Tempt Not a Desperate Man

Disclaimer: This story and its text belongs to me, along with the idea of it. The characters within it belong to Joss Whedon and mutant Enemy. No monies are being made from its creation and it is entirely for entertainment purposes


Pairing: Wes/Illyria
Rating: NC17 for sexual content

Tempt not a desperate man

Wesley picked up a new knickknack from the desk and studied it before wrapping it in old newspaper and placing it carefully in the cardboard box in front of him. Tears began to build behind his eyes like grit, tears that he refused to let fall. He rubbed his face tiredly, his system was running on pure alcohol and it was starting to show.

He reachut for another prized possession of hers. It was a small photo of them, taken in a photo booth on one of those rare days they had had to themselves. Fred was looking at him and smiling, he was gazing down at her in obvious adoration. The brief time they were together, he had let his guard down for the first time in his limited existence, and she had shown him that life wasn’t always about books and rejection. She had loved him, she had made him love her more than his own life, and then she had gone away. He almost hated her for that, for leaving him in this ugly world without her.

Now life was a living hell, having to see that mockery in the shape of the woman he loved. Day in day out, Illyria walked the corridors of Wolfram and Hart as if it were her long dead kingdom while he had to clench his fists so hard, that his nails would cut into the flesh of his palms. He welcomed the pain; it at least gave him focus.

He felt, rather than heard the presence in the room, knowing whom it was before she even spoke.

“You grieve still... for a single life,”

“Why are you here?” Wes asked her, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Illyria looked dispassionately around the room that was Fred's in life, before answering his question. “I... I'm uncertain. This place... was part of the shell,”

Wesley felt the anger build inside him, the intensity of his rage almost frightened him. “Don't call her…” he snapped, breathing deeply to rein himself in. “The woman you killed had a name,”

“This is important to you. Things have names. The shell... Winifred Burkle... She can't return to you,”

Her words were like shards of glass to his already aching heart. He knew the truth she spoke, but she would never be gone to him, not while there was still breath in his body.

“I know,” he replied in defeat, hating the words as they tripped off his tongue.

“Yet there are fragments..when her brain collapsed, electrical spasms channelled into my function system... memories,”

Wes watched as she made a gap with her finger and thumb and electrical sparks appeared between them. “Please...Wesley, why can't I stay?”

He had to clench his teeth to stop the agonised cry escape from his lips at the perfect mimicry of Fred’s last words.

“No. Leave,” he uttered before turning away from her, unable to bear the sight of Fred’s usurper for a moment longer.

Illyria reverted to her own emotionless tones before speaking to him again. She processed his reaction to her use of the shell’s voice.

“I've nowhere to go. My kingdom is long dead. Long dead. There's so much I don't understand. I've become overwhelmed. I'm unsure of my place,”

He felt his anger rekindling; she is concerned for herself again, such an anathema of what Fred was in life. It fuels his hate for Illyria just a little more…

“Your place is with the rest of your people: Dead and turned to ash,” Yes dead is exactly how he would like to see her.

Illyria considered his answer. It is exactly the type of emotionally driven answer she has come to expect from these loathsome humans. “Perhaps... but I exist here. I must learn to walk in this world. I'll need your help... Wesley,”

Something in his head snapped at her and her self-orientated words. Even now, she expects that he should be bowing to her in gratitude for her exalted presence in this god-forsaken world. He lessens the distance between them in a few angry strides.

He knew that she could destroy him, if she so wished, but he was past caring. Wes grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and crushed his lips to hers. They felt like Fred’s lips, but they were icy cold and unresponsive.

He pulled away, and looked at Illyria. Her expression had changed little.

“What are you doing to me?” she asked.

“You wanted to know about this world, then you’d better start learning,” he replied before lowering his head again.

If he closed his eyes tight enough and ignored the aching in his lonely heart, he could almost pretend that it was the body of the woman he loved beneath his touch. She smelled like Fred and still had all the same proportions of her.

He pressed himself closer to her, and Illyria pulled back to look at him accusingly with her cold blue eyes. “You want this body?” she asked

Without waiting for an answer from him, she morphed the bodysuit away to reveal her naked form. Wesley swallowed hard at the sight of the body that he had begun to know so well. Little flashbacks of Fred moaning underneath him as he worshipped her with his hands and body invaded his mind.

He shut them off again; his head was still a little fuzzy from his liquid lunch of vintage scotch.

Illyria looked down at the obvious erection outlined beneath the material of his pants and felt pleased that she had caused the reaction, not really understanding that any desire that she invoked in him was for a woman who was no longer of this earth. She pulled him back into her arms, eager to learn more of this human ritual.

Wes shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor as he ran his hands over her body. He guided her to the carpeted floor, lowered his head to one perfect tipped nipple, and took it in his mouth, tracing it with his tongue.

Illyria made a little cry, at the strange feelings that were coursing through her body. She arched her head back as his lips travelled to her other breast.

She felt wetness between her thighs and an ache building inside her. Wes’s hand travelled down to touch where she ached and as he found her clit Illyria bucked off the carpet in shock.

She wants to touch him and in some way give him release for his tormented soul. She does not understand why it is so important for her. Maybe it is that residue of her body’s former host and the feelings she once harboured for this human.

She could feel his anger coming off him in almost visible waves as she watched him fumble with his belt buckle and unzip his pants and take something out. Illyria can smell his want even stronger as she sees his body part protruding from his zipper. Out of pure instinct she touches it.

“What is this?” she asks, touching the head. It is sticky; she runs her finger on the tip of his cock and coats her fingers with the fluid before putting it in her mouth and tasting the saltiness on her finger.

Wesley took her fingers from her mouth and wrapped them around his erection and thrust into her hand.

“You like that,” she stated.

Wesley nodded, parting her thighs a little wider before inserting a finger into her wet pussy. She is ready and he is in no mood to play the tender lover with this thing, needing the oblivion of her body. He releases her hold on his cock before he positions it at her entrance.

“I am going to put myself inside you now,” he moans.

He thrust forward uncaring of Illyria’s expression of mild surprise at his invasion of her stolen body. She wraps her legs around his waist allowing him to sink deeper and watches unemotionally as Wesley rides her body. He looks deep into her cold blue eyes before closing his. She had read the hatred in his eyes and could feel it in every angry thrust of his body.

“Fred, oh God Fred I love you so much,” he groans as he thrusts into her harder and faster.

There no longer is any gentleness in his touch as he uses her body for his own satisfaction and release and yet she can feel her body respond to his harsh treatment of it. There is a hunger inside of her that needs him too. Illyria closes her eyes, opening them again as she feels a splash of something wet hit her face. Her eyes widen as she realises that is human tears falling from his eyes.

In a sudden groan he shudders within her and she feels the heat of his seed as it spills inside her. Her own body reacts with waves of violent pleasure that are not distasteful to her.

Wesley feels her walls contract around him as he continues to thrust inside of her, filling her with his loathing and cum in fluid strokes. He pulls out his shiny softening cock and zips himself away.

Illyria watched as Wesley crawled into a corner and began to weep.

“Was it not good for you?” she asks, unaware of the humanness of her question.

“It was torment for me,” he replies blinded by his own tears.

He can smell her on him; her scent so like Fred’s and it is driving him to distraction. Disgust at his own weakness takes over his body causing a feeling of nausea to start in the pit of his stomach. He needs to get out of here, and wash her from his body. The bile rushes to his throat, the walls are closing in on his own private hell.

“I have to go,” he snapped as he got up from the floor.

“Where are you going? I thought you were going to instruct me in the ways of your world,” she asked.

“I just did Illyria,” said Wes coldly.

“How?” she replied.

“The senseless fuck of another, because you can’t have the person you want,” he answered “Don’t ever expect a repeat of that again. I was just using you, humans do it all the time…there endeth the first lesson, welcome to the world,” he finished hardly before shutting the door behind him.

Her body suit reformed on her skin, but she could still feel the imprint of Wesley inside her. It seemed there was still evil in the world even without her long dead kingdom and it made her smile.

The End