Cannonball is, as I said, a fiction which involves an age-difference relationship (i.e., warning: if you do not like Lolita's stories, do not read.) It does also involve an original character.
I intend to present it not in a lineal way, so the chapters might come like 4-1-5-2-3-, etc. I hope it works )
Cannonball is set during the beginning of season 5. However, I do not pretend to be really accurate. Neither Angel, the Series nor anything that has to do with it belongs to me, except for this fic.

Here it starts.

Chapter four: It's raining in L.A.

"How can this be happening so fast?" wondered Wesley, staring at the white curtains.

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It had been a pretty hard day at Wolfram & Hart, which really a novelty wasn't given that every day he worked there he could see the amount of work increasing at an amazing speed. But he was finally at home: his brand new minimalist apartment with a central garden and all the comforts a man could ask for. Plus, it looked like it was going to rain.
She was simply lying there on the bright green grass, sleeping. Her white dress had ridden a little too much up her tights, displaying their untanned back to him. One of her arms was stretched out dramatically, as if throwing away the forbidden apple.
The rain started falling slowly, dotting her dress with darker spots. He doesn't speak, he doesn't move. He just watches through the glass doors her immobile+ body. She herself doesn't move, even if the cold drops hit her skin, making it shiver. She knows he's looking at her.
Wesley, as well, is aware of this. She is not asleep, she just loves being observed. She is a delicate creature that would not stand in the middle of a fashion show or in a shop's window, but rather would sprawl herself in the middle of a crowded park to read a book or make a display of her flexibility in a common supermarket. She loves to feel the stares on her.
Her fake sleep seems so deep that even when the rain starts falling harder she doesn't even flinch. Finally he opens the glass door, steps into the garden and scoops her into his arms, carrying her back to the warmth of the house. Her brown hair dangles wet, probably damaging his dry-clean shirt. She opens her eyes to look straight into his. He does not let go of her until they both reach the bathroom of his suite.
"You should not do things like that, you might get sick" says Wesley, as he turns the hot water on.
He starts undressing her quite carefully, getting rid of the cold and damp cloths, kissing her body every once on a while. When the tub is half full he places her gently into it, dripping some bubble lotion so she can amuse herself with the foam.
He watches her close her eyes and unclench her muscles under the water, as if hers had been the rough day. He begins unbuttoning his shirt, dropping his pants so he and join her. She rests against his chest in the warm water, while he runs the soap all over her body. She is always silent when they play like this, so he follows her example. Wesley knows well enough that is her odd way of seducing him, by intriguing him. He has always been, after all, attracted to mysteries.
After a while he helps her out, and dries carefully her with the towel while she stares at him fixedly. He is a mystery for her, too. He carries her once more, now towards the bed, where he places her and starts kissing her slowly, not caring for the towels that idly fall to the floor. The rest might be a matter too delicate to describe, even if he is soft and gentle, like rain. In a couple of hours she sleeps soundly in his arms, this time for real. She is too small & fragile, she might get lost in such a big bed. But he can't sleep yet. He just stares into the white curtains, barely illuminated by the public light. And he wonders: "How can this be happening so fast?"

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That is it for now. I would really appreciate any reviews, both good and bad. Thanks for reading,

Sirena