AN: I just rediscovered this story (the fourth in my "Torture" series)
I wrote a few years ago. A big thanks to Syn for helping me find it
again! Looking back on this fic, I'm not entirely satisfied with every
aspect, but I'm posting it in its original form here anyway. Please
keep this in mind when you're sending me hate mail. =D
~~
Title: Hot
Author: IngridSarah
Disclaimer: I know very well I ought not/steal Joss' stuff for my plot/
I'm aware it's illegal/but I'm rather evil/so don't you dare tell the
crackpot.
Summary: Wesley's having some…um…psychological issues with Faith
post-"Torture." This is set after my last story, "Blunt."
~~
"Come on. Admit it, Wes. Didn't you always have the hots for me?"
He didn't think he had ever been so *aware* of his whole body at once.
It was as if he were taking stock of all its parts the way she must
have been, seeking out his most vulnerable places. The difference was,
whereas he was sensing them all with uncertain trepidation, she already
knew: that spot on the inside of his elbow; his fingertips; his thighs.
He was already cringing, his soft parts throbbing with expectancy.
When the sock slipped off his foot, he licked his lips in anticipation.
Fingers and toes. He had been gritting his teeth the whole time,
attempting to exert an invisible force outside his body to counteract
everything she was sending in. Most people thought of the body as a
sort of carrying crate for the soul. He knew better than that. If his
body was a crate, she had already found the cracks in it.
He jerked as far up as the bonds would take him when her finger found
the inside of his foot. She knew her art too well; she knew that a
light touch, just then and there, would send him into spasms. Was she
already burning him? He felt so hot, like the little flame on the
bottom of his foot was heating the blood there and sending it running
back through his body, scorching his veins.
"Faith," he murmured into his gag. He tried to stop himself even before
he said it, but the urge to cry out was so strong. He was relieved when
the cloth transformed his embarrassing words into nothing more than a
desperate hum.
That's when her leg wrapped around his waist and she sat directly over
his…
Her hair brushed against the little cuts on his neck and shoulders as
she stretched over him, her stinging fingers lemon on his cooked red
shoulders. The heat rose from him like it did after a painful exertion
was over and his brain finally had time to catch up.
He had to force himself to bite his lip so that he could keep his
promise not to scream. It was so hot that sweat was dripping from his
hairline into his eyes where it burned the picture in front of him so
that it became incomprehensible.
~~~
"I love you." It came to him disembodied, wearing her voice as if she
were trying out the words for the first time and they didn't quite fit.
It was funny how he could feel so hot in some places, while ice was
freezing his veins everywhere else. She rose and fell again over that
one spot which was so warm and pliable while the rest of him felt so
cold that he could almost feel the flesh turning to marble. His heart
slowed down with the cold poison entering its chambers, filling it up
with hardness so that it could no longer palpitate. His eyeballs rested
on the ice in his head, numbing the sight before him, distorting what
he saw like a propaganda machine.
All he had to do was lie there, her dangling hair obscuring his vision
as he became hot *there,* her salty hands rubbing flesh that still felt
raw. She pinched his skin with such a twist that for a moment he
wondered if she had a knife, and he was still back in that chair…
He lifted her shirt with clumsy fingers and ran the heel of his palm
over the 3 inch scar on the right side of her navel. He wanted to grab
her belly there, laying claim to her body the way she had his. It was
like a seam in a stuffed toy that he could rip open, pulling out the
warm cotton.
Heat melted things together; made solid things run like liquid. He felt
his insides turn to wax and begin to fill his lungs, and even though he
couldn't breathe, he felt fuller than he had in his entire life.
He had once wondered about these red spots on his body that he got from
time to time: a perfectly straight line across his abdomen, an
asymmetrical splotch over the base of his throat, always the same. It
was as if his body had scars that he himself could not remember. But it
made sense. He hurt too much in this life for only the blows he could
recall.
~~~
"Wesley?" Her voice was warm and tired, and more like a gentle rumbling
in his ear than anything else. Dull lamps losing light dissipated the
black of the dark room, turning it into a tepid brown-grey. He realized
that the ropes were gone and they were on the couch, his head resting
on Faith's chest. If he hadn't been hot before, he was now as he
flushed with embarrassment and confusion and sat upright.
"I'm sorry. I must have fallen asleep and…"
"It's ok." She was grinning at him for his manners again. They were
still touching…
Shoulder to shoulder, they had been, the inside of his elbow hovering
near her side, his fingers resting loosely near her thigh, and his eyes
glued shut like something sticky and warm covered them, giving
everything a glow that didn't really exist except inside his mind.
"Are you okay?"
Shoulder to shoulder, for months, over books, under covers, and in
front of a television like this one, and he had never once reached out
and…
"Wes…" It had taken her a moment to see his face in the dark. He felt
like a sandbag when she pulled him into her arms and his head flopped
over her shoulder. Her hands heated his cool neck through his collar as
he wondered what her face looked like. Was she smiling? Was she going
to tear through his back as soon as he saw it? She started to pull
away, but he clung to her, not wanting to know.
If he just kept his eyes closed…
His fingers trembled, wondering what time it was--what day and year,
and why Faith's body was so warm and sure against his… His cheek slid
against hers; the desert sun and a pathetic little ice cube. He caught
her lips on the way, and held on so she couldn't rush away again like
the tide. Her bright red lipstick branded his cheeks and seared his
lips.
Suddenly her hands stopped square on his chest, right above his scars.
They parted, and he felt the cool air swirling between them again, a
shot of air conditioner turning his mouth dry and his body cold. His
cheeks turned pink nevertheless--inside, he was very, very hot.
"Wesley?"
~~~
END
I wrote a few years ago. A big thanks to Syn for helping me find it
again! Looking back on this fic, I'm not entirely satisfied with every
aspect, but I'm posting it in its original form here anyway. Please
keep this in mind when you're sending me hate mail. =D
~~
Title: Hot
Author: IngridSarah
Disclaimer: I know very well I ought not/steal Joss' stuff for my plot/
I'm aware it's illegal/but I'm rather evil/so don't you dare tell the
crackpot.
Summary: Wesley's having some…um…psychological issues with Faith
post-"Torture." This is set after my last story, "Blunt."
~~
"Come on. Admit it, Wes. Didn't you always have the hots for me?"
He didn't think he had ever been so *aware* of his whole body at once.
It was as if he were taking stock of all its parts the way she must
have been, seeking out his most vulnerable places. The difference was,
whereas he was sensing them all with uncertain trepidation, she already
knew: that spot on the inside of his elbow; his fingertips; his thighs.
He was already cringing, his soft parts throbbing with expectancy.
When the sock slipped off his foot, he licked his lips in anticipation.
Fingers and toes. He had been gritting his teeth the whole time,
attempting to exert an invisible force outside his body to counteract
everything she was sending in. Most people thought of the body as a
sort of carrying crate for the soul. He knew better than that. If his
body was a crate, she had already found the cracks in it.
He jerked as far up as the bonds would take him when her finger found
the inside of his foot. She knew her art too well; she knew that a
light touch, just then and there, would send him into spasms. Was she
already burning him? He felt so hot, like the little flame on the
bottom of his foot was heating the blood there and sending it running
back through his body, scorching his veins.
"Faith," he murmured into his gag. He tried to stop himself even before
he said it, but the urge to cry out was so strong. He was relieved when
the cloth transformed his embarrassing words into nothing more than a
desperate hum.
That's when her leg wrapped around his waist and she sat directly over
his…
Her hair brushed against the little cuts on his neck and shoulders as
she stretched over him, her stinging fingers lemon on his cooked red
shoulders. The heat rose from him like it did after a painful exertion
was over and his brain finally had time to catch up.
He had to force himself to bite his lip so that he could keep his
promise not to scream. It was so hot that sweat was dripping from his
hairline into his eyes where it burned the picture in front of him so
that it became incomprehensible.
~~~
"I love you." It came to him disembodied, wearing her voice as if she
were trying out the words for the first time and they didn't quite fit.
It was funny how he could feel so hot in some places, while ice was
freezing his veins everywhere else. She rose and fell again over that
one spot which was so warm and pliable while the rest of him felt so
cold that he could almost feel the flesh turning to marble. His heart
slowed down with the cold poison entering its chambers, filling it up
with hardness so that it could no longer palpitate. His eyeballs rested
on the ice in his head, numbing the sight before him, distorting what
he saw like a propaganda machine.
All he had to do was lie there, her dangling hair obscuring his vision
as he became hot *there,* her salty hands rubbing flesh that still felt
raw. She pinched his skin with such a twist that for a moment he
wondered if she had a knife, and he was still back in that chair…
He lifted her shirt with clumsy fingers and ran the heel of his palm
over the 3 inch scar on the right side of her navel. He wanted to grab
her belly there, laying claim to her body the way she had his. It was
like a seam in a stuffed toy that he could rip open, pulling out the
warm cotton.
Heat melted things together; made solid things run like liquid. He felt
his insides turn to wax and begin to fill his lungs, and even though he
couldn't breathe, he felt fuller than he had in his entire life.
He had once wondered about these red spots on his body that he got from
time to time: a perfectly straight line across his abdomen, an
asymmetrical splotch over the base of his throat, always the same. It
was as if his body had scars that he himself could not remember. But it
made sense. He hurt too much in this life for only the blows he could
recall.
~~~
"Wesley?" Her voice was warm and tired, and more like a gentle rumbling
in his ear than anything else. Dull lamps losing light dissipated the
black of the dark room, turning it into a tepid brown-grey. He realized
that the ropes were gone and they were on the couch, his head resting
on Faith's chest. If he hadn't been hot before, he was now as he
flushed with embarrassment and confusion and sat upright.
"I'm sorry. I must have fallen asleep and…"
"It's ok." She was grinning at him for his manners again. They were
still touching…
Shoulder to shoulder, they had been, the inside of his elbow hovering
near her side, his fingers resting loosely near her thigh, and his eyes
glued shut like something sticky and warm covered them, giving
everything a glow that didn't really exist except inside his mind.
"Are you okay?"
Shoulder to shoulder, for months, over books, under covers, and in
front of a television like this one, and he had never once reached out
and…
"Wes…" It had taken her a moment to see his face in the dark. He felt
like a sandbag when she pulled him into her arms and his head flopped
over her shoulder. Her hands heated his cool neck through his collar as
he wondered what her face looked like. Was she smiling? Was she going
to tear through his back as soon as he saw it? She started to pull
away, but he clung to her, not wanting to know.
If he just kept his eyes closed…
His fingers trembled, wondering what time it was--what day and year,
and why Faith's body was so warm and sure against his… His cheek slid
against hers; the desert sun and a pathetic little ice cube. He caught
her lips on the way, and held on so she couldn't rush away again like
the tide. Her bright red lipstick branded his cheeks and seared his
lips.
Suddenly her hands stopped square on his chest, right above his scars.
They parted, and he felt the cool air swirling between them again, a
shot of air conditioner turning his mouth dry and his body cold. His
cheeks turned pink nevertheless--inside, he was very, very hot.
"Wesley?"
~~~
END