The forest of Pylea is dark, brimming with unfamiliar night sounds. Angel leans against a tree not far from the rebels' camp. Wes is giving last-minute instructions for the upcoming raid, and Angel listens to the movement of his soft, British voice as he speaks.
            Wesley sounds so confident, so self-assured. Les than a year ago, Wes would never have approached a leadership challenge like this one with anything but brain-numbing fear. Now, here he is, making the big decisions, putting together a large and cohesive battle plan.
            Wes has changed so much since that day at the Bronze, the first time Angel met him. Even since his arrival in LA a little over a year ago. Angel wishes he could take credit for some portion of that transformation.
            Actually, he can. If he hadn't gone off the deep end with Darla's situation, Wes never would have stepped into the leadership role Angel vacated. So Angel doesn't know whether to feel proud of Wes, or ashamed of himself. Both, he supposes. If Wes hadn't risen to the occasion, Angel would have had nothing and no one to come back to, and he is profoundly grateful for that.
            Wesley's voice stops, and after a few minutes Angel hears footsteps behind him as Wes approaches. He doesn't turn. The night here is heavy on him, the memory of sunlight fresh and clean. But he remembers also the horrible lurch of the demon, darker, fiercer, more primal that he has ever felt it before. It had frightened him. Yet Wes and Gunn had both looked him in the eye when he had come back, Gunn even with his shoulder still bleeding from Angel's claws. Had looked him in the eye and accepted him, as if nothing at all had changed.
            Wes stops next to him. Angel takes in his smell, drenched with adrenaline in spite of his outward calm.
            "You should rest," Wes says.
            "I can't." He doesn't look at Wes, focused instead on the darkness, the forest.
            Wes touches his elbow. "How long has it been since you slept?"
            Angel shrugs. He slept for a time in Fred's cave, shaking and cold, with a head full of dreams of maiming and slaughtering his friends.
            "You'll need to face the Groosalugg at full strength," Wes adds.
            "I know," says Angel, and looks at him, finally taking in his sincere expression. "That's the problem."
            He pushes away from the tree and takes a few steps deeper into the darkness. He can hear the wind, night birds, insects chewing, the breathing of the trees.
            "If you have to do it," Wes says quietly, "if you have to summon the demon, you'll come back. I know you will."
            Angel turns. "You need me to believe that." He smiles ruefully at Wesley's surprised look. "I'm not stupid, Wes."
            "I didn't say you were."
            Angel laughs a little. "Darla did. 'I always pick the stupid ones,' she said."
            "That was rude." Wes looks uncertain, as if he's concerned about the direction of the conversation, but also amused.
            "Yeah, I thought it was a little harsh, myself."
            Wes studies him. The super-charged adrenaline smell is fading, but still there. It isn't fear, Angel knows. It's something entirely different. Something strong.
            "Do you miss her?" Wes asks.
            Angel looks at him. "Darla?"
            "Yes."
            Angel shrugs. It's a difficult question. There had been a time when he would have sold his soul--literally--to have her take him back.
            Finally he says, sincerely, "She had really good breasts." He gestures, his hands making the so-familiar shapes in the air. Wes laughs. But it fades quickly, even as Angel musters a smile in response.
            "You'll come back from this," Wes says, and he is so sincere Angel almost believes him.
            He shakes his head. "You saw it. That's the demon, in its pure form. It's so much worse than anything I imagined, anything I've ever been before. Just raw, animal hunger, lust for blood--" He stops. The memory is so intense. It had taken so much to come back from what he had become, such an incredible force of will. He doesn't think he can do it again.
            "No, it wasn't," Wes says.
            Angel is confused. "What?"
            "It wasn't worse than anything you've been before."
            Angel doesn't understand. He'd seen the beast, its hideous reflection in the small pool in Fred's cave. "It was horrible."
            "Yes. It was horrible. A horrible, vicious, brutish demon with no thought, no feeling, no remorse, no element of humanity left in it except for whatever shred you managed to cling to and force back to the surface. It killed out of instinct, out of animal need."
            "You saw what I did to Gunn."
            "Yes. But that was nothing compared to what you did to us, fully equipped with reason, fully equipped with mind, heart and soul. That was the worst you've ever been."
            Angel can only stare at him, guilt a cold, heavy thing in his chest. "I'm sorry."
            Wesley nods. "You did what you thought was right."
            "I was wrong."
            "Yes. You were wrong."
            Angel stands silent for a few long seconds. The stillness of his own body has never disturbed him as much as it does right now, as he stands there among the noises of a Pylean forest, hearing the wind and the trees and the soft, steady beating of Wesley's heart.
            "Do you love me, Wes?" he says, quiet. He's not even sure why he wants to know.
            Wes doesn't answer right away. Angel can't bear to look at him. Finally, slowly, Wes says, halting, awkward, "I suppose. I suppose I love you as a brother, in that way."
            Angel looks at him now, an eyebrow cocked. "As a brother?"
            "As a brother who occasionally fucks me?"
            Angel smiles. "That's sick, Wes."
            "Well, it didn't exactly come out right, now, did it?"
            "I certainly hope not." He turns fully toward Wes and cups his face in one hand, studying the familiar blue eyes behind the glasses. "I couldn't have made it through this without you. Thank you. And I'm sorry for what I did to you. To all of you."
            Wes smiles wryly. "It's good to hear, but it doesn't compare to a new wardrobe."
            Angel leans in a little. "Jealous, Wes?"
            "You could have just plied her with sexual favors. It worked with me, after all." Angel leans closer. He can feel Wesley's breath on his lips now. He wants to breathe it into himself, absorb that living current from Wesley's body. But Wes speaks again.
            "Why was it so important to you to make her happy?"
            "I don't know." There's been something about Cordelia lately, though. Something that moves him deep inside, where he doesn't want to acknowledge it. Having her spurn him hurt like hell. He's half afraid he might be falling for her, ridiculous as it sounds.
            He has no desire to tell Wesley this. It might hurt him, and he has hurt Wes enough over the past few months.
            "She's a very beautiful woman," says Wes, but Angel leans in a little closer, and when he speaks, his lips move right against Wesley's.
            "I don't want to talk about Cordelia."
            He eases his lower lip between Wesley's slightly parted lips and kisses him gently. "If I don't come back..." he begins.
            "You will," says Wes. "You will."
            Angel's hand tightens on Wesley's face and he presses his mouth into him, kissing him deep. Many things are different for him in Pylea, but his lack of body temperature is not one of them. Wes' mouth is hot and pliant, and Angel longs to feel hot, bare skin under his hands, heat enveloping his cock.
            Wes pushes away suddenly. Angel looks at him in surprise. "What?"
            Wesley's smile is a little sheepish. "Isn't it... It's really not a good idea to...indulge...right before a physical contest."
            "No sex before the big game, huh?"
            "Something like that, yes."
            "Bullshit," says Angel, and kisses him again, hard. "You want this?"
            "Yes." Wesley's voice is strained, almost broken, and Angel knows they're thinking the same thing--that this might be the last time. In spite of Wesley's attempts to reassure him, Angel is too practical not to realize the truth of the situation. There is every chance that, if he changes tonight when he faces the Groosalugg, he won't be able to pull himself back from it. If he can't, the others will have no choice but to kill him. The knowledge makes him want Wesley even more, makes him want to take whatever he can, whatever he's offered.
            Wes grabs him, pulls him in, his hands clutching at Angel's shoulders, kisses him so hard Angel can taste blood. He savors it, but it tastes far too good and he doesn't want to lose control. Wes can't seem to get enough of Angel's mouth, his tongue thrusting deep. It's frantic and strangely silent. Finally Angel sets the tips of his fingers against the pulse in Wesley's throat and carefully draws his face back from Wes.
            Wes has his eyes closed, and he is breathing hard and fast. "You want to be the boss here, too?" Angel asks him. There's no sarcasm or bitterness in the question; he just wants to know.
            Wes shakes his head. "No." His voice is shuddery, something in it that's close to tears. "I want--" he stops.
            Angel still has his fingers against Wesley's pulse. The beat has sped up. Angel moves in again, his lips against Wesley's ear. "What do you want?" he whispers.
            Wes tenses against him, then suddenly the tension is gone. He is calm, and his heartbeat slows again as he says, quietly, "I want you inside me."
            Angel kisses him, there just next to his ear. Wesley's breath is hot on his face, and Angel's body has gone liquid with need. If these are going to be his last hours of unlife, he can't think of many better ways to spend them.
            He turns Wes around, his hands easy on him, and slides a palm down Wesley's stomach, the other down his back, until one hand cups his flank and the other cups his ass. Wes just melts back into him. Angel has never felt him quite this pliant before, quite this willing.
            It's been hard for Angel at the office, deferring to Wesley's leadership, and he's certain Wes knows this. That he's willing to give Angel control here touches him. It's an acceptance, acknowledgement of what has happened between them, and an expression of trust.
            But suddenly Angel remembers where they are. "I can't." He remembers fucking Spike dry, but Spike liked the pain. Wes could take Angel without much lubrication, if any, but that isn't want Wes wants.
            Wes tenses. "Why not?" He's taking it wrong, Angel realizes, reading rejection where none was intended.
            Angel kisses his hair. "I don't want to hurt you."
            The tension drains from Wesley's body as he understands. "Oh."
            Angel draws him close, just holding him, his chest fitting against Wesley's back. He wants this so much, and he thinks Wes knows that. But he won't hurt Wes. He waits, closing his eyes, listening to the forest sounds and the soft rhythm of Wesley's heartbeat.
            They stand that way for a moment, then, slowly, Wes turns around in Angel's embrace. He takes off his glasses and slides them into a shirt pocket. His eyes don't quite meet Angel's as he moves in to kiss him again, softer this time, as his hands go to Angel's belt, unbuckle it, unzip his pants. His fingers curl around his cock and Angel takes a sharp, involuntary breath. Finally, Wes looks him in the eye. Just for a moment. And then lowers himself to his knees.
            This catches Angel by surprise. Wes has never done this for him before--has never shown any indication he wanted to. But now he pushes Angel's underwear and trousers down around his hips and leans forward to take his cock into his mouth.
            He's hesitant, uncertain. It's obvious he's never done this before. But his mouth is hot, his tongue is soft, and it really doesn't take much more than that to get Angel going.
            Angel slides his fingers into Wesley's hair, guiding him a little, but not forcing anything. It feels so damn good. Angel hasn't had a blowjob since Sunnydale. Before that...he can't remember, though he remembers shoving his cock down Spike's throat more than once. Darla had certainly never felt the need to lower herself to such things.
            Wesley's approach is more like Buffy's, though; effort making up for lack of experience. He's sucking a little too hard, and he doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands. But he's drenching Angel's cock, which is the point.
            Angel lets him work at it for a few minutes, while desire pools in his groin, hot and liquid, making him moan, and God, how he would love to come in Wesley's mouth. He never understood why Darla considered fellatio demeaning. Wes has more power here than even he probably realizes.
            Or maybe he does realize it; his eyes flick up to meet Angel's and Angel can see a hint of that knowledge. Then Wes draws back, lets Angel go, and comes to his feet.
            Angel knows what he wants, and now he can give it to him. He turns Wes around and moves him toward a tree. Wes takes the cue and braces himself there, bending over a little as Angel reaches around him to undo his pants. He slides his hands down Wesley's flanks, pushing his jeans out of the way, his fingers brushing through the hair between Wesley's legs. His groin is hot, his cock hard. Angel traces his fingers up its underside, gentle, slides his own wet cock up against Wes from behind. Wesley's heart is speeding up again, a hard, rapid rhythm. Angel smells arousal, the remnants of adrenaline, but still no fear.
            He caresses Wesley's cock, gently nudges him open from behind. He's still too dry, though, still afraid of hurting Wes. But Wes leans back into him and Angel pushes forward, careful.
            "Just do it," Wesley grates, shoving himself back. His usual pre-penetration tension, Angel realizes, is gone, and as Wes braces himself against the tree, Angel settles his hands against Wes' hipbones and thrusts forward, still slowly, but with more force. Wes makes a small noise, but moves back toward Angel instead of away, taking him in. After a moment, it's easier, as Wes relaxes into it, until Angel is fully sheathed inside him.
            "Wes?" he says, softly, pressing his hands flat against Wesley's hips. Wes' taut cock bobs to the left, brushing the backs of Angel's fingers.
            "Don't stop," says Wesley. He takes one hand away from the tree and uses it to move Angel's hand onto his cock.
            Angel smiles. "I thought you didn't want to be the boss."
            "Habit," says Wes. "Now shut up and fuck me."
            In response, Angel shoves hard into him, deep and firm, and Wes gasps. Wes is hot and tight and deep, and Angel impales him, shoving him into the tree, but Wes braces himself, opens himself, taking Angel in, accepting him.
            Angel sets a rhythm, thrusting hard. It seems to him to be too hard, but he can't smell any blood. And Wes is meeting him thrust for thrust, his voice ragged in his throat, but not with pain.
            Angel closes his fist around Wesley's cock and fucks him hard, Wesley's cock pumping through his hand, his own cock slamming into Wesley, until it's ferocious, almost violent. Angel holds himself under taut control, afraid of the demon if he unleashes too hard or too fast. Wes is clutching the tree now, braced firmly there to meet Angel's brutal rhythm. "God," he says, "God, don't stop," and suddenly he is coming hot over Angel's hand, and the wet heat on his skin sends Angel over the edge, and he slams one last time into Wesley and lets himself go. The tension makes one last, glorious coil through his pelvis, then explodes like a fist to the small of his back. His eyes water with it, and he fights the demon for a split second--and wins.
            There is a long, suspended moment of shared orgasm, then Angel lets his head fall against Wesley's shoulder. He starts to ease back, pulling out, but Wes snakes a hand back, fast, and pushes him back into place.
            "Not yet."
            Angel chuckles. "And again--bossy."
            "I'm sorry."
            "Don't be. How can I know what you want if you don't tell me?"
            "I want you to come back," says Wes, and his voice is soft, lost almost in the sounds of the forest.
            "I will," says Angel, and for the first time he truly believes it. Wes needs him to believe it, and he does. Not because Wes needs that belief to ease his conscience, but because if Angel believes it, fully and completely, then it is true.
            He can come back and he will come back. For Wes, for Gunn, for Cordy, for Lorne. For Fred, who didn't turn away from him even when he was wholly Beast. For Buffy, because if she had been here, and seen what he became, she would have accepted it as whole-heartedly and as lovingly as she accepted everything else about him. Even his need to leave her.
            He is softening now; he won't be able to hold the physical connection with Wes much longer. Wes seems to realize this as he relaxes his grip on Angel's hips. Angel slips back a little, sliding out of Wes as Wes squeezes down on him one last time. Angel gasps, surprised.
            Wes turns toward him with a small smile, but also with some uncertainty. He pulls his trousers back into place, and Angel follows suit. For a moment, the silence is broken only by the crumpling of cloth and the rasping of zippers.
            "It's been good, having you back," Wes says finally.
            "It's been good to be back."
            "She'll be all right."
            Angel nods. He hasn't thought directly about Cordelia for a few hours, but the knowledge lurks--that they are here for her, to bring her back. He settles to the ground, leans his back against the tree. Hesitant again, Wes sits next to him.
            Wes is mostly okay with being fucked, Angel has noticed--it's the before and after that throw him. Right now, for instance, he is awkward and can't quite look at Angel, and he's having trouble figuring out what to do with his hands.
            "Your strategy is good," Angel says, and Wes looks up at him, expectant.
            "You heard?"
            "Most of it." He touches Wesley's knee lightly, then withdraws. "People will die. You have to accept that."
            "I know." Wesley's voice is wistful. Angel remembers a Rogue Demon Hunter in leather pants who would never have been able to face the decisions Wes has faced over the last few hours.
            "But it'll work," Angel goes on, "and when all is said and done, you may save more than just Cordelia."
            Wes nods. His eyes are distant. After a moment he says, "How much time do we have?"
            Angel looks at the sky. He's been telling time by the stars for two-and-a-half centuries. "Not long."
            Wes looks at him, and he's surprised by the hunger in his eyes. "Not enough."
            "No," says Angel. He pushes to his feet. "I guess I should go talk to Fred."
            "Yes," says Wes, but he makes no move to stand. Angel bends a little, just to lay a hand on his shoulder, then heads back toward the camp, finally certain that he will not die tonight.

END.