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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 |
| Untitled A/W LJ Snippet by Mer Unrated Of all the things about Wesley, Angelus liked best the deliberate little shudder he gave before he went forth to make a fool of himself again. Shaking his shoulders tight instead of loose, back into the pouter-pigeon thrust-chested pose of overweening confidence. If he really were the Malvolio of a man he appeared to be, he wouldn't have to brace himself. But Wesley knew, underneath, just what he was. What gaping emptiness he was stretched tight over, ringing like a drum if you hit him just right. Pretending to be Angel, who pretended to be Superman, who pretended to be human. Pathetic didn't even come close. Angelus licked Angel's lips while Wesley went on and on about elegance and refinement and the importance of proper silverware, clear soup and cream soup and for all he knew they made a special spoon for blood. He entertained himself with visions of just what he could do with a silver butter knife and this precise man bent backwards over this precise table. Those ridiculous prancing, sashaying hips stilled at last, spread-eagled with his own tie, perhaps, or scraps of the mauve tablecloth. Or perhaps nothing at all. Angelus had the strangest notion that this man wouldn't even struggle if he took up Angel's hand, half-stretched across the tablecloth, and forced him down. Protest, yes, that upper class accent rising tight and high and fast till the words fell over each other like a frightened heartbeat. But Angelus could picture Wesley meeting his eyes for the first time, blushing a little like he always did when he was caught in one of his posturings. He was hooked on that, oh yes he was, though he'd never admit it. Wesley was weak but he wasn't stupid: he'd have given up his foolishness long since if it didn't give him what he needed: That little rush of humiliation that said yes, you see me. Angelus curved the borrowed lips into the ghost of a sweet smile. Oh, I see you. He could clear the table with a single sweep of his arm. People would start to scream and run then, the distant crash of china and crystal shattering all around them, and the sweet wine of women's screams, but far away, outside the bubble of concentration that he and Wesley shared. He would cut slowly, so slowly, give the other man plenty of time to realize what the rest of the restaurant's protesting staff and fleeing patrons must have seen: that Wesley was hard for him. Plenty of time for his cheeks to be stained red before he realized it was much, much worse than that: he was still alive. His idol hadn't found him worthy even to be a snack. And Wesley would have to live with being seen like that, seen through, every single day. Angel shifted in his seat and nearly groaned. He was sure there was some really good reason why he shouldn't be jerking off under the tablecloth. "What? Oh no. No, it's fine, Wes. don't worry." He rearranged his untouched food again and took another swallow of harsh red wine. "It's delicious." -End Feedback |