Weak
By Bohemian Storm
Notes: This is a result of a challenge from Nita. Write a Fred/Wes fic using the words coffee cup, late and handwriting.
Fred bites her lip self consciously and stares at the broken pieces of the coffee cup she'd been holding seconds earlier. She hadn't meant to break it. He made her feel like that sometimes; like she might just drop everything she's holding and collapse. She's never done it before, not until now, that is. She thinks it's his eyes that make her feel kind of weak. Fred wonders if it's healthy to be this infatuated and to pretend that it doesn't exist. She thinks about him a little too often and she doesn't even want to think about the daydreams. They're getting to be a little much.
"It's late," he says, his eyes dropping from hers to the broken cup. "You need sleep."
She shakes her head. "I made a mess, Wesley. Besides, it's not that late. It's only-"
"Four in the morning," he says, cutting her off.
She grins. "I was working," she says.
He smiles back and his eyes are on hers. "You're always working."
She shrugs softly and kneels to the carpet, her fingers picking at the shards of glass. He kneels across from her a second later and meets her eyes again. She's glad that she's already so close to the floor or that look might have undone her. A smile tugs at his mouth, but it's gone the next second. He curses under his breath and brings his thumb to his mouth.
"Did you cut yourself?" she asks.
He nods.
She rises and gets a tissue from his desk. She doesn't really know why she's in his office to begin with. She is supposed to be working, after all, but here she is, leaning against his desk and handing him a tissue for his bleeding finger. He takes it from her and their hands brush, so she stares at the papers strewn across his desk instead.
His handwriting is very neat, she notices. How could it be anything else? He was a Watcher, after all. He wrote in the Watchers' Diaries, she's sure. She always imagined his handwriting to be very neat.
"Are my papers really that enthralling?" he asks, standing and walking toward her.
She smiles. "I was looking at your handwriting."
He glances down at it. "I can't imagine that is very exciting either."
"I can't keep looking at you," she murmurs and can't believe that she actually said it.
Wesley smiles again. "Why not?"
"You make me weak," she says, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
He snorts and she looks up in shock.
"You can't be serious," he says.
She stares at him, not believing what she's hearing.
His hand comes up to her cheek and she nearly jerks backward. It's not the hand that was bleeding. That one is still at his side, clenched in a fist. The hand on her cheek is warm and rough. She closes her eyes and nuzzles against it. He feels right to her.
"You make me weak," he whispers, repeating hers words.
His mouth brushes against hers and Fred can't ever remember being so grateful for a broken coffee cup.
End