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Disclaimer: The following is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe of the rights of Joss Whedon, the WB, Mutant Enemy or any other copyright holders of Angel.

Bind
by The Brat Queen

Spoilers: Up to Epiphany, after which Joss and I go separate ways.

Rated: NC-17

Summary: Wesley finds himself dealing with things he can't handle, and Angel doesn't know how to help him.

Dedicated to: Steph and Cindy, again for brainstorming help and general wifely support. Also to Kita who asked when this part was coming.

He wasn't ready.

Wesley knew this with absolute certainty. He wasn't ready. He hadn't prepared. He was completely and utterly at a loss.

Normally, he knew how to deal with problems. Analyze them. Gather information. Form a strategy. Itemize one's goals and create a plan of attack. Implement the plan and adapt to any changes necessary.

Adopt, adapt and improve - Motto of the Round Table, according to Monty Python. He liked it, actually. He knew it was a joke, yet the words were sensible in times of crisis.

Such as now. Now was a crisis. It was, in fact, a large crisis which made him wish he could remember the exact quote from Blackadder regarding such things, but of course that was an irrelevant detail compared to the information he needed to remember at a moment's notice. Mating habits of Levesitian demons turned out to be far more useful on a daily basis than being able to recall how many times Baldrick had discussed his love for turnips. Not that one would actually imagine such a thing to be true, but there it was.

Wesley had grown accustomed to handling crisis situations.

He hadn't at first. He wouldn't claim it of himself in retrospect, however arrogant he may have felt at the time. His months in Sunnydale had more than proven to him that his education with the Council had taught him bugger all about how to make decisions under pressure. Decisions as a concept, yes - save the world, watch the Slayer, work for good - those were all fine. But instantaneous decisions? No.

Certainly not a decision like this.

Of course some decisions were easy. Accept the position in Sunnydale. Accept Angel's job offer. Accept Angel, when it came right down to it.

That last one was his favorite. In a strange way, he wished that was the issue before him. Choose: Angel or your life. Well that was laughably simple, wasn't it? Angel. It was always Angel. It would always be Angel. Protect Angel at all costs, even from himself. That wasn't even a choice.

But no. Angel wasn't in danger now. At least, not directly.

That made it harder.

Not only because Angel needed him to solve this case.

It was a factor, certainly. Wesley wouldn't deny it. The look of sheer helplessness on Angel's face - Angel, of all people - when he and Gunn had returned from their mission had almost been enough to undo him. Cordy had been right. They hadn't reached the girl on time. Neither to save her nor encounter her attacker. Instead they came upon her dead body, thrown behind a building like so much refuse, and Gunn came back demanding to know why in Hell the Powers would send a vision so late? Why would they toy with them like that? Why tease them with the thought of being able to bring about a last-minute rescue?

Angel had simply stared, his brown eyes meeting Wesley's and quietly demanding: fix it. Find a way to make it better.

Angel always startled Wesley whenever he looked young. It didn't seem possible for someone as old as he was, yet at times he did. And in those rare moments it was Wesley who felt the more worldly, the more mature. The one whose job it was to take his loved one by the hand and reassure him that it would be alright.

He would do it for Angel. And for Gunn. And for Cordy, who lay trapped in her bed, unable to keep down anything thicker than broth or water, and for the two girls - one half-demon, one not - who had been killed.

He would do it for them because he cared. And because he had sworn to. And that, in and of itself, was an irony.

Oaths were a sacred thing in the Wyndam-Pryce family. Not the least of which were the oaths taken upon entering the Council. But any oath was to be taken seriously. A Wyndam-Pryce was to be trusted at his word.

Wesley had given his word that he would protect the innocent. That he would protect those who needed him. It was the one oath that he valued more than anything.

He would avenge those girls. Save whomever was next. And help his team in the process. He would find the solution that eluded them, locate the killer, and make the evil stop.

He just wished he'd had more time.

It was a foolish desire. He'd had time. He'd had more than enough time, and he knew it. But in the end it felt as though it didn't matter. As though in that week the minutes and seconds had been stolen from him. He noticed them, when they occurred - a free moment here or there, a brief time in which he could have called one of his informants, made a few inquiries, slipped away to take care of things before anyone had noticed he was even gone. He could have stopped it, somehow.

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

Which made him a failure yet again.

They tracked the murderer. The brother of the first victim. Part demon, as she had been. Psychotic, as she had not. Angel and Wesley and Gunn had swarmed upon him in the middle of his third attack, and Wesley had calmed the entirely human girl while Angel and Gunn fought with the assailant.

Angel's eyes had held a particular satisfaction when his sword cut the man's head off.

They took the girl to the hospital, where she was too stunned to do more than mention that she had been hurt. The doctors promised that she would be all right.

Angel told their clients that the threat was taken care of. They paid him in cash.

Cordelia's vision hangover faded. She came into the office the next morning with flowers and the leftover cake, and insisted that everyone have a slice. She then cleaned the entire office top to bottom before the endorphins wore off.

Wesley deposited the money they collected. Gunn took a day off to check in with his friends.

They waited for their next client.

It was still too late.

"Angel?"

Angel stirred in his sleep. He opened one eye blearily. "Wes?"

Wesley stood in the doorway to Angel's bedroom. "I've woken you."

"Um - yeah," Angel wasn't clear-headed enough yet to think of any polite lies. He sat up, trying to force his eyes to focus. "Wassup?"

"I - may I come in?" Wes shifted uncertainly, resting one hand against the doorframe. "I don't mean to be a bother."

"You're not," Angel said at once. At least that he didn't need to be coherent to think of. "C'mere. What's wrong?"

Wesley came over and sat on the edge of the bed. He wasn't wearing his glasses, Angel realized. And he was dressed casually in jeans and a loose brown sweater. "I… Angel, I need to be with you tonight. Please?"

There were words. Even for a taciturn guy like himself there were things he could say. He could ask again what was wrong, or why Wes hadn't come home with him that night in the first place if that's what he wanted, but something in Wes's posture told him not to. Instead he reached out silently and pulled Wes close.

"Please," Wes said again, and it wasn't like Angel needed to be asked a third time. He pressed his lips to Wesley's and felt the younger man kiss back, straining in his arms as though it were impossible to get close enough.

More than happy to comply, he held Wes tighter, drawing him back onto the bed and tangling him up in his arms. He parted Wes's lips with his tongue and deepened the kiss, cupping Wes's ass and rocking their hips together.

"Yes - yes," Wesley said. He kneaded Angel's bare shoulders with his hands. "Please."

Angel rolled over, jerking the blankets down so he could climb out of them. His cock was already hard - it usually was just being this close to Wesley. Wes made it worse by moving closer still, his fingers like icicles on Angel's skin as the fabric of Wes's jeans rubbed up against Angel's erection.

"Please."

Since when was Wes this desperate? Turned on as he was, Angel could still feel the wrongness of the situation, the feeling that something just didn't add up. But Wes didn't want to talk - at least not about that - and if Wesley needed action to feel better, Angel was happy to give it to him.

"What do you want, Wes?" he asked, nibbling on his lover's lips. Wes trembled underneath him, trying to capture his mouth in a kiss. "Tell me. I won't say no."

Wes tangled both hands in Angel's hair. "You. Angel - love - please."

"What?" he asked again. He reached under Wes's sweater and began to pinch and tease at his nipples. "Tell me? I wanna do it, Wes."

Wes responded by lifting his hips into Angel's in an unmistakable gesture. "Please."

There was no ability to deny this request. Angel kissed Wes harder, moving his hand down to work at the fly to his jeans. Not for the first time he was glad he never bothered much with bedclothes. It took him a few moments to free Wesley's cock, but when he did he wrapped his fingers around it and stroked it as he had so many times before, loving the feel of that part of Wes - that incredibly intimate part of him - responding to his touch.

Wes took in a shuddering breath. "Yes - like that - please."

"I love you," Angel said, and from the look on Wes's face he could tell it was the right thing to say.

"Take me," Wes's breath was warm against his ear. "I - I want - please?"

"Love you," Angel said again, as though it were an answer. He looked down at Wes's sweater in frustration. From this position, it would be hard to remove one-handed.

"It doesn't matter," Wesley said, then proved the point by tugging it off himself and throwing it to the floor. Angel drank in the sight of Wes's half-naked body, which was something he didn't think he'd ever become bored by. "Angel, please - no formalities."

No foreplay, Angel translated. He circled his hand around Wes's cock again and started jerking him off properly. "Okay, Wes. You got it."

Wesley wrapped his arms around Angel's shoulders, holding him tight. His hips moved into Angel's touch. His body shivered.

"You cold?"

"It doesn't matter," Wes's voice was tight - and not for reasons Angel would have liked. But then Wes kissed him and Angel lost himself in that. "Angel, please -"

"Love you," Angel whispered, except now it was the wrong answer. Wesley shook his head and tried to get closer still.

"Take me," Wesley said, and he was begging, pure and simple. Angel fortunately knew what to do about that.

He pulled back, hating the sound of Wes's disappointed cry, but ignoring it long enough to get rid of the rest of Wesley's clothing. The nightstand held everything a man could need to fuck his lover and many nights of practice made it easy for Angel to pull the drawer open and locate Wes's preferred lubricant by touch. He turned Wes over onto his stomach, parted his legs with his hand, and began to work the lube into Wes's body.

"Dunno what you want, Wes," he said. "But if it's me - you've got it."

Wesley moaned, then moaned again as Angel thrust inside of him. Whatever sounds came after were inarticulate.

"Always have me, Wes," Angel said. The feel of Wes around him was enough to destroy most forms of coherent thought, but even still he struggled to think of anything that would be reassuring. "I'm right here."

Wesley trembled, shifting his position to allow Angel deeper access. He braced his hands against the headboard for balance, thrusting back into Angel's movements. "Please - Angel - please."

Angel debated holding Wes down or stroking his cock. Impulse made him choose the former. He grabbed Wes's wrists in both hands, drawing them up against the wall and pressing them flush against it. "I'm right here. Right here with you, Wes."

Wesley took in a shuddering breath. "Angel - please - "

The words were intoxicating to him. He loved Wesley so damned much. And deep inside he had to admit it was a fantasy. Not Wesley's pain but his desire. His request. The way Wesley struggled against him in a manner which clearly said to hold him tighter. "God - Wes - love you - want you."

"Please. Please."

Angel thrust harder. His hands were like vices around Wesley's thin wrists. Experience told him that this could leave bruises but Wes showed no sign of wanting him to stop. "Want you, Wesley. Jesus. You feel so fucking good."

"Yes, please," Wes leaned back, turning as best he could to place a kiss on Angel's lips. "I love you. Angel. Don't stop. Please."

Wesley's lips were a temptation, but so was the look on Wes's face. Angel held back, keeping enough distance between them to watch as his blue eyes clouded with need. "You're a dream come true, Wes. Need you."

"Fuck me," Wesley said, breathlessly. "Angel - fuck me, please."

Angel cried out, keeping himself from coming by sheer force of centuries-old will. The vulgarity out of Wes's mouth was enough to make him crazy, but he held on for Wes's sake. He forced himself to focus on his own movements, driving his cock into Wesley harder and harder with every thrust. "Like that?"

"Yes," Wesley moaned. Angel could see a glimmer of tears in Wes's eyes. "P-please, yes…. Angel…."

Angel pulled Wesley's wrists together, holding them both against the wall with one hand. His left hand now free, he reached down to touch Wesley's cock, teasing the underside with a featherlight stroke.

"O-oh," Wes thrust forward ineffectively. "Angel, please -"

Angel rubbed his palm against the tip of Wes's cock, wetting it with precome before sliding it back down again. "Love you. Love you so much, Wesley."

The tears in Wesley's eyes spilled down over his cheeks. "Don't - oh God, Angel, don't stop. Harder - please."

Wes would be sore in the morning, but fuck if Angel could say no. He rammed himself into Wes as instructed, this time taking advantage of preternatural strength to fuck Wes as a mortal lover never could. He was rewarded with a groan that seemed to come from Wes's entire body.

"Yes - oh God - Angel - yes."

"Mine," Angel snarled, not knowing where the urge came from and long past giving a damn. He pressed his weight into Wesley's wrists knowing for certain that if he hadn't bruised them by now he sure as fuck was going to. "Goddamn - perfect - Wesley -"

"Angel," Wesley sobbed. "Love - Angel!"

Wes came and came hard, jerking like a man possessed. Angel grabbed him tightly, holding him against his chest until his own body couldn't take the stimulation and he lost control himself. "Love you, Wes. Love you… promise…"

Somehow that made Wes shiver. They sank down into the bed and Angel immediately pulled up the blankets and the sheets, bundling Wes in them before he could catch a chill. Wesley accepted this silently, curling up against Angel's chest.

"Tell me?" Angel asked. When Wes didn't respond he added "Or - you don't have to."

"I love you," was all Wes would say.

"I love you too," Angel responded, and decided for now to be content with that.