Chapter Four

"Stay down!" Angel could hear the fury in his own voice.

Fear scents had spiked in the men's room when he'd ripped the stall door from its hinges and dragged Wes out, but Angel ignored them and helped Wesley's bleeding victim to his feet. He checked to make sure the trembling man wasn't in any immediate danger, doing his best to prevent both his anger, and the unexpected jealousy he felt, from showing on his face and scaring the human further. The guy was unable to do more than whimper, but he seemed okay otherwise. Wesley hadn't taken enough to really hurt him.

A blur of movement caught his eye, and Angel turned to see that his wayward charge was gone.

Again.

With a snarl of raw frustration, Angel sprang into pursuit. He got slowed down by a crowd of people in the bar, and by the time he'd gotten outside, there was no sign of Wes, although the scent was fresh and easy enough to follow. Cursing aloud, he began to track Wesley's trail again, this time into Korea-town. After everything that had happened today, all the appalling loss and horror, this was the last fucking straw, and Angel could feel his camel's back breaking.

Angel had found Wes originally through a combination of a clever guess and his superior senses. He'd stood in the empty hotel and tried to calm his anger and fear so he could think. Where the hell would the bastard have gone? Wesley was smart; he'd know to go where there were plenty of people to pick and choose from, and he'd know not to take anyone right out in the open. The SUV had still been parked on the street, and the Hyperion wasn't far from an area of clubs and bars. Angel had decided to look there first. And that was when he'd abandoned the thinking.

The pull of the hunt was strong. He'd felt it as he'd chased after Wes to the bar, and Angel felt it again now, tracking his prey's scent through the confusing muddle of Korea-town. It surged through him like a living thing, howling in his veins with comfortable familiarity, urging him to pounce, rend, break and bite... making him hungry.

When he'd found Wesley's scent the first time, Angel had just dusted another vamp, who'd been stupid enough to be feeding where Angel couldn't allow himself to ignore her. It had felt good to see the look on her face as it powdered away in front of him. Her victim had seemed more scared of Angel than he had of the vamp just dusted, and he ran screaming. Angel had laughed a little before he'd caught himself.

Still holding the stake in his hand, Angel had tracked Wes to the bar. He'd let some of the anger raging inside him show on his face, and the bouncer had recoiled in fear, letting him pass without comment.

Angel had single-mindedly followed the trail, pushing through the throngs of people, to the men's room, where *his* Wesley had been in the middle of drinking from some poor human fuck who'd had his poor human dick out. Waves of possessive outrage had caught Angel by surprise, and he'd had to struggle with his already diminished self-control. Surely the real issue here was not that Wesley was with another man, but that he was in the process of making a mistake that would have been Angel's as much as his own?

Fucking stupid -- that's what this was. Angel had been stupid to leave Wes alone. Stupid to have let himself be lulled into believing that this Wesley was still the same man that he'd known -- just because he looked the same and sounded the same and even fucking *smelled* the same. He'd been stupid to trust Wes just because he'd wanted to.

And continuing with the fucking stupid theme, Wes had run again.

This time, Angel caught up with his prey outside a gift shop on the edge of Korea-town. He grabbed Wes by the collar and thrust him unceremoniously into an alley.

"God *damn* it, boy, you're smarter than this!" Angel let his actions express his rage. He held Wesley up with one hand around his throat and hit the fledgling once, twice, and then a third time, smacking his face from side to side.

Despite the blows, despite the arousing fear that Angel could smell so strongly, the look on Wes' face was one of defiance. "I was *hungry,*" he spat out, with a spray of blood from his torn lip. "You can't expect me to sit and wait to be fed like a lap dog."

"Shut the *fuck* up! If you can't show me some respect, then you keep your mouth closed." Angel shoved Wesley up against the nearest wall and punched him in the face again, hard enough that he felt the satisfying crunch as Wes' cheekbone cracked under the force. "You ran off on me, Wes. Not just once, but twice. And after I told you not to." He punched his charge again, feeling skin split on his knuckles from the force of his blow.

Pausing, Angel tried to calm himself. At least a part of him knew he was in dangerous territory here. Memories of violent encounters filled his head, instructing his hands to deal carnage. But this was Wesley, or what was left of him. Wesley, who Angel wanted to save. Leaning in, Angel licked their co-mingled blood from Wesley's face, savouring the rich salt tang that was so much better than fucking pig's blood.

"It tastes better from you," he commented, as a surge of arousal flowed through him.

Wesley didn't respond and gazed at him with a look of sheer hatred. That look hurt, and Angel didn't want to acknowledge that it did. The fury he'd briefly held in check welled up again and spilled over, game face slipping easily into place. He threw Wes across the alleyway and bent to pick up a piece of metal pipe that was lying on the ground.

"Fine," he said, stalking to Wesley's side. "You don't want to stay with me, I'll give you a little reminder." He swung the pipe like a baseball bat, connecting solidly with Wesley' knee. Wes howled and rolled sideways away from him, clutching the wounded leg.

Angel snarled, "That oughta keep you from running off again." He dropped the pipe with a metallic clank.

"You're insane, Angel. Your loss, *our* loss, has driven you mad." Wes accused him through sobs of pain. "Where's your vaunted soul now?" Wesley's hand twitched in the direction of the pipe, as if he was going to try to pick it up himself.

Angel felt his guts twist with outrage and took a step forward, stomping down with his boot on Wesley's hand. The shriek that rent the air infuriated Angel further, even as he felt a twinge of guilt. He pushed the lesser emotion aside in favor of the hot, demanding anger, and he again told Wesley, "Shut *up.*"

It felt so goddamned *satisfying,* letting his anger out on the demon wearing Wesley's face, especially when Angel knew the punishment was deserved. All the horror of the past day charged his fists, and the pain within him eased as the blows fell down like a tumbling building on top of Wes. ...On top of this treacherously pretty creature Angel had created in order to preserve Wesley's mind and body for a soul to return to.

"I'm not doing this to *you,* Wes," Angel told him, as he threw him back down onto the cement again. "I'm doing this to the demon." He lifted Wes by his shirt collar and hit him in the face again. "Because this is the only thing it understands. I'm doing this for your own good."

Wesley choked back something -- laughter, or maybe blood -- and managed to ask, "For my own good? You really are mad."

Fury, red and black fire, poured over Angel, and he found himself with his hands around Wes' throat, thumbs pressing deep. A pointless move, but one that was gratifying anyway. Wes was his now -- his to control. "You're *mine,*" he heard himself telling Wesley. "*I* know what's best for you. You do what I tell you to do."

He let go, and Wes fell back to the pavement. "Being in charge doesn't make you any smarter, does it, Angel?" Wes croaked from his crushed throat, taunting him. "I'm a *vampire* now -- you can't choke me."

With a noise far more animal than human, Angel hauled Wes back to his feet and hit him again and again until Wes collapsed, too dazed and bloody to support his own weight. Angel's fists continued to pound into his fledgling on the ground, smashing into him with brutal intensity.

Instinctive images of days long past consumed him; memories so strong that Angel almost felt transported back in time. He saw his hands hitting the young William again, as they had done so often, although it had never been enough to subdue Spike for long. He felt bones cracking and skin splitting as he tried to smash some sense into the stubborn boy, until he wasn't even sure which one he was hitting. Angelus, never truly buried, provided the inexhaustible violence still inside Angel, welling up out of him like a poisoned fountain.

And finally, when it was all over, Angel knelt on the ground, panting like a human after heavy sex, and stared at Weesley, who lay whimpering, curled up in a ball on the cement. No more taunts, no more backtalk. No more talk at all. Just pain and exhaustion. "Had enough?" Angel asked.

Wes didn't answer, but he curled into himself a little bit more. Angel felt a deep, possessive satisfaction at having finally cowed the boy. His boy. But even cowed, Angel wasn't convinced Wes had truly learned the lesson of who owned him. There had always been a 'part two' to the lessons Angelus had taught William, and Angel knew that it was this second half that had had the lasting effect on Spike.

"Come on." Angel said, rising to his feet and licking the blood from his hands. He yanked Wes up, finding he needed to support most of Wesley's weight, and started walking. "Let's go home. I've got something to show you."

***

"Get up."

Wesley didn't move from where he lay on the floor; he'd collapsed there after being shoved into the Hyperion lobby by his terrifying sire. He had heard the words, but wondered, if he faked unconsciousness, whether Angel might leave him alone.

"I said get up. Don't like repeating myself."

A boot slammed into the region of his kidneys, and Wesley groaned dully. He pulled on sore and torn muscles and attempted to rise, making it to his hands and knees -- smashed fingers and a broken kneecap. He whined and collapsed once more.

Angel growled, and suddenly Wes was being lifted into the air by the scruff of his neck. He was released when Angel seemed confident he had his feet. "You're pitiful, boy. Look at you."

Wes looked at the floor instead, fearing any action that might prompt the beating to start again. Angel tutted and walked around Wesley, and even his pacing shoes seemed to secrete anger like toxic fumes. The sense of déjà vu for Wesley was palpable. It was almost a surprise not to hear his father's voice when Angel spoke again.

"Were a couple of mouthfuls of human blood worth this?"

Wes was tempted to answer 'yes', as despite everything, he rather thought it had been worth it just that once, although he couldn't imagine ever risking it again. But to say 'yes' would be crass stupidity under the circumstances and so he kept silent. Angel stopped his pacing.

"You gonna make me repeat myself?"

"No." Wesley wondered vaguely if he should add a title or honorific such as 'master', or indeed, 'sire', but Angel hadn't asked him to. "No, it wasn't worth it." His voice sounded thick to his ears, his swollen lips and bruised throat having problems enunciating clearly.

"Then you won't do it again?"

"No. I won't."

"I don't believe you."

Wes looked up, alarmed, and saw Angel glaring at him, violence still a very real promise in the dark eyes. Wesley shuddered. "Please. I promise. I won't."

"You like having that guy touch you? Did it make you hard?"

"His blood made me hard," Wes answered honestly, looking back down at his feet.

"He touch your cock?"

Was Angel being possessive or just taunting him? "Through my trousers."

"Did you like it?"

"I didn't care much either way."

"Yeah? When I found you, you were dry-humping him into the wall."

Angel's feet started to circle around Wes again, making him increasingly dizzy, and he answered with unwise petulance. "Well, I've been feeling more than a little sex-starved, Angel, as well as just plain starved."

"So this is all my fault, is that what you're saying?" As Angel had made Wesley, Wes rather thought that yes, it was his fault, but Wesley kept quiet, which didn't please his sire. "And there we have the not answering again. C'mon Wes, you should learn quicker than this."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Wrong. It was. Everything you do is my fault because you're my property."

Wesley was having trouble staying upright. Everything hurt, and Angel's version of the twenty questions game was making him increasingly confused and anxious.

Angel said, "Obviously, depriving you of sex makes you misbehave, so I guess I'd better not deprive you anymore." The footsteps stopped behind Wes, and he felt himself yanked back against Angel's broad chest. Oh Lord, not now.

"Actually Angel, I'm really not in the mood..."

The lobby shot past on either side of Wesley, and he collided with the counter. The edge cut into his midriff, and his face and hands slammed down onto the top, sending business cards and stationery flying. He cried out with the sudden pain and shock, and before he could collapse to the floor again, Angel was behind him, pressing into his arse.

"You just don't get the lesson, do you? Never knew you were such a dunce, boy."

Lesson? Oh God. The same lesson he'd been having thrashed into him since he was born, of course. The inevitability of his victimisation sickened Wes. It didn't seem to matter what he did to make himself stronger, or indeed, what was done to him. It seemed his lot was always to be helplessness and humiliation. "No. I do understand. I'm yours. My needs are irrelevant. Only yours matter."

"Well, you know the rhetoric at least." Angel seemed vaguely mollified. "Go bend over my desk."

Wesley couldn't quite believe this was happening, that Angel would do this to him, or indeed, to anyone. But he wasn't anyone anymore, was he? Soulless meant rightless; he'd had the same attitude himself as a human. He was now an ethical nonentity, and normally humane souls could happily torture and kill him without a qualm.

And Angel had never exactly been humane, even at his best. There had always been Angelus, sadistic and malevolent, lurking just below the surface of Angel, waiting to be safely released on soulless demons who got in Angel's way. Like Wesley himself now.

Stiffly, and with a great deal of pain, Wes limped into Angel's office, once his own, and carefully cleared the centre of the desk before half-collapsing on top of it. He hoped this unpleasantness would soon be over, as he had a nice comfortable stupor ready and waiting for him.

Wes heard Angel walk in behind him and then felt a heavy hand on his back, pushing him flat to the tabletop. "What are you thinking, Wes?"

Wesley was too exhausted with pain and fear to be able to think of suitable lies. "I can't answer that honestly without earning another beating," he admitted wearily.

"How about you just answer and let *me* decide what punishment is due?"

"I don't want to be beaten again." Wesley's voice cracked as tears of defeat filled his eyes. He pressed his face down into the wood of the desktop, the surface somehow seeming both softer and warmer than the hand on his back.

"Should've thought of that before walking out of here earlier."

"I... The instincts are strong. I don't... I don't know how to control them." The words came out in great gulping sobs, and Wesley wasn't sure if they were even coherent. "Angel, I'm sorry, I really... am. Please leave me chained in the future as... as I've no control over myself."

The pressure of Angel's hand seemed to lessen a little. "You need to learn that control; you're no use to me without it. Even..." Angel's voice seemed to tighten a little. "Even with a soul, you'll need it."

The weight was lifted from Wesley's back completely, and hands reached around in front of him and unfastened his belt and trousers. They pooled to the floor around his feet, followed by the boxers. Wesley wondered what it would take to make Angel stop this... this thing Angel was doing to him. If he begged, would Angel stop? Or would it only make him harder? "Oh God," Wes groaned hopelessly.

"I thought you wanted this?" Angel asked coldly. "Weren't you begging me to fuck you earlier?"

"Not like this."

"But this is what you get." Angel paused. "Tell me why."

Dutifully, Wes found the right words. "Because I'm your property, and I have no say in these or any other proceedings."

"Good boy. Step out of your pants and spread your legs."

Wesley obeyed, of course, as to refuse was to invite more violence. He put almost all his weight on his undamaged leg because not to meant getting close to passing out from the pain. He felt a hand flat upon his belly and moving southward. Wes froze, trying to remain absolutely stationary, and the hand slid over his cock and balls, roughly caressing.

"Soft for me, Wes? I'm disappointed."

Short of repeating that he wasn't in the mood, Wesley didn't know what to say, but Angel seemed to have lost interest and withdrew his attentions from the front of Wes. Hands now divided his buttocks and thumbs probed between, pushing at his entrance.

Wes gritted his teeth. He didn't want this, but he had no choice except to take it. A thick finger pushed inside, and he tensed, only to receive a smack on the side of his arse.

"Relax! You're not doing yourself any favours here."

"Angel, please don't do this. Remember who you are..." Wes stopped abruptly as an angry growl from his sire filled him with fear.

"I think I want you to shut the fuck up now, boy. There was a time I liked being begged to stop, but not now."

A second unlubricated finger thrust in to join the first, and Wes cried out as he felt himself tear. "No, please. Don't do this. Don't... oh God!" That last was because Wesley's writhing had brought his cock into painful contact with the desk edge and forced him to realise that he was suddenly erect and rock hard. "This is insane!" he protested.

Angel chuckled darkly. "Maybe. You're enough to drive me crazy; that's for sure. Always have been."

The fingers were withdrawn, and Wes braced himself for the next inevitable invasion. An invasion that part of him seemed suddenly to be wanting very much. Wesley's whimpers were now more to do with his distress at his own reactions than what Angel was doing.

And so this was what he was now? A creature who so craved violence that he enjoyed it even when it was inflicted upon him? The part of Wesley that remembered being human was highly disturbed by this development, but as Angel's cock pressed against his hole, the perturbation was submerged and drowning under a tidal wave of intense arousal. Angel thrust brutally inside with a grunt, and Wes screamed as pain ripped through him, but the scream was not that of a victim.

Wes crackled into game face, his broken fingers clutching ineffectually at the desk edge as he drove his arse back to meet Angel, whose thrusts were forceful and possessive. "Harder, faster, deeper," Wesley demanded, and he received a blow to his ribs as immediate punishment, but he didn't care. The scared child in him had retreated, happy to give up control to the starving demon, and now this was all about satisfying an itch which had been constant ever since he'd awakened chained to Angel's bed.

Whether it was deliberate or accidental, Angel was hitting Wesley's prostate more times than not and driving Wes into an intensity of passion. He wailed and tried to stand up, knowing he would be shoved back down hard and wanting to experience that dominance. He was, his face smashing into the wood, and he snarled and whined and cried, "More!"

A big-cat roar came from Angel above him, and Wes knew Angel must be releasing his own wildness and that thought aroused Wesley further. He tried to twist around to see Angel's face, but a hand grabbed his hair, and pulled him painfully up by it, until he gave up his ambitions. The thick cock was pistoning within his arse, sliding easily on Wesley's blood, which he could smell. It too excited him.

Everything was overpoweringly erotic, and Wes felt his balls tighten, and he groaned. A grip of iron suddenly encircled his cock around the base. "Hope you're not thinking of doing something without permission, boy." Angel's voice was rough, containing considerably more than a hint of animal growl.

Oh God, he couldn't possibly last. Wes howled in protest, and his head was smacked stunningly hard onto the desktop. He lay limply while his vision and thoughts settled again, his body being pulled back and forth across the table by the motion of Angel's increasingly violent thrusts.

"Tell me who you belong to," his sire ordered.

Wes smiled in his daze, for some reason keen to give the right answer. "You. I'm yours."

"You want to please me?"

"Yes. Oh God, yes."

"Nothing but total obedience is gonna please me."

"It's yours," Wes promised blithely, a part of him maybe even meaning it. His head was clearing, and he began to contract his muscles around Angel's cock, provoking another roar of reaction. God, but Wesley wanted something to sink his teeth into. He propped himself slightly on his elbows and moved an arm underneath his face.

Angel shuddered, and his voice was ragged and panting. "Fed up with your crap, boy. Your lies and betrayals -- they're all over now. You understand?"

The hand was removed from Wesley's cock, making him whine in protest. "Yes. No more 'crap'. I'm yours. Please may I come?"

"Not until I do!" But by the sound and feel of things, that wouldn't be long. Angel's rhythm was broken, and his thrusts were accompanied by a string of grunts and growls. The ragged tempo increased until Angel abruptly stopped moving, his fingers pressing into Wesley's hips almost hard enough to break the bone below. Wes bit into his own arm, sucking hard, trying to find some release. Angel, shuddering in orgasm, was silent, then collapsed heavily on top of Wes when he was done.

"Come now," he muttered.

A hand circled round to hold Wesley's cock and jerk it gracelessly a few times. It was enough, and Wesley released his teeth from the flesh of his arm and howled. He spasmed below Angel, hearing the wet splatter of his semen hitting the underside of the desk.

There was a short silence as the pair twitched and recovered somewhat. Wesley couldn't have talked if he'd wanted to, as his orgasmic yell had emptied his lungs of air, and Angel's weight was making inhaling more rather difficult. Eventually, Angel shuffled about and stood up, pulling out of Wesley's arse.

Now that the passion was spent, Wesley's face reverted to human, and he found his earlier emotions of fear, humiliation and helplessness returning. Hell, he wanted the passion back. He wanted to *want* this treatment, not to fear it, since it was going to happen no matter what he did, and enjoying it seemed by far the more pleasant course of action.

He heard Angel doing up his fly, but Wes himself didn't move from the table top, waiting for instruction, which promptly came. "Take off the rest of your clothes and go upstairs to the shower and get clean. I don't want to be able to smell anyone on you but me."

Stiffly, whimpering with pain, Wes straightened up. His broken fingers made removing the shirt difficult, and eventually, he lost his temper, rippling into game face and tearing the garment from his chest. The pain was so much easier to bear when furious, and Wes made himself dwell on his unjust treatment, trying to maintain the outrage.

Dropping the rags of his shirt to the floor with his trousers, Wesley limped out of the office, feeling Angel's gaze on his back like a harness. He made his way upstairs, channelling the agony into anger to keep himself going.

In the shower, he again washed away blood, but this time it was his own. His body was broken -- piebald with huge bruises, torn internally, and fractured in many places. Wes had no idea how he was still standing up. Staggering from the shower, he made it to Angel's bedroom, but he was clueless about what was next expected of him.

Wesley was too tired and the rage had faded despite his best attempts. Grief and defeat filled him, and he collapsed to the floor, curling into as much of a ball as he could manage. He was beaten in every sense, and even the appalling hunger was partially quelled by the exhaustion.

Angel found him there quite a while later, still naked and damp from the shower. Saying nothing, his sire lifted him like a baby and carried him to the bed. Wes was pushed to his back and his limbs were forced to straighten painfully out. His eyes rolled in his head, but he turned his face away from Angel, not wanting any chance of focusing on his tormentor.

After a few moments of blissful stillness, a now naked Angel lay down beside him, and a heavily possessive arm and leg were clamped across Wesley's body. He was going nowhere tonight.

Having nothing else within his power to do, Wesley fell asleep.