Indulgence Fic: Pet, Part Three
Oct. 11th, 2003 05:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebratqueenGotta love days off. I present Part Three of Pet:
PART THREE
Wesley's first official day as Angel's property passed in much the same manner as every *other* day of his life had done. Which, when he had a moment to himself to later contemplate the fact, probably said a lot about how flimsy the need to make it all official had really been.
No, no. Scratch that. Clear that from the records immediately. For if Angel had found a four-year long annoyance with the possibility of Wesley leaving, then Wesley had a rather humiliatingly deep-seated one about Angel not giving a damn. If Angel wanted to make these things official then thank God for it. It steadied a twitching ache inside of him. It provided a feeling of certainty. Stabilized fears about loneliness and loss which he couldn't fully give name too, but which spawned terrifyingly realistic nightmares all the same.
No. He wanted this. He wanted to be Angel's. Had wanted it, in fact, for years, though in truth he'd been ready to accept whatever form of connection the vampire had been willing to offer. Employment, later friendship, all had been welcome.
And if, in Wesley's heart of hearts and - well, admittedly in other organs located slightly lower - he had desired a tiny bit more, that had been all right too. Manageable. Not the first time his wants and crushes had landed upon the unwilling.
But if Angel truly was going to point-blank insist that this entire affair was going to remain firmly ensconced in the land of pornography - well, that was an aggravation that Wesley was prepared to put up with.
Spike was right - and Wesley *did* have to pause upon thinking that and realize the incongruity - Angel was, all known evidence about him to the contrary, rather adept at this sort of thing.
One wouldn't imagine it. The knowledge of Angel - and here Wesley included the far more useful information of his knowledge of Angel as a person and not a figure of legend - tended towards the extremes. Dark and light. Sadism or a state which was the closest Angel could get towards altruism.
This other thing, this *strength* inside of Angel which had had the power to strip Wesley's defenses bare, that had been unexpected.
It was, Wesley realized, an extension of what Angel himself had already said. A desire for things to be more binary. Yes or no. And, upon having that answer, Wesley supposed it then became a matter of Angel simply devoting himself to the task with the terrifying conviction that he could give to anything he set his heart to.
What was this, Wesley thought, if not a new obsession?
*That* thought disquieted him.
That Angel could be obsessed with things was unquestionable. That he could dedicate himself to the object of said obsessions with a force that was breathtaking was undeniable.
That he could *abandon* said obsessions when things did not go his way was… was the answer to whatever had happened to Darla.
Wesley chewed this over.
He didn't want this to stop. That was the plain fact of it. Whatever it was - and that was something he was admittedly uncertain about - it was what he *wanted*. Angel had asked for it and Wesley could have no more denied it than he could have ceased to breathe. He *needed* this.
But did Angel need it as much? Or would he want it as much as time went by?
The thought stuck with him. It worried at his heels. It cast a muted pall over the entire day's proceedings. Wesley found himself going from task to task with an ever-decreasing percent of himself actually managing to pay attention to what was going on in front of him.
He didn't see Angel. He didn't even see Spike. Admittedly the latter was not wholly unusual but for an entire day to go by without any contact from Angel was not the norm. Wesley was, however quietly this was acknowledged, Angel's second in command. It wasn't really *possible* for things to crop up that didn't even inspire Harmony to interrupt him with at least a note from her boss.
It got to the point where Wesley began to seek it out. He walked out of his office, where he'd been staring at the walls more than paying attention to a presentation one of his people had sent to him in email, and stood in front of Harmony's desk to get her attention.
"Any messages?"
Harmony's eyebrows had furrowed together. "Huh?"
"From Angel," Wesley clarified, used to needing to patiently spell this sort of thing out for her. "For me."
"Oh," Harmony said. Her mouth parted the a joyful smile of someone about to convey useful information. "Nope!"
Wesley sighed and went back into his office. He thought about calling Angel but realized he had no idea what to say. He made the attempt anyway and merely got Angel's voicemail. He hung up before he even reached the beep.
Still more hours passed. He took more meetings. He became increasingly irritable. He began to wonder, with all seriousness, if he should stop by Fred's department and request some kind of physical. The events of the morning and most certainly those of the night before were beginning to have all the hallmarks of a very elaborate hallucination. Surely some sort of brain scan would -
"Knock knock."
Wesley looked up. "Spike."
"I'm hungry," the vampire said. He leaned against Wesley's doorway, looking around at the office in a bored sort of fashion.
Used to dealing with that sort of comparatively mundane problem, Wesley reached for his phone. "I'll order some blood."
"Don't want blood," Spike told him. "Want food."
That was slightly unusual after years of dealing with Angel, but Wesley reminded himself that the two vampires were quite different in many respects. "I could call for take away?"
"Nah," Spike said. He rolled his shoulders. "Bored. Been stuck in this trap for hours. Wanna go out."
"All right," Wesley said. He wondered if Spike was asking his permission.
"Want company," Spike added. He reached into his back pocket and held up a plastic rectangle. "You, me, daddy's charge card. C'mon."
With that, Wesley felt relief. Not at the annoying way in which Spike had *made* the request, but at the actual request itself. Angel had warned him about this. That meant it was *real*.
"Of course," Wesley said. He signed off from his computer and pulled his coat out of the closet. "Where are we going?"
"I've got a place in mind," Spike said. He waited long enough for Wesley to catch up then made his way across the common area. "What are you in the mood for?"
"Thai?" Wesley suggested.
"Huh, too bad," Spike replied. He pressed the button for the elevator. "Better luck next time, eh?"
Not that Wesley needed it, but time spent with Spike very often reminded him of why Angel was frequently irritable. Of course thinking of Spike's grandsire made him wonder - "Did Angel send you? Did he give you his card to take me out this evening?"
Spike, who had palmed the card in question back into his pocket, merely smiled. "Yeah, that's one interpretation of events."
"You stole it," Wesley guessed, stepping into the elevator beside him.
"That'd be another," Spike agreed. He hit the button for the third parking level.
"Spike - "
"Don't come over all scoldy on me," Spike told him. "He's got hundreds of the bloody things. He can spare a few."
"You took more than one."
"Right annoying the way you pay attention," Spike said. He got out of the elevator and headed for one of the black stretch limos. A driver was standing beside it as though waiting for them. "Anyone ever told you that?"
"Angel told me I was supposed to mind your weak willpower," Wesley said. Both Spike and the driver stood aside so that he could get into the car first.
Spike chuckled, crawling in behind him. "Don't you try to tell me what Angel told you to mind. I know his rules. Probably better than you, I'd wager."
The back door closed, encasing them in the muted light of the car's interior. "Still - "
"Still nothing," Spike replied as the car lurched into motion. "Da told you to mind what *I* tell you, and don't go trying to claim any different."
"I wasn't," Wesley replied, suddenly quite aware that with Spike between him and the door, there was no way out. Not that he'd been thinking of taking one.
"Good," Spike said. "So give us a kiss then."
Ah. Most definitely *not* an elaborate hallucination. Or, admittedly, possibly one that was still going strong. Wesley made a mental note to rebuke his psyche for the thoroughly boring parts that had been the time from Angel's departure to right now, then realized he was stalling at precisely the same moment Spike did.
"Come on then," Spike said, his eyes sparkling with too much superior amusement to be truly scolding. "Didn't mind my mouth last night, did you?"
"No, I - " Lord, how *was* one expected to talk in a time like this?
"Or is that it?" Spike asked. He shifted forward, moving into Wesley's personal space. "Were you looking for a repeat, pet? Because we've got enough time until we get there, though I think if I'm going to be asked to do *you* a favor I might need to lower that handy partition between us and Mr. Chauffeur. Give me a witness for when I tell Angel later you didn't do what you were told."
Wesley immediately closed the distance and kissed him.
Spike put his hands on Wesley's shoulders before he could jerk back.
It was… not what Wesley was expecting. Not that he'd given it much thought in the half second before the action occurred, but if he *had* been going to guess, he would have thought it would be something rough. Perhaps mocking. Maybe even a little brutal.
He didn't expect, well, *kissing*.
Soft, warm kissing, with Spike's lips and teeth gently grazing along Wesley's mouth. Lips parting. A tongue sliding in and leaving him breathless. A kiss as though Wesley were, in fact, Spike's actual *date* and not some mortal he was merely having fun with.
Cruelty he'd been prepared to deal with. *This* he'd had no plan for.
"There," Spike said, when he finally pulled back. "Not so bad then, was it?"
And with that he was gone, because they'd arrived at the restaurant.
Wesley took a moment to blink and compose himself, then followed.
Spike had chosen a posh restaurant the likes of which LA was known for. An obsequious waiter took them in at once, then led them to a private booth. Spike slumped in to his side, snapping open the menu and studying it. Wesley sat down across from him, watching him carefully.
"They say the shrimp's nice," Spike pointed out.
"I wouldn't know," Wesley said. "I've never been here before."
"Could try the shrimp then," Spike said. He continued to look at his menu. Then, noticing he was the only one, "Go on. Man can't eat by himself."
Wesley picked the menu up and tried to figure out what on earth he wanted. The answer was rather cloudy and greatly affected by the presence of vampires in his life. He tried to narrow it down to something involving dinner.
"Breathe," Spike told him, to all appearances utterly fascinated by the section on soup. "Just here for a bite. To eat. Relax and enjoy yourself. It's on Angel."
"Is he joining us?" Wesley asked.
"No," Spike replied, "and thanks ever so for the look of disappointment."
"Sorry," Wesley said.
"S'all right," Spike shrugged it off. "You're not the first."
Spike's tone gave him pause. "Even so, that was rude of me."
Whatever reply Spike might have had to that was cut off by the reappearance of the waiter. "Something to drink?"
Wesley glanced at the drinks menu. "Yes, I - "
"Bottle of something red," Spike interjected. "Make it good and bloody expensive. We're not paying for piss, here."
The waiter wrote it down, unperturbed by Spike's attitude. He turned to Wesley. "And to eat?"
Again Wesley tried. "I'll have - "
"Steak," Spike said. "Nice thick slab of it. Medium. When it comes out it'd better still be on its last moo."
"Of course," the waiter replied. "And for you?"
"Shrimp looks nice."
"Excellent," the waiter said. He took their menus and vanished.
Alone again, Spike grinned at him. "Who said you get a say in anything, pet?"
"Obviously I've much to learn," Wesley replied.
They looked at one another in utter silence until Wesley realized that Spike was about as good at making conversation as his grandsire was.
Which reminded him. "Da?"
Blond eyebrows quirked. "No, Spike. You hallucinating there, pet?"
"I'm not entirely certain," Wesley admitted. "But what I meant was why do you call him that? Isn't he your grandsire?"
"He is," Spike confirmed. He sat forward, bending and unbending the prongs of his fork as though it were no more than a cheaper version like one that might be found in a diner. "Him to Dru to me."
"So grandfather then."
"In theory," Spike agreed. "In reality the man's got his kinks. And it's how it worked out anyway. Love my Dru but she wasn't exactly the mothering type."
Wesley was fascinated by this window into things Watcher libraries only hinted at. "So it was Angelus and Darla who raised you?"
Spike snorted at that. "That snow-bitch couldn't raise the dead. Didn't want to anyway. Said being a mother made her feel old."
"I see," Wesley said. He tried to fit this into what little he remembered of Darla from years prior. There was something of a dissonance to the thoughts, but he supposed Spike knew what he was talking about.
"Now Angelus, *he* had a streak to him," Spike continued.
"A paternal streak?" Wesley asked.
"Dunno if you'd call it that," Spike said. "More like he's in charge and you do what he bloody well says or he'll make you regret it."
"Head of the household then?" Wesley suggested.
"Right," Spike said. He sat back as their wine arrived. "Fall in line or there's going to be trouble."
"Sounds like a father to me," Wesley said.
Spike's eyes showed a flicker of interest at that. "Right. So, ponce likes his titles, Da it is."
"He said I should call him Angel."
"Bully for you, then," Spike drawled.
"I only meant," Wesley clarified, "I'm trying to understand. How it all works. Until last night I wasn't even aware that you and Angel even had this arrangement."
"Had it for years," Spike assured him.
"Even in Sunnydale?"
Spike looked as though he might choke on his wine. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "No. Not Sunnyhell. Not since the bugger got his soul, anyway. This is a pretty recent reprise of this particular song."
"What about when he lost it?" Wesley asked. "After - " he stopped himself from saying Buffy's name, having seen Spike wince one too many times whenever he heard it " - after he lost his soul for the first time?"
The barest inclination of Spike's head seemed to acknowledge Wesley's efforts at courtesy. "Didn't come up. Too busy with one thing and another. Not saying there wasn't the occasional moment sans clothes but we didn't make a habit out of it."
"This is possibly a very stupid question," Wesley said, "but I thought Angelus didn't *like* men in that matter?"
Now Spike *definitely* snorted on his wine. "Christ, pet. Who pulled your leg with *that* one?"
"He did," Wesley admitted.
Spike was still laughing. "Didn't like men. He'll be telling you he doesn't like *killing* next. Oh yeah. He's a right lady's man. Jewish too."
"All right, I get the point," Wesley said, but he was chortling in return.
"That was the problem with the soul," Spike continued. Their food arrived and he speared his grilled shrimp with his newly fixed fork. "Him going around, pretending like he didn't know where he came from. Like suddenly he's too *good* for the likes of us."
"Well," Wesley said, delicately, "surely the soul makes *some* difference in that matter?"
"Family's family," Spike said, gesturing at him with the tip of his knife. "He wants to *hate* us that's all right. Not like we were all lovey-dovey either. But you don't turn you back on blood. It's not right. Angelus wouldn't have done that."
Wesley was surprised to hear this advantage ascribed to the soulless vampire. He cut a piece of steak and chewed thoughtfully, momentarily distracted by the goodness of the food. "Angelus was loyal to you?"
"Dunno if you'd call it *loyal*," Spike said. "But he knew what was his. Didn't throw it away like so much rubbish. If he got tired of you he killed you, good and proper."
Wesley swallowed. "I… see."
"No middle ground with him," Spike said, nodding with approval. "None of this poncy negotiation like you lot seem so fond of."
"My lot?"
"Humans," Spike clarified. "Mortals. All 'do you mind if I do this?' and 'how's about we try a bit of that?'" Spike made a sound of disgust. "Useless. Waste of time if you ask me."
"Angel didn't seem particularly interested in negotiation this morning," Wesley said.
"He wouldn't would he?" Spike asked. "Gets enough of that around the bloody office." Spike put his food down, sitting forward. "Look, not that I'm gonna say it to his face but the man's not *that* daft. He knows what he's doing. Your lot's big evil gives him the reigns, he's gonna bloody take 'em. And if anybody can bring that dog to heel, it's gonna be him."
Wesley ignored the slight mixed metaphor. "I know."
"But that means fighting on their own terms," Spike said. "And *Angel* isn't exactly the bloke you wanna do that. You want somebody who can be strong. Fight dirty."
"Angelus," Wesley said.
"Such as it is," Spike nodded. "'cause you know the soul's still there. It's still Angel. Just - "
"Moreso," Wesley finished. He took up a forkful of smashed potatoes. "Which is why he's approaching problems in a very Angelus-like fashion."
"Without the art and with a lighter touch on the insanity," Spike confirmed. "But yeah."
Wesley mulled this over. "I wasn't aware I was a problem."
Spike smirked. "He thought you were."
"I didn't mean to be," Wesley said.
"Not up to you, is it?" Spike asked.
"Not anymore," Wesley agreed.
Spike gave him an approving look at that. "You learn quick."
"We all have our talents," Wesley said. He pushed his food around. "Spike, you know more about this than I do. Do you think he's likely to grow bored with me? Kill me or - or whatever it is he might be inclined to do?"
Spike pursed his lips. "Dunno. Not sure about that last one, actually. Angel with soul is not the same as Angelus without. Hard to say what the blighter's going to do. Pretty sure he wouldn't kill you though, you being mortal and all."
"But he could grow bored with me," Wesley concluded.
To that, Spike only offered a mysterious smile. "Wouldn't say that."
***
It was hours later when they returned. Wesley moved to hit the button for his office, intending to retrieve his briefcase before going home, but Spike swatted his hand away.
"Who said you were going anywhere?" Spike asked. He pressed the button for the penthouse. "Got an appointment with the big cheese, you do."
"I do?" Wesley parroted. The conversation with Spike, strange though it was, had given him the impression that that was all he could have expected from the evening. That perhaps his first test was to prove that he didn't require Angel's supervision all the time.
"What are we going to do?" Wesley asked.
Spike reached forward and pressed another button, this one for the floor with the guest suites on it, specifically his own. "Dunno. Didn't get an invitation."
"Spike," Wesley said, thinking the night over, "did you know about this meeting all this time and only *now* decide to tell me?"
"Nah," Spike replied, watching the floor numbers climb higher. "Knew all this time and decided before dinner I'd tell you now. 's different."
Wesley sighed.
Spike grinned, then surprised him with a quick, almost easily missed kiss. "You're welcome." The doors opened and Spike stepped out. He gave Wesley one last smug look before vanishing behind the closing doors. "Night, pet."
"Good night," Wesley said, automatically.
The still-playing Muzak made the now empty elevator feel bigger than it was. Wesley shifted his weight, then brushed a hand over his mouth, wondering if he should greet Angel while still tasting of Spike's lips. Or, for that matter, if there shouldn't at least be some sort of breath mint involved to mask what he'd had for dinner.
Before he could decide, the doors opened onto Angel's flat. Wesley hesitated, then got out.
The apartment looked empty. Dim lights kept it from falling into total darkness. Still, other than the sounds of the disappearing lift, there was no life to be found.
Remembering the view that had greeted him *last* night when he'd tried this, Wesley moved forward carefully. "Angel?"
The vampire appeared as if by magic. "Hey, Wes."
Wesley refused to give any outward indication that his heart had just leapt into his throat. "Angel," he said again, this time by way of greeting. He turned to face the other man, then found himself at a loss for words. "Angel…."
Angel, who had apparently been reading a book while walking, looked back at him. His expression was casual, for all that he was bare chested and wearing a pair of silken pajama bottoms that left very little to Wesley's overactive imagination. "Wes," he repeated, a smile teasing at his lips. "You okay?"
Wesley faltered, reminding himself to make eye contact. "I - er - "
"Did you eat?"
This was more solid ground. "Yes. I had dinner with Spike."
"Good," Angel said, as though that's what he'd expected. He resumed walking, motioning for Wesley to follow as they moved away from the elevator and into the living room. "He feed you right?"
"I had steak," Wesley replied.
"That sounds right," Angel said. He put the book down on a desk, clicking off the small lamp that was above it.
Wondering how much he was supposed to say, Wesley added, "He stole your credit cards."
Angel smirked. "I know."
"I wasn't sure if I was meant to tell you," Wesley said. "Or dissuade him."
Angel shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Not your job. He does that all the time. He knows I'll get it for him later."
"All right," Wesley said. He looked around. All of the blinds and shades were open, giving an almost entirely unencumbered view of the city from all sides.
"It's pretty," Angel said, coming to stand beside him.
"You must love it," Wesley said.
Angel's hand palmed over Wesley's stomach. This time Wesley couldn't even try to pretend his heart wasn't affected. "I do," Angel replied.
Wesley began to turn around. "Angel - "
Angel stopped him. "Hold still. And let's not do a lot of talking right now, okay?"
Remembering their conversation from that morning, Wesley replied, "Yes, Angel."
A kiss on his neck was Angel's response.
The room was quiet. Palpably so. Wesley became keenly aware of the tiniest sounds in it, as the only noise that could be heard was the rustle of Angel's hand over his clothes, and the ragged husk of Wesley's breath.
Angel stood behind him, his chest close enough to Wesley's back to echo body heat back to him. Angel's hand remained in front, undoing the buttons of Wesley's shirt with deft fingers. Once done, he moved his hand inside, caressing bare skin. Wesley thought about saying something, but didn't dare break the spell of quiet that had fallen. Instead he closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensation of Angel's touch as it tickled over his chest hair, then made his vision flare white when it merely brushed against a nipple.
Again Wesley had to admit that Spike was right. Angel was terrifyingly good at this.
The shirt was pulled off next, Angel managing it with a light touch that made it feel as though Wesley were being undressed by air more than an actual physical body. His belt was next on the list, and Wesley needed no command at all to know to toe off his shoes and discard his socks. Angel removed the pants, hooking thumbs into them and boxers both, drawing them down onto the floor and then silently making Wesley step out of them.
He was rock hard at this point, and Angel had barely touched him.
Angel stood beside him now, though with the vampire's large frame he still managed to be somewhat behind him even still. He reached over, running a calloused hand along Wesley's hip, then moving it lower to cup at Wesley's balls.
Wesley listed, reaching to put a hand on Angel to steady himself.
"Didn't say you could move."
Wesley aborted the attempt. His hand bobbed uselessly in the air - mirroring his cock for a moment - then he brought it back down to his side, fisting it to avoid the temptation to touch again.
Angel breathed a reply into his ear. "Good boy."
Wesley gave a tight moan, his nipples hardening.
Angel's hand moved up, wrapping around Wesley's erection at last. He began to stroke, the sensation so strong and firm that Wesley felt as though he were being taken by a mountain itself - or barring that, a force of nature.
"Don't fight it," Angel told him. "I want to see you come."
Wesley was more than agreeable as he'd been dying for the sensation all day. His worry had quickly overshadowed it but all throughout he'd felt the ache that Angel had left inside of him, the need for the vampire's touch to ease that yearning for warmth and friction and ecstasy which came from desires thwarted for so long. Wesley bit his lower lip, trying to restrain himself as -
Angel's free hand grabbed him by the jaw, jerking his head to the side to expose his neck. Wesley's chest heaved as adrenaline raced through him. "What did I just tell you? *Don't* fight. This - " he squeezed Wesley's dick harder " - is mine. I want it to come. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Angel," Wesley whispered. Angel's hand had stopped but even so Wesley found himself falling ever closer towards orgasm.
"What are the ground rules?"
"I do what you tell me."
"Good lad," Angel told him, and Wesley thought he heard a faint brogue in the words. His hand resumed stroking. "Now come."
It wasn't easy. His body was too used to years of training himself *not* to come right away in the name of pleasuring his partner. But Angel's words resonated within him and his hand was crueler still. It wasn't long before Wesley felt lightheaded, and dizzy, and felt his self-control dropping away from him as hot lances of pleasure shot through his veins and then made him cry out, gasping, as Angel sent him over the edge.
Angel continued to stroke him, milking out the last drops of come as he used his other hand to wrap around Wesley's chest and hold him up. "Good boy."
"Thank you," Wesley breathed.
There was a warm chuckle. Angel picked him up and carried him to the bed. "Hands and knees," Angel told him.
Feeling boneless, Wesley did his best to comply. Angel corrected his position, raising his hips higher into the air as though he were a show dog. "Good. Don't move."
"Yes, Angel."
The mattress shifted, then Wesley's eyes flew open as he felt Angel's cock press itself between his legs. "*Don't* move," Angel reminded him.
Wesley had slept with men before. He'd been buggered by men before. He was fully prepared - no, wrong word - *dying* for the feel of Angel inside of him. But the vampire refused. Instead he braced his hands on Wesley's hips and merely began to rub, drawing all the friction he liked from the back and forth motion and in no way seeming to care about the avenue that presented itself.
Amazingly, Wesley felt himself begin to ache again. "You could - Angel, fuck me. My god it's yours."
Angel raked sharp fingernails down Wesley's back. "It's all mine, Wes. Now be quiet."
"Yes, Angel," Wesley replied. He fisted his hands in the sheets, reminding himself he'd been told not to move. He focused every bit of his energy on trying to keep his hips still.
Angel kept moving. his cock sawing in and out, the head leaking and thrusting into Wesley's balls. Angel's hands tightened, near-bruising, nails digging in until finally there was a soft growl and Angel came, his come striping against Wesley's chest. "Good boy," Angel murmured, releasing one hip to caress a hand down Wesley's spine.
This should have been the most humiliating thing he could think of. Instead Wesley couldn't imagine more bliss. "Thank you."
Angel lay down, then pulled Wesley across the bed so that he was no longer laying in the wet spot. "Welcome," Angel said, somewhat sleepily.
Wesley paused, then moved so that he was lying against Angel's chest. To his surprise, the vampire didn't stop him. Instead Angel wrapped his arms around him and began to drop lazy kisses over Wesley's face. His hands caressed his body, touching any part of Wesley that he felt like.
Wesley realized that this was his life now, and he was wholly content in it.
"If I wake up," Angel said, not stopping with his kisses, "and you are not here in the morning, the next time we do this I'm chaining you to the bed."
Wesley nodded, taking that in. After a moment he asked, "Angel?"
"Yeah?"
"Is that meant to dissuade me?"
Angel chuckled. He bit Wesley's lower lip before lying back against the pillows. "Good night, Wes."
Wesley smiled, pillowing his own head on Angel's shoulder. "Good night, Angel."
***
PART THREE
Wesley's first official day as Angel's property passed in much the same manner as every *other* day of his life had done. Which, when he had a moment to himself to later contemplate the fact, probably said a lot about how flimsy the need to make it all official had really been.
No, no. Scratch that. Clear that from the records immediately. For if Angel had found a four-year long annoyance with the possibility of Wesley leaving, then Wesley had a rather humiliatingly deep-seated one about Angel not giving a damn. If Angel wanted to make these things official then thank God for it. It steadied a twitching ache inside of him. It provided a feeling of certainty. Stabilized fears about loneliness and loss which he couldn't fully give name too, but which spawned terrifyingly realistic nightmares all the same.
No. He wanted this. He wanted to be Angel's. Had wanted it, in fact, for years, though in truth he'd been ready to accept whatever form of connection the vampire had been willing to offer. Employment, later friendship, all had been welcome.
And if, in Wesley's heart of hearts and - well, admittedly in other organs located slightly lower - he had desired a tiny bit more, that had been all right too. Manageable. Not the first time his wants and crushes had landed upon the unwilling.
But if Angel truly was going to point-blank insist that this entire affair was going to remain firmly ensconced in the land of pornography - well, that was an aggravation that Wesley was prepared to put up with.
Spike was right - and Wesley *did* have to pause upon thinking that and realize the incongruity - Angel was, all known evidence about him to the contrary, rather adept at this sort of thing.
One wouldn't imagine it. The knowledge of Angel - and here Wesley included the far more useful information of his knowledge of Angel as a person and not a figure of legend - tended towards the extremes. Dark and light. Sadism or a state which was the closest Angel could get towards altruism.
This other thing, this *strength* inside of Angel which had had the power to strip Wesley's defenses bare, that had been unexpected.
It was, Wesley realized, an extension of what Angel himself had already said. A desire for things to be more binary. Yes or no. And, upon having that answer, Wesley supposed it then became a matter of Angel simply devoting himself to the task with the terrifying conviction that he could give to anything he set his heart to.
What was this, Wesley thought, if not a new obsession?
*That* thought disquieted him.
That Angel could be obsessed with things was unquestionable. That he could dedicate himself to the object of said obsessions with a force that was breathtaking was undeniable.
That he could *abandon* said obsessions when things did not go his way was… was the answer to whatever had happened to Darla.
Wesley chewed this over.
He didn't want this to stop. That was the plain fact of it. Whatever it was - and that was something he was admittedly uncertain about - it was what he *wanted*. Angel had asked for it and Wesley could have no more denied it than he could have ceased to breathe. He *needed* this.
But did Angel need it as much? Or would he want it as much as time went by?
The thought stuck with him. It worried at his heels. It cast a muted pall over the entire day's proceedings. Wesley found himself going from task to task with an ever-decreasing percent of himself actually managing to pay attention to what was going on in front of him.
He didn't see Angel. He didn't even see Spike. Admittedly the latter was not wholly unusual but for an entire day to go by without any contact from Angel was not the norm. Wesley was, however quietly this was acknowledged, Angel's second in command. It wasn't really *possible* for things to crop up that didn't even inspire Harmony to interrupt him with at least a note from her boss.
It got to the point where Wesley began to seek it out. He walked out of his office, where he'd been staring at the walls more than paying attention to a presentation one of his people had sent to him in email, and stood in front of Harmony's desk to get her attention.
"Any messages?"
Harmony's eyebrows had furrowed together. "Huh?"
"From Angel," Wesley clarified, used to needing to patiently spell this sort of thing out for her. "For me."
"Oh," Harmony said. Her mouth parted the a joyful smile of someone about to convey useful information. "Nope!"
Wesley sighed and went back into his office. He thought about calling Angel but realized he had no idea what to say. He made the attempt anyway and merely got Angel's voicemail. He hung up before he even reached the beep.
Still more hours passed. He took more meetings. He became increasingly irritable. He began to wonder, with all seriousness, if he should stop by Fred's department and request some kind of physical. The events of the morning and most certainly those of the night before were beginning to have all the hallmarks of a very elaborate hallucination. Surely some sort of brain scan would -
"Knock knock."
Wesley looked up. "Spike."
"I'm hungry," the vampire said. He leaned against Wesley's doorway, looking around at the office in a bored sort of fashion.
Used to dealing with that sort of comparatively mundane problem, Wesley reached for his phone. "I'll order some blood."
"Don't want blood," Spike told him. "Want food."
That was slightly unusual after years of dealing with Angel, but Wesley reminded himself that the two vampires were quite different in many respects. "I could call for take away?"
"Nah," Spike said. He rolled his shoulders. "Bored. Been stuck in this trap for hours. Wanna go out."
"All right," Wesley said. He wondered if Spike was asking his permission.
"Want company," Spike added. He reached into his back pocket and held up a plastic rectangle. "You, me, daddy's charge card. C'mon."
With that, Wesley felt relief. Not at the annoying way in which Spike had *made* the request, but at the actual request itself. Angel had warned him about this. That meant it was *real*.
"Of course," Wesley said. He signed off from his computer and pulled his coat out of the closet. "Where are we going?"
"I've got a place in mind," Spike said. He waited long enough for Wesley to catch up then made his way across the common area. "What are you in the mood for?"
"Thai?" Wesley suggested.
"Huh, too bad," Spike replied. He pressed the button for the elevator. "Better luck next time, eh?"
Not that Wesley needed it, but time spent with Spike very often reminded him of why Angel was frequently irritable. Of course thinking of Spike's grandsire made him wonder - "Did Angel send you? Did he give you his card to take me out this evening?"
Spike, who had palmed the card in question back into his pocket, merely smiled. "Yeah, that's one interpretation of events."
"You stole it," Wesley guessed, stepping into the elevator beside him.
"That'd be another," Spike agreed. He hit the button for the third parking level.
"Spike - "
"Don't come over all scoldy on me," Spike told him. "He's got hundreds of the bloody things. He can spare a few."
"You took more than one."
"Right annoying the way you pay attention," Spike said. He got out of the elevator and headed for one of the black stretch limos. A driver was standing beside it as though waiting for them. "Anyone ever told you that?"
"Angel told me I was supposed to mind your weak willpower," Wesley said. Both Spike and the driver stood aside so that he could get into the car first.
Spike chuckled, crawling in behind him. "Don't you try to tell me what Angel told you to mind. I know his rules. Probably better than you, I'd wager."
The back door closed, encasing them in the muted light of the car's interior. "Still - "
"Still nothing," Spike replied as the car lurched into motion. "Da told you to mind what *I* tell you, and don't go trying to claim any different."
"I wasn't," Wesley replied, suddenly quite aware that with Spike between him and the door, there was no way out. Not that he'd been thinking of taking one.
"Good," Spike said. "So give us a kiss then."
Ah. Most definitely *not* an elaborate hallucination. Or, admittedly, possibly one that was still going strong. Wesley made a mental note to rebuke his psyche for the thoroughly boring parts that had been the time from Angel's departure to right now, then realized he was stalling at precisely the same moment Spike did.
"Come on then," Spike said, his eyes sparkling with too much superior amusement to be truly scolding. "Didn't mind my mouth last night, did you?"
"No, I - " Lord, how *was* one expected to talk in a time like this?
"Or is that it?" Spike asked. He shifted forward, moving into Wesley's personal space. "Were you looking for a repeat, pet? Because we've got enough time until we get there, though I think if I'm going to be asked to do *you* a favor I might need to lower that handy partition between us and Mr. Chauffeur. Give me a witness for when I tell Angel later you didn't do what you were told."
Wesley immediately closed the distance and kissed him.
Spike put his hands on Wesley's shoulders before he could jerk back.
It was… not what Wesley was expecting. Not that he'd given it much thought in the half second before the action occurred, but if he *had* been going to guess, he would have thought it would be something rough. Perhaps mocking. Maybe even a little brutal.
He didn't expect, well, *kissing*.
Soft, warm kissing, with Spike's lips and teeth gently grazing along Wesley's mouth. Lips parting. A tongue sliding in and leaving him breathless. A kiss as though Wesley were, in fact, Spike's actual *date* and not some mortal he was merely having fun with.
Cruelty he'd been prepared to deal with. *This* he'd had no plan for.
"There," Spike said, when he finally pulled back. "Not so bad then, was it?"
And with that he was gone, because they'd arrived at the restaurant.
Wesley took a moment to blink and compose himself, then followed.
Spike had chosen a posh restaurant the likes of which LA was known for. An obsequious waiter took them in at once, then led them to a private booth. Spike slumped in to his side, snapping open the menu and studying it. Wesley sat down across from him, watching him carefully.
"They say the shrimp's nice," Spike pointed out.
"I wouldn't know," Wesley said. "I've never been here before."
"Could try the shrimp then," Spike said. He continued to look at his menu. Then, noticing he was the only one, "Go on. Man can't eat by himself."
Wesley picked the menu up and tried to figure out what on earth he wanted. The answer was rather cloudy and greatly affected by the presence of vampires in his life. He tried to narrow it down to something involving dinner.
"Breathe," Spike told him, to all appearances utterly fascinated by the section on soup. "Just here for a bite. To eat. Relax and enjoy yourself. It's on Angel."
"Is he joining us?" Wesley asked.
"No," Spike replied, "and thanks ever so for the look of disappointment."
"Sorry," Wesley said.
"S'all right," Spike shrugged it off. "You're not the first."
Spike's tone gave him pause. "Even so, that was rude of me."
Whatever reply Spike might have had to that was cut off by the reappearance of the waiter. "Something to drink?"
Wesley glanced at the drinks menu. "Yes, I - "
"Bottle of something red," Spike interjected. "Make it good and bloody expensive. We're not paying for piss, here."
The waiter wrote it down, unperturbed by Spike's attitude. He turned to Wesley. "And to eat?"
Again Wesley tried. "I'll have - "
"Steak," Spike said. "Nice thick slab of it. Medium. When it comes out it'd better still be on its last moo."
"Of course," the waiter replied. "And for you?"
"Shrimp looks nice."
"Excellent," the waiter said. He took their menus and vanished.
Alone again, Spike grinned at him. "Who said you get a say in anything, pet?"
"Obviously I've much to learn," Wesley replied.
They looked at one another in utter silence until Wesley realized that Spike was about as good at making conversation as his grandsire was.
Which reminded him. "Da?"
Blond eyebrows quirked. "No, Spike. You hallucinating there, pet?"
"I'm not entirely certain," Wesley admitted. "But what I meant was why do you call him that? Isn't he your grandsire?"
"He is," Spike confirmed. He sat forward, bending and unbending the prongs of his fork as though it were no more than a cheaper version like one that might be found in a diner. "Him to Dru to me."
"So grandfather then."
"In theory," Spike agreed. "In reality the man's got his kinks. And it's how it worked out anyway. Love my Dru but she wasn't exactly the mothering type."
Wesley was fascinated by this window into things Watcher libraries only hinted at. "So it was Angelus and Darla who raised you?"
Spike snorted at that. "That snow-bitch couldn't raise the dead. Didn't want to anyway. Said being a mother made her feel old."
"I see," Wesley said. He tried to fit this into what little he remembered of Darla from years prior. There was something of a dissonance to the thoughts, but he supposed Spike knew what he was talking about.
"Now Angelus, *he* had a streak to him," Spike continued.
"A paternal streak?" Wesley asked.
"Dunno if you'd call it that," Spike said. "More like he's in charge and you do what he bloody well says or he'll make you regret it."
"Head of the household then?" Wesley suggested.
"Right," Spike said. He sat back as their wine arrived. "Fall in line or there's going to be trouble."
"Sounds like a father to me," Wesley said.
Spike's eyes showed a flicker of interest at that. "Right. So, ponce likes his titles, Da it is."
"He said I should call him Angel."
"Bully for you, then," Spike drawled.
"I only meant," Wesley clarified, "I'm trying to understand. How it all works. Until last night I wasn't even aware that you and Angel even had this arrangement."
"Had it for years," Spike assured him.
"Even in Sunnydale?"
Spike looked as though he might choke on his wine. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "No. Not Sunnyhell. Not since the bugger got his soul, anyway. This is a pretty recent reprise of this particular song."
"What about when he lost it?" Wesley asked. "After - " he stopped himself from saying Buffy's name, having seen Spike wince one too many times whenever he heard it " - after he lost his soul for the first time?"
The barest inclination of Spike's head seemed to acknowledge Wesley's efforts at courtesy. "Didn't come up. Too busy with one thing and another. Not saying there wasn't the occasional moment sans clothes but we didn't make a habit out of it."
"This is possibly a very stupid question," Wesley said, "but I thought Angelus didn't *like* men in that matter?"
Now Spike *definitely* snorted on his wine. "Christ, pet. Who pulled your leg with *that* one?"
"He did," Wesley admitted.
Spike was still laughing. "Didn't like men. He'll be telling you he doesn't like *killing* next. Oh yeah. He's a right lady's man. Jewish too."
"All right, I get the point," Wesley said, but he was chortling in return.
"That was the problem with the soul," Spike continued. Their food arrived and he speared his grilled shrimp with his newly fixed fork. "Him going around, pretending like he didn't know where he came from. Like suddenly he's too *good* for the likes of us."
"Well," Wesley said, delicately, "surely the soul makes *some* difference in that matter?"
"Family's family," Spike said, gesturing at him with the tip of his knife. "He wants to *hate* us that's all right. Not like we were all lovey-dovey either. But you don't turn you back on blood. It's not right. Angelus wouldn't have done that."
Wesley was surprised to hear this advantage ascribed to the soulless vampire. He cut a piece of steak and chewed thoughtfully, momentarily distracted by the goodness of the food. "Angelus was loyal to you?"
"Dunno if you'd call it *loyal*," Spike said. "But he knew what was his. Didn't throw it away like so much rubbish. If he got tired of you he killed you, good and proper."
Wesley swallowed. "I… see."
"No middle ground with him," Spike said, nodding with approval. "None of this poncy negotiation like you lot seem so fond of."
"My lot?"
"Humans," Spike clarified. "Mortals. All 'do you mind if I do this?' and 'how's about we try a bit of that?'" Spike made a sound of disgust. "Useless. Waste of time if you ask me."
"Angel didn't seem particularly interested in negotiation this morning," Wesley said.
"He wouldn't would he?" Spike asked. "Gets enough of that around the bloody office." Spike put his food down, sitting forward. "Look, not that I'm gonna say it to his face but the man's not *that* daft. He knows what he's doing. Your lot's big evil gives him the reigns, he's gonna bloody take 'em. And if anybody can bring that dog to heel, it's gonna be him."
Wesley ignored the slight mixed metaphor. "I know."
"But that means fighting on their own terms," Spike said. "And *Angel* isn't exactly the bloke you wanna do that. You want somebody who can be strong. Fight dirty."
"Angelus," Wesley said.
"Such as it is," Spike nodded. "'cause you know the soul's still there. It's still Angel. Just - "
"Moreso," Wesley finished. He took up a forkful of smashed potatoes. "Which is why he's approaching problems in a very Angelus-like fashion."
"Without the art and with a lighter touch on the insanity," Spike confirmed. "But yeah."
Wesley mulled this over. "I wasn't aware I was a problem."
Spike smirked. "He thought you were."
"I didn't mean to be," Wesley said.
"Not up to you, is it?" Spike asked.
"Not anymore," Wesley agreed.
Spike gave him an approving look at that. "You learn quick."
"We all have our talents," Wesley said. He pushed his food around. "Spike, you know more about this than I do. Do you think he's likely to grow bored with me? Kill me or - or whatever it is he might be inclined to do?"
Spike pursed his lips. "Dunno. Not sure about that last one, actually. Angel with soul is not the same as Angelus without. Hard to say what the blighter's going to do. Pretty sure he wouldn't kill you though, you being mortal and all."
"But he could grow bored with me," Wesley concluded.
To that, Spike only offered a mysterious smile. "Wouldn't say that."
***
It was hours later when they returned. Wesley moved to hit the button for his office, intending to retrieve his briefcase before going home, but Spike swatted his hand away.
"Who said you were going anywhere?" Spike asked. He pressed the button for the penthouse. "Got an appointment with the big cheese, you do."
"I do?" Wesley parroted. The conversation with Spike, strange though it was, had given him the impression that that was all he could have expected from the evening. That perhaps his first test was to prove that he didn't require Angel's supervision all the time.
"What are we going to do?" Wesley asked.
Spike reached forward and pressed another button, this one for the floor with the guest suites on it, specifically his own. "Dunno. Didn't get an invitation."
"Spike," Wesley said, thinking the night over, "did you know about this meeting all this time and only *now* decide to tell me?"
"Nah," Spike replied, watching the floor numbers climb higher. "Knew all this time and decided before dinner I'd tell you now. 's different."
Wesley sighed.
Spike grinned, then surprised him with a quick, almost easily missed kiss. "You're welcome." The doors opened and Spike stepped out. He gave Wesley one last smug look before vanishing behind the closing doors. "Night, pet."
"Good night," Wesley said, automatically.
The still-playing Muzak made the now empty elevator feel bigger than it was. Wesley shifted his weight, then brushed a hand over his mouth, wondering if he should greet Angel while still tasting of Spike's lips. Or, for that matter, if there shouldn't at least be some sort of breath mint involved to mask what he'd had for dinner.
Before he could decide, the doors opened onto Angel's flat. Wesley hesitated, then got out.
The apartment looked empty. Dim lights kept it from falling into total darkness. Still, other than the sounds of the disappearing lift, there was no life to be found.
Remembering the view that had greeted him *last* night when he'd tried this, Wesley moved forward carefully. "Angel?"
The vampire appeared as if by magic. "Hey, Wes."
Wesley refused to give any outward indication that his heart had just leapt into his throat. "Angel," he said again, this time by way of greeting. He turned to face the other man, then found himself at a loss for words. "Angel…."
Angel, who had apparently been reading a book while walking, looked back at him. His expression was casual, for all that he was bare chested and wearing a pair of silken pajama bottoms that left very little to Wesley's overactive imagination. "Wes," he repeated, a smile teasing at his lips. "You okay?"
Wesley faltered, reminding himself to make eye contact. "I - er - "
"Did you eat?"
This was more solid ground. "Yes. I had dinner with Spike."
"Good," Angel said, as though that's what he'd expected. He resumed walking, motioning for Wesley to follow as they moved away from the elevator and into the living room. "He feed you right?"
"I had steak," Wesley replied.
"That sounds right," Angel said. He put the book down on a desk, clicking off the small lamp that was above it.
Wondering how much he was supposed to say, Wesley added, "He stole your credit cards."
Angel smirked. "I know."
"I wasn't sure if I was meant to tell you," Wesley said. "Or dissuade him."
Angel shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Not your job. He does that all the time. He knows I'll get it for him later."
"All right," Wesley said. He looked around. All of the blinds and shades were open, giving an almost entirely unencumbered view of the city from all sides.
"It's pretty," Angel said, coming to stand beside him.
"You must love it," Wesley said.
Angel's hand palmed over Wesley's stomach. This time Wesley couldn't even try to pretend his heart wasn't affected. "I do," Angel replied.
Wesley began to turn around. "Angel - "
Angel stopped him. "Hold still. And let's not do a lot of talking right now, okay?"
Remembering their conversation from that morning, Wesley replied, "Yes, Angel."
A kiss on his neck was Angel's response.
The room was quiet. Palpably so. Wesley became keenly aware of the tiniest sounds in it, as the only noise that could be heard was the rustle of Angel's hand over his clothes, and the ragged husk of Wesley's breath.
Angel stood behind him, his chest close enough to Wesley's back to echo body heat back to him. Angel's hand remained in front, undoing the buttons of Wesley's shirt with deft fingers. Once done, he moved his hand inside, caressing bare skin. Wesley thought about saying something, but didn't dare break the spell of quiet that had fallen. Instead he closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensation of Angel's touch as it tickled over his chest hair, then made his vision flare white when it merely brushed against a nipple.
Again Wesley had to admit that Spike was right. Angel was terrifyingly good at this.
The shirt was pulled off next, Angel managing it with a light touch that made it feel as though Wesley were being undressed by air more than an actual physical body. His belt was next on the list, and Wesley needed no command at all to know to toe off his shoes and discard his socks. Angel removed the pants, hooking thumbs into them and boxers both, drawing them down onto the floor and then silently making Wesley step out of them.
He was rock hard at this point, and Angel had barely touched him.
Angel stood beside him now, though with the vampire's large frame he still managed to be somewhat behind him even still. He reached over, running a calloused hand along Wesley's hip, then moving it lower to cup at Wesley's balls.
Wesley listed, reaching to put a hand on Angel to steady himself.
"Didn't say you could move."
Wesley aborted the attempt. His hand bobbed uselessly in the air - mirroring his cock for a moment - then he brought it back down to his side, fisting it to avoid the temptation to touch again.
Angel breathed a reply into his ear. "Good boy."
Wesley gave a tight moan, his nipples hardening.
Angel's hand moved up, wrapping around Wesley's erection at last. He began to stroke, the sensation so strong and firm that Wesley felt as though he were being taken by a mountain itself - or barring that, a force of nature.
"Don't fight it," Angel told him. "I want to see you come."
Wesley was more than agreeable as he'd been dying for the sensation all day. His worry had quickly overshadowed it but all throughout he'd felt the ache that Angel had left inside of him, the need for the vampire's touch to ease that yearning for warmth and friction and ecstasy which came from desires thwarted for so long. Wesley bit his lower lip, trying to restrain himself as -
Angel's free hand grabbed him by the jaw, jerking his head to the side to expose his neck. Wesley's chest heaved as adrenaline raced through him. "What did I just tell you? *Don't* fight. This - " he squeezed Wesley's dick harder " - is mine. I want it to come. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Angel," Wesley whispered. Angel's hand had stopped but even so Wesley found himself falling ever closer towards orgasm.
"What are the ground rules?"
"I do what you tell me."
"Good lad," Angel told him, and Wesley thought he heard a faint brogue in the words. His hand resumed stroking. "Now come."
It wasn't easy. His body was too used to years of training himself *not* to come right away in the name of pleasuring his partner. But Angel's words resonated within him and his hand was crueler still. It wasn't long before Wesley felt lightheaded, and dizzy, and felt his self-control dropping away from him as hot lances of pleasure shot through his veins and then made him cry out, gasping, as Angel sent him over the edge.
Angel continued to stroke him, milking out the last drops of come as he used his other hand to wrap around Wesley's chest and hold him up. "Good boy."
"Thank you," Wesley breathed.
There was a warm chuckle. Angel picked him up and carried him to the bed. "Hands and knees," Angel told him.
Feeling boneless, Wesley did his best to comply. Angel corrected his position, raising his hips higher into the air as though he were a show dog. "Good. Don't move."
"Yes, Angel."
The mattress shifted, then Wesley's eyes flew open as he felt Angel's cock press itself between his legs. "*Don't* move," Angel reminded him.
Wesley had slept with men before. He'd been buggered by men before. He was fully prepared - no, wrong word - *dying* for the feel of Angel inside of him. But the vampire refused. Instead he braced his hands on Wesley's hips and merely began to rub, drawing all the friction he liked from the back and forth motion and in no way seeming to care about the avenue that presented itself.
Amazingly, Wesley felt himself begin to ache again. "You could - Angel, fuck me. My god it's yours."
Angel raked sharp fingernails down Wesley's back. "It's all mine, Wes. Now be quiet."
"Yes, Angel," Wesley replied. He fisted his hands in the sheets, reminding himself he'd been told not to move. He focused every bit of his energy on trying to keep his hips still.
Angel kept moving. his cock sawing in and out, the head leaking and thrusting into Wesley's balls. Angel's hands tightened, near-bruising, nails digging in until finally there was a soft growl and Angel came, his come striping against Wesley's chest. "Good boy," Angel murmured, releasing one hip to caress a hand down Wesley's spine.
This should have been the most humiliating thing he could think of. Instead Wesley couldn't imagine more bliss. "Thank you."
Angel lay down, then pulled Wesley across the bed so that he was no longer laying in the wet spot. "Welcome," Angel said, somewhat sleepily.
Wesley paused, then moved so that he was lying against Angel's chest. To his surprise, the vampire didn't stop him. Instead Angel wrapped his arms around him and began to drop lazy kisses over Wesley's face. His hands caressed his body, touching any part of Wesley that he felt like.
Wesley realized that this was his life now, and he was wholly content in it.
"If I wake up," Angel said, not stopping with his kisses, "and you are not here in the morning, the next time we do this I'm chaining you to the bed."
Wesley nodded, taking that in. After a moment he asked, "Angel?"
"Yeah?"
"Is that meant to dissuade me?"
Angel chuckled. He bit Wesley's lower lip before lying back against the pillows. "Good night, Wes."
Wesley smiled, pillowing his own head on Angel's shoulder. "Good night, Angel."
***
