Deep In Wesley flicked the lights off and walked to his bed, laying a hand towel on the end table and then putting a square pan on top of it. He pulled the covers to one side, climbing into bed. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, glad that the infernal contacts were out. They were handier than glasses, for the most part, but even after all this time, he still wasn't used to them. Physically, yes, but intellectually and emotionally? It was another symbol of who he was now. That innocent that he would never be again. So much could change in such a short time. And he was certainly maudlin tonight. It was good that he'd come to bed prepared. This… ritual carried him through a bad mood much more quickly than anything else he'd tried. Wesley slid his left hand up his cock, firmly but not too tightly. It wasn't time for that yet. Wesley dipped his other hand into the pan. He flattened his hand into the ice, holding it there as long as he could stand before letting himself pull it out. He placed his hand on his stomach, shivering at the cold. He started to slowly slide his hand up to his chest. He continued to touch himself softly, though he didn't need much, as he'd been hard the entire ride home. His hand reached a nipple, which tightened almost instantly. Now. His hand twisted hard around his cock and Wesley whimpered, forcing himself to dance the knife-edge of pleasure and pain. His other hand pinched his nipple hard. A memory flashed through his mind - being held tight against an impossibly strong body, a cold hand at his neck, always the throat, vampires ever predictable, and that voice, limned with that hint of malice and that ever-present delight in the giving of pain. Another hard slide down his cock and Wesley was writhing on the bed, the rustle of sheets the only sound in the room apart from his own voice. Wesley moved his hand from his nipple up to his neck, tracing the scar, then tightening his hand around his own throat. He came screaming, but aware enough, even now, not to say the name that he was thinking. He jerked off to the thought of Angelus at least once a week, Angel at least twice. He had practice enough in keeping names out of it. And he'd needed this tonight. Today had been hell. Lilah had shown up for the first time in months, claiming that a certain matter needed her attention. She was going to be around for the next week and all he wanted to do was save her fuck her 'til her head fell off lick the slice of her neck love her until she bled from it kiss her and own her never see her again hold her until she felt warm help her in ways that she would never let him. Ways that she couldn't let him, now that she was dead and damned. Damned for all eternity. Fires wouldn't be eternal if they actually consumed anything. And that was Lilah for the rest of time and beyond - burning in fires that never stopped and never let you rest. The ultimate femme fatale, serving the ultimate price for her wickedness. The most interesting woman he'd ever known. After seeing her for just that brief meeting, Wesley had known that he couldn't think of her that night without doing something stupid like going to her. Going to her and saying things that she'd call him a fool for saying. And he would be a fool if he said any of them. Thinking of Angel when he was like this was more dangerous than he liked his fantasies. But Angelus had been perfect for the mood he'd been in. Just dangerous enough. Wesley let out a soft breath and reached over to pull the cloth from the end table. As before, he was the only member of their group to have his own place. Everyone else had moved into the apartments that Wolfram and Hart had provided. They didn't say anything about it, and he didn't call them idiots to their faces. It worked out, as well as anything worked out these days. Still, even in his apartment, he wouldn't dare say Angelus' name out loud. It was absurd to consider it dangerous. Foolishly superstitious, acting as though saying the monster's name would bring him back. And yet, Wesley could not allow himself to bring it out into the open. Fucking Lilah had been bad enough, caring for her even more so. To admit that he had lustful thoughts over the twisted and soulless version of his friend was a horrible thing even to admit to himself. Impossible to admit to anyone else, though if anyone knew, it would be Angel. Angel, who played at being ignorant but was much more aware than he wanted anyone to know. Perhaps he suppressed the knowledge even from himself, but everything that Angelus had known, Angel knew. And Angelus had known how Wesley felt. Wesley shivered, cleaning himself up and then flipping the covers back on. He'd deal with everything else in the morning, something that was becoming distressingly typical of him to do. Until recently, he'd never been the sort to put off until tomorrow. Sometime tomorrow, he would have to look at Lilah, dead and still gorgeous. Tomorrow morning, he would have to spend time with Angel, long dead and very beautiful in his own right. Torture came in many shapes, but for Wesley, the torture that he remembered most came from caring. Love had left more scars on him, in him, than anything that a vampire or demon had ever done to him. Seeing those he loved choose hell of their own free will was more painful than anything that Faith had tried. Because Lilah was right. All of them, himself included, had bound themselves to hell with their own blood and the blood of innocents. They were all damned. Lilah was just the only one willing to enjoy it. He'd always admired her enthusiasm.
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