velvetwhip (velvetwhip) wrote in bigbadfic, @ 2007-07-13 06:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | author: velvetwhip, spike/wesley |
Drabble: There Are No Martyrs Here (Spike/Wesley) FRT-13/PG-13
Yes, it's very early in the morning, but I awoke about an hour ago and couldn't get back to sleep so I am posting this drabble. It is a thank you gift to the lovely hotspur18 for creating a nifty piece of Willow/Angel art (sorry, it's f-locked, but believe me when I say it's super swell) with me in mind. I hope this tribute to your OTP pleases you, my dear!
Gabrielle
Title: There Are No Martyrs Here
Author: Gabrielle
Pairing: Spike/Wesley
Rating: FRT-13/PG-13
Word Count: 204
Summary: *Set after Fred's death* Some questions are best not asked.
Feedback: Please.
Distribution: My LJ, my IJ, and my site only.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. It all belongs to Joss and a bunch of other people who are not now and have never been me.
Author's Notes: This was written for hotspur18, with gratitude and esteem.
There Are No Martyrs Here
He didn’t set out to seduce the man. Hell, he’d never really thought of him that way. Well, maybe once or twice he’d wondered, but Spike sized up everyone like that, even people he wouldn’t touch if his unlife depended on it. It didn’t mean anything; it didn’t mean anything at all. But here they were.
Wesley was a good lover, even drunk his hands were precise, and Spike had so many questions he wanted to ask: questions about why he was here, with him; questions about Fred and whether this was just a way to ease the pain or if it was Spike’s skin he was touching with those hands, Spike’s lips his mouth moved over in that way that was so much more sure than Spike could yet believe; questions about the other men who must have come before him; questions about Angel. Yes, there were so very many questions.
He wouldn’t ask them, though - not now, not ever, not even if this was just the first, not the last and only night they shared a bed and their bodies with each other. He didn’t really want the answers. He just wanted to dwell in the dream of what might be true.
The End.