Angel / Pet / Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Gravel crunched up a storm underneath everybody's heels as they left their respective cars and limousines and walked through the balmy night air towards the mansion that lurked on top of the hill. Well - crunched under everyone's heels except Angel's. Angel, for his part, couldn't drop the shadowy creature of the night routine if his bloody unlife depended on it, and it hardly mattered that he was in Versace and wingtips and not a cape or even a proper coat. Oh no. Regular bit of noise was too common for the likes of *him*.

Spike ground his own feet down harder, knowing Angel of all creatures would know he was doing it on purpose. Sure enough he saw the line of tension form in Angel's shoulders. Spike smiled. That'd earn him a bit of fun later, especially if he kept Da the right kind of cranky.

Wesley came up beside him. "You're absolutely horrible and you know that."

"Something to do," Spike said. He watched the various members of their clutch of do-gooding kiddies go on ahead and get greeted by someone at the door. "Say, you got some time this week?"

Wes pondered it. "I might. How much do you need?"

"Not about *need*, pet," Spike told him. "'s about *want*."

"What do you *want* then?" Wesley asked, his posh accent giving an extra lift to the words that Spike had to admit was not what he'd personally call a turn-off.

"Lotta things," Spike replied, trying to aim somewhere near casual. "Smoke. More spending cash. Night out on the town."

"I don't have cigarettes," Wesley said. "Angel would be the one to complain to about money, which you very well know. I presume that means you'd care for my time with regards to a night out?"

Spike wondered if Wes deliberately decided to use as many words as possible when saying stuff or if it just came natural. "Yeah. If you've got a minute."

"What would we do?" Wesley asked.

Spike shrugged, trying to pretend like it didn't matter. "Dunno. Get a pint. Play a game of pool. Or dancing, if you fancy it."

"That would depend upon the kind of dancing," Wesley said. "Country line dancing, as for example - "

"Quiet, pet," Spike told him, holding up a hand for silence. "You got me square with the horrible images right there. Give us some mercy, would you?"

"What kind of dancing?" Wesley asked, going along with the request.

Spike glanced at him. "Could go out. Go to a club. Something fun. Loud."

"We could dance at a place like that?" Wesley asked.

"Could dance anywhere we pleased, pet," Spike reminded him.

Wes caught his eyes. "I meant *together*."

Spike almost lost a step. He shook his shoulders out to recover. "Like I said. Dance anywhere we please, pet."

"I believe I'm free Thursday," Wesley said.

Spike smiled at him. "Thursday it is then."

An underling came up and took Wesley's attention. Spike increased his pace to catch up with Angel, walking side by side with him as they entered the mansion's enormous entranceway.

"People *look* at him," Angel said, not even bothering with a greeting.

Spike wished he was a praying man. He'd shake God down for some patience, if he believed in it. Or God for that matter. "For the one hundredth time, *yes*, Da. They do."

"They *look*," Angel continued, because fuck knew Da never found *himself* to be as boring as watching a body decompose. "With their *eyes*. He's in a room and they look at him."

"They generally do if they're not blind, Da," Spike said. He looked around. The place had a turn of two centuries feel to it. Spanish. It reminded him of places they'd stayed in in Europe back in the days before unlife got too complicated. "You picked a ripe one. People want a taste."

"You *let* Tunley look at him," Angel accused.

*Let it go, Da,* Spike prayed, appealing to the spectral image of Angel's common sense if nothing else. *Find some nice, shiny bit of string to distract yourself with and - * "Yes, Da. Because, as I have already said, nobody *told* me I was supposed to interrupt all those big, important meetings you lot have just so's I can keep your little precious under lock and key. But since some giant berk told me the exact *opposite* of that - "

"I don't like that people look at him," Angel said, as though this were somehow a revelation to anyone.

"So don't let him leave the bedroom," Spike said, wishing that Angel would just *admit* that he fancied the lad. "Or blind everyone in the whole world. Or pick some other torture out of the fairy tale or memory of your choice. But if you've got him running around people are going to look. 'course if you ask *me* - "

"I didn't, actually," Angel pointed out.

Spike ignored him, "I'd take advantage of it. Let them look. They can't have him. Anybody who's got eyes can tell that all he sees is you. So let 'em watch. Make 'em jealous. Makes *you* look like a right tiger then, doesn't it?"

"Huh," Angel said, which was as close as he ever got to admitting that Spike knew what he was talking about.

"Yeah, boss, when you've got a minute?" Lorne appeared at the top of a short staircase and motioned for the both of them - well, Angel, actually, since Spike was only there for lack of something better to do - to catch up.

"Why am I here?" Angel asked, mounting the steps two at a time. They came out into a vast hall, covered with every form of marble imaginable. Spike guessed it must have been a ballroom back in the day.

"In the grand scheme of life, the universe, and none of the above that's between you and your prophecies," Lorne said. "In the big picture we like to call *here* there's a weensy little problem that has to be fixed."

Angel stopped short as his shoes connected with a blue-green puddle of slime. Angel then looked up, following the trail of liquid as it crossed the floor, went past sliding glass doors, and ended in a pile of demony bodies. "Why am I here?" he asked again, this time sounding more plaintive.

Fred emerged from the outside, her lab coat rolled up to her elbows. "Based on the evidence this looks to be a ritualistic killing, possibly done as -"

" - part of a ritual to gain power," Wesley finished as he joined them again. He glanced down at Angel's shoes. "Mind your step."

"Thanks," Angel said, dryly. "Please tell me why I'm standing here ruining a very good pair of shoes."

Wes bypassed the answer Spike would have given. "The owners of the house are important clients of ours."

"*Hugely* important clients of ours," Lorne added. "Like number six on my speed dial important and that's on my *good* cell phone."

Wes nodded to acknowledge this. "They bring in a great deal of cash and business *and* Lorne has been able to convince them into thinking about giving up their evil ways."

"Fascinating," Angel observed. He scuffed his shoe on the floor, trying to clean it. "And the part about me comes in…?"

"Because as they are such valued clients we needed to make a showing that we are taking their case seriously," Wes explained. "By making it known to our highest earthly authority. That would be you."

"Highest earthly authority," Angel mused. "I like the sound of that."

"You would," Spike said, adding, "egomaniac."

"Idiot," Angel responded, just as easily. "Okay. I'm here. Now let me be all authoritative by saying I want this wrapped up in five minutes or my earthy authority is going to meet up with my urge to play with things that are sharp and pointy. Somebody bullet point me this whole ritual thing."

"We suspect it was done by a rival of theirs," Wesley said. "In an effort to either intimidate them out of the business or simply to surpass them. Regardless, this pile of bodies has been viewed as a curse upon their home. They want us to handle it."

"Fine," Angel said, "call the local garbage company."

"It isn't that simple," Wesley said. "They want us to decipher and defuse the spell. It could take some time."

"Wes," Angel said, a note of pleading in his voice. "Tell me I don't have to stand here the entire time you do that?"

Wes gave him a reassuring smile. "Meet with the clients, express your grave sorrow and your desire for justice to be done and then you can go home. I promise."

"Thank God," Angel sighed. He walked off to do just that.

"It's a shame about the damage," Wesley observed, stepping carefully around the slime puddle which was now, Spike noticed, eating through the marble in the floor. "It's a rather lovely home for its size."

Twenty feet away Angel stopped in his tracks. "What'd you say, Wes?"

"Damn it," Wesley muttered. Louder, he said, "Nothing, Angel."

Angel came back over. "I heard you. You like the place."

"I said it was nice," Wesley insisted. "It's an architectural landmark. I don't see how one could *not* observe - "

"Do you or do you not like this place?" Angel asked.

"Must I have an opinion?" Wesley replied, looking hopeful.

Angel gave him an arch look right back. "I think I asked you a question."

Spike cleared his throat. Not that he minded the displays of who was on top, but this time Angel was starting to attract attention. "Da - "

"In a minute," Angel said. "Wes? Do you like the place?"

"It's too big," Wesley said.

"Not what I asked."

"Angel a house of this size is utterly ridiculous for - for what you intend it," Wesley said, somewhat better than Angel was at trying to keep a conversation vague, if not private. "Look around us. This hall alone is twice the size of our flat back at the office. It's three stories tall, the library has its own wing, the chandeliers in the dining room cost well over - "

"This is a lot of information for you to have for a house you don't care about," Angel observed.

"It's a landmark," Wesley tried again. "And it belongs to our clients. I researched."

"Uh, guys?" Lorne said, coming over when it became apparent that Angel wasn't going to end the conversation anytime soon. "We *do* remember our clients, right?"

"Lorne, get Gunn over here," Angel said. "I want him drawing up papers to give me ownership of this place. Talk to the clients. Tell them we're going to give them a fair price but if they dick me over so fucking help me they're going to be feeling my earthy authority wrath. And Wes?"

"Yes, Angel?" Wes said, his voice quiet but managing to sound like the words were professional.

"Don't lie to me when I ask you stuff," Angel told him, his own voice gentle. "Do you like this place?"

A hint of a smile crossed Wesley's lips. "There's a rather large library."

Angel smiled back at him. "That's all you needed to say."

"It's too expensive," Wesley protested.

"Not your decision," Angel reminded him.

"It's *ridiculously* expensive," Wesley said.

"Still not your decision," Angel said.

Delight was starting to peek out from inside all that discomfort. "The view is lovely too."

Angel's eyes never left Wesley. "I agree."

"*Angel*," Wesley said, glancing around as though he could remind Da that they weren't alone in the room.

For a moment it looked as though Angel was going to heed that. Then he looked at Spike as though remembering their earlier conversation and instead stepped forward to kiss Wes good and proper. "Whatever you want, you get. Understood?"

Wes looked a bit dazed. "Yes, Angel."

"Good lad," Angel replied, then finally joined Lorne to go meet with the clients.

"That was… nice of him?" Fred offered, clearly uncertain about the entire situation.

Wes brushed a hand over his lips. "Angel's very generous."

"Got that right," Spike muttered. He lit a cigarette and tried not to feel jealous.

Angel was covered with a warm Wesley. They were on the roof, the LA sun beating down through the protective covering of necrotempered glass and reflecting safely off the water of the pool. Angel was in a lounge chair, reading through reports. Wes, who'd had his cock thoroughly jerked off maybe a half hour before, was curled up against Angel's chest in peaceful sleep, like a kitten driven into slumber after being satisfied with a full belly.

Or, in Wes's case, a full something else.

"Hmm," Wes sighed. He stretched, curling closer into Angel's arms. "Hmmm."

"Relax," Angel told him, keeping his voice low. "Nobody's going to hurt you."

"What if I want them too?" Wesley murmured. He rubbed his eyes. "Lord. It shouldn't be possible to wake up wanting more than when you satisfied me."

Angel ran his fingertips down Wes's bare back. "Do you? Want more?"

"I'm starting to think I'm insatiable," Wesley admitted. He looked up with eyes that were beginning to focus. "You make me dream rather marvelous things."

"Like what?" Angel asked. "Eat something, by the way."

Wesley reached over to take a piece of orange off of the fruit platter that was on their table. "All sorts of things."

"I asked for specific things," Angel reminded him, his tone firm but not scolding.

Wes gave a sheepish smile, indicating their position. "Your leg between mine, driving me wild. I'm afraid I don't have much by way of imagination."

"You've enough for me," Angel said. He shifted his hip to give Wes some of that friction he'd been dreaming about. "What else?"

"Not much else," Wesley said. He finished the piece of orange and reached over for a napkin. "Just a vague sense of wanting you - as much of you as I could have."

Angel took Wes's hand by the wrist and brought it back before he could reach the table. "Lick the juice off of your fingertips. Like it was something you got from me."

He saw the quick flicker of embarrassment cross Wes's face before he closed his eyes and obeyed. Angel would've been worried if not for the fact that he knew the embarrassment only made Wes harder. One of these days he really would get around to making Wes suck him off during the middle of a business meeting. The suggestion alone was enough to make Wes whimper for days.

"What do you want?" Angel asked. He put his report down, giving Wes his full attention at last. "Tell me."

"You," Wesley replied, settling into Angel's arms once more.

Angel picked up another piece of fruit, feeding it to Wes then letting Wes lick his fingertips dry. "Besides that. Something I can give you. Something I can buy."

"You're already buying me an enormous home," Wesley said.

"Vacation house," Angel corrected, since the mansion *was* going to replace the more modern beach house that Wes had hated. "And I didn't ask for a tally of what I've gotten so far, I asked what you wanted *now*."

Wes grew silent, thinking about it. Angel fed him another piece of fruit while he pondered it.

"Anything I want?" Wesley asked. "Without limits?"

"No limits," Angel confirmed. He moved his free hand up and down Wes's chest, tickling at the hairs that covered it. "Something you want. Something that will make you smile."

Wesley turned over so that he was looking at Angel face to face. "I want Spike to have a present."

Angel frowned. "You don't need my permission for that."

Wes shook his head. "Not from me. From you. I want you to buy Spike a present."

"Spike and I don't do presents," Angel said.

"I think you should," Wes told him.

"He doesn't *want* presents," Angel said. "He thinks they're stupid."

"And I think they are wholly unnecessary," Wes reminded him. "Yet you shower me with them anyway. Buy one for Spike."

"Wes," Angel said, patiently, "I'm not gonna - "

"Something good," Wes continued. "Something expensive. I've been giving it a great deal of thought. I think you should buy him a motorcycle."

"We've got bikes in the company fleet," Angel said. "If he wanted one he could go swipe one of those."

"*Angel*," Wesley sighed. "This isn't about the practical. It's about the fanciful. I have a perfectly good home here with you yet you just bought me a mansion. Yes, Spike could certainly steal any vehicle he wanted. But I think you should buy him a motorcycle. A good one. One he'll like."

"He's got money," Angel pointed out. "More than enough to buy plenty of bikes."

"Angel," Wes said, using that voice he did when he was explaining something in small words during a meeting. "Buy Spike a motorcycle."

Angel quirked his eyebrows. "Since when do I follow your orders?"

Wes's look was almost catlike in satisfaction. "Since you wish to spoil me and do whatever it takes to make me smile. Watching you give Spike a present would make me smile."

Angel let that sit there for a moment, just long enough to make Wes wonder if he'd crossed a boundary. "You know I was wondering when you were going to notice that little loophole."

"I wondered if it would actually work," Wes admitted.

Angel traced Wes's lips with a fingertip, watching as Wes automatically tried to chase his finger down and properly suck on it. "I'll do it if it will make you smile. But don't abuse the privilege."

"I shan't," Wesley promised. He looked up, stern. "And you *must* do this on your own. No delegating the task to Harmony. I'll know if you cheat, so I wouldn't attempt it."

"Or what?" Angel asked. "You'll punish me?"

Wes leaned in close. "Do this properly and I'll get on my knees and beg *you* to punish *me*."

Angel felt his cock twitch. "Give me a preview."

"Please," Wes breathed, his lips millimeters from Angel's own. "Please, Angel. I want you to hurt me. I *need* it. I want you to hold me down and punish me for every wrong I've done."

"Good start," Angel said.

Wes squirmed a little, not unaffected by the situation. "Will you?"

"What?"

"Ever - " Wes faltered. "Be rough with me like that?"

Angel circled his hands around Wes's wrists, squeezing just enough to hurt. Wes gasped, then smiled happily. "All in good time, Wesley. All in good time."

The garage was cool and quiet as Angel led Wesley there. They walked over to a parking spot, where Angel made a grand gesture of showing something off. "There. How's that?"

Wesley took a long look a the bike. It was a Kawasaki. One of the ZX line, if he wasn't mistaken. It was silver and black and looked as though it was going one hundred miles an hour even though it was sitting still. "Very nice."

"I did it myself," Angel said. "No delegating. No Harmony."

Wesley bent down to admire the engine. "It's quite wonderful. One I might have picked out myself, if given the chance."

"Yeah, well," Angel tried to play it off. "Some of us just know what we're doing."

Wes stood up straight again. "You went to the dealership and asked them to give you the most expensive model that was in the proper colors, didn't you?"

"No," Angel said, defensively. "I… asked them to *paint* it the proper colors. I did work there. You know I actually had to sign things."

Wesley smiled at him. "You did very well, Angel."

"Kiss me then," Angel told him.

Wesley happily obeyed, moaning when he felt Angel's teeth scrape against his lips.

"Later," Angel promised, "I'm going to fuck you good and hard."

"Please?" Wesley replied.

Angel kissed him again, then frowned. "Think he'll like it?"

Wesley patted Angel's chest reassuringly. "You made a wonderful choice. I'm sure he'll love it."

As if on cue, the elevator doors opened. Spike walked out, looking around for them. "Harm said you wanted to see me?"

Angel stepped away from Wesley to address Spike properly. "Yeah. I - I got you something." There was a moment, and then Angel remembered to actually point out what was the gift.

Spike looked at the motorcycle. Then at Angel. Then at the bike, then at Angel.

"You *poof*," Spike said.

"See?" Angel demanded, appealing to Wesley for help.

"You soft, weak, *nancified* - " Spike made a scoffing sound. "What next? Flowers? Little poems? Gonna sing songs outside my windowpane?"

"He *always* does this," Angel continued.

"What am I, your sweetheart now?" Spike added. "Your loverboy?"

"You know I *try* to be nice," Angel shot back.

"You *looove* me," Spike sing-songed. "You *fancy* me."

"Whatever," Angel said, stalking off to the elevator. "Take the bike, don't take the bike. I'm sorry I tried."

"Just don't expect me to start holding your hand in public now," Spike called after him. "Some of us blokes have a reputation to maintain!"

"Bite me," Angel shot back, the doors closing behind him.

"Spike," Wesley said, gently scolding. "Angel was only trying to - "

Then Wesley stopped, noticing the expression on Spike's face.

He was looking down at the bike as though he'd forgotten anyone else was there - and he was smiling.

Wesley slipped away, deciding to let Spike have the moment all to himself.