*****

Aspartame makes him twitchy.

It must be the aspartame, because there wasn't any sugar left for his tea and he was forced to swipe one of Cordelia's Diet Cokes from the small fridge she kept under the front desk. It must be the aspartame, because nothing else would make him tap his fingers on the counter and shift in his seat every few seconds.

It must be.

He grabs a post-it note, taken from a large pile Cordelia has apparently swiped from a doctor's office, or something along those lines, because the last time he checked, Angel wasn't able to prescribe allergy medication, and writes in big letters "Buy sugar for Wesley's tea" across it in his clean, precise handwriting, and sticks it on Cordelia's fridge. That will remind her, and perhaps stop her from complaining about how another Diet Coke was missing from her fridge, and why wasn't anyone drinking the Diet Sam's Choice she picked up for 35 cents instead?

The Sam's Choice also had aspartame, and he briefly considered it, before remembering exactly *why* no one drank Sam's Choice, and it might have had something to do with the fact that it was 35 cents from a vending machine. Not to mention that it came from Wal-Mart, and although Wesley did have to admit that the pair of pants he was wearing did come from Wal-Mart, and were quite comfortable, he only visited in the late late hours of the morning, and always with a faint sense of shame.

Not to mention that the pants weren't very comfortable in the crotch at the moment. Dockers were always better at hiding erections.

It must the aspartame that is making him twitchy, because it certainly can't be the near-strangulation by the completely-naked Angel that is causing this need to fidget. It can't be Angel that's causing a certain part of his anatomy to press painfully against the inner seam of his pants.

And it couldn't've been the sight of Angel that caused his throat to go dry in the first place, requiring him to have a drink, which led to the discovery that there was no sugar, and the choice of the Diet Coke. Which contained the aspartame that is now making him twitchy.

Precisely. It's the aspartame.

And not his employer.

Naked.

Hard.

Dripping against his pants.

His hand slides down and rubs against an invisible spot along his thigh, and he glances, just making sure that there isn't a stain of any sort -- something that would be terribly gauche. There's no stain, and he can relax, knowing that no one else will discover what occurred in Angel's bedroom.

His fingers tap the desk again and his foot twitches against the floor. He can still hear the faint sound of water running through pipes. He is waiting for Angel, and then they will go fight evil.

Like they should.

Except Angel's in the shower. And the image of a naked, soaped-up, still hard and somewhat dripping Angel makes Wesley shiver. Just a little.

But it must the aspartame.

And never Angel.

Precisely.

*****
fin