Pet, Part Twelve

[thebratqueen]

PART TWELVE

"God…."

"Problem?"

Wesley shifted his position in the entirely foolish hope that doing so would actually help in some fashion. It didn't. Angel's thigh remained firmly between Wesley's legs, Wesley's pants continued to remain undone, Wesley's cock still ached and sent sharp, heart-stopping pulls of need throughout his body at the slightest touch of Angel's hand and, most importantly, Wesley *still* couldn't remember what he'd intended to do with his rook.

"Take your time," Angel told him. His fingernails were working up and down the length of Wesley's erection, touching him so lightly that they were scratching at the body heat more than Wesley's own skin. Wesley made one hand into a fist, telling himself he *would* concentrate. "We've got all day."

Wesley glanced at the clock. They'd started at noon. It was now close to sunset. "Yes, apparently."

Angel chuckled. Fingertips replaced nails, tracing soothing paths along hot, aching skin. "You don't like it?"

Wesley squirmed, forcing himself not to lose sight of the patterns in front of him. Move the rook, sacrifice the knight, then pawn - no, wait, had he been thinking pawn *then* knight? "It's frustrating."

Angel's tongue flickered over the back of Wesley's neck, laving right over his skittering pulse. "I can tell."

"Not that," Wesley said, though the sensation made his eyelids flutter. Angel kept going, placing gentle bites over the skin and it took every bit of dedication for Wesley to remember how to speak. "Yes, that… that, please, I - no, I - I meant - " he swallowed, trying to wet dry lips. "The game. It's frustrating."

Angel's hand moved up and tormented Wesley with the thought that it might come anywhere near the already slick tip of his dick. "That's the point."

"I - I know," Wesley said. He was breathing heavily again. He'd lost count of how many times Angel had gotten him this close to the edge during the course of the afternoon, only to send him falling right back. Now it seemed like a constant state, a world where he couldn't even *remember* what it felt like not to want to be fucked so desperately. Angel's own cock was hard against his arse and it was all Wesley could do not to rock his hips, writhe against it, torment Angel right back until he *couldn't* deny him what they both clearly wanted. But he couldn't. It wasn't allowed. He was Angel's, and had to do what he was told. "I - " he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to clear his thoughts. "The game. Not - *God* - this. Not *just* this. Not just you and - God, Angel…"

"Keep talking," Angel told him, his voice betraying absolutely nothing of the kinds of agonies Wesley was going through. Instead his hand kept moving, up and down, up and down, lighter and lighter with every touch until Wesley thought he might - no, damn it, he'd stopped again, moving his fingers back to caress and squeeze at Wesley's balls.

"It's the *game*," Wesley said, insisting upon this point more than he had to because if he didn't he knew he'd lose the train of thought again. "The actual game itself. Is - is - *please*, I - "

Angel's hand continued to have no mercy, or desire to rush. "Keep going."

Wesley took in a deep breath, getting the answer out in one go. "The thing of it is you're not very *good*."

*That* stopped everything.

"Excuse me?" Angel asked, a light dancing in his eyes.

"As a chess player," Wesley said, breathing even harder as he tried to collect himself before - no, too late, Angel's hand was moving again. He moaned, but tried to keep talking. "You're passable but - but - God - nothing that should have lasted this long. Taken so much time, so much feeling, so much - no, wait, that - I meant to say - "

Angel's lips moved up and down Wesley's neck. "Or maybe," he suggested, "I've been trying to throw the game."

Wesley snorted before he could stop himself. "Well there's a fantasy to indulge yourself with, certainly."

The only thing that stopped Wesley from coming at the slap on his thigh that followed was the viselike grip of Angel's hand around the base of his dick. "*You* have spent too much time around Spike."

Wesley smiled at the thought of the other vampire, the one who encouraged him to disobey Angel. Not, granted, that Wesley ever wanted to. "Perhaps."

Angel's other hand was in motion now, sliding underneath Wesley's shirt to rub and pull at his nipples. "You want me to play rough? Play like I *could*? Make sure you don't win? Because if you don't win you don't come."

Wesley had known this already, but hearing it again did absolutely nothing for his sanity. He fell back against Angel's chest, abandoning the fight to keep his eyes open. "Please…"

"Please what?" Angel asked, and this was a different voice for him now. A harder one. More commanding. The one he used whenever his eyes were dark, and Wesley knew, now, for a point of fact that there was very little difference between the demeanor of him and Angelus. "You wanna stay like this, Wes? Hard and hot and dying for me? Because if you think I wouldn't like that you are seriously mistaken. You're mine. There's days when I don't want anything else except you on your knees and begging for a fuck I won't give you."

Wesley turned, trying to grab Angel's mouth in a kiss. Angel denied him, leaving him aching. "Please. Angel, please."

Angel's fingers were dancing along his shaft now, working him like a fine instrument until it seemed like Wesley's entire body was centered right there, right on the vampire's touch, his whole *being* there in that moment of complete and utter want. "Please *what?*"

"Anything," Wesley said, the words close to meaningless. He couldn't keep still and Angel's cock was right *there*, so close, so incredibly close to where it could be *in* him, slipping inside of his already lube-slicked body, taking him good and hard. "Please, anything."

Angel's hand was sadistic and cruel, moving away at every moment when Wesley might have found any kind of satisfaction, making him hot and dizzy and helpless all at once. "Do you want to come?"

"I - " Wesley tried to think, but couldn't. He found it all didn't matter anymore. Whatever he'd thought, whatever he'd wanted, was gone. "Yours. Please, Angel. *Yours*."

"Win the game, Wes," Angel told him.

And with that he remembered. Wesley sat forward, using his rook to *take* the knight, which forced Angel to move his bishop which meant - "Check mate."

Angel threw him down onto the floor, hard enough that Wesley felt it in his bones. But that was quickly forgotten as Wesley's pants were torn, his legs kicked apart, and Angel's cock was rammed inside of him again and again, fucking him with the kind of savagery that normally Wesley's mortal body never felt, until Wesley buckled, and he screamed, and came so hard he didn't even feel the moment that Angel shuddered inside of him in return.

***

There were hands, and standing, and - clothing? Something.

"We're doing that again," Angel's voice said, coming at him from somewhere in the ether.

Wesley surrendered himself to whatever was occurring. There was movement, and the world seemed to tilt. "Yes. God yes."

***

It was nighttime when Wesley woke up.

Angel smiled down at him, loving that expression of joy in Wes's eyes.

Wes curled bonelessly against Angel's chest. He sighed with pleasure as Angel wrapped his arms around him. "What time is it?"

Angel turned Wesley's wrist to look at his watch. "'Bout ten." When Wes seemed to have no reply to that, Angel added, "You need to eat."

Wes thought about it. "You might be right."

"I know I'm right," Angel told him. He kissed Wesley's shoulder. "Can you stand?"

"It's *walking* which might prove the difficulty," Wes pointed out. He got up, moving with slow, sore movements. Angel watched carefully, making sure each ache was a happy one. "Is the kitchen far?"

"I can bring food in," Angel told him.

"I suspect I need to walk this off," Wesley said. He perched on the edge of the bed, gathering himself for a moment. He looked around, seeing the bedroom they were in for the first time.

Angel was sliding into a pair of pants. "Like it?"

"It's…" Wes's gaze lingered over the hard, modern lines of the décor. "Nice."

"You don't like it."

"It's fine," Wes insisted.

Angel did up his belt. "And the rest of the house?"

"I was hardly paying attention to it," Wes reminded him.

Angel folded his arms. "Why are you lying to me about not liking this house?"

"Because I'm not entirely certain my saying so won't result in you setting it on fire just to please me?" Wes replied.

"I'm not a pyromaniac," Angel said.

"Which doesn't deny the heart of my worry," Wes pointed out.

"If you don't like the house I'll sell it," Angel said. "Get rid of it. Buy a new one."

"Why?" Wes asked. He stood up, stretching as he did. "It's a perfectly serviceable house. I don't see what the problem is."

"The problem is you don't like it," Angel said.

"There's a great many things I don't like," Wesley told him. He looked around, then spotted the overnight bag Angel had packed for him before they'd left. "It doesn't mean we must get rid of them."

Angel came over and stopped Wes from pulling out any clothes. He kept his hands on Wes's wrists, holding him. "*I* get rid of them because *I* decide what you come in contact with. You don't like it? It goes. End of discussion."

"That's extravagant," Wesley protested.

"You don't get a vote," Angel reminded him. He brought Wes's hands around, pinning them behind his back. "You belong to me. *You* don't decide what you do and do not to. I tell you, and you say - "

"Yes, Angel," Wes said, but this time his voice was softer and shaded with contentment.

Angel kissed his temple. "I know you think you don't deserve it, Wes. But it's damn time somebody spoiled you. I chose me. Now put the clothes down because I never said you could get dressed."

"It's a little chilly," Wes said, but this was the good kind of protest, the one that gave him needed information.

Angel picked up his own shirt, holding it out for Wes to put on. Their comparable heights made no difference when it came to Wes's slight body up against Angel's bulk. The sleeves hung long, like a kid wearing his father's - scratch that. The shirt was big, that was all that mattered. Angel rolled the sleeves up, then buttoned only two of the buttons closed, making sure there were still lovely expanses of abdomen and chest to look at. "Better?"

Wes nodded. "Yes."

They went into the kitchen. Angel told Wes to sit as he opened up the enormous fridge and was pleased to find the supplies of blood and food he'd told Harmony to make sure would be there by the time of their arrival. He pulled out two plates from The Café and heated them up.

Wes immediately tucked in once the food was in front of him.

"Good?" Angel asked.

"Excellent," Wes assured him. He took a few long swallows of his mineral water, then cut up more of his steak. He paused for a moment, looking at the piece he'd just skewered. "Angel, may I ask you something?"

Angel sat down opposite him, sipping at a glass of blood. "You can always ask, Wes. Whether or not I answer is the question."

Wes looked up at him. "Is there a reason why you've been making a habit of putting iron in my diet?"

Angel smiled. "Yeah."

"Oh," Wes chewed the steak thoughtfully. "Good."

"Glad we're on the same page," Angel said.

"It would hardly be up to me if we weren't," Wes pointed out, and it was *not* fair the way Wes could get him frustrated like that when it'd be hours again before Wes's body would let him come. Then again, that could be fun in and of itself. "Is yours all right?"

Angel hauled his mind back from the place where he was fucking Wes up against the countertop, or maybe even outside on the beach with Wes's hands trapped in the sand and the strict order that he was *not* allowed to make a single grain of it move or else he wasn't coming. "Huh? Yeah, great."

"You've been eating a lot more," Wes observed.

Angel shrugged it off, pushing green beans around on his dish. "It's a thing to do."

"Even so, I'm pleased," Wes said. "You're interacting more, doing what you can to find some happiness in the world. That's good. It's healthy for you."

"Not everybody would agree with you," Angel pointed out.

"I'm hardly everyone," Wes reminded him.

Angel moved his chair over so that he was sitting beside Wes. He wrapped one arm around Wes's waist and fed Wes pieces of food off of his own plate. Wes, obedient boy that he was, submitted to it all without question. "You're not. You're mine, and you're special."

"Which is why you take care of me," Wes said.

"Which is why I take *excellent* care of you," Angel said. "You want it, you get it. I want nothing standing in your way, nothing on this earth that makes you unhappy."

Wes's mouth twitched at that. "All I need is you, honestly."

"You deserve more," Angel told him, then decided that was enough of that. "How is everything? How was Spike?"

Wes actually seemed to color at that. "Fine, thank you."

Angel smirked. "You two have fun?"

"I - " Angel watched, fascinated at a rare moment of Wes struggling for words. Finally Wes gave up. "Yes. We did. It was quite pleasant."

"Out of my own curiosity here," Angel said, "how would you describe this afternoon to Spike?"

Wes grinned. "Ungodly pleasurable."

"Just checking," Angel said. He thought about it, nibbling on a roll dipped in the juices of his steak. "That time I fucked you in your office last week after the mid-morning staff meeting. How about that?"

Wes thought about it. "Quite pleasant."

"Aha," Angel said. He rubbed Wes's back, trying to calm down the sudden nervous heartbeat. "So you *did* have fun."

"Nothing against the rules, I promise," Wes assured him.

"I know," Angel said. "Spike could never lie when he broke them. Well - actually he lied and lied a *lot* but I could always tell."

"Angel - " Wes seemed to consider what he was about to say. "Angel, what *is* Spike to you?"

Angel frowned. "Not following you here, Wes."

"He's your family, I know," Wes said. "And you and he have a history together as well. But under our current arrangement, what *is* Spike to you?"

"Wes," Angel asked, trying to feel this out, "did you just ask me what my intentions are towards my grandchild?"

"True, when you put it that way - " Wes stopped, pondering it, "actually no, when put that way I don't see how the question becomes in any way inappropriate."

"Okay, point," Angel said. He cut half of his steak off, putting it on Wes's plate once Wes finished with his own. Wes dutifully ate it. "He's… I dunno, he's *Spike*."

"He very often is," Wes agreed. He looked at Angel with a bemused patience. "He's also quite often a vampire. At least of late, anyway. One might also observe the bleached blond hair."

"He's a pain in my ass," Angel said, because *this*, at least, was familiar territory. "Complaining, annoying, doesn't do what I tell him, gets in the way - "

"Refuses to take your bollocks."

"Depends on the context," Angel shot back.

"Do you like him?" Wesley asked.

Angel rolled a single green bean back and forth underneath his fork. "He's family."

Wes caught his eye. "Am I family?"

Angel looked back at him, his expression never wavering. "Damn straight."

Wes smiled at that. "Good."