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what_worksFandom: Angel
Title: No Words
Author: Em
Rating: R for slash, sex, and angst
Word Count: ~580
Spoilers: Season 3, set post-"Heartthrob"
Pairing: Angel/Wesley
Prompt: Angel/Wesley, smut, angst
Summary: The sounds of rutting and grunting can probably be heard on the first floor of the Hyperion, but neither of them cares very much.
Dedication: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bouncymonkey, dragonbetween, ladydewinter, roadrunner1896, and stabbim
Notes: Written as part of the 2005 Gift Fic Project for my flist.
Special thanks tojanedavitt for betaing duty.
No Words
The sounds of rutting and grunting can probably be heard on the first floor of the Hyperion, but neither of them cares very much. Wesley dimly considers that these aren't the sort of sounds Fred needs to hear when she's already so skittish, but he can't be bothered to silence himself. They should have done this at his flat, but Angel's hotel room is just so accessible.
Two hundred years of sexual experience is beneficial, although Wesley suspects that Angel is a decidedly vanilla lover compared to what Angelus would probably be like.
He stiffens, momentarily shocked out of the moment. He never wants to know what Angelus would be like as a lover. Not really. He has to remember that.
Angel's hand clamps down on his bare shoulder. Wesley slides his hand up Angel's back and scratches over what he suspects is Angel's tattoo. He wants to really examine the tat, but has never been given the chance. This isn't about lovingly tracing the contours of the other's body.
Angel grunts with each thrust, sometimes almost saying a name that sounds like "Buffy," other times "Cordy," but it's never clear enough to be one, the other, or anything else. Wesley expects he imagines the consonants more than anything else; reminders of the women Angel would rather be fucking.
Angel's fingers dig in at Wesley's hip and it hurts—actually too much—and Wesley opens his mouth to say that, but stops before words form. He makes a sound of pain and twists his lips into a snarl, jerking his hips back to show his displeasure. The grip on his hip loosens.
Angel's mouth finds Wesley's skin—human teeth that only graze, never bite. Wesley bares his teeth and deeply bites into Angel's arm.
It's then that Angel comes.
They thrust through Angel's orgasm until Wesley comes minutes later.
They pant, louder than seems necessary; the heavy breaths take the place of cooing words of love, devotion, and promises of the future.
Angel's lips close on Wesley's shoulder, more a brushing of skin against skin than a kiss. They don't kiss, they never kiss; kissing is too personal.
Angel pushes away, stands, and heads to the bathroom. He doesn't once look at Wesley.
Wesley rolls over and pulls on his glasses. The top sheet is on the floor, the bottom sheet half pulled off the mattress, the mattress sliding away from the headboard. The pillows have been used for leverage and lie scattered and misshapen from abuse.
He can't imagine having to clean up after them.
He wipes himself off on the used sheets and dresses, slowly fitting each button through its buttonhole, slowly rebuilding himself after the orgasm.
It's quiet and he wonders if Fred is asleep, if she can sleep through that.
Angel is still in the bathroom when Wesley leaves.
He doesn't shut Angel's door; his feet fall quietly on the stairs. At three in the morning the Hyperion is cold and dark, wrapping around Wesley like a dead embrace.
They'll speak again in the morning, after it's been quiet for so long that neither of them can stand it. Then they'll politely tell each other good morning while Wesley makes the coffee and Angel atones for his sins and they act like good friends rather than strangers.
~Comments and feedback are appreciated.
Title: No Words
Author: Em
Rating: R for slash, sex, and angst
Word Count: ~580
Spoilers: Season 3, set post-"Heartthrob"
Pairing: Angel/Wesley
Prompt: Angel/Wesley, smut, angst
Summary: The sounds of rutting and grunting can probably be heard on the first floor of the Hyperion, but neither of them cares very much.
Dedication: For
bouncymonkey, dragonbetween, ladydewinter, roadrunner1896, and stabbimNotes: Written as part of the 2005 Gift Fic Project for my flist.
Special thanks to
janedavitt for betaing duty.The sounds of rutting and grunting can probably be heard on the first floor of the Hyperion, but neither of them cares very much. Wesley dimly considers that these aren't the sort of sounds Fred needs to hear when she's already so skittish, but he can't be bothered to silence himself. They should have done this at his flat, but Angel's hotel room is just so accessible.
Two hundred years of sexual experience is beneficial, although Wesley suspects that Angel is a decidedly vanilla lover compared to what Angelus would probably be like.
He stiffens, momentarily shocked out of the moment. He never wants to know what Angelus would be like as a lover. Not really. He has to remember that.
Angel's hand clamps down on his bare shoulder. Wesley slides his hand up Angel's back and scratches over what he suspects is Angel's tattoo. He wants to really examine the tat, but has never been given the chance. This isn't about lovingly tracing the contours of the other's body.
Angel grunts with each thrust, sometimes almost saying a name that sounds like "Buffy," other times "Cordy," but it's never clear enough to be one, the other, or anything else. Wesley expects he imagines the consonants more than anything else; reminders of the women Angel would rather be fucking.
Angel's fingers dig in at Wesley's hip and it hurts—actually too much—and Wesley opens his mouth to say that, but stops before words form. He makes a sound of pain and twists his lips into a snarl, jerking his hips back to show his displeasure. The grip on his hip loosens.
Angel's mouth finds Wesley's skin—human teeth that only graze, never bite. Wesley bares his teeth and deeply bites into Angel's arm.
It's then that Angel comes.
They thrust through Angel's orgasm until Wesley comes minutes later.
They pant, louder than seems necessary; the heavy breaths take the place of cooing words of love, devotion, and promises of the future.
Angel's lips close on Wesley's shoulder, more a brushing of skin against skin than a kiss. They don't kiss, they never kiss; kissing is too personal.
Angel pushes away, stands, and heads to the bathroom. He doesn't once look at Wesley.
Wesley rolls over and pulls on his glasses. The top sheet is on the floor, the bottom sheet half pulled off the mattress, the mattress sliding away from the headboard. The pillows have been used for leverage and lie scattered and misshapen from abuse.
He can't imagine having to clean up after them.
He wipes himself off on the used sheets and dresses, slowly fitting each button through its buttonhole, slowly rebuilding himself after the orgasm.
It's quiet and he wonders if Fred is asleep, if she can sleep through that.
Angel is still in the bathroom when Wesley leaves.
He doesn't shut Angel's door; his feet fall quietly on the stairs. At three in the morning the Hyperion is cold and dark, wrapping around Wesley like a dead embrace.
They'll speak again in the morning, after it's been quiet for so long that neither of them can stand it. Then they'll politely tell each other good morning while Wesley makes the coffee and Angel atones for his sins and they act like good friends rather than strangers.
~Comments and feedback are appreciated.
Tags:
no subject
Date: 2005-12-11 04:14 am (UTC)*stealthily runs away*
I liked this one. Even though I am more in a comedy and fluff kind of mood right now.
I have fluff coming up. I meant to post a slightly lighter fic this afternoon, but plans didn't pan out. Oh well. I'm glad you liked this one. I really like this one. I really, really like this one, actually.
Also, as a warning, all my Angel fics turned out rather angsty. I didn't really mean for them all to, but they did.
I am such an angst whore.
When will Huricane Season be over in Florida? Is it over at Thanksgiving?
Yes. It ends at the begining of November. More or less.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-11 10:29 am (UTC)I saw you. I also put a sticky note on your back with "write Angelus/Sirius and Wesley/Daniel/Remus". Next time I will tattoo it on your forehead. ;)
I am not such an angst fan. Well, sometimes I am, but only if I am in a really good mood. Which right now I am not. Stupid work stress, stupid Christmas stress, stupid stress.
I might visit Amy and her Dad for Thanksgiving 2007. Maybe I could come visit you before and/or after that. But it is so far away right now, we haven't really planed anything yet.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-13 02:53 am (UTC)Okay, my lighter fics didn't get up today. I will post one tomorrow so hopefully that will pass over your mood better. And I've got a longer lighter fic that I need to revise.
Thanksgiving 2006 I will be getting married you know.... ;)
no subject
Date: 2005-12-13 07:07 am (UTC)I didn't have time to read any fics anyway.
Thanksgiving 2006 I will be getting married you know.... ;)
Does that mean there will be a baby at Thanksgiving 2007?
no subject
Date: 2005-12-11 09:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-12 07:31 pm (UTC)I have to admit that as I was writing a few of the super angst stories I kept thinking, "But this isn't set in Season 4!" ;)
I should get another Angel one up tonight. I hope you like it.