Go. Run. Read.
It's Boy!Band Slash with all your favorite characters.
Giles is the manager.
Wesley is the choreographer.
Cross~posted to into_trouble
Another Not for Profit Venture by Snow
Ats/BtVs Boy!Band Slash
Beta by entrenous88
They’d been working in the dance studio for two hours. Long enough that sweat dripped from their hair, that their muscles were warm and loose under their clothes. Wesley showing Angel the moves he’d be expected to learn quickly, Angel following his steps, mirroring his actions. Wesley suddenly realized that not once during the time alone had he seen the boy smile.
Angel’s level of intensity, his concentration, was admirable and somewhat frightening for Wesley. And Wes still didn’t understand why Giles had left it up to him if Angel would become part of the group Giles was building. He certainly hadn’t extended that responsibility with any of the other boys he’d been auditioning.
“I want you to work with Angel this evening. Make sure that he’s got the grace, the stamina and the energy to be part of the group.”
Giles looked at Wesley from the corner of his eyes as he leaned on the corner of his desk and cleaned his glasses, an amused grin curling his lips.
“I already know he has a commanding stage presence and a passable voice. But at nineteen, he’s the oldest of our top choices and I want your opinion.”
Wesley was completely taken off balance by the request and frustrated at his inability to read Giles, to know if he had ulterior motives.
“You want me to make this decision?”
Giles stood, sighed heavil, closed the space between them. He took Wesley’s chin in his palm and his breath was warm on Wesley’s face as he spoke.
“I need to know if he can move gracefully, how quickly he adapts to a change in rhythm, if he can follow your instruction. Do you have a problem working with Angel alone? Can you make the call?”
Wesley shook his head, then nodded.
“No, no. I’ll report back to you first thing in the morning.”
Giles smiled widely and Wesley tried to not draw the comparison between Giles’ expression and an alligator, snapping its jaws as it swallowed down the last of a meal.
“You do that, Wesley. You do that.”
For just a moment, Wes was sure that Giles was going to kiss him and he stopped breathing, frozen in place. Not sure if he wanted it or not, not sure that he’d be given a choice either way. Not sure that he cared if he was, the man was so powerful, so controlled, so attractive.
Giles voice brought Wesley out of his fugue.
“Angel’s waiting in the studio.”
Giles dropped his hand and moved back to his desk, dismissing Wesley.
“Oh. Yes, of course. I’ll go now.”
Wesley straightened up, adjusting his trousers, embarrassed but not surprised to feel his cock hard between his legs. He turned away from Giles and left his office quickly.
Wesley had already decided that he’d recommend Angel for the group; for such a tall, muscular, young man, he moved with a smooth style and grace and was quick to pick up new steps. But for some reason Wes was reluctant to call an end to the evening. The fragrant masculine smell of Angel’s sweat, and the way his eyes never left Wesley’s face when he spoke or wavered from watching him dance, combined to make Wes nervous and overly excited, as if there was a low vibration in the floor. A deep bass beat that resonated in Wesley’s spine.
Wes moved over to the CD player to change the music.
“So am I in?”
Wes was startled by Angel’s voice. The boy hadn’t said more than two words to him all night.
“Oh, yes, yes. I think you’ll make a wonderful addition to the band. I’m certainly recommending you highly to Mr. Giles.”
“Good. I really need this gig.”
Wesley continued adjusting the volume and equalizer, trying to ignore the fact that he knew Angel had moved closer. That he was standing right behind him. A deep breath and his senses were filled with the light, earthy scent of Angel’s perspiration. He turned around and Angel was right there, looming over him. Dear Lord, he was gorgeous. All big brown eyes, serious expression, such a soft looking . . . Wesley licked his lips; suddenly his own mouth was very dry.
“You dance really well. Why aren’t you in some Broadway show?”
Wesley tried to concentrate more on Angel’s question and less on the way his quiet voice seemed to wrap itself around Wesley’s skin.
“I, um, I have worked on Broadway. But I’ve known Mr. Giles for a long time. And when he asked me to come work for him, when he . . . reminded me of some favors I owed him, I mean, when he told me what he needed I was more than willing to choreograph for him. It is going to be a great experience.”
Wesley was aware that he was babbling, but could not stop. Hadn’t this boy ever heard of personal space? Wesley was backed into a corner of the room, the smooth cold of the mirrors behind him, the speakers beginning to pound out a rhythm from the music he’d chosen.
“You know, I think you have the most beautiful eyes. I can almost see myself in them.”
Angel spoke in such a low and quiet tone that Wesley had to almost lip-read, watching Angel’s mouth. When Wesley tore his stare away, looked up, Angel’s gaze was so intent Wes imagined he could feel it caressing him.
“Well, yes. Thank you. And you too, have nice . . .” His word were lost in Angel’s mouth as Angel leaned down and kissed Wesley, his tongue sneaking inside for just a moment, then pulling away.
“Now wait. We can’t-” Cut off again by those soft lips, this time the kiss just a little more demanding, a little longer and stronger. Wesley found it hard to catch his breath when Angel stopped, his mouth moving to Wesley’s cheek, his neck. Licking, tasting.
“I just want to thank you for giving me a chance here. And I like you, Wesley. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”
Heat boiled in Wesley’s groin as Angel’s big hands slid down his back, pulling his hips tight against Angel’s own. How long had it been since someone had taken him in hand like this? Taken control from him? Wes trembled as Angel seemed to know just what he wanted and what he needed.
“No. No. I don’t have any problems with that.” Wesley whispered.
“Good.” Wes could feel Angel’s hot palm cupping his cock through slick Lycra, pressing against it. “Nice.”
Angel took Wesley’s wrist and pulled it to his own crotch. Wesley’s hand was filled with the soft, slightly damp feel of Angel’s loose, worn sweat pants, then there, his dick. Hard and hot through the material. Angel’s lips still kissing his jaw, his chin, and then back on his lips, chapped and dry and demanding that Wes open up and let that tongue in, fill his mouth.
Now Wesley was grateful for the support of the wall behind him, as Angel pulled his shiny, tight, purple pants over his cock and down. Just enough to expose him, jerk at him from the root and slide his fingers back down again. Wesley fumbled, reached into Angel’s sweats and tried to hold him in the same way, but his brain was not cooperating, not helping. It had been so long since he’d been touched like this, taken like this, hard and fast and rough. Memories surfacing of nameless encounters in theater backrooms and park restrooms. The short stint he’d done as an instructor at that private boy’s school before the temptation had become too much, the upper-class boys too delicious and demanding.
“Just, yeah, like that.” Angel breathed in his ear, ragged and harsh. His touch rough on Wesley’s cock, back and forth, in time with the music that beat through the air around them. “Tighter. Faster.”
Wesley knew that he was moaning as he licked the sweat from Angel’s neck, from his collarbone, wordless, meaningless nothings mouthed into the boy’s skin as his own knees struggled to keep him standing. Angel pressing him into the wall, his hand working Wesley, tight and hot and wet. Long fingers curling up gently behind Wesley’s balls, nails scraping over his opening, then back to pumping him fast and hard.
Wesley convulsed, opening his mouth to cry out only to have Angel fill it with his tongue, strangling the sounds. And he came helplessly in Angel’s hand. Felt Angel stiffen and shake and wet fluids coat his own palm. They stood together for a moment, breathing hard, Wesley’s head resting on Angel’s chest.
Then Angel abruptly turned away, pulled up his sweats, grabbed their towels off the top of the piano and threw one at Wesley. Wes barely caught it, wiped himself off quickly, tucked his cock back in his pants and tried to regain some decorum, some sanity.
He looked across the room at Angel, who was gathering up his backpack, a smile playing on his lips as he spoke.
“So, when’s the next rehearsal?”
“Soon. Tomorrow. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Good. I’ll be waiting to hear from you. See you then.”
And then Wesley was alone in the dance studio. The music had ended and he could hear his breath against the walls in the silence as he sat down heavily on the piano bench, still trying to process what had just happened.
From behind the wall of two-way mirrors, Giles laughed softly to himself in the dark space as he crushed his cigarette in the ashtray.
“Oh yes. That boy is going to make a fine addition to the group.”
Can't you just feel the beat?
::shimmy, shimmy, shake::