 |
| a.connor a.doyle a.lindsey a.oz a.spike a.wesley a.xander a.other three.somes het.fic character.study |
| Title: The Swan's Song Author: Kassie Pairing: A/Wes Rating: Hard R Setting: S2 Sit. Need to sit down. That way she won't see my knees buckling and scent victory. Velvet, the people who decorated this place had taste. "I mean, hello, that deathwish might not just kill him. What if he gets attacked by, like, fifteen pissed- off demony things, and I am there?" I think she might be serious. Gotta beat a hasty retreat. "I'm going to bed." "What? Wait, no, that is totally not even a surprise. I mean, you have been up nearly five hours, it must be nap time. I was only about to try to talk to you about painting down here. Maybe changing the wallpaper in the room I use·" Holy mother!!!!! Leg is on fire. Mine. Not on fire, singed some. Must have dozed off and dropped my cigarette. Couldn't have been wearing another pair of trousers. Favourite pair, lambs wool. Never going to be able to find another pair exactly like them since that emphysemic tailor died. "Burnt your pants, did you?" Voice wafting in from the adjacent room. The bath. "You could have woken me up or put my cigarette out before I ignited myself." What was I thinking about before? Something about painting. Shift my eyes about the room. No, we just had the plasterers and painters in here a few months ago. Smoke hasn't even altered the white to ivory yet. Drink. Must have been getting another drink. Need about seven more. Three Penny Opera. Three sheets to the wind to not walk out during the first scene. Modern theatre. Drivel and dreck. Drink and then change. Wait, no, I was going to bed. World tilts one degree towards the horizon. Wrong. Something wrong with the room. Quick inventory. Persian carpet, mauve, gold, cerulean, honey folding in upon themselves and spiralling out again. Oxblood armchair. Armchairs, two. Matched set. Brass rivets glinting back the light thrown from the fireplace. Alabaster mantle. Radio humming out "Carnival of the Animals". The Swan's Song. Empire hutch we use as a bar, cut crystal decanters and glasses. Right, I was getting a drink. Carpet still has the nap from being cleaned. Decadent brush to my bare toes. Might have to turn on the rad, air is brisk for in-doors. Might have to put on socks. Falling falling into a miasma of off. Something is nudging me. Makes me dizzy and confused. Brace my hands on the hutch and steady myself. Fill my lungs rhythmically. "You might·" Heart in my throat, pulse trying to break through my skin. But there are fingers now, threading through mine and others stroking concentric circles on the inside of my hip. Pulse switching the gear on the staccato from the sting of fear to the quickening of need. "Did I scare you?" Vibrato in the shell of my ear. Heat spreads from the echo to my face and further down my body. "Didn't you hear me come in," lime and dust. Wesley essence. His smell. Usually partially mine as well. "I was just saying that I believe you may have·" deft fingers sliding under my braces, rolling them off my shoulders "·the sleeping sickness. No reason for you to get out of bed again, love." Lips, tongue, incisors at the nape of my neck. Reach my right hand back to fit him to me, close the void between our bodies. "No. Just helping you change your pants so we can leave." Pirouette in his embrace. Flash of hot rage at his incessant teasing, constant lately and spraining my nerves. Flame in his eyes dancing above the smirk. "Tsk, tsk. Don't get your blood up. I was only having you on." So sure of himself, and me. He knows me like·Because we have been together·something hovering there, some thought I want to scrabble for. Tips of his fingers are bony, digging into my chin, my cheek. Wrenching my head up to look at his face. Frustration. Vexation. Concern. "Liam, really, I think·" Sinew and bone beneath my hands contorting in shock, in pain. Might be cutting off the circulation in his lower arms. "What. Did. You. Call. Me?" Confusion bleeding to wrath. "Your bloody name!" Breaks my grip. One step back, personal spheres broken apart. "You're bizarre behaviour is weighing on me. Tell me what is wrong." Gliding and kneading his own hands over the bruises I know I left. "Do you want to leave me?" Voice like shattering ice. A piece splintering directly into my soul. Only one answer. Only one answer today, yesterday, tomorrow, ever. Ever. Whip out both arms to sieze him to me. Urge to bite him, feel him under my skin, in me, part of me, completing me. Terrifying in its normalcy. Claiming in another way will suffice for now. Taste of lime to partner the scent. Linen giving way to skin and hair. Ping of a cufflink hitting the fireplace grate. Moaning and lurching from my lover, my love "·another unwearable pair of pants. Need to mend·" timber alteration, loss of meaning as my thumb traces down the artery on he underside of his cock. Straining to bursting, blood humming to me. "Wes, I won't ever leave you." Mouth on mouth. Him eating my words, tongue sweeping the line where my lips end and my face begins as I speak. Nudging me back with his legs, hips, chest. Shucking me from my shirt. Hand to the diaphragm, knocking me off balance into the chair. My chair. Chill now to my bare skin, arch my back away from the leather while he yanks once and has my pants somewhere else, not on my body. On his knees between mine, let the muscles in my neck go lax, rest my head on the back of the chair. Can't watch. Makes me come so fast. Nips to my pelvic bone, to my hip. Two wet fingers jutting stroking *there * skin beneath my balls *that place*. Control ebbing away. What he wants. What we both need. "Please. Wes. Just hurry." Coil my fingers in his hair, tug tug thrust, know he hates it, but· "I'll say anything, just tell me what." Torturous fingers encircling me now, and his tongue, stabbing at the hole, once, twice, dip down lick what had already leaked out from there·shouldn't have opened my eyes *right * then "Wes, you·" both hands on his head, but he takes me all in then as the white stars cascade behind my eyelids. "·fifteen, twenty minutes. Who knows. Uh huh, me too." Phone slamming down into its cradle. Feel it in my molars. Click, click, click of heels on the floor, coming my way. "Ok, wanna tell me about that dream?" Peel my eyes open, and she is in my space. Maybe a foot away, almost touching my legs. Bristling, face screwed up in some flavour of anger. Feel like something is travelling away from me, something right past when my fingers end and the rest of the world lays. Stretches me out that much more, getting thin in the middle now, not just the edges. "Look, just don't dream about killing Wesley when he is around. Like I need to deal with that." Her back receding now. Her voice didn't fit to the words. Fear. Bravado, bravada in her case? Think I'll head up-stairs. -End Feedback |