Protocol, Part Thirty-Six

[thebratqueen]

Previous parts can be found here.

PART THIRTY-SIX

Wes was a warm and heavy puddle in Angel's lap. Angel liked it. It was pure, and honest. It was probably one of the few times that he was allowed to see Wes without the filters. No rules, no protocol, just a person who felt safe when he was with him.

Angel thought that he could get used to making Wesley feel safe. It wasn't love, and it still caused a twist in Angel's heart to realize he *wanted* Wes to feel love - for him, for anyone, for *something* - but it was a start. In fact, Angel was pretty certain it was *the* start. The only time Wes ever felt like he was secure.

Angel rubbed his cheek against the top of Wes's hair. Wes was asleep, the bone-deep kind that would leave the body in strange and neck-crick-inducing positions if not for a nearby vampire with a raging case of overprotectiveness and not too little of a crush. He nudged Wes's body into the right places, making sure that at all times Wes was comfortable.

"Ah?" Hieronymus, who had been curled up on Wes's right hip in a way that was not unlike how Wes was curled up against Angel's chest, raised a quizzical glance at him.

"Shh, he's still asleep," Angel told the cat, then felt stupid for talking to a cat. On the other hand Wes did it, and somehow managed to look dignified. "Don't want to wake him up."

"Ee," Hieronymus said, with the tone of voice that would have come with a decisive nod if cats knew enough about human body language to nod about anything. Hieronymus stood up, smoothed out the fur of his tail with a few quick licks, then leapt down to the floor with a firm "Ee-*ah*." which left Angel feeling as though he'd just been put in charge of babysitting Wesley, and that he'd just been told what to do by a kitten.

Still, good advice was good advice.

Wes was on his side, front facing forward, right facing up. His bathrobe had been twisted up in the process, leaving an expanse of Wesley's chest exposed, along with a tantalizing glimpse of inner left thigh.

Angel smiled. Wes wasn't the only one who knew how to have a light touch.

The barest hint of fingertips skimmed along the edge of Wesley's robe. Bright orange firelight danced across Wesley's body, leaving Angel with no worry that he'd be exposing Wes to the cold. The robe was parted, the knot in the belt done away. Then it was deft, feathery fingers all along Wes's skin from neck to chest to hip to teasing near the half-hard, still sleepy cock.

Wes stirred. "Hmm?"

"Shh," Angel said, as quietly as when he'd chastised the kitten. "Don't wake up."

Whether Wes heard the words or merely the tone Angel didn't know. Either way, Wes nestled in closer, a soft sigh breathing warm air across Angel's torso.

"Good boy," Angel told him. He switched out fingertips for the flat of his hand, massaging the planes and valleys of Wes's muscles. How Wesley *got* muscles, Angel had no idea. As far as Angel knew, Wes didn't exercise. Then again, as far as Angel knew Wes didn't kill things either, and he'd been proven more than wrong on that account.

He wished like Hell Wes could share with him.

Wes's hand moved up to rest on Angel's shoulder. He sighed again. Angel could hear the sounds of a blood flow that meant Wes was waking up.

"Relax," Angel said. He went lower, caressing and teasing apart Wes's lovely thighs. "Just relax."

"M'Lord?" Wes murmured, making Angel wonder how much practice it took to make sure that even nearly unconscious, Wes didn't forget to use the title instead of the name.

"Relax," Angel said again. He pressed a kiss to Wesley's forehead. "Enjoy."

In hindsight, Angel should have realized that telling Wes to both relax *and* take pleasure in something would've woken Wes up faster than flat-out asking him to do Angel a favor. "My Lord, I - "

Angel kissed him. It wasn't the most unique way of shutting somebody up, but it worked.

"My Lord," Wesley tried again, but Angel felt a thrill of victory. This wasn't the proper title or the "you idiot" title. It was the "fuck me" title, or at least it was getting close enough to it for the difference not to matter.

"I want to do this," Angel said. He dropped his hand down and stroked Wes's cock, making it absolutely clear what "this" was. "Let me."

Wes's hips started to move. "I - My Lord, I - I could - "

"Let me," Angel repeated, and he pushed Wes back against the couch, trapping him between the pillows and Angel's body. "I want to."

Confusion fluttered across Wes's face, but between the commands and the holding him, it wasn't as though Angel was giving Wes much of a choice. "Whatever you want, my Lord."

"Angel."

A shy smile spread across inviting lips. "Angel."

Another kiss followed that. Then another. Then still more. Wes wrapped his arms around him, holding Angel tight as Angel's hand kept stroking, and Angel's tongue kept dancing with Wesley's own.

It wasn't long before Wes's body heat began to rise, and his hips moved in spite of Wes's efforts to stop them, and hitches of breath escaped his lungs as muscles flexed, contracted, then jerked as the release of orgasm streaked through Wes's system.

Angel smiled, feeling rather happy to see Wes yet again be a warm puddle in his arms. "Good morning."

Wes leaned up, brushing a kiss over Angel's mouth. "Very good morning, my Lord."

***

Angel sat down in his desk chair and felt a sense of rightness, and purpose. He was out of the suite, he was stronger, he was back to being in charge.

"If my Lord wishes, I could get a cane for him. It would be no trouble whatsoever."

Angel gave Wesley a look. "I'm fine."

Wes gave him a look right back which clearly said *Bullshit*. "Of course, my Lord."

"I *am*."

Wes gave a prim nod. "As you say. And the gut-level groaning which just came out of your mouth would therefore be some traditional noise of joy in work then, my Lord? If so, I shall make a note of it."

Angel pointed an accusing finger at him. "You're not even pretending to agree with me."

Wes folded his arms. Angel could see his jaw clench and unclench a few times. "You're *hurt*, my Lord."

"Honesty!" Angel slapped his desk in celebration. "About damn time."

"I am *always* honest with you, my Lord," Wesley shot back. Angel could tell he was nearing pissed. "And *you* are - are - "

Angel grinned, all but daring Wes to hit him. "Come on, say it."

Protocol won out. But Wes's tone put the title miles away from "fuck me" and right back on "you moron". "Whatever you wish, my Lord."

"We were close," Angel said. "Almost there. We're making progress. Hundred years or so, we might actually have a conversation."

"Not, presumably, about my Lord's aches and pains."

Angel was tempted to point out that Wes was living in a mighty big glass house as far as that was concerned, but shut himself up when he remembered that unlike him, Wes didn't have a choice in the matter. It was enough to make Angel decide to be a good example. "It still hurts a little, but it's fine. I can cope."

Wes was instantly sympathetic. He hovered near the desk, ready to do anything at a moment's notice. "May I help? I could fetch potions, or massage - "

"No massages," Angel held a hand out to forestall any attempts on Wes's part to touch him. Then he held Wes's hand and gave it a comforting squeeze, in case Wes took that as some kind of rejection. "Your hands, my body - trust me when I say I wouldn't be getting a lot of work done."

"It wouldn't have to be my hands," Wesley pointed out, "if the goal was to help my Lord relax."

"Can I just say I am *never* going to get used to how non-chalant you are about offering that?" Angel shook his head. "How are you reserved about everything else *except* the sex?"

Wes shrugged. "I live to please you in any manner. All ways are equally important, and things which I can take pride in, rather than being ashamed of." Perhaps taking pity on Angel's inability to get it, Wesley added, "My Lord might wish to remember these are the *only* things I am allowed to take pride in. Does my Lord not speak of his own accomplishments in a similar fashion?"

"Yeah, but mine usually involve keeping my clothes on," Angel said. He gave Wes's hand another squeeze, then let go. "But okay. If it makes you happy. Talking about it, I mean. Not doing. Not now. I'm going to work now. Sadly I've been looking forward to this."

For some reason that made Wes go quiet. "I'm sorry my Lord has had cabin fever."

"Not because of you," Angel hastily assured him. "You've been great. You *are* great. You were about the only thing keeping me sane in there."

Wes's eyes actually lit up at that. "Thank you, my Lord."

Angel rode the wave of confidence that came from doing something that had actually made Wes happy. "It was just, you know, same four walls, all the time. Makes you go nuts after a while."

"I'm sorry my Lord found it unpleasant," Wes said, but his expression was back on guarded ambiguity.

Angel really wished he had a Wes-to-English dictionary. Hell, as long as he was wishing, he wanted it to go the extra step to Wes-to-Angel dictionary. It could come with pictures, and maybe flashcards he could carry in his pocket so he could read off of them and never have to worry about saying the wrong thing. He decided to take a couple of conversational steps back. "If we end work early we could maybe do the, uh, wind instrument appreciation."

Sure enough, that made Wes smile. "I would be delighted, my Lord."

"If you say so," Angel turned back to the piles of paperwork on his desk. He gently scooted Hieronymus off of one of the piles. The kitten immediately went to Wesley, who scooped him into his arms and began to pet him. "So what do you do, while I'm doing all this? I assume it's not just standing there and wearing a cute outfit."

Wes's right eyebrow quirked. "My Lord finds my outfit to be cute?"

Angel flicked a glance over the deep red silk shirt and black linen pants that, combined, made Wes look extremely molestable. "Wrong word, right? I knew it. I told myself if I said something about the clothes I'd make you feel - "

"Stunned?"

" - insulted," Angel finished. He frowned. "Stunned?"

"My Lord does not often favor me with input about what I am wearing," Wesley said.

"You've got rules and stuff," Angel said. "I figured if I said anything it wouldn't matter."

Wes got a look of infinite patience in his eyes. The title was *definitely* 'you idiot' now. "My Lord, my appearance is to both make my role plain to anyone who sees me, and ideally to please you. While I might not be able to change the rules of what I wear, hearing if some of what I wear *within* those roles attracts your eye in some way would be most welcome. It would imply I was doing my job correctly."

"Oh," Angel said. "Then I like the red."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"That green number you wore two days ago was nice too."

"I shall make a note of that, my Lord."

"You also, you know, look good *without* clothes," Angel added.

"I'm afraid I do have to be properly dressed at any time someone other than you can see me, my Lord," Wes pointed out.

"I know," Angel said. "I just, you know, figured maybe I should mention it. In case you couldn't tell from me wanting to have sex with you all the time."

"Except now, when my Lord would rather touch paperwork."

"Sarcasm," Angel said. "Also cute."

Wes carefully untangled Hieronymus from an attempt to climb up the shirt and onto Wes's shoulder. There was a strange look in his eyes as Wes said, "I find you very attractive, my Lord."

"You don't have to compliment me just because I complimented you," Angel said, in a tone he hoped was reassuring. "I mean thanks, but it's not necessary."

Wes's eyes went back on ambiguous. "Yes, my Lord."

***

Much later, Angel had a revelation. "You wear the cute outfit because it gives me something nice to look at when I get bored with this crap."

Wes had his own pile of paperwork that he was currently busy with over by the spare table. "You're not wrong, my Lord."

Angel watched him work. "You *like* this?"

Wesley shrugged. "My job is to serve you. Part of that is running your household. I take pride in the things I can do to serve you, my Lord."

"I can see that," Angel threw a folder back onto the desk. "Tell you what: it's yours."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"I never liked doing this anyway."

"I'm happy to serve, my Lord."

"At what time during *any* of this are you going to call me on the carpet for assuming that you needed my help?"

That got Wes to look at him. "My Lord?"

"You remember," Angel said. "I was going to hold your hand, walk you through it - in the meanwhile you can apparently do this in your *sleep*. Were you *ever* going to tell me I was being a condescending asshole?"

The frown on Wes's face only got deeper. "My Lord, I… I did not consider you to be as such."

"Well I *was* as such," Angel said. "I'm sorry. Seriously. And thank you. You went above and beyond while I was away. I know vamps aren't exactly the grand prize of husbands, but I'm thinking spouse-wise I got the best possible deal."

The frown turned into a incredible smile. "Thank you, my Lord."

"I'm not lying," Angel said.

"Nor am I, my Lord."

"Let's break for lunch," Angel decided. "You, me, the furball. We can go have tea. Maybe find out if Hieronymus can drink milk out of little teacups."

Wes put his paperwork down. "Could I please my Lord in other ways once we were finished?"

"I wanna say no because we'll have to get back to work," Angel said, "but past history tells me the answer to that is going to be yes."

"We could do it here if my Lord was tired of the view of our suite," Wesley said. He gave an arch look as he added, "*Eat* here, I mean."

"I'm sure you did," Angel said. "And - not that I'm admitting you were right, by the way - but I think it's possible I might feel better if I stopped sitting up and let myself relax for a while."

Wes was at his side in a shot. "Of course, my Lord. I would be happy to help you."

"All that without saying 'I told you so'," Angel observed. "Color me impressed."

Wes met his eyes. "It is my pleasure to take care of you, my Lord."

"Just as long as you remember it's also mine to take care of you," Angel said. He braced himself against his desk as he stood up, feeling his hips and knees send shockwaves of agony through is body as he forced them to move. He thought to himself that he was ready to be completely healed from the torture any day now, and if Fate felt like speeding that along then he wouldn't complain.

Then he noticed something on his desk that had been hidden amongst the paperwork, and only brought out when his hands hand dislodged one of the stacks.

"Hey, Wes," he said, lifting an envelope that bore a Council seal on the outside of it, "Were you expecting a letter from home?"