Pairing: Welsey/ Cross (Not Relatives)
Spoilers: For the movie
Warnings: AU, violence, language, h/c, m/m
Summary: For his entire life, Welsey has lived in a world of lies and half-truths. Now he must face the truth of it all.
Notes: I didn't really buy the whole 'Cross being Wesley's father' thing. They look nothing a like and it just seemed odd. Nice twist in the movie but I thought he wouldn't kill Welsey for different reasons, like he was a friend of Welsey's dad or something. So, that's what this fic is. Cross is not Welsey's dad, but a friend of his. Welsey's dad was killed by the Fraternity because he founded the other group that opposed them, including recruiting Cross. So, they framed Cross for the murder.
Extra Notes: Takes place right at the end of the train scene. Changing POVs.
Extra Extra Notes: Hey Paula, providing with excellent feedback for my muse again. Thank you!
Disclaimers: Not mine!
Pekwarsky poured more scotch into the glass tumblers, the amber liquid sloshing about in the small container like waves in a storm. He's either upset or overwhelmed, I couldn't tell. But the normally unflappable ex-senior member of the Fraternity was brooding and quiet as he went from one task to the next. I waited until he was finished and was seated across the table from me.
The sun was setting low in the sky, the play of lights over the horizon always a different shade of orange, red and yellow. Wesley had been here, in our lives and in our grasps, for two days now. He slept fitfully, tossing and twisting in the covers. I can't tell if its the toxin or the intense training that the Fraternity gave him that is interrupting what should be a relatively peaceful time. Either way, it eats at me like a parasite.
I hadn't been able to stop them, to stop her, from taking him. All the warning signs had been there, but I'd hidden in my denial. I had wanted so badly to keep him away from this life that I had overlooked my instincts that had been screaming at me: to just grab him and run. Although it was a fairly unhappy life, it was a normal one and I had been loathe to rip him from it.
And he had paid for it in blood, violence, and grief.
"You shouldn't brood over things you cannot change."
I smiled at Pekwarsky's words. "You're one to talk. You've been storming around here, hardly speaking a word to anyone."
"There are nine people here, not including Wesley and ourselves. And this castle is more than big enough to keep them all occupied in different areas."
I brought the glass up to take a drink. The bitter liquid burned a trail of fire down my throat, settling inside me with a light warmth. I still felt chilled from my unexpected venture into the icy waters of the north. The only time I had felt truly warm was when I had held Wesley in my arms during that four hour flight. I pushed the thought from my mind with the practiced ease of experience.
"You never were one for socializing with others. Even for meals, you brought your food up to the library."
Pekwarsky looked over from the rim of his glass at me. "And from what I recall, you were very sociable with a certain member of the Fraternity."
The normally playful jab struck a nasty chord within me. The woman I had cared about for so long did not exist, or perhaps never did. I frowned and struggled not to slam the tumbler onto the table. "That was a long time ago."
"Indeed it was." He leaned over to pour me another shot of scotch. "You must have known that you would have to face Fox eventually when she went after - "
A soft noise from the other room caught my attention. I glanced over at Pekwarsky, who's face had gone suddenly solemn. I knew the older man had promised a hunted man to look after his son, and yet he seemed troubled now more than ever. And I knew why. He didn't approve of how much I cared for Wesley, either saw it as stupidity or weakness. And I couldn't bring myself to really care. And that's what also got to him.
Steeling my normally calm nerves, I downed the tumbler of scotch and stood up. Pekwarsky remained seated and turned to watch the sun as the last tendrils of the day faded into darkness.
I opened the wooden door and saw Wesley sitting up in bed. He was looking around the darkened room, his body tensed. I could still see the feverish look in his blue eyes, even from here. I moved slowly towards him, like I would approach a wounded animal. And, for all intents and purposes, he was. We hadn't been able to give him much water in the past 48 hours as the toxin fed on it. Between that and the fever, he must been dehydrated. I moved to the side and picked up a bottle of water and brought it slowly towards him.
He eyed me warily and I'm fairly certain that's because he's no longer in extreme agony and he's rethinking his decision that he can trust me. I moved to sit on the edge of the bed and he scooted away from me. I handed him the bottle and he takes it slowly. I turned to glanced down at the floor while he drinks it down in one long swig. I tried to collect my thoughts, figure out how to proceed from here. This is twice in two days that I'm unsure of myself and I hate the feeling.
"What do you want from me?"
The voice was raspy and cold, but I could hear the panic underneath it. I knew how bad his panic attacks can be and and am frantically trying to think of a way to calm him down. The last thing his body needs right now is to be having a full-blown panic attack. A sudden thought occurred to me but I push it away instantly. That was definitely not what he needed right now. But it had worked for others before.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the vial. He saw the motion and started to back even further away from me, shaking his head and starting to breathe heavily.
"No. No. No more drugs."
I could sympathize. He's been heavily sedated for the past two days and the sluggish feeling is probably wearing on him. But I don't have much of a choice. "You need to remain calm. I don't know what will happen if you have a panic attack."
But the logic doesn't seem to effect him, his feverish state most likely blocking out any higher thinking. "No! No more drugs. Just stay away."
That only left one option and its a hell of a risk to take, but I don't have much of a choice. I will just have to make sure I hold myself in check. I put my hands up, showing him as I placed the needle onto the wooden table by his bed. He watched my hand the whole time, his dilated eyes nervous.
"Let me go."
I sighed. "I can't."
He's really panting now, his blue eyes wide in alarm as he was faced with the reality that he won't be able to escape. "Please, just let me leave."
All I could do was shake my head, knowing the effect it would have. "I'm sorry."
"Stop saying that!"
His shout took me by surprise and it takes me a second to figure out why. He'd been apologizing his whole life, backing down from any wrong doing. He must see it as weakness. Life taught him that, the Fraternity enforced the belief. He put his hands up over the side of his face, clenching handfuls of his hair. He had no medication and no way out.
"Stop saying that. Stop saying that. Stop. Just stop."
The murmured words hurt to hear, as they were whispered in a broken tone from a beaten man. I moved over carefully and nuzzled the side of his neck. He jumped at the contact and moved to back away but I grabbed his arm, my hold firm but not painfull. He froze and looked over at me, his breathing harsh and erratic.
"What - what are you doing?"
"Shh. I won't hurt you." I said quietly and let go of his arm to gently pull his hands down from where they were clenched around his head. He stared at me like a deer caught in the headlights and I gently leaned in to kiss him. It was a light brush of lips and then I pulled away to look him in the eye. He needed to know that I was serious. "This will help. We've used it before at the Fraternity."
He's still hyperventilating and started to look pale. I leaned in again, slowly this time, giving him every chance to push me away. "I won't hurt you."
But he doesn't move. I kissed him, adding more pressure this time. He doesn't do anything, just remained still. I moved my hands up to frame his face, my fingers ghosting gently over his cheeks, jaw and neck. He's panting into my mouth, but otherwise, he doesn't move. I lightly traced my tongue over his lips, seeking some sort of response. And doubt started to creep up into my mind. Maybe he really doesn't want this.
Then he grabbed me, his hands fisting into my shirt. He pulled me closer, his mouth opening under mine and I groaned as I tasted him. He feels amazing. He started tugging me closer, almost roughly, and I pushed him back onto the bed. I stretched out over him, my leg moving in-between his. I grunt at the contact, already hard. It shouldn't be surprising. I've wanted him for years now. I started to kiss down his throat, gnawing at the spot just below his ear. He arched up into me, hissing at the contact, his hands clutching at my shirt harshly. This isn't going to go very far, but damnit, he feels incredible.
I moved my hand down to cup him through the thin material of the cotton shorts. He moaned, thrusting up into my hand and seeking my mouth again. I kissed him for a moment, and then broke away to start down his body. He tensed suddenly and grabbed the back of my head to pull me back up to him. Suddenly, his lips are crushed against mine and its a desperate kiss. I could sense everything in it. He's nervous and unsure and wanted to keep this connection.
My hand moved downward and pushed the cotton shorts down to grasp his cock. He literally jumped and moaned loudly into my mouth, the vibration tingling against my lips and the noise shooting straight down my spine. He pushed up into my hand and his hands struggled to get under my shirt. They moved over my skin, roughly pulling me closer to him.
I kept kissing him, and even this is as complicated as he is. He tasted hungry, and yet hesitant. He wants this but I could feel the insecurity in the kiss. I was leaning on my other arm to get the right angle for my other but he kept tugging at me, trying to pull me closer, even though we're pressed tightly together as it is. In the back of my mind, I want to reassure him but, god, I can barely think anymore.
I unzipped my own pants and moaned loudly when I pressed my cock against his. He bucked up into me and made a little desperate noise. Sweat and precome provided enough lubrication and I started to move my hand over our joined cocks. Too soon, I could feel myself getting close. My senses were surrounded by Wesley; the taste of his mouth, the sound of the needy noises vibrating against my lips, the feel of his hands pressed tightly into my back. I speed my hand up and soon he breaks away from the kiss to bury his head in my shoulder. He moaned into my arm as warm wetness coated my fingers. That pulled my orgasm from me and I muffled my own cries into his throat.
We laid there, both breathing heavily. But its a different kind of energy that was expended. While his heart had been beating strongly, Wesley's heart rate hadn't soared into the 400 minute rate. And he's calmer now. I could feel his breathing slowing and his heart was easing down as well. He was clinging to me, his head still buried in my shoulder. I tried to pull away a little to look into his eyes, but he holds me tighter.
That was not a good sign. I nuzzled him, kissing the the side of his head. The damp hair smelled of sweat and the fresh water of the lake. "Wesley?"
I felt it the moment the post-orgasmic high evaporate like cigarette smoke into the night air. He tensed in my arms and started to hyperventilate again, his breath hot against me neck. He started to push me away, the same strong hands that had clung to me a minute ago struggling to push me back. Damn. He was going into another panic attack. I hated what I had to do next, especially hearing the pleading tone in his voice.
He saw me reach over onto the table and grab the syringe. He started to struggle in earnest, but I held him down. Seeing that running was futile, he tried pleading with me.
"No! No! No more drugs. No."
He let out a broken sob when I jammed the needle against his skin. Within seconds, he calmed down, drifting off into a fitful sleep. I put the syringe on the table and got up from the bed. I used a towel to clean us both off with almost detached manner. Then I pulled the chair up next to the bed and sat down. My hands clenched the arm rests on the chair, the cold texture smooth under my skin.
I was itching to hold him, to keep some sort of connection to him. But I worried that it would feel like an unwelcome intrusion. Up until three years ago, I had never been someone who comforted people. I don't have the gift of words to chase away the worries or the calming touch that soothed away fears and grief. And, honestly, I hadn't really cared enough about another person to do this. Until I started to watch him, looking through the window into the life of a stranger.
For someone with a normal life, he had to be one of the most unhappy people I have ever seen. Wesley was a good man, but no one respected him. He was quiet and unsure of himself and all around him people took advantage of that. I know that Allan must have seen this for years, but his need to keep Wesley out of the Fraternity had backfired spectacularly. Wesley was surrounded by others and yet completely alone.
Everyday I had watched him, followed him, always just out of reach. And had fallen in love with a person I had never met.
I sat there for a long time watching him sleep. I wondered if, in my attempt to help Wesley, I had only made things worse.