Good Deeds Are What I Do
by Krysia Korsakova
Author's Notes: Secret Santa story written for DeAnna
Rated: M
Pairing: Cory Raines/Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, Highlander/Angel
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"I'm not saying that I was Dorian Gray," the green-eyed Immortal explained. "Just something of an inspiration."
"Somehow this doesn't surprise me in the least," the ex-Watcher turned rogue demon hunter turned assistant in helping the hopeless-
That is how Cordelia puts it, isn't it?
--remarked as he stared at the body so blatantly displayed before him.
He still wasn't entirely certain what the other man was doing in his-
The word you're searching for is squalid
--apartment.
At least, that is, he could remember the sequence of events.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
There had been a vampire. One that Angel had been, again as Cordelia put it, jonesing for for several weeks. Other, more important, matters had conspired to stop Angel from dealing with him properly earlier.
So, when Wesley had seen him while collecting his uninspiring Chinese takeout, it had seemed a golden opportunity. A chance to prove unequivocally that he had earned his place at Angel Investigations.
Of course, he hadn't bargained for the other man.
Who almost proved his undoing. There he had been following the vampire, quite merrily albeit in a slightly chow mein scented fashion, when the most beautiful man he had ever seen appeared.
Beautiful as a word was continually overused in his view but, in this instance, was the only one even remotely appropriate. Dark hair and pale eyes were all he could make out with any certainty from his vantage point, but that face.
Was this the face.
It was at that point that his brain chose to reassert its somewhat patchy control over his libido by reminding him that a vampire's lair was not the best place for a swooning fit. Or for a swift fantasy involving jazz music, a starry night and a distinct lack of clothes. Also, it seemed to delight in pointing out, the male Helen was a vampire.
Dropping his chow mein and launching into what was probably not quite such a whirlwind burst of lethal slaying energy as he fondly imagined it to be, he narrowed his eyes and stiffened his arm. The stake punched into the heart of the beautiful vampire... and he didn't dust. Instead, he just fell backwards, looking very shocked and very dead with a wooden stake in his heart.
Just like Faith. Oh, good God, what do I do now?
Kill the oth... the vampire would be a good start, he surmised, as it lunged at him. With all the grace of a trained Watcher he tripped over his own feet, making a very surprised landing on his backside. Lucky in a way since it meant that the vampire overshot, as well. Which afforded him the opportunity to stake the bastard, pardon his French.
This one, at least, really was a vampire. As evidenced by the dust now deposited all over his coat. And face, he realised, with a sneeze.
His gaze when he could open his eyes fell upon the silently accusing prone form of the other man. The stake jutted up in ugly contrast to the ruined beauty and he simply had to remove it. Wild horses would never get him to admit that he flinched at the sucking sound it made as it came out.
He could never afterwards have said how long he sat there staring into those dulled eyes, his own pricking with horror. Hours, maybe. Or did it just feel that way?
However long it was, he jumped about a mile vertically when one of those eyes closed and reopened in a blink. "No, that... he's dead. I killed him," he babbled, unaware he'd spoken aloud until the apparition smiled and replied. The smile alone would have guaranteed a lapse into gibberish even leaving aside the fact that its owner had been dead just a moment earlier.
"Surely there was a less ruinous way to do that - one which would have left my shirt intact, perhaps?"
"We... we..ll," Wesley began, cursing himself for an incompetent fool. Of course! This.person wasn't a vampire. Just some other variety of demon. Very good-looking demon, he conceded with a dry swallow.
"I thought..." At what point was the Watcher side of his brain going to deign to show up? Was it going to show up? Tune in to next week's exciting episode.He really had to stop listening to old Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy tapes. "You were dead."
"Not permanently," he shrugged. A shrug shouldn't be allowed to look that good. And walked towards the... what was he now?... Ah yes, vigilante. He'd been the first to admit the shrug had looked good, but the walk-dear God! If there were any justice it would be banned under the Geneva Convention.
"Guh," was the most it seemed his brain would allow him.
"You killed me." Green eyes glinting in sin and invitation. He wanted so much to give in. "The least you could do is feed me."
All Wesley could do was stare as the angelic-They say Lucifer was the fairest of all the angels-featured man sashayed past him to toe the tinfoil-covered containers in disgust. "Preferably something that resembles food."
"Wait!" At last, his voice had returned.
Butterfly-blink of sinfully luxurious lashes, and he had to swallow down a whimper. Really, Wesley, this is ridiculous. Think of your training - what would your father say? He couldn't have cared less what his father might or might not have said if he could only.that smile, those eyes, oh God, he was drowning. "For what?"
"Uh?" Oh, smooth. Really smooth, Wesley. Not that he was seriously considering inviting a complete stranger back to his apartment. Nor was he considering.anything else.
"You're blushing..." That voice was unlikely to cause him to stop any time soon, either. It slid beneath the skin like melted Swiss chocolate.
"I..."
"It's not something to be ashamed of - desire, that is," as he moved closer, near enough for his breath to warm Wesley's cheek. "You desire me. It's there," tracing around his eye, "in your eyes."
"Yes, well," he coughed and stepped to one side, away from the unsettlingly spark-inducing touch. "I'm not in the habit of sleeping with demons I don't know."
"Cory Raines," the-younger? Older? Hard to tell-man informed him, with a bow that wouldn't have been out of place in an Elizabethan court. "And you are?"
"W-Wesley Wyndham-Price," he replied before it occurred to him that it wasn't a clever move. You know how much power can be held in a name, and you just give yours away so lightly to a... whatever he is?
"There," that silver voice practically dripping satisfaction, "now we know one another. I don't see much sleep in our immediate future. Which only leaves one thing. I'm not a demon."
"You're not human, though," Wesley pointed out, his voice curiously flat.
"Enough to pass," the de.Cory shrugged. "I was born human."
"So was... that," Wesley remarked, indicating the scattering of dust that had, until recently, been a vampire.
"I'm still me." Imprisoning Wesley's hand in his own, he brought it to his throat. Where there was, indeed, a very pronounced pulse. "I have to eat, drink, sleep, the rest of it. I just don't die, if you kill me. Not for long anyway."
"What are you, then?" he managed to breathe. Though he had to look away from those mesmeric eyes before he could do so.
"We call ourselves Immortals, for rather obvious reasons. We pose no threat to you, would rather live our lives in secrecy."
"Why tell me, then?" Wesley demanded with as much dry acerbity as he could muster under the circumstances. This was to all intents and purposes an embrace. With a man so beautiful he could have played the part of Leander.
"To convince you of my good faith, of course." Pointed tongue advanced and retreated across the frontier of rose-petal lips. My god, could you sound any more like a romance novel? The next thing you know you'll be reciting poetry... if, that is, you have any higher brain functions left.
It seemed doubtful, given the enthusiastic reception of that motion by a certain part of his anatomy. And then he heard himself muttering. "Some swore he was a maid in men's attire." I despair.
"And in my looks is all that man desired," the-Immortal he had said, had he not?-replied, before leaning closer, a breath away from kissing Wesley. Another whimper hastily concealed.
Without volition, his unheld hand was suddenly between them, pushing on the muscular chest. Another flash onto the two of them entwined in lovemaking, sweat dripping from that chest to anoint him. Again ignored. "Wait!" Oh, now the Watcher chooses to wake up. Great timing as usual. Just when I was about to get laid.
And at what point had he actually decided that this lunacy was going ahead?
"Do you mean to tell me that you're more than four hundred years old?"
"Yes. Is it a problem?"
That was when he kissed Wesley. Synapses fused together and all he could think of was the sensation of lips meshing, the half-forgotten rasp of unshaven skin and that tongue. The sensations being induced within his mouth had to be proof of damnation. Nothing that feels this good could be without sin.
Freezing concrete against his skin as equally talented hands slipped beneath his sweater recalled him to his senses. "We can't." He cleared his throat. "That is, we can't stay here."
"Just as I was saying. We can adjourn to your place." Kiss-swollen lips practically had Wesley salivating and he could just see his better judgement, head in hand. Chose to ignore whatever it might have to say. If a gorgeous specimen of manhood such as this one wanted to take him home-or be taken home-and then kill him.At least he'd die happy.
The next part of the evening passed in a most pleasurable haze of winter river eyes, sweatslick skin sliding on skin and the little death. More of those than he would have believed possible and vocal enough, on Cory's part, that he was excessively glad he had no neighbours.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Which brought him back to the here and now, with a plate of omelette half demolished on the floor by the bed, and Cory splayed sensuously across the rather too faded red sheets he had bought in an attempt to convince himself that he wasn't entirely the stuffy Brit. Forgetting entirely his stated intention to make the other man a cup of coffee before he left, he flopped back down beside him. Rather more gracelessly than he would have liked, but it appeared the Immortal wasn't after perfection.
"You were the one who called me a maid in man's attire," he recalled, with the smile that reached into Wesley's chest and squeezed his heart and lungs mercilessly.
As if to counteract that effect, he swarmed up the perfect body to take the lobe of one pointed ear between his teeth and shook his head gently. He was rewarded with an equally affecting laugh and a murmured, "Stop! That tickles."
"Not my fault, Leander," he smiled. It seemed a long time since he had done anything of the sort. "Thou art made for amorous play."
"While your lips were made for smiles," Cory informed him, twisting up from the hips to press a kiss on them. "And kisses, of course."
He smiled again in a rather bemused fashion. "Why do you even care, green-eyed stranger?"
"Good deeds are what I do. Merry Christmas, Wesley Wyndham-Price."
The end
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