Pet, Part Twenty-Eight

[thebratqueen]

Previous parts can be found here.

PART TWENTY-EIGHT

"It doesn't make sense."

Spike sighed, then made a show of putting the DVD player on pause. He then affected an overdone posh accent as he quoted, "Let's watch a movie, Spike. You'll like this one. It's got a bloke in it with a last name that's an adverb."

Wes at least managed to look contrite. "Sorry. I'll be quiet."

"Just trying to listen, is all," Spike told him.

Wes nodded, which made for interesting side effects considering that he was currently resting his head in Spike's lap. But they'd already crossed sex off the menu thanks to some lovely post-dinner activities, so side effects were all they were for now. "I won't talk over it. I promise."

"Thank you," Spike said. He lifted the remote again.

"But it *doesn't* make sense."

Spike put the remote back down. "Go on. Get it off your chest."

"Why?" Wesley asked. "That's all I want to know. *Why*?"

"Because he's a prat."

"But I *want* him to."

"Which makes him a sadistic prat," Spike pointed out.

"I've asked, I've begged, I've hinted, I've cajoled," Wes continued. "I've done everything save sending him a singing telegram - and I'm this close to trying *that* just to see if it works. Why won't he drink from me?"

"What part of 'sadist' isn't giving you your answer, pet?" Spike asked. "It's the old joke, innit? Sadist says no because the masochist wants yes. He'll take his time until you're mad for it. It's what he does. It's what he *always* does."

"Is that all there is?" Wesley asked. He turned around to look up at him. "Because if it's purely the sadism I could understand. But he's taking so long that…"

"What?" Spike asked, when Wes trailed off.

Wes looked sheepish. "It's not me, is it? You'd tell me if it was?"

"How could it be you?" Spike asked.

"Any number of reasons," Wesley said. "I could have begged improperly. Or angered him somehow."

"Don't think it's in you to beg improperly," Spike said. "And if Da's pissed off at you you'd know it. He's not one for hiding that. Never has been."

"Then what?" Wes sat up. "Am I just not appetizing?"

Spike gave a bark of laughter, then sobered when he saw Wes was serious. "You're appetizing, believe me."

"Am I?" Wesley asked. "You're not just saying that?"

"Why would I?" Spike countered.

"To be polite," Wesley answered.

Spike gave him a look. "Which I'm so known for."

That earned him a smirk. "All right, true."

Spike gave Wes's arm a tug, urging him to lie back down. "You're appetizing. Tempting. Tasty, if the other parts of you I drink are any indication. Any vamp would kill to get his fangs in you."

"Would you?" Wesley asked.

"I'd've done it months ago if Da wouldn't rip my teeth out," Spike replied. He traced a fingertip down Wesley's neck, smiling as it made Wes shiver. "Certainly *thought* about doing it, yeah."

"Where?" Wesley asked, looking up at him with dark eyes.

"Dunno, maybe your office."

Wes gave a soft chuckle. "Where on *me*, Spike?"

"Oh," Spike said. He moved his finger back up, rubbing a spot not far from Wes's collarbone. "Probably right there. Right where I can feel the pulse. Get you gasping in my ear as I drain the heat out of you."

Wes shifted in place. "What does it feel like?"

"Hurts, for a start," Spike said. He tried to cast his mind back to when Dru first bit him, hoping he could recall all the mortal sensations. "Then it kind of fades. Goes into the background, like."

"What's in the foreground, then?" Wesley asked.

Spike thought about it. "Relaxing. Happy. Heat."

"Sexual or merely temperature related?"

Spike gave him a leer. "What do you think?"

"Does it make you hard?" Wesley asked.

"Me? Almost all the time."

Wes elbowed him in the side. "Does it make one in *general* feel aroused?"

"If the vamp does it right, yeah," Spike said. He moved his thumb along Wes's jawline, tracing the fingernail along all the tiny veins to be found there. "Can be right nice, if a vamp knows what he's doing."

"I bet you know what you're doing," Wesley said.

"He'd rip my fangs out and feed them to me," Spike reminded him. "No joke."

"I know," Wesley said. He reached up, brushing his own fingers across Spike's cheek. "I only meant to say that I anticipate what comes after Angel drinks from me as much as I do Angel drinking from me at all."

Spike swallowed. "Me too, pet."

Wes turned back to the TV. "Let's watch the movie then."

Spike picked up the remote. "Why are we doing this again?"

"The lead character reminds me of someone I know," Wes told him.

"Better not be me," Spike said. "There's not many mortals who can compare me to Michael Keaton and live to tell the tale."

Wes shot him a sly look. "Haven't I already proven that I am not most mortals?"

Spike had to acknowledge the point. "Indeed you have, pet. Indeed you have."

***

Gunn jumped when a figure appeared where no figure had been two seconds before.

"For the record," Angel said, leaning casually against Gunn's desk, "his office is wired with cameras and microphones too."

Gunn didn't need to ask who they were talking about. "Gee, why am I not surprised?"

Angel picked up a paperweight, rolling it back and forth between both of his hands. "I've gotta say, it made for some interesting watching during my last dinner break."

"You got nothing better to do during dinner then spy on Wes?" Gunn asked.

"I don't when something's happened that pissed him off," Angel replied. He put the paperweight back down. "So - something on your mind, Charles?"

"Yeah, you being an asshole," Gunn said. He went to sit down at his desk. "But since you've added eavesdropper to your list of impressive qualities I guess you already knew that."

"An asshole wouldn't be here," Angel said. He sat sideways to face him, but didn't get up. "An asshole wouldn't give two shits about whether or not you liked what Wes and I do together."

"So why are you here?" Gunn asked.

"Because you pissed him off," Angel said.

"If Wes is mad at me he can tell me his own damn self," Gunn said.

"I'm sure he can," Angel agreed. "Now we're talking about if *I'm* mad at you. Gotta say upsetting Wes? Not a way to stay on my good side."

"Yeah, well beating the crap out of him wasn't a way to stay on mine," Gunn retorted. "You want to try sticking to the moral highground with *that* on the table?"

Angel shook his head, bemused. "That's what you think is going on? Really? You know, you need to get out more."

"Fine," Gunn said, leaning back in his chair. "Let Wes come with me. Oh wait, you don't do that. True love with you apparently involves a whole prisoner thing."

"Wes does what he wants," Angel said.

"He wants you hitting him?"

"Actually yes," Angel said, "though I haven't yet."

"I like that 'yet'," Gunn said. "It makes me real inclined to trust you."

"I don't need your trust," Angel said. "I need Wes's."

"Actually you *do* need my trust, which is why you're here," Gunn said. "Hard for you to be a big bad in this town if you don't have someone in the legal department that you can count on. So why don't we stop bullshitting and cut to the chase?"

"Wes isn't being abused," Angel said. "I treat him like a prince."

"Don't people from your country pretty much hate royalty from his?" Gunn asked.

"I take care of him," Angel said. "I give him what he needs. *More*. Not, by the way, that it was ever any of your business."

"Helping the helpless *is* my business," Gunn said. "Don't know about you but that didn't stop for *me* when the setting changed."

Angel didn't even flinch. "Wes isn't helpless."

"Like Hell he's not," Gunn said. He sat forward, sitting up straighter even if the desk made Angel seem taller than he was. "Wes was so screwed up last year he knocked boots with *Lilah*. You're telling me he's capable of making a good decision about himself? About *you*?"

"I take care of him," Angel repeated.

"By hurting him? By controlling him?" Gunn asked. He held up a hand to cut Angel off. "And don't give me that 'consent' bullshit. No way he could've said yes to all that. Not after all that's happened between you two."

Angel stared him down. "Yeah, after all that's happened between us. Because if you bother to think for a *second*, Charles, you'd understand that's *exactly* what Wes wants right now. It's exactly what he *needs*. You think I do that to Wesley because I'm an asshole? Here's a newsflash: I know more ways to torture people than even your worst idea of me would ever give me credit for. I don't need to go through this song and dance just to get my own rocks off."

"You're trying to tell me it *doesn't* get your rocks off?" Gunn retorted.

"Not saying I hate it," Angel said. "Just saying I'm not bound to it. I'm what you might call a Renaissance guy. If Wes didn't like this, there's thousands of other ways I could be amusing myself with. But *this* is what he wants."

Gunn shook his head. "No way."

"Really?" Angel asked. "You really think that after a year of being on the outs what Wes *doesn't* want is somebody being possessive of him? Somebody who cares so much about him that he can't eat or sleep or *breathe* without that being important? That after all Wes has gone through that the last thing he needs is me - *especially* me - making it absolutely clear that I want him so much that there isn't a second of the day when I'm not thinking about him and making sure that he has everything he needs to make his life pleasurable?"

Gunn refused to be swayed. "It isn't just about that."

"Right, the bruises," Angel said. "And not that the actual sex is any of your business either, but consider how many times he's been hurt on the job and I've hauled him into medical. If he can't get a papercut without it being healed right away, why do you think he's walking around with marks he might not want?"

"He can't say no to you," Gunn accused.

"He doesn't want to."

"Do you give him a choice?"

"He doesn't want that either," Angel said. He was annoyingly calm.

Gunn weighed it all carefully. "No. No way I'm buying this."

"Wasn't putting it up for sale," Angel replied. "Facts are what they are. Take 'em or leave 'em."

Gunn tried to imagine Angel on the witness stand. He turned the situation over and over inside of his head, looking for flaws in the logic. Finally he remembered: "He's not happy."

That made Angel look at him.

"Think I would've brought this up at all if he was happy?" Gunn asked. "If everything was on the up and up with you two I would've never poked my head in. But something's not right. He's not smiling 24/7."

There was a long pause before Angel replied. "He wants more than I've been giving him."

"Something tells me you don't mean bruises."

"That something would be telling you the wrong thing," Angel said. "He wants more. I've been holding back."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"That's your problem," Angel said. "It is what it is."

Instinct told Gunn Angel still wasn't being honest with him. But instinct also told him he wasn't going to get much further. "Look, I don't buy this 'he needs this' bullshit and I don't think I ever will. But if you want me to back this then you better make him happy. Otherwise don't expect me or anybody else to be in your corner when the chips are down."

"Wes isn't a prisoner," Angel said. He stood up and brushed his coat off as though Gunn's desk had gotten dust on it. "You need proof that I'm not doing bad by him? We had this conversation. That's proof. You had that conversation with Wes and I didn't stop you. That's also proof."

"Then you better let me *keep* having it," Gunn said. "Because if I hear of you keeping people from giving him opposite points of view - "

"Have as many points of view as you like, "Angel said. "Bring it up with Wes as many times as you care to. I won't stop you. I never will."

"Good," Gunn said.

Angel turned to walk away. "Talk all you want, Charles. As long as Wes wants to listen you don't need my permission. Just bear in mind one thing."

"Yeah?" Gunn asked, ready to challenge him.

Angel gave him a look that was all vampire. "You touch him like that again and I'll rip your hand off by the wrist. *Then* things will start to get interesting. Am I making myself clear?"

"Crystal," Gunn said.

Angel nodded, satisfied. "Good."

***

It was hours later when Angel got up to the penthouse. He'd run some errands, and taken time to think.

Spike was alone and watching TV.

"Where's Wes?" Angel asked.

"Upstairs," Spike said, not even looking up at him as he flipped casually through all the channels.

Angel lingered in the doorway.

Spike glanced at him. "Something on your mind?"

"Wes could be happier," Angel said. "You think that, right? That Wes could be happier? That I could do more for him?"

"Think the sky's blue too," Spike said. "Need me to spell any other things out for you or you doing okay on your own now that you've mastered the obvious?"

"I just *love* having these conversations with you. Really. It's refreshing."

"That's what I'm here for," Spike said, putting his feet up on the coffee table. "Make sure you've always got that nice and fresh feeling."

"Bite me," Angel said, agreeably. He headed upstairs. "And take your damn shoes off the furniture."

Spike gave a sigh of long suffering. "*Yes*, Da."

Only a few lights illuminated the pool. Most were votive candles that had been scattered about the tables. One came from a lamp that was placed beside a lounge chair. Wes was sitting on the chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and his eyes cast upwards, looking through the glass roof and towards the sky.

Angel came forward, noticing the dark swim trunks that clung to Wes's hips, and the droplets of chlorinated water that dotted his skin. "You went swimming."

Wes smiled up at him. "Angel. I didn't hear you arrive."

Angel motioned for Wes to make room for him to sit. "You went swimming."

"Yes, I thought I might take a bit of exercise," Wesley said. He moved his legs off to the side, then grabbed a towel to dry off the cushions. "Or at least exercise which allowed me to keep my clothes on. For a change of pace."

Angel folded his coat up under him, deciding to ignore the remaining dampness as he sat down. "I thought I told you that you had to swim naked."

He'd said no such thing, and of course Wes knew it. "You don't like what I'm wearing."

Angel ran his eyes down Wes's body. The wet cloth definitely held Wes in interesting ways. "I didn't say that."

Wes lowered his voice in invitation. "I could take it off if it didn't please you."

Angel thought about Wes naked, and drops of water decorating his skin. "Maybe later."

"Yes, Angel," Wes said. He sat back, folding his hands over his stomach. "If you wouldn't like me naked then what would you like to do?"

"Talk," Angel said. "If you've got a minute."

Wes looked worried, but tried to hide it. "Of course."

Angel pondered his words. "So I've heard this rumor that you're unhappy."

Wes shook his head at once. "Angel, I told you - "

"That there are things that could *make* you unhappy," Angel instantly amended, not wanting to get into the semantics again. "That there's ideas about this relationship that you don't like."

"Only that it might end," Wesley said. "That's the only thing I fear."

"So I've heard," Angel said. "I've also heard that I do things which make you scared of that."

Wes became quieter. Finally he said, "Yes, you do."

Angel nodded to show he appreciated the honesty. Then he tried to be as honest as he could in turn. "There's things we can't do, Wes. Things that… that you have to trust that I know best about. Things that could hurt you. Things that I know won't be good for you."

"We might have different perceptions in that area," Wesley told him.

"We might," Angel acknowledged, "but I get the last vote. You *gave* me the last vote. Doing this with me means that you give me that say over you. That I decide what your limits are and you say - "

"Yes, Angel," Wesley murmured.

Angel gave a slight smile at that. He'd been going for "okay" but as always Wes surpassed his expectations. "I'm not trying to hurt you, Wesley. Actually, that's the point. I've got more experience in this area. I know what I'm doing. You have to trust that if I deny you something that it's for your own good. It's not because I'm trying to punish you."

For some reason that made Wes's eyes flicker, but he didn't say anything other than, "Yes, Angel."

Angel felt a need to be sure about this. "That wasn't a command, Wesley. Give me the answer you want to give."

"That is my answer," Wes said. "I want this. I want to be yours. I accept the rules. I told you that from the very beginning."

"If you can accept that," Angel said, "then I want to do something here. But this is a next step kind of thing. Saying yes to this would be a commitment, and I want you to know it's not one you have to agree to. If you don't like it we can stay just as we are. You won't stop being mine and I won't send you away."

Wes sat up, his curiosity peaked. "What is it?"

Angel grinned. "Ah, now we're back on orders again. I need you to tell me if you can accept that first. Give me a yes or no there and *then* we can go forward."

A half smile shaped Wes's mouth. "I thought I didn't get a no."

"In general you don't," Angel agreed. "But this is special circumstances."

"I don't want a no," Wesley told him. He moved closer, looking directly into Angel's eyes. It was all Angel could do not to kiss him. "I want you. I want this. Give me anything you wish to give me. Ask of me anything you want to ask. I want to be yours, Angel. Always. Please?"

"You sure about that?" Angel asked.

"Tell me how I can demonstrate it to you and I shall," Wesley said. "I want to be yours. If whatever you offer is more of that then that is precisely what I desire. I agree to your terms, Angel. My conviction hasn't wavered. My answer is yes, Angel. Please."

Angel studied him, then decided Wes truly did have no doubts about it. "Okay, then I want to give you something."

"You're quite addicted to giving me presents, aren't you?" Wesley observed, but didn't seem unhappy about it.

"Pretty much," Angel said. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small box. "Here."

Wes took it, turning it over in his hands. "Am I allowed to open it?"

Angel gave him a deadpan look. "What? You're not satisfied with just a box?"

Wes actually snickered, then turned the box right side up. After two tries he found the hinge on it, then opened it up to reveal the contents.

"It's platinum," Angel told him.

Wes stared down at the ring inside. "It's… not meant to be worn on a finger."

"No," Angel agreed. He let Wes puzzle it out for a second before adding, "Not the second place you're thinking of either."

"I was going to point out it seemed small," Wes admitted. "But then again I've no experience in this area by which to judge."

"Do you like it?" Angel asked.

"I…" Wes swallowed. Angel could hear his heart racing. "Of - Angel, does - it's lovely, certainly. If you're asking if it is beautiful - "

"I know it's beautiful," Angel said. "That's why I picked it. I'm asking if you like what it *means*."

Wes finally tore his eyes away from it. "Angel, after all your disclaimers I'm scared to assume what it means."

"It means you're mine," Angel told him. "It means you'll be wearing a mark that's never going to fade, and always says that you belong to me. That's what it means."

"Truly?" Wesley asked. The look of hope in his eyes was almost childlike. Angel found himself picturing Wes as a kid, longing for presents that his dad most likely never gave him. "Is that - Angel, please, I wouldn't be able to bear it if you changed your mind."

"I'm not," Angel said. He pulled Wes closer to him. "That's why I'm giving this to you. You're unhappy because you keep worrying about that. I want you to have something tangible that takes that worry away. If you want it, then it's yours."

"I - " there was a moment, then Wes broke out into a rare but brilliant smile. "Yes. Angel, yes. Please. *Please*. Here, there's a phonebook in the bar. I'm sure there's a studio open at this hour. If not we can pay someone to - "

Angel grabbed him by the shoulder and gently pushed him back into the chair. "Wes, do you think for a *second* I'm letting anybody else touch you like that?"

Wes stilled. Softly, with disbelief, he asked, "You?"

"You think I can't do it?" Angel asked.

"I don't know why for a moment I forgot you could," Wesley said. "Angel that - Yes. Thank you. Yes."

Angel caught the change of subject. "What were you going to say?"

Wes colored. "It's not important."

"Do we wanna save time here by remembering that it's *all* personal right now?"

"Yes, Angel," Wesley said. The color didn't leave his cheeks, however, and it was a moment before he could continue. "It's a rare opportunity. That's what I was going to say."

Angel quirked an eyebrow. "Rare opportunity."

"I've *studied* you," Wesley said. "Learned everything it was possible to learn about your decades of torture. Now I'm going to watch you wield sharp instruments first hand. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't fascinated."

"Not to burst your bubble," Angel said, "but it's a piercing needle, not a rack. Considering you've been shot in the *gut* - "

"I know it won't be terribly painful or even interesting in comparison," Wesley said. "But still. It's a related skill. Part of your artistry. I certainly wouldn't trust you to do this if you *didn't* have your past."

"So you trust me," Angel said, "*because* I was once an evil murderer?"

"Who tortured," Wesley said. "That's a crucial part of it. Randomly stabbing people in the chest doesn't impart the kind of delicate co-ordination that hours of playing with their still-attached livers tends to do. But otherwise, yes. I trust you with this because I know you have experience in this area. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because there's that whole *evil* part attached to it?" Angel asked. "I'm just picking a random example here."

"Angel," Wesley said, "we can sit here and argue about things in the past which can't ever be changed, or you can have me at your mercy while you slice sharp objects through my skin. Which do you prefer at this moment?"

"You're a very unique guy, you know that, Wes?" Angel asked.

For some reason that made Wesley smile. "So I've been told."

Angel ran his fingertips down Wes's chest. "Ready?"

Wes propped his hands behind his head. "Please."

Angel reached into his coat, pulling out a small leather kit which contained piercing supplies. He'd boned up on new techniques, and added a few old ones into the mix. "I'm not into you going through the uncomfortable stuff. I hit your department. Got something that'll have you healed up by morning."

"As you wish," Wesley said. He watched Angel work. "Is there only the one?"

"I like asymmetry," Angel said. He touched Wes's chest again, this time pinching the left nipple. "Draws the eye."

Wes took in a breath. "And other things as well, one might hope?"

"One might," Angel said. He set the kit down between them, then began to prep the area. He took his time, letting Wes get his fill of the view. "I definitely plan on playing with it."

"I definitely plan on looking forward to it," Wesley said. Goosebumps rose on his skin as Angel cleaned him, then marked the path of entry. "Did you always look like this?"

Angel readied the forceps. "Like what?"

"Have that expression on your face," Wesley said. "When you were torturing people."

Angel gave him a smirk. "Didn't really check myself in a mirror, Wes."

"I'll ask Spike," Wes decided.

"You do that," Angel said. The preliminaries done, he sat back. "Last chance to say no."

"Angel," Wesley said, "that's never going to happen."

"Okay then," Angel said. He picked up the forceps, grasping Wes's left nipple hard enough to hold him in place, not hard enough to discomfort him. He secured the grip, then picked up the wickedly sharp needle.

It *was* sharp, and angled, which meant it hardly did anything by way of damage or pain. A slight twitch and it was over. Barely even a drop of blood was spilled. But it was a weapon, and he'd put it into Wes's body himself, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't find it a turn on.

Wes did too, if the way he quieted was any indication. The only sound was Wes's breathing, and the thudding of his heart. Angel took a moment, meeting Wes's eyes to let him know he was enjoying it too.

Then came the jewelry.

This was even faster than the needle. A breath in, another out, and it was done. Angel tightened the tiny ball which held the curved bar into place, then forced himself to do the rest - the cleaning, the healing ointment - before sitting back and admiring his handiwork.

Wes remained mute, his eyes never leaving him.

"It's perfect," Angel told him. He palmed his hand across Wes's stomach. "Absolutely perfect."

"Touch me," Wesley said, his voice softer than a whisper. "Angel, I need you. Right now."

No doubt about that. Angel shucked his coat off, then his clothes. Wes's suit was gone in a matter of seconds. Then the back of the chair went down, Angel held Wes firmly underneath him, and took him nice, and hard, and slow.

When he came Wes made a quiet, strangled sound. He cried out again when Angel climaxed inside of him. His body trembled, and his eyes were squeezed shut. When they were done he turned around and clung to Angel like a liferaft in the middle of the ocean.

But he was *smiling*, and the look of joy on Wes's face was like nothing Angel had ever seen.

He held Wes, wondering if maybe just once he'd managed to do something right.