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I was just tidying up my story folder (dear me, the mess) and I found this abandoned snippet. And I thought, what the heck, it is sort of finished in a way, or as much as it ever will be. It's early days with Wes and Faith in S3.
And I went to the library today and got the new Angel tie in book with Wes, 'Book of the Dead' and 'What Would Buffy Do?' by Jana Reis :;does got books for nothing dance:: And then I went on a crazy spending spree and got a Young Ones vid for $2.88 (!) from Future Shop, a whack of pressies for E who turns nine in a few weeks, the third Watcher's Guide (not got good reviews but, eh, I wanted it) and 'Sex, Lies and Videotape' on DVD for $10 for my Spader fix. I'm just like Faith! Want, take, hand over credit card, have!
:-)
“Newsflash, Wes. Slaying? So not a spectator sport.”
“Given the inherent need for secrecy in your calling, no, I’d imagine it isn’t,” Wesley agreed, stepping over the rapidly dissolving corpse of a Brenin demon and hurrying after his Slayer. His? Or should he get accustomed to thinking of her as Faith. Yes, perhaps that was better... “I, on the other hand, am your Watcher. No closer bond exists than that between Watcher and Slayer. Think of me as being another element in your arsenal, a vital, necessary –”
He paused mid-speech to catch his breath and Faith smiled over her shoulder at him. “Tool?”
He’d actually started to nod before her wicked grin sent the blood rushing to his cheeks. “I’d appreciate a little more respect, Faith,” he snapped. “And as this accompanied patrol is for the sole purpose of making my initial report to the Council it would behoove you to –”
“Wesley, I don’t know what the fuck you’re on, but I don’t understand word one. If you want to tag along, fine. You keep up and I’ll try to keep you alive – but if you don’t button it, I’ll tie you to the nearest grave and use you as bait.”
He swallowed, caught by a vivid image of Faith’s hands on his skin as she tied him, ropes scratching skin, black-cherry painted nails digging even deeper. “An interesting approach, if fraught with –” Her raking glare pinned and gutted him and he shoved trembling hands into his pockets. “Carry on.”
Even he thought that sounded weak but she walked away without a backward glance, hips rolling in a way he was positively certain she knew was eye catching and equally certain was automatic rather than an invitation.
Faith seemed, from a conversation he’d overheard between her and Buffy, to despise all the men she slept with – which gave him some hope of eventual success even if he suspected he ranked a little below John the alcoholic who’d thrown up over Faith’s new boots, though he possibly had the edge over Steve who apparently had ‘a dick the size of a pencil and no lead in it.’
A week of training with Faith, glowing with exuberance, bouncing about – Dear God, the bouncing – had left Wesley assured that no matter what problems he had, impotence wasn’t one of them, though satyriasis might be an issue.
And I went to the library today and got the new Angel tie in book with Wes, 'Book of the Dead' and 'What Would Buffy Do?' by Jana Reis :;does got books for nothing dance:: And then I went on a crazy spending spree and got a Young Ones vid for $2.88 (!) from Future Shop, a whack of pressies for E who turns nine in a few weeks, the third Watcher's Guide (not got good reviews but, eh, I wanted it) and 'Sex, Lies and Videotape' on DVD for $10 for my Spader fix. I'm just like Faith! Want, take, hand over credit card, have!
:-)
“Newsflash, Wes. Slaying? So not a spectator sport.”
“Given the inherent need for secrecy in your calling, no, I’d imagine it isn’t,” Wesley agreed, stepping over the rapidly dissolving corpse of a Brenin demon and hurrying after his Slayer. His? Or should he get accustomed to thinking of her as Faith. Yes, perhaps that was better... “I, on the other hand, am your Watcher. No closer bond exists than that between Watcher and Slayer. Think of me as being another element in your arsenal, a vital, necessary –”
He paused mid-speech to catch his breath and Faith smiled over her shoulder at him. “Tool?”
He’d actually started to nod before her wicked grin sent the blood rushing to his cheeks. “I’d appreciate a little more respect, Faith,” he snapped. “And as this accompanied patrol is for the sole purpose of making my initial report to the Council it would behoove you to –”
“Wesley, I don’t know what the fuck you’re on, but I don’t understand word one. If you want to tag along, fine. You keep up and I’ll try to keep you alive – but if you don’t button it, I’ll tie you to the nearest grave and use you as bait.”
He swallowed, caught by a vivid image of Faith’s hands on his skin as she tied him, ropes scratching skin, black-cherry painted nails digging even deeper. “An interesting approach, if fraught with –” Her raking glare pinned and gutted him and he shoved trembling hands into his pockets. “Carry on.”
Even he thought that sounded weak but she walked away without a backward glance, hips rolling in a way he was positively certain she knew was eye catching and equally certain was automatic rather than an invitation.
Faith seemed, from a conversation he’d overheard between her and Buffy, to despise all the men she slept with – which gave him some hope of eventual success even if he suspected he ranked a little below John the alcoholic who’d thrown up over Faith’s new boots, though he possibly had the edge over Steve who apparently had ‘a dick the size of a pencil and no lead in it.’
A week of training with Faith, glowing with exuberance, bouncing about – Dear God, the bouncing – had left Wesley assured that no matter what problems he had, impotence wasn’t one of them, though satyriasis might be an issue.