I want to slow down time, so that these days can last forever.
During the night he was up coughing again. It took him awhile to get back to sleep, but finally he did, and I watched him, listening to the strong rhythm of his heart.
He knows that I watch him. I don't think he even minds it any more. I don't sleep much, and when I do, the slightest movement from him brings me awake again. I'm grateful for even the silly little things, for all the noises and the smells of a sleeping human.
This morning, I'm counting on Cordelia being late. I know that she and Doyle had a good talk yesterday, and that I'm going to have to tell Wesley about Doyle today, before Cordelia's short supply of patience runs out and she tells him herself. I know that it's not going to be much fun for any of us. But I'll deal with it later today.
Right now, I don't want to think about Wesley or Cordelia at all.
He has an arm thrown over his face right now, covering his eyes, and I wonder if he's been dreaming. The arm is lying wrist-up, and before I think about it, I'm touching the point where the blood vessels run so temptingly close to the skin, brushing my lips against that soft pulse, just as lightly as I can.
I don't really want to wake him yet, but I couldn't resist. He twitches a bit at the contact, and I can hear his heart speeding up a little, as he stirs to wakefulness.
I want to keep this moment going, I want to live in it, and I know that those damned oracles were right all along. If he were here to stay, the warrior for their cause would be gone. I'm losing interest in the fight as it is. All that I want is right here.
If he were here to stay... but I can never forget that he's not.
Instead, I'm letting my fingers play with the hair on his chest, teasing him as he lingers between sleep and waking. He shifts, moving the arm away from his face, and bringing it up over his head, to rest on the pillow behind him.
The movement seems deliberate, almost seductive, and I realize that he's at least awake enough to know the effect that it has on me.
He doesn't open his eyes yet, though. I'm guessing that he wants to make the moment last, just as much as I do.
Now that the arm is off his face, I can watch the flickers of reaction there as my fingers explore slowly, and there's the beginning of some reaction elsewhere, too. But I'm not going there yet.
Two can play at the teasing game.
DOYLE
The morning began so well.
He knows what his touch does to me. I still have trouble believing that it's the same for him, but he makes it plain enough.
What drives me crazy most of all is that he's always so gentle. He won't do anything that might hurt me, so he's always holding himself back, always keeping in control.
So I'm lying there, with my eyes closed, knowing that he knows I'm not really sleeping, and I can feel where his hands are going, even before they get there. He's tracing a path across my chest that he has traveled before, and I'm starting to sweat.
Without looking, I can sense his smile when my mouth opens against my will, and I hear myself make a little sound.
With my eyes still shut, I could swear that I can even tell exactly where he's looking at me.
By the time I get the first little lick from a cool tongue, just for a moment and then stopping, and a long pause before the tongue touches me again, well, I'm just about ready to start begging, and he knows that, too.
He won't let me suffer too long. By the time I let out the first moan, he's already taking very good care of me, and he's not going to stop for breath at all.
I wish that I could take care of him, too, in more ways than one. I wish he'd let himself go, for once, even if it would hurt.
I'm thinking about what that would feel like, right now. I still have my eyes closed, and I'm imagining that I feel his body moving against mine, and ...
Does he know what I'm thinking about?
There are some things we've never done - hell, things that I've never done. I've had thoughts about men before, what boy growing up hasn't? Sometimes you look, and you imagine what it might be like, but when it came to the actual performance, it was always for the women, till now.
His fingers are curling around behind me, holding me firmly, while his mouth torments me, and I want even more. I don't want him to stop, but I want more. He doesn't want to cause me any pain, and I'm not actually fond of pain myself, so we can agree there, but..... there are times, like now, when I wish that he didn't have to hold himself back.
I'm thinking how much I would like to feel his body shudder, how much I'd like to hear him moan right next to my ear, and the thought of that just keeps washing through me while he's working on me, but I'm the one doing all the moaning, and all the shaking, and it seems like there's only my voice doing all the crying out around here.
ANGEL
I almost lost it this time, I wanted him so much... but I didn't, even though I was so far gone in that he barely had to touch me before I had to press my face down on the bed to keep myself from taking a taste of him.
Taste, hell. I wanted a lot more than a taste of him. But I muffled my mouth with the sheet as soon as he touched me, and I didn't let myself take that first taste, because I wasn't sure if I would be able to stop if I did.
When I could sit up afterward, there was a wistful sadness in his smile as he watched me.
"I won't break, Angel," he said softly. "I may not be in the best of shape here, but I'm not quite so fragile as you seem t'think."
It took me a moment before I could speak. Then I answered, just as quietly: "I don't ever want to have to remember hurting you."
We stared awkwardly at each other for a moment, and then I swung my legs around and left the bed fast. Over my shoulder I called back to him, "Shower."
"Yeah."
He lets me lather him up in the shower because he knows that I like doing it, but he always looks amused, like he's just putting up with the whims of a small child. I like using the hand-held shower nozzle to get all the suds off his body, too, and I'm thorough about it. When he gets that tolerant, condescending expression on his face, I just laugh a little and keep right on rinsing.
He won't let me help him dress, though, even when he gets out of breath doing it and has to slow down. A man has to keep his pride. I busy myself with something else, and I pretend not to notice.
He's not fooled by that, of course, but he hasn't called me on it, yet.
There isn't much that he doesn't see. I think that only makes it tougher, knowing that he understands so much that I don't say. But I believe that he knows that I wouldn't trade a minute with him for anything else in the world.
DOYLE
"So, are you ready?" he asked, after it was perfectly obvious that I was.
"Sure. Goin' upstairs together, though, is that really the way you want to spring the news on whatshisname?"
"It saves some explaining. He'll figure things out fast enough when he sees us."
"I expect he will, yeah. Well, if that's the way you want to play it..."
"That's the way I want to play it. He can accept it, or he can leave. Simple as that."
Showered, dressed, and ready as I would ever be to face the world and Wesley, I followed Angel into the elevator.
He stepped out of the elevator ahead of me, so he saw Cordelia first. I tried to stay right behind him as he raced to her side, and not all of the hurting in my chest was physical, when I saw her lying crumpled on the floor.
She stirred groggily at his touch. Even from a distance, I could see a mark on her face that was going to become a huge shiner soon.
"Angel. It was Faith. Is Wesley all right?" Cordelia half-opened her eyes, tried to look around, and then winced, and I had to wince with her.
"He's not here, Cordelia."
"Faith - she must have taken him." Cordelia stared at Angel, and I could see the look of horror in her eyes as they struggled to focus. "She'll kill him. Angel, she's going to kill him. We're going to lose them both."
"We won't lose them both. I promise you that. I'll get him back."
Angel turned to me. "Watch Cordelia. Stay with her."
"I'm on it. Go."
And he was gone.
Cordelia put her head in her hands with a moan. "Doyle? Is that you?"
"I'm here." I knelt down beside her.
"I didn't think anything could hurt worse than a vision," she groaned.
"It will be all right. Talk to me. Who's Faith?"
With a look at me that mixed gratitude with annoyance - yes, another one of those "I know exactly what you're up to" looks that I've been getting from both of them lately - she took the hand that I offered, and held it tight, and began telling me about Faith.
