Drabbles: Snapshots of Wesley, for ![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
winter_of_wes
Jan. 30th, 2006 11:53 pmdarkhavensAuthor: darkhavens
Title: Snapshots of Wesley
Pairing: Some gen, some Giles/Wes
Fandom: Buffy
Rating: PG
Words: 6 x 100
Feedback/Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
winter_of_wes, where ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
literati and I share a posting day. She made icons and I drabbled on them. :D
01. Warrior
He'd always been taught that the pen was mightier than the sword. He'd believed it then and maybe he still did, on some level. A vault full of crumbling, ancient prophecies had set this whole game in motion, after all.
He'd also been taught that the Slayer would be the one to do the fighting, that he'd be standing back and playing puppet master. Somehow, he'd never expected to be the one dancing wildly at the end of someone else's twisted strings.
The sword weighed heavy on his shoulder.
Wesley hoped he'd finally have the strength to cut those strings.
02. Too Close
Children were amazingly oblivious, they noticed. Underfoot all day and bursting in at odd hours, they never seemed to pick up on the clues, which were legion.
Stuffy, uptight Brits standing just a little too close together, ties askew and buttons misaligned, jackets rumpled.
Locked office doors that called for yelling and/or pounding. Forced smiles and not quite perfect hair. Swollen lips.
Of course, the matching bathrobes when they all burst into Giles' apartment did eventually give the game away, and quite amusingly.
Willow did a creditable impression of a goldfish. Buffy sputtered, scowled and wanted answers. And Xander grinned.
03. Forget the Parry
Fencing, in Wesley's mind, was now a stylised form of foreplay, thanks to his last bout with Rupert Giles.
Eye contact, strong and steady. Long limbs, loose and ready. Two firm hands clasped around respective phallic grips.
Engagement - a gentle press of blade against blade. Not threatening, foreshadowing what was still to come.
Advance, retreat, attack, riposte, parry, parry, thrust - a careful-footed dance interspersed with eager lunges.
Tempo raised, the distance closes. Knee to knee, they clash, up close.
Heartbeat, respiration races. Slick skin, perspiration gleams.
Invitation issued, taken. Slender epees cast aside.
Touch, a panacea for the soul.
Derobement.
Fencing terms taken from here.
07. *Polish*
So very similar in so many ways - training, language, lineage, education, dress and habits. So close, and yet nobody ever guessed the obvious truth.
The glasses thing, that nervous, anxious, 'give me time to think, please' polishing, should have been the clue to end all clues but somehow didn't parse.
No one figured out they'd once been intimate, not just acquainted. No one recognised the dark, shared history in their shuttered eyes.
No one thought it odd when they went off into the stacks, searching for a mislaid book they never seemed to find.
No one ever watches the watchers.
11. GQ
The tuxedo is tailored to fit his slender jib. Cut by careful hand to frame his tapered swimmer's shoulders, sleeves just long enough to kiss the bone points of his wrists.
Seams and planes and angles hang perfectly from narrow hips. Hand-stitched cuffs rest on shoes mirror-bright with polish.
The tie is where it all went to hell, relatively speaking. Sleek black silk, slippery as oil in nervous, sweat-damp fingers.
Loop around the neck, adjust, cross, through, angle, drop, angle loop and push through, tighten up the knot and even out.
The seventeenth time is the charm. He is ready.
12. Adorkable
He'd never considered fatherhood, not with his predilections. But then, he'd never expected to have to steal a vampire's human son. Things change.
The first year was the worst, running scared from every sound and shadow, neck almost permanently cricked from looking back to check.
They'd crisscrossed the country, never staying more than three short months, always staying rootless, unattached - he had a plan.
Five-year-old Connor babbled happily in Québécois as Wesley felt the first real smile in years crack his face. News had arrived of Angel's victory and shanshu, and also of his death by dragon.
They were free.
Remember, if you want to snag or comment on an icon - go here and petliterati. I did not make the icons. ;)
Title: Snapshots of Wesley
Pairing: Some gen, some Giles/Wes
Fandom: Buffy
Rating: PG
Words: 6 x 100
Feedback/Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Notes: Written for
winter_of_wes, where literati and I share a posting day. She made icons and I drabbled on them. :D01. Warrior
He'd always been taught that the pen was mightier than the sword. He'd believed it then and maybe he still did, on some level. A vault full of crumbling, ancient prophecies had set this whole game in motion, after all.
He'd also been taught that the Slayer would be the one to do the fighting, that he'd be standing back and playing puppet master. Somehow, he'd never expected to be the one dancing wildly at the end of someone else's twisted strings.
The sword weighed heavy on his shoulder.
Wesley hoped he'd finally have the strength to cut those strings.
02. Too Close
Children were amazingly oblivious, they noticed. Underfoot all day and bursting in at odd hours, they never seemed to pick up on the clues, which were legion.
Stuffy, uptight Brits standing just a little too close together, ties askew and buttons misaligned, jackets rumpled.
Locked office doors that called for yelling and/or pounding. Forced smiles and not quite perfect hair. Swollen lips.
Of course, the matching bathrobes when they all burst into Giles' apartment did eventually give the game away, and quite amusingly.
Willow did a creditable impression of a goldfish. Buffy sputtered, scowled and wanted answers. And Xander grinned.
03. Forget the Parry
Fencing, in Wesley's mind, was now a stylised form of foreplay, thanks to his last bout with Rupert Giles.
Eye contact, strong and steady. Long limbs, loose and ready. Two firm hands clasped around respective phallic grips.
Engagement - a gentle press of blade against blade. Not threatening, foreshadowing what was still to come.
Advance, retreat, attack, riposte, parry, parry, thrust - a careful-footed dance interspersed with eager lunges.
Tempo raised, the distance closes. Knee to knee, they clash, up close.
Heartbeat, respiration races. Slick skin, perspiration gleams.
Invitation issued, taken. Slender epees cast aside.
Touch, a panacea for the soul.
Derobement.
Fencing terms taken from here.
07. *Polish*
So very similar in so many ways - training, language, lineage, education, dress and habits. So close, and yet nobody ever guessed the obvious truth.
The glasses thing, that nervous, anxious, 'give me time to think, please' polishing, should have been the clue to end all clues but somehow didn't parse.
No one figured out they'd once been intimate, not just acquainted. No one recognised the dark, shared history in their shuttered eyes.
No one thought it odd when they went off into the stacks, searching for a mislaid book they never seemed to find.
No one ever watches the watchers.
11. GQ
The tuxedo is tailored to fit his slender jib. Cut by careful hand to frame his tapered swimmer's shoulders, sleeves just long enough to kiss the bone points of his wrists.
Seams and planes and angles hang perfectly from narrow hips. Hand-stitched cuffs rest on shoes mirror-bright with polish.
The tie is where it all went to hell, relatively speaking. Sleek black silk, slippery as oil in nervous, sweat-damp fingers.
Loop around the neck, adjust, cross, through, angle, drop, angle loop and push through, tighten up the knot and even out.
The seventeenth time is the charm. He is ready.
12. Adorkable
He'd never considered fatherhood, not with his predilections. But then, he'd never expected to have to steal a vampire's human son. Things change.
The first year was the worst, running scared from every sound and shadow, neck almost permanently cricked from looking back to check.
They'd crisscrossed the country, never staying more than three short months, always staying rootless, unattached - he had a plan.
Five-year-old Connor babbled happily in Québécois as Wesley felt the first real smile in years crack his face. News had arrived of Angel's victory and shanshu, and also of his death by dragon.
They were free.
Remember, if you want to snag or comment on an icon - go here and pet
literati. I did not make the icons. ;)![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2006-01-31 12:06 am (UTC)Good stuff, lady!
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on 2006-01-31 12:12 am (UTC)The icons aren't mine though - they're the work of
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on 2006-01-31 12:16 am (UTC)::tackles you then adds post to memories::
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on 2006-01-31 12:18 am (UTC)Thanks! :D
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on 2006-01-31 01:19 am (UTC)I particularly enjoyed Forget the Parry, Polish and the breathtaking Adorkable.
Fantastic work, and gorgeous icons!
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on 2006-02-21 07:53 pm (UTC)My favourite is the fencing one - all those terms are so suggestive! ;)
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on 2006-01-31 02:02 am (UTC)I love them all. I love the matching bathrobes and the cut of his jib and...yes!!
The last one, though. Oh man. It's good but it's so *sad*...
I hate to think of Angel never knowing Connor - never having his son. But i'm glad Connor got to live and grow up a 'real boy'...
Oh!
*sniffle*
Lovely stuff.
no subject
on 2006-02-21 07:54 pm (UTC)And yes, poor Angel got shanshu'd just before the dragon got him - sneaky, huh? But Connor got to be a real boy, and Wes got to be a dad, and that smile just told the whole story. :D
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on 2006-02-21 10:22 pm (UTC)Yeah.
*happy sigh*
:)
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on 2006-01-31 02:03 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-02-21 07:55 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-01-31 02:10 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-02-21 07:55 pm (UTC)Thank you! :D
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on 2006-01-31 04:33 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-02-21 07:56 pm (UTC)Thank you!
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on 2006-01-31 04:44 am (UTC)*Adores you...*
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on 2006-02-01 12:30 am (UTC)BTW *pokes you* You have 4.5 hours from now to get something posted in
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on 2006-02-02 04:22 am (UTC)Muse's fault this time... She coughed up a goodie - but I couldn't make it work... Oh, well... Maybe next challenge?!
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on 2006-02-02 04:24 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-02-02 04:38 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-01-31 05:30 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-02-21 08:59 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-01-31 06:03 am (UTC)*leers*
I would! Oh, wait, you didn't mean it like that. OH well. Love these, and I loved the AU of Wesley taking Connor. Very good. I once again stand, or, um, sit, in awe of you.
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on 2006-02-21 09:36 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-01-31 03:57 pm (UTC)Love them all, though I believe the second one is my favorite. They all have something that sort of hits at you, though.
Lovely job.
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on 2006-02-21 09:38 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-02-01 10:28 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-02-21 09:39 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-02-03 06:27 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-02-21 09:41 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-02-05 04:32 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-02-21 09:41 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-02-08 09:40 pm (UTC)*hugs*
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on 2006-02-21 09:44 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-02-09 09:38 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-02-21 09:45 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-02-28 02:33 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-03-01 09:58 pm (UTC)I love getting unexpected fb to older work. I always end up rereading stuff I'd half-forgotten, and it reminds me that I can write, even if the words aren't flowing right at this moment.
I remember that the *Polish* icon leapt out when Lit showed me the icons she was making. The two of them, caught in the act. *g*
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on 2008-03-01 09:32 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-03-01 10:03 pm (UTC)Fencing works so very well as a sexual metaphor because of the terms used in the sport. Honestly, the more I read in my research, the more I think they did it on purpose. *g*
which made me hate Wes even as I was glad Connor grew up loved.
I know! I feel so sorry for Wes, because he really was trying to save Angel and Connor from their own little Greek tragedy, but then I imagine the sheer terror that Angel would have lived with every day after Connor's disappearance and, yeah, wee bit of hate there too. *g*
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on 2009-03-23 06:16 pm (UTC)They are all so different and powerful in their own special way.
The second on in particular had me smiling - I could really imagine the look on Buffy, Willow and Xander's face.
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on 2009-03-23 06:33 pm (UTC)I could really imagine the look on Buffy, Willow and Xander's face
Imagining their reactions was the most entertaining part of writing that one. *g*