This story is a variation off a series of stories written by Chlare. The original idea is credited to her. I don't know if this will be confusing or not without having read hers...
Never Fade
It would always fade.
Anything he did, any mark he made, it would all fade. He could - and did - do it nearly every night. Pressed the cool metal to Angel's chest and watched as it burned. By morning the mark would have lightened. By that night it would have disappeared altogether.
When he was forced to leave for two weeks he did so in despair. The mark would fade and not be replaced. Fade away to nothing and the inexplicable fear flooded in that surely Angel would follow. That Angel's love would vanish along with the marks the binded them.
When he came back he found himself tossed over Angel's shoulder before a word could be spoken and packed upstairs. He didn't protest. Didn't protest as Angel ran long missed fingers over him, stripping him of clothes and skimming over the still faint burn on his own chest. His at least would remain.
His own hands skated over Angel's chest, loosening buttons to push the fabric of his shirt aside. Dark red of a cross burned into skin stared back at him. His mark, still there, still fresh.
Angel dangled a matching cross to Wesley's own before him at the look of confusion and smiled.
"I'd never let it fade."