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moonlettuceI am not sitting here plotting out a prison!AU Angel/Spike/Wesley fic in my head. No, I'm not.
You see, Wesley isn't the new guy, who has been framed by the others at his company for their embezzlement. And Angel and Spike aren't a pair of serial killers who take a liking to the new boy on the block.
I'm not envisioning the shower scene, where Wesley is surrounded by several guys, leering and taunting. And Wes is sure he could get out of it, if there had only been one or two of them. Because his uncle taught him to fight, but he taught him to fight *fair*, and he's more than sure two of them pinning his arms back while a third runs rough, coarse hands over his body isn't anywhere in the Marquis of Queensbury rules.
I'm not seeing blood running down the drain as one of the men leering at him is shanked from behind. Wesley barely sees a flash of blond and brown as he is pushed to one side, falling to his knees under the running water that falls in his eyes and blinds him. It's only when he feels a hand wrap around his arm that he looks up. Bodies litter the shower room, at least two of them with their necks at angles that just aren't natural. And he wants to thank his saviours, but the words die in his throat when he sees proprietary twin gazes staring at him, and only one word rings out in the silence.
"Ours."
You see, Wesley isn't the new guy, who has been framed by the others at his company for their embezzlement. And Angel and Spike aren't a pair of serial killers who take a liking to the new boy on the block.
I'm not envisioning the shower scene, where Wesley is surrounded by several guys, leering and taunting. And Wes is sure he could get out of it, if there had only been one or two of them. Because his uncle taught him to fight, but he taught him to fight *fair*, and he's more than sure two of them pinning his arms back while a third runs rough, coarse hands over his body isn't anywhere in the Marquis of Queensbury rules.
I'm not seeing blood running down the drain as one of the men leering at him is shanked from behind. Wesley barely sees a flash of blond and brown as he is pushed to one side, falling to his knees under the running water that falls in his eyes and blinds him. It's only when he feels a hand wrap around his arm that he looks up. Bodies litter the shower room, at least two of them with their necks at angles that just aren't natural. And he wants to thank his saviours, but the words die in his throat when he sees proprietary twin gazes staring at him, and only one word rings out in the silence.
"Ours."
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no subject
Date: 2004-02-18 04:00 pm (UTC)hum
Date: 2004-02-18 04:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-18 04:28 pm (UTC)Um, yeah. *Grins happily, pervily*. Write. There are happies in writing.
no subject
Date: 2004-02-18 04:58 pm (UTC)Write it... please!
no subject
Date: 2004-02-18 05:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-18 05:47 pm (UTC)Nope. Glad to hear it. Rough, coarse hands are a bad bad thing. Plus slash?! Ick! Ewww!! Etc. Of course. That kind of fic should be
put on a pedestalburned at the stake.**cough**
Right. Indeed...
gahh
Date: 2004-02-18 06:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-19 05:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-19 11:19 am (UTC)I was gonna encourage you after the idea first cropped up, but it looks like I don't need to... You're doing it all by yourself!
no subject
Date: 2007-10-10 11:20 pm (UTC)This is still as good three years later as it was the first time I read it. Did you ever get over the denial and write more?
Weird creepy fact: Tool's "Prison Sex" was playing from my playlist when I stumbled over this again and reread it.
~*~