Strategy Part Six

[thebratqueen]

PART SIX

Wesley sleeps. Better than he has in over half a year - perhaps even longer than that. His dreams are epic, too rich to for him to remember a single detail beyond that of a handsome Irish vampire.

His body thrums. He wants more. Unconsciously rocks his hips into the sheets. There can't be enough. There can't ever be -

"Okay, rise and shine. C'mon, Wes. Pitter patter let's get at 'er."

Wesley groans, burying his face into the pillow. "No, please."

Lorne is persistent. "You've slept late enough as it is."

"I don't want to get up."

"I don't want to die without first being attended to by an entirely nude yet well oiled football team, but we've all got our disappointments."

Wesley turns, regards him with a baleful eye. He's about to protest more when he sees what Lorne is carrying.

The demon holds up a plastic-wrapped pack of sheets. "300 thread count. If the little shit - " Lorne switches to Pylean while using his favorite nickname for Connor, then sticks to that language for privacy. Wesley follows along, having learned the language by sound now, as well as its written word. " - doesn't like them he can kiss my heart."

Knowing what the sheets are for, Wesley shakes his head. "No."

"Yes."

Wesley fists a handful of the cloth underneath the blankets, clinging to the warmth that he knows contains Angel's scent. "He won't be home for days. It can wait a little longer."

Lorne scowls, then solves the problem by flicking the blankets up and off. Wesley has to scramble to cover himself and the stains from last night's masturbation.

"Lorne - "

Back to Pylean. "Wes, *I* can tell you and you-know-who had sex. Imagine what this place reeks of to Connor's nostrils."

Wesley sighs. Hates having to admit it. "Fine."

"Shower too," Lorne orders, pointing the way to the bathroom. "Use the extra fruity stuff. And if you so much as touch those clothes after taking them off, I'm coming in there and scrubbing you down *myself*."

"As you wish," Wesley can't help muttering. He stalks off to the bathroom, resists the urge to slam the door behind him.

He strips down. Leaves the clothes in a pile on the floor. Empties his bladder while the hot water runs.

He gets in. Adjusts the temperature. Lets water sluice down his body.

He closes his eyes, leans in towards the spray.

*Flash*

Sense memory. Angel. Kissing him. Touching him. Running his hand over Wesley's cock.

Wesley groans, turning to rest his back against the slick tiles. Keeps his eyes closed. Runs a hand down his chest. Imagines it's Angel's touch. Drops his hand lower and begins to stroke, replaying the night before in his head like his own private porn.

He fast forwards, rewinds, uses slow-motion on his favorite parts - of which Angel reaching to kiss *him* first and that final touch of Angel's thumb turn out to be the highest of the top ten - licks his lips, savors the faint taste that remains. Reminds himself of the pleasure of sucking Angel's cock and discovers that it only makes him that much harder. Thinks to himself of how much he wants to do it again, of what it will be like when they're finally together, when they're lying side by side on that beach and all he has to do is gently tug on a saltwater wet suit and drag his tongue all the way -

He gasps, his cock jerking stripes of come across the shower curtain. Wesley reels from the endorphins, then smiles, remembering how Angel didn't care in the slightest about such messes. Thinks of Angel going back to his own bed, reeking of Wesley's scent, and finds it actually teases a few more shudders out of himself.

He savors this for a while, then washes himself properly.

***

"Tell me about what happened," he asks Lorne as he gets dressed. Lorne stuffs sheets and clothes into a bag, declaring them for the incinerator. Windows are open, drenching the room in fresh air. They talk in Pylean because in this world it isn't a certainty that someone *isn't* hovering outside a third floor window for the sole purpose of eavesdropping, though of course as soon as the windows were opened they both checked.

"When?" Lorne asks.

Wesley fixes his jeans, pulls on a T-shirt. Finds that inside of him is a longing for more memories with Angel's name on them. It replaces and even nullifies a previously held pain. The one which kept him from asking what happened - "When Connor took me."

Lorne nods, ties the garbage bag tight then double bags it. "Fred and Gunn didn't get back until late. It was all we could do to make Angel - " and here Lorne uses their agreed-upon Pylean nickname for the vampire, a word which roughly translates to "our favorite idiot" - " sit still and not go after. Find out what was keeping you."

Wesley sits down, sips coffee. "Keeping the three of us."

Lorne winks. "Yeah. He was real concerned about the *three*."

Wesley finds himself blushing. Hides it behind his mug. "Go on."

Lorne sits across from him. Pours a glass of orange juice. "We got the story about what went on at the school - " here Wesley shakes his head, because he doesn't know their version of it " - little shit ambushing you, dragging you off."

"Did they know what happened?"

Lorne, who knows the entirety of Wesley and Connor's sexual history thanks to a single song, shakes his head. "No clue. Fred figured mind control. That Connor had somehow put the born again whammy on you."

Wesley shivers, not caring to linger on this. "Gunn?"

"Said you were trying to bring everything down from the inside."

Wesley nods. "Good. I'd hoped he would understand."

There's a smirk. "Said he *knew*. I never said he *understood*. As I recall the phrase 'jackass' was used more than once."

Wesley shrugs, long past the point of fretting about the dissolution of that particular trust and friendship. "Angel?"

Lorne butters toast. "Like I told you. Batshit insane."

"What did he think?"

"Don't think *he* even knew," Lorne says, using a cloth napkin to dab crumbs from his chin. "Went back and forth on being pissed at Connor for taking you and pissed at you for going."

"Did he ever - " Wesley hesitates, isn't sure he wants to provide his own buzzkill by knowing " - think I betrayed him?"

An immediate shake of the head. "No."

"Good."

"That was my job."

Wesley stares.

Lorne looks back at him. Isn't really apologetic. Wesley doesn't expect him to be. There's a silent understanding of this before the momentary coldness is dropped, hasty decisions and physical attacks from years prior dismissed with a *snick* of a knife as it cuts through butter and hits the plastic dish beneath. The conversation resumes as it was. "I'm over it now."

Wesley knows Lorne means the doubts. "Thank you."

"Hard to judge from where I'm sitting," Lorne tells him.

Wesley pulls back. This skirts too close to topics that can't be acknowledged, spoken about. Still, he knows he must say: "Thank you. For not telling him."

Lorne pats his hand. Pushes the basket of toast forward, an obvious request for him to eat. Wesley dutifully complies, remembering Angel's comments.

The demon smiles at him, attempts to assume a lighthearted tone. "Hey, just think of me as your friendly neighborhood hairdresser. From your lips to my ears to even Sinatra himself couldn't crawl out of his grave and get me to start blabbing."

Wesley finds he can't quite joke about it. He busies himself with toast-buttering. "Still. Thank you."

"What'd he say?"

"Nothing. He didn't - nothing."

"What did *you* say?"

Wesley knows this is so Lorne can continue the lie. "That Connor trusts me. Because I hate Angel."

Lorne nods, files this away.

A stray thought compels Wesley to ask: "How did you do it? All this time, and he never smelled Angel on you."

"Lots of messengers," Lorne says. "Didn't often speak with the big lug myself." Another attempt at a joking smile. "Plus it's a help when I don't actually have sex with him."

Wesley chuckles. Absentmindedly licks his lips. Remembers the vampire doing that for him.

"Wesley..."

Wesley looks up, wonders why Lorne's tone has become so quiet and serious. Finds he's made uncomfortable by the demon's frank and tender gaze.

"I won't say a word," Lorne promises. "I know it's not my secret to tell. And... not that I blame you for anything. But..."

Wesley draws a protective cage around his heart. "But...?"

"Why not?" Lorne leans forward, his manner earnest. "*Tell* him. One word from you about what's going on here and that little shit's going to wish he never *once* crossed his daddy."

"We need Connor's blood."

"Somehow I think Angel would find a way to get it," Lorne shakes his head, incredulous. "Wes, after all Connor's done to you, why are you protecting him?"

Wesley laughs. It's not humorous. It's bitter. He's surprised the anagogic demon doesn't get it. "If Angel were to find out about this, he would kill Connor in an instant."

"Which is pretty much *my* point."

"I can't allow that to happen."

"You don't think Connor *deserves* - "

"What Connor *deserves* is of no concern to me," Wesley says, his voice crisp. "For him I don't care."

"Then...?"

"Connor is Angel's child. His only tangible miracle, however evil the boy's become."

"So?"

"To have to kill him would be too much," Wesley tells him. He puts his toast down, no longer hungry. "Angel would be destroyed by it. I can't allow that to happen. I protect the father, Lorne. Not the son."

Lorne mulls this over. He clearly doesn't agree with the idea, but he drops it and doesn't mention it again.

***

After breakfast Wesley's good mood is restored. He remembers yet another part of the night before.

"There's translations," Wesley says. "Angel asked me to help with them."

"Need a hand?"

"Yes, I don't have them."

"Want me to get them now?"

Wesley thinks about it. "Is it possible? I don't know how much there is. With Connor gone, it's probably best to get started quickly."

Lorne nods, picks up the bag of dirty evidence. "I'll get right on it."

***

Xeroxed pages litter the diningroom table later that night. Wesley recognizes Angel's handwriting, and the wisdom of bringing something that will smell more of chemicals than Angel's own scent.

He idly wonders where they found the Xerox machine.

He sets about translating. It doesn't take long for his mind to thrill at it. He's in his element. Some of the symbols are known to him. Others, complete mysteries. He finds himself smiling, even absently humming a cheerful tune as he deciphers, translates, scribbles.

He finally has to cut the humming out when Lorne begs him to have a little mercy. Not that he doesn't *appreciate* the images of Angel naked, of course, but mixed in with all of the prophecies it's starting to give him a strange fetish.

Wesley grins, works silently.

The texts are good choices. Things about the Beast - Wesley recognizes yet another attempt to recreate the lost page from Rhinehart's Companion - things about goddesses, Powers, mind control, mystical births -

A request to see Wesley naked.

Wesley pauses. Blinks. Rereads.

No, there it is. Hidden amongst the text. A tiny snippet, written in Kungai. There's no direct translation for Wesley's name in this demon tongue, but still "Would the handsome former Observer now reading this do the honor of granting this humble worker unclothed touch" is a bit out of the norm, even for Rhinehart.

Wesley smirks. Four years later and Angel's still no better at Kungai. It took Wesley all of a month to become fluent after his arrival in Los Angeles. He wonders if he has the heart to tell Angel that it's actually much easier to write the single character for "beloved servant" than the three required for "humble worker".

He decides he doesn't care.

He gathers the notes he's created so far. Figures out the Kungai translation for "You have no idea how much I'm dying to suck your cock" then *retranslates* it into Kungai that even Angel can understand. Everything else has been translated into Pylean. As of that moment in time there are only three beings on earth who can speak *that* language, and Lorne assures him Fred is still alive and working at Angel's side. Wesley figures she can handle the prophecy translations, and will presumably read the note telling her to hand the smaller piece of paper over to Angel.

Wesley gives this to Lorne. "Can you get this to him tonight?"

Lorne, who knows better than to admit how glad he is to see Wesley happy again, promises to do his best.

***

More translations. More Kungai notes hidden amongst recreated text:

"Miss you so much it hurts."

"Can't stop thinking of your hand around me."

"Need you by my side."

"Want to be with you. Now. Always."

"Love you."

"Desperately love you."

"Want to taste you."

"Wholehearted agreement there. Want to taste you too."

"Can't stand being without you."

"Dream every night of having you beside me."

"Dream night and day of my hands on your flesh."

"Pleasure myself constantly with the thought of you."

"Amusement. Me too."

"Miss you, Angel."

"Need to be *inside* you, Wes."

Wesley stares at the latest communication. Rereads it:

"Need to be *inside* you, Wes."

Shifts in his chair. Yet again finds a session of translation ending with his pants feeling too tight.

"I can't stand this," he whispers.

Lorne isn't there. Without the demon to remind him, his willpower cracks:

"Connor's not due home until Saturday. Please, beloved, I *need* to see you."

For the first time ever, Wesley also signs it: "Yours."

***

Oblivious to the content, Lorne delivers the message. Hours later he returns with a response:

"Tomorrow night. You. Me. Same place. NEED you." And then, slightly shakier in a manner that suggests it was purposefully copied from Wesley's own, "Yours."

Wesley starts to get ready.

***