Pet, Part Twenty-Seven

[thebratqueen]

Previous parts can be found here.

PART TWENTY-SEVEN

Mornings were rapidly becoming Wesley's favorite.

Rather - no. No, they weren't. *All* of it was his favorite, but mornings were decidedly far more pleasant to wake up to these days than they had been before.

Before, in his pre-Wolfram & Hart life (and in Wesley's mind his curious relationship with Angel folded rather nicely into his curious new job as a whole, and both were so remarkably different to the life he'd once led that it became rather easy to think of one as having led to the other in some sort of chicken and egg scenario) mornings had been cold. Bright. Empty, and more often than not alone. Even with those with whom he'd had relationships, many days had come when they had left during the night and he was on his own for the aftermath.

Which actually he hadn't minded as such. Rejection was so familiar to him by then that it was almost comfortable. Easier, he thought, to prepare for it going in. Not confuse himself with rituals of tenderness that would only lead to naught.

This, however, was different.

Mornings with Angel, to begin with, never involved being alone. Quite the contrary. Instead Wesley was awash with company, more often than not waking up with not one but two vampires beside him, each holding him down in their way - Angel firm, possessive. Spike relaxed, inviting.

On the rare occasion when he woke with no one there at all it wasn't a state which lasted for long. Instead it was momentary. No more than a minute or two before Angel appeared, dressing for work, and left Wesley with his orders for the day.

The orders, of course, proved to be quite good company indeed.

This morning he awoke with only one vampire. Spike was elsewhere. Still out on security detail as he attempted to whip, sometimes literally, the new recruits into shape. That left Angel, who lay behind Wesley with one arm slung around his waist. Wesley lay still beside him, not wanting to wake him before he was ready. Angel might insist otherwise but Wesley *wanted* to take care of him. He might not be allowed to do it in grander measures, but the little things, he hoped, could still make a difference.

Finally there was a twitch of movement, then Angel stirred, a statue coming to life. He wasted no time with pleasantries. His hand moved down Wesley's side, and by way of good morning he said:

"Spread your legs."

Which to be frank woke Wesley up far better than any trite greeting or even a prepared cup of coffee could have hoped for.

Wesley did as he was told, turning over just enough to give Angel the avenue he was looking for. Angel's fingers went lower, giving him a testing swipe, then abandoning him for a moment as Angel supplied himself with the tube of lubricant that had been left on the nightstand from their before sleep activities.

Back again, Angel's fingers wasted no time with introduction. Instead he slid two right in, pumping them efficiently but unhurriedly, prepping Wesley as though there was a possible chance these days that Wesley was *not* fully ready for him.

Wesley tightened a hand on his pillowcase. He closed his eyes and thought only of his breathing - or he tried to. For mornings, he had come to learn, held challenges all their own when it came to obeying the command not to climax until Angel had given him permission to. Mornings did not have the hot, commanding lust that ripped through his body until he was clawing at anything available and screaming, not caring for volume, for Angel to please God *fuck* him into the floor or any other available surface.

No, mornings were different. For mornings took place not long after he *had* been fucked, and fucked hard, and instead of the culmination of the day-long torment Angel so addictively put him through, there was the next phase. One where Wesley's body was lazy, and sore, and sticky from sweat and come, and so tender from Angel's blessedly rough touch that all it took was the slightest caress of Angel's fingers for Wesley to gasp, and moan, and move shamelessly in Angel's arms for more, please, more.

Angel knew this, of course. Which was why his hands were so deliberate in the mornings. Why his touch was so deft and true. He faltered not at all in his efforts, and knew without hesitation what it would take to bring Wesley to a state of hopeless need.

It was mornings when Wesley felt truly like Angel's plaything. A cherished toy - or pet, as he knew (or hoped) his proper title was. Trained. Utterly trained to be nothing else but something for Angel to please himself with. Were Angel to ever decide that Wesley's life contained nothing but this Wesley knew in his heart that he would respond without question, "Yes, Angel."

"What was that?"

Wesley tightened his hand, realizing that he'd spoken aloud. "Yes, Angel. Please, Angel."

A third finger stretched him wider. "Good boy. Make noise for me."

Sound was apparently one of Angel's favorite accompaniments. He had on more than one occasion told Wesley to moan, or cry out, or "Say dirty things with that pretty mouth of yours, boy." Wesley was eager to please but often found the task to be difficult. Angel had a way of chasing all his words right out of his head, and the deep-rooted desire that Angel awoke in him often left Wesley surprisingly mute.

Angel drew it out of him anyway. By touch or command or even, as Wesley discovered, by foresight and planning, such as the afternoon when Spike had cornered Wesley in his office and bit and sucked at his nipples for hours. Wesley at the time had assumed it was merely a tease but he'd discovered later that night it had been done at Angel's express command to leave him aching and raw and so sensitive that when Angel ran a calloused fingertip in circles around the still bruised red skin Wesley had not only moaned but moaned at the exact note and pitch that Angel had wanted him to speak in.

Afterwards Wesley had to concede Spike's twofold point that Angel could be staggeringly obsessive about his artistic streak, yet by God one couldn't argue the results no matter how much practicality might inspire the urge to.

This morning Wesley did his best with gasps, and whimpers, and when all else failed there was "Angel. Please, Angel. Yes, Angel. *Please*, Angel." which Angel himself didn't seem to mind.

It earned Wesley Angel's cock, which slid inside of him with the ease of a blade being replaced in a custom-made sheath, and all things considered Wesley didn't mind thinking of himself in those terms either. Anything, anything so long as it meant Angel claimed him.

His hands free, Angel braced himself against the bed and against Wesley's hip, his right hand holding him tight enough that Wesley could feel the marks forming. He hummed with pleasure, baring his throat on the odd chance the vampire felt like leaving an autograph there as well. No blood had been drawn - yet - but once the barrier of suction had been broken Angel proved eager about using his mouth to decorate Wesley's flesh. The last round of bites were fading. Wesley wanted more. He whimpered and bared his throat further, hoping it might help.

"Tempting me?" Angel asked, his voice warm as it bathed over Wesley's ear.

"Please," Wesley replied. "Angel, please. I want it."

"Earn it."

It was impossible to think with Angel's cock so deep inside of him. "How?"

"Give me a lovely view."

Which was another fetish of Angel's - he of a previously unknown to Wesley voyeuristic streak - and one which Wesley found even harder to comply with than the request for sound. Wesley kneaded the pillow, trying to control himself as he asked, "What do you want?"

Angel let go of Wesley's hip. His strong hand wrapped around Wesley's wrist and guided him down to the rock hard cock that bobbed between his legs. "Let me see you jerk off, Wes. I love watching you bring yourself right to the edge."

Masturbation. That was easy enough. Wesley relaxed, stroking himself. "Yes, Angel."

Then Angel, as always, raised the stakes. "Eyes open."

Wesley held his breath.

"Do you think I'm kidding?" Angel asked. His mouth was so close to Wesley's neck now. Wesley only needed to move by a hair and he would have the touch he yearned for - which of course meant Angel made sure he couldn't have it. "Think this is a bargain? That was an order, Wes. Open your eyes."

Wesley obeyed, cheating slightly by looking down at the sheets and not directly in front of him. He moved his hand again, speaking over the nerves that danced around his heart as he said, "Yes, Angel."

"Look up."

And there was the hard bit. Because looking up meant looking across the room.

Looking across the room meant looking directly into a mirror.

Wesley couldn't see Angel in it, of course, but he could see himself just fine.

"Don't look away," Angel told him. His cock moved in and out again, causing a slow wave of want and need inside of Wesley's body. "Look right at yourself as you jerk off like this."

Wesley flushed, and struggled to obey.

It wasn't easy. He had to fight the urge to drop his eyes down, or look to the reflection of the windows instead of his own body as it lay there, exposed, so obviously used in this position of being nearly on his knees, his legs spread, his skin mottled with bitemarks and bruises.

His eyes were dark, his lips parted. His hand was half-hidden in a tangle of sheets but he could see his cockhead, oh yes, as it moved in and out of view, bright red and leaking come from the tip.

He couldn't see Angel but he could see himself *respond* to Angel. See his hips move into the thrusts of the vampire's erection, see his throat become exposed to the licks and kisses Angel showered down upon him, see himself gasp and writhe as Angel worked his body like an instrument yet again and brought out the chorus of moans and pleas that he was looking for.

"Do you like this?" Angel asked.

No, Wesley wanted to say. Or old instinct begged him to say. Part of him held enough of his previous self still to know how horrible this all was. This was wanton, practically perverted. He shouldn't want this, he shouldn't *crave* this. He should have been ashamed of himself, and struggling for it to end.

But he didn't want it to end. He never wanted it to end. He wanted it to keep going, humiliation and all. He wanted to be there as Angel's toy, his plaything, his pampered pet, and live out the rest of his life with Angel commanding him and claiming him.

"Please," Wesley whispered.

"I asked if you liked this," Angel reminded him.

"Yes," Wesley said at once, his voice tight as though his vocal chords were trying to stop him. He stared at himself, enraptured at the creature he saw. "Yes, Angel. Please."

Angel's fingers teased at Wesley's nipples. "Mine?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Angel."

"All mine?"

"Yes, Angel."

"Want to come?"

"Yes, Angel. *Please*."

Angel moved closer, his lips on Wesley's neck. "Want me to bite?"

Wesley's eyes were tearing, the desire was so keen. "*Please*, Angel. God, please."

"Come for me," Angel told him, then secured his mouth to Wesley's throat with a bruising, bloodless, kiss.

Wesley came, crying out as stripes of come spattered over the sheets and against his chest. Angel thrust into him, seeking out his own satisfaction as his teeth scraped Wesley's skin and his mouth provided suction so strong Wesley thought he might pass out from the pleasure of it.

Then Angel came, and managed to hit Wesley just *so* inside that another startled gasp of orgasm escaped him, and then they lay there in a sticky, satiated mess.

"Morning, Wes," Angel said at last, his nose buried in Wesley's hair and his voice as casual as though this were only a business meeting.

Wesley settled back against him, feeling the weight of Angel's body like a warm blanket. "Good morning, Angel."

Then sleep once more claimed them both for just a little longer.

***

Random impulse made Gunn decide to stop by Wes's office that day.

"You can't go in there."

Gunn drew himself up, looking down at the vampire blocking his way. "Excuse me?"

Bobby folded his arms and tried to look intimidating. "You can't go in there. You're not allowed."

"I'm still back on my first statement," Gunn said. He stared the vampire down, happy for the height difference that made his position easy. "'cause I am damn sure you can't 'allow' me anything. Now out of my way."

Bobby stepped in front of him. "You're *not allowed* to - "

"Problem?" the door to Wes's office opened. The man himself gave them a curious look.

"No problem, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce," Bobby said, "there's nothing for you to worry about."

"Junior here says I'm not allowed in your door," Gunn told him.

Wes gave Bobby a disapproving look. "Robert, that's not true."

Bobby shook his head. "Mr. Angel said - "

"I know what Angel said," Wesley told him. "But this is not such an occasion. Charles is not a threat, he is a co-worker. He can come in if he needs to."

"I don't know," Bobby said, dubiously.

"I do and I outrank you," Wesley replied. He opened his door further. "As does Charles. Gunn? Come in. I'm sorry about the confusion."

"You know I can fire your ass," Gunn told Bobby as he passed by him.

"He's only doing his job," Wesley said, closing the door behind them. He gave a rueful look. "A bit overeagerly, perhaps."

"What's he doing out there anyway?" Gunn asked.

Wes sat down behind his desk. "Guard duty. Angel told him to watch over me."

"Uh-huh," Gunn said. He took a chair for himself, slumping down comfortably. "And watching over you means keeping me out?"

"He misunderstood," Wesley said. "I'm sure it won't happen again."

"Right," Gunn said. He thought about arguing it, but decided to let it go. "So what's new?"

"I'm this close to shooting someone if Lorne doesn't calm down about the party," Wes said. He scribbled something down on a piece of paper on his desk. "Not that I fault him for the anxieties but things would be easier to plan if he would pick a theme and stick with it."

"The theme affects the magic?" Gunn asked.

"The location affects the magic," Wesley said. "The decorations affect the magic. The guest list affects the magic. If we're to adequately prepare ourselves to both protect us *and* use the event to our best advantage then I'll need time to plan. In the meanwhile all I can do is stick to nonspecifics and pray to whatever deity might care that Lorne at least finds a color scheme he can live with."

"Imagine him planning a wedding," Gunn mused.

Wes gave him a quirk of a smile. "I'd rather not."

"Sounds like stress," Gunn said. "Me? I'm about up to my ears in contracts. One more party of the second part and I'm right there with you and the .38 specials. What's say we take a break?"

"I say it sounds delightful," Wesley replied. "Particularly if some form of beer could be involved."

"Lunch?" Gunn suggested.

"Lunch," Wesley agreed. He reached for the phone. "What are you in the mood for? We can expense it to my account."

"I'm in the mood to get out of this office," Gunn said, the lessons in elocution coming in handy as he managed to keep his voice casual. "What's say we go to Lindy's?"

Wes's hand hesitated on the way to the phone. "I - of course. Let me just check my schedule."

"Why bother?" Gunn asked. He stood up, motioning towards the door. "Come on. It'll be quick. Let's sneak out before another memo finds us."

"I may have a meeting," Wesley said.

"You don't know for sure?" Gunn asked.

"Many things are up in the air," Wesley said. He picked up the phone and began to dial. "It will just take a moment."

Gunn put his finger down on the button, disconnecting the call. "Or you could just leave."

Wesley sat back, looking up at him. "Something on your mind, Charles?"

"Yeah," Gunn said. "Lunch. Simple go out, order food, put it in your mouth and swallow lunch. You've had that before, right?"

Wesley finally put the phone back on its cradle. "Why don't we skip to wherever you're going with this?"

"I can't, because you don't go anywhere," Gunn told him. "In fact, I can't remember the last time you *did* go somewhere at all."

"I assume we're not counting the offsite meeting I had yesterday," Wesley replied. "Or the dinner that all of us went to the night before."

"Lemme be more specific then," Gunn said. He put his hands on Wesley's desk, leaning down to face him. "I can't remember the last time you went somewhere without clearing it with Angel."

"Ah," Wesley said, apparently unphased by that.

"That's what this was, right?" Gunn asked, gesturing towards the phone. "You weren't checking your schedule. You were calling Angel up, see if it was okay for you to leave the house."

"I'm not entirely certain why you're having this conversation with me when you seem to have all the answers," Wesley said. "If that is the case I do have things I could be doing."

"So it's true."

"It seems to me that you already know that," Wesley replied.

"I was hoping I was wrong," Gunn said. "Wes, what *is* that?"

"Security measures," Wesley said.

Gunn sat down again. "Security."

"As Angel's partner I am an obvious vulnerability," Wesley said. "Anyone who wished to hurt him would need only go after me. Therefore steps were taken to prevent just such an occurrence."

"I could get that for Junior out there," Gunn said. "But it's one thing having a bodyguard. Another not being allowed to go where you want."

"I'm not sure I see the difference," Wesley said.

There were times when Gunn was glad for the intelligence upgrade, especially when it came to dealing with Wes's bullshit. "Difference is something tells me it wouldn't matter how many minions you had tailing your ass to so-called 'protect' it. You can't walk out the front door unless Angel lets you, right?"

Wes quieted, watching him carefully. "Right."

Gunn sat forward. "This isn't about security, Wes. This is about you being in danger, and I'm not talking about from demons looking to take Angel down. What the Hell else are you going through?"

Wes stood up. "This conversation is over."

Gunn followed him. "I don't think it is. Wesley, he is over the line."

"He is no such thing," Wesley said.

"You can't go out without his permission," Gunn said, "you can't wear clothes that he doesn't like, you can't order food that he doesn't approve of - Jesus Christ, Wes, how is that not a big, fat danger sign to you?"

"Angel takes care of me," Wes said. "And in point of fact I'm not entirely certain why I am required to justify my relationship with him to you."

"You're my friend," Gunn said.

Wes gave a bark of laughter. "Since *when*?"

"This is what you want to do?" Gunn asked. "Bring up petty bullshit from the past when I'm here - Wes, I'm trying to *help* you."

"You consider judging my relationship to be something that helps?" Wesley asked. "That's a rather curious definition of that term."

"I don't have to judge," Gunn said. "All I gotta do is watch. Wes, this isn't healthy."

Wes shrugged. "I beg to differ."

Gunn reached out and grabbed his hand. He jerked Wes's shirtsleeve down before he could pull away, exposing the bruises on Wes's skin. "And those? Are those healthy?"

"Let me go," Wes said, quietly.

"Answer the question."

"Take your hand off of me," Wesley said, staring him down.

"Or what?" Gunn asked. "Angel's going to come after me?"

"In point of fact that's a distinct possibility," Wes said. "Charles, at this moment in time it might behoove you to realize that I am far more learned in the topic of dealing with vampires than you could ever hope to be. If I am telling you how to handle Angel it's very likely that my counsel is wise."

Gunn released him. "He's hurting you."

Wes fixed his shirtsleeve. "Not without my consent."

"You *consented* to this?"

"You've lived in LA for some time," Wesley said. "Surely this is not the first time you've discovered that not all sexual acts involve the missionary position."

"Bullshit," Gunn said. "Don't play that with me. You know damn well I know it. This isn't about that, Wes. This is about Angel doing things he's got no right to do."

"He has every right to do it," Wesley said. "I gave that right to him. He's done nothing I haven't wanted, or asked him for."

"You can't give him permission for that," Gunn said.

"I promise you, I have," Wes replied.

"Not you," Gunn said. "Not with him. Not after everything that's happened."

Wes stilled, his eyes locked on Gunn's face. "Say that again."

"You think I don't know what's really going on?" Gunn asked. He lowered his voice, trying to show Wes that this wasn't about challenging him. "I *know* you, Wesley. We might not be tight anymore but I still know what you're like deep down."

"I don't think you do," Wes said, carefully.

"I might not be in the middle," Gunn said, "but I still got eyes to see with. You and Angel used to be pissed at each other. Wasn't that long ago that Angel shoved you so far out you were practically gone."

"Why do you think that was?" Wesley asked.

"You didn't tell me," Gunn reminded him.

Wes kept watching him. "Surely you had a theory about it?"

"Doesn't matter what I thought," Gunn said. "What matters it what *was*. Angel rejected you, Fred rejected you, you and me were fighting - you had nothing."

"I had some things," Wes said.

"Not what you wanted," Gunn replied. "Wes, you want to play it rough with any other guy or gal in town you go wild. I'm not saying don't enjoy yourself. But don't sit here and tell me that after a year of being kicked into the dirt that this is the relationship you wanted. You're not letting Angel do this because he cares. You're letting him do it because he's finally paying attention to you."

"That's not true," Wes replied.

Gunn stared him down with disbelief. "I know you wanted him, Wes. When I joined up I remember how obvious it was you had a thing for him. Can you look me in the eye and tell me *this* is what you pictured?"

"No," Wes admitted. "But that doesn't mean it isn't what I want."

"You deserve better," Gunn told him.

"I want this," Wes repeated.

Gunn sighed. "It doesn't have to be this way."

"It is this way, and I am happy," Wes said. "And I am the only one in this room who has a meaningful vote in the matter."

"I'm not walking away from you," Gunn said. "You wanna hang in with this - I'll still be here when you're ready for it to stop."

"That day won't come," Wesley said. "But… your act of friendship is appreciated."

"Think some day we'll actually get back that trust?" Gunn asked.

"Hard for me to say when you won't take me at my word," Wesley said.

"You given me good reason to do that lately?" Gunn asked.

"Admittedly no," Wes conceded.

Gunn tried to accept that. "C'mon. I'm still hungry. Let's hit the cafeteria for lunch."

Wes gave him a slight nod. "Thank you."

***

It was late at night when Angel finally came home. Spike was still out, and Wes was all alone. Angel spied him standing by the bedroom windows.

"Thought brooding was my gig," he commented, when he saw Wesley's pose.

Wes stared out over the city. "Do you know there are those who think our relationship is abusive?"

Angel had to admit this was not a surprise. "No. Wh - "

"Before you complete that question I would like to say that I would rather not give the names," Wesley said. "I will if you order me, but it must be an order, and it would not be one which made me happy."

Angel swallowed the curiosity. "All right."

"They see how you treat me," Wesley said, "how you mark and control me, and they think that it is something harmful. It is something that I could not want you to do."

Angel leaned against the windowframe, folding his arms. "What do you think?"

Wes looked up at him. "I think that you agree with them."

Angel couldn't come up with a response.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Wesley asked. "That's why you hold yourself back. Why you act so guilty when you take your pleasures with me. You think that I don't want this, or that I couldn't properly give my permission."

"I don't think you could, Wes, no," Angel told him.

"You outlined this for me from the start," Wesley said. "You made it perfectly clear what I was agreeing to. I told you I would sign a contract if you asked it. How did I not consent?"

"I think you consented, but I don't think you know all - " Angel started, then immediately decided to say something else. "You consented, and we do what you consented to. But there are things you don't know about and those things I keep from you. I take care of you. That's part of the deal."

"You think I don't know but you're wrong," Wesley whispered. "Angel I have known you for years. I know everything you are capable of. I say yes to *you*. Yes, Angel. Those are the fundamental words of this relationship. Why can't you hear me when I say them?"

"There's more to me than that, Wes," Angel reminded him.

Wes shook his head. "If you think I don't fully understand Angelus - if I of all people don't know what he can do - "

"It's not about Angelus," Angel said.

"I know," Wes insisted. "Angel, God… I want this. All I can say to you is that I want this. My nightmare is that it ends. Please, can I at least ask that it won't?"

Angel reached out, drawing him into his arms. "You're mine. That's our deal. I promise you I won't change that."

Wes settled against him. "I want to be yours. If I have that I'm happy."

"Then you're mine," Angel told him. He pressed a kiss to Wes's forehead. "My boy. My possession, no matter what anyone says."

"Thank you," Wesley said. "And perhaps some day you'll believe me when I tell you this is what I wanted."

Angel held him tighter and offered no response to that.