Illusions of Men and Gods

TITLE: Illusions of Men and Gods

AUTHOR: MidKnight

CHAPTER: 1 of 1

SHIP: Wesley / Illyria / Fred

RATING: NC17

CATEGORY: Erotica

SPOILERS: Angel Final season

DISCLAIMER: None of these characters belong to me. They belong to Joss Wedon, Mutant Enemy, Warner Bros. and I bet a whole bunch of other corporations and I am only borrowing them, seeings as those who own them don't seem to want to use them anymore. I make no profit from this story in any way, means or form.

UNIVERSE: Angel AU final season - Somewhere after Illyria's powers had to be diminished and before the Blackthorn plotline started.

AUTHORS NOTE: I apologize before hand and hope you will forgive any errors or blatant discrepancies, but I am new at this so... Enjoy

FEEDBACK: Kindly review even if your review isn't kind. - Yes Please - deton8@mweb.co.za

Wesley's Apartment, 09:43pm

Wesley's hand paused on the inner doorknob of his bathroom. He rests his head on the doorframe taking a moment of respite before once more having to deal with Illyria. He should have left her at Wolfram and Hart, but, for reasons he didn't want to understand, but knew all too well, he hadn't.

Illyria walked around the living room. The memories of her shell told her that the gaps on the shelves had held picture of her and the one called Wesley. It made her feel uncomfortable, which confused her. Feeling of any form generally did and she sort distraction. He had one of those picture boxes. She found them fascinating, but was careful not to show it. The humans and half-breeds might construe it as a weakness. Her deep azure eyes scanned the room looking for the complicated little black, vexing, be-buttoned boxes that controlled the device. The shells memories guided her and she found it, the discomfort was a little more acute. It vexed her. This place, like the shell's, Fred's, laboratory screamed at her that she did not belong. That this world was in no way hers and highlighted that fact that even so she had no choice, She a goddess that had destroyed millions and commanded the worship of even more had no choice. If the concept of irony had been explained to her and she had cared to understand it she would have laughed. She lifted the remote, cocking her head sideways as she examined the strange symbols on device. The shells memories began to murmur instructions on it operation and Illyria viciously shut them up and began to randomly push buttons. Nothing happened and she was sorely tempted to throw it at the glassy, black and blank screen of the picture box, but then it sprang to life. Very, very interesting life. Illyria's eyes were glued to the screen as she moved forward to study the moving images more closely, eventually crouching in front of it, her nose mere inches from the screen.

Wesley wasn't too perturbed when he heard the television go on. He had noticed her fascination with the device on several occasions, as well as, her attempts at hiding that fascination. It was only when the sounds the television was making actually registered that his head jerked away from the door and he threw open the door. He rushed into the living room. She was crouched inches from the screen. He watched as a blue hand reached forward and traced a shape on the screen.

She became aware of his presence and her head turned, with some reluctance, he noticed from the screen. She leveled her penetrating, unblinking blue gaze at him. Her eyes were even wider than usual, the blue deeper. Her pale blue skin showed the slightest hint purple. Her eyes had seen the images on screen, but in her mind she saw her shell and Wesley doing those things and emotions and feelings of pleasure swirled through her unbidden and uncontrollable. She had taken this away from him and or the first time in eternity Illyria felt shame. The rational part of her knew that she had not chosen the vessel of her resurrection, but that part that had come with her host, that iota of humanity that still lurked within her told her the wrongness of it all. She wanted her lips to form the words "I'm sorry." but instead: "What... is... this?" she asked haltingly, her head held to the side in question.

Wesley held his forehead for a moment before letting his hands slide down over his face. He would rather face a nest of Bolgara daemons naked and armed with a toothpick than answer her question, but with Illyria he had no choice. "It's the Spice Channel." he answered in an attempt to by time with which to formulate a more comprehensive answer. "Spice... Channel?" she asked saying the words as if she were tasting them for meaning as she stood up and faced him. "Yes, it is adult entertainment. Errr... They show filmed stories that involve people having sexual intercourse." he explained feeling just a trickle of sweat slide down the back of his neck. "It is entertaining. How?" she asked, her eyes blazing with her intense need to understand. Entertainment she knew, but this was not the sense she got from the shell's memories of such acts. Wesley was way out of his depth and still losing ground. "It... Well... People... Viewing..." he tried to find the right words to explain.

He stepped forward and sat on the arm of the sofa. The power of her gaze was unnerving at the best of times, but now it bore into him as the silence between them lengthened and he could not raise his eyes to meet hers. "Stories. You say, but yet, you and Winifred did these things, which makes them true and it gave you both pleasure." she told him. She really had only two tones of voice. Question and command. The mention of her name put steel in his spine and his eyes blazed as they shot up to meet hers. "Yes." he hissed, "And, if her name passes through your lips again, goddess or no, I will kill you. Now... could you turn that off or at least change the channel? Their entire exchange had been set to the moaning, groaning, grunting and the cheesy soundtrack of porn.

He watched as she clenched and released her hands where they hung at her sides. "Do you miss it?" she asked in the quietest voice he had ever heard her use. "It?" he asked wearily as his anger slowly ebbed. "Fornication. Interlocking your body with another's. Finding release and satiation as you did with..." she let her explanation drift into silence. He looked at her trying to find some sense as to why she would ask such a thing. With, a weary sigh he answered "Yes, Illyria. I miss having someone to make love to." She continued to stare at him for a moment. "That is not what I asked," she told him. He threw up his hands. "Yes, Illyria, I miss it. Does that make you happy? I haven't gotten laid since... since..." he gestured trying to indicate everything. She could see the pain in his face and she knew he was reliving the death of Winifred Burkle that also happened to be the moment of her rebirth. She stood in silence as she watched his shoulders shake on either side of his lowered head.

Something curled, twisted and tightened in her stomach. Had, she a frame of reference, she would have understood it as empathy. She only knew that it disturbed her. In her world and time if someone took away what was yours they paid with their lives or replaced what they had took to the satisfaction of the wronged in order to keep their lives.

Wesley was mired in the memory of his loss and chided himself for the mistake of bringing Illyria home with him. He still saw too much of Fred in her. She looked different. Her voice and manner could never be mistaken for Fred's, sometimes the way she moved or when the light caught her at just the right angle, there she was and worse yet, so was her scent. Whenever she entered a room and he couldn't see her, for a second he thought it was Fred by the lightest smell of vanilla and English Rose and then there would be the disappointment of finding out it wasn't. That scent was still there now, light and tantalizing.

"Wesley." he heard her say his name softly almost gently in an attempt to get his attention. It was so unlike her that it did just that and he raised his head, his lips forming a sharp question as to what she wanted. The words died on his lips as his eyes widened at what he saw. She was walking toward him. Later, his mind would process the event and it would use more descriptive terms like saunter or stalk. As, she moved closer he watched as her battle armour simply melted off her body, draining from her neck downward. Her skin was the palest blue underneath and that was all there was underneath. He felt his jaw drop as his eyes unconsciously detailed her revealed flesh. Flesh and form, that to him, was familiar and at that moment utterly alien. Her pert, perfectly proportioned breasts were capped by darker blue areola with even darker nipples. His eyes moved along the firm ridges and valleys of her toned abdomen, abscently noting the feminine flare of her hips starting at her narrow waist. He noted darker blue speckles on her skin as his eyes were drawn ever downwards. The speckles banded together over her mons to form a mottled pattern. Wesley found himself drawing in a ragged breath, whether in reaction or in an attempt to voice his confusion he would never know.

She was now just an arms length away from him and again she shifted and his mind screamed at the impossibility of it as denial warred with desire. The change started higher up this time. Dark blue and white streaked hair became soft, chestnut tresses. The pale blue of her forehead faded first to white and then blossomed with the light, rosy bloom of human flesh before spreading downwards. For, a moment, her intense blue eyes caught and held his. A blaze seemed to flare up in their deep blue depths before they melted into the hazel orbs he knew so well. He closed his eyes in an attempt to find some sort of respite, but his minds eye continued the transformation and he knew with out the slightest hint of doubt that if he opened his eyes Fred would be standing in front of him. Fred, in the flesh, if not in spirit. He's most desperate wish and his direst nightmare all at once. His eyes remained shut as he battled to get the words out of his mouth that would tell her to stop. That this could not happen. That it should not happen. That it was wrong. The scent of vanilla and English Rose intensified and all that came out was the word "Fred" on a whisper soft puff of air as he exhaled a breath he hadn't even known he was holding.

He surrendered. There was a magnitude of consequences to what he was about to do, but events had been set into motion that left him powerless to resist. He should have left her at Wolfram and Hart.

He could feel her presence; now just inches away from him, he let the memories of the last few months fade away and let himself believe fully in the illusion. His hands found the smooth curve where her hips met her waist and pulled her forward the final few inches that brought her between his legs and them into contact. He let his hands slide up the smooth expanse of her back. His finger traced an old scar she had brought back with her from Pylea. He remembers kissing that scar as she lay in his arms after the first time they'd made love. "I may burn in hell, but I need this. Dear God, I need this." he thought as his hands slid up the column of her neck and then he was gently holding her face in his hands.

He opened his eyes and his imagination hadn't missed a detail. It was Fred in every way, but the one that mattered and right then, he didn't care. He drew her lips to his. He felt her stiffen for just an instant as their lips met and then she melted against him. Her softness triggered his hardness. He had been vaguely aware of his cock hardening, but at the first taste of her it lurched into a titanium bar. He let a little groan escape his lips before he began to nibble and lightly suck on her lower lip.

Illyria tried to process the sensations of his touch from behind the memories of the shell whose face she now wore. It was truly strange. The shell's memories said it was pleasure. This confused her. There was no blood here. No, victory in battle, but yes it was pleasurable. His touch sparked little bolts of lightning through her nerves. Power had always been pleasurable to her. His fingers traced the scar of a long healed wound on the shells shoulder blade and an image of Wesley's lips tracing it blazed into her mind. His hands continued to move upon her drawing physical reactions she was unable to control. This irked her and at the same time peaked her curiosity. The tip of the shell's teats were expanding and hardening. It was pleasurable and uncomfortable at the same time, strange. Her insides seemed to be heating up and at the same time growing moist. Contradiction after contradiction flooded her senses. The shell's memories were beating at her consciousness as memory and the present merged as his hands cupped her face. He brought her lips to his and the warrior in her began to rebel, but the shell's memories were writhing inside her like a living conscious thing. Illyria began to have some suspicions that maybe the being she had never known as Winifred Burkle may not have been as completely destroyed by her resurrection as everyone believed. As, his lips touched hers she froze, sorely tempted to wrest back control, but in that same instant a continuous stream of all the intimate moment between Fred and Wesley flashed through her being. Not, just the images, but the emotions and sensation all compressed into a blink of an eye. Illyria could not comprehend as she had no real frame of reference, but she understood the power of it. Her body melted against his.

His playful sucking and nipping quickly gave way to a deeper hunger and when his tongue pushed between her lips they opened with a groan that echoed his earlier one. Their tongues danced the tango in the dancehall formed by their joined lips and open mouths. He tasted the slightest hint of cinnamon and had he been able he might have wondered how as he had never seen Illyria eat anything, let alone, something containing cinnamon. Her hands slid around his shoulder and then gripped handfuls of the back of his shirt as their kiss intensified. She molded even closer against him and her naked sex ground into the uncomfortably hard bulge in his jeans. "Jeans? Shirt? Why was he still wearing them?" he asked himself as the taste, touch, smell of her enveloped him. His senses were alive. His skin almost buzzing with energy and the clothes he wore felt uncomfortably rough and restricting, but the silky touch of her lips left him loath to break the kiss. It was human nature that kept his lips glued to hers and his tongue exploring her mouth, but it was the nature of being human that eventually forced then to part, the need for oxygen. He had to breathe deeply to clear some of his lightheadedness. He watched her draw ragged breaths that caused her breasts to shudder that left him mesmerized and his hands began removing his clothes of their own accord.

Had she wished to dominate her will upon the form she now held her head would surely have been cocked to the side, deep azure eyes wide in an attempt to fathom Wesley, not to mention, her own reactions. He had lust for her; she could sense that clearly, yet he didn't. His sex was hard. She could feel it hot and throbbing through his coverings. It should repulse her, but it didn't. It made her feel strange inside. Relaxed and tense at the same time and stranger still it was her feeling it. Not the shell or the shells memories interpreted but, herself, Illyria. Had she not thought of what she was doing as a debt of honour she would have drawn her own image about her and hurried away as fast and as far as she could. Feelings, the few she had experienced so far, were scary. She understood scary, her first introduction to feelings was that of fear as she found herself adrift in this world now run by humans and half-breeds. The shell did not need oxygen. the air of this new world stank of the humans, but yet after he broke the kiss she gulped it in, in some vague hope that it might provide some form of explanation for the sensation of loss she felt. His eyes caressed her. She felt his gaze as if it was a physical touch and it... it pleased her. Her... nipples hardened even more and she let the shell continue.

Had, Wesley looked at her face in that instant he would have seen just a glimmer of blue light spark from her eyes, he was to surprised to notice. He had just finished unbuttoning his shirt and had dragged its tails from his pant when she reached forward and began to undo his belt. He shucked off his shirt and tossed it away as her nimble fingers made quick work of his belt and started on his jeans proper. Once, the button and fly gave her nimble fingers grasped both the jeans and the top of his boxers. He hardly needed her urging to brace a hand on the back of the sofa and lift his ass as she yanked them down his legs. Wesley just let himself go. He shifted to the side and let himself slide onto the sofa proper as she moved to continue pulling off his pants and underwear. She whipped of his loafers almost impatiently. He remembered her like this. The surprise at how the shy, book wormy Fred became everything but, not to mention vivacious, when aroused. His jeans, boxers and socks joined his shoes somewhere in the apartment over her shoulder and then he was as naked as she save for his spectacles. She slid into his arms. She whispered his name in the breathy way he remembered so well and their lips were joined once more. It was a brief exchange. He tasted her lips, but as he opened his mouth she pulled back, her tongue darting out to touch the tip of his. She planted a kiss on his chin and continued lower. Her curly, chestnut hair tickled his cheek as, her lips moved down his chest, and then lowers still.

There was no mistaking where she was headed. He felt a twinge guilty, a need to stop her, to stop this. His hand actually moved to intercept her head, but then his own was thrown back with an open-mouthed gasp as without preamble she engulfed him, sealed her lips around his manhood and sucked hard. His eyes closed, the room going blurry before he did. His hands continued their journey even if their purpose had changed. His fingers burrowed into her thick chestnut tresses and guided her efforts as she brought her tongue into play. Her technique was exactly as he remembered it. She used her swirling, sinuous tongue to coat every inch of his shaft with slick saliva before she alternated between taking him deep into mouth and corkscrewing back to almost nursing at the tip of his penis. Her petite hand jacking off what she couldn't swallow. He had been amazed at how good she had been the first time they had engaged in oral sex and she had laughed as his questions had tumbled over each other: "How?... Who?... Where?... How?!?" he'd asked in awe. She'd just winked and gone right back to it. He never did get a straight answer out of her and... he never would. He squelched the thought with an iron-fist; instead concentrating on the exquisite blowjob she was giving him.

He massaged her scalp with one hand and let the other slide down. She pressed her cheek into his palm as it slid past and then he reached between them and cupped her breast. The flesh was hot to the touch and the hard nub of her nipple pressed into his palm as he squeezed gently, firmly and in time with her bobbing head.

He felt his nuts tighten. His dick was tingling and he gritted his teeth. He could end it here and now. Let himself go, let her talented lips do their job, let his seed spurt into her eager mouth. He would get his, Illyria would have paid her self-imposed debt of honour and this illusion could come to an end. He could return to sanity, all he had to do was let go, just let go. But, gods and daemons help and damn him he wanted to be inside her again. To, feel her wet, hot and snug around his pulsing shaft. To, hear the catch of her breath as he entered her. To lie still, calm and content, his penis buried to the hilt, unmoving as her body adapted to his penetration. To, feel those moments of peace and calm before either one of them initiated the heaving storm of thrust and counterthrust. He almost yanked her off his cock, her eyes going wide in surprise and a flash of anger.

Illyria was lost in the shells memories. There seemed to be so many terms to describe what she was doing to Wesley. The shell had found some of them quite offensive, but the ex-goddess had settled on the term "felatio" She liked felatio. She couldn't quite tell herself why. It seemed to give her a strange sense of power and at the same time gave her so many new sensations to experience and catalogue. Taste, touch, smell, even hearing the different sounds she drew from him, all in one activity and he added even more stimuli with his hands. The shells imprint told her that her nipples were sensitive, but she had no understanding of what that meant until he cupped her breast and his palm rubbed back and forth across one. It was like tapping into the fiery nexus of the cosmos as lightning arched through her with each stroke. The energy seemed to be gathering in the pit of her stomach and heat the entirety of her flesh. She let the rest of the world fade away as she concentrated almost exclusively on what she was doing to Wesley and what he was doing to her. She could taste salty sweetness as he leaked of his essence into her mouth and it awoke her appetite for more. The shell's memories told her there was more and she wanted to sample it. He knew she was enjoying her efforts, so she was surprised and a little angry when he grasped her neck, his thumbs under her chin and pulled her off his shaft.

Their eyes locked for a moment and then he dragged her lips to his. Their lips met, their mouths opened and their tongues danced. He sucked on her tongue and he could taste a trace of himself. Pulling her into the kiss had also dragged her body up his. The head of his hard, throbbing sex twitched in the soft curls just above her swollen lower lips. He let his hand slip along her buttocks and between her legs. He slid his middle finger through her engorged lips and it came away wet, drenched. He took hold of her hips and shifted her up and further forward. The head of his cock dragged through the curls of her pubes with pinpricks of sensation until it found the plump, full outer lips of her vagina. He adjusted her position a little more as she placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, he felt his own pre cum and her juices mingle and even inch down his shaft as he's cock head slid back and forth between her nether lips moving deeper inside her in search of her entrance.

Her eyes searched his now. Her fingers kneaded his shoulders. She leaned forward and down, her breasts swayed slightly, hard, ripe nipples just inches above his lips. She moaned as he lifted his head and engulfed
one in his mouth, sucking and nipping. His questing cock head sent sparks of sensation rippling through her belly when it brushed her exposed clit. The shells memories and her own reactions merged and blurred and separated and merged again until she was left with only the then and there.

He sucked harder, drawing another moan before he released it and caught the other at the same moment his cock found her true entrance. He took a firmer grip on her hips and watched her eyes widen as he lowered her weight and she slowly began to inch down the length of his shaft. Her muscles clenched at him trying to hold herself in place but, gravity and the pull of his hands were an inevitable force and she continued her downward journey by small degrees. He was forced to release her nipple in order to grit his teeth as the hot, wet friction of their union swept across his senses and drew him painfully close to release. He halted her progress about half way down his length in an effort to forestall it. Had she really been Fred, he was sure he would have found bruises later where his fingertips bit into the flesh of her waist. He would surely have the marks from her fingernails where she had dug them into his shoulders. Having gained some small measure of composure and losing the battle to remain immobile inside her, with a hiss of breath, he pulled her down onto him even as his hips bucked upwards seating himself fully inside her. She gasped and her eyes widened even further. Wesley could have sworn he saw an azure spark, for just an instant, in their hazel depths before her eyelids fluttered closed and she lowered her head. They lay still for a few moments. Her sex was snug around his and her forehead resting on his shoulder with some of her hair covering his face as their nervous systems came to terms with the sudden sensory overload of their union. Wesley found himself lost in a whirlwind of memories sparked by the familiarity of the situation.

Illyria always felt connected to every cell in her body, but now she felt as if every cell were connected to her as sensation bombarded her senses. It was energizing and draining at the same time. She found herself trying to hide her reactions in the memories and trained responses of the shell, but it was becoming harder as liquid fire seemed to be coursing through her and there physical connection was affecting the very core of her. She wanted to rail, to fight, and to stop this, honour, debt or no. She was coming too close to something these humans called fear. In her time she had been near omnipotent, all-powerful and all knowing and here she was on the edge of the unknown. It was almost intolerable, and then suddenly it became very tolerable.

Wesley used his hands to guide her in a slow rolling circle and thrust with his own hips. Her head came up instantly as her body continued and repeated the motion without his assistance. Her sex sucked at his as she rose and welcomed him as she fell. His hips bucked at the lowest curve of her descent thrusting him deeper and giving them the slightest pauses before they repeated the cycle. She steadied herself with her hands on his chest, fingernails testing the muscles she found there as she rode him. The circles grew wider, but faster and Wesley had to focus all his concentration to hold back his frothing orgasm, his breathing coming heavy and hard. She rippled and clutched and released and clench along the length of his shaft. Her teeth pinned her lower lip and she breathed heavily through her nose, her chestnut tresses whipped around her face, occasionally whipping his face. Her firm breasts swayed and jiggled drawing his eyes and his hands worked their way up along her ribcage and then he cupped and fondled the globes firmly. The hard pebbles of her nipples pressed into his palms as hot little points as she seemed to thrust herself onto his penis and into his hands at the same time.

The power seemed to return to her. The feeling of lordship and dominance grew as she rode him. His guidance had amped the pleasure inside her and then she saw how her movement affected him and it pleased her. She could play him. The shell gave her the skill; her nature gave her the will. She fully believed her illusion of control as she drove them both toward orgasm. She mistook the rising wave of energy inside her as the measure of her power. His breathing quickened and she reveled in her 'power' rolling harder. The wet sound of their bodies crashing together filled the room punctuated by grunts and groans.

Wesley was so close too close and she wouldn't stop, wouldn't let up. His hands left her breasts and slid down her sides until he held her firm ass cheeks in his hands once more. As, she slammed down again he held her down and thrust up hard and throwing his head back he gasped and came and heavy, spasming spurts.

She felt the elation of victory; having broken their carnal act down to one of the things she knew best combat. That elation was her undoing. That and the pressure from his hands and the thrusting of his hips ground her exposed clit against the base of his shaft and the wave that had been rising within her crested and broke along with her illusion of control. Her orgasm was blinding in a very clear sense. It blinded her to the shells reaction and placed her pointblank with her own and she cried out, her head thrown back and back arched in a tight bow as she spasmed uncontrollably around him before slumping down over him.

Minutes passed and slowly silence settled over the room. Neither of them moved for moments more and then she slowly lifted her head. Wide, near-glowing azure eyes stared at him from the face of the women he loved and he let the illusion break. Her eyes never left him as she shifted one of her feet to the floor and climbed off him letting him slip out of her. She resumed her own form even as she did this. "Our... Our debt is no more.", he started to speak, but she cut him off, "We will not speak of this again. I will stay in the lair of The Wolf, The Ram and The Hart from now on. Dress and take me there. Now!" she said coldly. Her voice was all ice and command, but Wesley saw the slightest tremor in her hand and an extra stiffness to her back. He had no idea what their actions had done to her and he really didn't care, he was too busy walling up his own emotions and burying the memories even deeper than those that he had of Fred. He could still smell sex in the air and on his body. Without a word he rose, to a scalding shower, dressed and did what she'd asked.

THE END