Strategy Part Five

[thebratqueen]

PART FIVE

Anger makes him shove the vampire away.

"Me?" Wesley asks. He makes quick, sharp gestures, taking in the whole of the world and their place in it. "What about *you*, you *absolute* ass!"

Angel's demeanor is still. He's at home in these shadows, splashes of white the only indication of the location of his face and hands. "I had to see you."

"You'll be *killed*."

"I had to see you."

"You - "

But then there's no talking, because the vampire is faster than he is and Angel's mouth on his own reminds him that, yes, there actually are things in this life more pleasurable than anything of Jasmine's creation.

"Angel," he whispers, his body melting into the vampire's strong one. Angel's arms are around him and it's more security than Wesley has ever known.

"I lost you." It's basic speech. Angel always hoards his words carefully. Wesley knows to treasure each one that he's given.

"You never could," Wesley promises him. There's another kiss, this one wetter than the first. "Angel - " because it's such a pleasure to say that name, to speak it and see its owner right in front of him " - you didn't. I'm right here."

There's touching then. Exploratory fingers on both sides as mouths continue to connect, linger.

"You're hurt," Wesley says. His thumb traces a dark red line that cuts across the vampire's cheek.

"It's nothing."

Wesley's turn to play the game of echoes. "You're hurt."

A shrug. "Jasmine's boys don't fight with pillows."

Wesley leans in, flicks a tongue across the would-be scar. "Don't let it happen again."

Brown eyes are clinical now, a doctor's gaze in the dim light. "You need to eat more."

"I'll be sure to work on that."

Fingertips move down the lean muscles of Wesley's chest. One hits a bruise, and Wesley hates himself for not being able to hide the flinch.

"What - "

"It's nothing."

The vampire's not buying it. "Wes...."

"No worse than you," Wesley hastily assures him. He touches Angel's cheek again. Wonders if the mark will be permanent. In the back of his mind Wesley thinks, sees his every interaction with Lorne in a whole new light. "I should have known it was you."

"Told Lorne not to say anything."

"You knew I'd talk you out of it."

Hands are resting on Wesley's hips now. "Safer, too."

"But mostly the former."

A perfect mouth curls in a familiar half-smile. "Mostly that."

"Secret passage," Wesley muses, shaking his head. "Who else *but* you?"

"Made it myself."

Wesley's now curious.

The eyes grow darker. "When Connor was born."

Wesley rests a hand against Angel's chest. Presses in with silent comfort.

Angel doesn't want to linger on this part of memory lane. "Figured couldn't hurt to have an extra way out, back then."

"You were right," Wesley tells him. Meets his eyes. Reminds him of how one person, at least, benefited from this.

"Connor's room now, huh?"

"Yes."

"Any problems sneaking in there?"

Wesley's heart skips a beat. He covers it with a cough. Silently whispers a thanks to Lorne. "No. No problems at all."

"Good," cool lips press against Wesley's forehead. A watch is checked. "Okay, time to go."

Wesley's gripped by greed. "You only just got here."

Angel smirks. "You're coming with."

The world freezes. Wesley's certain that in some other dimension he doesn't say this. "No."

"Wes - "

"No."

"I don't recall saying it was up for a vote," Angel tells him. He stands up straighter, reminds Wesley of his height.

"Angel, don't be stupid."

"Wesley, stop stealing my lines."

"To what end?" Wesley demands. "If I go with you - "

"Then you'll be with *me*."

"And I want that more than anything!" Wesley shouts, too angry to bother lowering his volume. "But that doesn't matter now!"

"Wesley - "

"How powerful has she grown? How many has she killed? What method have *you* found to put a stop to this?"

"I'll find one."

"Connor's blood will do it."

"Believe me," Angel's voice is death itself, "I'll get it."

Wesley touches him again, doesn't dispute that. "I can get it first."

For a moment, the vampire listens. "How?"

"He trusts me."

Now there is disbelief. "Why?"

Wesley falters. He never once thought of having to come up with this lie. He grabs on to the first thing instinct gives him. "I told him I hate you."

"He bought that?"

The details click far too easily into place. "Yes. Once I told him about all the times you tried to kill me."

Angel is quiet. Wesley starts to speak again but a jerk of the vampire's head stops him. The moment stretches out between them, each man reflecting on the truth of their relationship - a mutual agreement that neither one of them is sorry for what they've done.

"I love you."

Wesley finds he can't breathe.

Brown eyes meet his. "Just so that's clear."

Wesley rests against him, rendered speechless.

"I'm not agreeing to this."

"But you're going to let me do it anyway."

A pause. "Yeah."

Wesley closes his eyes. In his mind he tells Angel everything, most especially how much he doesn't want to go, and why. But he knows none of these words can ever be spoken. Not out loud. Not if they're to try to save anyone other than themselves.

Wesley indulges in the luxury of hating the world and everyone in it. To be honest it's not the first time.

Angel's demeanor changes. Perhaps he picks up on Wesley's stress. Whatever it is, it makes his hands move. He draws Wes closer. His mouth finds Wesley's jaw. "There's a little time."

Wesley trembles. "How much?"

"Enough."

"Are you - "

No one can ever accuse Angel of lacking his moments of macho posturing. "I'll *make* it be enough."

Their mouths connect with vacuum-like suction. Demonically strong hands caress him, cup his ass, massage him with the unmistakable message of possession.

Wesley's brain starts to melt. "Want you. Angel, please - "

Then there's a hand on his hip, and it's trying to turn him around, and Wesley's stomach drops down to the last level of Hell as he remembers.

Bruises.

The light is faint but to a vampire it's high noon. The marks range from a handful of weeks to two days old now and if there is one creature on all the earth that has the ability to look upon them and know *exactly* how they were created, it is the man Wesley loves with all his soul.

They can't be together. Not like this.

"No," Wesley murmurs, stopping the action before Angel can follow through. Not the touch, though. Not even for his own life could Wesley move away from this touch. Instead he stumbles, stutters, doesn't have to pretend that their situation is making it difficult for him to think.

Angel is patient. As a lover he's never been cruel. He waits, and finally Wesley thinks of a suggestion.

"Fuck my mouth."

The vampire groans. Kisses him in a way that's feral and hungry. Wesley responds, then drops down to his knees. Angel needs no encouragement for his legs to part. His pants are easily undone. His erection is warm and familiar.

Lips wrapped around him, Wesley experiences the sense realization that the father is much *larger* than the son. He's pleased about this, and that's the last he thinks of Connor.

In some other place Wesley would take his time. Here he can't. He bobs his head, works his tongue, sucks at Angel greedily, craving the taste of this, the *right* man, more than anything he can give name to.

Angel perches on the edge of the desk. The smell of dust lingers in the air. There are soft whimpers and groans, not all of which are Wesley's. Hips jerk forward. A voice like buttery leather provides only encouragements. Finally a hand tightens on Wesley's neck, muscles tense, and fluid cascades down his throat.

Wesley stays there a long time. He wants to absorb the taste of this into his very *marrow*.

There's a tug. Angel draws him up. A hand reaches down, cups his dick and Wesley's world flickers white-black-white as he suddenly and ecstatically remembers there can be *pleasure* in this. He's gone. Brainless. By total and sheer luck Angel does not pursue the idea of proper fucking. Instead he continues with just his hand, stroking Wesley first through frustrating denim, then with nothing between aching cock and Angel's strong and callused fingers.

Hitches of breath. Pleading in Angel's name. They lean together, forehead to forehead, Wesley's eyes fluttered closed and the universe reduced - no, far too pleasurable - *expanded* to nothing but the feel of that touch. Back and forth, up and down, a brand of fire on already burning flesh. It's more than he could imagine, it's better than the first time - with Angel, with *anyone* - it doesn't matter. It's God's own touch and if Angel is the Prince of Heaven then so be it. It's life. It's perfection. It's everything.

"Please..."

It goes on longer than it should. After the fact, Wesley is almost certain that it was longer than they were allowed. But at one moment he blinks, catches Angel's eyes, sees a look of reverence and wonderment there that must surely match his own, and he doesn't care.

"I love you."

Now it's Angel who can't speak, though that's hardly unusual.

"Just so we're clear."

Stronger tugs. A wicked thumb across the tip. Heat and friction and - "God!" - orgasm, shuddering, legs turning to jelly and a body only supported by a vampire's strength.

More kissing. "Wes. God, Wes...."

A feeling like being drunk. "I - " a hand touches sticky places on a leather jacket and a dark shirt " - made a mess."

A soft laugh, warm like bathwater. "I don't care. Believe me I don't care."

Another kiss. A thousand. A mortal body made up entirely of sparks.

Time passes. They're beyond the point of pre-planned safety now, but neither one of them cares.

Angel nuzzles him. Offers a suggestion. "After - "

"Hmm?"

"We go away. When it's done. Just you and me."

Wesley's slurring his words. "Sounds lovely."

"Somewhere far."

"All right."

"Like Aruba."

A quizzical eyebrow.

"Never tried that."

"Aruba?"

"Sit on the beach. Have a drink."

"At night."

"Right. Wear a suit."

"Be a bit warm."

"A *bathing* suit."

"You don't have any."

"I'll buy." A pause. "I'd look good in a suit."

Wesley ponders this. Imagines the vampire half-naked and wet. His mind's eye lingers on a hint of dark curls above a low-hanging waistband. "You would."

"And you..."

"Yes?"

"You'd look good out of one."

Wesley laughs. The vampire is proud at his successful attempt at humor. Wesley wonders when this happened. When a relationship started out of madness and desperation became this familiarity and tenderness.

Then he realizes that his relationship with Angel has always been this way. They've simply combined the best elements out of the past four years. Stopped wasting their time with hatred and pretending.

"Do we ever come back?"

Angel's turn to ponder. "Not sure yet."

Wesley slides a hand around a broad chest. "We'll buy a home. Everyone can visit."

Cool lips trace kisses in his hair. "I like that."

"Live together forever."

"I like that too."

Wesley pauses. Sits up. Looks at him. "Consider that my pledge."

Eyebrows twitch. There's a half-second before there's comprehension. When he speaks, the vampire is respectful and serious. "Mine too."

Wesley kisses his cheek, again tonguing that awful damage. "You are my greatest love, Angel. You always have been."

Angel cups his chin. "You're my partner, Wes."

There's a sound. Angel identifies it as a rat. It's still more than either of them want from the world outside.

"We should go."

"I still don't want this."

"I don't either."

They redress. Help one another. Take longer at it than they need to.

"I need your help," Angel says, sequitoring over from nothing. "There's translations. The best we have is Fred but..."

Wesley thinks about it. Measures one danger in comparison with another. Decides. "Give them to Lorne. I'll see what I can do."

A curt nod. "I'll go first. Make sure it's clear."

Wesley wants to say something but can't imagine what.

At the door Angel hesitates. "Can we - he's gone for days, we could - "

"It's too dangerous," but even Wesley's voice isn't sure.

"We could try."

"I'll have a hard enough time hiding your scent as it is."

"He would notice?"

Wesley shuts his eyes, remembering all the places that Connor can claim as he damn well pleases. Doesn't exactly lie to the boy's father as he says, "Angel, it's you."

Angel sighs. "I'll think of something."

"Safety first."

"I'll - "

"Don't you *dare* get yourself killed."

Two hands reach out in the gloom. Squeeze together. "We'll figure it out."

"I've every confidence."

***

One last kiss, then Angel's gone. Wesley waits five minutes then returns on his own path.

When he gets back to the Hyperion, Lorne is there. The demon looks at him expectantly.

Wesley finds he can't give the lecture he had planned. Instead he smiles, doesn't take his clothes off when he slips into bed.

Lorne, camped out in the living room, slides the bedroom doors closed for privacy.

Wesley's skin tingles. When he closes his eyes he can feel the vampire's lips against his own.

For the first time in many months now, his body is awake. Horny.

Wesley slips a hand underneath the sheets and undoes his trousers.

In his mind Angel is beside him. He cups and caresses Wesley's balls as they talk, kiss, laugh.

In his last orgasm before he goes to sleep, he's happily curled against Angel's bare chest, listening to the waves lap at the shore in Aruba.

***