Slashed Sonnet Sequence
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
2,718
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
2,718
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
#2 - New Made, When Thou Art Old (Angel/Lindsey)
New Made, When Thou Art Old
Angel/Lindsey
225 words
Lindsey's seen forty winters so far as the seasons fly, though he feels far older than that. As he ages, he's begun thinking he ought to give honesty a try. With himself. About a few things.
So he starts by remembering Angel.
You're not supposed to think another man's beautiful, least not where Lindsey's from. But he's come so far, done so much those sharecroppers wouldn't begin to *get* that it just isn't worth getting troubled over.
And Angel was beautiful. He knew it. Revelled in it. When the rare chance came to touch him, he'd pretended loathing but in truth had savored the hard/cold/unforgiving/sexual/asexual/feels-so-bad-so-good for all it was worth.
Wasn't enough. Never was. Still isn't.
Forty years old, Lindsey's finally old and wise enough to admit he wishes he'd another chance. Go back in time. Shock the hell out of that vampire by stopping in the middle of a fight, grabbing him by that broad waist and kissing those tempting lips with all the passion they'd both denied.
Still, wishes don't come true.
Usually.
But he's always been good at finding the one ace in the deck, turning it over, and winning the whole hand.
Thinking that, Lindsey reaches out to finger the amulet hanging around the neck of the lovely woman he's having coffee with, and smiles a very dark and secret smile.
* * *
For those interested...
Sonnet 2
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a totter'd weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
Angel/Lindsey
225 words
Lindsey's seen forty winters so far as the seasons fly, though he feels far older than that. As he ages, he's begun thinking he ought to give honesty a try. With himself. About a few things.
So he starts by remembering Angel.
You're not supposed to think another man's beautiful, least not where Lindsey's from. But he's come so far, done so much those sharecroppers wouldn't begin to *get* that it just isn't worth getting troubled over.
And Angel was beautiful. He knew it. Revelled in it. When the rare chance came to touch him, he'd pretended loathing but in truth had savored the hard/cold/unforgiving/sexual/asexual/feels-so-bad-so-good for all it was worth.
Wasn't enough. Never was. Still isn't.
Forty years old, Lindsey's finally old and wise enough to admit he wishes he'd another chance. Go back in time. Shock the hell out of that vampire by stopping in the middle of a fight, grabbing him by that broad waist and kissing those tempting lips with all the passion they'd both denied.
Still, wishes don't come true.
Usually.
But he's always been good at finding the one ace in the deck, turning it over, and winning the whole hand.
Thinking that, Lindsey reaches out to finger the amulet hanging around the neck of the lovely woman he's having coffee with, and smiles a very dark and secret smile.
* * *
For those interested...
Sonnet 2
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a totter'd weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.