Angel / Protocol / Part Seven

PART SEVEN

Wesley didn't know what time it was when he woke. All he knew was that his eyes were open. Then, right on top of it, came a checklist of memories - new bed, new home.

New companion.

Wesley sat up.

He moved carefully, trying not to disturb the blankets and sheets as he shifted down to the foot of the mattress. He sat there, the warmth of the fading fire at his back (the same one from before, he wondered, or had some servant come in to light a new one?), and stared at his husband.

It was seductively easy to take it all on face value. Quite literally, for what a face he had. Handsome, strong. Nothing like the monstrous visage Wesley had imagined it to be. Instead it was kind, and gentle. Much like Angel himself had been in their time together so far.

But that was a trap, surely? No one ever claimed the devil lacked in charm or personality. If one were to be a monster then the best monster of all had to be one that could lure humans to its side with little more than a beckoning smile.

It had to be wrong.

Vampire, Wesley reminded himself. Vampire and villain to boot. And look! There, on the wall: damage. Cracks and dust which had not been there earlier. Evidence of the strength and animal that lay inside the creature that now owned Wesley's life.

The creature was clearer to see, now. Angel's face was relaxed in repose, but that very thing made the demon more visible. He did not breathe. He did not move. When awake he was animated, very much like a human. While asleep he was dead, and his skin reflected the fire with unnatural light.

But his skin was smooth. And his body attractive. And his hands and lips had done things -

Wesley made himself sit further back.

Verboten. Forbidden. Not just by implication but *expressly* commanded against. No spouse was to seek pleasure. No spouse was to ask for it. The very act of fantasy was one beaten out of them, and the one day Wesley had been so foolish as to bestow a kiss upon another boy had resulted in punishment so severe Wesley never dared to entertain the thought of trying it again. Even now the memory of it made him shiver.

But - Angel had commanded him. Did the command make it all right? Was he allowed to enjoy it, if the enjoyment gave his husband pleasure somehow?

How was that even possible?

How was it even *real*? This was Angelus. A demon of legend. Wesley knew the tales of him well enough that he could recite some of them by heart. They had been stories told to him and his classmates. Lessons in why the world was the way that it was. This was a true monster. A vampire who had killed and reveled in the misery he brought. He was everything the Council fought against, everything the Council loathed.

But he was the one that Wesley belonged to.

Was it wrong to not dislike him? To sit and not feel the terror that had gripped him before? Oh, there was fear to be certain. The tremors of being in a cavelike room, the conditioned anxiety that his joy in the wedding night would be discovered and whipped from his body. But, for the moment, not fear of Angel. Not of his husband. Not of the one who had been so kind to him, and tender.

Was it sin to like a devil, if doing so followed the greater virtue of obedience?

Wesley crept forward. He reached out a hand and placed it flat over Angel's chest. He felt the resounding silence where a heart should have beat.

A dead man, Wesley reminded himself. I am married to a dead man.

But whether he told himself this to close off his own heart or to reassure it, Wesley didn't know.

Angel stirred. Wesley jerked his hand back, feeling as ashamed as if he'd been caught paging through someone's diary.

Brown eyes regarded him. "Hey."

"Good morning, my Lord," Wesley murmured. Soft voice. One must never disturb one's husband with harshness when he woke. One must be quiet, and dutiful.

"Sleep okay?" Angel asked.

Wesley nodded, then answered honestly. "Yes."

"Good," Angel said.

Wesley moved to stand. "How may I serve you? I can fetch coffee, or tea?"

Angel caught him by the wrist, holding him still. "It's all right."

Wesley swallowed. Tried to be calm. "My Lord?"

Angel pulled him back, then placed Wesley's hand over his chest again. "It's all right. I don't mind."

Wesley's fingers curled against the smooth skin. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"It seems crass," Wesley said. "To touch you like that. Examine you in that manner."

"It's not," Angel told him. He ran his hand up and down Wesley's arm. His wedding ring gleamed in the firelight. "You have the right to do it. You should. I don't want you to be scared of me."

"I - " Wesley wanted to reassure him, promise that he wasn't, but he didn't know if he could say so truthfully. "Thank you, my Lord."

Angel regarded him with eyes that were lazy, and at half-mast. "You're like a bird."

Wesley didn't know if that was meant as chastisement or compliment. "My Lord?"

Angel's fingertips moved back down Wesley's arm, tickling the sensitive skin inside of his elbow as they passed. "I get you to trust me, then you fly off again. Gotta sit still, hold the food, wait for you to come back to me."

Wesley shook his head. "I didn't go anywhere, my Lord."

"You're not ready yet," Angel said. He covered Wesley's hand with his own. "It's all right. I don't mind waiting."

"I did not mean to cause offense," Wesley said, hoping that might cover any wrongdoings.

"You didn't," Angel promised. He propped his free hand behind his head, raising himself up so he could see Wesley better. "You're curious. That doesn't offend me. Did you have a question? It's okay to ask."

Wesley thought about it. "Does it hurt?"

Angel frowned. "What?"

"Not having a heartbeat," Wesley said. "Does it hurt?"

For some reason that made Angel smile. "No. It doesn't hurt. Feels like Hell if somebody tries sticking a stake anywhere near it, but it doesn't hurt me otherwise."

"Ah," Wesley said. Then he realized he was allowing himself to succumb to indulgences. He sat up straighter. "What shall I get you? I could order food, or draw you a bath?"

"Bath sounds nice," Angel said. "Shower's better."

Wesley nodded. He moved to stand. "I'll start the water. Get it warm for you."

Again Angel caught him. He sat up this time, sliding his hand around Wesley's waist. "You're coming with me."

Wesley's breath caught, but he didn't move away. "Yes, my - my Angel."

***

The shower was hot. Steaming, which was how Angel apparently liked it. The droplets fell across Wesley's body, cascading down his skin and even into his open mouth.

Angel stood behind him, his body solid, his left hand wrapped around Wesley's torso. His right hand was wrapped entirely around Wesley's cock.

Angel had washed him. Had done it without any word or preamble. Instead he had moved soap slick hands all over Wesley's body until the residue of the night before had been cleaned away and all that was left was a light, vibrating sensation.

Then Angel had taken him. Drawn him close. Claimed Wesley's cock as his own and stroked him, pulled him, massaged him, tormented the tip with the circling of his thumb and whispering all the while "Don't. Don't. *Don't*." until Wesley surrendered, abandoning his training for the touch of his husband's hand and began gasping, and trembling, and writhing even as he stood, and then Angel turned his head around and brought their lips together and it had felt so - so - so -

Wesley sobbed, the climax leaping out of him before he even realized it was there. Angel held him, his arm as strong as a safetybelt and his body as protective and solid as a bear with his young.

Wesley leaned in to him, dazed. "My… Angel."

"Yeah, Wesley," Angel said. His lips covered Wesley's face with butterfly-light kisses. "Right here."

Wesley turned around, feeling himself be held by Angel's cocooning embrace. He pressed his cheek to Angel's shoulder, and kneaded the muscles beneath his hands.

Angel shook his head. "It's - you don't have to - "

But that was wrong. There were many things Wesley might not know about his situation but he knew the signs of a man in need. His husband was aching. It was Wesley's job to satisfy him.

He dropped to his knees, taking Angel's cock immediately into his mouth. He wrapped his right hand around the rest of the shaft. He used his left to caress the balls. He bobbed his head, and swirled his tongue.

Angel fell back against the wall. He made a sound, some token protest, then stopped that entirely. He shifted his position, parting his legs for ease of touch. He threaded his fingers through Wesley's hair and Wesley thought: Yes. Yes. I am doing it right. I'm serving him correctly.

Deeper into him then. Opening his jaw so Angel could go further down. Humming and encouraging and flickering fingers and an attitude which projected: yes. Take me. Use me. I am yours. This is what I am for.

Angel's hips began to move. Barely at first, then with a groan like a dam breaking they became harder and harder. Wesley took it all in - figuratively and quite literally - and sucked and licked and tugged and served until Angel cried out even louder, flooding Wesley with copper-salty fluid with a sound of ecstasy that seemed to come from the very core of his non-beating heart itself.

Wesley swallowed, then licked every drop clean. Then looked up at Angel with parted, swollen lips.

Angel looked down at him, then hauled him onto his feet, then fucked him one more time right up against the wall.

When Wesley came again he forgot how to speak entirely.

***

Angel got dressed. He did that because he could, and because clothing at least wasn't that complicated. Shirt, pants, socks, etc. Fairly mundane. He could handle it.

There wasn't any guilt, with shirts. With the rest of his life maybe not so much.

Wesley hadn't complained. Not that Wesley *would* complain since by now Angel was fairly certain Wesley could be actively on fire and he wouldn't mention it because of some jackass ruling the Council had made back in 1853. But even so Angel liked to think he was getting a vague idea of what Wesley disliked less than other things, and so far this didn't seem to be it.

Even so Angel felt bad.

Am I using you? Angel wanted to ask. Taking shameless advantage of the fact that you've basically been raised to be a prostitute? You're a *person*, for Christ's sake. I wanted to treat you like one.

But he didn't say that, because he suspected Wesley wouldn't answer him honestly. And he also suspected that even if Wesley did answer honestly it wouldn't be with the words Angel was looking for.

Case in point, there was Wesley's outfit to consider.

Slim pants, which hugged but did not obscenely accentuate his ass and his thighs. Silk shirt. Dark red. Unbuttoned just enough that it practically begged for someone to slide a hand in and touch that lovely skin. Unpractical for battle but definitely something that caught the eye and told you exactly what sort of thing Wesley was trained for.

"This is Council approved," Wesley said, when he noticed Angel staring. "At all times I must wear something - "

" - which shows your status," Angel finished, starting to get the hang of it. "So it's kind of like a uniform?"

"Something like that, yes," Wesley said.

Angel watched as Wesley finished dressing and primping. He used a tiny mirror that had been packed with his things. Angel made a mental note to order a bigger one for their quarters.

A thought occurred to him. "The Council must give you a lot of lessons on how to look good, right?"

Wesley nodded. "Correct."

"Do you really know a thousand and one ways to pretty up your hair?"

Wesley gave a small double-take, then patted his short locks. When he spoke his mouth twitched with a smile. "A thousand and two, my Lord."

Angel laughed, then relaxed. Maybe it wasn't so bad if Wesley was joking with him.

***

Breakfast was waiting for them in the dining area. The uneaten dinner had been cleared away, and the smell of tea, coffee, and other savories beckoned to them.

Angel got there first, and took advantage of it to start putting the plates out. The kitchen had attempted British fare - egg, bacon, toast covered with beans. Angel looked at Wesley expectantly to see if he noticed or liked it.

"Thank you," Wesley said. And Angel took the lack of titles of any sort as a sign that maybe Wesley had been pleased.

Angel sat down, uncovering his own dishes. Eggs and bacon for him too. No toast since he never ate it. Glass of orange juice, though, and -

Angel slammed the last silver cover back down again.

Wesley looked up, concern shaping his features. "My Lord?"

"They sent the wrong thing," Angel lied. He busied himself with cutting up his food.

Wesley studied this, his fork paused in mid-air, then reached over and lifted the cover for him. "You need it to survive, my Lord."

Angel looked at his morning carafe of blood. "I - it's okay. I'm not really hungry."

Wesley seemed to be able to get the bigger picture. "It's all right, my Lord. I know it is a necessity."

Angel was actually ravenous. His mouth watered at the sight of all that red. "I'm told it's gross to look at."

"Then I'll have to start getting used to it sometime," Wesley replied.

"You sure?" Angel asked. Then remembered who he was talking to. "Right. Okay. Thanks."

He poured himself a glass, watching carefully to see if Wesley had a bad reaction. When none seemed forthcoming Angel proceeded to drink, sighing with relief as the liquid poured down his throat and filled the void inside of him.

Wesley for his part did not look away. He didn't eat, but he didn't seem disgusted either. Only fascinated, and curious. "Is it good?"

"Does the job," Angel said. He put the glass down then wiped his lips with a napkin.

"Where does it come from?" Wesley asked.

Angel figured that was a diplomatic way of asking who had died for it. "It's pig's blood. The butchers send it to me. All the vampires here drink animal blood. No human. Not unless the human consents to it. And not to the death. Any vampire here that kills gets staked."

"Do they follow this policy?" Wesley asked.

"Most do," Angel said.

"Why?" Wesley asked.

"Safe home here is better than the alternative," Angel said. "Not all demons are into the chaos that's out there."

"I suppose I can't blame them," Wesley said. He sat forward, staring into the carafe as though he could discern something from it. "Did you know that some husbands make it a requirement for their spouses to eat precisely what they eat?"

"I'm guessing pig's blood doesn't often come high on that list," Angel said.

"Depends on the culture," Wesley said. He looked up. "I am here to do what you tell me."

"You honestly want to try this?" Angel asked.

"Couldn't I serve you better if I had greater knowledge of your experiences?" Wesley replied.

"You're going to regret it," Angel warned him. But the light of curiosity did not die in Wesley's eyes, so he poured an inch of liquid into the glass. "Here. But take it slow."

Wesley sniffed it experimentally, then blew on it as though it were warm. Then, looking as though he were steeling himself, he tipped it back like a shotglass.

He then immediately spat it right back out again.

Angel laughed, grabbing a spare napkin. "Here, let me help you clean up."

"My Lord, that - " Wesley gagged, then actually wiped his tongue on the cloth. "That was - "

"Horrible, right?" Angel said.

"I don't mean to insult you," Wesley said, hastily.

Angel shook his head, grinning down at him. "You didn't. Now hold still. You look like you just bit somebody."

Wesley stayed in place as Angel wetted the napkin with drinking water, then dabbed at the blood that clung to his chin and his lips. "I'm sure that under proper circumstances I would find as much enjoyment as you in - "

"You don't have to find some polite way of saying that tasted like utter crap to you," Angel assured him. He dipped another corner of the napkin into the water, then continued to clean Wesley's face. "You're human. It's not going to be like eating cake."

"But you like it?" Wesley asked.

"Not as much as human," Angel admitted. He sat back. "But it'll do. Here, try some of the toast. Might clear the taste out a bit."

Wesley nibbled on a triangle of bread. "Thank you."

Angel watched him. "What can I do for you?"

Wesley blinked in confusion. "My Lord?"

"You're trying so hard," Angel said. "I feel like I'm not doing enough for you."

"You've been very kind to me," Wesley said. "More generous than anyone could deserve."

"I'd still like to do something," Angel said.

Wesley finished his toast, then wiped his fingers on his napkin. He watched Angel carefully. "I… I don't dislike writing, my Lord."

Angel perked up at this. "Really?"

"Yes," Wesley replied. "Nor do I dislike it when others read what I have written."

"I'd be happy to," Angel offered. "What kind of thing do you have in mind?"

Wesley looked frustrated. "There are those in England who don't hate my writing either."

Angel frowned. He suddenly realized he wasn't getting something. "This is a Council thing again, right?"

Wesley nodded.

"Okay," Angel said. "What rule did we slam up against this time?"

"I'm not allowed to ask you for anything," Wesley said. "A spouse's only needs are that of his husband's. I must have no wants or demands therefore I must speak no wants or demands."

"You're kidding," Angel said, then immediately shook his head. "No, no you're not. You know eventually I'm going to stop being surprised by this. Okay. You can't ask me anything. So what *were* you doing?"

"You can give me or grant me anything you might like," Wesley explained. "If you were to perceive that there might be something that you truly wished me to have, it would not be disobedient of me to accept it."

"So if I *guess* that you want something," Angel translated, "I'm allowed to give it to you. But if you ask for it that's out of line."

"Correct," Wesley said.

"Did it ever occur to the Council that this just makes you guys incredibly high-maintenance?"

Wesley's mouth twitched. He actually snickered. "To them? No. But then few things do."

"But you figured it out," Angel said.

Wesley nodded. "Years ago."

"Still not going to break the rules though, are you?"

"No, my Lord," Wesley said, though at least he looked apologetic.

"Okay," Angel sat back. He folded his arms and rolled the clues over in his mind. "Writing, reading, back home - you want to write to somebody back home? And can I at least order you to say yes or no if I guess these things correctly?"

"In private, yes," Wesley said. "And yes, my Lord. I have friends in England. I would like to write to them. Let them know that I'm all right."

"Go ahead," Angel said. "You didn't need my permission to - no, don't even start, I know you probably did." Angel rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Do I have to give you permission to go to the bathroom too or can that just be a standing thing?"

"You could order me not to," Wesley said. "Basic needs of life are considered to be allowed until said otherwise."

"Well that'll save some time," Angel said. He sat forward again. "Go nuts. Write home. Write friends. Whoever. If it makes you happy, go right ahead."

"You can read the letters before I send them," Wesley offered. "To make sure I'm not revealing any secrets to the Council."

"I trust you," Angel said. "You can have your privacy. When you're done you can put your mail on that table. One of the maids takes care of sending that out."

"You're very generous, my Lord," Wesley said.

"Don't really think I am," Angel said, "but thanks. Now for the rest of today - "

A knock at the outer door interrupted them.

"Come in," Angel called.

Spike walked in. "Hey. Sorry to barge in on the lovey-dovey but we've got issues."

"What's up?" Angel asked.

"Nest of vamps trying to move in," Spike said. "Could be thirty, maybe more. Got some demons with them too."

"Lemme guess," Angel said. "They're not real interested in diplomacy?"

"They are if you mean the kind with the killing and the torment," Spike said.

"Where they coming in?" Angel asked.

"Scouts say northern tunnel," Spike said.

"Which means no nasty problems with sunlight," Angel translated. He got up, getting his coat out of the closet. "Okay, get everyone together."

"Big team?" Spike asked.

Angel shook his head. "Shouldn't need it, but let's not get cocky. Keep backup at the ready." Angel thought about it. "Isn't the northern tunnel pretty close to those Raptors?"

"I'll call him in," Spike said, reading Angel's mind.

"Good, then I can get his ass home," Angel said. He turned back to Wesley, who was watching all of this quietly. "Something's come up."

Wesley had a whole new posture now. Stiffer. Formal. Angel realized what it was. This was Wesley in front of company. "Can I help, my Lord?"

"Not with the fighting," Angel said. He came over to the table. He wanted to do something. Touch. Kiss. Shake hands, even. Anything to show he wasn't cutting Wesley off, or that he hadn't forgotten the rapport they'd been able to achieve. "Hate to say it but right now you can help by staying out of the way. Was gonna give you a tour but think you can stay here until I get back? This place is a maze if you don't know it and I don't want anyone else walking you around the first time."

"As you wish, my Lord," Wesley said.

Angel felt like he wasn't doing enough to hold up his end of the bargain. "We'll do something later when I get back. Something nice."

"Whatever my Lord desires," Wesley replied.

And damn if that didn't invite his mind to go skittering off-topic. "I'll be back," Angel promised. He squeezed Wesley's shoulder in a way that felt stupidly platonic, then left before he could do or say anything dumber.