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Lost Boys	By : Spacey Category: Angel the Series > Slash - Male/Male > Angel(us)/Wesley > Angel(us)/Wesley Views: 2496 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own AtS. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Title: Lost Boys
Disclaimers: All hail King Joss and his overlords at Mutant Enemy.
Spoilers: Hum…up to and including parts of Seasons 1-3 of Buffy, 1 of Angel
Summary: There’s a new guy in town, and he needs Angel’s help.
Ratings Note: NC-17
Pairing: Wesley/Angel
Author's Note: I’ve intentionally mangled the events of Season 1 to my liking-so sue me. Wait! Um, just kidding Joss…I’m really a poor schoolteacher so don’t sue. Also, Lost Boys constitutes Part 1 of the Crossroads Series.
Acknowledgments:
Feedback: scarletsfiction@yahoo.com

To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead.
-Bertrand Russell

Chapter 1

Gunn smelled different. It wasn’t that he smelled *bad* or *offensive*. Quite the opposite. It just wasn’t the ripe smell of musk and motor oil that usually notified Angel of his presence. Standing knee-deep in sewage, he was struggling to track a Lip’tar Demon. Angel sniffed the air again. No, the smell was distinctly different…rum and pine and a deep rich human smell Angel couldn’t identify-a smell unique to each human.

No, there was only one conclusion to make. This wasn’t Gunn bringing up the left flank of Team Angel’s latest covert operation. And if it wasn’t Gunn, then a) Where the hell *was* Gunn? b) Who was this human that had worked himself (because Angel was sure it was a “him”self--pheromone traces told him as much) into this rather precarious place and c) He was tracking the Lip’tor Demon with only 33% of Angel Inc. Not a pleasant thought.

Angel eased himself further down the narrow passage, cursing a sniffer that made the subtle nuances of the sewer fill his nostrils, effectively muting smells he might otherwise have detected. He was approaching the T intersection now. The Not-Gunn was definitely human. Under the ripe sewage smell, he could now detect the delicate scent of blood. The man was bleeding--not a lot, but enough for Angel to identify it. The man was in the passage to his left. Angel readied the short sword he had specifically chosen for this battle. The vampire moved closer to the wall, ready to creep tightly around the corner. While the Lip’tor weren’t notorious for collaborating with humans, it wasn’t an impossible thought that this human could be working for the demon.

Angel raised his sword in battle stance--or the best he could manage in the now nearly waste-high water and moved smoothly into game-face. With a low growl, he cursed his decision to wear his good coat today, spun 'round the corner, and…

…found his amber eyes staring down twelve inches of smooth, California Oak attached to what would have been a quite impressive crossbow had it’s point not been only inches from his heart.

Angel had only a moment to consider this development before his eyes traveled the length of the crossbow and found their way to the human hands that held it. Rough and callused, the long fingers that clutched the trigger held no tremor, despite the liberal quantity of alcohol Angel detected and the rather severe wound splitting the skin on his lean left bicep. Slowly, Angel let his eyes drift up to the man who possessed the source of the vampire’s impending destruction.

Familiarity tickled at the edge of his mind as he found himself staring into blue eyes. With a confused gasp, the wounded man spoke.

“Angel?”

The smooth, cultured tones pushed Angel’s memory the final distance. Recognition and alarm washed over him at the same time.

“Wesley?”

For several moments, neither man spoke--each assessing the potential threat. Angel finally broke the silence.

“You’re hurt.” It wasn’t a question, but Wesley responded anyway, never allowing his eyes to leave Angel’s.

“Just a flesh wound. Damned Lip’tor demon caught me two junctions back. I managed to elude him by taking this tunnel and…I’m sorry. I must ask…What are *you* doing here?”

“Tracking. Demon. You?”

“Well, you always were succinct, weren’t you? I’m tracking a vampire, actually.” Wesley paused. “I guess I found it.” Wesley’s gaze was disturbed, his eyes filled with suspicion.

Angel struggled to find the words to explain the strange path that had brought him to this tunnel but was interrupted. He felt the smooth brush of tentacle graze his thigh and faster than he could call out a warning, he was being lifted from the muck and flung wildly across the tunnel’s intersection. Angel felt his body slam into the damp stone wall before he was yanked across to the other side. He had only a moment to register that he’d dropped his sword at the last collision before his body struck the opposite wall.

“At least I found the Lip’tor,” he thought humorlessly as he assessed his situation. He was held tightly in a clear tentacle fitted with twin rows of sharp barbs. The sword had to be near the south wall. If he could get the demon to release him in that general area, then he had at least a slim chance of finding the sword before the demon was able to reclaim him and—“Uf!”—Angel groaned as his body struck the ceiling.

OK. Good plan. Good plan. Now, all he had to do was get an 800lb. sentient jellyfish to decide *not* to crush his body against the foul walls of the sewer tunnel. Easy.

“Uf!” He struck the wall again. “Now that one *hurt*!” Angel’s scalp was bleeding from one of the blows and the viscous fluid was impairing his vision. –Slam!—Black spots peppered his already muddled vision.

Dammit! Why hadn’t he waited for Gunn before charging the tunnel? Oh, yeah, fucking curiosity. And now he was paying for it. The Watcher would be no help. Angel had fought with Wesley before. It didn’t take much of a leap to imagine Wesley peeing his already wet pants (…and who could notice, really? In a sewer?) and running down the tunnel screaming like a 6-year-old girl.

--Slam!—

“Maybe while Wesley is running, he’ll find Gunn…” Angel laughed hysterically to himself. For a moment he lost conciseness, then awoke. What was it they said about curiosity? Killed the messenger or something like that…?

--Slam!—

“Not very succinct now,” Angel quipped to the invisible audience in his head.

-CRACK!!!-

Angel felt the tiny wake of air as a stake passed across his cheek-invoking a fear that only a vampire could truly appreciate. When he looked, Angel found that the stake was planted squarely in the deceptively strong, transparent tissue of the Lip’tor’s tentacle. The skin rippled in pain as an inhuman howl echoed through the chamber. Sensing his chance, Angel clawed at the loosening flesh and in a moment, found himself tumbling through the air into the inky depths below…

*****

Wes reloaded his crossbow. Bloody hell! His aim was terrible with a wounded arm. His intention had been to sink the wooden stake into the demon’s tentacle within grasping distance of Angel. Unfortunately, the former Watcher’s aim had been too high and the Lip’tor was no doubt going to now reclaim its inhuman prize. Either that, or turn its attention to the man who had narrowly managed to escape its grasp earlier.

Watching the barbed tentacle, Wes was terrified to discover that his later prediction was true. Having given up on his current prey, the tentacle was making its way toward the lanky Brit. Though most of the Lip’tor’s body was likely far further down the tunnel, its “soul,” for lack of a better word, was contained in one of its three barbed tentacles. Discovering which one held it was usually the challenge for a rogue demon hunter such as himself. Fascinated at seeing the massive creature face to, uh, appendage, Wesley was both awed and terrified. It snaked its way over to him slowly.

With no weapon sufficient to destroy the beast and no superhuman strength with which to harm it, he took aim with his crossbow, vowing to give the demon one final scar, compliments of Wesley Wyndam-Price, before he succumbed to his own fate.

As he struggled through the deep water, two things happened at once. First, Wesley’s eyes caught the glint of metal as Angel emerged from the foul depths of the sewer, brandishing his sword. Before he could strike the beast, however, the Lip’tor suddenly emitted it’s inhuman shriek for the second time. Confused, but seeing no need to waste an opportunity, Angel lunged forward, slicing expertly at the thick appendage. The demon shrieked again and again. Over and over, its death cry rattled the tunnels and Wesley found himself covering his ears as he struggled forward to offer what assistance he could. In minutes, they had severed the tentacle. Angel flung the limb to the other side of the tunnel. The remaining stub floated limply in the water.

The ex-Watcher stroked his uninjured arm across his sweating brow. Before he could ask Angel the cause of the Lip’tor’s premature death throes, he heard a splash behind him. Drawing his crossbow, he turned to find himself looking down the end of a slime-crusted sword identical to Angel’s.

“It’s so fun when the tables are turned, isn’t it?” Angel chuckled with a cryptic smile. “Gunn, this is Wesley. Wesley, this is Gunn…and, I’m guessing, the cause of our tentacled friend’s early end.”

“Hey.” Gunn nodded before lowering his sword and turning to Angel accusingly. “You didn’t tell me that they *scream*.”

“Yeah, well you didn’t tell me that you were going to stop to get your hair done in the middle of a hunt-and-destroy mission.”

Wesley raised his eyebrow at the bald man’s clenched smirk. Angel did know how to get a man’s ire up.

“*Left flank*. That’s what you said. *Left flank*. I was *on* the left…” Angel and Gunn continued to good-naturedly bicker as they waded through the water toward what Wesley only hoped was the tunnel exit. Hours in the sewer had left him desensitized to the vomit-inducing smell, but as fresh air began to permeate the underground passage, he found himself breathing through his mouth.

As the men turned down the last corridor, Wesley had yet another shock.

“Gosh! You guys stink! Hey, sorry for leaving you back there and all, but did you know there is, like, *sewage* in the sewer? I mean, I know I was supposed to be the right flank and all, but these are *Prada*!”

Wesley could do no more than stare at the brunette beauty that stood, tapping her expensively-booted foot in the shallow water under the sewer grate, which led to the surface.

“And I heard something screaming. It wasn’t one of you guys, was it?”

“No, Cordy, it wasn’t one of us. Would we be here if it was one of us?” Angel reasoned patiently.

“Well, no…but when Gunn sees a rat, he screams like a girl so I just figured, you know, that maybe that Lipton thing was like a giant rat or something and he decided to act like the big girlie man we all know he is and…when did Wesley get here?” Cordelia finally turned to acknowledge the dripping Englishman.

With what surprisingly resembled a sigh, Angel motioned Wesley to go first up the stairs. It was shaping up to be a long night.

TBC...
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Lost Boys