Angel / Pet / Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

"So," Gunn appeared, leaning against one of the many stacks of books in Wesley's department. This one in particular was his favorite. It dealt with the 1600s. "Can we talk?"

Wesley reshelved a volume. It was Flemish. He needed Italian, preferably Tuscan. "Our voices have not, to all appearances, been stolen by some form of demon, mystical spell or ironic contrivance involving the main copy machine so I shall have to go out on a limb and say that yes, we *can* in fact speak to one another."

"You know that dry, intellectual humor thing was a lot funnier before I got my own graduate degree whammy," Charles said. He frowned. "Actually no, it was never funny. But at least then I didn't know what you were talking about so I *assumed* that it might have been. Now I just know you're bullshitting."

"We could," Wesley suggested, moving on to the next book on his mental list, "skip the small talk and go right ahead to the part where you ask me how long I've been sucking Angel's cock. If it's your preference."

"Actually those words in any order are never my preference," Charles replied. He shifted position to make room for Wesley's search. "Angel's Angely bits are a happy no-go area as far as I'm concerned. Pretty content to spend the rest of my days reciting all the cases in the state of California involving traffic code violations if it means I never have to concentrate on whether or not the big guy is anatomically correct. What I was *actually* hoping we could talk about is the trust issue."

"There's only one?" Wesley asked, eyebrows quirked.

"One *big* one, yeah," Gunn said. "You don't trust me and you seem hell-bent on giving me reasons not to trust you and everybody around here doesn't want to admit that they don't trust each other sounds like one big, fat trust issue to me."

"I wasn't the first to start making secret plans with the Senior Partners," Wesley pointed out. He put his two books onto a cart and moved on to another stack. Charles followed him.

"It's the White Room, not the Senior Partners," Gunn said. "If you actually bothered *talking* to me about it you'd know there was a difference. Only person 'round here with an SP connection is Eve and only person *she* chats with is Angel. Unless you two - "

"Hardly," Wesley said, fighting off a momentary sense of distaste.

"So there you go," Charles concluded. "Senior Partners want to make some secret deals, sounds like the guy you should be giving the evil eye to is your boyfriend."

"Angel doesn't - " Wesley started to say, then stopped himself. He rested a hand against one of the shelves, absently wiping a stray bit of dust off of it. "I trust him."

"I got that from the elevator tango," Gunn said. He folded his arms. "Why him and not me?"

Wesley gave him a long, hard look.

Gunn rolled his eyes. "For the *trust*, Wesley, Jesus. If I wanted to make a pass at you believe me you would've known it by now."

"Thank you," Wesley said, dryly. "And I trust Angel because he's honest."

"You're joking, right?" Gunn asked. "Not that I don't like him but - Angel lies more times during the day than any one of Lorne's clients when you ask them what their age is. Hell he lies more than *me* when I'm working a court case. Why on earth - "

"Because he's never pretended to be honest," Wesley said. He gathered up his books, not wanting to spend any further time on this. "Angel may be selfish and greedy and all the other traits one might expect a vampire to have, but he's never lied about having them. When I look at Angel, I know what he's capable of."

"And you can't say that about me," Gunn concluded.

"Correct," Wesley replied. He turned to go.

"You know *I* could say the same thing about *you*," Charles retorted.

Wesley glanced over his shoulder to meet Gunn's eyes. "I guess that makes us even."

"And you're happy with that?" Charles asked.

Wesley shrugged. "It's a place to start."

"You know," Spike said, rejoining Wesley in the hallway, "I like you and all, pet, but if you're the one who taught Angel how to use the ruddy cellphone we may need to have words."

"Bothering you again, is he?" Wesley asked. He pressed the button for the lift.

"Phone call number ten thousand and two," Spike sighed, thrusting his thumbs into his pockets as he launched into a monotone recital of Angel's questions, "What's going on? What's everyone doing? Are you keeping an eye on Wesley? Blah bloody blah."

Wesley stepped aside to let some of the secretaries get off. "What did you tell him?"

"Told him the world was ending, everyone was ordering out for pizza and that I bunged your lifeless body down the nearest elevator shaft so I'd at least know you were staying in one place," Spike replied. "Then I told him he could shove the phone up his arse if he called one more time in the next ten minutes."

"What did he do?" Wesley asked.

"Called me back in five to tell me he loved me," Spike said. He shook his head. "Sick bastard."

"It could have been worse," Wesley mused. "Singing of some sort might have been involved."

"Bite your tongue, mate," Spike told him. They got off on the main office floor. "He's got ideas enough on how to torture me. Case in point today's little exercise in frustration."

Wesley collected his messages from Harmony then went into his office. "I know. I can't imagine being told to follow me around all day has been horribly fascinating for you."

"Actually I meant the cock tease he gave me this morning," Spike said. He slumped down on Wesley's couch, crossing his feet over the armrest. "The you and your shadow bit wasn't too bad in comparison. How you doing anyway?"

"Still alive," Wesley assured him.

"Yes, thank you, Wesley," Spike replied, giving him a look. "I wasn't able to tell that what with all my experience as a vampire, dying, ghosting, Helling then re-vampiring and all. Whatever would I do without you?"

"Be talking to yourself for a start."

"I lived over a century with Dru," Spike reminded him. "You think you're going to drive me 'round the bend with your little quips you've got another think coming. I've been driven 'round by the best."

"I'll have to try harder then," Wesley replied. He opened up his email, automatically deleting the spam that not even the company filters could get.

"So," Spike said, pointedly. He put the soles of his boots onto the material of the couch. Wesley thought about telling him that was the sort of action that only drove neat-freak *Angel* insane, but decided not to mention it. Besides, it would give housekeeping something to do. "You and your kitty chum. What's that about?"

It took Wesley a moment to translate that. "Gunn?"

"Right."

"Nothing," Wesley said. He typed out a reply to the new head of archeology, reminding her not to go over budget on the Peru dig. "He wanted to congratulate me on my new relationship."

"Didn't seem like he was ready to break out the party supplies to me," Spike said.

"You were spying on me?" Wesley asked.

"*Shadow*, mate," Spike said. "Don't mind not taking it literally since far as I'm concerned you can have all the privacy you like in the loo or all the boring research bits, but Angel finds out I didn't keep an eye on you all day and he'll have *my* bits for the next company barbeque. Why'd you think he's been calling me all the time?"

"To annoy you?" Wesley guessed.

"Well, that," Spike admitted. "But to check up on the baby of the family. Make sure I'm doing my job and his precious is safe and sound until he gets home."

"Why doesn't he call *me* then?" Wesley asked. The question had been bothering him all day.

"Because he's a git," Spike replied. "And I told him so. Repeatedly."

"Thank you," Wesley said.

Spike shrugged it off. "Fun for me, useful for you, evens out."

"Still, it's hardly fair," Wesley said. "I'm sure there's things you'd rather be doing - "

"Not the point," Spike said. "What Angel wants, Angel gets. Otherwise he gets all broody and annoying. *More* annoying, anyway."

"Even so," Wesley said. He gestured to the work in front of him. "I was planning on making a long night of it. If you'd like to go out, do something else, I promise you'll find my life*full* body right here when you return."

"'preciate it, but no can do," Spike said. "No telling when the walking bad hair day might ask me to put you on the line."

"You could turn your phone off," Wesley pointed out.

"You don't think I haven't thought of that?" Spike asked. "Tried it, he sent Harmony after me with a lecture and a cattle prod. Not proud of what I had to do to talk her down from that."

"Good, that means you'll never tell me," Wesley said. He got out a notebook to start on his translations.

"What're you doing anyway, pet?" Spike asked.

"Bit of catch-up work," Wesley said. "I thought as long as Angel was out of town for the night I might take advantage of the free time."

Spike studied him. "That a fun night for you?"

"It's a quiet night," Wesley said.

"We like our nights quiet, do we?"

"To all reports *you* like your nights noisy and preferably violent," Wesley replied. "*I*, on the other hand, appreciate the change of pace after a day of dealing with all the minor yet persistent office problems Angel wasn't here to handle, a missed lunch, Fred being far too earnest in her attempt to reassure me that things are fine between us in spite of quote, You know, the *gay* thing, unquote, Lorne telling me I owed him ten dollars and Gunn's attempts at bonding in this bold, new era. Also I could have done without half the secretaries muttering 'lucky bastard' when they thought I was out of their range of hearing, though admittedly it did stroke my ego a bit."

"You need a pint," Spike told him.

Wesley paused, thinking it over. "You know, when you're right you're right."

Spike got up, holding out a hand in invitation. "Know a good pub in this hellhole of a city?"

Wesley got out the keys to his motorbike. "Actually I know a few."

They rode Wesley's bike to a place called The Exploding Fish. Spike gave it a quick look-round, pronouncing it acceptable when he saw that the ale and menu was right, even though the billiard table was American.

Perhaps inspired by the name, Wesley tucked in to a plate of fish and chips. Spike flashed one of Angel's credit cards and told them to keep a tab going on the pints. He savored his first, watching Wes as he ate and reminiscing with him about the various things that just could *not* be done properly in the US, no matter how much the Yanks liked to try.

"Chocolate," Wesley said, wiping stray drops of vinegar off his fingers. "There are times when I think I would happily waste my budget on setting in a good store of Cadbury flake. The real one, not the kind they import here and claim it's the real thing."

Spike made a mental note to pass that on to Angel. Then he wondered why he wanted to. "Sport. Not bloody enough."

"Hockey's not bad," Wesley pointed out.

"Still got padding, dunnit?" Spike replied. "And where's your riots in the stands? 'round here the only good dust-up comes when one of the players goes off their rocker. Fans in these parts don't deserve the name."

"I have absolutely no difficulty at all picturing you as a football hooligan," Wes said, studying him.

Spike saluted him with the last of his pint. "Ta. You play pool?"

"Once or twice," Wesley said. He pushed his finished plate away.

Spike cocked an eyebrow at him. "Care to make a wager, pet?"

"I suppose that might make it interesting," Wes said. He fished out a twenty from his wallet and placed it on the side of a free table. "After you."

Spike broke, claiming stripes. "So how's it going for you, pet?"

Wesley lined up a shot, then scratched. "In general? With something specific?"

Spike shrugged, chalking up his cue. "Either/or. Mostly making conversation."

"Really? I'm honored," Wes told him.

Spike tilted his head at that. "Honored?"

"That you would care enough to try," Wes explained. "Considering that you don't have to and that, to all evidence, you and Angel are about even in your dislike for such things."

Spike looked at him. The weird thing was the boy was nothing but sincerity. Amazing, since the words were the kind you'd expect from somebody taking the piss. "You're an odd one, pet."

Wesley took another swallow of his beer. "How so?"

"All minding your Ps and Qs," Spike said. He banked the fifteen into the side pocket. "Vampire, remember? Don't have to be nice to me."

"You're still a creature in your own right," Wesley said. He leaned against the table, absently turning his cue around in his hand. "Plus one who's been nothing but kind to me. Why shouldn't I treat you nicely?"

"Vampire," Spike said again. He knocked the twelve into a far corner, then missed his attempt to follow it up with the thirteen. "Decades of death and destruction, worst blighter to come along 'sides Angelus and all that rot? Or does the soul make that much of a difference to you?"

"Amazingly, no," Wesley said. He tried to get the five into the corner pocket and missed by an inch. "You forget that I've spent time with Angel."

"That was actually my point," Spike told him. The thirteen was behind the eight ball. He decided to try his luck at getting around it. "You've met him, you've met the berk he becomes without the inner cricket, makes all the difference in the world, right?"

"It makes some," Wesley allowed. "But not enough that it would matter to me. I prefer Angel's company, true, but that doesn't automatically mean he's absolved of all his sins."

Spike cringed, watching the thirteen knock the eight ball close to a pocket, then relaxed when it didn't fall in. "What does then?"

"It's not up to me," Wesley said. "It's not my job to forgive Angel everything he's done. I can only deal with Angel as he is. It's the same with you."

"Big believer in living in the now, are you?" Spike asked.

Wesley paused as he readied his next shot. "We've all done things in the past that we're not proud of."

The two hit the bumper then skittered across the table, safely away from the pocket Wes had been aiming for.

Spike looked at him curiously. "Anything you'd care to share, pet?"

Wesley stood up again. A flicker of emotions crossed his face. "I - I don't think I can at the moment."

"Suit yourself," Spike told him. He thought about doing something to comfort him, big expert that he now was in what guilt and regret felt like, but didn't know if Wesley would want it, especially coming from him. Instead he devoted his attention to the table, sinking the ten and flubbing the thirteen again. "Could talk about something else."

"Like what?" Wesley asked. He bent down to take another shot.

"Dunno," Spike said. He brought his cue down, resting it over Wesley's before he could hit the ball. "How's about the way a bloke who can fire two guns nice as you please can't seem to hit the broadside of a pool table?"

There was the *tiniest* hint of a smile. For the most part Wes was all innocence. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"You *hustling* me, pet?" Spike asked.

*Now* Wes was taking the piss out of him. "Why on earth would I be so bold as to try to hustle a big, dangerous vampire?"

Spike lifted his cue and gave Wes's backside a faint whack with it. "Nice try, give us a proper game or not at all."

Wesley heaved a put-upon sigh. "Spoilsport."

"Not like you need the money," Spike pointed out.

"Yes, but it was fun imagining the eventual look of indignation your face," Wesley admitted. "Out of curiosity, what gave it away?"

"Told you," Spike said, "seen your hand/eye co-ordination before. Plus the two was over the top, mate. Almost comical, that."

Wesley grinned. "I'll bear it in mind for next time." He lined up his shot, thought about it, stood up, then lined up the exact same shot yet again, but this time from behind his back. He sunk the two in perfectly, then gave Spike a look of satisfaction when the cue ball spun back and also knocked in the three.

"Spent a lot of time in bars did you?" Spike asked.

"Since university," Wesley told him. He did the next shot properly, hitting in the five and adding just enough English to get the cue ball in perfect place for the seven. "This and darts were my only form of stress relief for far too long a time."

"Lotta blokes would go for some form of shagging," Spike pointed out.

Wes gave him an arch look. "I assumed that would come after."

Spike took that one in, watching as Wes sunk one ball after another. "Look, Wesley, it's all right. I know what Angel said about minding me and all but you don't have to put on an act. Not gonna make you go through anything you don't want to. Da's the one who's still got the forcing kink. Me - let's just say I'm tired of it."

Wesley looked up at him. "I don't understand."

"I know when someone's not all there for me, pet," Spike said. He swallowed more of his beer, wishing it could wash down the bad taste left after a few years of bad choices. "And I know when I'm just the opening act. 's all right. Angel's the big show. Been that way for years. You don't have to pretend it's any different. Be honest, can't say I blame you. Probably make the same choice if I was in your shoes."

Wesley rested his cue against the table. "What choice is that?"

"He won't be back until tomorrow," Spike said, by way of an answer. "So you don't have to lie still and think of England around me. We'll play some pool, we'll go home, you can go back to the books you were looking to get all snuggly with."

"What if I want something else?" Wesley asked.

"If you wanted something else your big plans for the evening wouldn't have involved you and your desk," Spike replied.

"Apparently Angel's never told you what my desk is capable of," Wesley said.

"Pet," Spike sighed. "Don't. I know you. Or at least I know you well enough. You get a frozen deer look in your eyes whenever I'm touching you while Angel's not around. You forget I know fear when I see it."

Wesley stepped closer. "You forget fear doesn't always mean I'm unwilling."

Spike looked up at him.

Wesley moved his hand across the bumpers, brushing Spike's with it. "I was terrified when I found out Angel wanted me. I *still* feel it sometimes whenever I see the depths of his desire to keep me. But that doesn't mean I don't want that with my very soul."

"And me?" Spike asked. "You got a soul for me, pet?"

"I'm not sure," Wesley admitted. He covered Spike's hand with his own. "But I'd like to find out."

"Wes - "

"*Please*."

And damn if he didn't have a good retort for that.

They went home. Back to Angel's bed, since it was the biggest one they had. Spike had the annoying sensation of being a boy in daddy's clothes when he did it, but strangely Wes didn't mention Angel's name once. Maybe he was trying to forget. Maybe he was too polite to do so.

Either way, it was mostly the two of them. Him, Wes, and Angel's persistent aura hanging about the room.

They snogged - him and Wes that is - starting out with kissing since it was, after all, as good a place as any, then staying there when Wes didn't seem inclined to go anywhere else. Not in the bad way. Instead it was more like research. Warm, mortal lips and tongue working their way over Spike's face and neck, then back up to the mouth again for a nice, wet dance. Like Wes was exploring him. Getting the feel for him.

Oddest thing, really, but the boy had a mouth on him so Spike found he liked it. He upped the ante a bit, thrusting his own tongue into Wesley's mouth like a prick and getting a soft moan in response. Looked like Wes had the same oral fetish that he did. Bloody shame about Angel and his annoying orders.

"More," Wesley finally said, breaking the kiss at last and looking at him with hazy blue eyes. Spike hauled him over, getting Wes to straddle his hips, then grinding their bodies together until Wes's eyes couldn't stay open and his lips stayed parted with soft, panting gasps.

"Spike…" Wesley said, his hand tightening on Spike's shoulder, and Spike had to admit there were a lot uglier views than that.

"Right here, pet," he told him. He rolled them over, thrusting hard into Wes's hips. "Could be right *there*."

Wesley groaned, baring that lovely throat. "God - "

"Nah," Spike told him. "Just an underling."

Wes gave a bark of laughter at that, surprised, then moved up to bite his lips. "I'm starting to wonder what it would feel like if you fucked me."

"'bout time, pet," Spike replied, cupping Wes's hip and thrusting harder. "I've been wondering that for *weeks*."

Wes's hands were on his arse, grabbing and teasing him in turn. "Do you think Angel will ever allow it?"

This time, Spike didn't mind the mention. "He might. You could try begging. He likes that."

"Please," Wesley said, obediently. He hooked a leg around Spike's drawing him close. "*Please*."

He'd meant Angel, but who was he to complain? "Not bad, pet."

More kissing, then. More touching. More bodies grinding together in search of friction. Wesley was hot underneath him, whimpering and moaning. "Spike, I - what do you - tell me what you - "

Spike shook his head, making Wes shiver as he ran light fingers down his neck. "Not Angel, pet. Don't play Simon says. You want something, go ahead and say it."

"You," Wes replied. He licked Spike's lips, sucking on them eagerly. "Please."

"Can't go all the way, pet," Spike reminded him.

Wes's hips were *not* keeping still. "Then go as far as you can?" Wesley moved his hand down, cupping Spike's cock through his jeans. "Please?"

"Positively evil the way you say that word, pet," Spike told him.

"Is it?" Wesley asked, all wide-eyed and pure. "Fancy that."

"Bad boy," Spike told him, determined to give as good as he could get. But when he bit Wes's throat - no blood drawn, just bruising - he got such a cry and a sound of need back that the urge to keep joking went somewhere south of his groin.

"Please," Wes said again, and this time he wasn't teasing.

Clothes were in the way. Spike made them vanish, using the old-fashioned method of tearing them with his hands. Wes was hard and naked beneath him, then on top, then side to side as neither one of them could keep still or get satisfied. He *wanted* to fuck. Wanted to spear his cock inside Wesley good and proper, and knew in his heart of hearts half the reason Angel had *denied* him that was because he'd *known* it would frustrate him. Keep the idea of fucking Wes right at the forefront of his head, stuck in his thoughts like the purple alligator you're not supposed to think of. So that now, when he had Wes all husky voice and greedy hands and swollen dick dancing a rhythm up and down his thigh that it would drive him absolutely mental to know what he *couldn't* do. That he couldn't get inside Wes in any way he wanted, and instead he could feel nothing but frustration on missing out from that tight, final touch.

He thought about doing a courtesy at least. Going down, giving Wes's prick a good suck or twelve so at least *he* could get his rocks off proper, but to his surprise Wes grabbed him by the shoulders and stopped him.

"No," he said, needing to fight for breath after the tormenting attention Spike had just given his chest and neck. "I want this to be fair."

"What's fair got to do with anything?" Spike asked.

"It makes me happy," Wesley replied. He moved his own hand down, rubbing the palm over Spike's precome slick tip, then wrapping it around Spike's cock and holding it good and hard. Wasn't anywhere near Angel's ungodly wonderful punishing touch, but it was a start.

"Fuck me," Wes encouraged, this being the only avenue he could supply him.

Spike reached over, wrapping his own hand around Wes in turn. "You too."

Wesley smiled, tangling their mouths together again.

They lay like that, side by side, hands and hips working together, mouths dancing close and breaking apart, until Wesley lost it first, his eyes fluttering shut as his body gave over to it, his hand forgetting itself as he began to breathe harder, little sounds escaping his throat, his nipples tightening and his body flushing until he whimpered and whispered "Yes - Spike - Yes - " and then came, stripes of come hitting Spike's hand and chest.

"Pretty," Spike told him.

Wes looked up at him, afterglow making his features soft. He gave Spike's cock a pull. "Come for me?"

Spike held Wes's hand with his own, adding that much-missed pressure. He kept his eyes on Wes as he thrust, imagining himself inside that lovely mouth that managed to take in every inch of Angel's dick. He thought about having Wes and fucking him and making him say his name in that breathless, needy way every time they were together.

Wesley smiled as the orgasm finally shuddered through him. "Pretty."

Spike grabbed the handy tissues to clean themselves up. "I've been told."

Wes burrowed into his arms, folding the blankets over the both of them. "Stay the night?"

Spike realized he was surprised by the request. "If you want."

Wes did him the courtesy of thinking about it. "I do."

Spike settled down, wrapping his arm around Wesley's chest. "All right then."