Work Text:
Wesley had been feeling it for a while now. It was a sort of tingling, an awareness of his eye sockets and the soft skin under his jawbone. The sensation wasn’t uncomfortable, but it did make him feel…imbalanced. Like he wasn’t in control. This unnerved him. He had traced the cause to Vanessa; she seemed to be studying him. He would glance up and just catch her averting her eyes. As of late she’d been getting bolder. Wesley would be going over some last-minute security measures with the bodyguards when his neck would go warm, and there Vanessa would be, eyeing every crisp line of his new suit. Once he made eye contact with her. She had smirked.
He had misunderstood something along the way. Fisk had had other paramours before – certainly no one as serious as this, but there had been unspoken rules. Wilson, vulnerable as he was in love, didn’t like sharing Wesley. That had suited Wesley fine. But with the way Wilson’s eyes went soft whenever he looked at Vanessa and with his constant questioning as to what Wesley thought of her, not to mention how Vanessa had practically licked her lips the last time Wesley caught her staring, he felt something had changed.
He approached her one evening near the end of an altogether unexciting charity dinner. She was watching the quartet play its last number, champagne held loosely in her hand. Her black dress exposed the entirety of her spine.
Wesley stepped next to her. “I’m beginning to think you and Wilson are plotting against me.”
She turned to face him, sipping her champagne. “Oh? And what are we plotting, Mr. Wesley?”
He looked at her. “To get me into bed."
“I believe that battle is half won.” She grinned over the rim of her glass. “Tell me, James – may I call you that? Wilson never says it in public – if this scheme were to exist, would it work?”
Wesley returned the smile. “Buy me a drink and I’ll let you know.”