Things To Do In L.A. When You're Dead
The apartment is void of light. Power lines across the city have melted through. Phone's out too. Cell phones aren't functional due to interference caused by the balls of fire falling from the sky. Gunn and Lorne, he assumes, have made it back to the Hyperion by now. He hopes Fred made it too.
He wonders where Lilah is.
He supposes he should go and stop some of the looters, but can't bring himself to care much. So he stands at his window and watches the city burn. Fire lights up the whole damn sky and it's so beautiful he wants to cry. The darkness inside keeps him from being seen. Keeps him from seeing himself in the window glass.
He's been avoiding mirrors since the night he brought Angel up. He caught his reflection in a puddle on the deck, and saw a stranger wearing his face. He's changing into something- slipping further into the darkness of his own soul- becoming a creature controlled by his own desires and instincts. Barely a man, but more than an animal. And he likes it. Lilah does too. She's always happy to push Wesley over the edge and into that dark abyss. She always makes it a worthwhile affair, anyway. He thinks about her and strokes himself when he hears a knock at the door.
About fucking time.
"Come in."
I have no idea why I came here. He thinks it's Lilah at the door, all terribly aroused and ready to play amidst the disaster. I bet she's pissing herself now that something's actually happening. Lilah. She thinks she's evil. Someday I'll walk in on them together and then I'll show that bitch what true evil is.
I enter.
He's standing at the window. He could be looking at me, I don't know- all I can see is his silhouette. I assume he's too fascinated by the streets below. I saw it all on my way over. The few that aren't looting have completely cracked. Some run screaming through the streets. Many pray. Others have burned to death and lie charred in the road.
L.A has never so closely resembled hell.
What am I doing here? I should be at Connor's miserable excuse for a home, tearing his goddamn heart out and feeding it to him. But I'm not. I'm here, and I'm shaking. I'm not sure if its from rage or hunger. The hole that thing tore in my throat has barely begun to heal, and there's an ache in my gut that I haven't felt since Wesley and that fucking endless black ocean.
"It took you long enough to get here. Did you have-" I think he has realized that something's not right. If it were Lilah, her thighs would be wrapped around his neck by now. "Who's there?"
"It's me."
"Angel?" he sounds surprised. "Shouldn't you be with Cordelia? If you haven't noticed, the sky is falling."
Cocky bastard. I shrug, pushing down the rage and barely managing to hold onto my mortal face. "She's with Connor. She's occupied for the evening."
He raises an eyebrow at that, but doesn't remark further. I walk up to him, getting close. Probably closer than I should be in my state, but I need to see his face. Wesley stares me down, then turns back to the window. "They say the world is ending," he says.
"The world's always ending, Wes. I think we have time, though. Time to make plans. Time to stop it." I look him in the eye. "Time to wage war."
He studies me for a moment, then looks back with a shake of his head. "You're no damn good to me like you are. You're shaking, your blood's too low." He's silent for a moment. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you how much blood loss occurs from throat wounds."
"I'm hungry, Wes."
"I hardly see how that's my problem anymore." He glances towards the door, then back at me. "But, since my guest tonight has yet to appear, perhaps you could be of some use. Yes?"
I nod weakly, too ashamed to meet his eyes. I shouldn't be doing this, I even tried to stop myself. But with one fleeting memory of his blood in my mouth I was standing at his door. "Please," I whisper.
I hear him sigh heavily and the next moment his hands are at my shoulders and he's pushing me to my knees. I thought I had more strength than this.
"Ask me nicely."
I unzip him, and his face is gold and shadows. I don't know what makes me ask. Insanity, maybe. "Does this mean you forgive me?"
He grins, but his eyes are still so fucking cold. I'm sickened as I realize that I was the one who made him like this. My hatred. My longing for the bastard son who's screwing the woman I love.
Loved.
"Of course it doesn't. You owe me a lot more than this." He looks out at the chaos. Back to me. "Now shut up and suck me before I change my mind."
And I do, while the world dies all around us. He comes with a groan, and if these are our last moments together, I could think of worse ways to spend them.
He puts his cock back in his trousers and pulls a knife from somewhere- the man is a walking arsenal- and makes a swift, deep cut on his arm with no hesitation. "Here."
I don't care how pathetic I look as I desperately cling to his wound. I don't care what I'll have to do next time. This feels so wonderful I'd probably kill Cordelia right now if he asked me to.
I drink until he pushes me away. He turns back to his burning city.
"Now get the fuck out. If we're still alive tomorrow, we'll meet up to discuss strategies."
I can still taste him on my lips as I walk onto the street. I look back to the window that I know is his and see nothing, but I know he sees me. I stare into the blackness there a moment before turning slowly away. He'll come back to us. I'll convince him somehow. I've got all the time in the world.