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AtS - post S3
Wes/Angel
NC-17
The cold shock of the covers being pulled from his body jolted him instantly awake. His heart raced at the sensation, alert and yet disoriented. He calmed when he felt the familiar touch of those hands on his thighs, those hands that he knew so well, those hands that he hungered for. Slowly, they traveled up his thighs, climbing his body with slow, deliberate certitude. A whisper of breath through his pubic curls…. “Wes….” And he was hard, ready, anticipating.
And then, there, his cock was grasped firmly by the base as soft lips surrounded the head. Oh god….this was pure ecstasy, that velvety tongue swirling around his head, then stopping, taking him in, sucking him, milking him. Wesley shifted in the bed, lifting his hips, forcing himself deeper into the willing mouth. A hand forced him back, asserting dominance, yet that velvety tongue continued the tease, slowly circling his head while a hand surrounded his hardness, stroking him from the root while that tongue continued its slow tease.
His climax built from deep within, jolts of sensation layering upon each other, driving him mad, while that tongue and hand continued their work. Moving faster, sucking harder, the rhythm of his heart pounded a relentless staccato in response. He thrust himself deeper, and deeper yet, mindless of anything but his cock, that mouth, this time and place; and then a rush of mind-numbing release.
He opened his eyes, drowsy, bleary-eyed and thoroughly satiated. “Angel.”
He reached for the box of tissues on the bedside table, kicking the covers from his feet. He cleaned himself up and looked at the clock, 6:30. He fingered the scar at his throat, cursing himself, cursing Angel, cursing fate. A deep breath, two feet firmly planted on the floor, and he started another lonely day.
Wes/Angel
NC-17
The cold shock of the covers being pulled from his body jolted him instantly awake. His heart raced at the sensation, alert and yet disoriented. He calmed when he felt the familiar touch of those hands on his thighs, those hands that he knew so well, those hands that he hungered for. Slowly, they traveled up his thighs, climbing his body with slow, deliberate certitude. A whisper of breath through his pubic curls…. “Wes….” And he was hard, ready, anticipating.
And then, there, his cock was grasped firmly by the base as soft lips surrounded the head. Oh god….this was pure ecstasy, that velvety tongue swirling around his head, then stopping, taking him in, sucking him, milking him. Wesley shifted in the bed, lifting his hips, forcing himself deeper into the willing mouth. A hand forced him back, asserting dominance, yet that velvety tongue continued the tease, slowly circling his head while a hand surrounded his hardness, stroking him from the root while that tongue continued its slow tease.
His climax built from deep within, jolts of sensation layering upon each other, driving him mad, while that tongue and hand continued their work. Moving faster, sucking harder, the rhythm of his heart pounded a relentless staccato in response. He thrust himself deeper, and deeper yet, mindless of anything but his cock, that mouth, this time and place; and then a rush of mind-numbing release.
He opened his eyes, drowsy, bleary-eyed and thoroughly satiated. “Angel.”
He reached for the box of tissues on the bedside table, kicking the covers from his feet. He cleaned himself up and looked at the clock, 6:30. He fingered the scar at his throat, cursing himself, cursing Angel, cursing fate. A deep breath, two feet firmly planted on the floor, and he started another lonely day.
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