ache that he feels when he sees the other zealots is far too unbearable. He hides out in their rooms and never once takes advantage of the door that is open to him. He savagely mocks himself for this, but at the same time cannot change the behavior. It's too much. He wants that bliss again as much as it terrifies him.
A crisis over this elicits an unwelcome moment of tenderness from Connor.
In an effort to either spoil Wesley or to show off, Connor gets servants sent in. He doesn't warn Wesley about this. Instead Wesley finds out when a man and two women come in, all of them near floating with identical attitudes of peacefulness. Without a word they move about the room, tidying, cleaning, making themselves useful.
Wesley bellows a command for Connor to get himself up there *right now*.
Connor appears, smiling, starting to ask if Wesley likes the new treat.
Wesley rapidly disabuses him of this notion. His voice is quiet, deadly, the kind which will brook *no* arguments because arguments with Wesley when he is in *this* state of mind end up with little boys being sent directly to *Hell* dimensions, thank you *very* much.
Connor is hurt. A puppy kicked in the chest. "But I thought - "
"I cannot *abide* them, Connor," Wesley says. He stabs his finger towards the door. "I cannot see them, I cannot speak to them and I *will not do this*. Get rid of them."
Confused, Connor shoos them away. He closes the door. Any argument or physical punishment that he might have offered in response to this drains away from his face when he looks back at Wesley.
Wesley, having come far too close to this torment, can no longer stand. He sinks onto the couch. He stares at nothing, his hands tremble.
Connor draws close. His head cocks quizzically. "Is it - is it that bad?"
"You have no idea," Wesley says, incapable of lying about it.
Conner perches himself on the coffee table. "I don't know what it was like," he says, an apology.
"I know."
The silence lingers between them. Connor shifts, clearly feeling that action is warranted. "Do you want it back?"
Wesley winces, then leaves his eyes closed.
"Maybe..." Connor's voice is uncertain, "I could ask? If you.... She's a goddess, there's got to be some way that - "
"*No!*" Wesley's mind recoils from what Connor offers him. The denial is guttural, dragged from the last vestiges of strength his soul has to give him.
"Wesley, if it's what you *want*...."
He forces himself to open his eyes. To sit up. To look at Connor man to man. "Never offer this to me. Never *give* this to me. What you give me is - is slavery. Misery. Hell, only I'll be too stupid to be aware of it."
"But you miss it," Connor says, trying to understand.
"We miss many things in life," Wesley tells him. "That doesn't mean we should have them."
Connor absorbs this. There's vulnerability. Wesley knows that if their situation was what Connor believed it to be, this would be a moment for them to bond, to draw closer together.
He makes that true for Connor, though for his own part it's only another manipulation. Pushing Connor's pawn into the right square, so that later Wesley can take his queen.
"Protect me from this, Connor," he says, pressing his hand to Connor's knee. He makes his voice soft, pleading. "Please. I - I need you to do this for me."
Connor's face lights with a smile. Wesley fakes his way through a kiss.
"I will," Connor promises. "I'll take good care of you."
Wesley allows himself to be fucked once again.
***
The time comes when Wesley knows he can't act on his own any longer.
"I need help," he tells Connor.
Connor slaps his hands together, nearly bouncing on his feet with extra energy - a natural byproduct, Wesley has found, to the times when the sex has been just rough enough to convince Connor of his true prowess.
Wesley suggested the act himself, and now does what he can to avoid putting weight on the leg that now has a slight limp.
"What can I do?" Connor asks, brimming with helpfulness.
"Not you," Wesley says, then smiles and instantly amends it. "Well, *yes*, you, but not exactly."
Confusion. "What?"
"I need help."
"I - "
"*Someone*," Wesley clarifies. Then, sliding into blatant manipulation, he continues. "You were right. A servant of some sort *is* a good idea."
Connor nods. "I thought so."
"To that end I was wrong," Wesley says. He nudges the conversation along slowly. He hasn't yet discovered how much he can lie to the boy without being discovered. "After all, you *are* terribly busy - "
"I can take care of you!"
"Of course you can," Wesley raises his hands in placating agreement. "I only meant - " and here he hates mixing the truth in amongst all this " - considering how I feel about going outside. About... being with everyone."
Connor regards him with a look that's both territorial and sympathetic. Wesley forces himself to accept it and look grateful.
"When you're here obviously all is well," Wesley says. "But when you're gone - well what if something were to happen? What if I needed you? How could we make contact?"
A vague gesture towards the door. "You could ask - "
"One of *them*," Wesley says, pointedly.
Connor frowns, now aware of the puzzle.
"I need someone I can trust," Wesley says. He now uses his 'I know you would have thought of this first' voice. It's the same one that taught Connor to keep lube in the nightstand. (Wesley thought about pushing his luck for condoms, but dared to trust that a Cordelia who had been infected with Jasmine had been clean of anything else and therefore saved his strength for more pressing arguments, such as the one they were currently having.) "Someone who won't hurt me by being what they are."
"Who?" Connor asks.
Now for the real challenge. Wesley takes a breath. "I need one of my friends."
The request hangs there between them. Their eyes lock.
Wesley tips the scales by shifting his weight, exposing the hand-shaped bruise around his throat.
Connor comes close to giving a nod. "Who?" he asks, and now it's the precursor to their agreement.
Wesley, who spent all of the night before thinking about it in lieu of sleep, gives the name.
Connor accepts.
***
PART THREE
It's however many days later when Wesley wakes up. Connor is there, behind him and the expression that suggests itself is "spooning" but Wesley flat-out refuses to use it.
Upon seeing that Wesley is awake, Connor is all to happy to get up, skitter into the kitchen, return with coffee and toast.
Wesley slaps the dishes onto the floor. They refuse to break, much to his annoyance, but the coffee makes a nice spill.
Connor is taken aback. He essays a suggestion about Wesley not being well enough yet but Wesley nips *that* idea in the bud when he launches himself up, managing to get two good hits in before the demon child grabs him by the wrist and slams him down right next to the puddle on the floor.
Connor's mad. Wesley doesn't care. The plan - the stupid, bloody *plan* - means nothing to him. The whole place is a prison and Wesley's claustrophobia is rearing its ugly head. He wants out, he wants *gone* and since words to express these desires are meaningless he does it instead with actions.
He holds his own in the tussle, but ultimately Connor's not the one left wondering if bones will need to knit.
This is it then. The true test. He got himself *into* this mess, it's his job to get out of it.
He sits still, back against the wall, as Connor rages and breaks things. The temper tantrum is all too familiar, but in their four year history together Angel never ended one of his by forcing himself upon a foolhardy ex-Watcher.
Granted, Angel would have never needed force in that matter.
Connor does, though, and it's a comfort to know that no charade of compliance is needed here since even Angel's son wouldn't be stupid enough to believe it. Wesley instead settles on passivity, tumbling into whatever position Connor puts him into and offering no encouragement, but at the same time no fight.
Wesley is already naked. Connor does the mere courtesy of undoing his pants. Small hands crush themselves on Wesley's shoulders as the far too human sounding child attempts to match his heritage by snarling "You're *mine*. I had you *first*!"
It's all so ludicrous and immature that Wesley almost wants to laugh at it. Only awareness of how quickly those hands could snap his neck keeps him from doing so.
Somewhere between the declarations, the half-remembered need for lube (taken care of by Connor's spit) and the actual penetration Wesley rediscovers his Zen-like peace with it all.
He's been shot, tortured, left for dead. What's *left* really?
He takes it, then. Closing his eyes and thinking only of a vampire - the same vampire that got him through each and every other true crisis of his life, even though Angel's probably unaware of it.
He imagines it's Angel's touch, Angel's hands, Angel's dick.
His imagination isn't that strong, but it's enough to get him through it.
Connor finishes, looks far too self-satisfied, and Wesley knows they've found yet another thing he'll never be able to protect himself from.
***
The sex doesn't come free, however. Wesley lets Connor have his fun then starts in on him the very next day.
"Where's Jasmine? What is she doing? Where did she take Cordelia?"
They verbally fence with this - much as Connor is able to verbally do anything - but Wesley eventually manages to tease out some of the truth. Jasmine is elsewhere, quite possibly in China. She's extending her influence of mind control. Cordelia, the only subject which manages to get Connor feeling defensive for a change, is in parts unknown.
Wesley doesn't like having to add these facts up to the conclusion that Jasmine probably left not only to gain more followers but to take Cordelia away as well. The smart move would be another continent - for that matter to place her on top of the highest mountain. But Wesley doesn't know how alive Cordelia really is so it's possible she must still be kept somewhere that humans can survive in.
Even so, tracking her has now become more problematic.
Fortunately Jasmine had *two* parents to chose from. With one gone, Wesley focuses all of his attention on the other.
Frog in slowly boiling water that he is, Wesley moves past the violation that Connor's sex life has now become. He puts the reality of it on a shelf in the back of his brain and then leaves it there undusted. He resumes his habit of Being British, and Connor happily resumes *his* habit of treating him in a manner not unlike a pampered pet.
What this says about the boy's desires towards bestiality Wesley doesn't care to think on.
But it's progress, of its own sort, and it's the kind that lends itself towards usefulness. They have conversations over meals now, and Connor stupidly reveals too much about the things that occupy his time outside of their home - how the Hyperion commune works, where all the supplies are located, how the troops train to help deal with "traitors" like Angel and Fred.
In truth it's not *entirely* stupid on Connor's part. Wesley has no communication with the outside - or underground - world. He has the knowledge but can do nothing about it. It's his own personal Hell.
Wesley's own status as a heretic becomes something of a curiosity. Connor never mentions it, and based on the non-reaction of the people in the hall Wesley can only conclude that either they don't know or they don't care. He asks Connor about it and finds out that no, everyone knows his face and his crime, but he's with Connor now and that's all that matters. After all - and here Connor puffs himself up - he *is* Jasmine's father.
Wesley wonders what Jasmine herself thinks about this, but doesn't pursue that avenue of conversation. He doesn't like talking about her much, and can't help but feel that saying her name will invoke her - even if only inside of the mind and body of one of the people in the hotel.
***
The goddess herself proves to be Wesley's only true weakness. The ache that he feels when he sees the other zealots is far too unbearable. He hides out in their rooms and never once takes advantage of the door that is open to him. He savagely mocks himself for this, but at the same time cannot change the behavior. It's too much. He wants that bliss again as much as it terrifies him.
A crisis over this elicits an unwelcome moment of tenderness from Connor.
In an effort to either spoil Wesley or to show off, Connor gets servants sent in. He doesn't warn Wesley about this. Instead Wesley finds out when a man and two women come in, all of them near floating with identical attitudes of peacefulness. Without a word they move about the room, tidying, cleaning, making themselves useful.
Wesley bellows a command for Connor to get himself up there *right now*.
Connor appears, smiling, starting to ask if Wesley likes the new treat.
Wesley rapidly disabuses him of this notion. His voice is quiet, deadly, the kind which will brook *no* arguments because arguments with Wesley when he is in *this* state of mind end up with little boys being sent directly to *Hell* dimensions, thank you *very* much.
Connor is hurt. A puppy kicked in the chest. "But I thought - "
"I cannot *abide* them, Connor," Wesley says. He stabs his finger towards the door. "I cannot see them, I cannot speak to them and I *will not do this*. Get rid of them."
Confused, Connor shoos them away. He closes the door. Any argument or physical punishment that he might have offered in response to this drains away from his face when he looks back at Wesley.
Wesley, having come far too close to this torment, can no longer stand. He sinks onto the couch. He stares at nothing, his hands tremble.
Connor draws close. His head cocks quizzically. "Is it - is it that bad?"
"You have no idea," Wesley says, incapable of lying about it.
Conner perches himself on the coffee table. "I don't know what it was like," he says, an apology.
"I know."
The silence lingers between them. Connor shifts, clearly feeling that action is warranted. "Do you want it back?"
Wesley winces, then leaves his eyes closed.
"Maybe..." Connor's voice is uncertain, "I could ask? If you.... She's a goddess, there's got to be some way that - "
"*No!*" Wesley's mind recoils from what Connor offers him. The denial is guttural, dragged from the last vestiges of strength his soul has to give him.
"Wesley, if it's what you *want*...."
He forces himself to open his eyes. To sit up. To look at Connor man to man. "Never offer this to me. Never *give* this to me. What you give me is - is slavery. Misery. Hell, only I'll be too stupid to be aware of it."
"But you miss it," Connor says, trying to understand.
"We miss many things in life," Wesley tells him. "That doesn't mean we should have them."
Connor absorbs this. There's vulnerability. Wesley knows that if their situation was what Connor believed it to be, this would be a moment for them to bond, to draw closer together.
He makes that true for Connor, though for his own part it's only another manipulation. Pushing Connor's pawn into the right square, so that later Wesley can take his queen.
"Protect me from this, Connor," he says, pressing his hand to Connor's knee. He makes his voice soft, pleading. "Please. I - I need you to do this for me."
Connor's face lights with a smile. Wesley fakes his way through a kiss.
"I will," Connor promises. "I'll take good care of you."
Wesley allows himself to be fucked once again.
***
The time comes when Wesley knows he can't act on his own any longer.
"I need help," he tells Connor.
Connor slaps his hands together, nearly bouncing on his feet with extra energy - a natural byproduct, Wesley has found, to the times when the sex has been just rough enough to convince Connor of his true prowess.
Wesley suggested the act himself, and now does what he can to avoid putting weight on the leg that now has a slight limp.
"What can I do?" Connor asks, brimming with helpfulness.
"Not you," Wesley says, then smiles and instantly amends it. "Well, *yes*, you, but not exactly."
Confusion. "What?"
"I need help."
"I - "
"*Someone*," Wesley clarifies. Then, sliding into blatant manipulation, he continues. "You were right. A servant of some sort *is* a good idea."
Connor nods. "I thought so."
"To that end I was wrong," Wesley says. He nudges the conversation along slowly. He hasn't yet discovered how much he can lie to the boy without being discovered. "After all, you *are* terribly busy - "
"I can take care of you!"
"Of course you can," Wesley raises his hands in placating agreement. "I only meant - " and here he hates mixing the truth in amongst all this " - considering how I feel about going outside. About... being with everyone."
Connor regards him with a look that's both territorial and sympathetic. Wesley forces himself to accept it and look grateful.
"When you're here obviously all is well," Wesley says. "But when you're gone - well what if something were to happen? What if I needed you? How could we make contact?"
A vague gesture towards the door. "You could ask - "
"One of *them*," Wesley says, pointedly.
Connor frowns, now aware of the puzzle.
"I need someone I can trust," Wesley says. He now uses his 'I know you would have thought of this first' voice. It's the same one that taught Connor to keep lube in the nightstand. (Wesley thought about pushing his luck for condoms, but dared to trust that a Cordelia who had been infected with Jasmine had been clean of anything else and therefore saved his strength for more pressing arguments, such as the one they were currently having.) "Someone who won't hurt me by being what they are."
"Who?" Connor asks.
Now for the real challenge. Wesley takes a breath. "I need one of my friends."
The request hangs there between them. Their eyes lock.
Wesley tips the scales by shifting his weight, exposing the hand-shaped bruise around his throat.
Connor comes close to giving a nod. "Who?" he asks, and now it's the precursor to their agreement.
Wesley, who spent all of the night before thinking about it in lieu of sleep, gives the name.
Connor accepts.
***
