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Disclaimer: The following is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe of the rights of Joss Whedon, the WB, Mutant Enemy or any other copyright holders of Angel.

Starting Over
by The Brat Queen

Spoilers: Up to Epiphany, after which Joss and I go separate ways.

Rated: PG

Summary: Wesley faces his first morning in a new home. (Part of the Epiphany series, comes after "Changes")

Wesley stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by walls of cardboard. Mentally, he started to organize them. Spellbooks on the right. Demonology in the middle shelves. History to the left.

It wouldn't cover all of the categories, but it would at least give him something to start with.

He rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt and began to get to work.

This was good, he thought. It was good to plunge right into the unpacking at the first moment possible. It wouldn't do to leave things as they were. That way led to laziness, and the chance that he'd keep putting it off and putting it off until the job never got done. No - clear planning, organized goals and getting on top of things right from the start. That was the way of it.

It was not, in any way, an attempt to distract himself from the fact that he was jealous.

No, he thought as he ripped open the first box and began to remove the books from it, he wasn't jealous at all. After all, how could he be? It wasn't as though anything untoward had happened. There was nothing to complain about. Angel had called Buffy. Angel should have called Buffy. Spike's chip - if Lindsey was to be believed - had been removed and that was a danger. A phone call to warn her of the possible problem was the right thing to do. It was what he himself would have done, if he'd been in possession of the information. Again it all came down to proper methodology - danger was coming, sound the alert. Nothing improper about that in the slightest.

That Angel had called Buffy on the day that Wesley was moving in had been, naturally, mere coincidence.

He wasn't jealous.

Not at all. Jealousy was the emotion of a weaker man. One who gave in to his baser urges and infantile suspicious. It defied logic. It refused to obey reason. It demanded that he sit here, awake at what was a beastly hour for the only day of the week that he had off, and think and rethink and analyze just what had been the tone of Angel's voice when he'd offered to help his ex-girlfriend. Dutiful? Polite? Secretly yearning?

You're a prat, Wesley told himself. He cut open the now empty box, flattened it, and turned his attention to another. You're here, with him. He's here, with you. There's your bloody answer. He didn't run to her when Darla proved the curse wasn't nearly that specific, he came to you. Stop arsing about because of one bloody phone call!

Wesley pulled stray bits of tape off of the blade of his box cutter, then began unpacking the second box.

Perhaps it wasn't jealousy. Because, when one got right down to it, what precisely was he jealous of? The phone call? He was jealous because Angel had called Buffy and not him, who'd been standing right there and moving into Angel's home besides? No. Logically, this wasn't jealousy. But it was something else.

Displeasure? Well he certainly wasn't pleased by it, that much was true. So if it wasn't pleasure it stood to reason that it was displeasure. Displeasure about what? The phone call? The way Angel had dropped everything to warn her? The way -

Wesley felt the emotion come nearly to the forefront of his mind, then skitter away into the background. He sighed and kept unpacking.

Unbidden, it floated up to his thoughts again. He grabbed on to a part of it before it could be lost.

Buffy Summers.

Well, no great mystery there - he hated her. It was hardly a revelation.

Except - except he didn't, really.

In a way he understood the idea of her. A young woman, burdened with an unbreakable destiny, doing the best she could to survive in spite of the odds. There wasn't much to hate, there. And part of him was Watcher enough still to be grateful for her, grateful for this relatively sane girl who beat back the forces of darkness when so many others like her had failed or worse.

But, damn it, he didn't like her.

He'd tried. God knew he'd tried. It'd been his job to try. Go in to Sunnydale, replace Rupert Giles, and use what the Council felt to be the advantage of his comparatively younger age (younger than Giles and Merrick at any rate) to bond with Buffy and slowly wean her off of the idea that Watchers and Slayers had any kind of familial relationship.

She'd shot him down from the start. Giles, or nothing. It was amazing he hadn't gotten fired then.

Although he supposed it was little surprise in the end. That sort of thing had never been his strength. Research. Rules memorization. Impassionate judgments. Those were his greatest abilities. Acquired from and encouraged by none other than his own father, who of course wouldn't know a reasonable conversation with another human being if it bit him on the ass, but Wesley didn't care to think about it overmuch.

Not that thinking about his mum made any of this easier. Evelyn Wyndam-Pryce was many things, but a forthcoming conversationalist was not one of them. No, she was British. Properly British. And when one who was properly British engaged in conversation one did not do something as unseemly as indicate a hint of emotion. That was common. Something reserved for the very aptly named lower classes. One did not do that sort of thing in this family.

Granted, he had to give his mother her due - she'd managed to maintain the tradition even in their last phone call. There he'd been, cheerfully telling her he was moving the business back into the hotel and she had, without missing a beat, politely inquired as to how that lovely Virginia girl was doing.

He hadn't told her that he was moving into the hotel as well, but it hardly mattered. She'd understood the implications. She was a Watcher's wife - a status which never changed, even though his father was retired - and Watcher's wives always knew the latest gossip. After the events of the past year and a half Wesley held little doubt as to what sort of conversations had been going on at the various social gatherings and weekend retreats. If Quentin Travers himself hadn't written up a report or called a meeting about the "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce Situation" Wesley himself was going to be rather surprised.

So no, he hadn't actually spoken the words that he was moving into the hotel, and that he'd be living with Angel, and that he was in love with Angel who was still, after 248 years, both a man and a vampire, but he didn't think he needed to. His mother knew. She had to know. It was enough.

Although admittedly when she'd calmly told him that she had "handled" the financial situation with his father, the idea of telling her became damned tempting. She didn't think he was responsible enough to repay his debts? Well then she could stop thinking that her only son was straight too. Might as well cut through all the delusions.

Wesley dropped one of the books on the floor. He scooped it up and resumed carrying it to the shelf.

Thank God for Angel. Wesley had only been able to survive the conversation knowing that his lover was near.

And that, Wesley realized as he stacked the books beside each other on the shelf, was part of the problem.

Angel was Wesley's lover. Angel still, in spite of his daily circumstances, had strong ties to Sunnydale.

What did it all mean?

"Hey - looks like Cordy snuck in and left us donuts," Angel appeared in the doorway, holding a carton of Krispy Kremes. "Did you see?"

"Yes," Wesley said. He turned and looked at Angel, studying him.

"Nice of her," Angel said. He opened the box and looked inside. "'course the little stakes she left inside the box are a nice touch too. I like the 'Congratulations' ribbons she tied around them." Angel held up a vial of clear liquid. "I'm guessing this isn't something I wanna put in my coffee."

"Let me," Wesley said. He took it and the stakes from Angel. "Might as well leave them in here, since we're fortifying it as a sanctuary."

Angel handed over the box as well, then folded his arms and leaned against the door frame. "How's that going?"

"Well enough, as you can tell by your position," Wesley said, gesturing as best he could towards the invisible barrier that separated them. He then pointed to the various crosses and magical herbs he'd nailed up in strategic places along the walls. "And the components are in place to rescind the invitation at any time."

"Good job," Angel said. He smiled at Wesley, and for a moment Wesley was reminded of when they'd first started working together - when Angel's approval was the only kind he'd known. "So - d'you sleep okay? First official night in the hotel and all?"

"Angel, where is this relationship going?"

Angel blinked. He looked as startled to be asked the question as Wesley felt for having spoken it. "Okay - whoa - not the thing to ask me first thing in the morning."

"I'm sorry," Wesley said as apologetically as he could. He tried to continue but Angel waved him to silence.

"No - hang on. Gimme a minute." Angel rubbed his eyes. "You know me and the big words when the sun's come up." Angel stretched out his shoulders, leaned back against the doorframe once more, and motioned for Wesley to speak. "Okay. Let's try that one more time. You're asking me what now?"

"Where the relationship is going," Wesley said. He felt stupid for saying it at all.

"Just so we're on the same page," Angel said. "You're asking me, on the morning after you've moved in, where the relationship is going?"

"Yes," Wesley said. He came over and leaned against the other side of the doorframe, his position somewhat mirroring Angel's.

"Um - that's not an answer?" Angel asked. "You - living here - that's not, you know, a place? I know I'm not up on all the 21st century nuances, Wes, but in my day that kinda meant something. Actually in my day two guys living together meant a lot but that's not the point."

"It is," Wesley said. "Or - it could be. I don't know. Forget I said anything."

"You're freaked about Buffy."

"I am not - well all right, maybe a little," Wes smiled weakly. "Your brooding has become contagious."

"Great, 'cause that's the thing I wanted to share with you and not, for example, my clothes."

"Your clothes?" Wesley asked.

Angel grinned. "You look cute in my coat. Seriously fuckable. Remember in England, when - "

"Yes, well," Wesley cleared his throat, looking away. "I think we're getting off track."

"No, we're not," Angel said. He tried to meet Wesley's eyes. "Wes - that's the track. That's the track right there. Me, with you, touching you and making love with you and being with you. That's my track, Wes. That's where my relationship is going."

Wesley looked around the room, trying to find some way to articulate the doubts that were inside of him.

"What are you thinking about?" Angel asked, when a few moments of silence had passed.

"My books," Wesley said. He shared a slight smile with Angel, silently admitting that he knew the answer was typical for him.

"What about them?"

"They've quite a history," Wesley said. He walked over to an open box, sorting through it and finding one of the thick, leather-bound volumes. He opened it carefully, turning the surprisingly heavy pages and bringing it over to the doorway so that Angel might see. "On their own, of course. But also with me. Some are from my Council days. Others I bought while in university. I acquired some during my travels. Here -" Wesley handed the book over. "This one belonged to my grandmother."

Angel took the volume gingerly. He scanned the page. His mouth quirked in recognition. "Botany. Study of flowers."

"She was quite fond of it," Wesley said. "It's thanks to her that I began educating myself not only in botany but herbology as well."

Angel closed the book and handed it back. "Nice to know who to thank the next time you whip up some headache powder for Cordy."

"Indeed," Wesley said. He held the book against his chest, feeling the solid weight of it. "I've had this since I was a child. And others, of course, that I've acquired during my time in the States."

"Yeah," Angel said, fondly, "I remember how much money you spent - 'specially after the office blew up."

"As you say," Wesley put the book down, then regretted that he had nothing to do with his hands. "I have possessed these books, in one fashion or another, all my life. Perhaps not these exact volumes over the course of thirty years, but a library very much like this. Every time I've moved, they've moved too. Except.…"

"What?" Angel asked.

Wesley looked at him again. "Well it's gotten quite large, you see. Obviously I didn't have nearly this much when I arrived in Los Angeles. But between your books, and mine, and what we've ordered since then - actually for some of these I'm not entirely certain I know which are yours versus mine. My memory has gotten confused with all of the reorganizations."

"Doesn't matter," Angel said. "They're yours. I want you to have them."

"Yes, but - " Wesley swallowed, struggling to find the words. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "Angel - this is my life. All that you see here, is me. And as I unpack it one more time I can't help but wonder… will I ever have to do it again? Is… is this.…"

Angel put both hands on opposite sides of the doorframe. His large body filled the space. He leaned in as closely as he could without crossing the barrier. "Wes, what do you want me to say? Do I love you? Yes. Do I want you? Yes. Where's this going? I don't know. But - I'm not the guy to ask. I don't know that answer. My whole life is me not knowing that answer. Four years ago I was in Hell. I've kinda given up on guessing these things. I just live here, and do the best I can."

Wesley stepped closer as he listened. "But what about - what about what you want?"

"You," Angel said. He held up his hand before Wesley could protest. "Listen to me. I'm not just talking about sex. I'm talking about you. I want - I want to wake up in the morning and see you there. I want all my clothes to smell like you because you've put one of your shirts in my closet. I want to open the fridge and see everything you like to eat shoved in there next to the pig's blood. I want tomorrow to come and you're here. And the day after to come and you're here. And…."

Wesley tilted his head curiously as Angel trailed off. "And what?"

When Angel looked up again his eyes were dark. "I want you as long as I can have you, Wes. Long as - long as you're alive."

Wesley took in a sharp breath. "Oh. I - oh." He blinked away tears, marveling how Angel, more than anyone, could bring those out in him

"Wes," Angel said, his voice rough, "that's all I can give you. And I know that sucks 'cause there could be more. If we were both mortal and one of us wasn't a guy - we could have more." When Wesley looked up in surprise, Angel shook his head. "I'm not - I'm not saying - what I mean is, it'd be an option. There'd be that step. Something beyond just this. And yeah, Wes - if both of us were mortal and one of us wasn't a guy - I could maybe see that option a few years down the line. Maybe."

"Your past history," Wesley protested.

Angel shook his head again. "Not the point. You're asking me how I feel about you. And I'm telling you - all I've got is what I feel about you. I love you, and the more I'm with you the more I feel that. Yeah, I love Buffy. You know that. But I love you. And you are this amazing guy who I wanna be with. You - in the past three years I can't even believe all you've become, and all I can think is… damn, what are you gonna be like in three years more? Ten? Twenty? Fifty? I want to see that. I want to be with you. I want - I want a chance to find out what it's like to be with somebody all that time. Someone I love."

Angel paused, casting his eyes down for a moment before he continued. "But - I'm a vampire. And you're not. And if you're sitting here wondering about - about a wife, or kids, or growing old with someone who gets grey hair right along with you -"

"Oh shut up, you fool," Wesley said. He leaned forward and grabbed Angel by the shirt, kissing him. "I want you. What must I do to prove that?"

"Pot… kettle…" Angel muttered, but he returned the kisses, trying to hold Wesley in turn and struggling when the barrier wouldn't let him.

"Come in," Wesley said.

Angel hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Desperately," Wesley answered. He pulled Angel through the door and immediately shoved him against the wall beside it. "More than desperately."

A flicker of approval went through Angel's eyes. "Show me."

Wesley kissed him, still holding him by the shirtfront. Angel's mouth parted easily and their tongues intertwined. Angel's hands moved lower, cupping Wesley's buttocks through his jeans and pulling him closer.

"Want me?" Angel asked. His hip moved far too slightly against the front of Wesley's pants.

"Yes," Wesley said through gritted teeth. He ran his lips and teeth along Angel's jaw, eliciting a sound of pleasure. "Angel, yes."

Angel chased Wesley's mouth with his own, biting his lips and tugging at them playfully. His left hand found its way in between them and started providing Wesley with the friction he craved. "Prove it," Angel whispered into his ear. "Prove it to me, Wes."

Wesley moaned. "As though you couldn't tell." He impulsively raked his fingernails against Angel's neck. The action earned him a surprised hiss. Wesley continued the gesture, scratching down the front of Angel's chest through his shirt, then reaching up underneath it to repeat the action through the thinner cloth of Angel's white wifebeater. Wesley gave Angel a look of disapproval.

Angel looked back at him with half-lidded eyes. "What?"

"And you complain I wear too many layers during lovemaking."

"If I knew sex was gonna be a part of this, believe me I wouldn't have bothered getting dressed in the first place."

Wesley gave him what he liked to think of as a wolfish grin. "What did you think I wanted to do with you on our first official morning together? The crossword?"

It seemed like the barest twitch of Angel's muscles and suddenly Wesley found himself pinned against the wall. Angel's weight rested against his shoulders as his fingers teased at the zipper of Wesley's pants. "I think I wanna do you, Wes. That sound good?"

"Oh God yes," Wesley said, rocking his hips into Angel's touch. "It sounds divine."

"Then yeah - I think we're both wearing too much."

Wesley stripped off his own clothes first, piling them on top of one of the boxes. He then turned his attention on Angel, slowly unbuttoning his lover's shirt, then trousers, then peeling each item off of him one by one. Wesley trailed his mouth and fingers over Angel's cool skin, warming it with his own. He started with Angel's arms and torso, then moved down to his legs, then finally towards Angel's already erect cock.

"Ah -" Angel stopped him with a hand on the back of his neck. "Not now."

Wesley looked up in confusion and not a little disappointment. "But - we both enjoy it so. And I thought perhaps we could start a tradition."

"Maybe later," Angel said. He applied pressure to Wesley's neck, indicating he should stand. Wesley obeyed, and found himself turned around so that he was against the wall face first. Angel's cock was tantalizingly close to him. "Right now - I wanna fuck you. 'cause you keep doubting where you belong. I'm figuring this way I can give you an answer."

Wesley felt his chest constrict. "Yes - please. Angel, please."

Angel positioned Wesley's hands so that they were above his head, a few feet apart, and flat against the wall. With his thigh he nudged Wesley's legs apart as well. "Stay here," he said, as though Wesley had any desire to do otherwise.

Wesley felt the air pressure around him change as Angel moved away, and his heart jumped when he heard Angel tear into a box. Angel returned soon after, holding out a thin glass bottle.

"This safe?" he asked.

Wesley nodded. "It's only lavender oil. One uses it to anoint tools." Wesley suddenly realized how that sounded. "Er -"

Angel laughed, the sound was warm and inviting. He kissed Wesley's shoulder. "Love you, Wes."

Wesley melted against him. "I love you too."

Angel leaned forward so that their mouths could touch. He kissed Wesley with increasing desire. The smell of lavender filled the room as Angel uncorked the bottle and rubbed the oil both over his own and Wesley's body. Angel teased Wesley with his fingertips, waiting until he could hold still no longer before finally plunging in.

"God - yes," Wesley gasped, closing his eyes against the full sensation. "Please…"

Angel started to thrust slowly, drawing each motion out. He wrapped his strong arms around him, using one hand to pinch and rub his nipples while the other, still slick from the oil, caressed his cock. "Love you, Wes."

Wesley moaned, trying as hard as he could to get just the right feeling from Angel's hand. "Please. Love - please."

Angel lightly bit his ear. "Come. I want you to come. Just let go. Trust me."

Wesley leaned back against him. Angel rewarded him by holding him tighter. "Angel, I - "

"You're fighting it. Don't hold back. Be with me. I want you. C'mon, Wes. Let me feel it."

His breath was ragged, but there was no denying the power of Angel's voice over him. As Angel coaxed him with his words, his hand and cock took Wesley from both ends. Finally Angel kissed him once more, and as Wesley's mouth was claimed by Angel's tongue and there was truly no part of him which wasn't touched or owned by Angel, he took a deep breath and found himself exploding, jerking and shuddering in his lover's arms.

Angel held on tight, his own body shaking soon after with orgasm, then relaxing as they both recovered.

"Mine," Angel murmured, his lips now soft against Wesley's own.

"Yes," Wesley agreed. He curled as close to Angel as he was able. Fin.