Protocol: Part Forty-One

[thebratqueen]

Previous parts can be found here.

"My Lord?"

Angel put his head into his hands. Out of all the challenges he'd ever mastered, apparently getting himself to *shut up* was the hardest. Especially when it came to hiding things like bone-deep groans of agony when he tried to sit down.

"Absolutely no chance of getting you to pretend you didn't hear that, huh?" Angel asked the privacy screen that hid Wes from view. Except not really, because if Angel shifted just a little he could see Wes in the mirror without Wes seeing him. Realizing that that sounded like a good idea, Angel leaned back into just the right angle.

Wes was half-dressed. Dark black slacks encased his legs. A blood red - and Angel knew what he was talking about here - shirt was on his shoulders. The shirt was of a silky, Oriental style, but only part of Angel's brain was dedicated to wondering about whoever had been Wes's tailor. The other, bigger part of him was dedicated to noticing how much pale skin was exposed as Wes's deft hands attempted to work the shirt buttons.

Then Angel's eyes were drawn up to the unmistakable blue that meant Wes was either psychic, or really familiar with Angel's habits because now Wes was looking directly into the mirror which effectively meant Wes was looking directly at him.

"There is every chance of getting me to pretend that I didn't hear that, my Lord," Wes said, fingers working hard at what appeared to be the third button from the bottom, the one that, once it was closed, would join the other two and cover up the hint of hair that peeked out over the top of those form-fitting slacks. "I am your spouse. It is well within your power to order me to act as though I never heard you cry out in a manner which would suggest that you had need, and perhaps even a need that I could take care of in some fashion if you ever wished me to be of use to you."

"I have to find your cat more often if it means you treating me to this much sarcasm," Angel said, making sure his voice conveyed how sincerely he meant it. He *liked* Wes's humor. Sometimes it felt as though glimpses of that were the only sight of the true Wes he ever got.

Wes, of course, was too skilled to be swayed by any attempts to distract him. "Is my Lord ordering me to ignore the terrible cry of pain I just heard?"

"It's my leg," Angel ran his right hand down the thigh in question, his touch nowhere near the kind of soothing that Wes had managed back on the couch. "You know how it goes. It only hurts when I walk... or stand, or sit. Luckily jiggling it when I breathe isn't so much of a problem."

Wes stopped with his work on the buttons. If Angel didn't know better, he'd say Wes was glaring at him in the mirror. "My Lord, I can get you a potion - "

"No potions."

"You're not re-breaking the bone *now*, my Lord," Wes sounded like he was struggling to keep the propriety on top of his frustration. "I could work up a solution to ease your suffering."

"It's not that much suffering," Angel said.

"So my Lord *is* ordering me to pretend I didn't hear him groan just now?"

"It's a little suffering."

Wes's jaw clenched. "My *Lord* - "

"Wes," Angel sat forward, even though he knew Wes couldn't see the gesture. "We got a Council guy here who I trust about as far as I can throw this rock we're living in, no offense to the friend of yours who married him."

"None taken, my Lord."

"I don't mind dealing with the Council if I have to," Angel continued, "but no offense to you I don't trust *them* much either. Which means *if* I have to I'm not going in to any meetings showing a sign of weakness. That means no potions clouding up my brain and no salves or ointments or whatever you've got that'll make it harder for me to walk than it already is."

Wes cast his eyes down. "I could give you something very topical, my Lord."

"Unless you've got something to put directly on the bone, I really don't think you could." Angel belatedly realized how that would sound to Wesley's ears. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant the only things you can give me will numb the area. If the area's numb I can't control it. If I can't control it I can't walk properly."

"Due respect, my Lord," Wes said, his voice quiet but steady, "you limp *now*."

"I can handle it if I can feel it," Angel said. "This dinner party is what? A few hours? I grit my teeth through any entrances and exits and then sit for the rest. No big deal."

Wes went back to his buttons. "If you insist, my Lord."

"You're really not on board for this plan, are you?"

"It's not for me to say, my Lord."

"Okay, even *I* know that means you're not happy," Angel waved his hand in a gesture of invitation, not that Wes could see that either. "Could you come here? Let's stop pretending that I'm not looking at you and this way we can make some real eye contact. I know you're not supposed to, so consider it an order to help ease your conscience."

"My Lord, it's not necessary to - " Wes appeared from behind the privacy screen, his mostly bare chest just as tempting to look at in reality as it had been in reflection. Angel's own distraction by this kept him from immediately noticing that Wes had stopped talking.

Then the silence caught up to him. "Uh, Wes?"

"My Lord," Wes's eyes blinked slowly, as though focusing. "You - you look - "

Angel's left hand rose to his shoulder as he wondered if he'd suddenly grown a second head. Then he realized Wes was looking at his clothes. "What, the outfit?"

Wes nodded. "Yes, my Lord."

Angel smiled. He aborted the movement towards his shoulder and ran his hand down the tuxedo he'd changed into. "I clean up real good, huh? Wait - you *are* giving me a compliment right? You don't think I look stupid. Do I look stupid?"

"My Lord," Wes shook his head, "you look - "

"Dumb?"

"Regal," A soft smile touched the corners of Wes's lips. "Not that you don't always."

Angel searched his memory. "You've never seen me in formalwear, have you?"

"No, my Lord," Wes came out further from the screen, as though finally trusting himself to leave it behind him.

"That's a shame," Angel reached out, motioning for him to come closer still. "Not that I've got a fetish for the stuff, but I guess that's what happens when we don't do a wedding, or a reception, or anything like that. Uh - not to ruin the moment or anything but I *did* pick the right outfit, right? This is a formal thing?"

Wes was finally standing in front of him. Angel's view was a long expanse of lovely chest. "Correct, my Lord, this is a formal thing."

Angel put his hands on Wes's hips, feeling the fine cloth of his trousers. "And you? This is what formalwear looks like on you?"

"Council approved," Wes said. "One of many outfits in my possession that I am to wear while appearing at parties of this nature."

"Not to get totally off-track," Angel said, "but are you sure *party* was a good idea?"

"My Lord would prefer a small dinner gathering, complete with fewer guests who would demand greater time with him for such activities as small talk?" Wes asked, his eyebrows quirked.

"You are a smart, smart man," Angel told him. He moved his hands up. Wes shivered as he touched bare skin. "Am I too cold for you?"

"I don't consider that to be a problem, my Lord," Wes said.

Angel wasn't sure if that was a true answer or a deflection. Which reminded him of the topic that he'd been dancing around earlier. "I'm okay."

Wes seemed to be weighing a lot of replies. Finally he came back with, "You're *hurt*, my Lord."

"Is that a thing for you guys?" Angel asked, genuinely curious. "If your husband is hurt, you're supposed to dedicate night and day to fixing him?"

"My nights, my days, my *life* is dedicated to you and your happiness," Wes replied. "If you are in pain, my Lord, then yes, I wish to make you feel better."

"After the party," Angel said. His hand would not stop moving back and forth along the base of Wes's spine. Something about the feel of Wes's smooth skin underneath the smoother silk just *spoke* to him. "How about that for a compromise? You let me be an idiot who hurts himself for a few hours, and once we get back here you can take care of me all you like?"

"You don't have to give me compromises, my Lord," Wes said. "I will do whatever you ask of me."

"You don't like it when I hurt, I don't like it when you're unhappy," Angel pulled Wes closer. "I know you don't have a lot of experience with the whole marriage thing, but trust me: that's when we compromise."

"I would like to take care of you," Wes admitted.

"There, then we agree," Angel caught the smirk before Wes could successfully hide it. "I never said you agreed that it was a good idea for me to act like an idiot."

"I'm perfectly willing to agree that you're acting like an idiot, my Lord."

"*So* funny," Angel said. "Bet you've been waiting for an opening line like that since you married me."

Wes reached out, brushing a fingertip along Angel's tie to nudge it back into place. "It is my duty to support you and give you affirmations, my Lord."

This was heading down a different path, but Angel really didn't mind. "Affirmations, like telling me how sexy and attractive I am?"

"I would be more than happy to affirm that for you, my husband," Wesley said.

"Not to sound like a cliché or anything," Angel pulled Wes closer, bringing his stomach inches away from Angel's lips, "but I noticed you having problems with those buttons."

Angel felt Wes's pulse beat faster under his fingertips. "Nothing I can't handle, my Lord."

Angel gave him a rakish look. "Could help, if you wanted."

Wes swallowed. "It wouldn't be proper of me to ask."

"Can I offer?" Angel brought one hand forward, palming it underneath Wes's navel. "Heck, I'm the husband, right? I can just *do*."

"Yes," Wes gave a dark-eyed nod, "my Lord."

"*Please* tell me we can show up late for this thing."

"You outrank everyone there, myself included," Wes said. "You could show up five minutes before it was over if you wanted."

"*Now* you tell me this?" Angel asked.

Wes faltered. "I - it is my duty to remind you that it would not be in your best interests to *avoid* the party, my Lord. I - "

Angel silenced him by putting his thumb to Wes's lips. "I just meant I could've held off on putting the tux on in the first place. I don't have a spare, and this one's going to get all wrinkled."

Wes grinned. He puckered his lips into a tiny kiss on the tip of Angel's thumb, then turned his face to the side so he could speak. "Actually, my Lord, I am trained in - "

"Do not *tell* me that you've taken entire classes in sex that doesn't wrinkle clothing."

"The occasional seminar," Wes replied. His eyes sparkled too much for Angel to guess if he was serious. Then he dropped to his knees and nudged Angel's legs apart and Angel completely forgot to care to double check things like tone. "Would my Lord care to see a demonstration?"

"Your Lord would care for a lot," Angel took Wes by the back of the neck, pulling him up onto the bed and slamming him down onto his back, making Wes fall into the perfect position for the few inches of buttoned cloth to ride up, splashing blood-red contrast across Wes's skin, and Wes's legs to move apart, inviting Angel to climb on top of him, putting his thigh right against Wes's hard cock and - "Ow, ow, *fuck* me, ow - "

Now it was Wes's turn to shove *him*. "My Lord," he said, his voice clipped, "you *are* being an idiot."

Angel was about to protest that - or at least try to once he got past the white-hot lances of pain that were slicing through his leg like a saber-toothed tiger had taken a bite out of him and hadn't let go - when Wes silenced him with a kiss. This shocked Angel so much he forgot to be in pain. Then it felt so nice he forgot anything beyond Wes's lips and teeth and tongue.

The kiss went on, warm and wet. Angel's hands found their way into Wes's hair, holding him close as he nibbled and sucked Wes in return. Wes's hands were on his chest, smoothing his shirt, and then going lower down to stroke at the erection that was already rock-hard and dying for more of the feel of Wes's hot mortal body.

"Fuck the clothes," Angel murmured. "Wanna fuck you."

"There are ways," Wesley said, his voice husky in Angel's ear. "Unless my Lord wishes to *literally* fuck my clothing, in which case - "

A jerk of Angel's hand popped open the three carefully done buttons. He heard one of them hit the floor. Milliseconds later a gray and white blur darted past Angel's peripheral vision and followed the direction the button had skittered in. "I want to fuck *you*."

Wes was breathing hard. "You can, my Lord."

Angel put his hand on the front of Wes's pants. "You've got another one of these outfits, right?

"Yes, my - *oh* - " Wes's eyes all but snapped shut and his hips pressed forward as Angel ripped through cloth. Angel wrestled his hand into what remained of Wes's pants and immediately took hold of Wes's cock. He stroked it, loving the way his touch made Wes bite his lower lip, and tremble. "My Lord..."

"Forget my clothes," Angel said. "Just be careful of my leg."

They were kissing again. Somewhere in the fog of that Wes straddled him. His thin, skilled fingers worked at Angel's fly, finding his cock in the tangle of clothing and for a wonderfully long time Angel's world was a tease of masturbation, two hands and two cocks stroking and tormenting each other with the touch that they wanted but weren't giving to themselves.

Wes became heavy in Angel's arms, leaning into him in a way that showed his surrender, yet avoided hitting anywhere near the damage in his thigh. Angel rewarded him with deeper kisses, drinking in the heat of Wes's breath and mouth and skin, getting harder and harder each time Wes gasped, pressed closer, and shivered.

"Oh God," Wes whispered as Angel's lips and tongue ghosted along his ear. "My Lord, my - "

"Angel."

"*Angel*," Wes groaned, and the sound shot vibrations through every inch of Angel's body.

"I know I can fuck you without it hurting," Angel said, prompting Wes to remember some of that well-trained spouse magic.

Lube appeared from out of the nightstand or, in a possibility that Angel couldn't rule out, from a secret pocket in Wes's Council approved clothes. Wes prepped himself, which tempted Angel to point out that that was a form of self-pleasure which he was pretty sure the Council *didn't* approve of. But then Angel shut himself up because it was one of his many goals to encourage Wes not to be afraid of self-pleasure, and also because it was an ungodly sexy view.

"Want you," Angel said, just in case Wes couldn't tell from the hard dick that was pressing up against his increasingly lube-slicked ass.

Wes smiled down at him. "You can have me, my Lord."

And that caused all kinds of hotness and want and desire, but then Wes propped one hand above Angel's left shoulder, the other behind him, and with some kind of - *ohhh* yes - *wonderful* motion, *fabulous* motion, darn near perfect *happiness* motion, sunk Angel's cock deep inside of that tight grip and never once set off even a hint of pain inside Angel's leg.

"You're good," Angel slurred, drunk with lust. He sought Wesley's lips out, kissing his hips into motion and not giving a good God damn whether or not it meant his starched shirt got all messy.

"I - I - " Wes seemed to be having as difficult a time with remembering what to say as he was " - I like being fucked by you, my husband."

"Good," Angel's hand went to the small of Wes's back. He pushed up with the power of his left leg, pushing Wes down from behind and making his cock hit Wes *there*, right where Wes's muscles twitched and his gasps started climbing their way up the musical scale. Of course, this did put any thoughts of poetry out of his own mind. "Right back atcha."

Kissing. More kissing. Lips on lips and Wes's body undulating like a snake, like Wes was riding him like a pony, both of them getting rougher and cruder as want took over, making their actions clumsy and their holds harder until somehow something clicked and each fed right into the other until they were both moaning, and shaking, and then there - there - *there*! Orgasm, hitting Angel like a punch to the gut, hitting Wes hard enough he fell against Angel's chest, sobbing in air and head bobbing as though he were dizzy.

Angel kept kissing, happily dazed with the hormonal cocktail of afterglow and the scent of Wes all musky and content. "Nice," he murmured.

Wes nuzzled his shoulder. "My pleasure, my Lord."

Angel smiled, rubbing his hand up and down Wes's back. "Mine too."

***

The tux was ruined. Just as well, as Angel didn't think anything that happened at the party was going to top Wes being so moved at the sight of him in it. Instead Angel opted for a dressy pair of black pants and a black shirt and suit coat to go over it. Sure it was a little over the top on the vampire scale, but something told him he wasn't going to mind reminding Lord Clammy about what kind of creature he was dealing with.

"My Lord?" Again Wes's voice came from behind the privacy screen.

"I'm done dressing," Angel said. "I was only groaning because I was dressing."

"I could have helped my Lord with that," Wes said. "Eased your way and your pain."

"I think we both know you helping me with that doesn't lead to the clothes staying on," Angel replied. He made his way over towards the screen, trying to practice hiding the limp. "How about you? Need help?"

"I'll just be a moment, my Lord," Wes replied.

Angel leaned against the side of the screen, watching as Wes struggled with an emerald green shirt. The style was similar to the one he'd worn before, but this time the buttons were smaller. "Is that a thing?"

Wes looked up. "My Lord?"

"Button size," Angel limped over to the wall so he could lean against something and face Wes at the same time. "Is that a formal thing? The bigger the event, the smaller the buttons?"

A wry smile shaped Wes's lips. "Courtesy often means doing that which is most difficult."

"Sounds like a pain in the ass," Angel said.

"It's a sign of respect, my Lord," Wes replied, honestly not seeming bothered by it.

"Want help?" Angel asked. "No, wait - dumb question. *Let* me help."

"It truly is improper, my Lord," Wes said.

"Well then so am I," Angel shifted his weight over to the chair that was by the mirror. He sat down, resting his leg, then proceeded to button Wes's shirt from the bottom up. "Besides, this is a husband thing."

Wes's brows furrowed. "I... have been taught otherwise, my Lord."

"No kidding," Angel said. "It's not a Council thing, it's a husband thing. See, this is more of stuff you don't know because you've never been married before."

"I'm not sure the Council would have taught me differently even if I had been, my Lord," Wes said.

"Probably not," Angel agreed. One of the buttons slipped out of his touch. He picked it up again, trying to work it into the right hole without damaging the delicate cloth. "See, this is something that *regular* husbands do. They get married to wives.... or spouses... and on nights of formal events they help their wife or spouse get dressed."

Wes watched him with interest. "Really?"

"Really," Angel gave up on the button that was bothering him and went on to the next, deciding to come back to the problematic one later. "I've had plenty of practice zipping up dresses for Darla, helping her put on necklaces - you name it. Truth be told, I like it."

"You find it fun?" Wesley asked.

"Dunno about *fun*," Angel said. "But it's nice. Intimate. It's something I can do that nobody else can do. Or nobody else *better* do or I'll get very violent. I've got a thing about people touching the person I'm married to."

Wes smiled. "That's rather kind of you, my Lord."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'possessive'," Angel said. "Are we going all the way up to the collar here?"

"Yes, my Lord,"

Angel secured the very top button, then moved back to the one that had given him trouble. "No offense to whoever made this, but man is this a pain in the ass."

"I can attempt that last one for you if you'd prefer, my Lord," Wes said.

"I got it," Angel said, even as the button successfully eluded its hole again. "Besides, I don't think you *could* do it. Hard enough dealing with this thing as it is. Not sure how anybody's supposed to work it while they're trapped inside of it."

"We make do, my Lord," Wes shifted underneath his touch.

Angel pressed his fingers on Wes's stomach to encourage him to hold still. "See, that's the Council for you in a nutshell: a bunch of stupid rules that hurt more than they help. Why the hell would they order you to wear these clothes that are impossible to get into unless you have an extra hand, while at the same time telling you that you're not allowed to ask anybody for any help? Or at least not anybody who isn't already on the inside with the rules and the protocol and stuff."

Wes shifted again. "My Lord - "

"Not that the outfit isn't real sexy on you," Angel said, "but with everything set up to screw you - and, by extension, your husbands - over unless you get a unasked-for assistance, why the hell don't they give you guys - "

Wes pulled back. "My *Lord* - "

Angel grabbed his hand, holding him still. Something clicked into place, and Angel felt very, very stupid. "Wes, where the hell are your servants?"

"My Lord," Wes was breathing hard again, though this time not in the way Angel liked.

"I'm not mad at you," Angel squeezed Wes's hand to reassure him. "I am entire leagues and planets away from being mad at you. I just want you to be honest with me. I'm right, aren't I? You're supposed to have servants."

Wes looked as though he expected punishment from somebody, but Angel dared to hope that it wasn't from him. "Yes, my Lord."

Angel let go of Wes so that he wouldn't hurt him in his frustration. "I'm an idiot. Christ. I'm sorry, Wes. If I'd had half a brain or even a second - *damn* it! See? this is why I don't like the potions. If I wasn't drugged up for so long I could've seen you suffering."

"I wasn't suffering, my Lord," Wes said. "I swear to you, I have not been unhappy once while in your service."

"A *smart* guy would've noticed that you need help if you're going to do your job properly," Angel slumped back in the chair, wincing as that shot pain through his leg. He waved Wes off before he could bend down to comfort him. "No, don't. This time I deserve a little pain. I'm the worst husband ever."

"You truly aren't, my Lord," Wes told him.

"Agree to disagree," Angel rubbed his hand over his eyes. "A so-called king who doesn't realize that an actual prince might have a servant or two deserves to have a leg that makes him wince from time to time. So what happened? Why aren't they with you?"

Wes shrugged. "I don't know, my Lord. I was told I was to go to you alone. I... sometimes wondered if it was you who made that decision."

"I'm hoping the look of stupid on my face helps convince you that it wasn't," Angel said.

"I guessed rather quickly that it was not, my Lord," Wesley gave a smile that was oddly ironic. "You are too kind for such a thing."

"There's a world of story behind what you just said and one of these days you're going to tell it to me," Angel pushed himself into a standing position, allowing himself to groan in pain just the once as a way to get it out of his system before the party. "But first things first: we've got a Council guy downstairs and we've got you missing something that I'm guessing is currently with the Council."

"I honestly don't know, my Lord," Wes balled his hands together in an obvious attempt to keep from contradicting Angel's request not to help him. "I've gotten no word from the Council on where they are or what they might be doing."

"Do you need them?" Angel asked. "I mean we've got plenty of people here who'd love to work for you. If it's just helping with cleaning and clothes - "

"They know protocol," Wesley said. "And... they are good servants. My Lord, though I would never presume to request - "

"Say no more," Angel pressed a kiss to Wes's forehead. "Whatever you want, you get. We'll find out what happened to your people and we'll bring them here. Case closed."

"It might not be as easy as all that, my Lord," Wes warned him.

Angel clamped down on the pain in his leg and walked out of the room with no sign of a limp. "You haven't seen me when I go after what I want."