Angel / Pet / Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Of all the facial expressions that Wesley had, the one that Spike liked best was his smile.

Not that he'd ever admit that to anybody, of course. Not even to Wesley. The point at which one bloke tells another that he likes his smile is the point at which you pack it in and give up any and all hope of people taking you seriously. Spike might have his soppy and overly poetic moments, but after a hundred plus years he knew when to keep them to himself.

So no, no talking about the smiles then. If anybody asked Spike would have looked at them as though they were daft and wondered why on earth they thought that out of all the things he had to occupy his day (such as smoking, drinking, and bothering Angel) that they thought he was the kind of swany bastard that noticed what people chose to do with their eyes and mouths like it was some sort of personal hobby. Go chat up Angel for that, if you wanted to hear from a person who definitely had his free time to obsession ratio cocked up beyond all repair.

Now if *Angel* asked, which sometimes Angel did, Spike would cop to noticing the mouth. Hard not to, considering Wesley's rather impressive though publicly hidden oral fetish. There were only so many times you could watch Wesley on his knees with Angel's cock slipping and sliding in and out of his lips before conditioning took its Pavlovian course and soon enough looking at Wesley's mouth alone was about all you needed to get your motor running. Granted Spike felt fairly certain that it wouldn't take much association with Angel's cock to turn *anything* into something which made the blood go south, since Angel's cock was a force unto itself and make no mistake. But Wes brought his own skills to the party so that made it all the better.

Not that Spike got to take full advantage of those skills, of course. Penetration was still a firm no-go thanks to Angel's grand schemes of seduction and domination which really, Spike felt, boiled down to a Post-It note in the back of his thick head which read "Do whatever you want but take a fuck-all long time about it", but Spike could see the way Wesley's attentions could bring Angel to come in seconds if that's what Angel wanted. Plus Wes had his own lovely little habit of snuggling up next to Spike and doing a repeat course of that teasing-licking-sucking-biting thing he did which covered all ground *except* full on penetration, and who was Spike to deny the boy his acts of charity?

From time to time when Wesley offered that he'd throw one of those smiles in, which also made it better.

But that wasn't why Spike liked them.

If *Wesley* had asked, Spike would, depending upon his mood, possibly tell him that the best expression of all was the heated and utterly wanton ones that Wes threw at him when he was aching for a touch and about ready to die if he didn't get it.

Like the nights they did threesomes, and Wes would be on his hands and knees with Angel's enormous dick pistoning inside of him and Spike would be on his side doing the courtesy of the reach-around so Angel could brace his hands on the wall and do damage to *that*, and not inadvertently tear apart Wes's tender skin ("You should fuck me *first* on those nights," Spike would remind Angel after, sometimes even going so far as to actually hit Angel over the head with the flat of his hand. "Get your violence jollies out on the body that can handle it, *then* screw your boy. What the bloody Hell else am I here for, eh?" To which Angel was just as likely to respond by telling Spike to fuck off as he was by slamming Spike hard into a wall and fucking him good and hard and proper, which was a set of odds that Spike felt pretty agreeable with which is why he kept pointing it out).

Wes's mouth would be open and his muscles would be tight and his breath would be harsh and ragged in his lungs and then, just as he was starting to get to the point where he wouldn't have a *choice* about losing control, he'd open his eyes, all dark and full of lust, and gaze at Spike like he was absolutely empty for not having him.

Spike would kiss him then, because that's all he *could* do, and Wes would whimper and sigh and shiver all over until the tongue in his mouth and the cock in his ass made his brain melt into a puddle and his body explode and he'd come, usually screaming, and the sound would be so loud that Spike's lips would feel like they were vibrating for a good few minutes after they were done.

So that look wasn't bad, all things considered. Just not the best.

Another one Spike liked was the needy one. It came close to the lusty one but it wasn't exactly the same. It was different. Still hot, but with a touch more helpless. Emphasis on the "please" instead of the "fuck me". And not that Spike liked admitting he shared fetishes with Angel, because as far as he was concerned nearly all of Angel's fetishes were artsy-fartsy wastes of time (and let's just ignore the bits where Angel used those selfsame artsy-fartsy wastes of time to bring *Spike* begging on his knees, because a lad had to pretend to some dignity even if he had none), but if he *did* share any fetishes with Angel that didn't involve outright violence, this would probably be the one.

How Angel managed to cause it in Wesley was a tough nut to crack, no pun intended. Spike watched the whole thing in action and damned if he knew how Angel knew how to do it. It made sense after the fact, sure. Spike could take what happened and decipher it. But going in? Not a bloody chance. It was a talent Angel had that Spike couldn't comprehend but for Angel was apparently as easy as breathing. Or not breathing, as the case may be.

Take the last time Angel tried it. It was during a staff meeting, a couple of days after the night Angel'd announced in front of everyone - or at least Lorne and Fred - that he was buying the big ol' mansion for Wesley.

Normal staff meeting, which meant all the gang were there and Spike sat off in the background giving a half-ear to the proceedings and for the most part counting ceiling tiles.

Then there it was. Just a little thing. Right in the middle of everything. Fred was going on about this or that and people were listening and Wesley was taking notes and then, as nice as you please, Angel said:

"Use the silver pen, Wes."

Just like that. Which if you had asked Spike before he would have told you was about the stupidest and most useless act of domination that ever came down the pike since some bloke or bird decided to get their rocks off making the boys and girls on their knees go through their own little BDSM vaudeville routines in getting the right number of 'sir' or 'ma'am' into the gig. ("Say sir three times!" "Sir! Sir sir sir, sir!" - bloody stupid, that.) But no. Angel did it and it *worked*.

After the fact Spike could tell why. For starters, *because* it was so stupid. Which was to say who in God's name cared about a pen? Write with it, don't write with it. As long as it had ink who cared? More to the point as near as Spike could tell the pen had the exact *same* color of ink as the one Wesley'd already been using. So no way to even pretend that this was some kind of corporate red tape. All reports must be written in blue ink #45 and scribbled down on goldenrod colored paper, that sort of thing. Nope, no way around it.

Which was naturally the thing.

Wesley *couldn't* pretend that it was corporate. He *couldn't* pretend that it was professional. He couldn't pretend that it was anything but what it was, namely Angel being able to tell him to do whatever Angel wanted to tell him what to do and Wesley *had* to do it. No way around it. And normally Angel kept that kind of thing private - whispered it into Wes's ear in the hallway or even waited until they were behind closed doors.

But this was a staff meeting. With all of Wesley's friends. And Angel had slipped a direct order in there, easy as anything.

Spike saw Wesley hesitate. A pause as he realized what had just gone on. Angel hadn't even *looked* at him - the person talking had been Fred, and she was on the other side of the table. But he'd heard it, and everybody else had heard it, and Spike could see the little wheels turning in Wesley's head as he figured out just how public that had been.

Spike could almost imagine Wesley's thoughts. Had they noticed? Had they cared? Had the conversation stopped, now, because they were all staring at him and *seeing* that Angel had done that? Were they looking at him? Were they seeing the situation for what it was? Were they starting to guess, now, that things between the two big bosses weren't just about flowers on his desk and overly hormonal snogs in the lift, but about Angel being in charge and Wes being on his knees and Wes having *no* say in it, *no* say in it at all. Like right now, with Angel ordering him, right in front of the others, and Wesley having no choice, having nothing he could do, having to sit there and *take* the order and *obey* it, right in front of everyone, right in front of his peers and friends, even though it was *humiliating* to be talked to like that, as though he were nothing more than a schoolboy who didn't even know how to take his own *notes* properly but even still Wesley *had* to do it and *had* to obey because he *was* Angel's and Angel controlled absolutely *everything* that Wesley did and Wesley had no say in it which meant that, bingo, Wes was helpless.

A hesitation of about a second, tops. Just a bit of pause in the writing, and a blink, and then Wesley put his pen down and picked up the other and said, as though nothing were out of the ordinary, "Yes, Angel." and there you were.

But that's how it was to everyone else. To Wesley, Spike knew, it had lasted a lifetime. A lifetime of his breath caught in his lungs and his heart doing a sick pounding and the flush of embarrassment threatening to give the entire game away by creeping out over his shirt collar and his cock, his traitorous cock, taking it all in and sitting up and starting to beg for more of that humiliating attention - though thankfully *that* was under the table where no one could see.

One second, five words, not even a look, and Angel had had the boy hard and wanting.

Spike had to admire it.

It was times like that when Spike truly enjoyed the bodyguard duty. Because he got to shadow Wes back into his office after the meeting - Wes's notepads and file folders held just so, of course - and be there when Wes shut the blinds and closed the office door and then leaned his weight against it as though he were about to fall over.

"How does he *do* that?" Wesley asked.

"Evil bastard, pet," Spike reminded him. "Knows all forms of torture."

"It should be impossible," Wesley said. He put the paperwork down then sank onto the couch, threading hands through his hair as though he could clear it. "It should *not* be possible for him to - "

"Make you horny like that?" Spike finished. He sat down beside him. "No luck, pet. He knows your buttons. And the ones he doesn't know he's happy to program in. Right thorough he is. Ask me how I know."

"Do they ever wear off?" Wesley asked. "After all these years, do you get some relief?"

Spike thought about the one command Angelus used which could make him come just to hear it. It had worked as good a hundred years ago as the time Angel had used it on him in the bedroom upstairs. "Wear off, no. Relief?" Spike reached down and ran a hand along the inside of Wesley's thigh. "That's another question now, isn't it?"

Wes looked up at him and there it was. Helpless. Needy. Eyes saying "please" even as the mouth denied it. "No, that's - you shouldn't - "

"Quiet, pet," Spike told him. He wasn't normally one for orders but there was something about that look of Wes's that brought it out in him. Hell, maybe that'd been something Da had programmed too. "Angel's not the only one who thinks you're tasty like this."

Wes's hips moved. Spike danced his hand away from any kind of satisfying touch, smiling as Wes couldn't help but try to chase after him. "God - No. Spike - it's not *fair*. To you, I mean."

"How's that, pet?" Spike asked. He moved his hand higher, popping off the buttons of Wes's nice office shirt.

"Because it started with him," Wesley said. He tried to catch Spike's hand to stop him. "I became aroused because of him. I'd be thinking of him while you touched me. When I'm with you I should think of you."

Spike took Wes's hand by the wrist, pressing it down onto the arm of the sofa. "Mind me, pet. You're not ever allowed to stop me touching you. And as for the rest - " Spike bent down, flicking a tongue over an exposed nipple. "You trying to say I don't make you hard?"

Wes sucked in a breath, hips bucking. "No - I - you do. *God* you do."

"Then what's the problem then?" Spike asked. He ran his thumbnail in circles along Wes's inner wrist.

"Spike," Wes said, his eyes closing. He was close to begging now, and Angel wasn't the only one who couldn't keep his hands off when Wes talked like that. "I - I don't want to - "

"How many times I have to tell you, pet?" Spike asked, not unkindly. He moved his mouth up, nibbling on the boy's ear. "It's not about fair. It's about coming. Now way I see it you're all wound up and ready to pop if I so much as breathe on you. Think I care about how you got that way or do you think I care to see your body shake as you can't control yourself?"

Wes tried to turn around for a kiss. "Please."

"And as for fair," Spike added, moving his hand down to brush the lightest touch over Wes's stomach, "what would you do if you came in and saw me like this? All hot and wanting and dying because Angel got me up and then left me to moan? Would you mind giving me what I needed?"

"No," Wes said at once, his movements dizzy with lust now. "Of course not."

"Then shut it," Spike told him, finally undoing Wes's trousers. "And let me take you."

Wes moaned, completely non-verbal, as Spike wrapped his fingers around his dick.

So wanton was nice. Needy was better. But it was the smiles which did it.

It happened every time. No exception - and Spike actually cared enough to try to *find* exceptions. Not because he cared to make a tally, but because he liked to think of himself as a cynical bloke who didn't fall prey to this sort of nanciness.

But no, every time.

Spike walked into a room and Wes would stop what he was doing, look up, and smile at him.

Stupid really. Dumber than - well anything of Angel's you'd care to name. Spike knew that. In his unbeating heart of hearts he knew it was hardly a shining moment for his pride.

But the thing of it was that Wes was the *only* one who did it.

Oh yeah, sure, Fred smiled at him. But she smiled at everyone. She was like Tara, in that way. Nice for the most part, ready to cut you off at the balls if you crossed her.

So her smiles didn't count.

Neither did Harmony's, as Harmony was as likely to snipe at him as she was to smile at him, and the whims and fancies that made her choose one over the other were so scattershot that Spike was almost tempted to believe that phases of the moon really *could* affect the undead female set, in spite of any other evidence to support it.

And Angel didn't smile, which knocked him out of the running right there.

But Wesley did. Every time. And it was a smile from his lovely mouth to his deep blue eyes and each and every time it meant that Wesley was happy to see him.

Which was why Spike enjoyed spending time with Wes even if it meant keeping their clothes on.

Though to be fair Wesley was no slouch at coming up with things for them to do.

With days to go until the night of dancing, Wes had pounced upon him, smile in place, and said that they needed to go out on their bikes. One motorcycle against the other, winner take all - whatever that meant since they weren't exactly in a race.

They went out on the dark LA streets, driving like mad, engines roaring up a storm fit to deafen people as they bobbed in and out of traffic, disobeyed most laws, and definitely ignored the speed limit. They carried walkie talkies with them - Spike's a headset in his ear, Wes's built into his helmet - and taunted each other with the idea of who was the better man at handling his vehicle.

Finally Wes suggested a rest stop, and they pulled over to an outdoor grill, ordering up a tray of burgers and chips and sodas to munch on.

"You cheat!" Wesley accused, picking up the fight they'd been having since they got off Sunset.

"I do not," Spike lied, stealing some of Wesley's chips just on principle.

"You do so," Wesley shot back. He looked cross, though Spike knew he wasn't serious. "Honestly, what good is the soul for if not to prevent you from that?"

"For making you think I'll be prevented from that?" Spike suggested with one of his best grins. "Then while your guard is down I zoom in and do as I please."

"Yes, you *do* do that, don't you?" Wesley said, with a lowering of the voice and the eyelashes which suggested that maybe that night was going to include a bit of nudity after all.

"Later, pet," Spike promised. "Angel's all caught up with meetings, yes? Could go back home, enjoy that nice big bed just the two of us."

"I wouldn't mind," Wesley said. He gave Spike another half-second of the invitation look, then put his attention back on his food. "Spike, why doesn't Angel mind that?"

Spike washed down the mouthful of burger he'd just scarfed with a swig of his soda. "Mind what, pet?"

"Us," Wesley said. He put his food back down so he could face him. "Angel's become so jealous of everything else - even of people looking at me. Yet you and I do almost anything we please and he doesn't mind it at all. It's not even a concern for him."

"Isn't that the answer we're looking for?" Spike pointed out.

There was a touch of smile on Wes's lips. "True. But it is curious, don't you think?"

"Nah," Spike said, waving it off. "You're thinking like you, pet. You gotta think like Angel."

"There's a joke to be made there, I'm sure," Wesley said, "but go on."

"You see me as another person," Spike explained. "Much as I'm a person. That's why you're always going on about fair and who you're thinking about and all that. You see Angel as Angel and me as me."

"Am I not supposed to?" Wesley asked.

"See it however you like," Spike told him. "But you're asking me how *Angel* sees it. And his brain doesn't work like that."

"How does it work then?" Wesley asked, leaning forward with fascination.

"I'm his left hand," Spike said. "I'm not some client or outsider coming in to take his property. I *am* his property. Got my own will and way about me, sure. But I belong to him. If I'm touching you then it's like he's touching you. I fill in where he can't. Get it?"

Wes puzzled it over. "Wouldn't that make you his *right* hand, then?"

Spike grinned. "You've never seen which one he wanks off with."

Wesley laughed at that. "Well be that as it may, I don't view you in that fashion."

"I know, pet," Spike said, proud when he kept most of the feeling out of his voice.

"You're you, and that's quite enough for me," Wes told him.

"Yeah, ditto and all that," Spike said, trying to wave it off.

Wes leaned in even further. "And when we're done eating, I would like to take you home and explore this conversation further. Or perhaps skip that part and go directly to the sex."

"No wonder Da likes you," Spike said.

Now it was Wes's turn to grin. "Is that the reason? Here I thought it was because I gave phenomenal head."

"Not saying it wasn't an influence," Spike replied.

"Hey there," a voice cut in, rapidly followed by a wolf whistle. "You and your boyfriend want to try that with *me* tonight?"

Spike looked up. Three other bikers had shown up and had taken in the view. One was in the front and had spoken. The two in the back were making the usual round of gestures and faces. Spike shook his head. This was *not* the sort of thing that -

"I'd go away now, if I were you."

Spike blinked. Before he'd even had a chance to stand Wes had pulled the Glock out and was aiming it at the bikers nice as you please. "Uh, Wes - "

"Think you scare me with that, pretty boy?" the lead biker said, his attention now focused on the man with the gun. "Think *we* don't have weapons? That we can't shoot you dead?"

"It's Los Angeles," Wes said, calm as anything. "I'm quite certain that you have weapons. I'm equally certain that they include guns. I am *also* certain, however, that I can shoot each one of you in the head in the amount of time it would take for one of you to make the attempt to return the favor. In fact I'm quite certain I could do it twice. Now if you'd care to test that theory that's quite all right. My lawyers will most assuredly get me off come morning."

The leader glared. "Faggot."

And there came the second gun, which Wes used to take out the wheels on the newcomers' motorcycles, his first gun - and his gaze - never wavering. "Now that was a rather stupid thing to call me now, wasn't it?"

"I'm going get you for this," the leader said.

"You're really not," Wes assured him. "Now go away before I forget what *my* soul is used for."

There was grumbling, then the men went off.

Spike stood up. "We should go, pet. Gunfire tends to bring in the sirens."

"We own them," Wes reminded him.

"Yeah, and telling *Angel* that's gonna make sure he's not pissed off," Spike threw back at him.

Wes sobered, realizing the situation, and put the guns away. "All right. Let's go back."

They got back on their bikes, ready to roar off. Spike held out a hand to stop Wesley before they left. "One thing, pet."

Wes adjusted the chinstrap of his helmet. "Yes?"

"'Get me off come morning'?" Spike asked, giving him a look.

Wes grinned, revving his bike into life. "I couldn't resist."

"What - I'm just curious here," Angel said, standing in front of the both of them, "but what *exactly* does bodyguard mean to you?"

Wes tried to step forward. "Angel - "

Angel's eyes swiveled over to Wes and Spike could *feel* the intensity of that gaze. "I'm not asking you."

Wes stepped back. "Sorry, Angel."

They were alone, which was good. Spike had a worry that this tear-down was going to happen in the lobby. Which would've been fine by him except he didn't know if Wes's newfound kinks could've withstood *that* much public attention. But no. Angel had hauled them up to the penthouse and waited until the lift doors closed before exploding.

"I was *with* him, Da," Spike said. "That's part of the job, right? Go where he goes, be there when danger happens."

"And you were there," Angel said, so angry that his voice barely had modulation which meant that he was *well* beyond the point where any punishments doled out would be fun for anyone, Angel included. "And according to the reports I got you *sat* there and did *nothing*!"

Spike frowned. "How'd you get reports so - "

"We own the traffic cameras," Wes supplied, tossing that tidbit over to him before trying to get Angel's attention again. "Angel that was my fault, not Spike's. It was my idea to go out, my idea to stop there, mine to take charge in confronting those gentlemen. If Spike had tried to interfere he would have gotten in the way of my aim and the distraction would have been enough for one of them to take out a weapon and try to hurt me. The only thing he *could* do was let me handle it."

"You're not *supposed* to handle it," Angel said. "You are supposed to be good and be quiet and let *Spike* handle it so that you don't get hurt!"

"I know that now," Wesley said.

"You should have known it *then*!" Angel snapped. He advanced, looking every bit a vampire for all that the bumps and fangs remained hidden. "I told Spike to watch you. I told you to mind Spike. This is about as close as you have *ever* come to disobeying me, Wesley, and I've got to say I do not like it."

"I'm sorry, Angel," Wes said, keeping his eyes down.

Angel took him by the chin. "*Look* at me. Do you think I like this? Do you think I like the idea of you hurting? Those guys could have *killed* you, Wes! You went out, you put yourself in danger, you were nearly attacked - what the *fuck* were you thinking?"

"Angel - " Spike tried, wondering if he could deflect some of the blow.

"Quiet boy," Angel growled. He took Wes by the arms now, shoving him back against the wall until he was trapped there with Angel in front of him. "Tell me what you were thinking, Wes. Were you thinking of yourself as mine? As my property? As the thing that I own and I want to take care of?"

"No, Angel," Wesley admitted.

"Then humor me here, Wes," Angel said. getting right in his face. "What the Hell were you thinking?"

"That it didn't matter," Wesley said. He was speaking barely above a whisper. "That it wasn't important, and it didn't matter."

"You were wrong," Angel told him. He got his hands on Wesley's wrists, squeezing them tight enough to make Wesley gasp. "It *does* matter. It *is* important. You are *mine*. You *never* do anything that can cause you danger, you *never* do anything that could take you away from me. Do you get that?"

"Yes, Angel," Wes said. He squirmed under Angel's touch so much that he was pressed right up against Angel's body. "I promise I won't do it again."

"This isn't a promise," Angel told him, still not letting go of the wrists. "It's an order. You do *not* get a choice. You *never* do this. Do you hear me?"

Wes was breathing heavily now. "Yes, Angel."

"Have I made myself totally clear?" Angel asked.

"Yes, Angel."

"Are you mine?"

"Yes, Angel."

"My property?"

"*Yes*, Angel."

"Do you obey me?"

Wes struggled with the words a bit. "Y - yes, Angel."

Angel finally decided to accept it. "Good boy."

"Yours, Angel," Wesley breathed.

Angel pressed a kiss to Wesley's forehead, then stepped away. "Spike?"

Spike tore his gaze off Wes. "Yeah, Da?"

"Rip his clothes off, get him in the bed, get him ready," Angel said. He was checking his cell phone, which meant there was actual business to take care of. "In fact, tie him down. I think he needs another lesson on who's in charge here."

"Sure, Da," Spike said, trying to figure out at what point the punishment had changed.

"I should be back in ten," Angel said, heading over to the elevator. "And by the way, it's now your job to make sure Wes never tries this again. He doesn't do *anything* outside this building without checking with me."

"Right, Da," Spike said, then remembered. "Wait - dancing."

Angel held the elevator doors open with his hand. "What?"

"Me and Wes," Spike explained. "We were going to go dancing on Thursday."

"Where?" Angel asked.

Spike shrugged. "Some club."

Angel thought about it. "Buy it."

"*What*?"

"Buy it," Angel said. "If we don't own it already. Check with Gunn. He'd know. But Wes is *not* going on display like that if I don't own every one of the guards who'll be watching him and that includes the bouncers. Buy the club, then take him out. Hell, I might even go with you."

"Right, Da," Spike said, still trying to puzzle it.

"Back in ten," Angel reminded him, then let the doors slide shut.

"I'm sorry," Wesley said, once they were alone. "I never meant for him to be angry with you."

"Don't worry about it," Spike reassured him. "Da and I yell, it's what we do."

"You were nearly in trouble, that's my fault," Wesley said. He was rubbing his wrists as though trying to get feeling in them. "I'm sorry. I never intended that."

Spike weighed the words carefully, thinking over everything that had just occurred. Then he watched and realized Wesley wasn't *massaging* his wrists, he was *pressing* on them. "You liked that, didn't you, pet?" he asked. "Not just the up against the wall bit. The whole thing."

Wes nodded, a sheepish look crossing his face. "I did. I do. Perhaps more than I should."

Spike came over. He took Wes's wrists in his hands and rubbed them down, watching looks of pleasure dance over Wesley's face. "Why?"

"My entire life I've been rather unwelcome," Wesley confessed. He didn't move away from Spike in the slightest. Instead he almost melted into the touch. "Wherever I go people tell me to leave. They say that I'm not good enough. Not nice enough. Not qualified. Everywhere I go people chase me off. Except for Angel. Angel was the first who ever asked me to stay."

"You knew this was going to happen tonight," Spike guessed.

Wesley nodded. "I suspected. That's why I didn't let you take charge of it. I - I wanted to see if Angel would react. If he would care."

"He *does* care, pet," Spike told him. "Christ, if you haven't figured that out - "

"Spike, please," Wes said, gently. "It's a bit more complicated than that. But I appreciate the sentiment."

"You're both berks," Spike said. "But all right."

"I wish he would do that more often," Wesley said, looking over at the lift. "I keep asking him to be rough with me but he never does. Not as much as I'd like."

"He's scared, pet," Spike said. "He's got a demon in there that he's still learning to tame. You know Angel. Hurt himself before anyone else."

"I wish he would trust me with that," Wesley said.

"Makes two of us," Spike told him.

Wesley thought about it. "Perhaps we should work together?"

"It's not a half-bad idea," Spike said. He pulled Wes towards the bedroom. "Come on, pet. He'll be back soon enough and he's going to want you ready."

"I'm happy to be so," Wesley said. "Though I'm not sure how much more I could be. I nearly came from him holding me down. If he growls *mine* again I'm not sure I could control it."

"Something tells me he won't mind, pet," Spike said. He got the cuffs out of the nightstand. "What with him wanting you and all."

"Lucky me," Wesley mused, sitting on the bed while Spike worked.

Spike stood up, freeing up a hand to touch Wes's lips. "He's not the only one, pet. He might've been the first, but he wasn't the last."

And there, again, was that smile. "I know, Spike. That's why I enjoy it when you act that way too."

Spike's mind happily traveled down memories of taking Wesley's mouth while Angel fucked Wesley from behind. "Then be prepared to enjoy yourself, pet, because I think now you've got me and Angel both in the mood."

"Oh damn," Wes said, and his eyes danced as he moved back onto the bed.