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Bit shorter this one; give you all a breather after the last few ;-)
Previous parts are here
Hollow Heart
by Jane Davitt and Bit
Chapter Nine
Wesley can't look at Giles; knows that he'll see amusement, maybe even a hint of condescension on the other man's face so he concentrates on fumbling through the bathroom cabinet.
There's a polite cough from somewhere behind him. "At the risk of sounding appallingly Californian, I'm afraid that Faith has severe intimacy issues."
"You noticed then?" he says tartly, squeezing a thick blob of paste on to his toothbrush. There's a gentle touch on his shoulder, which unlocks something inside him so he's saying words that he never thought he'd say to a man, not least this one. "I know how it looks but it's not just about sex, Giles. She irritates me beyond all measure and she's rude and arrogant and I love her because she's all of those things and other things too but she'd kill me if I told anyone about them." He puts the toothbrush down on the side of the sink and wonders why he can't turn round to face Giles. "God, it's doomed. I'm in love with a woman who thinks that love is a perversion."
"Not perversion, weakness," Giles insists quietly, hand on his shoulder again, more forceful as he tugs Wesley round to look at the thoughtfully sympathetic look on his face. "Uncharted territory. Tell me something, Wesley -- "
He raises his eyebrows in a co-operative gesture. "Within reason."
"Could you be with her minus a signed declaration of love?" Giles' expression turns slightly dreamy. "There are other benefits."
And Wesley thinks of Lilah and signed dollar bills and he thinks of Fred and the pink smudge of her lipstick on half empty Styrofoam cups of coffee and shakes his head decisively. "All or nothing."
"Ah," Giles murmurs. "I see."
And Wesley thinks he really does, but it's not making it any easier to see a way through this.
"It's hopeless," he insists.
Giles frowns at that. "Correct me if I'm wrong," he says, "but you and Faith weren't lovers in London, were you?" There's an inward look on his face as if he's examining a score of memories for hints or clues that Wesley and Faith were fresh from fucking in a broom closet when they arrived at meetings.
"No," he says. "It took recent events to make that happen." He's still damned if he's going to thank Giles for what he did to precipitate it, though.
"Then don't you think that you're rushing her?"
There's a lot he could say in reply to that; reminding Giles of all the years he's known her, the ways that they've been closer than most people ever get, stuck together with blood and destiny, their paths crossing again and again until now he knows he doesn't ever want her to leave again.
Because she's a Slayer and she's his and how much time will they have, anyway?
"What's the average lifespan of a Slayer, Giles? How much time do I have?"
Giles flinches and he's sorry because Buffy's died and he can't imagine how Giles dealt with that, nor how he will when the inevitable happens. He starts to mutter an apology, but Giles shakes his head.
"It's different now, Wesley. Faith and Buffy are both considerably older than most Slayers and although I'm not sure that a Slayer can retire, they're not fighting alone these days."
"It only takes one vampire," Wesley says.
Giles snorts. "Please let me be there when you tell Faith that one vampire could best her."
Put like that, it's ridiculous, but he knows he's right. One second of inattention, one stumble, and the newest of vampires could tear her throat out.
"I don't have time. We don't have time." Where is this panic coming from? The feeling that he has to make her tell him that she loves him, force her to say it, chain her at his side so that she can't run away --
Giles makes this strange fluttering movement with his hands.
"When they leave, they go so quickly." Wesley explains, even as he wishes that he could stop talking. "They go with so many things left unsaid and I won't let that happen again."
And Giles and he stand there in a shabby bathroom with the ghosts of their dead all around them. And while Giles leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead, it should be ridiculous, incongruous, not so touching that he wants to cry.
"What's done can't be undone," Giles says gravely. "I'm hardly in a position to counsel you against sleeping with your Slayer, but I can see it's rather complicated matters given Faith's er, reticence."
Giles words echo around the chipped tiles. "Can it be undone?"
"Did you say something, Wesley?"
He shakes his head with a vague smile. "No, just thinking out loud." He picks up his toothbrush resolutely. "Thank you, Rupert."
"Shouldn't I be thanking you?" He didn't know Giles could look quite so coy. "And Faith, of course." He stretches tiredly. "I need to get to bed before I fall over -- "
The awkwardness is back in the room with them like an unwelcome witch at a Christening. Because he might have let him fuck Faith, might have allowed her to suck his cock (and even now, just the sound of the words in his head are enough to make his dick twitch) but he's bloody well not letting him share a bed with her. "Spare room," he says shortly. "I slept in there last night but the linen was fresh."
Giles retreats with some muttered entreaty to let Wes have the bathroom to himself and he manages to kill long minutes with toothbrush and flannel and even shaves before he's forced to face the inevitable and creep into the room next door so he can brush up against the stiff line of Faith's back as he crawls into bed next to her.
"I'm asleep," she hisses when his hand brushes her arm.
Eventually, so is he.
*****
He wakes because Faith's screaming. Well, perhaps that's an exaggeration, but after approximately three hours sleep her shriek is resonating inside his head rather painfully, and the adrenaline rush has left his heart hammering.
"Faith? Faith --"
"Wes, you're never gonna believe what he's done?"
Something Faith-shaped and fully dressed lands on the bed beside him, rocking it and making him wince as he pries his eyes open a little further.
"Faith, please --"
"Giles is like the sweetest guy on the planet, you know?"
No. He doesn't.
"He says thanks for last night --"
Bloody well better. Wesley realises belatedly that Faith's fluttering some pages in front of him and squints at them. "Giles has gone?"
She's staring at the papers like all her Christmases have come at once.
"I asked if Giles has gone?" he repeats tetchily and she bops him on the head with the sheaf of pages.
"I said, didn't I? Geez, you're grumpy this morning." The depths of her denial are fathomless. "Look! It's the fucking President's signature, Wes."
She's making no sense at all, so he sits up and snatches the top sheet which she keeps waving in his face, makes out the logo of the Department Of Justice and scans his eyes downwards --
"Read it out loud," she urges, bouncing up and down and he stumbles through the legalese that describes her official pardon for one count of manslaughter, one count of murder in the first degree, four counts of grievous bodily harm --
"Congratulations," he says flatly because now she has no reason to stay. With him. He's going to rip Giles from limb to limb and enjoy every bloody moment of it.
Her fingers are tracing each word with far more tenderness than she's ever touched him. "Didn't even do it because we fucked. It's dated last week," she says with satisfaction. "And he wrote me -- us, this really cute letter."
"Give it to me," he barks and he's finally got her attention and a little furrow between her eyebrows too.
"Could give it you," she muses, eyelashes swooping down flirtatiously. "But I think you need me to fuck the bad mood out of you before I let you read Giles' letter."
It would take an orgy to reduce his seething fury to manageable proportions and he's really not in the mood. Not when Giles is playing fairy godmother all over the place.
"I don't think you could," he says coldly. "And of course this isn't some kind of payment, you silly girl. He must have been negotiating this for weeks."
He watches the happiness fade from her face and the familiar, closed-off expression she hides behind when she's hurt replace it.
"You're a --"
"Complete shit," he supplies, grabbing her wrist. "Yes, I am. I'm sorry, Faith. You woke me and I was startled and -- come here."
He pulls her to him, paper rustling, and kisses her gently. "I'm very pleased," he whispers against her lips. "You deserve this chance to start again, Faith. I wish --"
"You could've been the one to do it?"
She's astonishingly perceptive sometimes.
"Yes," he admits. "And perhaps I could have done. When we were at Wolfram & Hart I'm sure it would have been possible, but frankly I never thought of it and I'm not sure I'd want you pardoned through their auspices. This is better. Cleaner."
She leans back and shrugs. "Whatever. Just glad I've got it, you know. Think I should get it framed?"
He gives her a small smile. "No. A safe place might be better." Something occurs to him. "Buffy."
"Fuck, where?" she yelps, pretending to be scared before collapsing in giggles.
He gives her shoulders a little shake. "She knew that he was doing this; he wouldn't have told you in case he couldn't pull it off, but he would have told her."
Enlightenment floods her face and she grimaces. "She wouldn't have liked that," she said quietly. "No matter how much better we were getting on, there's some shit she'll never get over, you know? She wouldn't have wanted the slate wiped clean."
"Well, she's not really part of the equation any more," he reminds her, watching the pretty patterns of her shifting face.
"Not right now," she agrees and waggles more paper in his face. "Still haven't read Giles' letter."
And before he can, she snatches it away again and starts to read:
Dear Faith and Wesley,
I hope you'll forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye. I wanted to make an early start and avoid any awkwardness as a result of the very pleasant way we spent last night. Thank you for taking pity on me and letting me snatch a few crumbs of comfort from you both.
I hope you've both read the attached documents. I know they only go a small way towards compensating you, Faith, for the unpleasantness you had to endure. I want you to know that your work at the Council and your transformation over the last few years have not gone unnoticed and are very much appreciated by me and other the members of the Board.
This is why we'd like you to accept the new position of Senior Slayer --
"Hear that, Wes?" she crows. "Senior Slayer. Me! You're already Senior Watcher so we're like a matched pair and I get wads of cash."
She mentions a figure that makes him blanch with its reckless generosity and then she's bouncing on the bed again while the frame creaks alarmingly. Giles should have told him. Should have let him be the one to put that blinding beam on her face.
"Hey, reckon I'll get a passport now? We can take a vacation. We could go to Brazil for real!"
He's slightly mollified by her choice of pronoun even as he's rigid with resentment that bloody Giles has given her what he can't: security, hope, another way.
He manages to keep his voice calm, as he holds out his hand. "May I?"
She pauses from bouncing and throwing exotic destinations at him to give him the letter so he can read the last paragraph:
Though the changing nature of your relationship is slightly unprecedented, I expect you both back at the Council on Monday morning, ready to assume your duties.
Best wishes
Giles
'Changing nature'? He's muttering that tactful, reserved phrase under his breath as he shoves the covers back and gets out of bed, naked and shivering in the cool air.
Faith frowns. "Hey, Wes; you don't want to celebrate?" She winds her arms sinuously around his waist, which, given that she's still kneeling on the bed means that she's in the perfect position to nuzzle against his wholly uninterested cock. Traitorously, it begins to stir anyway. A jubilant, randy Slayer is a potent aphrodisiac.
"Faith -- please. I need to --" He waves a hand vaguely in the direction of the bathroom.
"Oh." She pouts, then shrugs. "Hurry back?"
He pushes the letter at her. "Actually, I think we should leave."
She sits back on her heels and there's this quizzical expression that doesn't suit her on her face. "You mad at me, Wes?"
He runs his hand through his hair, feeling tired and grubby. "No. I'm just -" Her eyebrows lift slowly and he succumbs to the need to be honest even if it kills their changing bloody relationship stone-dead. "To be perfectly honest, I'm furious. Not with you; with Giles. And myself, I suppose."
"Why?" she demands, her voice almost on the querulous setting. "Aren't you happy that I'm free?"
And isn't that a leading question, one that almost has him blushing in shame? "Of course I'm happy -- for you," he insists doggedly, inwardly sighing as she jumps off the bed and blocks his path to the door. "But I'm your Watcher and Giles should have discussed this with me first. I should have been involved in the -- "
"Say fucking what?" she growls so menacingly that the hairs on his arms stand up. "This has nothing to do with you and Giles. It's about me!"
With any other woman, the relentless quest for attention would be irritating. With Faith though, it's heartbreaking. "Yes, but -- "
"If you cared about me then you wouldn't give a fuck about how or who or any of that bullshit, you'd be happy for me," she flings at him. "You don't give a fuck about me unless you're fucking me. You're the same as every other sad sack piece of shit who's had me."
And he understands why she's angry and hurt, he really does and he hates himself for making her feel that way, but she's gone too far, been too unfair.
"Fine," he spits. "I won't fuck you then. In fact, I'm not going to fuck you for the foreseeable future. Not until you get it into your incredibly dense head that I do care for you, that I bloody love you and it has nothing to do with Giles or the Council or any of the other obstacles you keep throwing up because you're too much of a coward to be honest about how you really feel."
Speechlessness lasts for long enough for her eyes to narrow and her face to flush. "Like you could keep it zipped now you're finally getting some!" she sneers. "Fuck the Watcher/Slayer thing, Wesley; you're still a man and you're all the fucking same. It's all you want."
"It's part of what I want," he says, getting calmer in the face of her anger as if he realises how dangerous it is for both of them to be in a temper. "I won't deny that. But if it were all I want then why would I give it up in the hope of persuading you to trust me when I say that I love you?"
She blinks once, twice and then one of her most endearing expressions; the furrowed brow and the half-smile appear. "Wes, you're like a fucking pretzel, you know that?" She hugs him and smooshes her lips against his. "Fine. We won't fuck."
She twirls away, mercurial as ever, and heads downstairs. Even before "You'll be begging for it in a week" floats back he knows that she's not taking him seriously.
Part Ten
Previous parts are here
Hollow Heart
by Jane Davitt and Bit
Chapter Nine
Wesley can't look at Giles; knows that he'll see amusement, maybe even a hint of condescension on the other man's face so he concentrates on fumbling through the bathroom cabinet.
There's a polite cough from somewhere behind him. "At the risk of sounding appallingly Californian, I'm afraid that Faith has severe intimacy issues."
"You noticed then?" he says tartly, squeezing a thick blob of paste on to his toothbrush. There's a gentle touch on his shoulder, which unlocks something inside him so he's saying words that he never thought he'd say to a man, not least this one. "I know how it looks but it's not just about sex, Giles. She irritates me beyond all measure and she's rude and arrogant and I love her because she's all of those things and other things too but she'd kill me if I told anyone about them." He puts the toothbrush down on the side of the sink and wonders why he can't turn round to face Giles. "God, it's doomed. I'm in love with a woman who thinks that love is a perversion."
"Not perversion, weakness," Giles insists quietly, hand on his shoulder again, more forceful as he tugs Wesley round to look at the thoughtfully sympathetic look on his face. "Uncharted territory. Tell me something, Wesley -- "
He raises his eyebrows in a co-operative gesture. "Within reason."
"Could you be with her minus a signed declaration of love?" Giles' expression turns slightly dreamy. "There are other benefits."
And Wesley thinks of Lilah and signed dollar bills and he thinks of Fred and the pink smudge of her lipstick on half empty Styrofoam cups of coffee and shakes his head decisively. "All or nothing."
"Ah," Giles murmurs. "I see."
And Wesley thinks he really does, but it's not making it any easier to see a way through this.
"It's hopeless," he insists.
Giles frowns at that. "Correct me if I'm wrong," he says, "but you and Faith weren't lovers in London, were you?" There's an inward look on his face as if he's examining a score of memories for hints or clues that Wesley and Faith were fresh from fucking in a broom closet when they arrived at meetings.
"No," he says. "It took recent events to make that happen." He's still damned if he's going to thank Giles for what he did to precipitate it, though.
"Then don't you think that you're rushing her?"
There's a lot he could say in reply to that; reminding Giles of all the years he's known her, the ways that they've been closer than most people ever get, stuck together with blood and destiny, their paths crossing again and again until now he knows he doesn't ever want her to leave again.
Because she's a Slayer and she's his and how much time will they have, anyway?
"What's the average lifespan of a Slayer, Giles? How much time do I have?"
Giles flinches and he's sorry because Buffy's died and he can't imagine how Giles dealt with that, nor how he will when the inevitable happens. He starts to mutter an apology, but Giles shakes his head.
"It's different now, Wesley. Faith and Buffy are both considerably older than most Slayers and although I'm not sure that a Slayer can retire, they're not fighting alone these days."
"It only takes one vampire," Wesley says.
Giles snorts. "Please let me be there when you tell Faith that one vampire could best her."
Put like that, it's ridiculous, but he knows he's right. One second of inattention, one stumble, and the newest of vampires could tear her throat out.
"I don't have time. We don't have time." Where is this panic coming from? The feeling that he has to make her tell him that she loves him, force her to say it, chain her at his side so that she can't run away --
Giles makes this strange fluttering movement with his hands.
"When they leave, they go so quickly." Wesley explains, even as he wishes that he could stop talking. "They go with so many things left unsaid and I won't let that happen again."
And Giles and he stand there in a shabby bathroom with the ghosts of their dead all around them. And while Giles leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead, it should be ridiculous, incongruous, not so touching that he wants to cry.
"What's done can't be undone," Giles says gravely. "I'm hardly in a position to counsel you against sleeping with your Slayer, but I can see it's rather complicated matters given Faith's er, reticence."
Giles words echo around the chipped tiles. "Can it be undone?"
"Did you say something, Wesley?"
He shakes his head with a vague smile. "No, just thinking out loud." He picks up his toothbrush resolutely. "Thank you, Rupert."
"Shouldn't I be thanking you?" He didn't know Giles could look quite so coy. "And Faith, of course." He stretches tiredly. "I need to get to bed before I fall over -- "
The awkwardness is back in the room with them like an unwelcome witch at a Christening. Because he might have let him fuck Faith, might have allowed her to suck his cock (and even now, just the sound of the words in his head are enough to make his dick twitch) but he's bloody well not letting him share a bed with her. "Spare room," he says shortly. "I slept in there last night but the linen was fresh."
Giles retreats with some muttered entreaty to let Wes have the bathroom to himself and he manages to kill long minutes with toothbrush and flannel and even shaves before he's forced to face the inevitable and creep into the room next door so he can brush up against the stiff line of Faith's back as he crawls into bed next to her.
"I'm asleep," she hisses when his hand brushes her arm.
Eventually, so is he.
He wakes because Faith's screaming. Well, perhaps that's an exaggeration, but after approximately three hours sleep her shriek is resonating inside his head rather painfully, and the adrenaline rush has left his heart hammering.
"Faith? Faith --"
"Wes, you're never gonna believe what he's done?"
Something Faith-shaped and fully dressed lands on the bed beside him, rocking it and making him wince as he pries his eyes open a little further.
"Faith, please --"
"Giles is like the sweetest guy on the planet, you know?"
No. He doesn't.
"He says thanks for last night --"
Bloody well better. Wesley realises belatedly that Faith's fluttering some pages in front of him and squints at them. "Giles has gone?"
She's staring at the papers like all her Christmases have come at once.
"I asked if Giles has gone?" he repeats tetchily and she bops him on the head with the sheaf of pages.
"I said, didn't I? Geez, you're grumpy this morning." The depths of her denial are fathomless. "Look! It's the fucking President's signature, Wes."
She's making no sense at all, so he sits up and snatches the top sheet which she keeps waving in his face, makes out the logo of the Department Of Justice and scans his eyes downwards --
"Read it out loud," she urges, bouncing up and down and he stumbles through the legalese that describes her official pardon for one count of manslaughter, one count of murder in the first degree, four counts of grievous bodily harm --
"Congratulations," he says flatly because now she has no reason to stay. With him. He's going to rip Giles from limb to limb and enjoy every bloody moment of it.
Her fingers are tracing each word with far more tenderness than she's ever touched him. "Didn't even do it because we fucked. It's dated last week," she says with satisfaction. "And he wrote me -- us, this really cute letter."
"Give it to me," he barks and he's finally got her attention and a little furrow between her eyebrows too.
"Could give it you," she muses, eyelashes swooping down flirtatiously. "But I think you need me to fuck the bad mood out of you before I let you read Giles' letter."
It would take an orgy to reduce his seething fury to manageable proportions and he's really not in the mood. Not when Giles is playing fairy godmother all over the place.
"I don't think you could," he says coldly. "And of course this isn't some kind of payment, you silly girl. He must have been negotiating this for weeks."
He watches the happiness fade from her face and the familiar, closed-off expression she hides behind when she's hurt replace it.
"You're a --"
"Complete shit," he supplies, grabbing her wrist. "Yes, I am. I'm sorry, Faith. You woke me and I was startled and -- come here."
He pulls her to him, paper rustling, and kisses her gently. "I'm very pleased," he whispers against her lips. "You deserve this chance to start again, Faith. I wish --"
"You could've been the one to do it?"
She's astonishingly perceptive sometimes.
"Yes," he admits. "And perhaps I could have done. When we were at Wolfram & Hart I'm sure it would have been possible, but frankly I never thought of it and I'm not sure I'd want you pardoned through their auspices. This is better. Cleaner."
She leans back and shrugs. "Whatever. Just glad I've got it, you know. Think I should get it framed?"
He gives her a small smile. "No. A safe place might be better." Something occurs to him. "Buffy."
"Fuck, where?" she yelps, pretending to be scared before collapsing in giggles.
He gives her shoulders a little shake. "She knew that he was doing this; he wouldn't have told you in case he couldn't pull it off, but he would have told her."
Enlightenment floods her face and she grimaces. "She wouldn't have liked that," she said quietly. "No matter how much better we were getting on, there's some shit she'll never get over, you know? She wouldn't have wanted the slate wiped clean."
"Well, she's not really part of the equation any more," he reminds her, watching the pretty patterns of her shifting face.
"Not right now," she agrees and waggles more paper in his face. "Still haven't read Giles' letter."
And before he can, she snatches it away again and starts to read:
Dear Faith and Wesley,
I hope you'll forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye. I wanted to make an early start and avoid any awkwardness as a result of the very pleasant way we spent last night. Thank you for taking pity on me and letting me snatch a few crumbs of comfort from you both.
I hope you've both read the attached documents. I know they only go a small way towards compensating you, Faith, for the unpleasantness you had to endure. I want you to know that your work at the Council and your transformation over the last few years have not gone unnoticed and are very much appreciated by me and other the members of the Board.
This is why we'd like you to accept the new position of Senior Slayer --
"Hear that, Wes?" she crows. "Senior Slayer. Me! You're already Senior Watcher so we're like a matched pair and I get wads of cash."
She mentions a figure that makes him blanch with its reckless generosity and then she's bouncing on the bed again while the frame creaks alarmingly. Giles should have told him. Should have let him be the one to put that blinding beam on her face.
"Hey, reckon I'll get a passport now? We can take a vacation. We could go to Brazil for real!"
He's slightly mollified by her choice of pronoun even as he's rigid with resentment that bloody Giles has given her what he can't: security, hope, another way.
He manages to keep his voice calm, as he holds out his hand. "May I?"
She pauses from bouncing and throwing exotic destinations at him to give him the letter so he can read the last paragraph:
Though the changing nature of your relationship is slightly unprecedented, I expect you both back at the Council on Monday morning, ready to assume your duties.
Best wishes
Giles
'Changing nature'? He's muttering that tactful, reserved phrase under his breath as he shoves the covers back and gets out of bed, naked and shivering in the cool air.
Faith frowns. "Hey, Wes; you don't want to celebrate?" She winds her arms sinuously around his waist, which, given that she's still kneeling on the bed means that she's in the perfect position to nuzzle against his wholly uninterested cock. Traitorously, it begins to stir anyway. A jubilant, randy Slayer is a potent aphrodisiac.
"Faith -- please. I need to --" He waves a hand vaguely in the direction of the bathroom.
"Oh." She pouts, then shrugs. "Hurry back?"
He pushes the letter at her. "Actually, I think we should leave."
She sits back on her heels and there's this quizzical expression that doesn't suit her on her face. "You mad at me, Wes?"
He runs his hand through his hair, feeling tired and grubby. "No. I'm just -" Her eyebrows lift slowly and he succumbs to the need to be honest even if it kills their changing bloody relationship stone-dead. "To be perfectly honest, I'm furious. Not with you; with Giles. And myself, I suppose."
"Why?" she demands, her voice almost on the querulous setting. "Aren't you happy that I'm free?"
And isn't that a leading question, one that almost has him blushing in shame? "Of course I'm happy -- for you," he insists doggedly, inwardly sighing as she jumps off the bed and blocks his path to the door. "But I'm your Watcher and Giles should have discussed this with me first. I should have been involved in the -- "
"Say fucking what?" she growls so menacingly that the hairs on his arms stand up. "This has nothing to do with you and Giles. It's about me!"
With any other woman, the relentless quest for attention would be irritating. With Faith though, it's heartbreaking. "Yes, but -- "
"If you cared about me then you wouldn't give a fuck about how or who or any of that bullshit, you'd be happy for me," she flings at him. "You don't give a fuck about me unless you're fucking me. You're the same as every other sad sack piece of shit who's had me."
And he understands why she's angry and hurt, he really does and he hates himself for making her feel that way, but she's gone too far, been too unfair.
"Fine," he spits. "I won't fuck you then. In fact, I'm not going to fuck you for the foreseeable future. Not until you get it into your incredibly dense head that I do care for you, that I bloody love you and it has nothing to do with Giles or the Council or any of the other obstacles you keep throwing up because you're too much of a coward to be honest about how you really feel."
Speechlessness lasts for long enough for her eyes to narrow and her face to flush. "Like you could keep it zipped now you're finally getting some!" she sneers. "Fuck the Watcher/Slayer thing, Wesley; you're still a man and you're all the fucking same. It's all you want."
"It's part of what I want," he says, getting calmer in the face of her anger as if he realises how dangerous it is for both of them to be in a temper. "I won't deny that. But if it were all I want then why would I give it up in the hope of persuading you to trust me when I say that I love you?"
She blinks once, twice and then one of her most endearing expressions; the furrowed brow and the half-smile appear. "Wes, you're like a fucking pretzel, you know that?" She hugs him and smooshes her lips against his. "Fine. We won't fuck."
She twirls away, mercurial as ever, and heads downstairs. Even before "You'll be begging for it in a week" floats back he knows that she's not taking him seriously.
Part Ten
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