I'll admit it, I'm scared. Ok, not for my life or
anything- that don't happen. But I'm as scared as I've
been in a long time.
He's back and even though Wesley's a different person
now who knows when they'll fall back into old habits?
I can just imagine. Wesley will stay late one night
and then they get to laughing about the good old days
when Angel was still an asshole and Wesley didn't have
to be told twice to get on his knees and suck, one
thing leads to another and boom -- Gunn who? Oh that
guy I fucked so hard his first time I made tears come
to his eyes? He's no one compared to you, Angel. Just
a boy to tide me over till you came back. He doesn't
fuck me the way you used to...
Sometimes I can see it all so clearly I think it's
real. I get paranoid (me, fucking paranoid- I'm so
goddamn whipped it's pathetic) for no reason. Like one
time Wes had been hobbling around on that cane of his
and he stopped to rest and ended up draping an arm
over Angel's shoulder.
Now see, I know Wes 'ain't fucking around on me. He'd
have to be a damn sight faster than his crippled ass
is right now cause they've hardly been alone together.
But even when they are it's all business- I could tell
if it wasn't, Wes 'ain't that good of a liar.
So even though I know he ain't, I see the way Angel
looks at him and I know- more than Wes ever will- just
how much Angel wants a new conquest.
He got the old Wes eaasy. A kind word here, a soft
look there, I don't see how it was too hard. This new
Wesley, this one that I guess he helped create and
that I have loved- it's a new territory for Angel to
lay waste to. Like one of those fucking bugs that
flies in, eats all they crops and flies away leaving a
lot of destroyed earth.
That ain't gonna happen again. Wes may not be
expecting it but I am and there ain't no way that shit
is ever going to go down like it did before.
I've got to stop thinking like that. Wes wouldn't do
that to me. Not even for Angel.
I don't even see why Angel came back. I mean, he
couldn't have gone and had his epiphany elsewhere?
Or maybe stayed dark for a while longer? I know I sure
as hell wasn't begging at his doorstep. But in he
came, uninvited. I knew I should have put down a sleeping
bag in the back office. Would have kept all those
unwanted elements out of our office. Yeah, 'our'. Not
'Wesley's', not 'Cordelia's', not 'mine'. Our place.
So we're back at 'Angel's place' and just 'cause he
don't have the big office don't mean shit. He's still
in charge and this little atonement game is going to
get real old real fast for him. I know it and he knows
it- and I'd bet Wes-man knows it whether he wants to
admit it or not. But I don't think he's ready to- not
There's a lot of 'what ifs' going through my head,
you know? What if being around Mr.
I'm-the-only-Alpha-male-allowed pushes Wesley back
into his old self- the guy who couldn't speak up to
Angel to save his life. The guy I couldn't fucking
I've tried to tell him -show him- just how much I like
this new man. A million words of support crowd into my
mouth and when I open up to let them out nothing
happens. They just hang there on my tongue, thickening
the air, making me sick from my own cowardace.
Something always gets in the way. First it was that
things were so new and we were still understanding
each other and I was understanding what we were
(lovers, gay, life partners- there have got to be
manly-er names for fucking this good), then it was the
gun shot wound, then the break up with Virginia...
So, yeah, whether he knows it or not, whether I've
told him or not, I love him and I'm proud of him. I
guess I'd fucking have to to do this. Washing his
shirt like some little bitch. And not even cause I
wanted to. I was so ready to tell him just what to do
with it when Angel (always the fucking apple polisher)
chimed in that he'd get out the blood. Yeah, I guess
after 200+ years of feeding on humans you get to know
all the interesting hints from Heloise. I'm sure
Martha Stewart would love to hear all about how Baking
Soda gets blood out of carpets (though from what
Wesley tells me ol' Martha's a Grenthar demon and
doesn't have blood anyway).
"Oh dear, I've gotten my blood on my favorite shirt."
"I'll clean it off Wesley cause I'll do anything to
get on your good side and kiss your ass metaphorically
'cause we both know I want to do it literally."
That's not exactly how it went down but it's pretty
fuckin' close. Like I really want Angel that close to
Wesley's stuff again. Putting that nasty dead people
stink into clothes that smell nice and fresh and clean
even when they've been drug through sewer water and
I just got so pissed thinking of Angel running his
hands over a collar I nuzzle, buttons I unbutton,
sleeves I tug at... running his tongue over the dried
blood and trying to get off on it. No way. That path
is closed to him now- has been for a while he just
doesn't know it yet.
I think maybe he got a bit of that message when I
jerked the shirt out of his hands and yelled that I
could do it my own damn self. Mature, I know but I
panicked. Wesley looked so happy that Angel was
offering that I overreacted.
So I'm just scrubbing away like some Aunt Jemimah,
happy as a mother fuckin' lark doing Wesley's whim.
I think Angel played me. He volunteered knowing I
wouldn't allow it and so he got Wesley thinking he's
a great guy and me doing the laundry. It's not even a
good shirt. It's that ugly orange one I keep telling
him to throw out. The more I think about it the more
pissed off I get.
And scared. Yeah, I'm still fucking scared.
Gunn. Scared. Shirt.