Fyarl Demons
It'd been five days since Lilah had been over, five long days- had he even slept a full night without her there? He'd gone out to seek her, find where she was, make sure she was all right. He didn't know why he was doing this- he needed her, though, didn't she understand? - Why he had to find her, feel her lips on his again.
She took away the pain; she was his Valium, his Prozac. The games, the passionate sex filled with hate, with lust, with whatever they felt for each other- they felt, he knew that much- they kept him going. To be able to watch her face as she cried out his name� They'd gotten more sensual lately, steered away from the games. They'd gotten old, made them feel tired and weary. They'd still get into it sometimes, seeing reflections of each other in themselves that they had to rip out of each other. They were trying to save each other, in some sick, twisted way, while pulling themselves in deeper. He'd grown dependent on her, on the only real contact he had with humans, it was her. All her.
He knew he was trailing on the edge of obsession. But he needed her; he didn't want to wait. It wasn't love, but it wasn't just lust, God only knows why Lilah Morgan held this on him. God only knows why he'd sought her out, sipping a latte coolly in the sun. He'd never seen her in the sunlight, she was a night creature. Her hours kept her out at night, since most of her clients had a "fatal allergy" to sunlight that caused them to spontaneously immolate themselves. It was probably her morning, now, at 1:00 p.m. Her sunglasses hid her eyes, her lips- perfectly painted in burgundy- closing around the lid of the cup as she read the Times for that morning.
He found his legs moving towards her, he didn't know why. He didn't want contact; he didn't want to go to her- that's not how the game went. The game went with Lilah coming to him, him pouncing on her.
But he needed her so badly. He needed to be inside her, it hurt.
She looked up, a small smirk dancing on her lips. She put down the paper, folding her hands together, acting as if he was in her office.
"Make yourself at home," she quipped as he sat.
"You haven't been around lately, been busy raising Hell or whatever it is you do?" he couldn't help but be bitter, she was the one making him crazy.
"As a matter a fact, I have." Lilah remarked, as if talking about shopping on the Rodeo.
Her head hurt, dammit, why was Wesley here? She knew he'd been standing over by the fountain, watching her for a good five minutes. This wasn't part of the routine. But she didn�t actually mind being Wesley�s prey, it sent shivers down her spine knowing those deep blue eyes were totally fixed on her, watching her every move, drinking her in and still not getting enough. It gave Lilah a mixed feeling of being powerful and powerless, and she loved it. She wished he hadn�t approached her, only for the reason of the bruise. She was planning on waiting for the company�s �healer� to fix it before seeing him. Her face ached from the bruise she'd received last night- damn Fyarl demons. Better yet, damn Gavin, he couldn't even keep a fucking worker demon under control. Which was part of the reason why she hadn't been over last night, after she'd been tied up the past three nights- one literally, not in a fun way, either. She had not liked being bait for the Fyarl demon, had not liked that at all, and had only done it because it would have been on her neck. And she swore to God that Gavin had given the SWAT team the wrong room on purpose. Lilah did not like bruises, they were signs of weakness, powerlessness.
She was only powerless for him.
Still, she had to admit, ramming her foot into Gavin�s balls as a �thank you� had been therapeutic, especially hearing him scream. He probably would have problems reproducing, but that meant Lilah could sleep a little more soundly at night.
"Work's been busy, we've had a lot going on. You know, Gavin fucking up, me fixing it- it's enough to make me miss Lindsey." The redneck had been a total idiot, but not as bad as Gavin. At least Lindsey and Lilah got along- he made a good drinking buddy.
"Absolutely riveting, Lilah," Wesley remarked, rather impatiently, too. Lilah rolled her eyes, ignoring the sting in her heart as she realized Wesley just wanted sex. Back to the games and comments. Joy, just what Lilah needed right now. A black eye and an insensitive fuck. She wasn�t asking him to be Prince Charming, she just needed a little compassion, something for her to go on. It wasn�t fair that he could make her feel like this and still be so cruel. Bastard.
Actually, that last part didn't sound completely horrible. She just... she wondered how much longer she could keep this up. It was hard, always knowing that there's more than fucking but not enough to acknowledge to each other. It made her feel tired, more tired than she'd felt in months. Hate sex gets old, she knew, and by now, she would have been gone, if it had been anyone else.
But Wesley intrigued her. She was the corrupter, and yet, she felt a little bit of light in her when he was around. He could make her feel good, make her lose control and not regret it.
Well, not completely. Not yet. She would, if it kept happening. It scared her, scared her shitless. That's why she kept him distant- he'd never been to her apartment, she never had let him. Too much risk in letting him in to her own private place.
Off-handedly, she wondered if he knew that she'd been by these last nights. Late, late, for her, early in the morning for him. She would stand there, poised to open the door, to knock, and stop, and think about how she couldn't do it again.
She knew they weren't just bed buddies anymore. They weren't in love either. But they were going somewhere other than their original place, and it scared the living shit out of her.
And so that's why she kept turning away.
Wesley wanted to reach out and touch her. He knew if he did, Lilah would probably smack him. She was sending him those, �leave me alone� signals that both confused and annoyed the Hell out of him. He had to get to her, somehow. She was being cold and bitchy, not surprising, but they'd started to go somewhere, and he needed someone to care, so badly...
Lilah turned to the waiter, telling him to bring Wesley an Espresso. Two shots, dry. He looked at her face, the sunglasses no longer protecting her eye.. And the bruise that lay there.
Wesley waited until the waiter was gone, then, "Who hit you?"
"What?" Lilah jerked up, and he knew she didn't expect that.
"That black eye. It doesn't look too bad, but you should probably put ice on it."
"Thanks for caring." she grumbled, looking none too happy about that secret being out. She moved her hand, just within his reach, and he grabbed her wrist, causing her to jump. She was nervous, why was she nervous around him?
"Who did it?" he growled, his voice conveying his anger. He didn't know what he felt, but he knew that someone had hurt her- someone other than him- and it didn't look like from sex. The thought of Lilah with someone else, someone else over her, making her scream their name and beg for more made his blood boil. She was his. Realizing someone had hurt her made him actually feel protective of her, his � not woman, because that sounded so crass and low- but his. That was it. They were, somehow, belonged by the other. Lilah sighed, not even fighting his hand. It felt so good against her cheek, the coolness feeling good against the bruise. His hands were soft, a reminded of how he wasn�t a warrior, a contrast to the hardness of the rest of him.
"Fyarl demon. Gavin let him get loose- we had to get him back for a client- and he ended up getting in my office. Are you happy now?"
His hand was so warm on her wrist; she'd felt nothing but cold since she last saw him. It felt nice, it wasn't rough but gentle, and his finger slid down to hers. Such an intimate touch, in a public place- maybe he did care...
'Yeah, and Satan's holding the Ice Capades in Hell this year.' He didn't care, she knew that, he couldn't care. She was sex to him, and he was supposed to be just that to her. It shouldn't be that hard, but it was incredibly hard. She really should pull her hand away, but it was too warm, and it sent electric shocks running through her body.
"You should be more careful," he murmured, stroking her thumb with his. She gave a small smile, wishing she could say something. For once in her life, she didn't. Wesley kept on turning around and surprising her with compassion, something Lilah hadn�t received since she was a teenager, and these fucking feelings wouldn�t go away, this obsessive not-love that made Wesley her new favourite drug. The security blanket of smirks and insults was falling away, and all Lilah could do it sit there, looking at him. He looked tired, like Hell. She knew he didn't sleep well, unless she tired him out enough, so he must have been exhausted.
Something in Lilah gave.
"I'm sorry I haven't been around, Wes. I was going to come today, I don't have to work- they're too busy rebuilding my office." she explained, she really had wanted to come today, if it hadn't been for that damn bruise.
"You can come now," he said, getting that look in his eye, like a schoolboy who found a way to make a naughty joke.
Suddenly, Lilah found herself in the mood.
Wesley looked around Lilah's apartment, at the cold bare walls, decorated in plain colours and with a few pictures, here and there. She had a sunken living room, with a couch and a TV in it, a rug on the floor. A fireplace with in one corner, and leather chairs in front of it. Stairs led up to what could be presumably her room, and a dining room was also visible, with an extensive bar, which Lilah was already walking towards.
"You're not much of a decorator, I see."
"Meaning my apartment doesn't look like it belongs in London? Yes."
"It's empty."
"It's modern," she growled, started to pour some drinks. He looked at some pictures on the mantel, he could presume they were of her.
"My family," she said coolly as she passed him a drink. She'd been able to regain her composure on the ride home. It had been mostly small talk, Lilah driving her Porsche again. The woman loved luxury, Wesley had to admit, and a 911 Turbo wasn�t a bad choice. It figured that Lilah would drive one of the most powerful cars on the road. He picked up one picture of her in her old high school uniform.
"You should wear this someday," he grinned, putting it back, anything to relax her. She was being anxious, like a two year old taken to an antique shop and told to wait there while Mum and Dad finished up. She smirked a bit.
"Maybe I will, maybe you'll be able to convince me to." She moved closer as he picked up a picture of her and a girl who looked remarkably like her, raising an eyebrow in question.
"My little sister. Much younger, by about ten years. She's in... uh... Harvard, I think." she took a long sip, letting the alcohol relax her. Fuck lattes, she thought, scotch was so much better. "Callista. Studying... damn... medicine? I dunno, we're two different people. Don't talk much." She would have elaborated, but she didn�t feel like quite getting into her mother�s dementia and how Callie had never quite gotten over Lilah�s refusal to take her in. The girl didn�t understand, in her East Coast world of the Crew team boys and post 9-11 patriotism, that LA was a completely different world that she would hate. Lilah wasn�t even fond of it, she missed the realism of the East.
Besides, the last thing she needed was a cute coed sister running around with a sign over her head saying �Perfect Hostage.�
"I don't even want to know how you traumatized her." Wesley quipped, even though he knew she was letting him in for once, and it was scaring the Hell out of her. She looked vulnerable, and he loved that look in her eyes, maybe a little too much. He stepped closer, watching her shiver as he cupped her face, kissing her, deeply, passionately, finally removing the damn sunglasses that she still hadn't taken off.
She flinched, looking away as he pulled back. Gently, he stopped her, running a finger over the bruise. She leaned forwards and kissed him again, trying to get him to start acting like he usually did, biting his lip softly with her teeth. He stopped her, holding a finger to her soft lips.
"Gently," he whispered, watching as her face flashed in confusion. He was tired of the rough sex, tired of hurting her. He knew she was tired of it too, how it hurt her for so long afterwards. He found this out after making her bleed one night. He remembered the scream, the pain in her eyes as she pushed him away, scrambling out the door. He didn't need animalistic fucking right now; he needed contact, needing, caring. He needed her. She was trying to step back, her alarms going off. He kissed her again, passionately, slipping his tongue into her mouth, running his fingertips down her neck.
"God, I missed you." he murmured into her ear, brushing her hair away from it, gently kissing the earlobe. She shivered, holding him tighter.
"I did... miss you." the words sounded strangled, yet he knew they were genuine. She tenderly kissed his scar, burying her face in his neck as they walked back, towards the stairs. He slid off her jacket, her blouse as they walked up the stairs, running his hands over her bare skin. "Wesley, what are we doing?" she gasped, pushing him away for a moment. He smiled,
"Shut up, Lilah."
When had the last time been when sex was about more than just getting off? Lilah asked herself, lying next to Wesley and enjoying the afterglow. She didn't' know why, yet she saw something in his eyes that matched hers, the needing the desolation, and she couldn't help but give in, and pretend, wish, dream... he stroked her hair, looking around her room.
"Ballet slippers?" he asked, looking at her trophy case.
"I was a ballerina. I actually was going to study at the National Academy... but I ended up having to go to college... they said I was too tall, too aggressive. Besides," she smirked, "I wouldn't have taken anything but the prima ballerina." he looked at her ankles, noting how slender they were, looking like a dancer's. Her voice was like honey soft and slow. They were falling asleep, something they both craved. They both knew they could be each other's downfall, that there was something here more than expected, more than wanted, but needed. They could fill each other's voids and calm their demons, if just for a time. They may be driving the bus to hell, but there may still be a chance for them.
Regardless of where the Ice Capades were being held this year.
Fiction
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