LOVED
by Robintcj
PG

Wesley’s head is bent over his desk, cradled in his open palms. He’s not crying, at least not yet.

SLEEPING BEAUTY
by Robintcj
NC-17

A sketch near the ottoman catches Wesley's eye, and he bends to pick it up. He studies it for a moment, brow furrowed. It looks to be a fairly young man, perhaps a teenager.
"Who's this, Angel?"
"It's not important, Wes."
"No, I don't suppose it is..."

 

 

 

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