Secretary: Part Sixteen

Chapter Three Hundred and Ninety Four: The Final Chapter

When she wakes next, it's morning. The room's suffused in a shifting light and she doesn't need to look at the clock to know they've moved from all the time in the world to a handful of hurried hours.

She buries her face in the pillow, pretending she's still asleep, but his hand strokes the hair back from her face and she hears him sigh.

"You've stopped making those rather endearing little snuffly noises, Faith, so I know you're awake."

"No I'm not," she mutters into the pillow, but it just sounds, well -- like someone muttering into a pillow.

"Really, Faith, the longer you insist on sleeping the less time we have for..." His voice trails off as his fingers trace along the ridge of her spine until they reach her ass. He leaves his fingers splayed there meaningfully, but she's not taking the bait.

"Just five more minutes," she grumbles, rolling away with her back to him and shoving her head under the pillow. Maybe if she just acts like it's never time to get up, it never will be.

"Faith, if I let you have five more minutes of sleep, you'll beg five more minutes off me for the next two hours and we won't have time for a proper goodbye."

Throwing his arm around her, he pulls her in close so she can feel that his cock's hard. She's not anywhere near fully awake, but she can't help but lean sleepily into his caresses, defenseless against the potent combination of his fingers tweaking a nipple as he nuzzles her neck.

She reaches out with a clumsy hand to stroke the bony knob of his hipbone and then gives a tiny groan of surrender, turning over with a tired, little grunt and giving him her most disingenuous look as he looms over her with an intently lascivious glint in his eyes.

"Mr Wyndam-Pryce, I think that's totally inappropriate behavior for the workplace," she gasps, arching up so the underside of his cock caresses her belly. "Might have to report you to the Department of Labor for trying to take advantage of your employee."

"I'll give you time and a half," he offers, lowering his head to drag the flat of his tongue over one nipple, that's getting perkier by the second.

"Make it double time and give me Friday off and I'll think about it," she giggles, trying to pull him down for a proper kiss.

"I'll even bring you one of those sickeningly sweet caramel lattés you love so much," he whispers insinuatingly, before finally kissing her.

"I daresay you're trying to bribe me as well, counselor," she manages to choke out when she finally comes up for air.

"I daresay you might be right. Can you be bought, my charmingly obstreperous, willful girl?" The fact that his fingers are swirling gently around her clit might be holding some sway in her decision, too. Yeah, maybe.

She tilts her head dramatically for effect, thinking about it for a second. "Think so, Mr. W-P. I appear to be —how might you put it?" She giggles again and tries to school her features into something approaching stern. "'Eminently corruptible.'"

"Oh really? Shall I put that to the test, Faith?" And he looks so fucking serious she can't help but giggle one more time. Then she just wraps her arms around him and whispers in his ear, "Not now, Wes. Got more important things to do, don't we?"

He nods, sinking against her again so that as they kiss she can feel the solid, comforting weight of him against her, the light scatter of hair on his chest tickling her breasts, his thigh shifting between her legs, making her wince as a dozen memories of the night before surface.

He notices that. Of course he does.

"Well?" he murmurs, lifting up enough to be able to give her a wickedly teasing grin. "Did I fulfill my promise? Are you going to have a terribly uncomfortable flight home?"

"Yeah," she says, meeting his gaze squarely. "Going to want to spend it all standing up, the way my ass feels, but you know I don't mind." She drags her nails slowly down his back, watching his lips tighten as he bites back a moan. "Wouldn't want it any other way, Wes."

"Such a good girl," he says. "Always ready with the right answer."

"Not always," she laughs softly. "Depends on the question."

His hand slips between them, skittering over her belly and down between her legs. "And if I ask you if you're ready for me to fuck you, what would you say then?"

She knows she's wet, hell, she's been primed and ready all night while he kissed her and caressed her in her sleep. "You're about to find out the answer to that one," she hisses as he walks his fingers over her damp pussy before easily slipping two fingers inside.

"Yes," he drawls with just a hint of a smile. "I do believe you are. Unfortunately, I can't help but want to make you wait just a little longer this one last time..."

She can't help but roll her eyes a bit at that. Then roll her eyes a lot at his insinuating little chuckle.

"Wes, we're on a clock here," she reminds him meaningfully, tightening round his fingers. "If you loved me, you wouldn't make me wait."

"Ah, but maybe I make you wait, because I love you," he replies implacably, kissing the sulky line of her mouth. "Because then you pout and wriggle so delightfully."

"If you don't fuck me right now then I'm going to lie here and be all still and I'm not going to make a sound. I won't!" she adds at his skeptical look and then, because she realises she's dangerously close to having her bluff well and truly called, she cuts to the chase and snakes her hand down so she can wrap it around his cock in an uncompromising grip. "Fuck me now, please."

He carries on lazily thrusting his fingers in and out of her, never as deep as she wants him to go, never as fast, never as hard. "I'm still waiting for a pout and a wriggle, Faith, at the very least," he teases.

"Oh yeah? Well, two can play that game, Wes," she growls, doing her best to ignore the languid, deft motions of his fingers. She gently circles the head of his cock with two fingers, slicking it up, then lets her hand come to rest at the base. "You gonna fuck me? Or should I just keep going here? Wanna see you come undone, you know I do..."

"You're pushing me, Faith." His voice is low and there's no humor there.

"Oh, come on, you love it." She doesn't wait for an answer, just redoubles her efforts, speeding up along the length of him.

He smiles slowly, a little cruelly. "I do, I suppose. Now, stop being such an incorrigible brat and come here." He peels her fingers off his cock and places her hand resolutely on the small of his back. "Suppose I give in to your demands just this once, you greedy girl? Will you let it go to your head?"

"Nah, might let it go to yours, though. Now, you were saying?" She lifts her leg so he can slide inside her. She sighs, wrapping her legs around him and pulling him as close as she can.

There's some residual soreness inside her cunt, no matter how slicked it is but it adds a welcome edge to the arousal building up with every slow, lazy thrust of his hips.

Slow thrusts that don't seem to be speeding up at all...

"Wesley," she groans, clinging onto him and giving him a belated, unplanned pout and, yeah, the involuntary squirm he gets when he pauses and lifts an innocently enquiring eyebrow probably counts as a wriggle. "You feel – good, yes you do, but God, you're killing me here!"

"Back seat driver," he murmurs with a pained sigh and she'd give anything to know why, when he should be as disconsolate as she is, he's in such a fucking good mood today. "Is this better?"

His hand reaches up and captures one wrist, pinning it to the bed, then the other. When both her hands are held in place he gives her ten – she counts them – swift, hard strokes, leaving her starting the spiral up – or was it down? – to a climax she feels she's waited for, for long enough.

But ten aren't enough to get her there and when he stops and goes back to the gentle rocking of his hips, looking totally fucking smug, she glares indignantly at him.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Wes, I haven't actually come yet, so you know…" She pauses, wriggling her wrists experimentally under his grasp, and he responds by pushing them harder into the mattress while giving her another few solid thrusts at the same time. And one or the other was kind of expected -- but both at the same time leave her breathlessly struggling to get out the rest of the sentence.

"No, Faith, I don't know," he says with a feral smile. "Whatever are you trying to say?"

"Don't stop," she manages to finally get out, and she's seriously contemplating shoving him off her somehow and making her own damn coffee and waking up properly before they start in on anything else. "Was trying to tell you not to stop, and I swear if you do that again I'll..."

But the words are lost again as he does stop, the bastard, and then dips his head down, snagging one of her pert nipples between his teeth and sucking on it gently until she's flexing her cunt around his cock, trying in vain to wriggle underneath him -- anything to get him to start fucking her again.

"Wes..." she whimpers. "Please stop..."

His head springs up and he pins her with a mischievous look she'd give anything to be able to knock off his face. "Oh, so now you want me to stop..."

"No, that's not it at all," she mutters grumpily. "Keep fucking me, and stop fucking with me you ... big jerk!"

"That isn't really an effective way to get what you want," he explains patiently, treating her to another series of shallow thrusts that makes her grit her teeth and growl at him. "Contradictions." He rams into her deep and hard, brushing up against that twitchy bundle of nerves and pulling out before she's even had time to gasp. "Insults." Another toe-curling slam-dunk inside her. "Petulance." And this time when he slams inside her, she wraps herself tight round him, legs up round his waist, and man, he wanted wriggling. He's fucking going to get it.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," she chants, heels pushing against his ass, so he gets the message.

"Oh, well, if you're going to be like that about it," he shrugs and even that ophidian little move has her squirming and hissing.

"Wes, please, don't be mean," she pleads, trying to break free of his tight grip so she can kiss her way to a fast, furious fuck just this once.

"Americans do seem to have this unfortunate fixation on quantity over quality. Land of plenty and all that, I suppose," he muses casually, ignoring her neatly, as though she hasn't said a word.

God, he was infuriating. "You are a fucking tease, Wes. You really are," she rasps out, and before he can fling back a snappy retort she bites down roughly on his nipple. She doesn't wait for his gasp, just circles the responsive flesh slowly with her tongue, feeling the tiny shudder go through him, feeling it right down to the tip of his cock which is still deep inside of her. "That get your mind back on the matters at hand? Hmm?" And she finally frees one hand as his grip slackens and brings it down on his ass, prompting a grunt from him as he thrusts up inside her.

"You are wonderfully direct, Faith, and I thank you for that," he responds, breathlessly, as he starts fucking her in earnest now, releasing her pinioned wrists. No games, just want and need and nothing else to complicate it. She's still wrapped around him, and he around her, and it's something precious.

"Long as you don't ever take me for granted, Wes," she whispers against the hollow of his throat.

He stills against her momentarily, raising himself up so he can kiss her. "Never," and when he looks at her with that intense, blue-eyed stare she thinks her heart might stop beating in her chest. He must see her starting to tear up again, because he cuts her off with a whispered, "Shh, shh," and starts to thrust languidly against her again.

She barely manages to hold back the anguished wail that rises to her lips but she does. He'll just get off on that – not enough to reward her with what she wants, oh, no, but he'll love her despair that tells him so clearly how much she wants him, and even though she gets a not-so-secret kick out of gratifying all his little whims – mostly - right now her body's clamoring for something a little more selfish.

Like getting to come really, really soon and the hell with delayed gratification.

She draws on all her experience in being sneaky to get what she wants and relaxes completely, giving him a tremulous, pouting smile before allowing her eyes to flutter shut.

"I'm sorry, Wesley," she murmurs dulcetly. "Shouldn't be trying to boss you around. You take your time."

Her inner smile widens as she produces an artfully-stifled yawn that's perilously close to being real – fuck it, it is real given the scant hours of broken sleep she's had – and she peeks up at him through her lashes to see how he's dealing with the idea of her falling asleep mid-fuck.

"Oh, Faith," he says sadly. "And I was, given the state of your arse, planning not to administer a final, doubtlessly condign punishment. But you give me no choice."

Her eyes snap open at that. "I am kinda tender, Wes," she pleads, although she's already jumping four steps ahead to Wes getting so turned on by spanking her that she finally gets that fast, furious fuck she's been waiting for.

"I know," he says with a glint in his eye. "I made sure of that last night, remember? But I think perhaps I should just see for myself ..." He pulls out of her completely and fuck, his cock's so hard she doesn't know how he's been managing to play this endless waiting game with her. "Roll over, Faith."

With an infuriated hiss she flounces onto her stomach, bringing her hands up under her chin and making her body a long, stiff exclamation point of sheer frustration.

"Oh, that won't do at all," he chides her. "Relax, please –"

And if his words didn't have her automatically obeying him, the slow stroke of his warm, spread hand along the curve of her spine, to the back of her neck, would have done the trick.

She melts, pliant and compliant, and sighs out a surrender to the inevitable that is Wesley.

"I mean it this time," she says. "Not like you ever listen when I beg –"

"I assure you I listen with close attention."

"—never give me what I ask for," she amends, trying not to let herself start to stiffen up again. "So go ahead; make me wait, make me suffer."

"My poor, sweet darling," he purrs. "I'm not going to make you wait any longer at all."

"You're not?" she asks, lifting her head and trying to catch a glimpse of him.

"No. From what I can see of it, although it's certainly a little bruised here – and here –" His fingers press down lightly on the spot that took the brunt of his assault with the hairbrush and she gives an unfeigned ouch that has him chuckling softly. "I severely miscalculated and even if you hadn't been so very... bossy... I would have had to administer a few more spanks to send you home in a proper state."

Her hips are lifted and she feels a familiar tingle in her clit as he wedges a pillow under them, raising her ass in the air.

"So, no, Faith," he says pleasantly. "You're not going to have to wait for your spanking at all."

She spreads her legs as wide as they'd be if she were bent over his desk, arching her back and turning to smile at him over her shoulder.

He pauses, his hand already in the air as he kneels beside her, and his face softens. "And when it's over, Faith, I'm going to fuck you and you're going to come for me, aren't you, my beautiful, impatient darling? Yes, of course you are..."

His hand slices air and meets the exact spot his fingers pressed and she shudders as her cunt clutches eagerly at emptiness and her clit throbs.

Yes, she's going to come... but will he notice if it's twice?

Well, he's nothing if not observant, she thinks ruefully. But then, she doesn't much care if he notices or not. Not like he's going to spank her some more. Well, eventually, yeah, but that was a given.

She's determined to come soon, whether she's got Wes' express permission or not. In that respect, the addition of the pillow is wonderfully helpful, in that it gives her clit something to rub against surreptitiously while he rains blows down on her already-tenderized ass. At least he's alternating flat, open-palmed swats with gentle, massaging strokes that take some of the sting away.

Her skin is so tender that each lingering brush of his fingers over her skin ignites this spark, these little conflagrations, and she can't help letting out this needy little moan. He's so absorbed in what he's doing that he doesn't even notice that, nor does he see how she's bucking her hips ever-so-slightly against the welcome resistance of the pillow. God, she's practically humping the fucking thing —well, she's doing it delicately, but still. She's been on the edge of coming for so long that she's feverish, a little desperate, and she almost yelps out an agonized "finally!" when he raises his hand for one more blow and it comes to rest not on her poor, beleaguered ass, but between her legs. Instead she just arches against his hand and moans again.

"Are you ready, Faith?"

She smiles coyly at him, answering him only with the impertinent, upturned thrust of her ass and the heavy wetness between her legs.

"Was that an answer?"

"You leading the witness?" she asks, flippantly and possibly rhetorically. "You know what I want, Wes! God!" She hates how desperate she sounds.

He takes hold of her shoulders and carefully rolls her onto her back so she's facing him. She winces as her ass hits the sheets. He spreads her thighs wide open and guides his cock into her, ever-so-slowly, until she's almost crying out from the nervous, coiled-up tension. He's holding her there, legs parted, body exhausted, ass on fire (again), and here he is just taunting her with the hard promise of his cock.

"Fuck, Wes, please…" She's practically crying now. Through the haze of her welling tears, she can see he's smiling, just barely. But it's not one of his wicked smiles, his taunting smiles -- no. It's melancholy and the sheer force of the love and adoration behind his gaze is so fucking intense she almost has to look away. Instead, she just blinks slowly, sending rivulets of tears splashing to her cheeks. She doesn't even try to stop them, 'cause they're all she's got left. Words are gone, but she doesn't need to say anything either, not after he sweeps his thumb gently across each of her cheekbones and rubs the tears away.

“No tears now, my darling girl,” he whispers, voice cracking a little as he begins to slowly and gently thrust inside her. Those careful movements of his, which had driven her to frustration moments before begin to slowly bind up all of her wild need, distilling and focusing it down to the simple contrapuntal thrust and shimmy of her hips that meets each of his languid strokes.

For all the times she's screamed his name or bucked wildly under the pressure of his hands holding her down, holding her open, holding her together -- this, this moment distills each of those complex events down to the simplest denominator. It's fucking electric, the way they're joined together. A fleeting thought ripples through her mind and she realizes that practically every hair on her entire body is standing on end, quivering from the shared charge flowing between them. And it's not just where cock and cunt meet – it's everywhere they're touching, so that when his head drops to briefly lap at her nipples it's the beginning of the final spark that she knows will sends her careening over the edge.

She opens her mouth to moan, to say his name, but no sound emerges -- and they're both silent. There's no babbled stream of fragmented words, of oaths, of promises of love; just the synchronized rasps of each ragged breath they share; the quiet conversation that's passing between their eyes. And it almost seems a sacrilege to give that secret language a voice now.

But it's the final gentle upward tilt of her hips that triggers a release of the near-nuclear energy that's built up as the hot pressure of his come finally dislodges the scream of pure pleasure that's caught in her throat. Their quiet, still moment shatters as their bodies slam together -- hard, over and over, hips grinding and hands everywhere -- before he slumps against her, completely spent, only able to nuzzle her neck with a soft peppering of kisses, and everything is still again.



She's having to struggle against the post-fuck urge to sleep and really? Not doing a very good job of it.

Out of her almost-shut eyes, she sees Wes frowning down at her. "We need to get up."

"Hmmm," she mumbles, to show willing.

"You haven't even started to pack, unless strewing most of your clothes over the bedroom floor constitutes a system that I didn't know about," he muses, and she's grunting softly so he doesn't realise that she's sinking further into the pillow, snuggling down but maybe he does because his hand which has been trailing slowly up and down her hair suddenly stills.

"Faith," he says sharply. "I do hope you're not asleep when you have to be at the airport in just over two hours."

"Not..." She opens one eye. "Think I can get a later flight?"

"I doubt it very much," he says and she can tell he's wavering because he bites his lip for just one second before he's gently tugging her up so she's slumped against him. "Because you're my favorite girl, I'll forego the pleasure of washing you and let you have an extra fifteen minutes in bed while I shower."

And she does love standing still under the hot spray while his strong hands soap her up and get her clean, get her wet but she loves the thought of those extra fifteen minutes in bed on toasty sheets that smell like him. "You're my favorite too, Wes," she mumbles, disentangling herself from his arms and wriggling down under the covers again.

She can hear him moving around in the bathroom and she's got his routine down so that she knows without being there, that right about now he's rinsing his toothbrush and tapping it twice on the side of the sink before squeezing out a neat blob of minty-freshness – only Wes could make toothpaste behave – and now, yeah, there's the double creak of the shower door opening and closing, followed by the hiss of the descending water because he always – makes her shiver to think of it – steps under the shower without letting it warm up first, using that first chill blast to wake him up.

By the time he comes out and starts to dress she's well on her way back to sleep and she hears him sigh as he disappears. If he comes back with coffee in, like, five minutes he might just find her still able to prise open her eyes, but six minutes and he's so gonna be out of luck, she thinks, snuggling down.

"Faith!"

No way has he had time to even fill the coffee pot so she ignores him.

"Faith, get up. Now."

"Wes..." she says, using all her energy producing a whine that'll carry from the bedroom to the living room. "Coffee. Then I'll get up, I promise. Besides, it's cold."

"There's a robe lying across the bottom of the bed," he says, appearing in the doorway and giving her an espresso-strength glare that zings her awake. "Put it on and get your procrastinating, pretty arse into the shower."

"Have to pee first," she grumbles, sitting up and groping for the robe.

He rolls his eyes but has to give that a grudging nod of assent to that slight amendment to his down-to-the-last-detail plans for her. "Two minutes, Faith and then I want to hear the sound of you showering."

She's just washing your hands and squinting at her puffy-eyed reflection in the mirror (note to self: Faithy, stop going to bed with your make-up on) when she looks up to see him watching her from the doorway.

"I look totally gross," she moans, shoving her hands helplessly into her hair and then giving it up as a bad job.

"No you don't," he contradicts her softly. "Well you look like you've been well fucked and you have, haven't you, my darling?"

She gives him a little bump and grind before stretching luxuriously. "Hmmm, got that right, Wes. Now where's my coffee and why the fuck have you got that shifty look on your face?"

It's true. There's this enigmatic smile playing around his lips but he just shakes his head. "I don't know what you're talking about." he says with just a fraction of huff. "I want you in that shower in the next thirty seconds."

"But coffee..." she whines and he silences her with one of his patented perma-frost look which has her yanking open the door of the shower cubicle and scowling.

"Ten seconds now, Faith. And I want you out and dressed in ten minutes or well, you can forget about coffee and being able to sit down for the rest of the week."

She breaks all world showering records and as she scrubs and soaps, she tries to work out what devious little scheme he's been working on as a fitting goodbye. As she tugs on her jeans and pokes around for a clean t-shirt, she's got it narrowed down to either going out for some carbo-riffic breakfast or, please God, not taking her to the airport but taking care of all her messy loose ends back in Florida so she never has to leave.

But when he comes back into the bedroom and finds her groping under the bed for her last pair of socks, he doesn't do anything, just stands there until he clears his throat and drawls, "You've got forty seven seconds to put your sneakers on, Faith."

She manages it with three seconds to spare and she uses them up in glaring at him until he suddenly pulls out a black, silk scarf from the pocket of his jeans and holds it out to her. "I need to blindfold you," he says as if it's a perfectly natural start to the day. Which, actually, when it comes to them, it pretty much is.

"Fine, Wes, just as long as you take it off before I get on that plane," she admonishes, giggling when he swats her playfully on the ass by way of response to her question. "Hey!" she squeaks. "That's off-limits for the rest of this morning!"

"Are you questioning me, Faith?" He holds the scarf level and taut across her eyes and when he's standing so close, voice all wonderfully gruff and with that edge to it she loves so well, then no, she's sure as hell not questioning him.

"No, sir!" She swallows hard, wondering just what he's got in store for her in the next two hours before her cab shows up.

"Good," he says satisfactorily, pulling the silk across her eyes and securing it tightly behind her head. "Now, do you trust me?"

She's really dying of curiosity now. "Of course, you know I do."

"I've got one last surprise for you, my sweet girl," and his voice is low and insinuating and it certainly doesn't hurt that he leans in to place a lingering kiss to the back of her neck before taking her hand to lead her into the hallway. She tries to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other and not tripping over anything but of course he's careful and takes her on a perfect, uncorrupted path down the hall and out into the main room.

"You gonna show me the cool view, Wes? I love it and all, but I have to say, it's always kinda the same."

"Always?"

"Well, 'cept for the whole day and night thing, yeah, mostly."

He leads her to the window and places her hand on it. The glass is cold, ice cold, and her instinct is to flinch away but he holds her there, linking his fingers with hers.

"I remember the first time I called you from this city," he says. "I'd booked you into that rather dismal hotel and honestly I wasn't sure what was going to happen between us but I couldn't stop thinking about you –" He clears his throat. "It seems so long ago now."

"Does," she agrees, leaning back against him as the glass warms under their hands. "And, yeah, I remember you calling me. I was all snuggled down in bed and you were telling me about catching snowflakes on your tongue and a dog called Balto, and it sounded like you'd gone somewhere magical and left me behind. I wanted to be there with you so much, Wes."

"Well, now you are, Faith. And you always will be because we belong together," he says firmly, almost daring her to disagree.

"I know. Not going to argue with you about that but, like, why have you brought me over to the window when I can't see jackshit?" she asks him curiously. "It's kinda perverse, even for you."

"It is, rather. Be patient," he chides her and she even though she's blindfolded, she responds to the familiar movements of him helping her into her coat so she doesn't have to grope for the armholes like a total spaz. "That's better," he says, doing up her buttons and then she hears the click of the lock and the heavy slide of the French doors as he takes her hand and helps her down the step onto the balcony.

"You're not going to dangle me off it by my ankles, are you, Wes?"

"One more feeble joke like that and I won't remove the blindfold," he warns her so she has to purse her lips and he has to kiss them, lips soft against hers as she feels his fingers carefully unpicking the knot so it doesn't snag in her hair. She can't see anything but him and the blue of his eyes as the only point of colour and everything's been faded out to monochrome.

"One last thing to give you," he murmurs. "Look..." Then he turns her around so she can stare out at the city for one last time and she gasps in wonder at what's laid out before her.

"Snow..." she breathes.

"Indeed, my darling girl," he says, slipping behind her and folding her up in his arms, so they're both looking out at the view. It looks as though there's some giant hand in the sky gently dusting the entire park with a fine coating of powdered sugar, and it makes the bare branches of the trees look like sparkling lace against the grey sky.

"You really can order up anything, can't you?" she laughs, sticking out her tongue so that a few flakes land on the tip. "Damn. Doesn't taste like sugar at all. Totally misleading advertising."

"It's just frozen water, Faith -- you didn't actually think..."

She wriggles in his arms in annoyance, and he just squeezes her into an even tighter embrace. "Well, duh, no...but a girl can dream right? Considering the perfect timing, I thought this might be like, special snow or something."

"I assure you it's just the regular kind of snow, Faith. And yes, it's pretty now, but you're lucky, dearest -- you won't have to deal with slogging around the city in it tomorrow. Snow is never as pretty the second day..."

She elbows him in the ribs. "Hey, quit your bitching, Wes. This is like, supposed to be special and romantic and you're totally sucking all the fun out!"

He widens his eyes. "I am? How dreadful of me. Let me see... how can I put the fun back in?"

He lets go of her, steps back and before she's grasped what the hell he's up to, he's scooped up a handful of the snow, maybe an inch deep that's lying on the balcony rail, and molded it into a ball that he throws at her.

It smacks into her chest and disintegrates, fine sparkles of snow flying up into her face and melting wetly as they meet her warm skin.

She's gaping in outrage, lost for words, when the second one gets her high on the shoulder.

"Wes, you're dead!" she screeches, looking around for her own supply. "So very fucking dead..."

He's laughing too hard to dodge her hurled snowballs but her first attempt falls apart mid-air and the second is about the size of a golf ball.

"I think you need lessons, Faith," he says, walking over to her as she pouts and gives up. "And slightly more snow. Shall I promise to take you skiing, where you can not only have a mountain-sized heap to hurl, but the chance to put icy hands down the back of my neck, like this?"

She gets in one solid punch as his freezing fingers slide behind the collar of her coat and then he holds up his hands. "I'll stop," he says solemnly, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Well, that takes care of fun. What else was it you said it should be? Special and romantic?"

"Yeah," she says, giving him a challenging look. "Really should be."

His lips are quirked into a smile but there's a serious, almost searing look in his eyes that unnerves her enough that she takes a step back.

"You OK, Wes?" she asks him uncertainly and he strokes her cheek with freezing fingers.

"I'm fine, just fine," he assures her and now his gaze is nothing but tender. "I was just thinking of how to make this auspicious occasion romantic and special as ordered and I think I have just the thing."

She waits expectantly and he takes her hands in his and she's fighting back the giggles because he's come over so damn earnest all of a sudden.

"Faith," he says, his voice soft in the crisp, biting air. "Je t'aime." He pauses. "Now you say it back."

"Je t'aime, Wesley," she repeats obediently, and yeah, his French is all special and romantic and stuff but she wasn't really expecting an impromptu lesson.

"Je t'adore," he purrs and gives her hands a little shake, when it's her turn.

"Je t'adore."

"Je t'embrasse toi," he says, leaning forward and after she's stumbled through the pronunciation, he smiles. "Thank you, Faith, I don't mind if I do." And then he kisses her right there, high up above the city, and she only has to share him with the faint sprinkle of snowflakes drifting gently down on them.

"Very special and romantic," she decides and tries to pull in for another go but he's pushing her gently away.

"Ma fille chérie et belle, veux-tu m'épouser?" he asks, cupping her face in his hands, and when she opens her mouth to parrot it back to him, he shakes his head. "I just asked you a question; I'd very much like you to give me an answer."

She never paid any attention in French class, not ever. And she really doesn't know —word for word— what he's said. Couldn't break it down if he asked her. But she understands it on a different level —one that bypasses the brain and logic and makes her heart skip a beat. She must have an open-mouthed look of stupefaction on her face because Wes looks at her expectantly and takes her hand gently. "I don't mean to
put you on the spot, Faith, but—"

She laughs nervously, because she can't seem to form sentences just yet. She stammers out a "No, no, you're not, I just didn't expect… I didn't—" Then she smacks him squarely in the chest. "The other day, Wes! Did you—?"

He wraps his arms around her. "I did. That was just the dry run."

"Have I ever mentioned that you're a sadistic bastard?"

"Practically every day, my darling girl."

"Well, good. Wouldn't want you to forget or anything.”

"I expect I won't have a chance to."

"You bet your ass."

She gets a quirk of his eyebrow for that remark. "I'm still waiting for an answer. It's not going to be my arse that's on the line if I have to wait much longer."

And it's at that moment it all kind of starts to sink in. Despite the teasing, this isn't just some game, this is serious. He's serious. He's fucking deadly serious. Her ability to bounce back with a snappy comeback vanishes -- which is good, because -- oh, God, he's totally just asked her to marry him. The enormity of it all hits her squarely in the gut and she's slamming through a whole array of emotions one after the other and it's making her a more than little woozy. But luckily he's there, holding her up, keeping her steady on her feet.

She clamps her hand around his forearm though, just to be on the safe side.

"You..." She sniffles. Her nose is starting to get cold -- it's distracting her from the matter at hand, and she rubs it absentmindedly, looking past him, lost in thought. Well, not thought really. It's more like she's still internally freaking out, but none of that's made it to the surface yet. "You want to marry me?" she whispers, still not quite believing it.

"How many times must I ask you before you'll understand that I'm not kidding now, Faith?" he says, gravely and out of the corner of her eye, she can see him going pale and he's slightly shrinking back a little from her grasp. She remembers then, the last time he put his heart out on the line like this, wasn't exactly all sunshine and roses and happy endings.

Her attention snaps back to him and she smiles, relieved to see that it makes him look less anxious.

"You don't have to convince me of that, Wes. I know." And she's the one that pulls him close this time, stands on tiptoe so she can whisper in his ear. Because the word, the little tiny word she wants to tell him, seems much, much too enormous to say any louder than that.



THE END

The story continues in Part Seventeen, one of four stand alone fics.

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