"Angel" and these sexy characters belong to WB, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, David Greenwalt, etc. My only salary is feedback, no money changes hands. Please do not archive or distribute this without my permission. Don't read if you aren't over 18 or the age of majority in your area.
To the fans of this series, if any are left: I'm sorry for the delay, and I hope you respond to this chapter and future chapters. I was very disillusioned by the end of season 3, but have decided to incorporate some of that season in my story (minus Fred!). Please, any comments you have, send them to knack6@hotmail.com
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"Angel...Angel..."
Groggily, throat stuffed by mental cotton, Wesley choked out the name of the man he loved, hoping, praying he would have another chance of seeing Angel's face, of living life.
A musky moisture pervaded the air and tickled his bare midsection. It was at that moment he realized he was nude. As he tried to cross his legs, they refused to move. A quick check testified that his arms were also immobile, shackled against cool walls, spread out as far as they could stretch. Wesley had taken a bullet, been beaten, been degraded and drugged, but the possibility of crucifixion was a bit much.
When his bleary vision finally began clearing, Wesley squinted, trying to make out his location. A bunker of some sort, probably. Certainly underground.
Furrowing his brow, Wesley tried to recall his last memory. He and Angel had fought, bitterly, and he had stormed from the hotel. He was in an alley, gathering his thoughts, swallowing pride, when he was grabbed from behind with...
"Chlroform," Wesley rasped to himself.
"Not quite, not quite."
A startling, grizzled voice menaced the cavernous room. Wesley cursed the loss of his glasses.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
As he spoke the words, currents crackled through his chest, carressing his heart and curbing his oxygen supply. He quickly found himself unable to form syllables.
"I don't remember saying you could speak. However, to squelch your irritating curiosity - my name is Holtz. I have very important plans for you. First..."
After a flourishing hand gesture that would shame Vanna White, a screen descended from the ceiling.
"February 2001. Angel, and...I believe you know the lady in question. Or should I say, the lady in heat."
Impaired vision or not, Wesley immediately recognized Angel's bare, muscular ass, his lengthy snake sliding in and out of...
"Darla," he mouthed, shaking his head vehemently. Not her! Not that bitch! This had to be a cruel hoax, a trick by Angel's enemies. As Wesley worked himself into rage, the image vanished. Holtz's mocking, merry tones burned his ears.
"Don't believe what you see? Can't believe your perfect Angel would swap fangs with his ex-girlfriend, then not tell you? Why does no one see his true evil? That is of no matter. Now we shall fast-forward to a little over a year later."
March 2002. Angel, clothed now, holding a small infant. Happy, jubiliant, more full of joy than Wesley had ever seen him. Babe in his arms, Angel bounced upstairs and into the embrace of...
"CORDELIA," Wesley seethed, breaking through the magics which had stolen his voice. The malicious chuckle he received in response only made him thrash against his bonds more furiously.
"This is very amusing. Fight all you want. That only adds to my plan. My 'chloroform' contained the ingredients to put you under my complete hypnotic control. For instance, stare at Angel and Cordelia, the nauseatingly perfect couple you will despise. Hell, I already hate them, and I've only seen them for 3 seconds! Angelus brought me centuries of death and suffering. Now I am returning the favor. You, his most trusted lap dog, will cause his greatest strife. He will never love you, as no one has ever loved you, and you can't help striking back, at the most opportune time..."
"NO!!!!!" Wesley screamed, battling with every ounce of his will.
Holtz raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, you think you still have control here? Hmm, how to settle that? I know."
Rubbing his calloused hands together, Holtz whispered incantations of a long-dead language even Wesley did not understand. Wesley threw his head back, warmth surrounding his nipples, teasing and biting them to frustration. Electric fingers circled and stroked his flaccid penis. As he cried out for mercy, his words melted into moans as his cheeks were bitten and massaged before being spread for a lengthy penetration. Sweat soaked his skin as every private area was uncovered as a pleasure point, as his arms and legs and feet and penis and testicles were channeled into a singular vessel of uncontrollable lust. Moments or hours later, he ejaculated, every cell and fiber of his being concentrated through the ropes of white seed sprayed across the room. Completely spent, he quickly fell into the mercy of unconsciousness. His last clear memory was the evil, cruel laugh of a man who had won.
**
"He won't leave his room."
On guard as he stood in front of the locked mahogany door, Riley pondered his disappointment. Angel meant a great to deal to him, told him only they could understand each other. Then Wesley runs away and suddenly Angel becomes Howard Hughes.
"That's Brood Boy for ya. One of his groupies wanders out without gettin' his hand stamped, and Angel goes in a tizzy."
Gunn's sarcasm bemused and saddened Riley, reminding him of Forrest, his long-dead friend and lover in the Initiative.
"Wesley and Angel haven't been involved for very long. When I started dating Buffy, I wanted to put a tracking device on her every time she went for a bathroom break."
Riley had expected Gunn to smile or laugh, but instead, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
"Involved? Are they...?"
Riley shrugged. "Yeah." Then the realization set in. "You didn't know? Aw shit!"
Gunn's pacing up and down the hallway, not to mention his jaw being picked up the floor, indicated he wasn't happy about the news.
"Nobody here tells me nothin'. Angel and English...can't wrap my brain around that. I mean, when I wanted to go out on a simple date a coupla months back, Wesley told me he was involved with a woman. Then, as soon as Angel comes back, Wes drops the soap? I just don't get it. What does Angel have that us mere mortals don't?"
Riley began to reply, then paused mid-sentence as he realized what Gunn was saying.
"You-You're gay?"
His back straight, ready for a fight, Gunn nodded, arms folded across his chest.
"Got a problem with that?"
Riley found himself blushing slightly.
"No. Not at all. As a matter of fact, I - "
Gunn leaned closer, hanging on Riley's next few words, but they were nearly knocked to the floor by a blurry, black-clad figure speeding between them, yelling as he did.
"Who was that masked motherfucker?" Gunn sneered, bracing against the wall.
"I don't know, but I have a hunch. We'll have to finish this conversation later."
As Riley ran after Angel, he heard Gunn muttering, "you bet we will."
Gunn and Riley arrived at the second floor bannister a few minutes apart. Wesley and Angel were in the lobby. Wesley wanted to speak, but Angel's lips and tongue were doing their best to stop him. Finally, Wesley gave up, breathing in the peculiar smell of leather and hair gel he loved so. He treasured Angel's firm body in his hands, one final time. Angel gaped at him, adoringly, lovingly.
"I smelled you as soon as you walked in the door! I'm such a jerk. People tell me that, tell me I'm a brooder, I'm a loner. I don't want to be. I want to be with you. I love you, Wes."
Wesley blinked his eyes repeatedly, blocking out the scalding tears. His heart ached to return Angel's praise, to spend day and night in the bed of the man he cherished. He wanted to, he should, he must.
"Angel, I appreciate your friendship. As co-workers, we should remain only that. Friends. I have books to look over and paperwork to finish. Thank you for your concern."
Riley and Gunn looked at each other, astonished. Then they watched Angel, watched his eyes fall to the ground, hypnotized by his shoes, choking on his own sorrow. They watched him walk away, slowly, painfully, wounded by another broken heart. So busy were they with Angel that they did not notice the tears streaming from Wesley's cheeks as he left the room, the blood seeping from nails digging in his palms, the self-loathing as he wondered what had caused him to make the worst decision of his life.
If only he knew...