*****
All About Blood
By Steph
Wes and Fred were alone in the lobby office of the Hyperion. Cordelia had taken the day off - something about a sale at Fred Segal. Gunn was spending some quality time with Wesley's Playstation. And Angel was in the nursery with Connor. Angel's son. They were all still trying to bend their minds around THAT little piece of reality.
Wesley sat at his desk, doing a comprehensive survey of all the volumes on vampire procreation. All two of them. "It's remarkable, really." Wes commented, leafing through one of the books. "In all of recorded time, there is not one mention of a vampire becoming pregnant or giving birth. It is the unanimous opinion of not only the Council, but of every other group ever to study them, that vampires can only 'reproduce' through the exchange of blood."
"It's always about blood." Fred murmured, distractedly. She stood nearby, looking through a microscope at a sample of Connor's blood, searching for any clue that would lead to some kind of explanation for how he managed to come into being. "Vampires, demons, Slayers. Life, death, sex. All about blood."
She scribbled her observations in the book nearby. She stopped writing and looked at him.
"I don't, you know," Fred blurted suddenly.
"I'm sorry?" Wesley asked, face still buried in his book
"Bleed." she said
"What?" That brought his head up. He had been in the same room with her for the last 3 hours, and though he continued to be painfully aware of Fred's every move, every breath, he couldn't help but think somehow he'd missed some integral part of this conversation.
Fred had moved from the microscope and now stood by his desk. He looked up at her questioningly.
"What you said that night? I mean, I know it wasn't really you talking and I've mostly put the whole thing behind me, and I hope you have for you, but what you said about women and life and bleeding... I mean aside from that being biological determinism and a load of hooey, in my case it just doesn't apply. I don't bleed. Haven't for the longest time. I know amenorrhea is a common in women as a result of stress and trauma, and my time in Pylea could certainly qualify as both. And anorexia. That will cause it, too. Not that I didn't WANT to eat, there just wasn't much TO eat, you know?"
Wesley felt a little ill at the mention of that night, of his attack on Fred. He had said terrible, intimate, violent things to her. Things that made his insides quiver still. He had slapped her, manhandled her, and even attempted to force a kiss upon her. She had kept her head and had gotten the best of him, thank god. And, in what Wes thought was surprisingly short order, she'd forgiven him. She had come to his apartment; interrupting the writing of, what he was now sure would have been a rather pathetic excuse for a suicide note. Told him that she thought he was a good man. Her visit had been unexpected, wrenching. After she left, he had wept. And then, he had collected the scattered balls of paper and sent them down the garbage chute to the incinerator. He had come to work the following day, and the days since, striving for a normalcy he didn't quite feel, still mourning for what he was sure he had lost with Fred.
"And it was probably a good thing too. I mean, when they were trying to capture me, they used their hell-beast-dog-animals, and even with the camouflage I used- you didn't really think I wanted to be that dirty and smelly did you? - they still managed to track me a time or two. And blood, well, they'd have been able to smell that a mile away, even if I could find the Pylean equivalent of skunk. You know, Daddy always used that when he was deer hunting and he did real well, we always had venison for Thanksgiving but?"
"Fred" Wesley began; his voice was strained, soft.
"Wes." She continued, " Please hear me out. I've got to get this out. I've been thinking about what happened, about what you said. And how it made me feel and what it made me want and I want to tell you about it so we can maybe get past all this?" She gestured to his desk.
Wes sighed. He was certainly not the first man ever to use the abundant paperwork of his job to avoid dealing with sticky emotional issues. He just hadn't expected Fred to call him on it. At least not yet. Not before he had rebuilt what there was to their relationship and found the courage to begin to court her. Treat her as she deserved. Make up for the dark, ugly words that had streamed from him. He had called her weak and stupid. In truth, he felt those words applied more to him. His father had certainly felt so.
Fred continued to speak. "Its time we got back to where we were before all this happened. But you keep thinking you should have been able to fight it, thinking that maybe there's something in you I should be afraid of; thinking that if you keep yourself apart from us, buried in your work you can keep from somehow hurting me; thinking that if you spend enough time thinking about it, it will make the problem go away. Problem is, Wes, you think too much."
Wes raised an eyebrow. Fred smiled and kept going.
"WE think too much. You and I, we're a lot alike. We think everything to death. We think every last thing can be examined, deconstructed, studied and analyzed until we know why it is what it is or does what it does. And in physics, I mean, REAL physics- not demon-hell-dimension physics which would just give Stephen Hawking fits I'm sure-- physics is all nice and neat and has problems that can be solved with good math skills and logical thinking. And Demonology, well, even that has a nice research- plus- knowledge- equals- power-and -success equation to it. Relationships are just nowhere near as simple as physics. They're much more like art, which, I'll have you know, is the only class I ever failed. My professor said - I forget if he said I had no imagination or that my paintings showed no imagination - but he also said that in the same way that talking about love is like dancing about architecture, I was painting about physics and I just needed to stop trying to make it all make linear sense and just?"
Fred paused to take a breath, and look at Wes, who had gotten up from his chair and was leaning against the edge of his desk, watching her with something resembling amused affection. She was heartened by his expression, as he had often looked at her like that. Before. She gave a small sigh.
"Have I lost you, Wes?" she asked seriously.
He stood, stepping closer, and gazed down into her sweet, earnest face. The face he could still see covered in the dirt and despair of Pylea. The face he had slapped. The face he had grown to love.
"No, Fred. Never." he whispered.
"Good." Fred smiled a small, sad smile. "I- I've never been good with boys or men or any male of any species. I never had a date in high school, except for Senior Prom which really doesn't count because I went with my cousin who's gay and then in college and grad school, well, there were more interesting things in the library than the guys and look where that got me. Then there was Pylea. Being treated like a domesticated animal and all, well, I'm kinda glad that humans were cows rather than, uh, sheep you know? I mean hungry looks just kinda meant you'd get eaten. As in caught, killed, cooked and eaten. Not the- other-"
As she began to falter, Fred took another much-needed breath.
"Fred?" Wes ventured. He was, miraculously, still following her monologue. If he didn't miss his guess, she was actually talking about relationships and physicality. The topic-matter was in danger of straying from the surreal into the- god-knows-what.
"I've noticed how you look at me while we're working and you think I'm not looking. It's very sweet actually and even more so since my folks left - they really like you, you know. And that one night at your apartment. Did I ever tell you how cute you are when you make tea? What I'm trying to tell you is that, what happened because of Billy- that hasn't changed anything between us. Well, it actually kinda made stuff happen in a good way because it was the first time you ever really touched me that way and now, its like I can't stop thinking about it." She paused again for breath, heartened by the receptive expression on Wesley's face.
"Wes, I know it sounds funny and I won't blame you if you think I'm crazy- you wouldn't be the first and probably won't be the last - and, heck, sometimes I still think I'm crazy. But what I feel isn't crazy! I know its not just some residual contamination, because number one I'm a girl and it doesn't work on us and it's not like I want to hurt you. It's just- I can still feel your touch. She trailed her own fingers across the shoulder he had bared to his touch. "It's there- and it's like-" She gazed up at him, licking her suddenly dry lips before continuing, "It's like the rest of my skin is- lonely. And I keep thinking that what I need is for you to touch the rest of me-"
"Fred, do you know what you're saying?" Wes asked incredulously.
"Wesley." Fred breathed, reaching out to touch his face. "I've literally been to hell and back, and I've faced things that would scare the bejesus out of most other folks. But the scariest thing I've faced in my life so far was not you under the influence of Billy's blood, it's how you're treating me now- like I'm invisible; like I could disappear and you wouldn't notice, or maybe you would and be glad because then you could stop feeling bad. Well, you ignoring me makes me feel bad, Wes, and I need you to stop it. You need to stop it. For both of us." Fred caressed Wes's cheek, as she had so wanted to that day in his apartment. There was so much she wanted to convey; forgiveness, acceptance, admiration, and most of all love.
Wes's eyes drifted closed as Fred caressed his face. He fought against everything his father had told him about his worth as a man, all the shame that had plagued him after the attack, and the small voice that told him he didn't deserve Fred. Opening his eyes again, he reached out to touch her cheek. She leaned into his touch, eyes shining up at him. He had so wanted to lean into her touch that day she had come to see him. After. When she had reached up to the bruise left by her ingenious trap. When she told him that he was a good man. 'God, let me be the man she thinks I am,' Wes prayed fervently. "Fred," he whispered. "I think-"
"Shhh" she breathed, her face scant inches from his. "Think later. I've done enough thinking on this for both of us. It's time to stop. Thinking that is. Time to start doing." She stood on tiptoes to brush her lips across his forehead, planting a kiss near the temple of his eyeglasses. "I'd take these off so I could kiss you, 'cept I think you need them to see what you're doing."
Wes lifted an eyebrow at her. "My darling Fred, " Wes said wryly "I strongly doubt I need my glasses to kiss you." As if belying his words, his fingers traced her features, reading them like Braille, committing precious information to memory.
"Probably not," she conceded. "But the way I had things planned- well, things around here rarely go as planned- I certainly hadn't expected to start this conversation by talking about me bleeding, or not as the case may be. But, the way I'd imagined it I was sort of hoping that we'd kiss a while- and then, maybe, you'd sweep me into your arms and carry me up the stairs, like in those books you think I don't know you read. I think maybe you'd need your glasses then, and I wouldn't want us to have to go searching for them in the heat of the moment so I'll just leave them on you for now, okay?" she said earnestly.
"As you wish," Wes said, a gentle, loving smile on his face. A quick bend and scoop and he'd swept Fred into his arms. She stifled a giggle as Wes carried her to the grand lobby staircase. "Is there any more to your plan that I should be made aware of at this point?" He asked.
"I'll let you know upstairs." She said.
*****
Wes shouldered open the door to Fred's room. The journey up the stairs had been made quickly, and with much giggling on Fred's part. Once inside, he placed her gently on the edge of the bed, moving to sit beside her. Fred bounced off the bed, still giggling, and clasped her hands together in front of her; a girlish gesture that should have looked strange but was somehow merely charming.
"Um. Ok. So. Let me change. I'll be right back." Fred slipped around the corner into the bathroom before Wes could utter any protest. Even in a denim skirt, long-sleeved t-shirt and flip-flops she was- Fred. Perfect.
When she bounced back into the room moments later, she was wearing a sundress in shades of plum. With a shirred Empire-waisted bodice and lingerie straps, the dress skimmed her slender body like a caress, inviting Wes to follow its lines. She had taken her hair down from its pencil-anchored bun, and the silky length flew out as she twirled around in glee, showing off her dress.
Once again, Wes was struck by her loveliness, her innocence, her strength. She had withstood so much and still retained her ability to laugh, to enjoy, to love. He felt blessed by her. And, for not the first time, prayed to be worthy of her.
"Lovely" Wes commented, his tone making it clear he spoke more of the woman wearing the dress than the dress itself.
"I hoped you'd like it on me. I mean, I thought, maybe, you'd it off, too-" she faltered a little, ducking her head, then looking up through her eyelashes at him, suddenly shy.
"Fr.." Wes's voice cracked. He began again "Fred, why don't you join me." He patted a spot on the bed next to him. "We could talk-" His mouth all but dropped open when, rather than sitting beside him, she hitched the skirt of her dress above her knees and stepped over his legs, seating herself in his knees facing him.
"Wesley Windham-Price, so help me if I have to tell you one more time that we are DONE talking about this, unless you're wanting to talk about HOW we're going to do this..." Her eyes lost focus for a moment, but she shook her head and continued in a stronger, more intense tone. "So. Should we be doing this? Yes. End of conversation." She concluded clasping his cheeks with her hands, eyes boring into his. She then lowered her lips to his.
Wes was startled at the ferocity of her kiss. Fred slid her fingers through his hair, nails gently scratching along his scalp on their way to the back of his head. Wes moaned as she pressed herself against him. The hands that had rested on her slim hips when she atop him clenched slightly in response to her kiss, and then moved back, onto the bed behind him, to support himself against her enthusiastic onslaught. For one of the few times in his life, Wesley was struck speechless.
Fred slipped her hands through Wesley's silky hair, enjoying the cool feel of it against her fingers. She kept one hand on the back of his skull, allowing the other to flutter down his neck, skimming briefly beneath the collar before fluttering back around to rest at the base of his throat. There, her fingers toyed with the button of his shirt, then began to make small scratching motions on his bare skin in the hollow of this throat. When Wes moaned in pleasure, she slid her fingertips to his Adam's apple, where they danced in concert to the vibrations.
"Mmmm," Fred echoed, pulling away just enough to speak, her lips brushing his with each word. "I wondered if you would make that sound. Did you know that's the sound you make when you're in one of your books? When the world falls away and there's just you and this whole amazing world that is yours to explore, to decipher- " she kissed him softly, and continued. "It's real quiet, but- it has this resonance- it vibrates through me- And every time I hear you, I wish it could be me- That I could make you feel-"
"Happy? Content?" Wes whispered the words against her mouth, touched at her observations, her insight. Not just about the purring, for lack of a better word. He had known that, as a child, he had made 'happy noises' when eating a sweet, or reading something he enjoyed. He had no idea he still did, but was not surprised to find that kissing Fred would elicit such sounds. But there was more. That Fred knew- that she understood how he could get gleefully lost in his books. That sometimes it was only there, in the arcane and the strange, that he felt truly at home. Until now. Until Fred.
"Well," Fred's voice thickened into a sultry drawl "Happy will certainly do, its just I was kinda thinking we had a ways to go to get to 'content'."
The pair shared a soft, desire-filled laugh. And resumed kissing, with intent. Hot, openmouthed kisses that stole breath in gasps and returned it in sighs. Tongues met and danced; usually so adept at speaking, instead devoted now to feeling, tasting every part of each other's mouths.
Fred's hands busied themselves with the buttons of Wesley's shirt, baring the smooth, pale skin of her torso to her gaze and her touch. Dusted lightly with silky black hair, Wes's chest was marked with a variety of scars that Fred's hands caressed, and cataloged for later inquiry. After pulling Wes's shirt from his trousers, Fred slid her hands up his back, enjoying the feel of the hot, slick skin over wiry muscles.
Wes's arms were wrapped around Fred's slight body, hands flat against her sharp shoulder blades. She was so small, he thought, so frail in body, but so strong in spirit. And in passion. Her hands were driving him to distraction, he thought, as feather light touches on his nipples made him shudder with need. As much as he had enjoyed seeing Fred in the dress she wore, he realized he was at that point she had mentioned before- liking it off her. His fingers trailed along the straps at the back of both shoulders.
Fred pulled back to look into Wes's eyes. "Yes." She said, gazing at him intently
He understood.
Wes flicked the strap of Fred's dress from her shoulder, watching as it slid down the satin skin to drape across her upper arm. Fred smiled what was at once an incredibly sweet, and very mischievous smile and nodded to the other strap. Wes skated his fingers along her collarbone to her shoulder, caressing her as he dislodging the other strap. Fred leaned forward again and rewarded Wes with another long, deep, slow, wet kiss.
"Zipper." Fred breathed against his lips.
Finding said zipper, Wesley slowly lowered it with one hand, the other splayed on the silky flesh of her upper back. With no straps holding it, the bodice of the dress pooled around Fred's waist, baring her to Wes's adoring gaze. He slowly brought both hands forward, resting them on her ribs, thumbs just below breasts. This time it was Wes who pulled back, taking a moment to look deeply into Fred's eyes. And then he touched her. Exquisitely delicate, pink-tipped and beautiful, Fred's breasts fit perfectly into Wes's palms. His strong, graceful, gentle hands caressed her with care, lightly rubbing at the stiff, sensitive tips. He smiled as Fred bit her lip, then closer her eyes with a small mewling moan.
"Darling, beautiful Fred " Wes whispered, reveling in her pleasure. Leaning forward, he placed kisses along her collarbones, then let himself drift lower. He scuffed the light stubble of his beard lightly across her nipples, then laved the peaks with laps of his tongue. He enjoying the keening sound of pleasure his attentions elicited. Fred squirmed on his lap, clutching his head against her breast when Wes finally gave her breast a hot, openmouthed kiss. Swirling his tongue around on nipple, he rolled the other between his fingertips, pulling on it gently when swirling gave way to sucking. Moving to the other breast, his mouth enveloped the delicate mound with heat and moisture, mouthing her in time to the brush of his fingers across her other breast. When the clutching in his hair became pulling, Wes reluctantly released Fred's breast from his mouth and trailed wet kisses up her sternum until he was again looking into her eyes.
Fred smoothed Wes's tousled hair, then moved her hands down his face, caressing his cheekbones and jaw, trailing down his neck to the collar of his open shirt. Slipping inside, her fingers ghosted up and down his torso, leaving a trail of sensation from collarbones to navel. She unfastened his belt, then trousers blindly, her eyes fixed on his. Giving him a gentle caress with one hand, she reached for one of his hands with the other. She placed his hand above her knee, then guided it up her thigh, beneath her dress. Still entrapped in her gaze, enraptured by her boldness, Wes could only gasp when she brought his hand beneath her skirt to the apex of her thighs.
"Fred!" Wes moaned in shocked pleasure.
"Wes!" Fred echoed back, a wicked little smile on her lips.
She removed her hand from his, not needing to give him more than a small nudge to show him what she wished of him. She wriggled closer to him, pressing her breasts against him, rubbing pebbled tips against the silky hair and satin skin of his chest. As his fingers threaded through the dampened curls, gently parting the moist, sensitive flesh for his entry, she reached between them and gently guided him to her. His hiss of pleasure at the first brush of her fingertips against his hardness was echoed by Fred's sigh of pleasure when she finally held him in her hand. Still staring into the indigo depths of his eyes, Fred stroked him gently up, then down. She smiled a small, elementally female smile as she sank slowly onto him.
Wes closed his eyes against the exquisite pleasure of Fred's heat enveloping him slowly- slowly. He did not see her grimace. He felt only the firm clasp of her body, heard only the husky chant of his name, knew only the joy that was this long-awaited, impossibly beautiful moment.
Fred watched Wesley's blissful face tighten, then go slack with pleasure as she seated herself fully atop him. Once again clasping handfuls of his silky hair she brought his mouth to hers, kissing him deeply, their mouths moving in a mimicry of the motion of their bodies. Tension too long held, desire too long suppressed, neither could hold back the completion their bodies craved.
"Wes, Wes, Wessssssssss!"
"Fred, oh god. Fred. My love."
Later, Fred rested her head on Wesley's shoulder, hand draped across his waist, idly stroking his spine. She skimmed her fingertips through the moisture that had gathered in the small of his back, drawing lazy circles, making his sensitized skin twitch.
Her thoughts wandered. She absently trailed a hand down over Wes's hip, then around front to slip between them, to where they remained joined. She swirled an index finger into wetness there. Wes made a small noise, a cross between an interrogative moan and an exhausted objection. Fred smiled and shushed him softly. Then removing her finger, she raised her head slightly to study it. Yes, Fred thought, resting her head on Wes's chest and listening to his heart. It was always about blood.
-end-