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thebratqueenI don't know where this stuff comes from. I just type here.
It was a moment.
It came after weeks. And it was weeks because Angel didn't like to think of it in terms of months, but if he was doing the painful honesty thing then months it was. Months of sneak attacks. Small, tiny things. Nothing huge. Nothing noticable. Because when it came right down to it he was a coward and that's what cowards did best. They pretended to act, so they could pretend they were brave.
The whole thing, really, was made up of tiny stuff. Little moments. Little seconds here and there that tapped him on the shoulder and yanked his head out of the clouds.
Wait - out of the clouds? Didn't stuff like this usually put your head into them?
Well, poetry aside, that's the way it worked. He was oblivious, and then little bit by little bit he wasn't and if he was the kind of guy who breathed it would have been the kind of thing that took his breath away. But he didn't and it wasn't and instead it left whatever passed for his organs in the mid-torso region feel all warm and clammy.
It was stupid, is what it was. But there it was. The Thought. That little idea that had snuck up on him in the elevator one day and whispered the fateful words:
What about Wes?
Which had been dumb but in its own way not so dumb. Because he could see it. Take it out, shake it around, put it back down again. He could see how it worked. How there was a kind of sense there. Hell it'd been much the same thing that had started the whole crap with Cordy and, well - never mind that now.
So he'd thought about it, and the elevator had hit the right floor and he'd nodded a good-bye to Wesley who'd said a good-bye in turn and he'd walked down the hall and figured yeah, sure, it made sense and that was that.
And it was. Until the next morning when he thought about it again.
And then again.
And again.
And then it was there, constantly, sitting in the back of his head like some kind of tiny demon. And it had to be a demon because this kind of thing just wasn't natural, in Angel's not so humble opinion.
After a while he accused the senior partners of putting a spell on him.
They'd looked at him strangely, laughed, and that was that.
So about then he realized he was stuck with it.
Which was when he started the little sneak attacks.
Because the thing of it was he didn't know. About Wes, about this, about anything. He couldn't figure it out. Didn't have the skills. So he tried his best, with what he had.
It took about three weeks for Lorne to haul him aside, congratulate him on his choice, then spell out advice about how to actually do it.
Two weeks after that Wes noticed.
It wasn't much. Like everything else, it was a little thing. But Angel saw it. He'd said something to Wes - one of Lorne's suggestions, actually - and Wes had stopped what he was doing, paused, and smiled the faintest of smiles before continuing.
Angel had taken it as encouragement and kept going.
Which was how they'd ended up here. In the elevator again, appropriately enough. Locked between floors 11 and 12, with the Stop button faintly buzzing at them as though it could somehow interrupt what they were doing.
But that was impossible. Angel knew it was impossible because what they were doing was kissing, and they were kissing because Wes himself had stopped the elevator, turned, placed two hands against Angel's shoulders, smirked, said, "Why didn't you just say something?" and then closed the distance between them.
And then Angel's chest blew up.
Or at least it felt like it. But even that was a distant memory, because where Angel was at the moment was the here and now, and the here and now was full of Wes, and his hands, and his lips and his - Christ there was also teeth. And tongue.
And then it was all new moments. Because now Wes who'd for weeks been he's-a-good-friend-so-yeah-why-not? was transforming in his arms to Wes with the muscles, Wes with the stubble, Wes with the hard thigh against his and Jesus when had Wes become a guy? A oh-yeah-this-makes-my-dick-hard honest to goodness guy?
And they broke apart, but not by much, and Wes who had, who could believe it, really amazing blue eyes was looking up at him as his tongue swiped at his lips as though savoring the taste as much as Angel was currently savoring the view and then murmured, almost vampire soft "Took you long enough."
It was a moment.
It came after weeks. And it was weeks because Angel didn't like to think of it in terms of months, but if he was doing the painful honesty thing then months it was. Months of sneak attacks. Small, tiny things. Nothing huge. Nothing noticable. Because when it came right down to it he was a coward and that's what cowards did best. They pretended to act, so they could pretend they were brave.
The whole thing, really, was made up of tiny stuff. Little moments. Little seconds here and there that tapped him on the shoulder and yanked his head out of the clouds.
Wait - out of the clouds? Didn't stuff like this usually put your head into them?
Well, poetry aside, that's the way it worked. He was oblivious, and then little bit by little bit he wasn't and if he was the kind of guy who breathed it would have been the kind of thing that took his breath away. But he didn't and it wasn't and instead it left whatever passed for his organs in the mid-torso region feel all warm and clammy.
It was stupid, is what it was. But there it was. The Thought. That little idea that had snuck up on him in the elevator one day and whispered the fateful words:
What about Wes?
Which had been dumb but in its own way not so dumb. Because he could see it. Take it out, shake it around, put it back down again. He could see how it worked. How there was a kind of sense there. Hell it'd been much the same thing that had started the whole crap with Cordy and, well - never mind that now.
So he'd thought about it, and the elevator had hit the right floor and he'd nodded a good-bye to Wesley who'd said a good-bye in turn and he'd walked down the hall and figured yeah, sure, it made sense and that was that.
And it was. Until the next morning when he thought about it again.
And then again.
And again.
And then it was there, constantly, sitting in the back of his head like some kind of tiny demon. And it had to be a demon because this kind of thing just wasn't natural, in Angel's not so humble opinion.
After a while he accused the senior partners of putting a spell on him.
They'd looked at him strangely, laughed, and that was that.
So about then he realized he was stuck with it.
Which was when he started the little sneak attacks.
Because the thing of it was he didn't know. About Wes, about this, about anything. He couldn't figure it out. Didn't have the skills. So he tried his best, with what he had.
It took about three weeks for Lorne to haul him aside, congratulate him on his choice, then spell out advice about how to actually do it.
Two weeks after that Wes noticed.
It wasn't much. Like everything else, it was a little thing. But Angel saw it. He'd said something to Wes - one of Lorne's suggestions, actually - and Wes had stopped what he was doing, paused, and smiled the faintest of smiles before continuing.
Angel had taken it as encouragement and kept going.
Which was how they'd ended up here. In the elevator again, appropriately enough. Locked between floors 11 and 12, with the Stop button faintly buzzing at them as though it could somehow interrupt what they were doing.
But that was impossible. Angel knew it was impossible because what they were doing was kissing, and they were kissing because Wes himself had stopped the elevator, turned, placed two hands against Angel's shoulders, smirked, said, "Why didn't you just say something?" and then closed the distance between them.
And then Angel's chest blew up.
Or at least it felt like it. But even that was a distant memory, because where Angel was at the moment was the here and now, and the here and now was full of Wes, and his hands, and his lips and his - Christ there was also teeth. And tongue.
And then it was all new moments. Because now Wes who'd for weeks been he's-a-good-friend-so-yeah-why-not? was transforming in his arms to Wes with the muscles, Wes with the stubble, Wes with the hard thigh against his and Jesus when had Wes become a guy? A oh-yeah-this-makes-my-dick-hard honest to goodness guy?
And they broke apart, but not by much, and Wes who had, who could believe it, really amazing blue eyes was looking up at him as his tongue swiped at his lips as though savoring the taste as much as Angel was currently savoring the view and then murmured, almost vampire soft "Took you long enough."
