[Gunnwesley] Fic: Benign 2/2

[Katarina Hjärpe]

**********

	"How come I can kill you, but I can't make you leave?" Angel's voice was 
laden with desperation, and the sight of Darla's gloating game face made him 
want to laugh even as his eyes filled with tears.

	Those deep red lips curled into a grin. "Now, is that any way to respect 
your sire?"

	She approached him, and he drew back, wary to touch her. But Darla was 
never one to be put off by such things.

	"I'm family, stupid," she said, leaning close to him. "Family doesn't 
leave. Not ever. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

	If he'd had breath he would have lost it then, seeing the small vampire 
child standing by Darla, held in the loose circle of her arms. The sight 
still made him freeze.

	"Aren't you glad you found your brother?" Darla asked, hugging the little 
girl.

	"You bitch!" He caught her by the throat, pushing her up against the wall, 
and then blinked as her face turned into that of a young man. He let go, 
slowly, trying to figure out if this was real. He had a feeling that it was, 
that they had been talking – but about what? The man was badly beaten. Had 
he done that?

	"Holy shit!" the guy choked.

	"I'm... I'm sorry."

	"No – don't be. That was brilliant. That's exactly what I'm talking about. 
You'll find my brother in no time."

	His brother? Right. The man had come to ask Angel find his brother. 
Apparently he wasn't the only crazy person in this conversation.

	"I don't think I'm the guy."

	"Family's important," said his little sister, tilting her head so the neck 
wounds were visible. "You don't leave your family behind."

	"You're not really here," he argued fiercely. "She never turned you."

	"She could have. Or you could have." Tears filled in her eyes. "Why did you 
leave me, Liam?"

	"Shut up! Go away!"

	"Listen," said the guy, backing off a few steps, though he didn't seem 
afraid. "I'll leave if you want me to, but I really want to find my brother. 
He's in trouble, I know it."

	"Don't you understand?" Angel was getting desperate. Kathy was making 
cheeky faces at him, like she used to when she was alive, and he couldn't 
deal with that and the stranger at the same time. It was too much. All he 
wanted was some peace and quiet. "I'm dangerous."

	"I should hope you are." The guy sat down on the desk, right next to Darla. 
Angel started forward to stop him – did he have a deathwish or something? 
But of course, Darla wasn't real. Angel knew she wasn't. "This isn't humans 
we're dealing with. I'm need someone dangerous."

	"I can't."

	"I heard you go after killer demons. That you're trying to do the right 
thing."

	Angel stared at Kathy, who was reaching her arms out for her new 
foster-mommy, eager to be lifted up. He watched Darla drinking from her, 
taking deep gulps with great satisfaction. That had never happened. And 
still...

	"Aren't you trying to do the right thing?"

	"God, yes." The answer came without thought, but he watched the vampires - 
his family - and made up his mind. "Yes. All right. I'll find your brother."

**********

	Wesley spiked the fourth onion, peeled it, and was about to start slicing 
it when the door slammed behind him. He managed to control his urge to jump, 
and turned around slowly to face Li. If it had been anyone else, they might 
have received a lecture, but considering the troubles the boy had gone 
through lately, Wesley decided to go easy on him.

	"Some people would consider it unwise to startle a man holding a knife."

	"Sorry." Li seemed unusually awkward. "Can I...?"

	Wesley nodded at the raw meat lying on the work bench. "Cut it up."

	The boy jumped to it, clearly relieved to have something at hand. Wesley 
understood. All things considered, Li wasn't a bad kid, but he was an 
impudent one, and they hadn't always gotten along. The idea of being 
beholden must be as embarrassing for both of them.

	Only the chop-chop-chopping of their two knives broke the silence, until 
finally Li put his down and turned to Wesley. "Thank you for getting me out 
of that place."

	Wesley contemplated how to answer. Definitely not with that impersonal 
'you're welcome' or, even worse, 'it's nothing'. This wasn't something he 
could brush off. "It was the only thing I could do."

	"I didn't do it," Li said, a desperation in his voice that surprised 
Wesley. The brothel story had proven true, so why was he trying to preach to 
the converted?

	"I know. Anne checked your alibi."

	"I'd never do anything like that." Now Li sounded about to start crying, 
and if Wesley wasn't comfortable with his own tears, he certainly wasn't any 
more fond of other people's.

	"Of course not," he hurried to assure the boy, hoping it was the right 
thing to say.

	"I mean, some pot now and then, yeah, and maybe I've taken something in a  
store once or twice, but not armed robbery, man. Not killing people."

	Wesley was about to say 'of course not' again, but then the penny finally 
dropped. Li had been arrested for a crime he hadn't committed. He wasn't 
consciously trying to convince Wesley of something they both already knew. 
This was about policemen scaring half to death a kid who was already wary, 
for good reasons, of authority. By refusing to believe him, by putting him 
in a situation where the truth was impossible and a lie would send him to 
prison or worse.

	Wesley had never been arrested, but he did know a thing or two about the 
anguish when nothing he said could improve his situation in the slightest. 
He put the knife down and turned to Li, saying what he would have wanted to 
hear.

	"Those policemen weren't interested in the truth, Li. They had a horrible 
crime on their hands and wanted someone to blame for it. You were convenient 
because you have a record and no family, but the case was *incredibly* weak. 
All they had on you was your agility and your Asian descent, and judging 
from the line-up results, they weren't even clear on what kind of Asian."

	"One of them was Hawaiian," Li whispered. "One of the guys in the line-up."

	"Hawaiian," Wesley repeated. He didn't understand some people. Surely it 
couldn't be harder to tell someone Hawaiian from someone Chinese than it was 
to tell a Kailiff demon from a Lasovic. "Good Lord. Well, that certainly 
proves my point. They were sloppy and uninterested, and you were convenient. 
That's all."

	"They believed you." It was an accusation, although not necessarily 
directed at him. "That was a pretty dumb story you came up with, but they 
never questioned it. Cause you're white and old and talk fancy."

	"You forgot this," Wesley said with more than a hint of cynicism, gesturing 
at his missing arm. If Li wanted to turn this into a time for bitterness and 
self-pity, he might as well join in. "I think it helped quite a bit."

	He noticed, quite amused, that Li was blushing. So he'd won the 'poor me' 
contest, without even putting in any honest effort. He'd used natural 
embarrassment to his advantage and to the boy's, and he was more proud than 
sad about it.

	"Well, anyway, if there's anything I can do to repay you..."

	"I'll let you know," Wesley answered automatically, and then it occurred to 
him that there actually was something he wanted from Li. "That place you 
were in..."

	"Madame Dorian's?"

	"Yes." Oh dear, this was a highly disturbing thing to ask of an 
impressionable youth. "Do you think you could give me the address?"

	Li's face split into a wide grin. "Sure. That doesn't even count."

	To his own surprise, Wesley grinned back. It counted for him.

**********

	Whatever he'd expected a demon brothel to be, it wasn't this business-like 
decadence. The interior decorating clashed terribly with a number of 
interspecial couples enjoying each other's company in the lobby. Wesley 
sincerely hoped he wasn't supposed to perform in public the way these people 
did.

	"Can I help you?"

	Madame Dorian, in her discreet yellow business suit, wasn't what he had 
expected either.

	"Ah, yes. My name is Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. I... I got this address from a 
boy called Chen Li. He said..."

	"Li?" Her features hardened. "You're not with the police, are you?"

	"Oh, no. Not at all. That situation has been taken care of, I assure you."

	"Good. It would have been bad for business if the kid told the truth – 
there's always a risk someone would believe him enough to check us out. It 
was a good thing our lawyers promised to nip it in the bud."

	"Lawyers?" Wesley asked, his head starting to snap the pieces of the puzzle 
together even before she mentioned the firm's name. So it wasn't pure 
altruism that had sent Lindsey McDonald to Li's rescue. He listened with 
half an ear to Madame Dorian's rant about how discretion was vital to her 
clientele, still thinking about other matters.

	"So, if that's not why you're here," she finished her rant, "can I assume 
that your business here is personal?"

	"Uh... yes. Yes, that's right."

	"Do you have any special wishes?" She sounded like a waitress. He half 
expected her to bring out a notebook and start jotting down his orders.

	His mind went immediately to Gunn, and he pushed the thought away. "A 
woman. Not too young. Fair, short, perhaps a bit chubby, long hair... on her 
head, I mean," he added when he recalled what this place was.

	"Human-looking?"

	"Well... fairly." He was more curious about this demon-loving than he dared 
admit, but he wouldn't want anyone too startlingly different.

	She nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I think I may have 
someone... what are your feelings concerning backs?"

	"Backs?" he repeated like an idiot.

	"Do you insist on them?"

	He stared at her, trying to figure out what on earth she was talking about. 
"I've never given it much thought."

	"Very well, then." She gave him another energetic nod and left the room, 
soon to return with a woman wearing a minute cotton dress.

	At a first glance, Wesley could tell that Madame Dorian knew her job: this 
woman was pretty much exactly what he'd been asking for. As his eyes 
wandered down, he noticed the fox tail that curved along her legs, a darker 
match to her ginger hair.

	"Mr..." Madame Dorian started.

	"Wyndham-Pryce," Wesley said, forcing himself to look up into the freckled, 
smirking face of a woman closer to forty than thirty.

	"Ah, yes. Mr. Wyndham-Pryce, this is Elsa. I hope you will find her 
satisfying. Elsa, show him your back."

	Elsa lift up her long hair with one hand and the dress with another and 
spun around. Wesley blinked at the sight of the large hollow lined with tree 
bark that went from her shoulder blades to the spot where the tail started. 
Scandinavian wood sprite, his mind told him, but certainly the  
illustrations in handbooks on folklore and mythology weren't anything like 
seeing the real thing. As Elsa spun around again, he noticed that her bosom 
didn't heave. She wasn't breathing.

	"Will she do?"

	Well, she certainly couldn't have looked any less like Gunn. "Yes. Thank 
you."

	"Very well. Then I'll leave you two alone. We can make you up a bill after 
you've conducted your business."

	Wesley wasn't entirely pleased to see Madame Dorian leave. He fully agreed 
that she had to, but it made the situation a little too pressing. Elsa gave 
him a roguish grin of a kind he'd interpret as friendly if he saw it at the 
shelter. Here, he wasn't so sure.

	"Do you want to proceed in here or should we find a room?" she asked. She 
had a surprisingly deep voice for a woman so short – how could she talk at 
all if she wasn't breathing? – and a heavy accent. Vocally, she resembled a 
less serene version of Greta Garbo in Ninotchka.

	"A room," he replied quickly. "Definitely a room."

	"Come on, then." She jerked her head to show the way, and proceeded to a 
door, through a corridor, past another door, all the time swaying her 
generously shaped hips in a highly distracting manner. Wesley tried not to 
look, but felt ridiculous when he caught himself. She was a half-naked 
prostitute, he was *supposed* to stare at her. Even the way her tail moved 
was erotic, and Good Lord, that was just a little too close to bestiality 
for his liking.

	But if that was bestiality, what was that back of hers? He wasn't even sure 
there was a word for people who had sex with trees, and he'd certainly never 
entertained the thought, not until he saw that hollow surrounded by 
voluptuous, female curves.

	"Here we are," she said, stepping into yet another room. He could see a 
king-sized bed covered in wine red sheets, but very little else, since she 
turned around in the door, preventing him from going inside. "So. Wesley 
Wyn...ah..."

	"Wyndham-Pryce."

	"Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, do you promise to be good to the forest?"

	What a very odd turn of conversation. "What forest?"

	"Any forest."

	"I promise?" He hadn't meant it to come out as a question, but then, not 
much in this endeavour had turned out the way he would have expected.

	"Lovely!" The grin she gave him this time *definitely* didn't fit a woman 
of her age. Whatever her age was. He had a suspicion she might be 
significantly over forty. "Now, let's have sex."

	Before he could react, she had pulled him into the room and started 
unbuttoning his shirt. When she moved on to his pants, he'd collected 
himself enough to put his hand protectively over the button. "D-don't you 
think you're being a bit forward?"

	"You like me forward," she assured him, pushing his hand aside to get those 
pants off. He didn't move his feet and she put her hands on his shoulders, 
prepared to push him. To save himself from the humiliation, he sat down on 
the bed, and she took off his boots and trousers before jumping up on top of 
him. In spite of her weight, she didn't harm him in the process. It was 
surely quite sexy, if one could ignore that he was ridiculously 
self-conscious of his socks. They were still on, but one of them had slid 
off halfway and distracted his attention. He let his eyes drift, pretending 
that he wasn't embarrassed. It was a remarkably nice room, with a dressing 
table that looked Edwardian, quite a few potted plants – and a stone statue 
of two rabbits in the middle of an intimate act which broke the impression 
of class quite abruptly.

	Elsa was now kissing the spot where his earlobe met his jaw, something he'd 
long since discovered he found intensely enjoyable. Funny that she'd choose 
that spot first of all. In his dreams, it had been Gunn doing exactly the 
same thing.

	This was entirely too strange.

	"Miss, if you don't mind..." but her lips silenced his. He had deliberately 
chosen someone as different from Gunn as possible, and yet the experience 
fitted his fantasies – if his fantasies had included a long, furry tail 
curling up his legs.

	Wood sprites seduced men, all sources agreed on that, no matter how much 
they diverted on everything else. And if all wood sprites seduced men, was 
it so unreasonable to think that perhaps they shared some trait that made 
them hard to resist, for example an ability to pick up the men's sexual 
fantasies?

	If that was the case, she probably couldn't help it, and chastising her for 
it would be pointless. So instead, he let his hand slide up against her 
back, touching that bark-lined hollow. He was here for the sex, after all, 
he might as well enjoy himself.

	She laughed softly as he stroked his fingers along the edge of the hollow. 
There were no lungs, and yet he heard the sound. "How do you talk?"

	"I don't know." She was kissing his shoulders now. Kissing those scars. 
Good Lord. "How do you?"

	"But you have no lungs... you're not breathing."

	She blew into his face, forcing him to blink. "You think too much."

	Maybe she was right, but he couldn't give up his thoughts, not even when 
she guided his cock between her legs. His eyes fell on the rabbit sculpture. 
It was remarkably lifelike. Almost too lifelike.

	And then it struck him with perfect clarity what all the sources also 
agreed upon. After a wood sprite had seduced a man, she would kill him.

**********

	The moment seemed to last forever. This was much more than simple relief, 
this was his lust drawn from him with force, a mix of pleasure and pain that 
was too strong for him to stand. He wasn't aware of anything around him 
anymore, just the feeling that kept going, spreading through him, changing 
him. His body felt very far away, and yet he could feel with perfect clarity 
that it was twisting and turning to eventually, when he returned to it, 
become something else entirely.

	A laughing voice tickled his ear, which he had forgotten he even had. 
"Breathe."

	He didn't know how, with the muscles involved in his doing so so very 
distant, but somehow he managed to obey. Soon he lay on the king size bed, 
gasping for breath, but still alive, thank God. Elsa hadn't killed him after 
all. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, glowing. He blinked. Yes. She 
was glowing. And she looked several years younger than before.

	"You can rest as long as you need to," she assured him.

	He turned his head to the sculpture. It was two actual rabbits, caught in 
the act. "This is..." He was much too tired to speak, but tried anyway. 
"This is where you would kill me, correct?"

	"Oh, I'm not allowed to do that here." She gave him a brief smile and moved 
to a dressing table, where she proceeded to brush her hair. Her eyes were 
still watching him in the mirror.

	"But if you were... I would be stone now."

	"Actually, I thought you'd make quite a nice juniper," she said, stopping 
the swift motions of the brush while she was thinking. The glow was starting 
to disappear, but she still looked younger than before the sex. "Prickly if 
you get too close, but with a nice smell." She started to brush again, with 
long, energetic strokes. "In any case, you promised not to harm the forest. 
I can't kill you after that."

	"You make everyone promise?"

	"I'll hold you to that promise, you know," she warned him.

	He lay silently for a while, watching her. Demon sex had been quite 
different from what he had expected, and the thought of what she could have 
done to him was highly unpleasant, but at the very least it seemed to have 
worked. His body felt heavy and dull, but the ache in his chest and behind 
his eyes wasn't there anymore. The thoughts of Gunn were easier on him now, 
the disbelieving joy of knowing something wonderful, not the painful 
frustration of having it one step removed at all time.

	"This is such a lovely lust," said Elsa, admiring herself in the mirror. 
"How long has it been for you?"

	"About six months," he said, without even having to think about what she 
might mean. He'd recalled the exact date before making the decision to do 
this.

	"Not more?" It seemed to surprise her, and she touched the skin near her 
mouth and eyes tentatively. "So strong in only six months – is it more than 
lust, then?"

	She turned to look straight at him, instead of into the mirror, but he 
didn't answer. Didn't know how to answer without bringing that ache back. 
Yes, Wesley old boy, he thought, you've fallen hard this time. More than 
lust, I'd say.

	"Sorry," she said, turning back again. "None of my business."

	He felt an unexpected relief that she gave up interest so quickly. Very 
clearly, her main focus was herself, and yet she seemed to be so closely 
connected to the forest that he'd have to become its protector before he 
could sleep with her. Highly interesting.

	"Doesn't it bother you," he asked, rolling over clumsily to fetch his 
shirt, "to compromise the forest by letting anyone swear to protect it?"

	She took a lipstick from the table and began applying it while she spoke, 
without ever missing her lips. The skill certain women had with make-up was 
fascinating. "Do I look picky to you? I'm not picky. They do what they 
promised, and I'm happy." She chortled. "Now, I had a sister who was very 
picky. She once seduced two men at once, only one of them was short and the 
other was tall, and that drove her crazy. She made the short one's head lie 
next to the tall one's, but then of course the feet didn't match, and when 
the feet matched the heads didn't. So finally she went to fetch an axe to 
chop off..." Her voice trailed off and for the first time she looked 
uncertain. "Sorry."

	"It's quite all right," he said, trying to find his pants. He wasn't too 
pleased with her sudden sympathy, particularly since it didn't stop her from 
staring at his attempts to get dressed. Besides, he was interested in her 
story, whatever her sister had decided to chop off. "So what happened?"

	"She made the mistake of *telling* her victims she was heading off for an 
axe. They ran off while she was away."

	"So the moral of the story is..."

	"You can't afford to be picky."

	Wesley laughed. He had a feeling he might be coming back to this place just 
to take notes, even if the ache stayed away and he could look at Gunn 
without going crazy. Getting off the bed, he found his pants by the foot 
end, partly under it. Bugger, they were getting filthy.

	"Are you done?"

	Wesley had to bite his lip to stop his chin from falling down at the stupid 
question. "No. No, I'm not. I generally like to wear trousers and boots."

	A small sigh escaped her lips. "Do you want me to help you?"

	His cheeks heated. The suggestion in itself was bad enough, but the way she 
said it... still, he was reasonably sure she meant no harm. "I'd *really* 
prefer it if you didn't. Why don't you... put on some make-up, or something. 
Make yourself pretty."

	She stared at him. "Okay, I'm three hundred and fiftysomething years old, 
so I'm not much of a feminist, but I'm fairly sure that was offensive."

	"You're right." He didn't even want to think about who that dismissal would 
have suited.

	Offensive or not, it didn't seem to have meant much to her; she was already 
preoccupied with a new-looking Cosmopolitan magazine. "Besides, I already 
made myself pretty. With you."

	"You made yourself *younger*."

	"Welcome to L.A."

	The unexpected sarcasm caused him to chuckle, and he was still chuckling 
when he'd gotten the rest of his clothes on and headed out of the room. Not 
until he was waiting for the receptionist to give him his change did the 
mirth die away, as his eyes fell on a large poster behind her desk. 'ANGEL', 
in eight inch letters.

	He moved closer, ignoring the receptionist's protests that he should stay 
on the other side of the desk. 'Fight Club' the poster said. 'Introducing 
Angel the Mad Dog Vampire'. Mad dog? What on earth was going on? He let his 
eyes drift further down, finding the words 'sponsored by Madame Dorian's 
House of Pleasures'.

	"Son of a bitch," he breathed.

**********

_________________________________________________________________
Hitta rätt på nätet med MSN Sök http://search.msn.se/