Strategy Part Four
Jul. 14th, 2003 12:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebratqueenOkay, last post of the day.. er, night.
PART FOUR
It's a bit of chaos in the hallway that alerts Wesley to the arrival of his request. He puts his book away, smoothes his shirt, tries to present a good appearance.
Members of the new world's warrior class - in his mind Wesley calls them goons - stomp in, shove someone forward. Connor's there too, a tinfoil hat general, looking satisfied.
Lorne blinks, utterly confused by this.
"Leave us," Wesley commands, and gets the result he paid for with a skilled tongue and well-placed fingers earlier that day. Connor gestures - causing Wesley to wonder if it's a previously agreed upon signal or one that the boy is trying out to see if he likes it - and the men go.
Connor gives Wesley a possessive look. "I'll be back."
"Naturally," Wesley tells him.
The doors close. Lorne faces him, the very picture of puzzlement. "Okay, I know this is a crazy, mixed-up world we're living in but - "
Wesley shuts him up with a song. It's a few bars of one he's missed hearing on the radio. Lorne stops, stares, reads. His mouth begins to open in a horrified "O"
Wesley advances on him before he can speak. They're nose to nose. Wesley's arms crossed, but his body radiates the strength of his words. "If you say one thing about this to *anyone*, I will destroy your body with my own bare hands. Do I make myself clear?"
Whatever anger or possible accusations of betrayal that Lorne might have given him have vanished. There's understanding, and to Wesley's hatred also a little pity. "Wes..."
"I know what I am doing."
"*Who* you're - "
"Not! One! *Word*!"
It's a stare off. Finally Lorne backs down. There's a moment of awkward shuffling. "So why am I here, if not for my scintillating conversation?"
In his original picture of this, Wesley told him. However in reality deeper needs take control. Softly, quiet enough for only a demon's ears, he asks "Angel...?"
Lorne places a gentle hand on Wesley's arm - sending a wave of bitterness through Wesley as he knows precisely *why* Lorne is being so tender, that Lorne now views him as the very epitome of the term "victim" and is treating him as such - and guides him further back into the room, away from any ears that might be lurking beyond the closed door to the hall.
"Batshit insane," Lorne tells him, his voice low and quiet, but his eyes reflecting still-held worry for their mutual friend. "After you went off with Junior... let's just say we had to move twice and we didn't get back the security deposit."
"Idiot," Wesley mutters, meaning it for the absent vampire. "He can't do that. He's thinking with his *heart*, he - "
"You're not doing the same?"
Wesley looks away. He doesn't like this. He doesn't like Lorne's ability to tear apart the tissue paper of his lies. It was easier when there was only Connor to fool. Belatedly Wesley now understands that this is part and parcel of why the world past those doors terrifies him.
"I have a plan."
"For Angel."
"For *everyone*," Wesley snaps, but they both know that it's ultimately a secondary concern. Wesley closes his eyes, folds his arms tighter around himself. Lorne, understanding the true mercy needed here, lets go and assumes a manner more professional.
"So what's the sitch?"
Wesley manages to shed his emotions in kind. "Thanks to Connor, I have an in. He trusts me. He gives me information. I can use him to give us the upper hand."
"With you so far," Lorne says. "Where do I come in?"
"I need an out."
Wesley lays it out for him. Connor trusts him, so long as he is a prisoner. To be of any use, however, someone needs to make it outside, to find a way to secret their hard-won advantages back to their underground team.
"Me," Lorne says.
"You," Wesley agrees.
"I'm not - "
"I know," Wesley tells him. "That's why I picked you."
"Thanks," the demon says, but the tone is a familiar sardonic, and though he doesn't feel it Wesley still manages a smile.
"You're not a fighter, you're not a mystic," Wesley reminds him. "To them therefore you are a nothing. You can disappear from their radar in ways no one else can."
Lorne shrugs, neither disputing nor believing in this.
Wesley thinks of his own difficulties. "It won't be easy. You'll have to be around them. Talk to them, as I cannot."
Something in Lorne's demeanor tells Wesley this has already proven a challenge. But the demon waves it off, dismissing any problems. "Can't be any worse than trying to talk to my mother during the last family reunion - and at least here the food's better."
Wesley smiles at that. It's small, but more genuine than any he's felt of late.
Another submission that night ensures that Lorne gets a room next door to their suite - and gets it for himself.
***
Things are uneasy at first. There's no clear definition of Lorne's official job, so he and Wesley take to simply visiting and speaking whenever Connor is away. As the goal was to give Wesley safe companionship during those times, it doesn't occur to either of them the problem that this creates.
It's a week before they realize the error of their ways.
A week is all it takes for Wesley and Lorne to find a familiarity to their speech. To talk of things that only they understand. To take comfort in the completely inane topics that are the only things they dare to speak of, but which to Wesley become the most precious part of his day. He can relax, just a bit. Slip the mask off slightly. Be a tiny bit more like himself.
He selfishly keeps Lorne from going on his true mission - ingratiating himself with the others - in favor of taking his company whenever he can. Lorne, far too understanding of why Wesley might need this, doesn't argue.
Connor comes home each night to see the two of them deep in conversation, both distracted by his interruption, and a slow anger begins to burn.
It is the last night, when Connor comes home to find Wesley not only smiling but *laughing* that things explode.
Lorne is forcibly ejected from the room. Wesley is slammed into the wall. And only then, his eyes going black with pain, does he realize how foolish he was. Connor, not savvy to any of Wesley's manipulations, is demon and beast enough to understand unspoken attractions.
It is not that Wesley and Lorne care for one another - far from it - but it is that they have so much more in *common*. They have gone through hard times together, Jasmine's thrall included, and Connor knows this gives Lorne a connection to Wesley that he could never have.
It's not love, not even lust, but Connor's not sophisticated enough to care. It's not *his* and that's all that matters.
He takes Wesley forcibly, escalating the violence of the action until even Wesley must comply and finally cry out in pain when no other tormentor had managed to pry that out of him. It is harsh and cruel, and when he's done Wesley can only turn to his side on the floor, spit blood, and lie there.
Hours later Connor comes back to take care of him. There's no apologies, merely efficient touch. Wesley is cleaned, bandaged, bundled back into bed.
The next night Wesley recovers enough to speak.
"There's only you."
Connor accepts that.
It's still days, however, before he grudgingly allows permission for Lorne to see him again.
It's two weeks before the marks fade enough for Wesley to allow that to happen.
***
They learn from their mistake. When Lorne reappears, he is the very picture of the host he once was - charming, deferential, never once stepping out of his role of happy servant.
He appoints himself Wesley's valet, and ingratiates himself in Connor's heart by immediately announcing that his first intention is to feed and dress Wesley for the day.
"Gotta get him handsome for you, right big guy?" Lorne asks, and Connor smiles at this.
They're not left alone. They don't earn that right for a while. But Wesley makes sure Connor's needs are not unattended and Lorne makes it clear that he knows who in this game is boss.
One afternoon Connor kisses Wesley in front of Lorne. His touch is crass, the kiss far too intimate for public eyes on the best of occasions, made moreso by Connor's hand palming Wesley's cock until he can get a reaction.
He gets the one he's looking for, then lets go.
"I'll be back in an hour," he tells them.
Lorne stares at the door after it closes.
"I know there's a line," he tells Wes, "but when this is done I get at least a few stabs in, right?"
Wesley doesn't argue.
***
As Wesley predicted, Lorne proves a master at his job. Though he shares the same ache for the mind control that Wesley did, he manages to hide it better. Connor's good graces give Lorne free passage amongst the blessed/damned and the first task Lorne sets himself is making friends with absolutely everyone in the building. He talks, flirts, compliments, and it's not long before he's called over to a table or greeted with a hearty wave whenever he walks into a room.
In the prison - as he's come to call poor Wes's suite - he plays the role of the humble servant. He maintains an attitude of a constant bow to Connor, even going so far as to occasionally and with all due deference suggest ways the pissant little freak might try to woo his supposed intended. It's not that Lorne wants to inflict the brat on Wes, but the fact of it is the kid's not going anywhere, so he hopes that by encouraging Connor in the *slow* art of seduction that he might be able to provide Wes with something that at least looks like a break.
Based on the bruises that cover Wes's skin when Lorne helps change him in the morning it apparently doesn't work, but even so Lorne has to try.
Getting chummy with the guards is next. Not the ones that hover in the third floor hallway that Lorne suspects Wesley is willfully unaware of, but the *real* guards. The ones that surround the building.
The ones that block the way to the sewers.
It takes time but he manages it. They're a manly lot but their blissed-out minds aren't unwelcoming of a new mascot. Lorne chats, plays the buffoon, goes over the top with the fey thing by bringing them coffee and cakes. It gets the job done.
He learns their likes, dislikes.
Their schedules.
Finally he gets their trust. Not the life and death kind. The more important "I don't care" kind. The kind that Lorne tests one day by strolling past them - past the point that anyone is supposed to go - waves and cheerfully tells them he's going off for coffee, do they need anything?
And they let him go.
It takes a month, but he manages it.
***
Wesley has learned to speak Pylean. Or, rather, he's learned to read it.
Lorne's been giving him lessons, in the form of a Scrabble game that Connor is too bored by to give a second glance to, even when they play it right in front of him.
The games start with Wesley placing down an English word, then Lorne placing down its Pylean equivalent. Lorne is impressed when it only takes two weeks for English to be put aside and Pylean conversations to ensue.
*I got out,* Lorne tells him one day, in tiles.
*Good,* Wesley responds.
*Don't know where anyone is yet, but I'll keep trying.*
*Excellent. Thank you.*
Then, a week later:
*Possible contact. What should I do?*
*Keep going.*
Later still, this time while they're alone:
*I can get a message through.*
Wesley stares at this. It's been so long he's not sure he wants to allow himself to believe the possibility.
More tiles. *What do you want me to say?*
Wesley doesn't respond.
Lorne waits, then gives a significant look in his direction.
Wesley turns away.
There's the sound of tiles slipping across cardboard, then Lorne taps the table to get his attention.
On reflex, Wesley looks.
He manages to see the first five tiles: "T-o-A-n-g - " before he shoves his hand against the board and scatters them.
"No."
Lorne looks at him in exasperation. "You've *got* to be kidding me."
"You know the mission," Wesley hisses, too angry to bother with the safety of spelled out code. "You know what to say."
Lorne stares him down. He gathers the tiles and places them in a pile on Wesley's side.
"Okay, we've done *that*. Now what do you *really* want to say?"
Far too many things suggest themselves. For a moment Wesley allows his hand to linger over tiles that contain an "o" and a "v".
In the end he retreats back into the greater good. Also into what he knows is a Pylean pun.
He collects the necessary tiles and in the other dimension's language he spells out:
*Tell Angel not to think with his ass.*
Lorne smirks, then nods.
***
Wesley doesn't like to admit it, but the avenue of communication makes him restless. It's a link back to what he once had. He lies awake at night, unable to stop his mind from worrying at the thought. He hasn't asked Lorne for details - plausible deniability in all things, of course - so he has no idea how word is getting back, how long will it take, are they to even expect a reply?
"Isn't this a *great* morning?" Lorne asks one day, walking in with a tray of breakfast dishes.
Connor, content in his usual routine, frowns. "What's so special about it?"
Lorne smiles at Wesley. "No reason."
Wesley smiles in return, but manages to keep the expression to himself.
***
There's no message back, as such, but over Scrabble Lorne tells him things are going well. They've got their 'out'. Now they need the next step.
*Export.* Wesley tells him. *A way to supply them with Connor's blood.*
Wesley hasn't shared his plans for getting his hands on said item, but Lorne's expression is feral and pleased all the same.
Still more games produce the information that the others are working on it. There's an underground railroad, of sorts, being created and that they *will* find a way.
Things heat up. Positive information flows back faster and faster and one day Lorne produces the best news yet.
*Might have something. Someone who can do the job.*
Wesley is incredulous at this. *Who?*
Lorne shakes his head. It's either something best not mentioned or something he himself is unaware of.
*Needs to see you.*
Wesley frowns. *Why?*
Another shake. Then, after a second's hesitation, *Doesn't trust me, I guess.*
For a moment Wesley isn't certain that *he* does either, but the demon's expression is so unguarded that he allows himself to relax.
*Okay. When?*
*Not sure yet.*
The obstacle, of course, is Connor. After Wesley's fears there's no way for him to go out and about without anyone noticing. Wesley has, unfortunately, made his dislike for the outside world far too evident.
Lorne sets about trying to break this barrier. In full view of Connor the two of them walk out into the hall. Connor immediately gets up, hovers, but all they do is stand by the doorway. Wesley's nerves are too torn for him to even fake conversation. Lorne and Connor both, then, team up to reassure him, talking amongst *themselves* so that Wesley is not called upon to fill the silences.
That night, alone, Connor is oddly encouraging. He wonders if Wesley can go further - into another room, perhaps even downstairs, maybe even more?
Wesley questions this, disliking that he has no key by which to provide a translation for Connor's motivations. He's even more unhappy at this clear weakness in his and Lorne's observations. What's Connor been doing that they have no idea about?
Connor reveals no clue. Instead he runs fingers through Wesley's hair, kisses him, and promises that if Wesley manages this there might be treats - rewards. There's a dramatic pause before Connor adds: "*Books*, maybe."
If anything it makes Wesley more inclined to stay right where he is. This is a noose he's no desire to willingly place his head into.
But beyond it is the promise of an end. Wesley wonders if he could run fast enough to break the rope around his neck. To one day, possibly, be free.
"I'll try," Wesley tells Connor. And the reward that night is sex that Connor probably assumes is romantic and loving.
***
Wesley manages it. It makes him ill time and again, but with Connor and Lorne's help he eventually makes it downstairs. He sits still for all of a half hour before becoming dizzy and needing to retreat once more, but it's a hard-earned victory after so many weeks.
He tries it again, and again, and soon enough he and Lorne walk about the hotel without comment. Then, eventually, Wesley manages it on his own.
Connor, for his part, couldn't be more pleased. He crows about it, showering Wesley with presents - books, alcohol, jewels, does Wesley want jewels? - and goes about his day looking much too happy for Wesley's comfort.
Lorne works double time on trying to get information - about their newfound contact, about Connor. In the end it is Connor himself who provides the latter, when he returns home one day in an absolute funk.
"Something wrong?" Lorne asks, made inquisitive when Connor sulks his way into the suite, dumping his clothing onto the floor like a boy informed that he's failed another math final.
"You can't *go*," Connor whines, looking at Wes.
"Go?" Wesley asks.
"To Seattle," Connor says. He flops down into a chair, pouty. Lorne makes himself useful by presenting him with a cool drink. It stays untouched on the coaster, but it keeps the demon in the room. "I have to go to Seattle."
Wesley and Lorne manage not to share a look. "Why?"
"There's a *thing*," Connor says, waving a hand to dismiss it. "They need me there in person. To take care of it."
Wesley now has a real concern about this. "Is there any danger? To you?"
Connor mistakes this for devotion. "I can handle it."
Wes's tone is a hair sharper, more authoritative. "Even so, I worry."
Connor smiles. "I'll be back. I just have to do it. You know. As the father."
"Of course," Wesley says.
Lorne lets Wes have a moment to let the cognitive wheels turn. "Need me to pack a bag? How many nights are we planning here?"
"A week," Connor shrugs. "More." He sits up again, making a sort of intimacy with his posture as he looks at Wesley. "I wanted you to come with me."
Wes is far too well-rehearsed with this kind of supplication. Lorne still has to repress a shudder as he watches Wes's hand move over, and skirt along the inside of the brat's thigh. "You mean I'll have to be without you?"
"I wanted you to come *with*," Connor says, pouting again.
"It's completely unfair that I can't."
Connor gears himself up for another whine. "She *said* - "
"Connor," Wesley silences him, dropping down to his knees. "I think if we now lack for time to spend together, that there are other things that you and I could be doing, don't you agree?"
Connor sits back, immediately placated. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Wesley agrees, his hand moving higher. He flashes a commanding look in Lorne's direction. "I'm sure you have better places to be."
Lorne abandons the pretense of drinks-making. Downstairs he knows Jim is on duty, and Jim sure loves it when someone stops by with a sandwich and a pack of cigarettes. "Come to think of it, you're right."
***
In the time before Connor leaves they don't dare do anything wrong. Lorne completes chores before Connor can ask and Wesley has never been more willing and pliant in bed.
It's enough to make Wesley worry that they might be doing *too* much, but Connor only has eyes for Wesley's actions and he cheerfully mistakes those for signs that Wesley will miss him.
The day draws near. Over Scrabble Lorne tells him that a meeting time has been arranged, but not for two days after Connor has gone. Wesley broods over this, on the one hand hating the wait, on the other he can't disagree with Lorne's theory that it's best to make sure Connor is *truly* gone before taking a chance like this.
Connor leaves, taking some of the troops with him. Wesley sees him off at the hotel's front door. In front of everyone Connor gives him a lingering kiss, his slight hand tangling in the back of Wesley's hair.
"See you soon," the boy promises.
"Not soon enough," Wesley lies.
The two days are unbearable. Wesley would prefer to spend them alone and pacing, but he knows he must keep up the show of wandering around the hotel, lest the guards that Connor has placed outside of his door become suspicious at any change in Wesley's activity.
Lorne remains frustratingly silent with relevant information until the night before the rendezvous.
Bent over their game Lorne spells it out for him. A meeting. Late the next night. Deep in the sewers. There's a secret passage Wesley will use to get past the guards and out of the hotel.
Wesley quirks his eyebrows at this.
Lorne gives a significant glance in the direction of his and Connor's linen closet, then outlines a map with tiles.
Inside the closet. Behind the last shelf. A loose board. Pushed out of the way it reveals a ladder. Down the ladder, through an unused maid's quarters, past a hopefully unlocked sewer entrance and then a series of lefts and rights through tunnels to the meeting place in question.
Wesley memorizes this, knowing it can't be committed to paper.
*What if the guards check on me?*
Lorne shrugs, accepting his own danger in this. *My job to distract them.*
Wesley ponders this. Thinks on how much could be lost if anything goes wrong.
Knows there really isn't much choice.
"All right."
***
The next day takes far too long to pass. As the sun slowly starts to dip down, Lorne makes his appearance.
"Bathtime!" he announces, for the benefit of the guards. "Got to make sure a certain someone is always at his best. You never know when Jasmine's daddy might be coming home."
These guards aren't as friendly with Lorne as the ones downstairs are, but they've been told to let Wesley have his amusements and his valet.
With the suite door closed, Lorne pushes him into the shower anyway.
"Keep up appearances," the demon tells him. "And make sure to scrub behind your ears. Word on the street is you might have to watch out for some pretty good trackers."
Wesley wonders if this means other demons, or if the problem is as commonplace as dogs. Either way he does as he's told, seeing no reason to ignore the advice and having nothing else to do.
Lorne fusses over him, granting him privacy in the shower, yes, but pouncing as soon as a dry towel is wrapped around Wesley's waist. He produces new clothes, a skintight long sleeved shirt and comfortable jeans, both in midnight black, and insists that Wesley wear them. Showered, shaved and dressed, they still have hours to spare. They finally spend it in an *actual* game of Scrabble, which of course Wesley wins.
With an hour to go they turn music on. Classical, but enough to mask any conversation they might be having.
Finally the time comes. Lorne hovers, picking at lint that only he can see and acting as nervous as if he knew for certain that Connor was on to them, then finally lets him go.
Wesley closes the closet door behind him, opens the secret passage, and, following the map in his head, makes his way to the location. An abandoned office, perhaps once used by the water company or rail system.
Wesley waits there, impatient. His fingertip sketches random patterns in the dust that covers the desk.
He manages to create three circles before he's grabbed by a large pair of hands and shoved against the wall.
"What the *fuck* do you think you're doing?" Angel demands.
***
PART FOUR
It's a bit of chaos in the hallway that alerts Wesley to the arrival of his request. He puts his book away, smoothes his shirt, tries to present a good appearance.
Members of the new world's warrior class - in his mind Wesley calls them goons - stomp in, shove someone forward. Connor's there too, a tinfoil hat general, looking satisfied.
Lorne blinks, utterly confused by this.
"Leave us," Wesley commands, and gets the result he paid for with a skilled tongue and well-placed fingers earlier that day. Connor gestures - causing Wesley to wonder if it's a previously agreed upon signal or one that the boy is trying out to see if he likes it - and the men go.
Connor gives Wesley a possessive look. "I'll be back."
"Naturally," Wesley tells him.
The doors close. Lorne faces him, the very picture of puzzlement. "Okay, I know this is a crazy, mixed-up world we're living in but - "
Wesley shuts him up with a song. It's a few bars of one he's missed hearing on the radio. Lorne stops, stares, reads. His mouth begins to open in a horrified "O"
Wesley advances on him before he can speak. They're nose to nose. Wesley's arms crossed, but his body radiates the strength of his words. "If you say one thing about this to *anyone*, I will destroy your body with my own bare hands. Do I make myself clear?"
Whatever anger or possible accusations of betrayal that Lorne might have given him have vanished. There's understanding, and to Wesley's hatred also a little pity. "Wes..."
"I know what I am doing."
"*Who* you're - "
"Not! One! *Word*!"
It's a stare off. Finally Lorne backs down. There's a moment of awkward shuffling. "So why am I here, if not for my scintillating conversation?"
In his original picture of this, Wesley told him. However in reality deeper needs take control. Softly, quiet enough for only a demon's ears, he asks "Angel...?"
Lorne places a gentle hand on Wesley's arm - sending a wave of bitterness through Wesley as he knows precisely *why* Lorne is being so tender, that Lorne now views him as the very epitome of the term "victim" and is treating him as such - and guides him further back into the room, away from any ears that might be lurking beyond the closed door to the hall.
"Batshit insane," Lorne tells him, his voice low and quiet, but his eyes reflecting still-held worry for their mutual friend. "After you went off with Junior... let's just say we had to move twice and we didn't get back the security deposit."
"Idiot," Wesley mutters, meaning it for the absent vampire. "He can't do that. He's thinking with his *heart*, he - "
"You're not doing the same?"
Wesley looks away. He doesn't like this. He doesn't like Lorne's ability to tear apart the tissue paper of his lies. It was easier when there was only Connor to fool. Belatedly Wesley now understands that this is part and parcel of why the world past those doors terrifies him.
"I have a plan."
"For Angel."
"For *everyone*," Wesley snaps, but they both know that it's ultimately a secondary concern. Wesley closes his eyes, folds his arms tighter around himself. Lorne, understanding the true mercy needed here, lets go and assumes a manner more professional.
"So what's the sitch?"
Wesley manages to shed his emotions in kind. "Thanks to Connor, I have an in. He trusts me. He gives me information. I can use him to give us the upper hand."
"With you so far," Lorne says. "Where do I come in?"
"I need an out."
Wesley lays it out for him. Connor trusts him, so long as he is a prisoner. To be of any use, however, someone needs to make it outside, to find a way to secret their hard-won advantages back to their underground team.
"Me," Lorne says.
"You," Wesley agrees.
"I'm not - "
"I know," Wesley tells him. "That's why I picked you."
"Thanks," the demon says, but the tone is a familiar sardonic, and though he doesn't feel it Wesley still manages a smile.
"You're not a fighter, you're not a mystic," Wesley reminds him. "To them therefore you are a nothing. You can disappear from their radar in ways no one else can."
Lorne shrugs, neither disputing nor believing in this.
Wesley thinks of his own difficulties. "It won't be easy. You'll have to be around them. Talk to them, as I cannot."
Something in Lorne's demeanor tells Wesley this has already proven a challenge. But the demon waves it off, dismissing any problems. "Can't be any worse than trying to talk to my mother during the last family reunion - and at least here the food's better."
Wesley smiles at that. It's small, but more genuine than any he's felt of late.
Another submission that night ensures that Lorne gets a room next door to their suite - and gets it for himself.
***
Things are uneasy at first. There's no clear definition of Lorne's official job, so he and Wesley take to simply visiting and speaking whenever Connor is away. As the goal was to give Wesley safe companionship during those times, it doesn't occur to either of them the problem that this creates.
It's a week before they realize the error of their ways.
A week is all it takes for Wesley and Lorne to find a familiarity to their speech. To talk of things that only they understand. To take comfort in the completely inane topics that are the only things they dare to speak of, but which to Wesley become the most precious part of his day. He can relax, just a bit. Slip the mask off slightly. Be a tiny bit more like himself.
He selfishly keeps Lorne from going on his true mission - ingratiating himself with the others - in favor of taking his company whenever he can. Lorne, far too understanding of why Wesley might need this, doesn't argue.
Connor comes home each night to see the two of them deep in conversation, both distracted by his interruption, and a slow anger begins to burn.
It is the last night, when Connor comes home to find Wesley not only smiling but *laughing* that things explode.
Lorne is forcibly ejected from the room. Wesley is slammed into the wall. And only then, his eyes going black with pain, does he realize how foolish he was. Connor, not savvy to any of Wesley's manipulations, is demon and beast enough to understand unspoken attractions.
It is not that Wesley and Lorne care for one another - far from it - but it is that they have so much more in *common*. They have gone through hard times together, Jasmine's thrall included, and Connor knows this gives Lorne a connection to Wesley that he could never have.
It's not love, not even lust, but Connor's not sophisticated enough to care. It's not *his* and that's all that matters.
He takes Wesley forcibly, escalating the violence of the action until even Wesley must comply and finally cry out in pain when no other tormentor had managed to pry that out of him. It is harsh and cruel, and when he's done Wesley can only turn to his side on the floor, spit blood, and lie there.
Hours later Connor comes back to take care of him. There's no apologies, merely efficient touch. Wesley is cleaned, bandaged, bundled back into bed.
The next night Wesley recovers enough to speak.
"There's only you."
Connor accepts that.
It's still days, however, before he grudgingly allows permission for Lorne to see him again.
It's two weeks before the marks fade enough for Wesley to allow that to happen.
***
They learn from their mistake. When Lorne reappears, he is the very picture of the host he once was - charming, deferential, never once stepping out of his role of happy servant.
He appoints himself Wesley's valet, and ingratiates himself in Connor's heart by immediately announcing that his first intention is to feed and dress Wesley for the day.
"Gotta get him handsome for you, right big guy?" Lorne asks, and Connor smiles at this.
They're not left alone. They don't earn that right for a while. But Wesley makes sure Connor's needs are not unattended and Lorne makes it clear that he knows who in this game is boss.
One afternoon Connor kisses Wesley in front of Lorne. His touch is crass, the kiss far too intimate for public eyes on the best of occasions, made moreso by Connor's hand palming Wesley's cock until he can get a reaction.
He gets the one he's looking for, then lets go.
"I'll be back in an hour," he tells them.
Lorne stares at the door after it closes.
"I know there's a line," he tells Wes, "but when this is done I get at least a few stabs in, right?"
Wesley doesn't argue.
***
As Wesley predicted, Lorne proves a master at his job. Though he shares the same ache for the mind control that Wesley did, he manages to hide it better. Connor's good graces give Lorne free passage amongst the blessed/damned and the first task Lorne sets himself is making friends with absolutely everyone in the building. He talks, flirts, compliments, and it's not long before he's called over to a table or greeted with a hearty wave whenever he walks into a room.
In the prison - as he's come to call poor Wes's suite - he plays the role of the humble servant. He maintains an attitude of a constant bow to Connor, even going so far as to occasionally and with all due deference suggest ways the pissant little freak might try to woo his supposed intended. It's not that Lorne wants to inflict the brat on Wes, but the fact of it is the kid's not going anywhere, so he hopes that by encouraging Connor in the *slow* art of seduction that he might be able to provide Wes with something that at least looks like a break.
Based on the bruises that cover Wes's skin when Lorne helps change him in the morning it apparently doesn't work, but even so Lorne has to try.
Getting chummy with the guards is next. Not the ones that hover in the third floor hallway that Lorne suspects Wesley is willfully unaware of, but the *real* guards. The ones that surround the building.
The ones that block the way to the sewers.
It takes time but he manages it. They're a manly lot but their blissed-out minds aren't unwelcoming of a new mascot. Lorne chats, plays the buffoon, goes over the top with the fey thing by bringing them coffee and cakes. It gets the job done.
He learns their likes, dislikes.
Their schedules.
Finally he gets their trust. Not the life and death kind. The more important "I don't care" kind. The kind that Lorne tests one day by strolling past them - past the point that anyone is supposed to go - waves and cheerfully tells them he's going off for coffee, do they need anything?
And they let him go.
It takes a month, but he manages it.
***
Wesley has learned to speak Pylean. Or, rather, he's learned to read it.
Lorne's been giving him lessons, in the form of a Scrabble game that Connor is too bored by to give a second glance to, even when they play it right in front of him.
The games start with Wesley placing down an English word, then Lorne placing down its Pylean equivalent. Lorne is impressed when it only takes two weeks for English to be put aside and Pylean conversations to ensue.
*I got out,* Lorne tells him one day, in tiles.
*Good,* Wesley responds.
*Don't know where anyone is yet, but I'll keep trying.*
*Excellent. Thank you.*
Then, a week later:
*Possible contact. What should I do?*
*Keep going.*
Later still, this time while they're alone:
*I can get a message through.*
Wesley stares at this. It's been so long he's not sure he wants to allow himself to believe the possibility.
More tiles. *What do you want me to say?*
Wesley doesn't respond.
Lorne waits, then gives a significant look in his direction.
Wesley turns away.
There's the sound of tiles slipping across cardboard, then Lorne taps the table to get his attention.
On reflex, Wesley looks.
He manages to see the first five tiles: "T-o-A-n-g - " before he shoves his hand against the board and scatters them.
"No."
Lorne looks at him in exasperation. "You've *got* to be kidding me."
"You know the mission," Wesley hisses, too angry to bother with the safety of spelled out code. "You know what to say."
Lorne stares him down. He gathers the tiles and places them in a pile on Wesley's side.
"Okay, we've done *that*. Now what do you *really* want to say?"
Far too many things suggest themselves. For a moment Wesley allows his hand to linger over tiles that contain an "o" and a "v".
In the end he retreats back into the greater good. Also into what he knows is a Pylean pun.
He collects the necessary tiles and in the other dimension's language he spells out:
*Tell Angel not to think with his ass.*
Lorne smirks, then nods.
***
Wesley doesn't like to admit it, but the avenue of communication makes him restless. It's a link back to what he once had. He lies awake at night, unable to stop his mind from worrying at the thought. He hasn't asked Lorne for details - plausible deniability in all things, of course - so he has no idea how word is getting back, how long will it take, are they to even expect a reply?
"Isn't this a *great* morning?" Lorne asks one day, walking in with a tray of breakfast dishes.
Connor, content in his usual routine, frowns. "What's so special about it?"
Lorne smiles at Wesley. "No reason."
Wesley smiles in return, but manages to keep the expression to himself.
***
There's no message back, as such, but over Scrabble Lorne tells him things are going well. They've got their 'out'. Now they need the next step.
*Export.* Wesley tells him. *A way to supply them with Connor's blood.*
Wesley hasn't shared his plans for getting his hands on said item, but Lorne's expression is feral and pleased all the same.
Still more games produce the information that the others are working on it. There's an underground railroad, of sorts, being created and that they *will* find a way.
Things heat up. Positive information flows back faster and faster and one day Lorne produces the best news yet.
*Might have something. Someone who can do the job.*
Wesley is incredulous at this. *Who?*
Lorne shakes his head. It's either something best not mentioned or something he himself is unaware of.
*Needs to see you.*
Wesley frowns. *Why?*
Another shake. Then, after a second's hesitation, *Doesn't trust me, I guess.*
For a moment Wesley isn't certain that *he* does either, but the demon's expression is so unguarded that he allows himself to relax.
*Okay. When?*
*Not sure yet.*
The obstacle, of course, is Connor. After Wesley's fears there's no way for him to go out and about without anyone noticing. Wesley has, unfortunately, made his dislike for the outside world far too evident.
Lorne sets about trying to break this barrier. In full view of Connor the two of them walk out into the hall. Connor immediately gets up, hovers, but all they do is stand by the doorway. Wesley's nerves are too torn for him to even fake conversation. Lorne and Connor both, then, team up to reassure him, talking amongst *themselves* so that Wesley is not called upon to fill the silences.
That night, alone, Connor is oddly encouraging. He wonders if Wesley can go further - into another room, perhaps even downstairs, maybe even more?
Wesley questions this, disliking that he has no key by which to provide a translation for Connor's motivations. He's even more unhappy at this clear weakness in his and Lorne's observations. What's Connor been doing that they have no idea about?
Connor reveals no clue. Instead he runs fingers through Wesley's hair, kisses him, and promises that if Wesley manages this there might be treats - rewards. There's a dramatic pause before Connor adds: "*Books*, maybe."
If anything it makes Wesley more inclined to stay right where he is. This is a noose he's no desire to willingly place his head into.
But beyond it is the promise of an end. Wesley wonders if he could run fast enough to break the rope around his neck. To one day, possibly, be free.
"I'll try," Wesley tells Connor. And the reward that night is sex that Connor probably assumes is romantic and loving.
***
Wesley manages it. It makes him ill time and again, but with Connor and Lorne's help he eventually makes it downstairs. He sits still for all of a half hour before becoming dizzy and needing to retreat once more, but it's a hard-earned victory after so many weeks.
He tries it again, and again, and soon enough he and Lorne walk about the hotel without comment. Then, eventually, Wesley manages it on his own.
Connor, for his part, couldn't be more pleased. He crows about it, showering Wesley with presents - books, alcohol, jewels, does Wesley want jewels? - and goes about his day looking much too happy for Wesley's comfort.
Lorne works double time on trying to get information - about their newfound contact, about Connor. In the end it is Connor himself who provides the latter, when he returns home one day in an absolute funk.
"Something wrong?" Lorne asks, made inquisitive when Connor sulks his way into the suite, dumping his clothing onto the floor like a boy informed that he's failed another math final.
"You can't *go*," Connor whines, looking at Wes.
"Go?" Wesley asks.
"To Seattle," Connor says. He flops down into a chair, pouty. Lorne makes himself useful by presenting him with a cool drink. It stays untouched on the coaster, but it keeps the demon in the room. "I have to go to Seattle."
Wesley and Lorne manage not to share a look. "Why?"
"There's a *thing*," Connor says, waving a hand to dismiss it. "They need me there in person. To take care of it."
Wesley now has a real concern about this. "Is there any danger? To you?"
Connor mistakes this for devotion. "I can handle it."
Wes's tone is a hair sharper, more authoritative. "Even so, I worry."
Connor smiles. "I'll be back. I just have to do it. You know. As the father."
"Of course," Wesley says.
Lorne lets Wes have a moment to let the cognitive wheels turn. "Need me to pack a bag? How many nights are we planning here?"
"A week," Connor shrugs. "More." He sits up again, making a sort of intimacy with his posture as he looks at Wesley. "I wanted you to come with me."
Wes is far too well-rehearsed with this kind of supplication. Lorne still has to repress a shudder as he watches Wes's hand move over, and skirt along the inside of the brat's thigh. "You mean I'll have to be without you?"
"I wanted you to come *with*," Connor says, pouting again.
"It's completely unfair that I can't."
Connor gears himself up for another whine. "She *said* - "
"Connor," Wesley silences him, dropping down to his knees. "I think if we now lack for time to spend together, that there are other things that you and I could be doing, don't you agree?"
Connor sits back, immediately placated. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Wesley agrees, his hand moving higher. He flashes a commanding look in Lorne's direction. "I'm sure you have better places to be."
Lorne abandons the pretense of drinks-making. Downstairs he knows Jim is on duty, and Jim sure loves it when someone stops by with a sandwich and a pack of cigarettes. "Come to think of it, you're right."
***
In the time before Connor leaves they don't dare do anything wrong. Lorne completes chores before Connor can ask and Wesley has never been more willing and pliant in bed.
It's enough to make Wesley worry that they might be doing *too* much, but Connor only has eyes for Wesley's actions and he cheerfully mistakes those for signs that Wesley will miss him.
The day draws near. Over Scrabble Lorne tells him that a meeting time has been arranged, but not for two days after Connor has gone. Wesley broods over this, on the one hand hating the wait, on the other he can't disagree with Lorne's theory that it's best to make sure Connor is *truly* gone before taking a chance like this.
Connor leaves, taking some of the troops with him. Wesley sees him off at the hotel's front door. In front of everyone Connor gives him a lingering kiss, his slight hand tangling in the back of Wesley's hair.
"See you soon," the boy promises.
"Not soon enough," Wesley lies.
The two days are unbearable. Wesley would prefer to spend them alone and pacing, but he knows he must keep up the show of wandering around the hotel, lest the guards that Connor has placed outside of his door become suspicious at any change in Wesley's activity.
Lorne remains frustratingly silent with relevant information until the night before the rendezvous.
Bent over their game Lorne spells it out for him. A meeting. Late the next night. Deep in the sewers. There's a secret passage Wesley will use to get past the guards and out of the hotel.
Wesley quirks his eyebrows at this.
Lorne gives a significant glance in the direction of his and Connor's linen closet, then outlines a map with tiles.
Inside the closet. Behind the last shelf. A loose board. Pushed out of the way it reveals a ladder. Down the ladder, through an unused maid's quarters, past a hopefully unlocked sewer entrance and then a series of lefts and rights through tunnels to the meeting place in question.
Wesley memorizes this, knowing it can't be committed to paper.
*What if the guards check on me?*
Lorne shrugs, accepting his own danger in this. *My job to distract them.*
Wesley ponders this. Thinks on how much could be lost if anything goes wrong.
Knows there really isn't much choice.
"All right."
***
The next day takes far too long to pass. As the sun slowly starts to dip down, Lorne makes his appearance.
"Bathtime!" he announces, for the benefit of the guards. "Got to make sure a certain someone is always at his best. You never know when Jasmine's daddy might be coming home."
These guards aren't as friendly with Lorne as the ones downstairs are, but they've been told to let Wesley have his amusements and his valet.
With the suite door closed, Lorne pushes him into the shower anyway.
"Keep up appearances," the demon tells him. "And make sure to scrub behind your ears. Word on the street is you might have to watch out for some pretty good trackers."
Wesley wonders if this means other demons, or if the problem is as commonplace as dogs. Either way he does as he's told, seeing no reason to ignore the advice and having nothing else to do.
Lorne fusses over him, granting him privacy in the shower, yes, but pouncing as soon as a dry towel is wrapped around Wesley's waist. He produces new clothes, a skintight long sleeved shirt and comfortable jeans, both in midnight black, and insists that Wesley wear them. Showered, shaved and dressed, they still have hours to spare. They finally spend it in an *actual* game of Scrabble, which of course Wesley wins.
With an hour to go they turn music on. Classical, but enough to mask any conversation they might be having.
Finally the time comes. Lorne hovers, picking at lint that only he can see and acting as nervous as if he knew for certain that Connor was on to them, then finally lets him go.
Wesley closes the closet door behind him, opens the secret passage, and, following the map in his head, makes his way to the location. An abandoned office, perhaps once used by the water company or rail system.
Wesley waits there, impatient. His fingertip sketches random patterns in the dust that covers the desk.
He manages to create three circles before he's grabbed by a large pair of hands and shoved against the wall.
"What the *fuck* do you think you're doing?" Angel demands.
***
