Angel / Pet / Chapter Twenty-Six

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

"Mr. Angel, this *is* an honor."

Angel stopped short as a hand was thrust out towards him. It was attached to a vampire. Young. Probably only dead three years. Brown hair, loose-fitting suit, and a far too eager expression completed the package.

Angel stared at him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Spike quirk an eyebrow.

"Really," the vampire insisted. The hand hovered between them.

"Harm," Angel called out.

"Coming, boss," she called back. Her voice was muffled, and sounded as though she was on the other side of the lobby.

"You know when I heard that you were interviewing," the vamp continued, "I said to myself *this* was the opportunity of a deathtime."

"Harm," Angel said again.

"Get it?" the vampire added. "*Death*ti - "

"*Harm!*"

"Boss!" Harmony appeared, seeming breathless even though she didn't need to.

Angel turned his gaze to her, then pointed at what was in front of him. "What is this?"

Harmony checked a clipboard. "That's one of the candidates for the minion job. Unless this is 3:30. In which case that might be the head of finance over at Sony."

The vamp laughed, self-deprecatingly. "Oh no. I'm here for minion. Definitely. You know when I heard that Angelus was interviewing I said to myself *this* - "

"It keeps talking to me," Angel told Harmony.

Harmony shot the applicant a look. "First rule of minions is that they do *not* talk to Angel."

"Second rule of minions," Spike said, under his breath, "is they do not talk about minions. Third rule of minions - "

Angel glared at him.

Spike gave him a look right back. "What? You need culture, mate, believe me."

"I need peace," Angel said. "I need quiet. I need a clear path so I can get to my office."

There was a beat before anyone did anything.

"Oh! Sorry!" the vamp jumped out of the way. "I didn't mean to - wait, does this mean I get the job?"

"God please tell me no," Angel pleaded.

"There's an application process," Harmony told him. "We need you to fill out these forms, take a firearms test, complete the interview, sing at least thirty seconds of any song that is not by Barbra Streisand, and then write a five hundred word essay about why you deserve a second chance to *not* be evil."

"Harm came up with all that by herself," Spike said, in answer to Angel's questioning look.

"I thought Lorne liked Streisand," Angel commented.

"Yeah," Harmony replied. "That's why nobody's allowed to sing her stuff."

The vampire seemed undeterred. "Am I allowed to get started? You know I brought my own number two pencil."

"That'll save us a step on the exit interview if you fail, then," Spike observed. He looked the vamp over. "Who are you anyway?"

The hand came out again, this time in Spike's direction. "Robert. Robert Mendez. My friends call me Bobby."

"Bobby," Spike said.

The vampire beamed. "Yes, sir."

"Bobby the vampire," Spike repeated.

The vampire nodded. "Correct."

"Not that I'd repeat him for anything," Spike said, gesturing towards Angel, "but you might want to think about changing that, mate."

"I was actually thinking about Fang," Bobby replied.

"My office," Angel said. He gestured towards it, wistfully. "It's right there. I can see it. I can almost *touch* it if only - "

"Come on, come on," Spike said. He resumed walking again. "You big whiner."

"Very nice meeting you!" Bobby chirped.

"Can't we just kill them now?" Angel asked.

"Sadly, he's the best of the lot," Spike told him.

"So let's set fire to the lot," Angel said. "It's easy. I've done it before. All you need is some gas and a match."

"Yeah, that works *real* well for you," Spike commented. "What are you complaining about anyway? You're not the one who has to be in charge of all that. I'm the one who's dealing with them day in and out."

"But you get the shiny new job of head of security," Angel reminded him. "Speaking of which, are you going to wear a uniform?"

"Bite me."

"Because I think a uniform could be fun."

"Seriously. Go on. Sink your teeth in."

"Maybe something made of polyester," Angel mused. "Possibly with a hint of plaid."

"You know if you *want* to kiss my ass that badly you could just *say* so," Spike observed. "Save us all a bit of time."

"And a kicky beret to top it off," Angel finished, motioning towards Spike's hair. "Set at just the right angle to show off how much you're now part of the man."

"Everyone," Spike announced, stopping in the middle of the lobby, "Angel just said he'd like to kiss my ass. Publicly. Might want to get popcorn if you'd like to enjoy the view."

"Wish you hadn't done that," Angel told him.

Spike cocked his head at him. "Why? Scared to own up to it now?"

"Oh no, not that," Angel said. He then won a bet with himself when Wesley's office door flew open. "*That*."

"Angel," Wesley said, coming across the lobby. His tone held all due deference though his eyes held sparks that made it clear *no one* should think about crossing him. "I hope I'm not too late for our meeting. Your office, was it? Splendid. And Spike I'm so glad you can join us."

Without missing a beat Wes stormed past them into Angel's office. Spike hung back, catching Angel's eye. "Think he's mad?"

"Oh no," Angel said, buttoning up his suit jacket. "That was Wes's *happy* face."

Spike grimaced, then followed Angel inside.

"Do I speak?" Wesley asked, as soon as Angel shut the door behind them.

Angel frowned. "What?"

"Do I speak?" Wes repeated. "Do I talk? Do I say things? Do I not stand here before the both of you and perform actions which allow sound to come out of my body, form into meaningful patterns, and then travel across the air and into your ears at which point the patterns then become words?"

Spike cleared his throat, "Pet - "

"Because I know that I intend to *create* words," Wesley continued. "I think of them in my head and I *know* that the words I choose have meaning and that I then put those words into a language which I'm quite certain the both of you are fluent in. This then leads me to believe that clearly some other problem is at hand."

"Wes," Angel tried.

"Sound, for instance," Wesley said. "And mistaken impressions. For you see my *impression* was that I speak the words and then the both of you hear them, but obviously I was incorrect. Apparently what is *actually* happening is that the both of you look at me and think to yourselves that my mouth is moving for no discernible reason whatsoever and perhaps one day you shall take a moment to mention it to me on the odd chance I'm having a spasm!"

"Wesley," Spike said.

Wes silenced him with a glare. "We are *trying*, through the most elaborate form of smoke and mirrors that I can possibly conceive of, to create the all-encompassing lie that Angel is the greatest force this city has ever encountered. That means we must *act* as though he is the greatest force this city has ever encountered."

"I know, pet," Spike said.

"That does *not* mean," Wes continued, "making half-arsed comments at the top of your lungs which in any way challenges that impression! Spike, there could have been *clients* there. What were you thinking?"

"It's not his fault," Angel said.

Wes's glare swiveled over to Angel. "No, it's also yours for encouraging him."

Spike tried to give Wesley a look. "Pet, I thought you said - "

"I know what I said," Wesley replied - which made no sense to Angel but Spike seemed to understand it. "But *privately*. Behind closed doors, such as we're doing now. Not where people can see and get it into their heads that Angel might be less than he appears. Spike, such things are dangerous. *Especially* from you. You can't imagine how many people are looking to you out of all of us to challenge him."

"I'm not," Spike promised.

"Then don't give them any reason to think so," Wesley said. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then continued. "Spike, I know that Angel is a wanker - "

"Hey," Angel protested.

Wes ignored him, "But if you wish to treat him as such do it *privately*. Or at least keep your voice down so that no one can hear you."

"Do m'best," Spike told him.

"Good," Wesley said. He turned back to Angel. "As for *you* - "

"Yeah?" Angel asked.

"Just *shag* him already," Wes said, stalking his way out the door. "If you're baiting him that much you're obviously in the mood for it."

"He's not wrong," Spike said, watching Wes disappear in the crowd of the lobby.

"No," Angel agreed. He pondered his options. "But there's more to this anyway. Rain check?"

"You taking care of him?" Spike asked.

"Yeah," Angel said.

"Then rain check," Spike agreed. He clapped Angel on the shoulder. "Long as it's one of us."

"I'll get you later," Angel promised, then went to track Wesley down.

He found Wes in the library. He studied him for a moment, then used his newly secured position of power to silently motion for everybody to leave them alone and lock the door behind them. Wes, deep in the stacks with his nose buried in a book, didn't even notice.

He remained oblivious until Angel slipped a hand around his waist.

Wesley jerked in shock, nearly dropping the book. Then he relaxed as he realized who was holding him. "Angel."

"What's wrong?" Angel asked.

Confusion danced through Wes's eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't - "

Angel took the book out of his hands, putting it on the shelf without caring if he was replacing it in the right spot. "This isn't business anymore. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Wes said. He shook his head. "Angel, nothing."

"How many times do I have to tell you not to lie to me?"

"Angel, I'm *not*."

Angel gritted his teeth. He didn't know why he still chased the faint hope that one day he'd get past Wes's barriers on the first try. Or why he let himself feel disappointed when it never worked. "Do you think that answer made me happy?"

"Angel, I swear to you that I'm not lying."

Angel gave a terse shake of his head. "Try it again, Wes. Do you think that answer made me happy?"

It took a moment, then Wes understood. "No, Angel."

"Good boy," Angel said. He stepped back, measuring the situation. "Do you think we're alone?"

Wes turned to look. "I - "

Angel snapped his fingers. "Eyes back on me."

Wes flushed, but did as he was told.

"I didn't ask you to *determine*," Angel said, "I asked what you *thought*. Do you *think* we are alone?"

"I don't know, Angel," Wes admitted.

"Do we appear to be?" Angel asked. "Do you notice anyone standing next to me? Is there someone next to *you* that I'm not seeing?"

"I - " another moment, and again Wesley got it. He stood up straighter, then folded his hands behind his back.

Angel smiled, impressed as always when Wes figured out some of the commands without having to be baby stepped through each part of them. "Good boy."

"Thank you, Angel."

"We're going to take this from the top," Angel said. He stepped closer, running his hand down Wesley's chest. He lingered over the feel of Wes's heart, feeling the race of excitement in his pulse. "You're not happy."

"Angel - "

"Don't lie."

Wes bit back his response, then looked at him helplessly.

Angel was pretty sure Wes knew this already, but he decided to clear it up to be sure. "I'm not talking about what happened in my office. That was fine. You know it was. Business is not pleasure and it's your job in business to speak up if Spike and I do something wrong. You didn't do bad there."

"Good," Wesley replied.

"But I know you," Angel said. He pressed his hand in, covering Wes's heart with his palm. "And I know when something's wrong. You're not happy about something. Why won't you tell me what it is?"

Amazingly, those proved to be the magic words. "Because it's not your job to take care of me."

"Wrong," Angel immediately corrected him. "That is *exactly* my job. And if memory serves me right I think we've covered this ground before. *You* do not take care of me. *I* take care of *you*."

Wes shook his head. "It doesn't make sense."

"It doesn't have to make sense," Angel said. "It just is. Do we have to go over the basics yet again? I order and you say - "

"Yes, Angel," Wes said, but this time there was a hint of a smile on his face.

Angel looked around, then spotted a table. He walked over to it, motioning for Wes to follow. "Come here. Take a seat."

Wes moved piles of books aside, then sat on the tabletop. "Yes, Angel."

Angel positioned him, spreading Wes's legs apart so that he could stand between them, then unbuttoning Wes's shirt simply because he liked the view. He ran his fingertips down Wes's bare chest. "Close your eyes."

Wes obeyed. "Yes, Angel."

"We're going to play a game," Angel said. He felt a lick of pleasure at the jolt of nerves that ratcheted through Wes's system. There were times when Wes tempted him towards things probably best not mentioned to anyone but Spike - and even then that might be debatable. But today he kept himself on task. "We're going to use our imagination. Can you do that?"

Wes seemed puzzled, but nodded. "Yes, Angel."

"I want you to imagine," Angel said, then needed to picture it himself before he could continue. "That you're not in the office. You're at the UCLA library, talking to one of your contacts."

Wes's frown deepened, but he said, "Yes, Angel."

"It's afternoon," Angel said. "So it's busy. Lots of people bustling about. And there you are, talking away, being all professional."

He could see Wes still wasn't getting it, but to his credit he only said, "Yes, Angel."

"Now I want you to picture what you're wearing," Angel said. He moved his fingers up Wes's chest, taking his time as he did so. "Which is the pants you have on now. And the shirt you have on now. And - " he moved his fingers higher, tracing them over Wes's throat " - the collar that I haven't bought for you yet."

That did it. Wes's breath caught. "I - yes, Angel."

"Good boy," Angel murmured. He kept moving his fingers along the tender skin. "It's a pretty thing. Brown. Leather. Braided. Goes with your outfit. Especially your shirt, which I ordered you to keep unbuttoned at the top so everyone could see."

Wes was leaning into his touch. "Please."

"Think you'd like a collar like that?"

"Any," Wesley said. "Any. As long as it was yours."

"As long as it meant you belonged to me?" Angel asked.

Wes nodded. "Yes, Angel."

Angel rewarded him by wrapping his hand around Wes's throat. Not choking him. Just claiming him. "Mine."

Wes was hard now. He bared his neck in a way that invited Angel's teeth to sink in, but Angel restrained himself. "Please."

"Do you have this picture?" Angel asked. "You, in public, doing your job while it is one hundred percent clear that you are my toy?"

Wes shifted his hips. "Yes, Angel."

"*Are* you my toy?"

"Yes, always," Wes said, then corrected himself, "Yes, Angel."

"Again."

"Yes, Angel."

"Good boy," Angel said. He gave a tiny amount of pressure. "Why are you hurting?"

"I - " Wes struggled with it, then gave in, "I can't fail you."

Angel frowned. "What made you think you were?"

"I haven't yet," Wesley said. "Or I don't believe I have. But the chance of it is so great, the task so enormous - I'm terrified that it will all come crashing down."

Angel wanted to kick himself for not guessing this sooner. "And if it does it'll be all your fault, because it was your idea."

Another nod. "Yes, Angel."

Angel wondered if it was possible for him to grind his teeth down if he kept clamping them together this tightly. He forced himself to unkink his jaw, then let go of Wes's neck. "Open your eyes."

Wes blinked, looking up at him.

"You are mine," Angel said. "You can't fail me. If something goes wrong then it goes wrong. It wasn't your fault."

Wes looked uncertain. "I think it's entirely possible for me to fail you."

"I won't let that happen."

"With all due respect - "

"You are *mine*," Angel reminded him. "You do as I tell you. As long as you are obeying me how can you possibly do something I won't like?"

"This is business," Wes reminded him.

"I'm a grown man," Angel countered. "Yeah, the idea is complicated. Yeah, it might not work. But we all went into this knowing that. If it works, great. If not we're back where we started. But it not working isn't an extension of you. The only thing that's an extension of you is how well you serve me. Got that?"

"I don't want to fail you," Wes whispered.

Angel cupped his face, drawing him closer. "You won't. You can't. Now kiss me, like a good boy."

Wes leaned up, brushing their lips together.

Angel kissed him, holding him tight until he felt the tension start to slip away from Wes's body.

It didn't leave him entirely, but Angel liked to think he could chase at least some of Wes's demons away.