ANGEL Fic: Always -- W/A (S/A)
Title: Always
Rating: R
Pairing: Angel/Wesley [Angel/Spike]
Summary: Angel always...
ALWAYS
Angel always fucks Wesley from behind with his eyes squeezed shut, so he can pretend that he's burying himself inside someone tighter; someone not so uncomfortably warm. He carefully blocks out any unwanted noises as he focuses on the rhythmic ONEtwo ONEtwo of his thrusts, and he's quick to pull out when it's over.
He's never kissed Wesley, never intends to. He's never sucked Wesley off. He doesn't care to taste Wolfram and Hart's darling ice princess on Wesley's cock and lips - doesn't care to taste her at all, really, but that's neither here nor there.
Wesley knows what's coming when the room clears and the door locks. He bends over obediently, just like always. He's learned better than to call out Angel's name; now he holds himself back except for the odd grunt. Wesley doesn't care that Angel, himself, calls out another name when he comes. After all, Wesley's going home to sleep in someone else's arms. Fucking Angel scratches an itch of a different sort.
Angel always bites his hand when he comes. Familiar blood -- family blood -- stains his lips and he thinks that he can feel another soul, miles away, screaming just as loudly as his.
Rating: R
Pairing: Angel/Wesley [Angel/Spike]
Summary: Angel always...
ALWAYS
Angel always fucks Wesley from behind with his eyes squeezed shut, so he can pretend that he's burying himself inside someone tighter; someone not so uncomfortably warm. He carefully blocks out any unwanted noises as he focuses on the rhythmic ONEtwo ONEtwo of his thrusts, and he's quick to pull out when it's over.
He's never kissed Wesley, never intends to. He's never sucked Wesley off. He doesn't care to taste Wolfram and Hart's darling ice princess on Wesley's cock and lips - doesn't care to taste her at all, really, but that's neither here nor there.
Wesley knows what's coming when the room clears and the door locks. He bends over obediently, just like always. He's learned better than to call out Angel's name; now he holds himself back except for the odd grunt. Wesley doesn't care that Angel, himself, calls out another name when he comes. After all, Wesley's going home to sleep in someone else's arms. Fucking Angel scratches an itch of a different sort.
Angel always bites his hand when he comes. Familiar blood -- family blood -- stains his lips and he thinks that he can feel another soul, miles away, screaming just as loudly as his.