[ficpost] "Library Whispers" Fred/Wesley
Title: "Library Whispers"
Fandom: Angel
Pairing: Wes/Fred
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers/Timeline: During S4, but no spoilers (really) past mid-S3.
Summary: Wesley helps Fred commemorate the seventh anniversary of her first fall through the portal. With sex. Dark, dirty sex. In a library.
"Seven years," Wesley whispered, guttural, into Fred's ear. She pressed back into him with a moan. "Seven years ago in this very spot you lost your life. How does that feel, to know what a careless girl you were, to get lost like that?" It hurt him to be cruel, but she simply pressed her hips harder. "Such a naughty girl, wanting to get off in the same place where she went insane. What kind of girl would demand a memorial like that?"
"Wes -- Wes, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," she said, and her hair swept over his chest. "Wesley, what if someone sees us?"
"Then they'll know what a little slut you are, won't they? They'll know how you like it, Fred, what kind of girl you really are."
She sniffed and jutted into him, strengthening an already achingly hard erection. He wrapped a hand around it tightly, to keep from coming before he was inside her.
"Wesley, please, please," she said, her voice higher than he'd ever heard it, but still, somehow, soft as a library whisper. "Take me quickly. Please, I need to know I'm still here, that I made it back."
His fingers touched her clit, and he staggered with the weightiness of this. Her clit, her labia, were as tender as the rest of her, tiny, slender. Her innocence seeped out of her, sweet smelling and sour. He raised a finger, drenched with her arousal, to her mouth, slid it in, and she sucked his finger with a moan of something akin to pleasure.
"Like that, do you? You must taste delicious after all the rot of Pylea, after all the stink you rolled in and slept in and ate."
He guided his dick into her cunt and shuddered at having thought the world. That Fred, Winifred, whose hair shone and whose eyes glittered, should have a cunt, that she should be so crude, so brashly female. He was angry, angry that he had to do this, angry that this was all he was to her, that she had chosen him for his cruelty and his sexuality, for the way he could twist his fingers and his dick and make her come, sobbing quietly.
"Good girl," he murmured. "I can feel it. You like this."
"No more words, Wesley." Her voice had a strange timbre to it, a wispy hint of her sonorous Texan librarian persona hidden somewhere in her breathy orgasm. "Please, no more words."
She'd wanted words. She'd wanted him to remind her who she was, to take her away from the Hyperion, back where she belonged, back where she'd come from, before Pylea, before.
"No more," she gasped. "Please."
He fucked her, careless, artless, not performing, not proving a point beyond the obvious: he needed her, needed to be buried inside her. She was his coffin, a musky cave, a cavernous mouth and cunt and gaping hole.
Regardless of how hard he thrust, he'd never fill her (himself). He came with a gasp.
"Hush," she said. "Library voice." She pulled her panties up and her skirt down, smoothing it with schoolgirl ease. She almost laughed when she said, "We should be getting back," but Wesley knew she would never look him in the eye.
They walked through the library together silently, Fred following a pace or so behind Wesley, shuffling her feet a little. Wesley had fucked Fred. He'd wanted her, he'd had her, he'd given her something no one else -- not Angel, not Gunn -- could give her. And it hadn't helped at all.
"Wesley?" she said, quiet.
"Yes?"
"I'm not a cow anymore, am I?"
He looked behind him, noted the uncertainty on her face, the slight flush of fresh-fucked satiation, the fearful half-smile, her lowered eyes.
"No," he said, so softly that she had to lean closer to hear him. "You are a Fred."
Fandom: Angel
Pairing: Wes/Fred
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers/Timeline: During S4, but no spoilers (really) past mid-S3.
Summary: Wesley helps Fred commemorate the seventh anniversary of her first fall through the portal. With sex. Dark, dirty sex. In a library.
"Seven years," Wesley whispered, guttural, into Fred's ear. She pressed back into him with a moan. "Seven years ago in this very spot you lost your life. How does that feel, to know what a careless girl you were, to get lost like that?" It hurt him to be cruel, but she simply pressed her hips harder. "Such a naughty girl, wanting to get off in the same place where she went insane. What kind of girl would demand a memorial like that?"
"Wes -- Wes, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," she said, and her hair swept over his chest. "Wesley, what if someone sees us?"
"Then they'll know what a little slut you are, won't they? They'll know how you like it, Fred, what kind of girl you really are."
She sniffed and jutted into him, strengthening an already achingly hard erection. He wrapped a hand around it tightly, to keep from coming before he was inside her.
"Wesley, please, please," she said, her voice higher than he'd ever heard it, but still, somehow, soft as a library whisper. "Take me quickly. Please, I need to know I'm still here, that I made it back."
His fingers touched her clit, and he staggered with the weightiness of this. Her clit, her labia, were as tender as the rest of her, tiny, slender. Her innocence seeped out of her, sweet smelling and sour. He raised a finger, drenched with her arousal, to her mouth, slid it in, and she sucked his finger with a moan of something akin to pleasure.
"Like that, do you? You must taste delicious after all the rot of Pylea, after all the stink you rolled in and slept in and ate."
He guided his dick into her cunt and shuddered at having thought the world. That Fred, Winifred, whose hair shone and whose eyes glittered, should have a cunt, that she should be so crude, so brashly female. He was angry, angry that he had to do this, angry that this was all he was to her, that she had chosen him for his cruelty and his sexuality, for the way he could twist his fingers and his dick and make her come, sobbing quietly.
"Good girl," he murmured. "I can feel it. You like this."
"No more words, Wesley." Her voice had a strange timbre to it, a wispy hint of her sonorous Texan librarian persona hidden somewhere in her breathy orgasm. "Please, no more words."
She'd wanted words. She'd wanted him to remind her who she was, to take her away from the Hyperion, back where she belonged, back where she'd come from, before Pylea, before.
"No more," she gasped. "Please."
He fucked her, careless, artless, not performing, not proving a point beyond the obvious: he needed her, needed to be buried inside her. She was his coffin, a musky cave, a cavernous mouth and cunt and gaping hole.
Regardless of how hard he thrust, he'd never fill her (himself). He came with a gasp.
"Hush," she said. "Library voice." She pulled her panties up and her skirt down, smoothing it with schoolgirl ease. She almost laughed when she said, "We should be getting back," but Wesley knew she would never look him in the eye.
They walked through the library together silently, Fred following a pace or so behind Wesley, shuffling her feet a little. Wesley had fucked Fred. He'd wanted her, he'd had her, he'd given her something no one else -- not Angel, not Gunn -- could give her. And it hadn't helped at all.
"Wesley?" she said, quiet.
"Yes?"
"I'm not a cow anymore, am I?"
He looked behind him, noted the uncertainty on her face, the slight flush of fresh-fucked satiation, the fearful half-smile, her lowered eyes.
"No," he said, so softly that she had to lean closer to hear him. "You are a Fred."