velvetwhip (velvetwhip) wrote in bigbadfic, @ 2007-07-26 19:59:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | author: velvetwhip, spike/wesley |
Drabble: Sometimes Late When Things Are Real (Spike/Wesley) FRT-13/PG-13
Title: Sometimes Late When Things Are Real (companion piece to There Are No Martyrs Here)
Author: Gabrielle
Pairing: Spike/Wesley
Rating: FRT-13/PG-13
Word Count: 281
Summary: *Set after Fred's death* What you never saw coming needn't be repented.
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. I hope this does no violence to your cherished Wesley. I tried my best.
Sometimes Late When Things Are Real
He didn’t understand how he’d gotten here, but he was grateful all the same. There was something about how unexpected this was that made it...forgivable somehow for him to be with Spike on the eve of Fred’s horrific death. Since he never saw it coming, it was as if it were being done to him, and he was free to take his comfort...and pleasure.
Of course, he had to ignore the fact that Spike’s uncertainty had put him in the driver’s seat, so to speak, but that was easy to do. He was drowning in the thrill of being impressive, basking in the glow of Spike’s gasps and moans and all too willing to gloss over the implicit almost-insult of Spike’s obvious surprise at Wesley’s facility as a lover. It was too wonderful after all this time to be appreciated for something more exciting than being book smart and dependable. And if that was an insult to Fred’s memory and his friendship with Angel, he’d have time to feel guilty about that while he was nursing tomorrow’s hangover. But not now.
He could hear the wheels turning in Spike’s head when it was over and they were basking in a shockingly bright sort of afterglow. He enjoyed knowing that Spike had questions, and that he was intimidating enough somehow to keep a feared vampire from asking them. It was almost more healing than the sex was and he knew that fact, too, was something he would think about and worry over later. For now, though, he would rest, and let the glow of being something that he’d never been keep the sorrow at bay for as long as it could.
The End