Eloise (eloise_bright) wrote in angel_wes,

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The Oxford Story - Payback

I don't know why, but this little Oxford 'verse won't leave me alone. There was some degree of interest in what happened to Wesley after his little prank in the cloisters. This denial verse started out here as a birthday fic for lonelybrit, then got continued here when versaphile posted her lovely picture of an Oxford college.
And then this happened. Oxford Story Kink/Smut. I used to be a good girl, you know...
Beta and serious enablement by lonelybrit. *hugs*

Oxford Story: Payback

“You know, I think we should do the ghost tour tomorrow.” Angel flicked forward a few pages in the tourist guide book that Wesley had forbidden him to buy. “It sounds great.”

Wesley sighed dramatically. “Oh, for goodness sake, it’s just tacky…”

“Did I say you could speak?” There was a note of steel under Angel’s deceptively pleasant tone. He turned his book over and set it down on the lamp table next to his armchair.

“No, I’m s-sorry…” He liked the hint of a stutter in Wesley’s hesitant apology; it meant that this was working. Angel could feel the uncertainty in his voice; apprehension and irritation warring within Wesley. “It’s just… how long are you going to keep this up, Angel?”

Angel stretched his legs in front of him and admired the view. Wesley was standing in the corner of the room, his hands braced against the wall, forcing him to lean forward slightly. He was stripped to the waist, his feet far enough apart to pull the canvas of his trousers taut across that wonderfully firm backside.

“You said you’d bend me over the desk, and I’ve been in the corner for half an hour at least. I’m starting to get cold.” Angel could tell he was trying hard not to sound whining. And failing miserably.

Angel got up from his chair and wandered nonchalantly over to the bed, bending down to retrieve Wesley’s suitcase. “Well, now, Wes, we can’t have you getting cold.” He unzipped the sides of the leather case and opened it almost reverently. “Let’s see if I can’t find something to warm you up with.”

He lifted first a soft charcoal grey knit shirt, one of Wesley’s favourites, and placed it on the bed beside the case. Added the blue cotton oxford shirt and then the green canvas one, his own favourite. Then found what he was looking for.

“There we are. This should do the job.” He loved the way the muscles in Wesley’s back tensed as he approached, his feet coming together involuntarily. Angel tutted theatrically. “Now, come on, Wes. Feet apart, you know that.”

He nudged Wesley’s ankle gently with his booted toe, and Wesley spread his legs again, the breath hitching in his chest.

“That’s better.” Angel placed one hand on Wesley’s hip and the other in the small of his back, pressing down till Wesley had to bend at the waist. He kept his hand on Wesley’s back, and laid the slipper against his backside.

Wesley twisted at the contact. “W-What the hell is that? Angel?” He saw the slipper and began to giggle. “Oh, come on. I haven’t had a slippering since I was in prep school!”

Angel sighed, rather disappointed at the total lack of concern in Wesley’s voice. Obviously the slipper wasn’t going to be very effective. “Wait there.”

He was not impressed by the impertinent wiggle of Wesley’s backside. “No slipper?” The cheeky sod sounded disappointed. He smacked the slipper across Wesley’s arse, and he jumped satisfyingly. “Be quiet, Wesley.”

“God, you even sound like my Prep school headmaster.”

Angel frowned and scanned the room for an alternative weapon. Oh yes. That was perfect. Poetic justice even. He retrieved it from the opposite corner of the room, where it had been left to dry.

Wesley peered over his shoulder and burst into giggles. “Oh no, you can’t be serious. The umbrella?”

“What part of ‘Be quiet, Wesley’ are you having trouble with?” Angel tapped him lightly on the arse with the umbrella, and Wesley squirmed obligingly. Another whack and he squeaked softly, the laughter gone from his voice. Wesley’s fingers curled against the wall, and he thrust his backside out temptingly. Angel gave into temptation again and drew a soft gasp from Wesley.

“Please…” The word was whispered desperately, and Angel set down the umbrella, suddenly anxious.

“Wes? You okay?”

Wesley looked at him from over his shoulder, his hair disheveled; his lips parted just a little. There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere.

“Please, Angel. I need…” Wesley dropped his head low, his cheeks scarlet, his eyes dark with shaming desire.

Angel reached down and unbuttoned the trousers, and Wesley nodded helplessly, arching against the hand at his back. The trousers were down and off quickly; then Angel slid his fingers under the waistband of Wesley’s boxers and lowered them very slowly. Wesley shuddered and the muscles in his legs trembled.

Please…” the whispered plea came again. Angel skimmed his fingers over the already heated flesh and slipped his other hand underneath Wesley; his palm sliding down the firm stomach, supporting him.

“You sure about this, Wes?” A question he always asks.

Wesley nodded once, and reached round, clasping Angel’s hand and placing his lips against the cool palm.

Angel accepted the kiss and the permission. He held Wesley firmly and brought his hand down hard. Wesley kept his head down, but the fingers that had been braced against the wall now curled into his palms.

Angel hit him again, and again, the heat of the blows warming his cool palm, his fingers leaving rosy shadows on soft flesh. Wesley was pushing back against Angel’s hand, his breathing shallow, his head dropped low, taking everything.

Angel kept the smacks firm, occasionally pausing to brush his fingertips over the reddened flesh. At last he felt the muscles in Wesley’s thighs tighten, and brought his palm down a final time, deliberately aiming between his legs. Wesley cried out softly, and Angel wrapped his arm around him as he came.

“Wes? “ He felt him relax, and the soft contented half-sigh that Wesley gave made Angel want to hold him like this for some time. Possibly forever.

Wesley turned to face him, and Angel looked into those wide innocent clear blue eyes, and knew he’d been played. Again.

“You knew I was going to make you wait.”

Wesley at least had the grace to blush. “What? I was waiting half an hour.”

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

The smile he received was pure lazy insouciance. “So I’ve been told. By Irish peasants, no less.” Wesley looked up at him through long lashes, all wanton innocence and rumpled desire.

Angel grinned back and kissed Wesley’s jaw line, brushing his lips against his ear.

“On your knees, boy.”
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