Not Having - PG13 - Wesley/Spike for maleslashminis
Title: Not Having
Author: nevcolleil
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All props to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
Word Count: 500+
Pairing: Wesley/Spike
Author's Note: This was written for the Wesley round at maleslashminis for bruttimabuoni (who wrote me a lovely little bit of Wes/Simon here). I approached this thing three different ways and got stuck every time but the last :p Short, but hopefully smutty sweet, I hope you like this, bruttimabuoni.
Summary: "Craving, not having, is the mother of a reckless giving of oneself." - Eric Hoffer
Later, he will not make excuses.
It will occur to him that at one time he might have needed them. He will be aware of the many reasons an excuse might be expected. The timing is irrelevant - the context is unreasonable. There is nothing seductive about a moonlit rooftop when the roof in question is strewn with demon body parts. Slime and blood do not attract, streaked across surface of building and clothing alike. Stagnant city air, muggy and hot with summer heat and the stench of death, do not entice.
But right now Wesley does not care.
Later, he will not make apologies.
It will come to his attention that apologies are desired, but he will ignore the silent entreaties that will find him. Through Angel’s angry eyes; Illyria’s unblinking stare. Even Charles’s questioning gaze and Lorne’s surprising shows of support
Because right now Wesley feels nothing that he believes should be apologized for or announced. The ruthless pull of too-long restrained desire. The mindless satisfaction of requited attraction.
The undeniable thrill of being gripped by something that could kill him even as he embraces it. This passion. This vampire. Even if Spike has proven himself to be on the side of the good - and Wesley would admit, if asked, although no one will ask him, that Spike has given proof - he has not proved himself to be anything less than a threat to Wesley. If only through the imagined threat that he presents to Angel, spurring Angel on into making decisions that affect them all; that might not have been made so hastily if Spike hadn’t been involved.
Later, Wesley will not offer excuses, or apologies, or an account on what is occurring just now to anyone.
But he will allow himself many instances of remembrance. He will see, in his head, quite clearly, the smog-distorted sky that stretched over them as the last body fell and suddenly Spike’s body was all too close to his own.
He will smell the blood, taste the adrenaline that licked along the edges of all of his senses as he felt his lips mimic Spike’s shark grin.
And he will not - will not be able to deny the litany of ‘yes’ and ‘more’ and ‘more, damn you’s that tangle in his mind and spill out from his mouth as Spike reaches, and finds, and presses, and takes. Kisses like he must feed - Wesley can’t imagine a more consummate conquest, had it been his blood that Spike drank from him instead of his breath, his pleas.
Spike pushes and Wesley bends. Wesley tastes, with tongue and lips and teeth, and Spike growls. Wesley arches - offering on an impulse, in an instant, what he could not have imagined himself offering a moment, a day, a lifetime before - a thirst for battle, for life, for death throbbing in his blood as keenly as in any vampire’s.
Later, there will be time for Wesley to question the recklessness of his actions. To consider the implications of his decisions. To contemplate and discard an endless supply of excuses, explanations, and recriminations…
But it doesn’t inhibit Wesley’s choices at this time, in this instance.
Nor will it the next time the opportunity for recklessness presents itself.
Nor the next…
Nor the next.
[ end. ]
Author: nevcolleil
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All props to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
Word Count: 500+
Pairing: Wesley/Spike
Author's Note: This was written for the Wesley round at maleslashminis for bruttimabuoni (who wrote me a lovely little bit of Wes/Simon here). I approached this thing three different ways and got stuck every time but the last :p Short, but hopefully smutty sweet, I hope you like this, bruttimabuoni.
Summary: "Craving, not having, is the mother of a reckless giving of oneself." - Eric Hoffer
Later, he will not make excuses.
It will occur to him that at one time he might have needed them. He will be aware of the many reasons an excuse might be expected. The timing is irrelevant - the context is unreasonable. There is nothing seductive about a moonlit rooftop when the roof in question is strewn with demon body parts. Slime and blood do not attract, streaked across surface of building and clothing alike. Stagnant city air, muggy and hot with summer heat and the stench of death, do not entice.
But right now Wesley does not care.
Later, he will not make apologies.
It will come to his attention that apologies are desired, but he will ignore the silent entreaties that will find him. Through Angel’s angry eyes; Illyria’s unblinking stare. Even Charles’s questioning gaze and Lorne’s surprising shows of support
Because right now Wesley feels nothing that he believes should be apologized for or announced. The ruthless pull of too-long restrained desire. The mindless satisfaction of requited attraction.
The undeniable thrill of being gripped by something that could kill him even as he embraces it. This passion. This vampire. Even if Spike has proven himself to be on the side of the good - and Wesley would admit, if asked, although no one will ask him, that Spike has given proof - he has not proved himself to be anything less than a threat to Wesley. If only through the imagined threat that he presents to Angel, spurring Angel on into making decisions that affect them all; that might not have been made so hastily if Spike hadn’t been involved.
Later, Wesley will not offer excuses, or apologies, or an account on what is occurring just now to anyone.
But he will allow himself many instances of remembrance. He will see, in his head, quite clearly, the smog-distorted sky that stretched over them as the last body fell and suddenly Spike’s body was all too close to his own.
He will smell the blood, taste the adrenaline that licked along the edges of all of his senses as he felt his lips mimic Spike’s shark grin.
And he will not - will not be able to deny the litany of ‘yes’ and ‘more’ and ‘more, damn you’s that tangle in his mind and spill out from his mouth as Spike reaches, and finds, and presses, and takes. Kisses like he must feed - Wesley can’t imagine a more consummate conquest, had it been his blood that Spike drank from him instead of his breath, his pleas.
Spike pushes and Wesley bends. Wesley tastes, with tongue and lips and teeth, and Spike growls. Wesley arches - offering on an impulse, in an instant, what he could not have imagined himself offering a moment, a day, a lifetime before - a thirst for battle, for life, for death throbbing in his blood as keenly as in any vampire’s.
Later, there will be time for Wesley to question the recklessness of his actions. To consider the implications of his decisions. To contemplate and discard an endless supply of excuses, explanations, and recriminations…
But it doesn’t inhibit Wesley’s choices at this time, in this instance.
Nor will it the next time the opportunity for recklessness presents itself.
Nor the next…
Nor the next.
[ end. ]