Near Bliss

Don't think, feel.

Wesley constantly repeats this to himself at night. Nights, after Cordelia leaves, after spending the day in the front lobby, researching, speaking with clients or with the former cheerleader. Days he must try to distract himself. He has to. If he doesn't, Wesley will think of nothing but Angel, and Angel's body, and Angel's body on his.

It is good to be distracted.

But, at nights, after Cordelia leaves, Angel is his.

The vampire comes in from the streets, from fighting the evil of the moment, his eyes searching for Wesley. The former Watcher loves the slight look of anxiety on his lover's face, the look that shows the vampire is afraid that he will find Wesley has left him.

He never knew Angel was so insecure.

When Angel sees Wesley, he never wastes any words, but walks directly to the former Watcher, lifting him with strong arms and claiming his mouth.

Don't think, feel.

It has been this way every night for three weeks. Ever since Wesley confessed his feelings for Angel under the influence of too much drink, Angel has made the human a permanent resident of his bed.

Wesley has never felt so complete. Angel fills him, complements him, cares for him.

The dark haired vampire strips off Wesley's shirt, dragging the man to the bed. Cold fingers toy with his nipples while their tongues duel.

This is what Wesley needs.

And yet . . . that small voice of insecurity will not go away. It is so fast, so sudden. One day Wesley was the unimportant one, the one with too many flaws who always needed to be rescued and reassured. He was the replacement of a man whom he had never seen, never met. A man whom Angel had loved.

Is he now more important? Or is he merely replacing Doyle in another capacity?

Angel's mouth wraps around Wesley's throbbing cock. The former Watcher groans, his head falling back against the satin covered pillow, panting in ecstasy.

Don't think, feel.

"Wesley," Angel moans in the man's ear, his fingers reaching for lubricant, preparing the former Watcher.

Then they are joined. Once again, Wesley marvels at the experience, the feeling of completeness.

He rubs his neck against Angel's face, wishing the vampire would give in and bite him, mark him, claim him. He can't ask, not out loud. Deep inside, Wesley feels that if he were marked, it would mean that Angel really wants *him* and that the former Watcher is not just an outlet for Angel's frustrated desires.

Desires for the dead seer.

Don't think . . .

Then it is over. Angel is gone, gone from his body.

Wesley wants to cry.

Gently, Angel kisses Wesley's cheek and gathers him close. "Stay?" he whisperers.

"Yes," Wesley answers, melting against the cool body.

Angel smiles, and drifts off to sleep. Wesley watches his lover, trying not to think. He is trying not to see the barrier that is separating them, keeping Wesley from complete happiness. It looks too much like a body of a man whose face he has never seen.