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Oct. 16th, 2002 11:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonlettuceImagine the scene...
Wesley, stepping into a bedroom at the Hyperion, toweling his hair dry, grateful Angel suggested using one of the showers there instead of him having to ride the bike back to his. Because he's sure the demon slime that had been covering him would have hardened too much to come off easily in the time it would have taken him to get home. He's also thankful for the foresight that led him to keeping spare clothes at the hotel for just this kind of occasion.
He shivers slightly, because the disused bedroom is cold and his body is craving the already dissipating heat from the shower and the softness of the towel he had wrapped around his body that lies abandoned back in the bathroom. His hair is nearly dry now, so the towel he's holding is carelessly thrown back through the open door to join its mate on the tiled floor.
And it's when he's reaching down to the bed to pick up his shirt that he senses movement in the room. Doesn't have time to turn before yelping in shock as cool fingers come around his body and run along his ribcage. Fingers dancing over skin as Angel moves in front of him, kneels before Wesley and follows his fingers with his tongue. And he knows Angel's touch should be cold, but it's hot, too hot. So hot it's almost burning, scalding, but Wesley wants more, wants to dive into the fire.
"Angel..."
And the name just slips out, a plea, a promise. But Angel doesn't stop, doesn't give Wes what he wants. Fingers and tongue skimming over sensitive skin, skimming everywhere, anywhere but the one place Wesley wants them to go.
"Please..."
But Angel still ignores him, ignores the want, the need, the pleading. And fingers are still ghosting over his flesh, touching and caressing, holding and worshiping. And Wesley will give anything, as long as Angel doesn't stop...
*
No reason why, just wanted you to imagine it.
Wesley, stepping into a bedroom at the Hyperion, toweling his hair dry, grateful Angel suggested using one of the showers there instead of him having to ride the bike back to his. Because he's sure the demon slime that had been covering him would have hardened too much to come off easily in the time it would have taken him to get home. He's also thankful for the foresight that led him to keeping spare clothes at the hotel for just this kind of occasion.
He shivers slightly, because the disused bedroom is cold and his body is craving the already dissipating heat from the shower and the softness of the towel he had wrapped around his body that lies abandoned back in the bathroom. His hair is nearly dry now, so the towel he's holding is carelessly thrown back through the open door to join its mate on the tiled floor.
And it's when he's reaching down to the bed to pick up his shirt that he senses movement in the room. Doesn't have time to turn before yelping in shock as cool fingers come around his body and run along his ribcage. Fingers dancing over skin as Angel moves in front of him, kneels before Wesley and follows his fingers with his tongue. And he knows Angel's touch should be cold, but it's hot, too hot. So hot it's almost burning, scalding, but Wesley wants more, wants to dive into the fire.
"Angel..."
And the name just slips out, a plea, a promise. But Angel doesn't stop, doesn't give Wes what he wants. Fingers and tongue skimming over sensitive skin, skimming everywhere, anywhere but the one place Wesley wants them to go.
"Please..."
But Angel still ignores him, ignores the want, the need, the pleading. And fingers are still ghosting over his flesh, touching and caressing, holding and worshiping. And Wesley will give anything, as long as Angel doesn't stop...
*
No reason why, just wanted you to imagine it.
