Mine In This Moment

DISCLAIMER: Lilah, Wes and the whole Angel gang belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and a whole host of other very rich people and/or corporations. This fic is not intended to infringe upon any copyrights thus bringing the wrath of said owners down upon me. I’m just borrowing these two for a more in depth look at their relationship.

Author: MissMishka

Email: missmishka@aol.com feedback is welcomed and greatly appreciated.

Rating: Strong R/NC-17 for sexual situations

Spoilers: Season 4 episode 7, Apocalypse Nowish aka Rain of Fire

Summary: Lilah’s POV of her little role play scene with Wes, kind of angsty and written in the first person.

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The things I do for this man, I think with a shake of my head as I tie the tiny white ribbon I’m holding into a bow on the end of my second pigtail braids. That done I pick up the pair of dark red framed glasses sitting on the counter next to the sink in his bathroom and slip them on to complete my outfit.

He doesn’t deserve a bit of it, I know as I admire my reflection in the mirror. The slim black skirt I’m wearing flows nicely over my hips to cover me to mid-thigh and the cardigan’s a nice touch, but the prim and proper white cotton blouse under it just isn’t doing anything for me. Like a good little schoolgirl I’ve got the thing buttoned chastely all the way up to the top and believe that’s my problem.

I was never a good little schoolgirl. Grinning at that thought I flick the top button open and tilt my head to the side consideringly then refasten it as I try to decide which way is more … her.

The mere suggestion that I’m trying to be that little priss brings a glaring frown as I shake off all inner debates and unfasten the button again before turning in my black patent leather Mary Janes and going to await his arrival home. I hear his key in the locks just as I settle myself on the edge of his kitchen table where I’ll be seen the moment he walks in and with a smile I cross my dangling legs demurely then begin swinging them back and forth in a shy schoolgirl manner. As I watch him rather tiredly enter the apartment I wonder yet again why he doesn’t delegate more of the tiring fieldwork to his employees like any self-respecting boss does with their authority. I’m tempted to tell him how all his hard work and good intentions will lead to wrinkles as well as prematurely gray if not thinning hair, but if I do that he’ll think I care or something and we both know that I don’t.

So instead I slip into the little role I’ve chosen and, when he looks in my direction, ask sweetly, "Hard day at the office?"

"I’ve had worse," he answers in that refined British way he has as he walks a few cautious steps in my direction.

"What happened?"

"Bugs," he replies with his blue eyes running curiously over me.

"Giant?" I ask as some of my staff had had to deal with such nuisances today.

"Swarm," he says distractedly while coming to a stop a few feet away. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"Isn’t this what you like?" I ask with a southern twang entering my tone as I fidget coyly with a braid. "Big brain and a tight little - "

"Lilah," he interrupts in a way that says he’s in no mood to play, but I know I can change that pretty quickly.

"Oh, forget about that evil witch," I continue with my sweet Southern belle routine. "Let’s talk about me. I’m good and I’m pure and science turns me on and one day," I get to my favorite part of this little skit, raise my hands as if in prayer and begin mocking his Fred with relish, "if I pray hard enough and eat all my vegetables, I just might have hips."

"Are you finished?" he asks with a reluctant smile at my words.

"Did it turn you on?" I ask as I slide off the table and walk his way. "Watching her up there in front of all those brainiacs," I cross my arms over my chest and try for a condescending rather than jealous air, "knowing she was the smartest one in the room?"

"Her theories deserve attention," he responds quickly.

"Just," I tip my head forward and give him a skeptical glance over the edge of my glasses, "her theories? I saw the way you looked at her," I tell him as I move in closer. "Oh, come on," I scoff while moving my hands to fiddle with the collar of his shirt. "Do you think I care about your little crush?" I begin unbuttoning the garment as I stare knowingly into his expressionless face. "Moon all you want over the Texas twig," I tell him carelessly with my right hand moving up to stroke over his stubbled jaw and dark hair, "’cause I know whose bed you’ll be crawling into at the end of the day." I slide my arms around his neck and press against his lean body with a confident grin on my face. "Or in the middle of it."

My lips touch softly on his, finding the firm lines dry to the touch. I draw back, lick my lips then place them on his again at a different angle. Then again and again until his mouth opens and he starts kissing me back. With a moan I prepare to move things along, sliding my fingers in the hair at the back of his head and increasing the intensity of my kisses but as always he has other ideas.

"You think you know me?" he asks coolly while pushing me back and holding me at arms length.

As I run my hands over his still covered chest and shoulders I want to reply with a confident yes. I want to tell and show him just how well I do know my Mr. Wesley Wyndham Pryce, but I don’t.

I know his dark side like I know my own, but unlike me he’s got a conscience and morals that always come into play at the worst possible times to muck everything up and make it nearly impossible to know him as well as I want to. To know all his little secrets and what makes him tick and be able to anticipate his actions and reactions. He refuses to be pinned down, though, so I don’t know him beyond his notorious British reserve, his constant inner conflicts about every little thing he does and the possible repercussions his actions could have on the fate of the world and, of course, his desire for me.

"Better than she ever will," I settle for as an answer and we both know the words to be true.

Winifred Burkle will never take a moment to look beyond Wesley’s intelligence. The dumb stick will never see the man I do. Will never appreciate his strengths and weaknesses. Passion and frigidness. The good along with the bad and his struggles to maintain a balance between the two.

Her loss, my gain, I think as he suddenly attacks my mouth like he’s starved for the taste of it.

Instantly I respond to his hunger, hands pulling at his head and shoulders to keep him near as we shuffle toward the couch. His hands move to my thighs to yank up my skirt before he sits down and pulls me astride his lap. Moaning in anticipation I reach down to open his pants and free his cock, stroking the hard shaft for a moment and enjoying the way it jerks at my touch. I shove his length inside myself, not bothering with a condom as had become our habit of late since we discovered the added pleasure of sex without such physical barriers, though the mental and emotional walls remain intact for us both. He tears my blouse open to uncover my red satin bra and the bulk of my thoughts scatter like the buttons.

That’s what I keep coming back for, I think fondly with a shudder of delight at his rather uncharacteristic actions. These moments when I make him lose that infamous cool, when I loosen that stiff upper lip, and make him tear at my clothes or fuck me so hard it hurts.

"Leave them on," he orders sharply when I remove the useless glasses I’d worn with the outfit and prepare to toss the things aside.

"I wasn’t thinking about you when you were here," I flash back to his unforgettable words at the end of what should have been our one night stand months ago. Staring down into his eyes I know in this moment that my little plan for how this game was to go has failed. Rather than making him see the pointlessness of his wanting that science geek over me I seem to be playing right into his fantasies of the bitch. With the braids and glasses I’ve made it so easy for him to pretend I’m the damned little Texan he thinks he wants so much.

I want to throw the spectacles to the floor and crush them to pieces beneath my shoes then climb back on his lap and show him some more of the many reasons he keeps coming back to me, but I can tell from the steely glint in his eyes that he’ll call a halt to things if I don’t play his way. So instead of rebelling I swallow my pride, kick myself for ever thinking this was a good idea and put the damned things back in place.

Happy with my submission he latches onto my hips with fingers sure to leave bruises even through the fabric of my crumpled skirt and starts thrusting hard up into me. My usual enjoyment at his grunts and groans is gone as I brace my hands on the back of the couch and ride him without any pleasure from the movements of his body in and under mine. I watch bitterly as his eyes fall shut and know that behind those closed eyelids he imagines another woman taking his length into her wetness.

He wants a naïve, doey eyed little thing that worships big strong heroic males and stands for all that’s good and morally right in this world not a street wise and cynical woman who’s been burnt by her search for all the things she always wanted in life and now stands for all that’s evil and morally wrong in the universe.

In this moment, like many others we’ve had, I hate him. I hate him for making me think and question and feel unconfident in the choices I’ve made to get where I am today. Hate him for finding an itch only he seems able to scratch. Hate him for using me by closing his eyes and not seeing what’s right here waiting for him.

Then he shifts his hips beneath me to angle his thrusts so the broad velvety tip brushes against my g-spot and the bastard pulls me back in. Hating myself only a fraction more than him, I gasp and feel a shudder of reaction race down my spine before I force my brain to regain control of my body. The sense of detachment is gone, destroyed by his determination to make me come whether I like it or not, so now it’s a matter of me reaching orgasm on my terms rather than his.

I move a hand from the back of the couch to fist angrily in his short hair, an action that brings his eyes open to stare up at me challengingly. I meet his gaze with determination blazing in mine as I sit back on my heels a bit and move my other hand to shove the cup of my bra aside before shifting forward to force the bared breast into his face.

Safe from his scrutiny I allow my eyes to drift shut for a moment to savor the feelings as he obeys my silent command and licks at my nipple before sucking the nub deeply into his mouth. My hand in his hair relaxes its hold and strokes his head in reward when he moves to my other breast, pushing my shirt and bra aside with his nose then nipping at the mound until I feel my pussy clench and spasm uncontrollably around his penis.

Forcing my eyes open and my hand to curl into a fist again I take back as much control of the situation as I can. There’s a smug glint in his eyes when I look into them, a twinkle that tells me he thinks he has me wrapped around his pinky, and it becomes my mission to wipe that gleam out.

My fingers jerk his head back against the couch to angle his mouth up for mine to slam down on it, my lips grinding his into his teeth before I work his mouth open with my tongue then dive into the opening like a conqueror. He meets my force with his own that skews the glasses perched on my nose as he twists his head this way and that to drive his tongue deeper into my mouth in an attempt to take control of the oral battle that couldn’t really be called a kiss. His five o’clock shadow grates against my skin, marring and marking it like his hands do the flesh of my ass which he’s now gripping instead of my cloth covered hips.

Widening my legs I sink further down on his length to take his cock even deeper with each upward thrust while beginning to deliberately flex my muscles around him. He shudders as my pussy clenches whenever he his hips draw back to pull his shaft almost completely out then gradually relax them when he slams back inside till he seems to be hitting against my very womb. The muscular gymnastics help distract his concentration from their kiss and I triumphantly work my tongue around the interior of his mouth as he just follows my lead and mimics the moves I make.

Satisfied to have gotten the lead there I break away, smiling at the way he tries to follow my lips as I draw them away from his. With my hand in his hair keeping him back I use the other to right the frames on my nose while glaring daggers at him through the clear plastic lenses of the glasses. He smirks just a little at my anger and it throws fuel onto the fire.

Angrily I jerk his head to the side to expose the scar on his throat and he arches in anticipation of my attentions to the wound. I’ve learned through trial and error just how to work my mouth over the sensitive skin to make him groan and shudder with pleasure or stiffen and cry out in pain. Just now I’m not sure which I intend to make him feel, but as he’s clearly preparing for pleasure my first move will be to bring pain.

The devil on my shoulder gives me a great little idea and biting back a smile I bend forward to do as it suggests. Rather than press my mouth against the slashing red line crisscrossed with tiny white stripes from the stitches that had been used to close the wound after he’d foolishly gotten in throat slit shortly before our first meeting, I kiss his neck just above the collar of the black T-shirt he’s wearing.

Oopsies, I think insincerely as my actions cause the corner of these pesky glasses I’m wearing to poke painfully at the aging injury. I pretend that I didn’t hear his hiss of pain at the contact and lick the skin beneath my mouth, moving my head to repeatedly knock the hard plastic frames against the scar.

He jerks away from with a muttered curse and clamps his hands down on my arms to shove me back. I assume a look of total desire and incoherence as to why he’s stopping my ministrations and must have done an Oscar-worthy job of it because he buys loses the anger in his expression as he tears the glasses from my face and hurls them across the room somewhere.

"Wha - " I blink in feigned surprise and look in the direction the item flew, wishing as I do so that I’d bought glass lenses so I could hear the damned things break upon impact with the wall.

Without any explanation he moves a hand to my right braid and uses the hair to pull me back down to his neck. Biting back a smile of triumph at getting him to be the one to take the spectacles off I nuzzle softly against the side of his throat, inhaling the scent of his cologne and aftershave. He’s a c upp upper class kind of guy, but unlike me he doesn’t bother with designer fragrances. If it weren’t for the extremely thorough file I had on him I’d never know the names of what he wear, I’d just know that it combined into something that lingered nicely on my clothes after being with him like this and was something my nose identifies as Wesley.

As I begin to kiss Wesley’s neck better, I think again ow thw the good n’ plenties loss of this man has been my gain.

His hand slides up the braid to hold onto the back of my head as I press my lips lightly over every millimeter of the scar and the skin around it. His thrusts slow as I run the tip of my tongue slowly over the area touched by my lips then he increases his speed and force when I open my mouth wide against his throat so I can sink my blunt teeth sharply into the wound.

He pulls a few strands of hair out at the roots when he yanks my head back at the offense, but when I arch one perfectly shaped eyebrow and lick my lips with a wicked grin as soon as he’s looking up into my face he shudders with the dark pleasure I give him and loosens his hold.

I immediately bend forward again, but instead of biting him like he tenses in expectation of, I playfully bump my nose against his ear before slipping my tongue out to lick at the skin behind the organ. He moves his hands back down my body, running over my bare thighs and grabbing onto my toned ass again, as I draw his earlobe into my mouth and suck on the bit of flesh.

"Lilah," he groans aloud with his fingers curling into my skin when I bite his ear.

Hearing my name on his lips, hearing the strain of his staving off orgasm at my actions and a near admission in the way he speaks it that only I can take him to this point is music to my ears. I pull back to stare into his face and he looks back at me through heavy lidded eyes. Maintaining eye contact I move my hands to his chest for my fingers to pluck at his nipples through the bothersome cotton of his shirt and, as my touch makes him arch toward me for more, he gives me the same kind of glare I had given him moments ago when he’d made me put those glasses back on.

In this moment he’s putty in my capable hands and I mold him into an instrument for my own pleasure.

I grow closer and closer to getting off with each increasingly hard buck of his hips that jabs his cock up into my core and strokes over the magical bundle of nerves lining the sensitive walls. With each clench of his fingers as his hands tighten on my body to pull my hips down as his thrust up and then relax just a hair as he pulls back to stab back in, I grow tenser. With each labored breath that makes his chest heave under my hands and his nostrils flare like an angry bull tearing at the ground before lunging forward in attack, I have to focus more on controlling my own pants for air. With each drop of sweat that forms on his forehead and each grit of his teeth as he strains to not give in, to not come before I do when that’s just what I want him to do, I feel the moisture of exertion breaking out over my skin. And with each angry look he gives me as I push him to losing that inner battle for control over his pleasure seeking cock.

His anger is almost my undoing, but I set my jaw and clamp my pussy down on his shaft while pulling at his nipples and that’s all it takes to upset the balance.

"Lilah," he cries out with his head falling back and his eyes shutting while his body seizes up beneath mine.

The arc cur curve of his throat invites my mouth back and I accept the invitation even though he’s already coming. I take a moment to lick at the sweat on his skin as his fingers clutch with bruising force at my butt to hold my hips in place while he jerks wildly under me as he unloads his hot come into my core. That wet warmth flooding and filling me to overflowing until it leaks out of my hole to further soak the neatly trimmed brown curls between my legs as well as the tops of my thighs starts my own orgasm. I close my lips over his scar and suckle at it as if giving him a hickey and continue to draw upon the skin until his whole body bucks in reaction and he again calls out my name.

In this moment he is mine and I will fight tooth and nail with every evil trick I’ve learned to keep him.

That feeling of possession, false as it may be, drives me over the edge. I don’t call out his name as the muscles in my body tense almost painfully then go slack before I start to convulse with the pleasure. Instead I sink my teeth into his flesh to keep any telling words from spilling forth in the moments I’m without complete control over myself and, while he continues to make sounds of pleasure and pain at my clenching around his softening length and biting at his scar, I cling to the fact that he’s mine in this moment.

~*~

The End