Dancing for Blood Money
Wesley sat alone in his office, staring at the papers that were strewn across the desk in front of him. He sighed, removed his glasses, rubbed his temples, cleaned his glasses, then dropped his forehead to the desk. His glasses went skittering across the desk and he ignored them, tired of reading and just tired in general.
Wolfram and Hart were sucking his energy day after day. He dealt with them indirectly but all the same, it was just getting to be too much. This week Angel was agonizing over some girl named Anne that Lindsey had given money to. She had a youth centre and was running out of money quick and somehow Wolfram and Hart just happened to donate this money to her. Angel didn't buy it. Not that Wesley was surprised because Angel didn't buy much of anything, but this time he agreed. There was no way the lawyers at Wolfram and Hart cared enough about the kids on the street to donate money to a centre for them. There had to be an ulterior motive.
Wesley looked up and rubbed the bridge of his nose before massaging his temples again. He was thinking about it too much, if he wanted an answer as to what Wolfram and Hart was doing he'd had to think less. It didn't seem to make sense when he said it aloud, but it made sense in his head and that was all that mattered.
Cordelia poked her head into his office a moment later and smiled. "Not thinking much, are you?"
He groaned. "That's just the problem, I'm thinking way too much."
"Need to loosen up?" She asked.
Wesley glanced at her. "Badly. What do you suggest?"
"Going to a club." She paused and looked him up and down. "But I've seen you dance, maybe that's not such a good idea."
"Hey." He protested mildly, knowing full well that she was right. "What's wrong with the way I dance?"
Cordelia smiled. "Well, to put it lightly, you look like a cheap male stripper when you gyrate around the room. Y'know, the kind most people pay to get off the stage."
"I don't gyrate." Wesley said with as much scorn as he could muster.
Cordelia chuckled. "You gyrate. Try dancing in front of a mirror sometime, you'll see how interesting you look." She turned to leave, then glanced at him again. "I just wanted to let you know that Angel's coming to get that video soon. Says there's something incriminating on it, so don't erase it." She told him, pointing to the camcorder in front of Wesley's desk.
He nodded. "I won't touch it, promise."
Cordelia smiled one more time, then left the room, closing the door behind her.
Wesley stared at the mirror on the wall in front of his desk, then glanced at the door. Cordelia probably wouldn't come back in for a while, he could count on the fact that she was reading a fashion magazine rather than working, which would make her work take twice as long. He didn't have a full length mirror anywhere in his apartment either, so if he could use this one, maybe he could see what exactly was wrong with his dancing.
Sighing, Wesley stood up and locked the door, then went to stand in front of the mirror. He stared at him, pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and began to hum a little tune. He scrutinized himself, criticizing every inch of himself. Wesley knew his arms could be a little more muscular and his chest could be a little more manly. He puffed it out, wondering what Angel did to make it look like . . . well, like Angel's chest.
His humming got a little louder and very gently at first, Wesley began to roll his hips. He didn't look like a male stripper, he didn't care what Cordelia thought. After his hips got into the movement, Wesley added his legs and his arms, dancing in front of the mirror and watching himself as he did.
*I'm not so bad.* He thought, adding a little extra thrust to the dance he was doing. "Not bad at all." He said aloud. "In fact, I'll bet I could be a stripper." He paused, then added, "the good kind."
Completely forgetting that Cordelia was in the building, he began snapping, moving away from the mirror and watching his entire body. The snapping, he had to admit, wasn't as good as the rest of his dance maneuvers, but it wasn't as bad as Cordelia said.
He paused for a moment, staring at himself in the mirror, then said in his best Sean Connery voice, "Pryce . . . Wesley Wyndam-Pryce." He smiled then, laughed a little and went back to his dancing. As far as he could tell, Cordelia had no idea what she was talking about.
Getting completely into the roll, Wesley unbuttoned his shirt and began to slide it off slowly, he whipped it around his head a few times and threw it across the room, standing in his white undershirt and pants. Grinning at the mirror, he undid his belt, adding a few extra thrusts in for good measure. His belt flew through the air and landed somewhere near the shirt, but Wesley was far too absorbed in his dancing to notice.
"I'm too sexy for my shirt . . ." he whispered under his breath, watching in fascination as his need to dance took over his entire body. "Damn, I'm good." He murmured, undoing his pants and sliding them onto the floor.
He paused then, staring at himself, dressed only in a white undershirt and black briefs. Wesley frowned for a moment, then grabbed his thigh.
*If I want to be a stripper I should have a little more muscle on these things.* He shook his hands around, then grabbed his leg again and looked at it closely. Without thinking, Wesley placed his hand between his legs and grabbed himself there as well. *Maybe more muscle there could help a little too.* He mused, then shrugged and went back to his dancing.
"Wesley!" Cordelia called, knocking on the door. "Why's your office locked?"
"Oh God, Cordelia!" He called back, "Um . . . hold on, just one moment." Glancing wildly around the room he found his pants and shirt, then started to work them back on. With one leg in his pants and one arm in his shirt Wesley tripped on his belt and fell flat on the floor, his clothes tangling as he went.
"Wesley? Are you okay?"
"Fine! I'm fine!" He yelled, then stood up and finished dressing himself. Smoothing back his hair he went to the door and unlocked it. "Sorry, I didn't realize I had locked it."
She shrugged. "Whatever. Angel just needs his tape." She walked over to the camcorder, then paused. "Uh, Wes, were you recording anything?"
"What? No." Wesley walked over to where she was standing and saw what she was looking at. The record light was flashing on the camcorder, meaning his entire strip tease was now on tape. "Uh, are you s-sure that Angel n-needs this tape now? Could it n-not wait until tomorrow maybe?"
Cordelia shook her head, then popped the tape out of the camcorder. "No, he says, and I quote, 'there's incriminating stuff on this tape about Lindsey'. Personally, I don't think there's anything incriminating on this tape and he's just playing a game with them."
Wesley nodded, his eyes wide. "I'm sure he has a wonderful plan and that it will go off without a hitch."
"Phhh, how often does that happen?"
Wesley smiled again, uncertainly. "Well, I can tell you this much . . . Angel was right."
"About what?"
Wesley whimpered slightly, "There's definitely something incriminating on that tape."
The End
Wesley sat alone in his office, staring at the papers that were strewn across the desk in front of him. He sighed, removed his glasses, rubbed his temples, cleaned his glasses, then dropped his forehead to the desk. His glasses went skittering across the desk and he ignored them, tired of reading and just tired in general.
Wolfram and Hart were sucking his energy day after day. He dealt with them indirectly but all the same, it was just getting to be too much. This week Angel was agonizing over some girl named Anne that Lindsey had given money to. She had a youth centre and was running out of money quick and somehow Wolfram and Hart just happened to donate this money to her. Angel didn't buy it. Not that Wesley was surprised because Angel didn't buy much of anything, but this time he agreed. There was no way the lawyers at Wolfram and Hart cared enough about the kids on the street to donate money to a centre for them. There had to be an ulterior motive.
Wesley looked up and rubbed the bridge of his nose before massaging his temples again. He was thinking about it too much, if he wanted an answer as to what Wolfram and Hart was doing he'd had to think less. It didn't seem to make sense when he said it aloud, but it made sense in his head and that was all that mattered.
Cordelia poked her head into his office a moment later and smiled. "Not thinking much, are you?"
He groaned. "That's just the problem, I'm thinking way too much."
"Need to loosen up?" She asked.
Wesley glanced at her. "Badly. What do you suggest?"
"Going to a club." She paused and looked him up and down. "But I've seen you dance, maybe that's not such a good idea."
"Hey." He protested mildly, knowing full well that she was right. "What's wrong with the way I dance?"
Cordelia smiled. "Well, to put it lightly, you look like a cheap male stripper when you gyrate around the room. Y'know, the kind most people pay to get off the stage."
"I don't gyrate." Wesley said with as much scorn as he could muster.
Cordelia chuckled. "You gyrate. Try dancing in front of a mirror sometime, you'll see how interesting you look." She turned to leave, then glanced at him again. "I just wanted to let you know that Angel's coming to get that video soon. Says there's something incriminating on it, so don't erase it." She told him, pointing to the camcorder in front of Wesley's desk.
He nodded. "I won't touch it, promise."
Cordelia smiled one more time, then left the room, closing the door behind her.
Wesley stared at the mirror on the wall in front of his desk, then glanced at the door. Cordelia probably wouldn't come back in for a while, he could count on the fact that she was reading a fashion magazine rather than working, which would make her work take twice as long. He didn't have a full length mirror anywhere in his apartment either, so if he could use this one, maybe he could see what exactly was wrong with his dancing.
Sighing, Wesley stood up and locked the door, then went to stand in front of the mirror. He stared at him, pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and began to hum a little tune. He scrutinized himself, criticizing every inch of himself. Wesley knew his arms could be a little more muscular and his chest could be a little more manly. He puffed it out, wondering what Angel did to make it look like . . . well, like Angel's chest.
His humming got a little louder and very gently at first, Wesley began to roll his hips. He didn't look like a male stripper, he didn't care what Cordelia thought. After his hips got into the movement, Wesley added his legs and his arms, dancing in front of the mirror and watching himself as he did.
*I'm not so bad.* He thought, adding a little extra thrust to the dance he was doing. "Not bad at all." He said aloud. "In fact, I'll bet I could be a stripper." He paused, then added, "the good kind."
Completely forgetting that Cordelia was in the building, he began snapping, moving away from the mirror and watching his entire body. The snapping, he had to admit, wasn't as good as the rest of his dance maneuvers, but it wasn't as bad as Cordelia said.
He paused for a moment, staring at himself in the mirror, then said in his best Sean Connery voice, "Pryce . . . Wesley Wyndam-Pryce." He smiled then, laughed a little and went back to his dancing. As far as he could tell, Cordelia had no idea what she was talking about.
Getting completely into the roll, Wesley unbuttoned his shirt and began to slide it off slowly, he whipped it around his head a few times and threw it across the room, standing in his white undershirt and pants. Grinning at the mirror, he undid his belt, adding a few extra thrusts in for good measure. His belt flew through the air and landed somewhere near the shirt, but Wesley was far too absorbed in his dancing to notice.
"I'm too sexy for my shirt . . ." he whispered under his breath, watching in fascination as his need to dance took over his entire body. "Damn, I'm good." He murmured, undoing his pants and sliding them onto the floor.
He paused then, staring at himself, dressed only in a white undershirt and black briefs. Wesley frowned for a moment, then grabbed his thigh.
*If I want to be a stripper I should have a little more muscle on these things.* He shook his hands around, then grabbed his leg again and looked at it closely. Without thinking, Wesley placed his hand between his legs and grabbed himself there as well. *Maybe more muscle there could help a little too.* He mused, then shrugged and went back to his dancing.
"Wesley!" Cordelia called, knocking on the door. "Why's your office locked?"
"Oh God, Cordelia!" He called back, "Um . . . hold on, just one moment." Glancing wildly around the room he found his pants and shirt, then started to work them back on. With one leg in his pants and one arm in his shirt Wesley tripped on his belt and fell flat on the floor, his clothes tangling as he went.
"Wesley? Are you okay?"
"Fine! I'm fine!" He yelled, then stood up and finished dressing himself. Smoothing back his hair he went to the door and unlocked it. "Sorry, I didn't realize I had locked it."
She shrugged. "Whatever. Angel just needs his tape." She walked over to the camcorder, then paused. "Uh, Wes, were you recording anything?"
"What? No." Wesley walked over to where she was standing and saw what she was looking at. The record light was flashing on the camcorder, meaning his entire strip tease was now on tape. "Uh, are you s-sure that Angel n-needs this tape now? Could it n-not wait until tomorrow maybe?"
Cordelia shook her head, then popped the tape out of the camcorder. "No, he says, and I quote, 'there's incriminating stuff on this tape about Lindsey'. Personally, I don't think there's anything incriminating on this tape and he's just playing a game with them."
Wesley nodded, his eyes wide. "I'm sure he has a wonderful plan and that it will go off without a hitch."
"Phhh, how often does that happen?"
Wesley smiled again, uncertainly. "Well, I can tell you this much . . . Angel was right."
"About what?"
Wesley whimpered slightly, "There's definitely something incriminating on that tape."
The End