Disclaimer: Wesley doesn’t belong to me… Well, this one does, but only in my deepest, darkest dreams! Angel the series doesn’t belong to me either…
Warning: Contains sexual innuendo or something.
One really ought not to think about sex so much. That was what Wesley was thinking. Somehow, a true gentleman would police his thoughts better. He was grateful, profoundly so, that his friends – his colleagues – were blissfully unaware of the contents of his head. He’d read somewhere… he couldn’t remember where, that men thought about sex 97% of the time and the rest of the time they were lying. He wasn’t quite that bad, he thought. Still. Intercourse. Sex. Horizontal mambo. Shagging. A good fuck. Screwing. Such a vulgar term, that. Screwing. When he wasn’t working on a translation, or practicing his shooting, or actually occupied with some activity that required his undivided attention, he had to admit... Wesley thought about sex. Oh, and one other exception. When he was actually doing it. For some reason, occasionally his mind actually wandered – especially if they were in the middle of some crisis, and he was just burning off steam before his brain exploded. And… well… sometimes he needed to try
to keep his mind elsewhere… otherwise… well he wouldn’t please the ladies. That would be so very wrong. It was a sacrifice. It was well worth it, however. For the ladies were grateful. Gratitude. Gratitude had its dividends now, didn’t it? One day… No, never mind. Right now, he was feeling rather grateful himself.
“Wes, somethin’ you wanna share with the rest of the class?” Spike raised an eyebrow.
Suddenly all eyes were on him.
“No, that’s all right. Perfectly all right,” Wesley said mildly, adjusting his glasses.