Angel / Pet / Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

By the time Spike was done with his shower, Wes was dressed and puttering about in the dining area. Spike came in, getting a view of silver-covered plates and fine china and Wesley in casual pants and a not half-bad button down.

"I didn't know what you might want," Wesley said, motioning towards the trays that covered a table that could comfortably seat eight, "so I ordered a bit of everything."

"Ta," Spike said. He grabbed an empty glass and the first decanter of something red he could find.

"Pig's blood," Wes said, helpfully. "And that one over there is goat. I know you and Angel tend to prefer the former but the kitchen swears the goat is excellent today."

"Freshly killed?" Spike guessed. He took a few swallows then looked around for the coffee.

"There's eggs and waffles and tea," Wes rattled off, pointing them out. "Do you eat? I didn't know if you enjoyed a proper breakfast on top of, well - "

"The liquid diet?" Spike asked. "Coffee and blood's fine, pet. I'm not much for fancy when it's this light out. Give me a mug of each and all the crap morning chat shows have to offer and that's enough for me."

"Oh," Wesley said. He sat down. "Of course. Please, go right ahead. I assume you know where the television is."

Spike sipped his blood, mulling this over. He hated to admit it but he and Angel were about neck and neck in the nocturnal preferences. Which was par for the course considering the platelet addiction, but still and all Spike hated admitting to similarities.

That being said, what he *liked*, if he had to be up in the morning, was a nice bit of piece and quiet while he waited for the earth to revolve and point itself towards the sun at a more respectable angle. Actually what he liked was to not have to be up in the morning, but Angel'd put him on babysitting duty and there you were.

It wasn't the first time Spike had been left holding the bag for one of Angel's toys while Angel himself arsed about with other things. Wasn't the first time he had to deal with the morning after either.

It was, however, the first time he could ever recall any of Angel's pets putting out a proper breakfast setting and fussing over whether or not the French toast was to his liking.

Spike sat down. "Could go for some of those potato-y things if you've got any."

"Hash browns?" Wes asked. He did a quick scavenger hunt and came up with the goods. "There we are. If I could have your plate?"

Spike passed it over. "You all right, pet?"

"Yes," Wesley said, bewildered. "Why do you ask?"

"You're all," Spike motioned at him, "manners in the morning. It's odd."

"I'm always," Wes repeated the gesture, "manners in the morning. I like to think I manage that by midafternoon and evening as well. You've just never been around to see."

Spike took his plate back, forking into the potato squares. "Guess not. Don't have to, you know. Never been one to stand on what's formal. Waste of time if you ask me."

Wesley folded a napkin into his lap, then poured himself a cup of tea. "I rather like it. It's a sign of courtesy, and respect."

"Sounds like the kind of bollocks they teach you at public school," Spike said.

"You never went?" Wesley asked.

"Me?" Spike grinned. "Nah. Grew up on the street. Made my living by the skin of my teeth. Rough and tumble and ready to kill a man just for looking at you twice."

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"I've seen you read Latin for fun."

"Regular little peeping Tom, aren't you?" Spike said.

"The building has closed circuit TV," Wesley replied. "Angel showed it to me once when he wanted to teach me how to - well never mind."

Spike smirked. "Dunno. Sounded like we were getting to the good part."

"Hash browns all right?" Wesley asked, smoothly.

Spike dunked one into his cup of blood. "Not bad. And I would've thought a Watcher of all people would know Latin's what they write the best demon books in. Fair amount of porn you can find, if you translate it right."

"Actually I've found Greek to be the best language there, though Sumerian also has its advantages."

Spike looked up at him. Wes didn't even blink. Spike grinned. "No wonder he likes you. He's coming home later today, he said."

Wesley spread chocolate over a bite of apple. "How is he?"

Spike hesitated. On the one hand, Angel probably didn't want him blabbing. On the other, Wesley wasn't stupid. "'bout as well as you can expect."

Wes's mouth pinched together. "He should have taken one of us with him."

"That's what I told him," Spike said. His blood done, he poured his coffee right into the mug, dumping in a load of sugar on top of it.

"What did he say?"

"Get stuffed," Spike replied. "Or something like that. I tune out the details whenever his brain's taking a holiday."

"So most of the time then?" Wesley asked.

Spike saluted him with his coffee mug.

Wesley downed some orange juice. "Did he have any idea when he might be coming home?"

"Didn't say," Spike told him. "Later. Could be tonight."

"So we've most of the day free then," Wes said, trying to put a positive spin on it.

"Back to the coal mines?" Spike asked.

Wesley shook his head. "It's Sunday. Even the Lord rests then. Granted I don't know how that applies to an evil law firm but *I* intend on taking the day off."

"Never pegged you for religious," Spike said, finishing off his potatoes. He eyed the waffles, wondering how they'd go with the goat.

Wesley frowned at that, as though trying to remember something. "I - I'm not, as such. But it's one of those meaningless phrases one can say which sounds better than admitting you can't be bothered to stare at one more spreadsheet before going completely mental."

"Don't know how you lot do it," Spike said, bypassing the waffles in favor of a pancake. He rolled it up then dipped it into the puddle of goat he'd poured into his plate. Wesley watched all of this and made no comment. "You ask me the heroing business is bad enough without meetings and memos and bloody red tape. You know the goat's actually not that bad? Have to try that again. Maybe do a mix."

"I'll mention that to the chef," Wesley said. "And it isn't that bad, really. I rather like the organization. I find it rather amazing to have all these resources at my disposal. The bloody red tape, as you call it, is a rather useful process for controlling it. But then again I have been accused of being overly found of alphabetizing and file folders."

"I would've said a bit too fond of the books," Spike told him, "but - not really. Do as you like, pet. Anyone dares says boo and Da'll knock their teeth in."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," Wesley said. "Particularly from another - book lover, are you?"

Spike looked back at him poker faced. "That's for me to know and you to mind your own business."

"I could ask Angel."

Fond as Angel was of the lad, he could probably find the answer out too. Spike decided to go for a bit of distraction. "All right, all right. I went to university. Happy now?"

"Which one?"

"Cambridge."

"I'm terribly sorry, I'll try to speak slower."

Spike flipped him off. "And your bloody university too. Lemme guess, the glorified wanker academy that's going by the name Oxford these days?"

"They're also spelling 'wanker' as 'Watcher' but yes," Wesley agreed. "And you're only cross because I'm sure you couldn't get in."

"Wouldn't want to," Spike replied. "Prefer going to a school where I don't have to tell people that unlike the rest of my classmates I can actually get it up when I need to."

"Assuming you were sober enough at any given time to find 'it' with both hands."

"Could drink *you* under the table any day."

"As I'm sure drunken stupidity is what you got your degree in, I don't doubt that. Fortunately there's plenty of other competitions I know I and my alma mater could sufficiently humiliate you with. Playing pool, for instance."

"You want to try me with rugby, mate, I'm right here."

"How about cricket?"

"Or one of us could pretend to be a man and we could try our hands at football."

"If you think you could pull off the role," Wes replied. "And while we're on the subject of destined failures, has your school *ever* won a boat race against mine?"

"Sure," Spike said, "the time I killed your team."

"That was *you*?"

"1955," Spike said, "yeah. Had a bet on. Didn't like leaving it up to chance."

"They thought it was a Howler demon," Wesley said.

"Shows you how much Watchers know," Spike pointed out. "Speaking of blokes who couldn't find things with both hands."

"I honestly can't argue that," Wesley admitted. He finished off his eggs. "Well, now that I've more than satisfied my need for blackmail material against you, what were your plans for today?"

"Didn't have any," Spike said. "I watch you, remember? Figured I'd do whatever it is you're doing except a few steps over to the left."

"We *could* do something which we would both find enjoyable," Wesley pointed out.

"Yeah but Angel's not home yet."

"Besides that," Wesley replied. "I meant an activity of some sort. One which requires keeping one's clothes on."

"Sounds pretty boring already if you ask me," Spike said, who'd been wondering if another go-'round for the both of them was in the offing. "Sure I can't just go in the other room and put the telly on?"

"You could," Wesley said, "but I was thinking we could go out and kill things. Demons, that is. Not humans."

Spike thought about it. "Big demons?"

"Moderately sized," Wes said. "With sharp claws and teeth."

Spike rubbed the back of his neck, pondering it. "Yeah, guess that could be all right."

"Excellent."

Moderately sized with claws and teeth turned out to be these M'Fashnik-looking things except taller and lacking in the innate charisma. Wes had apparently found a hive of them who were trying to pick off the kids at a nearby school. The whole thing smacked of do-gooderism but the beasts put up a good fight and there was something to be said for a healthy brawl.

Wes and Spike duked it out, fighting side by side in the otherwise abandoned warehouse that the demons had staked out for their home. Spike used an ax. Wes used a crossbow and that weird gadgety thing that wrapped around his wrist. All in all it was a good fight.

Then Wes fell down. Spike saw the last demon loom over him, ready to turn him into a snack. He threw his ax and chopped the bastard in two.

"C'mon," he said, offering Wes a hand up. He saw a trickle of blood slip down Wesley's cheek from where a claw had cut him. He stared at it for a moment, then collected himself. "Let's get you home before Angel kills me."

They went back to the penthouse. Spike bundled Wesley into the bathroom and immediately set about doing the first aid.

"Spike, I'm fine, honestly," Wesley told him, trying to duck out.

Spike held him still, gently working a cotton pad around the cut. "Da finds out you got a scrape on you and it'll be my hide."

"I could clean it up myself, you know," Wesley said.

Spike thought about it. "Suppose so. I guess I could - "

Wes caught him before he could back away. "No. It's all right. It's very kind of you to help."

"You sure, pet?" Spike asked. "Not like I know what I'm doing. My job's usually *causing* this stuff, not making it better."

"Trust me," Wesley said, his hand still resting on Spike's wrist. "It's better."

Spike relaxed and got back to work.

Angel was into his third whisky by the time Spike showed up.

"Da?" Spike asked, walking along the perimeter of the pool to stand by him. Angel was sitting on one of the lounge chairs, looking out at all of LA spread before him. "The Hell you doing here? When'd you get back?"

"Not too long ago," Angel said. The sun was starting to think about setting. He closed his eyes and savored the warmth of it through the necrotempered glass that protected the area. Part of him actually wondered if he could get a tan. "You?"

"Half hour?" Spike guessed. He sat down on a nearby chair. Angel didn't have to open his eyes to know that Spike was studying him. "Wes's downstairs if you like."

"I like for you to be downstairs *with* him," Angel told him, without rancor. "Didn't I tell you to shadow him?"

"Stuck to him like Peter Pan all day," Spike promised. "But he wanted a drink and we're out of the gin he likes downstairs."

Angel opened his eyes again. "That's not good. Tell the staff that doesn't happen again or somebody gets fired."

"Or I could just come up here and get one of the spares," Spike said, nodding at the poolside bar to remind him. "Speaking of which, doesn't sound like the nightcap in your hands is doing any good. Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Wanna fight about it?"

Angel hesitated, glass halfway to his lips. "Maybe later."

Spike nodded, accepting that. He got up and went over to the bar, pouring a drink for himself. "Get any sleep?"

"Some," Angel said. He held out his glass for a refill. Spike poured in a few fingers, then brought the bottle back with him as he sat down. "Couple've minutes on the plane. Eve kept talking."

"You know in the old days you knew how to shut a bird up when you wanted to," Spike pointed out. He patted down his pockets, then pulled out his cigarettes.

"The old days I knew what way I was going to get my ass kicked if that went horribly wrong," Angel replied. "Funny what getting a gypsy curse rammed in your chest can teach you."

"Always one for the imagery," Spike said. He lit a cigarette then offered Angel the pack. Angel turned it down. "So, one bird jabbering. How 'bout the rest?"

It was amazing how easy the question was. How, with Spike, he could actually dance near the truth of it. He didn't know if that was because he didn't give a shit about Spike's opinion of him, or if it was because he did. "Took care of 'em."

Spike knew what it meant. "How many?"

"Enough."

"Human?"

Angel felt the crystal of his glass as his hand tightened around it. "Some."

There was the kind of quiet that only came these days because Spike had a soul. Angel wasn't sure what he felt about the moments when Spike could neither mock nor envy him. Actually, he felt strangely protective. A feeling of better him than Spike, but he honestly couldn't say why.

"You do what you have to do," Spike said, flicking his ashes into one of the sand-filled trays that Angel had had placed around for Spike's benefit.

"Somebody's gotta," Angel said. He thought about the last kills of the day. Ones he did that morning. First client of theirs, who raised children like cattle, selling them off to be eaten by demons who felt the meat wasn't perfect until they turned 13. Angel had snapped his neck without even thinking about it, wiping his hands when he was done to remove even the oils of the man's body from his own skin.

The one *after* that had been the man's business partner. One who had thought they were running a home for foster kids.

Angel was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to have killed that one. But then again ignorance like that was, to Angel's mind, a mortal sin. At least it was in Angel's world. He made no claims about what was going to happen to the guy in the next one.

"Shouldn't always have to be you," Spike said.

"Lotta things shouldn't be," Angel said, "doesn't stop them from happening. How's Wes?"

"Missing you," Spike said. "Polite enough to hide it. Got in a bit of a dust-up - sit down, he's fine. Just a scratch."

"What happened?"

"You weren't the only one who wanted to go evil hunting today," Spike said. He blew out a plume of smoke. "Got himself bumped up for the trouble but not much worse for wear."

"And the bastard who hurt him?"

"Cut in two," Spike said, miming the killing blow. "With my own little hands."

Angel looked at Spike, imagining that selfsame blow going through his own body. He was just drunk enough to feel himself settling into all of his memories, and right now he remembered the feeling of a pillow.

Spike frowned at him. "Angel?"

"I should - " Angel stood up, reaching for the suit jacket that he'd folded over the back of his chair. "I should go. Keep an eye on Wes. I'll be back when - "

Spike stood in front of him. "No."

"I'm not arguing this, Spike," Angel said.

"Tough 'cause I am," Spike folded his arms. "Look, you wanna play it close to your chest with all this go right ahead. Not like you'n me were ever big on caring and sharing. But I have to live with you now and so do you. Clam up all you like but *don't* go rabbiting off because you're not man enough to handle it."

"I'm man enough to handle plenty!" Angel snapped. He felt like shoving Spike right into the pool just to get him out of his way. "I handle *enough*. I handle, in fact, more than I have to so why don't you shut up about things you don't understand?"

"Try it with a vamp who *doesn't* have a soul, mate," Spike said. "I may not have the centuries of brooding to back me up but I know what it feels like. And I know the one thing that *doesn't* help is locking myself off from anybody who might even have a hint of caring for me."

Angel stepped back. He thought about moving around Spike but instead kept listening.

"Now you," Spike continued, "for reasons which are unknown to me 'cause fuck knows I can't stand you m'self, are lucky enough to have a bloke down there who thinks you're the second bloody coming in undead form. He's about ready to die for you if he has to all so's he can make sure you're doing all right. And if you keep on arsing about like this he just might have to. So why don't you spare *him* all the trouble and try the option where you shag his brains out? Less killing and more fun for the both of you."

"You don't understand," Angel repeated.

"Don't have to," Spike said. "You wanna mope and whine for forgiveness, take it up with the man upstairs if you still believe in him. But you wanna live here with us then that means with *us*, Angel. Good *and* bad, for all that the first bit's the one you've got the most trouble with. And for fuck's sake, man, get over it. In spite of all evidence to the contrary, the fact that he's in love with you doesn't mean that he's stupid. He knows you've got a bad side, no matter how much you try to play I've got a secret. Keep it to yourself all you like but he's not here 'cause he's got blinkers on."

"Wes isn't in love with me," Angel said.

"You know what's the sad thing?" Spike told him. "Knowing that all my brains came from Dru. Either that or Darla's smarts decided to skip every other generation. Except - wait - "

In spite of himself, Angel chuckled. He hooked a finger in Spike's beltloop, then drew him into an embrace.

"Thanks, boy," he said, resting his cheek against that chemically scented hair.

Spike brushed it off, unable to tolerate the sincerity. "Yeah, right. That *you* can't live without *me* was obvious to anyone. Go on now. Play with your favorite toy. I'll see you in the morning - or whenever you can be bothered to crawl out of bed."

"Lotta shagging to catch up on," Angel pointed out. "Could be a while."

Spike waved it off as he went back to the staircase. "Call me when you're done. Or need an extra hand."

"Or a throat to bite."

Spike gave him a lingering look. "That too."

Wes was curled up on the couch in the living room, watching TV.

"I heard this rumor you needed gin," Angel said, sitting down next to him.

Wes's face lit up at the sight of him and in that one moment Angel had to admit that sometimes Spike knew what he was talking about. "Angel! You're home."

"Looks like," Angel said. He held up the bottle. "You needed this?"

"I needed *you*," Wes told him. He moved into Angel's lap and Angel felt all new levels of rightness in the world. Not *fairness*, maybe, but rightness. Wes was his. Wes was meant to be with him. If Wes was there, it was right. The rest was - well it was details he didn't want to think about. "How was your trip? Did everything go okay? Can I please kiss you now before I go spare?"

"Fine, yeah, and you'd better," Angel answered, and then his lapful of Wes was a lapful of Wes with Wes's mouth wet and soft against his. He kissed Wesley, feeling his body wake up at that as well as his sense of hope. Or at least an absence of despair. "How about you? What'd you do? What are you doing? Everything go all right?"

"Everything was fine," Wesley said. "Spike and I got better acquainted. The two of us went out demon hunting, I got hurt, Spike took care of me, and now I am watching a documentary about hippopotami."

Angel, who had been studying the cut on Wes's cheek, frowned at that. "Hippopotami?"

"It's the Discovery Channel," Wesley said.

"Yeah I got that much on my own," Angel told him. He ran his thumb underneath the cut, trying to gauge the danger of scarring. "Just didn't realize that was your thing. You like hippopotami?"

"Not really."

"Then why watch them?"

"Because if I *do* say that I like them I'll undoubtedly wake up tomorrow to find out that you've constructed a river in my office and placed one inside," Wes said. "Lying about it seemed easier."

Angel quirked an eyebrow. "You don't like my gifts?"

"I love your gifts," Wesley said, resting his hands on Angel's chest. "About as much as I - "

Angel looked at him.

"You're a little over the top sometimes," Wes finished, lamely.

"It's my right," Angel told him. "Remember? You don't get a no."

"Yes, Angel," Wes replied. Angel kissed him again for his trouble.

"How's the horse?"

"Shadowfax is fine, thank you for asking."

"Nice name."

"It's not original."

"I know, Wes, I saw the movie with you." Angel studied Wes again, feeling the last of the darkness fall away as he existed in just this moment. Just this place of being with Wes and taking care of him. It didn't do a damned thing about all the crimes he'd committed before, but maybe it counted for something. Maybe he could dedicate himself to making just this one person happy and remind *himself*, if nothing else, that he still had some goodness in him. "In the morning I want you to see a doctor."

"It's only a scratch," Wesley protested.

"Didn't we *just* talk about you not getting a no?" Angel reminded him. "You're hurt. That's not allowed. You're marked. That's *definitely* not allowed. The only person allowed to leave a permanent anything on you is me. Tomorrow you see the company doctors and have that healed up."

Wes shifted against him and Angel felt that mutual hardness that came when they both feel into their groove of ownership and possession. The amazing thing was Wes got off on belonging to him as much as Angel did having him. Angel often reflected that he couldn't ask for better than that. "Yes, Angel."

"I got you a present," Angel told him. "For being so good while I was away. Of course with this demon-fighting thing now I'm not so sure."

Wes came in close against him, lips tantalizingly near. "I could be very good right now and earn it."

Angel moved his hands down to Wes's wrists. "I bet you could."

Wes bit his lower lip in what Angel knew now was an unconscious come-on. "Please?"

Angel licked Wes's mouth open, then enjoyed the entry inside. "Get in bed. Take your clothes off. Show me your hard cock and maybe I'll fuck you."

Wes's eyes darkened as he pressed even closer. "God - Angel, please."

In spite of the order he'd just given, Angel held Wes close, reluctant to part ways with his skilled mouth, or that slight rocking of his body. "If you're *real* good I'll tie you down. Wrap the handcuffs around your wrists. Make you struggle and scream for me to touch you."

"I'm halfway there already," Wes said. His heart was stuttering against Angel's chest.

Angel moved down, mouthing bites along Wesley's neck. "Make you beg. Make you so hard you're dying for it. Make you ache for me so much you forget your own name."

"Yours," Wes replied, the word coming out in a breath. "Angel, I'm yours."

With effort Angel pulled back. "Get into bed. Get ready for me to fuck you."

Wes gave him a look as he obeyed. "Angel, if it was up to me I'd never *not* be ready for that."

"It could be arranged," Angel told him as he got up to follow.

Later, hours later, when he was balls deep in Wes and Wes's body was tight around him and Wes's hands were bruising themselves as they strained against the metal holding him still and Wes was writhing, gasping, his entire body shivering as he cried out "Angel - Angel - Angel - " Angel realized, yet again, that Spike was right and there were certain things he should always hold on to.

"I don't want to let you go," Angel said, when the hard, eye-whitening orgasms had come and gone and left them both boneless with Wes's back against Angel's chest and Angel's cock still somewhat inside him. "Not ever."

"Then don't," Wes said, his voice practical for all that it was still dreamy and full of afterglow. "I don't ever want to leave."

"Mine," Angel said, childlike, holding Wesley tighter.

"Yours," Wes agreed, and that apparently took care of that.