Ats - "Nothing to Lose" - PG13 (Wes/Lilah)
Title: Nothing to Lose
Author: dreamincolor
Fandom: Ats
Pairing: Wesley/Lilah
Genre: Angst/Romance
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Innuendo, and a bit of skin.
Summary: 'It's not always about holding hands.' -Wesley, S4 E16
Word Count: 1054
Disclaimer: All the things that make money belong to Joss.
Beta'd by: wehavedental
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It was painfully quiet, the kind of too quiet that at first seemed almost too loud. The silence of Wesley's empty apartment pressed in on his eardrums like the blare of a single, monotonous tone, and he cursed himself for never investing in a TV of his own, if only for voices in the background to ignore.
Wesley's free hand reached to pour himself another glass of scotch, brushing past an unshaven cheek as he lifted the drink to his lips. His eyes roamed across the book laying open in his lap, tracing the text with his eyes. Over and over the same sentence, over and over the same line. Over and over, but nothing seemed to stick.
It was uncanny how the second he had time and quiet, unbothered and without obligation, he couldn't concentrate. It was too quiet, and left room for an unrelenting ache that had started in the base of his chest weeks ago, and had not faded since.
A single monotonous ache, a single monotonous tone. An inability to focus.
So it didn't take much to pull his eyes from the page when from across the room, Wesley heard a kind of creaking. With a frown, he closed the book in his lap.
It was the sound of a key turning in an old deadbolt, and the squeak of ungreased hinges. Feminine shoes tapped out his uninvited guest’s movements as she stepped through the front door, raising a brow derisively. "Research, Wes? At this hour? You really don't have any friends, do you?"
Wesley closed his eyes, frown deepening as the voice across the room continued; light, and irksomely familiar. "It's different when you're, you know, studying up to save the world, but once you start doing it on the weekends just to entertain yourself.."
Mechanically, Wesley poured himself another glass. ”I didn’t let you in.” His voice felt almost foreign, too rasped and rough to be his own.
Silhouetted against a window full of moonlight, Lilah’s slender torso slid out of a jacket, hanging it on the door. Scarlet lips were in a smirk. ”I have a key.”
He knew he hadn't misplaced the damn thing. "They teach you pick-pocketing in law school?"
There was a characteristic slink to her step as she crossed the room, heels clicking with the sway of her hips. "Not in the strictest sense."
”Get out.”
She slid down into the space beside him, shifting near until their thighs touched. A delicate-looking, carefully manicured hand moved to lift the glass right out of his and raise it to her own, smiling lips. ”Thank you Wesley, I’d love a drink. Hard day at work, trouble with the boss..nice of you to ask.” She tilted her head back, draining his drink dry in a single motion. The glass clicked against the table as she licked her lips clean, skirt inching up her thigh as it shifted against his.
Something clenched low in his stomach, and Wesley's eyes fell to the floor, features tensed into a scowl as he shifted. He didn't need to look to know that her lips were twitching up in a smirk, a silent laugh at how easy it was to make him uncomfortable.
Then she was eyeing the book in his lap, lifting it from him and fingering the binding as she read, “Rasselas, by Samuel Johnson." Her nail tapped against the cover page, eyes narrowed in mock concentration, "Now, wasn't he the one that said, 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions'?" The book landed on the coffee table in front of her with a thud, her voice silky. "Now, isn't that fitting."
He felt his frown deepen.
"Careful there lover, you strain your face like that.." Lilah’s fingertips reached to streak down his cheek, long nails dragging over his skin, down his jaw line. "You just might pop that little nick in your neck open, and bleed all over my brand new blouse." Her eyebrows arched, smile widening as her hand continued down, "That would be terribly unfair, considering the stain you left on my last one-“
His fingers dug viciously into her wrist as he snatched her hand away from him, forcing her long nails from the tender cut slanting his neck. He could feel the pulse in her arm speed up when he spoke, his fingers digging into soft skin. “Lilah..” His voice was the low, dangerous warning of a man with nothing, and something in the pair of pale, perfectly painted eyes before him flickered with fear, the lawyer’s lips parting to let out a short, shuddering breath.
But the very smell of her, the feel of her body so close to his, it was enough to evoke memories - things she’d said, things she’d done, things no other woman had ever..
Lilah’s free hand moved in a slow, cautious stroke up his thigh, her breathing hitched as she leaned her body in nearer to him, her chest brushing his, and her breath beating in a slow, soft pant against his lips.
And then he was kissing her, and they were colliding like they always did - too eagerly, too strong. Their mouths moved together in a frenzied clash of tongue and teeth, in a kiss too passionate to be smooth, and her hands were working the buttons of his shirt free even as he pushed her onto her back; his body pressing hers into the cushions beneath them.
She reacted instantly, instinctively, like she always did - pressing her body in closer to his, legs opening to let him between. His glasses had fallen crooked on his face, and almost thoughtfully she pulled back long enough to pluck them from the bridge of his nose and toss them onto the table; the world around him becoming pleasantly out of focus.
And it was always then, when they were half-way to the inevitable and he could smell her perfume and feel her body molding to his, and she was clawing desperately at the buttons of his shirt and he at hers, as they raced to vulnerability - that he realized it didn’t matter. That could kick her out or they could fuck all night, but either way nothing would change - because it didn't matter what people like them did in the dark.
No one was waiting on them, and they had nothing to lose.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Nominated at round two of the Absence of Light Awards for best het.
Nominated at round five of the Running with Scissors Awards for best het.
Nominated at round nine of the Rogue Poet Awards for best het.
Author: dreamincolor
Fandom: Ats
Pairing: Wesley/Lilah
Genre: Angst/Romance
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Innuendo, and a bit of skin.
Summary: 'It's not always about holding hands.' -Wesley, S4 E16
Word Count: 1054
Disclaimer: All the things that make money belong to Joss.
Beta'd by: wehavedental
_________________________________________________________________________________
It was painfully quiet, the kind of too quiet that at first seemed almost too loud. The silence of Wesley's empty apartment pressed in on his eardrums like the blare of a single, monotonous tone, and he cursed himself for never investing in a TV of his own, if only for voices in the background to ignore.
Wesley's free hand reached to pour himself another glass of scotch, brushing past an unshaven cheek as he lifted the drink to his lips. His eyes roamed across the book laying open in his lap, tracing the text with his eyes. Over and over the same sentence, over and over the same line. Over and over, but nothing seemed to stick.
It was uncanny how the second he had time and quiet, unbothered and without obligation, he couldn't concentrate. It was too quiet, and left room for an unrelenting ache that had started in the base of his chest weeks ago, and had not faded since.
A single monotonous ache, a single monotonous tone. An inability to focus.
So it didn't take much to pull his eyes from the page when from across the room, Wesley heard a kind of creaking. With a frown, he closed the book in his lap.
It was the sound of a key turning in an old deadbolt, and the squeak of ungreased hinges. Feminine shoes tapped out his uninvited guest’s movements as she stepped through the front door, raising a brow derisively. "Research, Wes? At this hour? You really don't have any friends, do you?"
Wesley closed his eyes, frown deepening as the voice across the room continued; light, and irksomely familiar. "It's different when you're, you know, studying up to save the world, but once you start doing it on the weekends just to entertain yourself.."
Mechanically, Wesley poured himself another glass. ”I didn’t let you in.” His voice felt almost foreign, too rasped and rough to be his own.
Silhouetted against a window full of moonlight, Lilah’s slender torso slid out of a jacket, hanging it on the door. Scarlet lips were in a smirk. ”I have a key.”
He knew he hadn't misplaced the damn thing. "They teach you pick-pocketing in law school?"
There was a characteristic slink to her step as she crossed the room, heels clicking with the sway of her hips. "Not in the strictest sense."
”Get out.”
She slid down into the space beside him, shifting near until their thighs touched. A delicate-looking, carefully manicured hand moved to lift the glass right out of his and raise it to her own, smiling lips. ”Thank you Wesley, I’d love a drink. Hard day at work, trouble with the boss..nice of you to ask.” She tilted her head back, draining his drink dry in a single motion. The glass clicked against the table as she licked her lips clean, skirt inching up her thigh as it shifted against his.
Something clenched low in his stomach, and Wesley's eyes fell to the floor, features tensed into a scowl as he shifted. He didn't need to look to know that her lips were twitching up in a smirk, a silent laugh at how easy it was to make him uncomfortable.
Then she was eyeing the book in his lap, lifting it from him and fingering the binding as she read, “Rasselas, by Samuel Johnson." Her nail tapped against the cover page, eyes narrowed in mock concentration, "Now, wasn't he the one that said, 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions'?" The book landed on the coffee table in front of her with a thud, her voice silky. "Now, isn't that fitting."
He felt his frown deepen.
"Careful there lover, you strain your face like that.." Lilah’s fingertips reached to streak down his cheek, long nails dragging over his skin, down his jaw line. "You just might pop that little nick in your neck open, and bleed all over my brand new blouse." Her eyebrows arched, smile widening as her hand continued down, "That would be terribly unfair, considering the stain you left on my last one-“
His fingers dug viciously into her wrist as he snatched her hand away from him, forcing her long nails from the tender cut slanting his neck. He could feel the pulse in her arm speed up when he spoke, his fingers digging into soft skin. “Lilah..” His voice was the low, dangerous warning of a man with nothing, and something in the pair of pale, perfectly painted eyes before him flickered with fear, the lawyer’s lips parting to let out a short, shuddering breath.
But the very smell of her, the feel of her body so close to his, it was enough to evoke memories - things she’d said, things she’d done, things no other woman had ever..
Lilah’s free hand moved in a slow, cautious stroke up his thigh, her breathing hitched as she leaned her body in nearer to him, her chest brushing his, and her breath beating in a slow, soft pant against his lips.
And then he was kissing her, and they were colliding like they always did - too eagerly, too strong. Their mouths moved together in a frenzied clash of tongue and teeth, in a kiss too passionate to be smooth, and her hands were working the buttons of his shirt free even as he pushed her onto her back; his body pressing hers into the cushions beneath them.
She reacted instantly, instinctively, like she always did - pressing her body in closer to his, legs opening to let him between. His glasses had fallen crooked on his face, and almost thoughtfully she pulled back long enough to pluck them from the bridge of his nose and toss them onto the table; the world around him becoming pleasantly out of focus.
And it was always then, when they were half-way to the inevitable and he could smell her perfume and feel her body molding to his, and she was clawing desperately at the buttons of his shirt and he at hers, as they raced to vulnerability - that he realized it didn’t matter. That could kick her out or they could fuck all night, but either way nothing would change - because it didn't matter what people like them did in the dark.
No one was waiting on them, and they had nothing to lose.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Nominated at round two of the Absence of Light Awards for best het.
Nominated at round five of the Running with Scissors Awards for best het.
Nominated at round nine of the Rogue Poet Awards for best het.