Pet, Part Twenty-Five

[thebratqueen]

PART TWENTY-FIVE

Spike didn't, for the record, care.

Spike did a lot of things, certainly a lot of things that these days he wasn't as proud of as once he was, but some standards remained as they were and a generous amount of poncyness stayed firmly on the side of things Spike simply did not do. Not now, not ever.

That could be Angel's gig. He was the one who seemed drawn to it. Or at least most days he did. Now, though, was different. Which was actually the point.

The kicker of it was the details. That and Spike had a low tolerance for all things stupid, most of which he'd used up during the time in Sunnydale. Arsing about with details when you could cut to the chase and get whatever it was *done* was much more his speed. He preferred it when things happened, instead of sitting about and talking about things happening.

Of course that assumed those were the options. Trust Angel to come up with a third, which was not talking about things at all.

Not, again, that Spike cared. What Angel chose to do with his private life was at best minimal interest and at worst directly in contrast to what *Spike* chose to do with his private life, particularly given how bloody often the two of them ended up on opposite sides of the same body trying to play king of the hill.

Which, actually, Spike had to admit made for a pretty mental picture. And had been a pretty reality from time to time, at least when the hill hadn't minded.

No, not that. Consent of the hill had never been the problem. Dru'd consented to being buggered by the both of them until the sun came up, didn't mean it was fun for everybody. Not with her being Daddy's little girl, and Angelus all too happy to remind him who she'd pick if the chips were down.

Current events were different, however. Angel was not Angelus - for the most part, anyway. And though the two bastards shared a lot in common Angel did not, surprisingly, share Angelus's kink for jealousy games.

Not that Spike had lied to Wes. It was true enough that he was Da's left hand, and Spike had pinch hit on more than a few playmates, victims, or both without it ever being a part of Angelus's mindfucks. But push come to shove Angelus did all that because he was bored, or needed the extra help to get a complicated bit of torture going. He didn't do it because he cared about teamwork or family.

Angel, on the other hand, was nice about it. Which almost made it creepy.

It made Spike edgy. Wondering when the shoe was going to drop. Wondering when the rug would be yanked out and there'd Angelus would be, grinning that arsehole grin, and making it clear anything nice had only been because he knew it would make the look of betrayal on your face all the more priceless.

But no. Angel didn't do it. He was gruff, demanding, annoying as all fuck but he didn't play games.

And fuck knew he *could*. Easy enough to dick around with pointing out that once again Spike was not Daddy's favorite since anyone with *eyes* could see that when Angel and Wes were in a room the rest of the world could bugger off as far as they were concerned. But no, Angel didn't.

Instead it was sharing. *Proper* sharing, not just "give a hand here, boy." It was Angel sending them off for nights on the town, and insisting that Spike and Wesley spend time together, and times like now, when Angel had bumped into Spike in the hallway, done what passed for a smile, and said "Might wanna go see Wes. He's dying to give someone attention." and meant it with no sarcasm, or irony.

It didn't figure.

So Spike worried at it. The whole thing. Tried to guess what Angel was on about. At first because Spike was suspicious of it. Then because he was just bloody curious.

And now, finally, Spike thought he knew.

Angel was a moron. Undisputable fact, there. Angel was in love with Wesley. Also undisputable.

Angel did not *act* like he was in love with Wesley, but he seemed to encourage Spike to.

So - possible conclusion. Angel, being a moron, assumed for whatever reason - probably because he wore the wrong shirt while saving someone one day, which everyone knew meant extra years of Hell or redemption or whatever Angel measured that sort of nonsense by - he wasn't *supposed* to be in love with Wesley. Spike, on the other hand, was his left hand man, so he sent Spike in to do what he couldn't.

Which was very courtly love and all that. And made a damn lot of sense considering how often Angel looked constipated and stammered out some variation of "I can't" whenever Spike brought it up. Plus fuck knew Angel barely felt he deserved cream in his coffee on a good day, so no huge leap of the brains to guess he was shying away from something more - *again*. So Spike figured he had the right of it.

But it was stupid, so he wasn't going to play.

True, Spike had to admit as he walked to Wesley's office, it did raise the question of why he cared. After all, he wasn't the type to normally give two craps about Angel's love life, particularly considering how often Angel's love life interfered with Spike's own.

But, this was different. Wes was all right. And he fancied Angel right back, though for some bloody stupid reason *he* wouldn't admit it either.

It was annoying, is what it was. Stupid and poncy and annoying and Spike was sick of looking at it. Get the mooning out of the way, make them both stop arsing about with it, and then they could get back to the dancing and the shagging and be done.

Or - just the shagging. He'd meant just the shagging. He hadn't been thinking about -

Oh bloody Hell, it was just *annoying* is all.

He knocked on Wesley's door.

***

Wesley looked up, then smiled. "Spike."

"Pet," Spike said, coming into the room. "Heard you might be free for me."

"Always," Wesley told him. "Please, come in. Get the door."

Spike shut the door behind him, then indicated the paperwork on Wesley's desk. "Busy?"

Wesley shrugged. "When am I not? You? Is everything going all right with security?"

"Making progress," Spike said. "Starting to get down to a list of vamps I can force myself to tolerate."

"No hope of there being ones you might like?" Wesley asked.

"It's minions, pet," Spike told him. "Nobody who'd want the job would be somebody on my Christmas list, believe me."

"Do you have one?"

"What?"

"A Christmas list?" Wesley asked. "Do you actually have one or were you speaking metaphorically?"

Spike smiled at that. "Metaphor. Not much for the correspondence these days."

"Did you use to be?" Wesley asked, curious. "Letter writing must have been quite the occupation in your day."

"Something to do," Spike agreed. He sat down in a chair across from Wesley's desk. Then he frowned, tilting his head to the side.

Wesley colored, knowing what he was looking at. "Is there something wrong?"

"Nice mark," Spike commented.

Wesley resisted the urge to place his hand over it. "Yes, thank you. Angel gave it to me."

Spike smirked. "I know, pet. Don't think I can't recognize the handiwork. Besides, anyone *else* gives you a mark like that and Angel will tear them to shreds. Then make you get rid of it."

"I wouldn't want - " Wesley started to say, then realized how that might sound. He corrected himself. "I certainly wouldn't want to wear the mark of anyone who did not actually own me."

Spike leaned forward, studying the bruise. "Didn't draw blood."

"No," Wesley said.

Spike chuckled.

"What?" Wesley asked.

"No," Spike repeated, giving the word a mournful sigh. "You know most mortals would be glad that we don't break skin."

"I haven't proven by now that I am not most mortals?" Wesley asked.

"You have, pet, you have," Spike said. He sat back again. "So that's new. Him marking you at all, I mean."

"He did it this morning," Wesley said.

"Wonder if he's got it on camera?" Spike asked.

"He's got my subsequent meeting on tape," Wesley said. "He made me change my clothes, then admit to everyone why I was late."

Spike watched him. "How'd that go?"

Again Wesley resisted the urge to cover the mark - or at least to touch it and feel the heat against his fingers. "Not unwell."

"Did they stare?" Spike asked.

"Oh yes," Wesley assured him.

"Did you like it?"

Wesley was quiet, then nodded. "Yes."

Spike seemed to have a few things that he would say to that. He ultimately responded with, "Angel said you'd probably be dying for some company."

"Angel would be right, if he meant I'm as randy as a horse in season," Wesley said. "I'm not allowed to come. Not until he makes me later tonight. It's doing absolutely nothing for my concentration, I can assure you."

"Seem to be getting work done," Spike said, indicating the desk.

"It's about all I *can* get done," Wesley said. He gave Spike a look of invitation. "Unless you wanted to distract me?"

"Sure, I - " for some reason Spike stopped himself. "Actually, I wanted to chat with you."

Wesley frowned. "Is this business or pleasure?"

"Pleasure," Spike said. "Mostly. Look, about you and Angel - "

"We don't have to talk about him if you don't want to," Wesley said.

"No, I know, pet," Spike said. "But that's just it. I *do* want to. About him. And about you."

Wesley pushed away from his desk, putting his work aside. "All right. What's troubling you?"

"Not me," Spike said. "You. Pet, last night you went on about - "

"I was drunk."

"And nobody ever tells the truth when they're drunk," Spike said, giving him a look. "Especially not truths they'd never give a peep about when sober."

Wesley felt a lick of fear go through him. "What did I say?"

"It doesn't - "

"Spike, *what did I say?*"

Spike looked taken aback, but answered. "You told Angel you knew he didn't care for you."

"I see," Wesley said. He tried to appear calm, as though merely gathering information. "Anything else?"

"Pretty much it," Spike said.

"Pretty much?"

"Angel stopped you," Spike said. "From talking."

Wesley wouldn't have thought it was possible, but if anything that news only made him love Angel more. "Are you certain? What was I going to say?"

"That Angel didn't care for you as much as you cared for him," Spike said. "He stopped you before you got to the last bit."

"Well, if that's all there is," Wesley said, "and if Angel wasn't especially troubled by it - "

"Yeah, right," Spike said. "He wasn't especially troubled at all. Particularly when he was gumming your neck, and all."

Wesley's fingers fluttered up before he could stop them. He let them rest against the mark, rubbing it slightly. "Spike, it's fine."

"Pet - "

"It's *fine*."

"Pet, he's *mad* about you," Spike told him. He sat forward, his voice low but urgent. "Anyone can see it. 'cept you, for some reason. But you're wrong. He cares. He worries. He lo - "

"Spike, stop it."

"Why?" Spike stood up, appealing to the room as though it had an answer. "Christ. You can't say you don't fancy him. I know you do. You as much as admitted it last night before you decided to get intimate with the toilet. Speaking of which, that's why you should stick to the straight drinks. Less agony come later."

"I'll bear that in mind on our next pub crawl," Wesley said. "Spike, my relationship with Angel is fine. I am happy."

"You want him to be in love with you," Spike accused.

"I *want* what I *have*," Wesley told him. "I want Angel. I want to *be* Angel's. Spike, forgive me but I would have thought that you of all creatures would not dispute the validity of an arrangement like this."

"I'm not talking the sex, pet," Spike said. "It's not about making each other hard. I've seen - Hell, I've *done* worse than this and believe you me I know it's no less fun for everyone if there's a little kink involved."

Wesley shook his head. "Then why - "

"Because it's *more* than that," Spike said. He leaned across the desk, pressing a hand to his heart. "Love isn't just about that, pet. Me n'Dru, we had our fun. But we had *more*. We had the stars, and laughing, and dancing, and *being* together. More than just the sex. More than just the killing and the violence."

Wesley watched him. "I see."

"Love is a *thing*, pet," Spike continued. "It's a living thing. Like people. Like blood. And it's got to be fed. It's got to be fed or it dies. And life's a horrible thing, if you don't have love of something."

"Something, or someone?" Wesley asked.

"Doesn't matter," Spike said. "It's got to be something in *you*. Something that gets you up. Makes you face the day. Makes you go about and want to live and fight another one."

"Spike," Wesley said, "I *do* have such a thing. I have many such things."

"No you don't!" Spike said. He stood up again in frustration. "Pet, he's taking care of you but he's not giving you care. He's not feeding what you need inside."

"In what way?" Wesley asked.

"By not telling you that he loves you," Spike said. "By not *acting* like he loves you."

"I think Angel acts - "

"He acts like he owns you," Spike said. "And love can be about that, I don't deny it. But there's more."

"Honestly," Wesley said, "Spike, I have so much more than I could have ever wanted or even asked to have."

"Love's not asking, pet," Spike said. "It's giving. It's giving and - and *wanting* to give. Wanting to fill their heart like they've filled yours. Wanting to take all that joy inside and share it with the only one who can make you feel joy like that."

Wesley tried to interrupt him. "Spike - "

"It's the big things which, right, I grant he gives you," Spike said. "But it's the little things as well. Not just the flowers and the ponies but the notes. And the looks. And the smiles. And little touches, during the day. It's walking into a room and knowing at some point his hand will touch yours, and right then he's not thinking of anything but you."

"Spike," Wesley tried again.

"It's the *words*," Spike said. "Not just the actions. It's hearing those perfect words from the perfect lips. It's feeling what words *can* be. What they're *meant* to be. It's magic, and no Watcher book could describe it."

Wesley finally stood, coming around the desk to stand beside him. "Spike - "

"You should have your words, pet," Spike told him. "Everybody should. Everyone should have their words, and smiles, and touches. It's what makes things go 'round, in the end."

Wesley shook his head. "Spike, why didn't you just tell me?"

Spike frowned. "Tell you what?"

Wesley laughed. He reached out, brushing the back of his hand against Spike's cheek. "You and Angel are so remarkably alike."

Spike looked suspicious. "You make that sound like a compliment."

"I intend it as such," Wesley said.

"Most wouldn't."

"Again I remind you that I am not most," Wesley said. He moved his hand down, resting it on Spike's chest. "And that you really are as slow as your father sometimes."

"Here now," Spike said, pointing at him. "I'm not going to stand for - "

Wesley shut him up by kissing him.

Spike froze, but then relaxed into it. He held Wesley by the arms, taking his time as their mouths moved together. Wesley moved his hand up and back, rubbing his fingertips in circles along the back of Spike's neck. This earned him a small moan, and Spike's grip became even firmer.

"Wait," Spike said, after a moment. He blinked in confusion. "We were - "

"As slow as your father sometimes," Wesley repeated.

More blinking. "But we were talking about - "

Wesley placed his free hand over Spike's lips. "Yes, I love Angel. I don't think I've ever lied to you about that. But what Angel and I have is complicated, and it won't be solved in an afternoon. On the other hand what you and I have is surprisingly simple, and I'm very grateful for it."

"Pet," Spike said, then cleared his throat. "Wesley, I wasn't saying - "

"I have a meeting," Wesley said. He detangled himself, then gathered things off of his desk. It was a cheap escape route, but he suspected he was going to need one or else Spike would realize that certain fundamental truths didn't negate the fact that at no time had they ever really solved Spike's concerns about Angel.

"Wes - "

"Spike," Wesley said, facing him. "I have things. I have large things and small things. I have flowers and smiles. I have everything I could have ever imagined and you and Angel are both a part of that. All that's left for me to hope is that I manage to return the favor somehow."

"You do," Spike told him, still looking as though he were trying to remember something, but at least for the moment he was distracted. "You do for me, pet. I promise."

"Then I'm happy," Wesley said. He pressed a kiss to Spike's cheek. "We can talk more later if you like."

"I might," Spike said.

"Fair enough," Wesley replied, deciding he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Then he realized he wanted to leave the conversation on a more honest note. It didn't feel right to taint everything else with necessary subterfuge. "And Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Your words are more than fulfilling to me," Wesley told him. "In point of fact they were wonderful. You're quite the poet, you realize."

For some reason that made Spike smirk. "No, I'm not, pet. Trust me."

"If you insist," Wesley replied. "Later?"

Spike nodded, hooking his thumbs into his pockets. "Yeah. Sure. Later."

Wesley left.