mas·que·rade

Somehow, when I first started working up a sweat on the dance floor, I hadn't been expecting that. I've always known I'm not a very good dancer. In fact, I know for a certainty that I look like a complete and total twat, but that doesn't change the fact that I enjoy dancing, and it's one thing that I allow myself to do despite how stupid I may look doing it. The only thing, in fact. It helped that Cordelia's Halloween do was a masked affair; surely all the guests recognized me by my lack of grace from her past soirées, but at least I couldn't see who they were when they gave me those looks of amusement, pity and disgust.

I had been sorely lacking in funds and imagination this holiday season, and had opted to go as James Bond. At least that bloody tuxedo I had would get some use instead of hanging in my closet solely as a reminder of a time in my life when I could do nothing but fail, even if it looked incredibly ridiculous with the rather Zorro-esque mask Cordelia had insisted I don with it.

All things considered, it was a complete mystery to me how I'd wound up with a dance partner; still more perplexing was that he - yes, he - was pressing against me in such lewd ways it was a small miracle Cordy hadn't called a stop to the raunchy behaviour five minutes ago. And I found myself enjoying the attention.

I turned my head to my partner and shouted over the music, "I've got to use the W.C.; will you still be here when I get back?"

A smile twisted the lips of the mystery man - the only part of his face visible beneath the very elaborate mask he wore (I thought perhaps it was a Mayan replica) - and he nodded. I smiled a little half-smile. For all this man seemed very interested in me, he wouldn't speak; it was just as well, I supposed. It would be such a shame to ruin the illusion.

Cordelia cornered me on my way to the bathroom. "Who's the hottie?" she demanded, poking me in the chest with a perfectly manicured fingernail. "And since when are you gay?"

I smiled, very politely not staring down the considerable cleavage, of which I was afforded a very generous view. Cordelia had, of course, agreed to be my Bond girl for the evening, and why not? She wore the white bikini better than Ursula Andress herself. "I'm not," I said evenly. "It's just a bit of fun, and really, I have no idea who he is." I turned to follow her gaze back to the man, who was dressed all in black apart from the brightly colorful mask he wore.

Cordelia pursed her lips. "I don't suppose you've seen Angel around, have you?" I could see where her train of thought was headed, and now was as good a time as any to derail it.

"That's not him. Too narrow in the shoulders, you see, and he's rather warm," I said, shaking my head. I thought perhaps I might have had a few too many of the weak American beers that overflowed from Cordelia's refrigerator and several large, strategically placed buckets of ice throughout her apartment.

"Friction makes things warm," Cordy pointed out bluntly, raising an eyebrow at me. "And there was a whole hell of a lot of friction goin' on out there."

I sighed. "Yes, but the shoulders." If I was being perfectly honest, I would have to say that I wished it was Angel. I've always been under the impression that vampires exist sort of outside the realm of strictly-defined sexual preference, a position I find myself sympathetic to. "Cordy, I need to -" I gestured towards the bathroom, hoping she'd get the gist.

"I would think so, judging by how many Bud Lights you've put away, party boy," Cordy laughed, moving out of the way so I could pass by. "This conversation isn't done, by the way." No, I supposed it wasn't.

~*~

I didn't know who he was, but it was pretty obvious he was up to no good. Okay, maybe it wasn't obvious, but who the hell did this guy think he was, dancing with Wes like that, like he had some kind of a right to touch him? And I kinda got the feeling he wanted Wes to think he was me... and that maybe Wes did. Which led to all kinds of interesting thoughts about whether Wes would let me touch him like that, and why I was even considering it.

Cordy and Wes were talking about me; neither of them knew I was there. Good. It's a lot easier to keep an eye on people when they don't know you're doing it. Oh, ouch, Cordy actually thought that impostor guy was me. That hurt.

Wes ducked into the bathroom, and I could see that the guy, whoever he was, was preparing to follow him in. Oh, no you don't, I thought, cutting him off at the proverbial pass.

The guy looked at me and smirked. "Nice mask," he said, and I really hate it when jerks like that pull the high and mighty thing with me. "What are you, some kind of clown?"

That ticked me off a little. Americans really just had no clue, did they? I'd mostly picked it up at the costume shop because it was one of the only things they had left - today being Halloween - but also because I thought Wes would get a kick out of it when I gave it to him in a couple days - the fifth was Guy Fawkes day and we'd actually just had a really great conversation a few days before about how life would be different if the Gunpowder Plot had succeeded. I decided to ignore his, um, ignorance. "You're not going in there," I informed him, putting myself physically between him and the bathroom door.

"I don't really think that's your decision to make," he said, with that smirk still firmly in place. "I don't recall seeing your name on him."

Okay, that struck a chord. "That's 'cause you didn't get his clothes off," I growled; it was a flat-out lie and I had no idea where it came from. "I'm asking you to back off. Next comes telling you, and after that, I'll make you if I have to."

The guy scowled - or, at least, I think he did. He was wearing the dumbest mask I'd ever seen, all red and gold and feathers and spangles. "Whatever, he's just some drunk loser. There'll be another one at the next party."

So... he wasn't even one of Cordy's superficial L.A. acquaintances? Good. That meant I could deck him without feeling guilty after. Before I could even have a second thought on the matter, I'd buried my fist in his gut with a very satisfying thud and stolen his mask. I have no idea why I took it. No, actually, I know exactly why I took it - Wes liked him when he thought he was me, and somehow in my head that translated to Wes would like me if he thought I was him. "Later, Guy," I said, tucking the Fawkesian mask into one of Cordy's bookshelves - which were, I noticed, full of occult books. Weird. She probably borrowed them from Wes to make herself look smarter for her guests or something. I put on the flamboyant red mask and let myself into the bathroom. He'd left it unlocked. Shit. And he didn't look surprised to see me - him - either. I felt my gut wrench; Wes was gonna have anonymous bathroom sex with some guy he met at a party and it wasn't me. Except that it was, now, but he didn't know that.

~*~

I hadn't really expected he'd follow me. I took care of my personal needs and washed my hands before unlocking the door and sitting down on the lid of the toilet wondering when exactly it was that I misplaced my mind. I'm still puzzling that one out, actually. I didn't have long to think about it, or to change my mind, because there he was, all dressed in black and wearing that admittedly garish mask. I thought he looked a little broader in the shoulders than he had before, but I blamed that on Cordelia's influence and too many drinks.

"I, uh... I've never done this before," I managed to stutter out, and I'm sure I was blushing furiously. My sexual experiences were woefully limited, no matter which gender you happened to be counting, but at least I'd been with more women than I could list on, well, one finger. And I wasn't entirely sure that Gregory Smythe counted, since we'd barely even got our clothes off before he came and I chickened out.

My mystery man placed a silencing finger against my lips, with a quirky little smile that looked so very familiar it sent a bolt of raw excitement, like electricity, through my body. He didn't say a word - he hadn't all night, of course, so this didn't surprise me - but dropped to his knees in front of me. My sight was at best a bit wonky in the first place, having had to forgo my glasses in favor of Cordy's ridiculous mask, but he reached up and turned the mask sideways, completely obscuring my vision. I said nothing - he'd silenced me, after all - when I felt his hands unfastening my tuxedo trousers and yanking them gracelessly down my hips, shorts and all.

I barely had time to wonder whether he'd bothered to lock the door behind him before he pressed a hasty kiss to my lips, which were parted in anticipation, and then lowered his mouth to my groin. I had to wonder how much of this encounter was factual and how much was fantasy, fabricated by my inebriated state and Cordelia's suggestion, because the tongue that slid from the head of my cock to the base of my shaft, was cool. So was the mouth that engulfed first my testicles and then, abandoning them, my entire length, and there had been something of a coppery tang to his kiss that made me think of blood. If he wasn't Angel, my subconscious was determined to make him so.

~*~

They say it's like riding a bicycle - you never forget how. I hadn't been with another man since I'd been ensouled by the gypsies, since Darla had cast me aside; she used to like to watch Angelus with Spike while she made Drusilla go down on her, which was fine by all of us, because when you're immortal and immoral, the only thing that exists is carnal pleasure - fighting, fucking and feeding, and not necessarily in that order. I was mentally crossing my fingers in the hopes that the old adage was true.

Wesley felt amazing under my touch, and the thought occurred to me that while he might be three sheets to the wind, I had no similar excuse. In fact, I couldn't even explain this to myself; all I knew was that Wes was mine, and no one else had any right to touch him, and I was gonna make sure he knew that damn well before the night was over. I chose to sort of gloss over the part where he should have a say in who he belonged to; wasn't that much obvious, really? He'd sworn oaths of fealty, all but signing his life over to me in blood, and if you took a real loose translation of that, you could argue convincingly that he'd done that much, too.

I wondered briefly whether he'd consider a tattoo or a brand of some kind, curling my fingers around his buttocks, which were cold where they met the porcelain. Cliche as it was, it was true - you don't forget how to suck a cock, and in my case, if I do say so, do it well. He was trying so hard to be good and quiet, I guess because I'd shushed him earlier, but he was making all these pretty panting, moaning sounds that just made me want to tear his pants off all the way, flip him over, and fuck him so hard he couldn't walk for a week. But this wasn't about me, this was about Wes.

~*~

It was all about Angel, I realized. Everything was all about Angel - he was the reason I got up in the morning, the reason I went to bed at night, and the driving force behind my every waking action. He was my reality and my fantasy, my punishment and my reward. I wanted him, more than I'd wanted anything, anyone in my life, and he was the one thing I could never have.

But I could have a mysterious man in black, with an ugly red mask and a tongue so talented it shouldn't even be legal, who I could never say for absolute certain wasn't Angel, and for now that had to be enough. He wasn't likely to stick around long after, though, because while I felt detached from the scenario in some ways, I quite clearly heard myself cry out his name when I climaxed. I felt his throat tighten around me as he swallowed my semen, and then I heard something that very nearly made me fall off the toilet seat in surprise.

"God, Wes," the man said in Angel's voice, followed by a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

~*~

I thought he was going to fall over, so I reached up to steady him. His hands, which had been threaded through my hair, flew elegantly up to his face to right the mask he wore. Everything his hands did looked elegant, and I stifled an image of his hands wrapped around my cock, setting it aside for a moment. He blinked myopically at me, and I didn't bother trying to put the scarlet abomination back on.

"Angel?"

"Yeah, Wes," I managed

"It wasn't you before, I was sure of it," he said, sounding adorably confused.

"No," I agreed. "Let's go home."

"Home? My home or your home?"

"The office," I clarified, standing him up and tucking everything in where it belonged. "My apartment. Now."

Wes looked perplexed. It was a cute look for him, but it just made me more determined. "But Cordy's party -"

"Is over for you," I said, allowing my voice to carry an edge. "You've been a very bad boy, Wes, and I think you need to be punished."

~*~

All things considered, I think it was rather decent of me to still manage to be slightly terrified.