Angel / Pet / Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Wesley could feel the fibers of the carpet underneath his hands. He was, in fact, able to feel every single fiber as though hyper-aware of it. As though stimulated by drugs, or perhaps fulfilling the adage that when one sense was handicapped the others filled in the gaps tenfold. Because, of course, one sense *was* handicapped due to the blindfold of silk across his eyes which, due to the increased sense of feeling, sent frissons of pleasure throughout his skin whenever the smooth, now body temperature, cloth so much as brushed against his cheek or forehead or nose and reminded him, with ironic sharpness, of the presence of the cloth which had been placed there at Angel's behest for the sole purpose of making him vulnerable, and helpless, and - which Angel surely must have been aware of - rock hard and positively dying to beg Angel to please, please, *please* fuck him until he couldn't breathe any longer.

But he couldn't do that. Because he'd been told to be quiet unless spoken to. And following Angel's orders, much like wearing Angel's blindfold, was something which made Wesley very, very aroused.

Crawling, then. On his hands and knees. While naked. If there was a more degrading position to be in that did not actually involve the wearing of women's clothing Wesley was completely unaware of it. In point of fact Wesley highly doubted that the wearing of women's clothing could *top* this sort of degradation due to the fact that it was a position he accepted, willingly, at the behest of two vampires. Two *famous* vampires. No, no - best to correct that. Two *infamous* vampires. The sort that nightmarish bedtime stories were told about, if one lived the kind of life where one's parents told bedtime stories.

Wesley hadn't lived that sort of life. He'd lived a more practical one. Flat-out advice without sentiment - or positive sentiment at any rate - had been the order of the day. Advice such as where to put the stake, the best containers for Holy Water, and how under no circumstances should one allow oneself to fall under a vampire's thrall.

Wesley was quite certain if Angel rejected him now he would die. Or want to. Or simply perish from despair like a creature in a fairy tale. Regardless, he was terrified of it. On the other hand, to be wanted, to be owned, to be - and yes, in Wesley's heart he dared to let himself hold a spark of belief that Angel's repeated insistence of this fact might be true - a *cherished possession* of both Angel *and* Spike…. He couldn't bear it. It was too much to hope for. But he wanted it. Dear God he wanted it.

Wesley crawled. He'd never done it before. He'd never watched another do it either. Angel had asked - no, demanded - a good view. What *was* a good view? Was he providing one even now? Should he move in another way? *Could* one crawl in another way?

No, best not to think of it. Angel was right. That was his failing in these matters. Wesley's job in this part of their lives was *not* to think but to simply obey. To uncomplicate Angel's life by doing as he wished, and what Angel wished was to watch Wesley go to Spike on his hands and -

Dear God, was he crawling towards Spike?

Wesley hesitated. If there was one thing more horrifying than allowing his mind to skirt around the contrast that his current position held with the life he once had it was the thought *that he was doing it incorrectly*. He was *blindfolded*. He hadn't seen Spike sit - he wasn't even certain Spike *was* sitting. Angel had said crawl, so he had. Wesley had *thought* that he was moving towards where he remembered Spike's voice as being but what if the vampire had moved? What if Wesley hadn't heard right? What if Wesley, right now, was moving in the exact opposite direction like a *fool* and only making it worse for himself as he *always* did and he was doing nothing except disappointing Angel *and* Spike and making an absolute laughing stock of himself which would only result in the very rejection that he was so terrified of because why *wouldn't* Angel reject him considering everything that had happened and everything that Angel knew and the fact that Wesley's own *father* wouldn't -

"Keep going, Wes."

Angel's voice. Gentle. From exactly where Wesley remembered him. Encouraging him. Ordering him.

Wesley relaxed. If he was doing what Angel wanted, then it was all right.

He kept crawling. The carpet felt thick and comforting beneath him. Wesley smiled at that, thinking of how useful that would be for the ultimate task at hand. Though of course he would have completed such a task on hard concrete if it had been demanded of him.

There was the sound of movement. Angel, walking from where he was to a spot somewhere in the same direction Wesley was going. "Spike, help him out."

More movement, then Spike's familiar hand on Wesley's cheek. "Come along, pet. Not that much further."

Wesley followed the touch as though magnetized to it. His hand bumped into the front of Spike's chair before he realized how close he was. His destination reached, Wesley sat back on his knees, forgetting only for a moment before remembering to put his hands behind his back as though they'd been tied there.

Angel's voice came from a place higher and further back than Spike's. Wesley assumed Angel was standing behind Spike's chair. "Good boy, Wes."

Did that require a response? It wasn't a question, so Wesley decided to remain mute. Angel could correct him if he'd misbehaved.

Apparently he hadn't. Angel continued. "Spike, I think Wes wants to suck your dick."

"Who am I to deny the lad?" Spike asked.

There was a soft sound that Wesley knew was Angel's muffled chuckling. Wesley liked that sound. It meant Angel was happy. More seriously, Angel asked, "Wes? Is that what you want?"

Possibly a trick question. It was what he'd been *told* to do, so should he answer accordingly? No. Angel had previously insisted on Wesley's honest emotions. This had to be a continuation of that theme. "Yes, Angel."

"Why?"

"Because you told me to," Wesley replied. "Because it is part of my apology. And… because I would very much like to."

"Good enough for me," Spike said.

There was more movement. Wesley couldn't tell what kind. "Now, now," Angel said. "Wes is learning a lesson here. We should teach him how to do this properly."

"I've seen him on you, Da," Spike muttered. "He *knows* how to do it properly. At least I haven't heard *you* complaining."

"Manners in everything, Spike," Angel said, apparently unphased by Spike's comments. "Wouldn't you agree, Wesley?"

This answer was easy to guess. "Yes, Angel."

"You want to show off your good manners, don't you, Wes?" Angel asked.

Wesley nodded. "Yes, Angel."

"Why?"

Wesley was momentarily stumped. Then he ventured, "Because I want to be the best pet possible, Angel."

"Good boy," Angel said, his voice low enough to make Wesley shiver. "Now show off your manners for me. Ask Spike if you can please suck his cock."

"Spike," Wesley said at his most proper, knowing it would only please Angel for him to restate the wording correctly, "may I please suck your cock?"

"Yes, you may, pet," Spike said, his own voice warm and husky.

"Not so fast," Angel corrected. It took Wesley a moment to realize he was correcting Spike and not him. "Wes is about to have his mouth full. I think he should get all the talking out of the way first."

"Bloody, pompous, *sadistic* - " Spike muttered, the rest of his words lost as they became too soft for Wesley to hear, though Wesley felt certain he could guess the jist of them.

Angel ignored them. "Wes, I want you to ask Spike for permission for everything you're about to do with your mouth. Be detailed. You don't want to forget anything."

Wesley licked his lips. He couldn't help but think of Angel's suggested imagery of him in front of a classroom, being forced to give a recitation. Except Wesley *liked* giving recitations. They were academic, and thorough, and allowed him to use his mind and show off what a good student he was. To be called upon to perform this trick for Angel was something that gave him exceptional pleasure. He did his best to rise to the occasion. "Spike, may I suck your cock? May I kiss it? May I run my lips over every inch that I can reach? May I rub it with my tongue? May I scrape my teeth over it? May I suck and lick on the head until it gives you pleasure? May I make noise so that you can feel the vibrations? May I try to take it as far into my throat as possible? May I move my mouth up and down in every speed I can manage in order to give you the most satisfaction? May I do variations on all of that and more until you *do* come? And when you do may I swallow every drop of it and lick you perfectly clean? Please?"

"Yeah," Spike said, his voice distant and almost disbelieving. "Yeah, pet. Do that."

"Thank you," Wesley smiled, then bent forward to his task.

It wasn't easy. What he hadn't thought of was that Spike was still dressed, and that he hadn't asked for permission to use his hands. No matter. Wesley had his orders, he would obey them.

Spike's top button proved surprisingly simple. The zipper proved less so. It was several tries before Wesley could securely grip it, but once he did Spike lent a hand in getting the garment out of the way and freeing his erection.

Blind, Wesley stumbled a bit as he tried to connect. The tip of Spike's cock brushed his cheek and chin before Wesley located it with his tongue and then guided it into his lips.

As he did Spike made a rumbling sound of pleasure.

He'd touched Spike's cock before. Kissed it, licked it, tasted it. He had not, however, taken it fully into his mouth and now that he had permission Wesley wanted it all. He swallowed it down, feeling it brush the back of his throat and moaned with pleasure. He loved this. He had to admit that he loved this. Doing it to Angel, doing it to Spike - it wasn't a lie. Wesley was happiest on his knees.

He took to his task, then. There had been so much build-up for the act that Wesley did not want to disappoint - not Spike, who had waited, nor Angel who had trained him. Wesley felt that it was a test, and he was determined to pass. Not for his own sake, of course, but for Angel's. And, of course, for Spike's. He wanted to please them both.

He did as he promised. Licking, sucking, swallowing around the head, humming, scraping with his teeth - everything he could do which seemed to make Spike happy and, once discovering what that was, he tried to do more.

Spike was hard, his body shaking. He gave hisses and moans of encouragement. There was movement above him and Wesley realized it was Spike and Angel. He didn't know what they were doing, but he could imagine it. Spike wasn't touching him. That probably meant that Angel was holding him down. Perhaps grabbing him by the wrists as he loved to grab Wesley.

Or touching him. Perhaps Angel's hands were unbuttoning Spike's shirt, then caressing his bare chest. Lingering over the nipples as he pinched and pulled (here Spike gave a higher-pitched sound of pleasure that had nothing to do with Wesley's touch - *surely* that was something Angel had done) and tormented him.

They had to have been kissing. Spike wasn't talking. That rarely happened unless his mouth was full. He must have been kissing Angel, then. Or Angel was kissing him. Deeply, his tongue probing the younger vampire's mouth, his face shaped with a look of possession and tenderness that Spike for some reason was utterly incapable of seeing. Angel *cared* for his grandson. Wanted him. Savored his touch as much if not more than he savored Wesley's. Surely Angel was doing that now. Surely he was claiming Spike from above as he used Wesley to claim him from below.

And that's what this was, wasn't it? Claiming Spike. Yes, yes, it *had* to be. Wesley increased his efforts, wanting to *show* Spike that. To demonstrate with actions since the younger vampire was so obstinate about believing in words. Angel wanted him, and cared for him. He wouldn't have ordered Wesley to do this otherwise. And Wesley - he would have obeyed Angel's orders to go down on a stranger if he'd had to, but this was no stranger, and Wesley needed no orders. He liked them, adored them, basked in the comfort of them as he would in a warm blanket, but he never needed them as far as Spike was concerned. It had been hard to admit it, perhaps, but Angel had known. Spike was more than friend, more than family. To lose the other vampire now would have been like losing a limb. Wesley couldn't fathom it. He didn't want to.

He kept working.

He imagined the vampires in his mind. The two men, both impossibly handsome, locked in an embrace. Perhaps a bit violent. Their teeth biting at one another. Their eyes hinting of gold and the promise of the preternatural strength that lurked in them both. The strength which could snap Wesley's body like a twig, yet which both vampires used solely for the purpose of Wesley's protection. Angel and Spike *both* acted on it. If there was even only the hint of danger, both vampires made no bones about using the full force of their powers to take care of him.

Wesley was *theirs*. Their slave, their toy, their plaything. He loved it. He utterly loved it.

He didn't know how much time passed. He didn't care. His jaw ached but he paid it no mind. He swirled his tongue and fluttered his lips and bobbed his head and *moaned* as he heard Spike's responses. *Ached*, his own cock throbbing and dancing between his legs, as he heard the two vampires become lost in their own pleasure, Spike's body tense, his movements strong enough to make the chair creak as he shifted, and twitched, and thrust into Wesley's mouth as though to fuck him properly which knocked Wesley somewhat off balance but he kept at it, loosening his grip so Spike could take his pleasure, do whatever he want, use Wesley for whatever purpose that he wanted him because it *wasn't* Wesley's choice it was Spike's, and Angel's, and Wesley had no job in life that did not involve their pleasure, their happiness, their ultimate satisfaction -

"Go on, boy," Angel was saying, his voice husky and intimate in a way that he only was around Spike.

Spike's voice was tight, strained with the force of his own willpower. "I - Da - I - "

Angel's voice, still gentle, still intimate. Wesley imagined him brushing Spike's lips with his fingertips, or pressing a kiss to Spike's mouth. "Come, boy."

Spike's body jerked, then came. The orgasm was so violent Wesley nearly choked on it. He recovered, swallowing as best he could then licking the rest clean.

"Good boy," Angel was murmuring, possibly to Spike, possibly to Wesley, possibly to them both. "Such a good boy."

"'s not bad," Spike slurred. Wesley shifted position to accommodate as Spike slumped down in his chair. "Not bad t'all…"

"He is good, isn't he?" Angel said. Wesley's heart grew at the sound of pride in Angel's tone.

"Could say that," Spike said. "'course, might need a repeat or eleven just to be sure…"

Angel laughed, warmly. Wesley imagined him scruffing Spike's hair. "All in good time. You can fuck him anytime you want now. Don't need to wait for me."

"Don't think I won't take you up on that," Spike said.

"I know you will," Angel replied. There was more movement, then Angel's voice was closer. "Wes? How do you feel?"

Wesley flexed his jaw, trying to work the soreness out of it. "Wonderful, Angel."

"Did you like that?"

Wesley looked up in a direction he hoped was directly into Spike's eyes. "Very much, Angel."

"You enjoyed serving Spike?"

"Yes, Angel," Wesley said. "Very much."

"Would you want to do it again?"

"Yes," Wesley said. "Please. Please, Angel."

"You did," Angel said, then clarified. "Please me. So I'll let you keep on serving Spike. You see how that works, Wes? Do what makes me happy and then I give you rewards. You want my rewards, don't you, Wes?"

The very thought of what else Angel had planned for his future was enough to make his head spin. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, Angel."

"Of course," Angel continued, "that was making me happy by serving Spike. Now you have to make me happy by serving *me*."

Wesley nodded, opening his mouth to beg for the privilege then clamping it shut when he remembered the command to be quiet.

"Good boy," Angel said, perhaps noticing Wesley's self-correction. "I do love how well you obey. Few things make me harder, did you know that, Wes?"

"I hope for that, Angel," Wesley answered.

"Why?"

Now Wesley tried to look in Angel's direction. "Few things make me happier than pleasing you does."

"Good boy," Angel said. His voice was closer now. Wesley hadn't even heard him move. But of course Angel was a vampire. He was capable of coming close to Wesley without even making a sound. As far as the survival of the human race went, this was something of a detriment. But as far as Wesley's arousal went it ratcheted up to new heights. He was completely and utterly at Angel's mercy. It made him hard enough that he wanted to cry. "So. Do you want to please me, Wes?"

"Yes, Angel," Wesley said. They were close enough that they could be kissing. Angel's voice was tickling at his ear. "Please."

"Would you do anything to please me, Wes?" Angel asked.

"Yes," Wesley promised. "Yes, Angel. Anything. If it made you happy I would do anything."

"Crawl over to the bed," Angel told him.

Wesley turned around, putting his hands in front of him once more. He unkinked his muscles, then moved forward as he was told. He made a few steps before he realized he was utterly lost. He had to orient himself based on his memory of where he'd left Spike, and in truth he was so turned around he had no idea which of the chairs Spike had been sitting in.

"Need help, Wes?" Angel asked.

"Please, Angel," Wesley replied. "I want to serve you. I only need to know where to go."

"Want me to lead you?" Angel asked.

"If that gives you pleasure," Wesley said. "However you give me this information, Angel. I serve at your pleasure."

"I just love the way he says stuff," Angel said, probably speaking over his shoulder to Spike. To Wesley he said, "I think you *need* me to lead you."

"I want it, certainly," Wesley said, since the words had sounded a bit like a question.

"Take you by the hand," Angel said. "Control you, like a good owner should."

Wesley leaned down closer to the floor. Angel's words were like a full-body caress, like Angel's body *itself* was pressed up against his. "Please, Angel."

"Want it?"

"Yes."

"What was that?"

"Yes, Angel."

"Again."

"Yes, Angel," Wesley repeated. He could barely speak. Underneath the blindfold his eyes were squeezed shut. He felt weak, needy, defenseless. "Please, Angel."

"Please what?" Angel asked. There were sounds. Movement. Faint clinking and rustles as though Angel was removing the rest of his clothing.

Wesley swallowed, trying to draw his mind away from the intoxicating image of Angel completely nude and fucking him good and properly. "Take me, Angel. Fuck me. Claim me. Own me. Whatever you want, whatever you *need*. Please, Angel. *Please*."

"Are you mine?"

"Yes, Angel."

"Owned by me?"

"Yes, Angel."

"Do you *want* to be owned by me?"

"*Yes*, Angel."

"Always?"

"*Yes*, Angel."

"Prove it."

*How?* Wesley wanted to ask, but he wasn't allowed to speak without being questioned. He couldn't beg without permission either. He struggled, not wanting to fail, not wanting to do anything which would take Angel away from him and leave him without Angel's touch. An action then. Something to show his desire, his obedience.

Wesley thought about it. Then he sat up, put his hands behind his back, and bared his throat.

"*Good* boy," Angel said. There was more movement, and the clinking sound again. "*Very* good boy. You do make me happy, you know that, Wes?"

"Thank you, Angel," Wesley said. He couldn't speak above a whisper. It was impossible. He felt as though he were falling, and Angel's voice was the only form of solid ground.

"Of course," Angel continued, "I bet when you did that you weren't thinking about *this*."

Another clinking sound, and then there was the feel of cool leather around Wesley's throat.

Angel's belt. He'd removed it and wrapped it around Wesley's neck. It was a slipknot, the long strap of leather threaded through the metal buckle to create -

"You're my pet," Angel said. He gave the belt a tug. "It's about time you had a leash."

Another tug. The leather was firm around his throat. Right over his voicebox. Right over his pulse. Right over the very passages that he needed to *breathe*. But it wasn't choking him. It was simply strong, and there, and holding him, and *claiming* him and -

"Come on, Wes," Angel said, pulling on it once more. "Onto the bed."

The tugging. Dear God the tugging and the *thought*, the very *idea* of being on his knees like this, of actually being treated like a slave, like an *animal*, like willingly being on his hands and knees wasn't enough and Angel was going to remove the choice from him, make it so he would be there at Angel's whim with *no* say in it, no ability to deny him even if he wanted to, no ability to *escape* from this, to run from the reality of being Angel's possession, from having to do whatever Angel wanted him to do and to do it right there in front of *Spike*, Spike who was watching the entire thing and who would remember it and *know* this was Wesley's true self, know that this was what Wesley was and always wanted to be and - and -

"I can't!" Wesley said, gasping it out as tears flooded his eyes. "Angel, please. I - if I move one *inch* I shall come. I swear it."

"Good boy," Angel said at once. He put slack into the leash as Wesley felt him kneel beside him. Soft kisses were pressed to Wesley's forehead and cheeks. "Good, *good* boy. That's exactly what you should have told me. Relax, Wes. Take deep, slow breaths. Listen to me and follow my lead. Nice and slow."

Wesley listened, mirroring the breaths that Angel took on his behalf. He tried to calm himself because Angel wished it so. He imagined he was looking directly into Angel's eyes, so completely and utterly his that even this basic function of life - one which should have been involuntary - was now, too, under the vampire's control. He felt the leash around his throat as though from a great distance, and abstractly wondered if Angel could control the very beating of his heart.

*Yours*, Wesley thought, or perhaps even said. The word was a promise, and a definition of his entire being. "Angel, *yours*."

"Good boy," Angel was saying. There was more kissing. Angel's tongue in his mouth. His hands caressing Wesley's body. It felt right. Perfect. Wesley wanted no distance between them. He felt empty for anything that Angel did not claim.

But Angel *did* claim him. At some point the kissing and touching and breathing was at an end and the leash was taken up. Wesley was lead by it, blindly, blissfully, unable to imagine a world in which he *wasn't* controlled in this manner.

He was brought up onto the bed. He needed hardly any guidance as he was placed into position. Fingers probed him, opened him, made him good and slick. His cock ached, so hard now that he couldn't remember when it had been otherwise. Couldn't remember if it even *should* be otherwise. He was Angel's. He was always meant to be like this.

Then Angel was in him. Deep. Strong. Hitting him just so. His hand firmly grasping the leash so that Wesley was *never* not held by him, *never* not owned by him. It was more than he could conceive of. More than he'd ever dared to make even a wish for. Collared. Claimed. *Taken*. He felt the words "Please - please - please - please - " and realized he was saying them. Angel was speaking. Saying things like "Good" and "Mine" and "Wesley" and Wesley knew that was all he ever needed to know.

The arousal made him feel as though he were floating. Every moment sent him higher and higher until all he could feel was Angel's cock within him and Angel's leash around his throat. His mind's eye danced back and forth between the two until the world spun, and he was possibly even laughing, until finally, *finally*, he heard the dark growl of a vampire in orgasm, and felt the hard thrusts of Angel's pleasure, and then whimpered, and trembled, and moaned, and finally sobbed when Angel whispered:

"Come, Wesley."

And he truly and utterly lost all control.