Pet: Part Six

[thebratqueen]

PART SIX

"All this money," Spike complained from his position on Wesley's counter, "and he can't cough up the dosh to get you a proper mover."

Wesley continued to sort through the books on his shelves, creating separate piles for his department, his office, home and those he didn't mind giving away. "He can. He is. This is for my benefit. He wanted to be sure I made a note of which things needed to be taken special care of."

Spike seemed to smirk at that, but Wesley couldn't be certain. "Still, surprised he didn't get you someone to lift each of those heavy books for you, then. Save you wrist-strain on turning a page."

"I thought that's why you were here," Wesley remarked, dryly. When the vampire refused to reply to the bait, Wesley continued with his sorting. "This *is* unusual for him though, isn't it?"

"What is, pet?" Spike asked.

"The money," Wesley said. He caught a pile before it could tip over and separated it into two more manageable ones. "During the time I've known Angel he's been a bit…"

"Scottish with the cash?" Spike supplied.

"Not the word choice I would have picked, but yes," Wesley agreed.

"Sure," Spike said. He kicked a heel against the cabinet doors beneath him. "You're missing a crucial bit though. He's tight with *his* cash. Doesn't like spending it. Doesn't see why he should have to. Us vamps don't. Plenty of you lot around to die and drop a wallet on us, or leave a nice big house or three."

"Or to have a nice big house or three taken from them by the most violent methods possible," Wesley translated.

Spike's eyes flickered at that, and Wesley wondered if he should have made the comment. "Yeah. Right. So a vamp like Angelus never cracks a wallet open in his life. Doesn't have to. Doesn't mean he lived in the gutter. Him and Darla'd have a right fit if their sheets weren't soft and their clothes weren't new and the servants weren't properly tasty."

"To think of how many hotels must not have had the foresight to provide that kind of service," Wesley mused. He debated putting an old Council training manual into his own pile or that of his department's.

"Then you get your boy Angel," Spike continued. "Making whatever he can scrape out of doing good deeds for the undeserving. Not a lotta dough to be made in that."

"There can be if you do it right," Wesley said, giving Spike a knowing grin.

Spike grinned back. "Not a lotta dough for the *stupid* to make in that, then. So he gets all tight-arsed about it. Doesn't want to admit it, knowing him, but resents having to pay his own way. Remembers the good old days and all that."

"How is this any different?" Wesley asked.

"Not his money, is it?" Spike replied. He leaned back, resting his hands behind him on the countertop. "It's lawyer money. Enemy money. He doesn't have to earn it, they just drop it on him in big heavy buckets."

"He earns his way," Wesley said.

Spike immediately held his hands up, disclaiming any argument. "Easy, pet. Not knocking Da or anything. I know he's got his job to do. Just sayin' he doesn't need to make *that* much money at it and they all know it."

"Which is why he spends it on me," Wesley said.

Spike laughed. "Which is why he spends it on *him*, pet. Make no mistake, he's playing dress-up with his new favorite dolly. Anything he puts your way comes right back to him. Case in point," he gestured at Wesley's efforts to get ready for the move.

Wesley's fingers curled around the spine of an 18th century volume. "How long before I become his *old* favorite dolly, do you think?"

"Before he bangs you to the back of the closet, you mean?" Spike asked, then frowned. "Hang about, that sounds fun."

Wesley gave him a look. "Spike…"

"All right, all right," Spike said. "Easy to bait as he is sometimes, honestly. And I dunno, pet. Angelus might've been bored with you by now. Or turned you. Hard to say with the Watcher background. But this is Angel. He plays by different rules."

"Has that been difficult for you?" Wesley asked. "His new rules?"

Spike shrugged it off. "Same enough from where I'm standing, I guess. Bite here, fight there. Almost like the good old days, except sometimes he wants to talk after. That part's weird, if you ask me."

"Indeed," Wesley said. "Angel hardly ever talks."

Spike grinned. "How 'bout you then, pet? Anybody here's got a round of rule-changing to deal with it's not me."

"Angel's been nothing but kind and thoughtful," Wesley said. He began to fold a box together, hoping to bring some books back with him on the way home. "I find I rather enjoy it."

"Even when he plays Mr. Obsessive?" Spike asked. "You know if you ask me you're too soft with him - "

"I haven't found *that* to be a problem yet," Wesley muttered, knowing Spike could hear him.

"In *general*," Spike retorted. "You should speak up more. Defy him. You let him keep on with this and there's no telling what he's going to take from you. Da's all or nothing if you don't bite back."

"So what you're saying," Wesley concluded, "is that if I offer Angel no argument then what will result is him completely and utterly possessing me because that is what shall give him the greatest pleasure?" He cocked his head, pretending to think about it. "Hmm. Quite the dilemma."

"You laugh now, pet, but what about later?" Spike asked. "If he's got enough Angelus in there he might start helping himself to things you weren't ready to give."

"Like what?" Wesley asked, he moved the finished box to the table and began to load books into it. "My blood? My life? I'm not entirely certain my soul doesn't belong to the company but if not he can have that too."

"Still - "

"Spike," Wesley said, halting his work for a moment so that he could face the vampire, "I appreciate the words of caution but I think you are crediting me with less thought than I have given this. My agreement with Angel was not a rash action by any extent. I - well let's just say I am more than content with this, all right?"

Spike studied him. "Just giving you fair warning, pet. What about when the honeymoon stage is over? What about when you want to go out with your friends?"

"I won't," Wesley said. "I don't. Not as a rule, anyway."

"You went riding with them," Spike pointed out. "And what do you think they're going to say when they find out you're living upstairs now?"

"I don't know," Wesley said. "And it doesn't matter regardless. I wouldn't be surprised if it didn't even come up to begin with. We're not close in that way."

Spike frowned. "You're not?"

"Not particularly," Wesley said. He thought back, wondering to himself when exactly the estrangement from the others had occurred. Perhaps it was simply one of those things, as so many friendships grew cold with time. "It doesn't concern me."

"A man should have friends, pet," Spike told him.

Wesley put his books down then crossed the room to stand in front of Spike. "I know," he said, brushing a kiss over the vampire's mouth. "I have you."

***

Hours later they put the finishing touches on the boxes they were going to bring with them.

"Care to give the place the old good-bye?" Spike asked. He moved a hand down Wesley's back, teasing fingers along the seam of his pants. "One last go, for old time's sake?"

Wesley looked over his shoulder at him. "Spike, I may be tired and somewhat nostalgic, but I'm not so far gone as to fall for an attempt which is *that* pathetic. If you're going to try to incite me to break the rules you could at least do me the courtesy of making your ploys a bit more subtle."

Spike bent down, nibbling teeth along Wesley's neck. "Could get you so hot you forget to say no."

Wesley silently agreed that yes, Spike probably could. "I prefer your tongue and cock to remain where they are, however."

Spike gave a theatrical sigh. "Bloody Angel and his bloody threats. How's he going to know if we don't tell him?"

That was enough to get Wesley to detangle himself from Spike's arms. "Because he's a vampire and not *that* stupid. Now come along."

Spike hefted a few boxes. "Right spoilsport you are."

"If you're good I'll let you molest me later," Wesley promised.

"Shouldn't that be the other way around, pet?" Spike asked.

In response, Wesley looked innocent. "So it should."

Spike chuckled.

***

"Home, sweet home," Spike said, looking rather aware of the cliché as the words passed his lips. He dumped Wesley's boxes unceremoniously onto the floor. "Feel free to move those where you like."

"Thank you," Wesley immediately shucked his coat and moved to sort through them.

Spike cleared his throat and removed the first book out of Wesley's hands. "Upstairs, pet. He's waiting on you."

"He is?" Wesley asked. Then, "There's an upstairs?"

Spike pointed to a door Wesley had previously assumed was a closet. "That would be the staircase."

"Rather flat," Wesley joked, but then opened the door to reveal the item in question. After one last uncertain look at Spike, he climbed it.

The stairway led to a metal door. The door opened onto the roof. Wesley squinted as sunlight hit his eyes, then immediately looked for the glass that would protect Angel. The entire roof was encased with it, in a manner not unlike a greenhouse though the interweaving of metal between the panes had more of an IM Pei feel than an industrial one. Wesley took a moment to appreciate the view of the city, then turned around to find Angel.

That was when he discovered that the smell of chlorine that had been hitting him was not, as he'd assumed, due to a laundry vent but rather to a very large pool. Lounge chairs and towels were scattered about. Music played softly from hidden speakers. There was a bar at the far end that looked well stocked, though unattended. The entire setup could have easily taken care of fifty people.

It currently housed one mortal and one vampire.

Angel was on the opposite side of the rooftop, looking out towards the ocean. He was dressed in a red and black Versace shirt and pants combination. Wesley walked up to him, and was immediately folded into Angel's arms.

"We have a pool?" Wesley asked.

"We have a pool," Angel confirmed. "Heated and everything."

"I'll have to buy a swimsuit," Wesley said.

"Who said you're not swimming naked?" Angel asked, and his expression was so perfectly deadpan Wesley honestly couldn't tell if he was serious.

"I could strip now?" Wesley offered, testing the waters as it were.

"You could," Angel agreed, but did not let go of him to allow it.

Wesley took in more of the view. "This would be an excellent place for parties."

"Probably was," Angel said, then met Wesley's eyes. "It's ours now. You, me, Spike. You don't invite anyone up here."

Wesley knew this tone of voice. "Yes, Angel."

Angel kept watching him. "Same for the apartment too. That's *my* apartment. You don't issue invitations to it. Not to anyone."

Wesley thought of Spike's warning, but simply nodded and moved closer into the embrace. "Yes, Angel."

"Good boy," Angel told him. He ran strong fingers down Wesley's back, making him shiver. "Everything go okay?"

"I'm all done at the flat," Wesley said. Then, knowing this information was useful to both vampires, added, "Spike was exceptional help. He even carried my things back and forth to the car."

"Good," Angel said. "He should take care of you."

"He did," Wesley promised, having learned already that any mentions of Spike attempting to otherwise break the rules were rather redundant by Angel's way of thinking.

"My turn," Angel said. He bent down and nuzzled Wesley's neck, raising goosebumps all over his flesh. "I want to take you out. Show off a pretty boy on my arm. I want you all dressed up for me."

There were still times when Wesley thought that he should *not* become so aroused by things like this. That didn't stop the arousal from happening, however. He clung to Angel's arms and pressed closer. "Yes, Angel."

"Such a good boy," Angel said, and there were teeth tracing the shell of his ear now. "Where do you want to go? We have boxes all over the city. We could do the ballet."

Wesley opened his mouth to reply, then stopped. Yes was the standard response, but somehow in his gut he didn't *want* to. He wasn't sure why. Trying to ferret it out only produced a chaos of memories.

He shook it off. That hardly mattered. What mattered was the question, and Wesley's answer to it. There was the stock answer, true, but Angel had asked his opinion. Wesley dared hope Angel had meant it.

"I don't think I care for the ballet," Wesley admitted. "Could there be opera instead?"

"German, Italian or Chinese?" Angel asked, looking as though the request hadn't phased him.

"Whatever my Angel wants," Wesley told him, and the feral look in Angel's eyes told Wesley that had *definitely* been the right way to answer.

***

There was opera. There was opera seen from a private booth which was owned by Wolfram & Hart and staffed by people who bowed and scraped and with quiet deference said things like "Yes, Mr. Angel." or "Of course, Mr. Angel" who had, Wesley was certain, never seen Angel personally before in their lives.

Nobody talked to him, but by now Wesley remembered Spike's first lesson - he didn't get a say. Angel and Spike took care of him.

And Lord but Angel could take care of him. There was a new tuxedo in honor of the event. Brand new diamond cufflinks to boot. The limo was stocked with caviar and champagne, though Wesley rarely stopped kissing Angel long enough to taste any of it.

There was dinner before the show. Achingly rich foods made from ingredients from multiple dimensions and cooked to a perfection that even Angel could savor. They ate alone, in a private dining area of a popular restaurant, the space intended for things as large as wedding parties but reserved on that night for just the two of them. When Angel pulled Wesley closer and fed him morsels from his own fingertips Wesley didn't protest at all, and instead happily leapt upon the privacy to lick and suck each of Angel's fingers clean.

The opera, then. A production of La Gioconda, which Wesley had never seen live before but Angel confessed to having seen once or twice.

They were fairly reserved inside of their box, Angel's ownership only seen from the way he ordered everything on Wesley's behalf, from the wine to the rather surprising amount of intuition as to when Wesley needed to find the men's room. They hardly ever touched, even though Wesley could have been on his knees in front of Angel and no one the wiser, but somehow it didn't matter. Wesley felt attuned to the body beside him and it was with growing frustration that he tried to sit still for the duration of the performance that Angel seemed determined to see the end of.

The finale came, the standing ovation soon followed, and they finally left the booth with a secretive smile on Angel's lips that suggested the vampire had been quite aware of what a quiet torture the past few hours had been.

The trip home was less sedate.

"You're not going to wear the same one of these twice," Angel told him, tearing open the front of Wesley's new shirt with a casualness that belied the strong material. There was kissing, then. More kissing, harder than they'd done before. Breath-stealing, heart-pounding, fever-pitch kissing that suggested an insatiable hunger on both their parts.

They arrived home. The chauffeur let them out. No longer caring, Wesley let Angel pull him out of the car by a finger hooked through his belt, ignoring whatever look the driver might give. Angel tossed off some command for the man to leave them alone, and then they were in the elevator.

Angel's touch became stronger now. He threw Wesley up against the wall, rubbing his thigh into Wesley's cock until Wesley was forced to scream and moan, digging his nails into Angel's back as though *he* had the strength to tear away his clothing.

Angel bent down, sucking and lapping at Wesley's neck, teasing him with hints of fangs that had yet to penetrate until Wesley was sobbing and begging "Please - Angel - *Please* - "

More kissing. A hand at his chest, tormenting his nipples. Another firmly clasped on his hip, grinding their bodies together until Wesley was certain he could come from this alone.

"Don't you dare," Angel said, anticipating him yet again. "That's mine. You don't come until I tell you to."

"Yes, Angel," Wesley said, and he *heard* himself, heard the obedient, dutiful little boy that he sounded like and he *didn't care*. He was *Angel's*. Angel *wanted* him. Had *claimed* him. Had done everything except put his mark on him and the very thought of *that*, some permenant sign inked or burned or cut or bitten into his skin to make it clear to anyone who asked who Wesley belonged to, was enough to make him claw his way higher on Angel's leg and writhe against him helplessly, hoping that somehow he could convey to the vampire the sheer, terrifying, wonderful *depth* of his need for -

There was a ping, and the elevator doors slid open.

Angel pulled back at once, slamming his hand against the wall to block Wesley from view.

The doors had opened too early. They were on the office floor.

Gunn was in the doorway, looking at the both of them.

Whatever Charles might have said was cut off the moment Angel met his eyes. They stared each other down, all pretense of polite conversation thrown aside as two big cats engaged in a silent standoff. Gunn, accusing and challenging. Angel, possessive and daring Gunn to try something.

When it looked as though Gunn might speak anyway, Angel once again stopped him.

"You," he said, pointing out a spot in the air. He then traced the lines and points of an invisible organization chart. "The white room. Me - " a higher point here, with a line to an even higher one " - Senior Partners. Little girl can be killed and easily replaced by anybody who undergoes a procedure. I'm immortal, the specific focus of all these prophecies, this firm has been dedicated to me one way or another for the past five years and now I'm in charge of it. So, you tell me, something on your mind, Chuck?"

"Nope," Gunn said, stepping back from the doors. There was, however, no mistaking his look of disgust. "No damn thing at all. Except, oh yeah - " he looked over Angel's shoulder at Wesley, "I don't want to hear another damn word about *my* secret connections and private dealings with the evil powers in this firm, you hear me?"

"I heard you," Angel said, folding his arms and facing Gunn down. Suddenly it was impossible to tell that Gunn was actually the taller of the two. "And you get to say that once. Try that again and you'll be fired. Oh wait, I meant *set* on fire. Now go the Hell home."

With that Angel reached over and pressed the override code to make the doors slide shut.

Wesley stayed where he was, leaning against the wall for support. He tried to imagine what work was going to be like in the morning.

"Has he been giving you attitude?" Angel asked.

"He's been fine, Angel, honestly," Wesley promised. "No more than the general mistrust that we've all felt since working here."

"If *anybody*," Angel said, facing Wesley again, "gives you trouble, you are to tell me and I will handle it. That is non-negotiable, Wes. Do you understand?"

Wesley took in a shakey breath. He found himself remembering public school days, and times when men - then boys - like Angel wouldn't have even given him the time of day, let alone stood up for him.

Again he thought that perhaps in some universe he shouldn't like this. But he lived in this one, and he did.

"Yes, Angel," he replied, and he was rewarded with Angel fucking him on the floor of his new home.

***