Eaten by Weasels (eatenbyweasels) wrote in ebw_buffyslash, @ 2008-03-22 16:11:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | 12, 15, 500 words and under, angst, humour, non-con, wesley/andrew, wesley/angel, wesley/lindsey |
3 Wesley Drabbles: Wesley/Andrew, Wesley/Lindsey, Wesley/Angel. Up to 15
Three very different Wesley Drabbles. First a Wes/Andrew, dark/humour (sort of!), for deborahmm, then a light Wes/Lindsey for killer_weasel, and finally a decisively dark Wes/Angel for willshenilshe.
Rose’s Lime
Breakfasts in English summer gardens, lulling drone of clumsy bees...how evocative a gift. Imbued now with smug reminders of past failures, falling from the lips of this ridiculous, unknowing child. Thank you, Rupert. And in return...
Wesley traces his finger inside, around the little shelf of jewelled absinthe the spoon always seems to miss. He should send this last, significant remnant back to Rupert, stuffed up his precious boy’s ruined arse.
No. Wesley smiles and licks his finger clean. Rose's Lime; just too delectable to waste on petty gestures. And besides, the boy will scream more prettily, taken dry.
Your Choice of Topping
"Delivering pizzas, I see, Mr MacDonald. How very enterprising. Evil no longer paying the rent, I take it?"
He walks in, past me , wearing what Gunn would term a "shit-eating" grin and casts the flat, greasy box onto the coffee table.
"Ain't all I deliver, Mr Wyndham-Pryce." he drawls, lazy blue eyes flashing impudence through fallen strands of a deceptively expensive haircut.
I turn to guard the privacy of my wallet as I make to extract the required payment. And when I turn around again, that grin is *all* Mr MacDonald is wearing....
Saucy rogue! I fear the pizza will go cold. Again.
Sure
Fred’s sure Wesley’s still “all there”, in his head. Helpless, voiceless, reduced to wasted, stirring limbs and hollow eyes. But so aware of all the love around him. When Wesley grips her hand, Fred’s sure of it.
She’s watched the quiet peace in Angel’s face when he talks to, touches Wesley. He alone bathes him, wakes to turn him, sleeps beside him. Fred idly wonders if they still make love. Yes, she’s sure of it.
“Who did this to you?” her mind still begs of her broken, silenced friend. Never dreaming his last words were “ Angel, I’m leaving you.”