ethrosdemon ||| Buffy & Angel

Finale Alt Number One
by ethrosdemon

Distribution: Lists archives. Everyone else ask, unless you already have the other parts.
Disclaimer: Joss made it up, too bad he is an incompetent ninny. Mutant Enemy and others own the rights. No suing please.
Rating: NC-17 dark themes and, you know, sex
Pairing: A/X ?
Dedication: Lar, who swears it doesn't suck. Blame her *g *
Note: This is the last in a series. It follows directly from 'Crescendo'. Alt reality from the other Finale.
Spoilers: Gen seasons 5/1

Worked this one over and over and over until there was no top middle side bottom, nothing but the realisation that I had been used in so many ways that there was no way to ever see through the facets.

Thought it was all about Cordelia and me. Angel, Angelus, who gives a flying fuck at this point, the Bastard, had come to remind me about what was his. Me. My body, just an instrument for his pleasure and my wretched, skull crushing agony. Through the pain and the degradation I was supposed to REMEMBER. Stroke that mind-zone where his sagely teachings reside. Don't come between Him and what is His. Deity capitols for the pronouns. Even I know that much.

What is his is whatever the hell he wants it to be, and I decided somewhere between him whispering "Don't ever talk to her again" and "You're mine, marked until your last gasp" that he had decided on me and Cordelia. I'm quick like that.

Realisation is a hot ember that burns through your mind. Huh, poetry. That must've been the last strand of sanity snapping. Poets are usually insane, or else I always figured they were since what they write must only really make any sense to other head jobs. Then again, my realisation certainly burnt me like something fiery, and it only added to the red haze I had seen since I woke up in the hospital with Willow craning her neck over me and dripping tears on my face.

Wesley. Wesley is in L.A. too.

What are the chances that Angel has mended his ways and stopped lusting after dark-haired men who could find a way to choke themselves with their own shoelaces? Not a whole effing lot since he just demonstrated ever-so-clearly that his tastes are still running in that direction.

That blazing epiphany÷continuing with the same metaphor, yes, I am an insane, homicidal poet, I need a beret÷led to another. If Wesley was putting out, Angel might have been too occupied to go on a roadtrip.

He came for me not just to "teach his boy a lesson". He was horny. For Wesley. And he raped me.

I think anyone would now see the necessity for some serious revenge. I mean, come on! I was already pissed, almost pissed enough to go to L.A. and confront Angel in front of his posse. Slide right in the door, cop a feel with Cordelia standing there with her fuscia lips agape. Then whip the stake out of my back pocket, and send that fucker back to the other side where he should've stayed.

Oh, but now I my plan is so much sweeter. The world has shifted from maroon to sepia, warm and inviting around the edges, like a late afternoon haze.

He told me that my nature was closer to devils than angels, but did his crystal ball see into his own fate at my hands? No, just a mind trip from him. Probably thought I would break from thinking he saw evil in me. The Bastard never felt the quiver right * there* under his fingertips, of the hunger beneath my skin. The tang on my tongue, the murmur in my inner ear to destroy and fashion a world of my own making where death would be a luxury for those who hurt me or those I love.

See, that's the fun part. He has no fucking clue what I will do to him for stealing that last precious figment from me. The belief that even if it was twisted and sadistic and every flavour of bad you can name, that he did it out of love. Or desire at the very fucking least. For ME. Love or desire for me.

Threading through every memory I have of the times when the Bastard acted less evil, when he let me come or asked me what happened in school that day, is the strand of knowing I was never the first choice.

I won't be his replacement man-bitch.

Which brings me to my current location: The White Hind Pub conveniently located equidistant from Wesley's swingin' batcher pad and Angel Investigation's new and improved location.

I can stalk with the best of 'em. Took me all of three days to figure out Wesley's routine, and that he always comes here alone. Now for the ever-so-casual accidentally on purpose meeting.

Throwing darts. Live the stereotype, Wes. Become one with the stereotype.

At least he's had a make over, make down. Long-sleeved green t-shirt and tan pants. L.A. seems to have washed the starch out of him.

Let's find a booth and settle in for him to notice me.

"Xander? Xander Harris?" He works for a frickin' detective agency, and he takes an hour to see me sitting ten feet away. Don't let me ever be the star of one of Cordelia's visions. Ha, maybe on the murdering end, not the murdered that way my life is going now anyway.

"Wesley? What the hell are you doing here?" Shocked face. Have this one down like the shape of Willow's nose.

"Precisely what I was about to ask you. Er, you're not presently non- living, I hope." This guy is even more of a moron than I gave him credit for.

"Still breathing from necessity as far as I'm aware. And as far as my reasons for being here go...it's a long, sordid tale of woe and misery." Break eye contact with that for maximum pathetic points.

"I have a minute." He sits across from me in the highbacked booth.

"Well, in that case, why don't we have a couple drinks? What's your pleasure?"

"Well, and after the attack Anya and I split and I didn't know what to do, so I thought I would come down here for a while and see what I could cook up." Seven pint glasses strewn about the tabletop. Five of them Wes's. And even if he has an iron constitution, I can see the effects.

"I certainly am sorry to here that you have come on such hard times. You know, if you would like, I could enquire with Angel if, perhaps, we could use your help at Angel Investigations." The conscience is having a slight convulsion from that statement, but there has to be evil to be good in the world.

"Wes, you look a little hammered, how about you sleep over on my couch tonight. I don't think it's such a great idea for you to ride a motorcycle home." Waves his hands back and forth in front of his chest to put me off, but it just makes him dizzy. Five beers in an hour and half might do that.

"Stop being English and just say yes." Tug him out off the bench and toss some money on the table. Move him along before he sobers up enough to really protest. Maybe wonder why I live in walking distance or something.

Two block walk to my apartment, then up the one flight of stairs.

"This really is above and beyond, Xander. Considering we were never on what would be, cordiatial terms. Cordial." Drunk limpness to his arms and back, leaning against the doorframe while I fumble with me keys. Oops, butterfingers. I dropped them.

"Let me." He bends down to get the keys, but on the way back up, swoons a little and has to grab my shirt to balance himself. Falls into me because he's turned his foot out too far to compensate for the fall. Time to begin to wonder if I'm Svengali with the plan making, or if Wes is just the perfect patsy.

Wrap both arms around his waist and hold him against me. Let's see if I got my mojo on tonight.

"Wes, you ok?" He tries to pull back a bit, ends up just cocking his head to the side and smiling. Kinda hot. Stubble shadowing the lower half of his face and alcohol flush to his checks and mouth.

"I think I am ok to stand on my own." Oh, see, no. That is not how this is going to go at all.

Turn him around to pin him against the door so I won't have to rely on my bad arm, before he can register in his dazed mind what's going on, kiss him.

Slight struggle, but I was counting on that. I mean, come on, this isn't a gay-pride parade, and as far as I know, Wes might not even go for men.

"Xander. What...I mean, why?" But, suspiciously, he's not wiggling away or kneeing me in the crotch, so this might go quite well for the Xan- man.

"Wes, two ships passing in the night. I thought maybe you might want to sleep in my bed instead of on the couch." And while I didn't mention interlocking parts, I think my invitation is clear.

Clear enough for Wes to be to one to lean in this time, for his fingers to find my still tender scalp.

I own two new certainties.

The first is that I am a world-class slut. My lust is marrow-deep. Even this close to Angel's ultimate violation, all I want is to hear how loud Wesley can scream and to have my name be part of the howl.

The second is that screwing Wesley is going to be so much more than revenge. His lips and tongue are promising every bit of flesh exposed to them what they will and can do to the parts still covered.

His tongue slipping back and forth across my bottom lip, suckling it into his mouth, nipping with his teeth, skipping down to my adam's apple leaving open-mouthed kisses along the way. Not the man I thought he was.

"Wes, let me get the door opened." Left corner of his mouth turned up in what is bizarrely one of the sexiest looks I have ever seen, and whoa whoa whoa, I'm actually attracted to him? Did the Initiative capture me too and put some over-sexed chip in my head? He takes the keys from me while I stand here like the idiot that I am, unlocks the door.

Inside, no lights, just Wesley's hands on me. Wrenching my shirt over my head.

"Step out of your shoes, Xander." Accompanied by his tongue tracing that raised ridge in my ear. I get this now. His fingers popping the buttons on my fly one by one from the inside, backs brushing my cock through my boxers, inhibitions lowered enough to moan out-right when I clutch him through his clothes.

I'm living Angel's fantasy. Triumph almost foils my plot. The thrill zaps right to my cock, and it was just about time to bring the fat lady out.

"Come on, let's go in there." Point to the bedroom visible through the doorway on the left. He pivots and peels his clothes off as we walk. Hm. Maybe Wes always arrives alone at the pub, but how often does he leave not so alone?

Lifts his face and peers at me over his shoulder as I come in, the button of his pants undone, the material riding low to expose the dimples at the base of his spine. Drop to my knees behind him, drape my leg arm across the fronts of his thighs, biological imperative to lick lick lick and suck those perfect marks and the curve of his spine.

"My lord, Xander..." Fallen forward, palms spread on the bed.

Glide my tongue up his spine, take my time. Work my hand up his thighs at the same speed. His breath sounds still as my fingers grip his zipper and the people in the next apartment must have heard the sound of his fly opening. Gush of hot breath riding on a guttural moan as I take him in hand. No underwear.

Back away and he turns to sit on the edge of the bed.

Unlace and remove each of his shoes, yank his pants off. Scoot on my knees to worm between his legs.

"Underwear. Heard of that?" One of his feet is wedged behind my knee holding me in place, tosses his glasses into the pile of clothes at my side.

"Would you believe it was laundry day?" Dirty smile. All the time we both wasted on Cordelia, and we could have had this every night. Hind- sight's 20/20.

"Lay down." He does. Never had a compliant lover before.

Safe sex seems to have escaped Wes's attention. I feel like rubbing my hands together and blurting out bwahahahaha. Probably ruin the mood.

Work my mouth down from as far as I can reach pinned by Wes's leg- lock. Don't want to take too long to get him off, since this is only prolonging my own agony. Need some relief from the pulse-beat throb in my cock.

Just need to suck on his hipbones arching so invitingly under taunt skin. Lick, bite, worry the skin there.

"Xander, please..." Too much. Pelvic lurch, twist to go with the begging.

Clutch him at the base and pop the head right into my mouth. Trained to please one person this way. Learned to be turned on in the same way. His mirror. Leaves me not knowing what's normal. What Wes wants me to do.

Suction and he's bucking off the bed. Leaking so much fluid it's just running out of my mouth along with my spit back onto him.

Sudden stiffening and I know this is...take him as far as I can and feel the muscles work as he comes.

I swear his come takes like beer.

Can't crawl over him, too awkward with the arm, so circle around and lay next to him on the bed.

"You still have your pants on." Moves to rectify that glaring error. Stamina, something else I wouldn't expect from a drunk, sated Wesley.

Let my eyes fall closed as he drapes his body over mine and starts the full mouth exploration of my torso. Just let it sink through my skin into my flesh, memorize the brush of his lips, the glide of his tongue, the slick enamel of his teeth. Something I've learned to control. The frenzy. It's starting to build, my stomach's drenched from his refusal to touch me where we both want him too. Perfect.

On the edge when he trails his cheek along my inner thigh, tickling with his beard. His fingers working up, up, up, yes, there and grip and drag once twice...see his face hovering, going in...

"Wesssssss." Sibilant rush. His startled face is covered in my semen. Being with Anya has taught me a few things. Orgasm almost on demand is the most important and lively.

He sits back on his knees. begins to wipe his face. Oh fuck, wipes it right back onto his leg. What more could I ask for?

"I'm truly sorry, Xander. I didn't think, well, since you are so young..." Pat the bed next to me.

"It's ok Wes. It happens sometimes. It's cool." He stretches out besides me and falls asleep almost immediately.

Everyone knows that vampires have a good sense of smell. They're predators, that's their thing. Have to be able to smell the blood they steal from other creatures.

Tomorrow, when Wes shows up refreshed and de-stressed at the office, Angel will know immediately. Not just that His Wesley had been off making time with another man. I'm pretty damned sure he's had that experience more than once already. Would've like to have seen the first time.

Oh no. He'll know EXACTLY who came all over Wes tonight. The scent will linger. For days, maybe longer, Angel's life will be a moment to moment struggle to not put his fist through the wall by Wes's head. Good times.

So much time with Spike has enlightened me quite a lot about vamps.

I wish, wish, wish that I could be there to see the look on his gob when he gets that first whiff. The betrayal and hopelessness. What can he do? Kill Wesley in front of Cordelia? Expose himself by going berserk? Implode from rage?

I vote for the last one.

Revenge is mine, sayth Alexander.



back to top