Same Old Wes
Title: Release
Fandom: Angel the Series
Pairing: Wes/Faith
Word Count: 1,139
Rating: R/NC-17
Spoilers: Up to AtS 4.14 "Release"
Written for novin_ha who asked for Wes fic, particularly with Faith in either a shippy or non shippy way. Sorry it took me so long.
The drive from LA had sped by in a sort of daze, filled with purpose and a sense of going in the right direction. The drive back was long. Inspiration had faded and uncertainty, about aiding and encouraging a convicted murderer (who had in fact tortured him remorselessly) in escaping from prison, was starting to set in. So time seemed to extend out in front of them, in some says still a relief compared to what awaited them back in LA, but still filled with apprehension.
Faith messed with his radio without asking, and it seemed pointless to argue with her about it. A few short years in prison were not likely to have erased the contrary nature that would only push harder if one resisted. A small voice in the back of Wesley’s head commented that those years had changed just about everything about him. Sometimes the scar across his throat still bothered him, though he tried not to pay it any mind.
The gas station was filthy, and Wesley was somewhat skeptical about Faith’s claim that she was going to get something edible out of the store inside, but he told her he’d be in to pay for it in a minute anyway. The Enter button on the ATM machine was so well used that one had to press it half a dozen times for the effort to register. Gas was terribly overpriced, but that was less of a concern since he’d been taking clients on his own.
Part of him expected Faith not to be inside, but she was. Something edible turned out to be an assortment of cakes and chips wrapped in aluminum and unlikely to decompose any time in this decade. It was accompanied by a cheap pack of cigarettes that she probably was going to smoke, in his car, without even rolling down the window. He purchased it all anyway.
He went to go close the gas tank and put things in the car and when he returned, she was leaning against the wall, smoking, body arched like a predator in wait She held the package out, an offer. He shook his head.
“Same old Wes…” she almost chuckled.
A year ago that would have irked him, but the notion of his being the same man as she’d known and defied back in Sunnydale was almost funny. Without thinking about it, he reached up to rub the scar across his neck.
Faith’s eyes darted towards the movement; she stepped forward and traced the line with her index finger.
“Fallout for my Thirty Pieces of Silver.” He told her and turned to head back to the car. It was a long drive, and they’d already wasted too much time.
He felt her pulling him back, as surreal as everything else about this trip. Her mouth was hot and needy, demanding. Fucking against gas station walls was not what he came here for. Her hands were at his pants though, brooking no argument, and he was a man like any other. Commanding, rough, slayer strength, she was nothing like the languid catlike purr of Lilah’s seductions. He choked back the thought and slid his hands up Faith’s shirt instead.
The uneven plaster dug into his back as he pressed against it for better leverage, Faith wrapped an arm around his shoulders to lift herself up, only to sink back down onto him. Her nails dug into his skin as she slowly exhaled and then began to use her supernatural strength to take control were other women could not. Obviously she liked what she was doing, as she clenched around him, and he certainly wasn’t going to complain, except that he wasn’t ready for this to be over yet.
She moaned when he grasped her hips and turned around, pressing her up against the wall, where he had been a moment before. She resisted his control, but she could have stopped him if she’d wanted so it seemed more of a game than a serious attempt. He held most of her body in place as he look her slowly and deliberately, every so often using one hand to tease a nipple or reach down towards her clit.
Then Faith shifted ever so slightly, changing the feel of her body around him and Wes found himself pressing her hard against that wall, patience gone and the urge for release suddenly dominant. He bit into her shoulder to stifle any sound and his hand worked in time with the rest of his body, letting her reaction press him past the barrier. Still panting he lowered her back to the ground and re-buttoned his pants.
Faith shook her head as she did the same, “Fuck Wes, if I’d have known you’d be any fun, I would have done that ages ago.”
“Would that have been before or after the torturing?” he replied snidely, heading back to the car.
“Dunno. Maybe both.” Faith shrugged, climbing into the passenger seat and lighting a cigarette.
Wes rolled down her window and flipped off the radio. Reality seemed to be setting back in faster than he would have liked. He did not vocalize his planned reply about how fucking her brains out clearly would have served as a better strategy for him as a Watcher than anything he’d actually tried when that had been his job. Sex and respect were not exactly linked in Faith’s mind, and the less said about this incident the easier working together was likely to prove.
This left him wondering why she’d decided, after all this time, to try it out. Was she trying to diminish his relevance, or was he just that unimportant to her? He told himself to stop acting like a girl and focus on the task at hand. This of course meant that instead he replayed the scene at the gas station most of the way home, alternatively thinking on how it could have been improved and telling himself it didn’t matter because Faith was just worked up after so long in lockup and any warm body would have done. He just happened to have been handy.
Still it was better than thinking about Lilah, lying dead on the Hyperion’s carpet, waiting for him to behead her. It was better than thinking about Connor, crazed from a childhood in a demon dimension that Wesley had helped send him to, or Angelus, running around committing sins that Angel was going to brood guiltily over.
A misguided romp with a formerly homicidal slayer was hardly poor food for thought, especially when one considered the muscle development that had never even occurred to him before today but now would forever be on his mind. Some of the women he’d been with had known some pretty impressive tricks, but that was clearly not something that could be learned.
Fandom: Angel the Series
Pairing: Wes/Faith
Word Count: 1,139
Rating: R/NC-17
Spoilers: Up to AtS 4.14 "Release"
Written for novin_ha who asked for Wes fic, particularly with Faith in either a shippy or non shippy way. Sorry it took me so long.
The drive from LA had sped by in a sort of daze, filled with purpose and a sense of going in the right direction. The drive back was long. Inspiration had faded and uncertainty, about aiding and encouraging a convicted murderer (who had in fact tortured him remorselessly) in escaping from prison, was starting to set in. So time seemed to extend out in front of them, in some says still a relief compared to what awaited them back in LA, but still filled with apprehension.
Faith messed with his radio without asking, and it seemed pointless to argue with her about it. A few short years in prison were not likely to have erased the contrary nature that would only push harder if one resisted. A small voice in the back of Wesley’s head commented that those years had changed just about everything about him. Sometimes the scar across his throat still bothered him, though he tried not to pay it any mind.
The gas station was filthy, and Wesley was somewhat skeptical about Faith’s claim that she was going to get something edible out of the store inside, but he told her he’d be in to pay for it in a minute anyway. The Enter button on the ATM machine was so well used that one had to press it half a dozen times for the effort to register. Gas was terribly overpriced, but that was less of a concern since he’d been taking clients on his own.
Part of him expected Faith not to be inside, but she was. Something edible turned out to be an assortment of cakes and chips wrapped in aluminum and unlikely to decompose any time in this decade. It was accompanied by a cheap pack of cigarettes that she probably was going to smoke, in his car, without even rolling down the window. He purchased it all anyway.
He went to go close the gas tank and put things in the car and when he returned, she was leaning against the wall, smoking, body arched like a predator in wait She held the package out, an offer. He shook his head.
“Same old Wes…” she almost chuckled.
A year ago that would have irked him, but the notion of his being the same man as she’d known and defied back in Sunnydale was almost funny. Without thinking about it, he reached up to rub the scar across his neck.
Faith’s eyes darted towards the movement; she stepped forward and traced the line with her index finger.
“Fallout for my Thirty Pieces of Silver.” He told her and turned to head back to the car. It was a long drive, and they’d already wasted too much time.
He felt her pulling him back, as surreal as everything else about this trip. Her mouth was hot and needy, demanding. Fucking against gas station walls was not what he came here for. Her hands were at his pants though, brooking no argument, and he was a man like any other. Commanding, rough, slayer strength, she was nothing like the languid catlike purr of Lilah’s seductions. He choked back the thought and slid his hands up Faith’s shirt instead.
The uneven plaster dug into his back as he pressed against it for better leverage, Faith wrapped an arm around his shoulders to lift herself up, only to sink back down onto him. Her nails dug into his skin as she slowly exhaled and then began to use her supernatural strength to take control were other women could not. Obviously she liked what she was doing, as she clenched around him, and he certainly wasn’t going to complain, except that he wasn’t ready for this to be over yet.
She moaned when he grasped her hips and turned around, pressing her up against the wall, where he had been a moment before. She resisted his control, but she could have stopped him if she’d wanted so it seemed more of a game than a serious attempt. He held most of her body in place as he look her slowly and deliberately, every so often using one hand to tease a nipple or reach down towards her clit.
Then Faith shifted ever so slightly, changing the feel of her body around him and Wes found himself pressing her hard against that wall, patience gone and the urge for release suddenly dominant. He bit into her shoulder to stifle any sound and his hand worked in time with the rest of his body, letting her reaction press him past the barrier. Still panting he lowered her back to the ground and re-buttoned his pants.
Faith shook her head as she did the same, “Fuck Wes, if I’d have known you’d be any fun, I would have done that ages ago.”
“Would that have been before or after the torturing?” he replied snidely, heading back to the car.
“Dunno. Maybe both.” Faith shrugged, climbing into the passenger seat and lighting a cigarette.
Wes rolled down her window and flipped off the radio. Reality seemed to be setting back in faster than he would have liked. He did not vocalize his planned reply about how fucking her brains out clearly would have served as a better strategy for him as a Watcher than anything he’d actually tried when that had been his job. Sex and respect were not exactly linked in Faith’s mind, and the less said about this incident the easier working together was likely to prove.
This left him wondering why she’d decided, after all this time, to try it out. Was she trying to diminish his relevance, or was he just that unimportant to her? He told himself to stop acting like a girl and focus on the task at hand. This of course meant that instead he replayed the scene at the gas station most of the way home, alternatively thinking on how it could have been improved and telling himself it didn’t matter because Faith was just worked up after so long in lockup and any warm body would have done. He just happened to have been handy.
Still it was better than thinking about Lilah, lying dead on the Hyperion’s carpet, waiting for him to behead her. It was better than thinking about Connor, crazed from a childhood in a demon dimension that Wesley had helped send him to, or Angelus, running around committing sins that Angel was going to brood guiltily over.
A misguided romp with a formerly homicidal slayer was hardly poor food for thought, especially when one considered the muscle development that had never even occurred to him before today but now would forever be on his mind. Some of the women he’d been with had known some pretty impressive tricks, but that was clearly not something that could be learned.