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| a.connor a.doyle a.lindsey a.oz a.spike a.wesley a.xander a.other three.somes het.fic character.study |
| Title: A Moment's Breath Author: Cipher Muse Pairing: Angel/Wesley Rating: R Setting: Early seasons AtS The sun has set, the moon has risen, and the candles in Wesley's room flicker gently with the evening breeze. Angel sits on the windowsill and smiles at the knowledge that he is invited. The candles are a nice touch; failure to pay electric bills translated to romance of a sort. Wesley Wyndham Price lies twisted inelegantly amongst sheets soaked with the sweat of bad dreaming. He has been asking for something, but is unaware of the answer sitting so cold and silent a few feet from his bed. Smooth as shadow and twice as terrifying, Angel slips onto the bed and begins the slow process of untangling Wesley from his bedclothes. The blue and white striped cotton pajamas remind Angel of the add he has seen for a British children's program featuring pajama-clad bananas. Terribly fitting, for Wesley. And the analogy of ripe fruit seems appropriate when he gazes on Wesley's nakedness when they've been removed. Maybe the cool fingers on his buttons wake him, maybe it is the whispered greeting Angel belatedly gives, but finally Wesley opens his eyes and blinks myopically up at his employer. "Angel? Why are you...mmmm...ahhh", and he seems to have gotten the idea. He tries to kiss Angel back, but misses and strikes Angel's nose rather painfully instead. Angel can't help but laugh. At the sound Wesley whimpers apologetically and simply lies still, pursing his lips hopefully. Wesley is unbelievably cute. So pathetic, so human. He tries, really tries to be cool and slick, never knowing Angel's had all the cool and slick he can stand. It reminds Angel a little of Xander and an itch he never got to scratch. And if Angel can't bite into Wesley, taste his sweet blood, Angel is going to nibble and gnaw all over his body and wallow in the flavor of that smooth salty skin. Wesley does not protest, only moans and whimpers a little as Angel shows him what it was Wes' been craving for so long. Reveals to him in staggered increments just what it is to lie naked before a desiring gaze, in a wanton sprawl that begs for touch. To forget the helpless, useless attempts at posing. Shows him why he wore the chafing leather and what exactly it was he wanted when he postured for Angel. The rogue demon hunter has vanished, as has the upper-class nitwit. Wesley writhes pliant and aching, his dripping hard cock almost ignored as he relishes the contact of Angel's mouth on his chest, belly, legs. He has not been touched for months, not hugs, not kisses, not even a handshake. His flesh drinks in the contact with Angel's cool skin and slightly warm mouth in liquid abandon. He has never felt like this before. Never been so joyously helpless. Angel's been in love a few times, felt passion many. Wesley's not Doyle, with whom attraction was flavored with a certain kinship. He's not Buffy, seeding the lonely earth of Angel's fantasies with hope of a family and a place in the world. The unsafe soul hunger Xander's foolish courage and sensual instincts engendered has no place here. Angel's not in love. But he loves. Loves Wesley, because Wesley needs him. And Xander hates him, Doyle is... gone. Buffy has moved on to the future Angel hoped would belong to them both. Spike the wild child of his miss-spent demon-haunted years is too close to damnation for him to approach. But Wesley is here and warm-blooded. And Angel loves. What Wesley feels is all too plain in his sighs and submission. There is a certain impersonality in the way he yields himself. Angel is strong, handsome, heroic. Angel is male, and Wesley's first. Wesley Wyndham Price will fall in love. He could no more refrain from falling in love with Angel now than he could hide his attraction to Giles from Angel's eyes in the long hot spring days in the Sunnydale High Library. Angel will touch him, and he will fall into pieces, each one a gift to his lover. And Angel is not in love, but he will take each gift, and he will be as kind as he can be. He knows too much, he is far too old not to treasure each moan and slip of dampened skin. Time will flow, and Wesley will age so quickly. The taut skin he suckles will so soon wrinkle and fade. There cannot be enough adoration of this fleeting beauty. He loves, and he is not in love, and he will not let Wesley go to waste. -End Feedback |