Chapter Five

Angel woke with a start. The kind that would have set a living heart beating wildly, but which only filled him with a sense of dread. He was lying on his side, with one arm and leg thrown over Wesley's still-sleeping form. It was a possessive posture; one that spoke loudly of 'mine' and 'stay.'

He rolled away carefully, not wanting to wake up Wesley. Not yet. Angel needed a few minutes to absorb everything that had happened the night before. The big knuckle on his right hand held the faint ache of an almost-healed injury as he moved.

Settling himself back on the pillow, Angel realized that on some level it had all been like a strange dream. After the nightmare of dealing with the bodies of his human family, finding Wesley gone had scared him -- for the first minute, and then the anger had taken over. It had felt... *right* to return to the hunt. Easy. Natural.

It had been instinct pulling at him. It hadn't been about hunger or feeding -- not for blood, at least -- and it might not have resulted in a kill, but it had been a hunt all the same. He wasn't sure what it was he'd been seeking -- just the simple violence, maybe? Although it had been Wes specifically that he'd wanted to possess. He was going to keep Wes.

Wes stirred slightly, and Angel turned onto his side so that he could look at the younger vampire, whose face was mottled with bruising, some of it so dark that it was almost black. The split lip had made only the slightest of attempts toward healing in the past six or seven hours, and the cracked cheekbone gave Wesley's face, even in sleep, a crooked, uncared-for appearance.

Wes' hand, where it lay on the mattress, was equally crooked. His broken fingers didn't look like they'd healed at all during the night. Angel reached out slowly and slipped the sheet lower, exposing Wes' side down to his waist, looking at the cuts and bruises on the pale skin.

Blue eyes, made all the sharper by the lack of glasses, opened and met his.

Angel felt his lips twitch in an attempt at a smile; an attempt that was almost instantly aborted when he saw recognition dawn in Wesley's eyes, followed immediately by fear. Wes pulled back away from him, wincing in pain from his many injuries.

All of which, Angel tried to accept, had been caused by himself.

"It's okay," he said gently, moving his hand to touch Wesley's arm in one of the few spots that seemed undamaged.

Wesley flinched away from him, a sound like a little moan escaping his torn lips.

"It's okay, Wes," Angel said again. "I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help." He sat up and reached for Wesley, who cringed, but didn't try to get away. Angel could feel the other vampire trembling under his hands as he explored the injuries with gentle fingers. "This hurt?" he asked, pressing carefully on Wesley's fractured cheekbone.

"Yes," Wesley answered quietly, as if he was afraid not to answer, but also worried that his answer might not be the right one.

"I'm not surprised. I really did a number on you." Now that Angel could see the damage up close and personal, he felt vaguely ill.

He had to remind himself that all of this -- torn flesh, broken bones, crushed blood vessels -- would heal. In a day or two it would be almost back to normal. Better than normal. Better than human anyway.

He could tell himself all of this, but none of it made him feel better. Knowing that the damage, no matter how severe, was temporary didn't make it any easier to look at Wes, because when it came down to it, it was *Wes* he was seeing. His friend's face hid the demon's, and that made it all the harder.

And underneath, there was the part of it that Angel wanted to deny; would try to deny to everyone including himself. That was the part that delighted in the destruction of Wesley's body; the part that believed the marks on Wesley told the world that Angel owned him. Temporary they might be, but those tattoos had come from Angel's hands, and even as he tried not to think about it, the demon inside him whispered that he'd loved hurting Wes. Loved the sex. Loved the ownership. It was what fed the demon, what the demon craved, even while it sickened Angel's soul.

Angel had to ask himself if some of it was coming from a deep desire to hurt Wesley. Did he still want to punish Wes for having taken Connor the year before? Or was it all Angelus inside him?

Trying to put it aside, Angel brushed his fingers lightly over Wes' face again. "You should be healing by now," he said, as much to himself as to his charge.

"Should I?" Wesley looked vaguely worried, but he sounded distant. Like he was locked up inside himself somehow.

"Yeah," Angel told him, trying to be reassuring. "It's okay; it's not your fault."

Guilt lay heavily on him like a mantle; a constant reminder of what he had done. He knew intellectually that this training was something he had to do to keep Wes in line for the time being, until they were able to get the soul back. Not to mention that when Wesley *did* get his soul back, the training would still benefit him, giving him a foundation in controlling his vamp urges.

If Angel didn't do what it took to get Wesley to obey, then his only option would be to leave him chained all the time, and reality was, Angel *needed* Wes. He needed his help, and not just because Wesley was the acknowledged brains of the operation. Angel didn't want to do this alone. He wasn't sure that he could.

What it came right down to with Wes, of course, was that Angel wasn't Angelus anymore. The soul made a difference, and the constant reminder of that was starting to get to him. Actions and words that had come easily as Angelus, when it had been Spike on the receiving end of the abuse, were... okay, still easy as Angel when he let them be, little as he liked to admit it. But afterward, when it was over, they were actions and words that were hard to live with.

Angel reached for Wesley again, needing to touch him to comfort himself as much as to comfort Wes. More, because at first Wes cringed away from him, and when Angel pulled him close, Wesley was rigid in his arms. He ran a gentle hand down Wes' back, mindful of the injuries that were obviously causing him a lot of pain. "Relax," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Wesley didn't seem to buy that statement, not pulling away, but remaining tense and cautious.

"Shh," Angel said, using his hands to soothe Wes as best he could, aiming for the parts of Wes' body that were the least damaged. "S'okay. Relax, Wes."

Gradually Wesley did relax, sinking into the mattress, and letting Angel cradle him carefully.

"I'm sorry," Angel found himself saying. "I don't like having to do this, you know." That was a little too close to a lie, so he changed tacks. "We're gonna fix this, Wesley. We'll find out who did this, and make them pay. We're going to get your soul back and everything's going to be..." What, like it used to be? That wasn't true. Better? "Things'll be better."

Wes shifted uncomfortably and stifled a groan.

"Hurts a lot, huh?" Angel asked.

Wesley hesitated before answering. "Yes."

"Okay. Shhh." Angel stroked the small of Wesley's back, running his fingers over his spine.

Wes wasn't healing because he was running too close to starvation mode. It was one thing to try to heal a broken bone or two on animal blood, but another entirely to try to heal multiple injuries on a fledgling's metabolism and not *enough* animal blood. "Hungry?"

The question had been rhetorical, but the answer came quickly this time. "Yes."

Angel eased his arm out from under Wes, trying not to hurt him any more than he had to, and wincing himself as the sheet fell back far enough to expose Wes' shattered and swollen knee. "Try to get comfortable," Angel told him, moving to retrieve the manacles and chains. "I'm going to go out and get you some blood..." He paused, and then said awkwardly. "Being chained up, it's just gonna make it hurt worse. I wouldn't do it if I didn't have to."

Wesley finished rearranging himself on the bed and looked up at Angel, his expression hard to read. "No, you're right."

Angel restrained Wes, making sure to do a good enough job that there was no way the other vampire would get free, but keeping his injuries in mind. Slipping into some clean clothes, he said, "Okay. I'll be back soon. Try to rest."

He drove to Larry's because it would take less time, and because he thought it would be a good idea to stop at Wesley's apartment on the way back and pick up a few things. As Angel drove, an endless mantra in his head told him again and again that he'd made a mistake in turning Wesley. That he shouldn't have done it; that he might be able to gain control of Wes, but that he was going to break the man's spirit in the process.

Angel asked Larry for the special, forked over an obscenely-high but totally-worth-it amount of cash, and received a paper bag with some units of human blood in exchange.

On the way back to the hotel, Angel swung by Wes' place -- he didn't have a key, but the lock broke easily enough when he leaned his shoulder into the door. He found a suitcase on the floor of the bedroom closet and began to toss a random selection of clothes into it.

Angel paused for a long moment with his hands in amongst Wes' hung-up dress shirts, letting the fabric slip between his fingers. Wesley had come into the Hyperion wearing some of these shirts over the past year-- come in from L.A.'s smog-filtered sunshine, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light in the hotel.

Wes would never come in from the sunshine again.

For that matter, neither would any of the others. No matter how Angel tried, he couldn't push away the memory of his friends' bodies in the basement, the repressed thought nagging at him from his subconscious. They were all among the reasons that he deserved to suffer.

Determinedly, Angel moved through the apartment, looking for items that might mean something to Wesley, things that would make him feel more secure. He added a couple of books that looked well-read and an unopened bottle of whiskey to the suitcase.

Wes hadn't been wearing his glasses much in the past few months, but Angel wondered if maybe having them around -- even if they weren't needed -- would help make the hotel feel more like home. Familiar was familiar, and at this point Angel was willing to do pretty much whatever it took to snap Wesley out of what he'd fallen into.

Where would the glasses be? They weren't in the bathroom with the contact lens supplies. He moved into the bedroom and opened the top drawer of the bureau. Inside, next to the rows of neatly-folded socks, was the Murshan Dynasty dagger Angel had brought back from his summer in Sri Lanka.

It was the gift he'd bought for Wesley before they'd even known that Connor had been conceived, before he'd been born, and before he'd been taken. All of it, like a house of precariously balanced cards, had come fluttering down around them and left nothing but pieces needing to be picked up.

He couldn't help but feel surprised, and slightly pleased, that Wesley had kept the gift despite what had happened since. Sure, Wes was a practical guy, and maybe he'd kept the dagger as a useful tool, or just because it was valuable. On the other hand, maybe he'd kept it around as a reminder of what he'd lost. Still... it made Angel feel better, somehow.

Angel decided to leave the dagger where it was for now. A continued search for Wesley's glasses turned them inside the drawer of the bedside table. Angel couldn't find a case for them, so he folded them up and tucked them carefully into his pocket as his eyes fell on the leather-bound notebook they'd been sitting beside. Curious, he picked it up and flipped through it.

The book was almost full of notes taken in Wes' careful hand, precise and easy to read, like he thought some day someone might read them and evaluate the job he'd done. Angel couldn't help but notice his own name, again and again. There was hardly a page where he wasn't mentioned -- even during the time that they'd been estranged.

He randomly opened to a page near the middle of the book, and read the entry.

I received an e-mail this evening instructing me to meet an unknown someone alone in a bar called Mystique on the west side of L.A. I should have known it would be Lilah. I was prepared to walk right back out again, but she pointed out that Justine was also present. Lilah claimed that she had set Justine up to be slaughtered. For my benefit. It was, however, a test. A test to see how I would react to the possibility of the woman who had tried to murder me being murdered in *front* of me.

Luckily, the point was moot, as Angel happened to be in the same bar as well, and headed straight for Justine. He and a young man managed to dust the vampires before they injured anyone. I watched the whole encounter from my vantage point on the balcony.

The young man was Connor; there isn't a doubt in my mind, although I can't quite explain it. He moved just like his father.

Angel flipped to another page later on.

I've been searching for Angel for nearly five weeks now, every night. I'm continuing to keep very careful records of the grids I've already searched using the hydrographic survey system, and progress remains slow. The sonar signals whenever we encounter anything metallic of sufficient size, but unfortunately so far, this has only turned out to be things such as anchors, oil drums, and parts from old boat wrecks.

I'm not going to give up. I'll keep looking until I find him. I have to.

Angel wasn't sure if the constant repetition of his own name in the entries made him feel better, or worse. He put the journal back on the bedside table, closed the suitcase, and headed back to Wesley.

***

Wesley woke from dreamlessness to the smell of something wonderful just under his nose. He immediately tried to move towards it, only to be stopped short when the chains spread-eagling him to the bed pulled tight with a jolt. He remembered where he was. And why. Only then did the pain register, and he moaned, tipping his head back into the pillow.

"There you are. Thought that would wake you." Angel's voice; Wesley looked miserably in the direction of the sound.

Angel was sitting on the edge of the bed and in his hand was an open sachet of blood. It was from there that the tantalising smell was emerging. Wesley eyed it rather desperately, his face instinctively hardening and greedy fangs protruding. Every cell in his battered body was screaming for the sustenance the blood offered, but he said nothing. Although he couldn't help a slight whimper trembling out from his parched throat.

"Want it?" his sire asked gently, which Wesley considered quite an astoundingly stupid question under the circumstances, but he gave no answer, and Angel sighed. "Talk to me? C'mon, Wes, you're worrying me."

Through bruise-thickened lips, Wes struggled out a croaked, "Yes."

"You want the blood?"

"Yes!" Wesley's repeated answer was rich with exasperated frustration, and when he heard himself, he flinched, waiting for the inevitable blow.

Which didn't fall. "Shh. Not gonna hurt you."

Wesley remembered now that Angel had seemed caring, perhaps even remorseful, when Wesley had last woken, and he wondered dismally what the game was now. The sense of a damoclean sword above his head was enormous and prevented clear thought, as did the appalling hunger. The pain, on the other hand, seemed to help a bit, and Wes deliberately shifted his body into a more uncomfortable posture. But it wasn't enough to defog his mind.

Angel put the blood-bag on the bedside table, propping it against the lamp. Wes half-noticed a brown carrier bag also on the table, but most of his attention was on the blood. Angel began to unchain Wes, who couldn't tear his gaze from the side table. "Please," Wes eventually submitted to beg. He had to have it.

Angel was rubbing gently at Wesley's freed wrists, but with that word, he helped Wes sit up and then passed him the plastic packet, which had writing printed upon it. "Take it. Drink."

Oh Lord, it was human blood. No wonder it smelled so good. Sensory memories of 'Charles', and the incredible taste of the blood straight from the human's veins, filled Wesley. He remembered the smell of the man's fear and the feel of the human struggling helplessly to free himself.

Wesley whimpered. It must be a trick. But he nonetheless took the blood with shaking and still broken hands. A small, scarlet jet squirted out of the opening and landed on his arm. He stared at it, transfixed. Dear God. Was Angel trying to see if Wesley had learnt his lesson from yesterday? He'd learnt it. Human blood was bad. He mustn't crave it; he mustn't try to obtain it.

He wanted it. Oh God, how he wanted it.

"Go on." Angel seemed puzzled. He paused in unfastening Wesley's ankles, leaving one still in its manacle. "Drink. You need it."

With a sense of horror, Wes felt his whole body start to spasm in great gulping sobs. Blood squirted out from the packet as his hands clenched, going to waste; it stained the bed covers. He stared at the spreading red with dismay. Wesley was bewildered and distraught, torn between hunger and fear of punishment. Rational thought seemed lost to him, which frightened him all the more.

"Shit," Angel cursed half under his breath and quickly freed the last ankle. He moved up on the bed to sit behind Wes, stretching his legs out to either side of the younger vampire.

Wesley felt his sire close against his naked back and shuddered, remembering the feel of Angel thrusting inside him, ripping him internally and arousing him unbearably. Strong arms encircled him, holding him against a broad chest, and a soothing voice vibrated softly in his ear.

"Drink, Wes, I've got you. Not gonna hurt you. You're safe. Please drink."

The hunger wailed around inside Wesley like a banshee spirit. Controlling his wracking sobs as best he could, he lifted the packet to his mouth and began to suck voraciously. Angel didn't stop him. And even Wesley's patchwork thoughts were lost to him as the blood roared into his veins. It seemed to take only a few fractions of a second and then the bag was empty. He stared blankly at the drained plastic, looking at the words printed upon it, but not reading them.

Angel stroked Wesley's upper belly in a slow circular motion. "Want some more?"

More? There was more? "Yes... please."

Angel reached over to the brown paper bag and removed a second blood unit. Wes noticed that something of equal size remained within the bag. Angel put the blood in Wesley's hands and went back to soothing Wes with gentle, stroking hands across his chest and belly, and now also pressing kisses on his neck. Wes shivered and looked down at the blood bag, unsure what to do with it.

There was distinct concern in Angel's voice when he instructed, "Use your fangs. Jeez, I hope I haven't given you brain damage."

Wesley found he wanted to reassure Angel. "I'm just confused, not..." his voice trailed off. Angel tightened his hug, which caused pain to shoot through Wesley's body from his unhealed ribs. But it was a strangely comforting gesture nonetheless.

Wes bit into the bag. More cold yet wonderful blood filled his mouth, and he drank it down fast. He could feel it was doing him good. Sensation was returning to numbed extremities, and yes, the blood was arousing him.

Did all male vampires really spend their existences constantly at least half-erect? Or was there something wrong with him? His awareness of Angel's clothed body behind his naked one increased.

Angel took the third blood packet from the paper bag and leant back against the headboard, pulling Wes with him. "Relax. Let me hold you. Got room for this last one?"

"Yes?" Wesley wasn't sure if greed would be approved of, but he was still so very hungry. He lay back against Angel, doing his very best to relax as instructed. Despite the fact that Wes only required such tender care because of Angel's beating, it nonetheless felt good to be nurtured and cared for by his sire.

Angel put the third bag in Wesley's hands, taking the empty plastic and laying it to the side. "Drink this one slowly," he said firmly.

Wesley could do that, he thought. Things weren't quite so urgent now. With his head leaning back against Angel's shoulder, he slowly sucked the blood from the plastic, savouring each mouthful, as he didn't know when he'd be allowed it again. He couldn't quite believe he was being allowed it *now* and was waiting for the other hob-nailed boot to fall. But Angel's arms were still around him, keeping him close, keeping him... safe.

"Why wouldn't you drink at first?" Angel asked after a while.

Wes removed the bag from his mouth. "It was human. I... I thought it was a test."

"Oh." Wesley felt soft lips on the side of his head. "You were trying to please me. My good, obedient boy."

A little shiver of pleasure ran through him. "Why..." He stopped.

"Ask. It's okay."

Wincing, fearing the worst, Wesley obeyed. "Why do you call me that? 'Boy', I mean. Do you see me as your son now?"

Angel sighed very softly. "My son's dead. You're... my offspring, sure, but in a totally different way. And you're my friend."

"Really?" Wesley felt that was somewhat unlikely and tried to repress a surge of hope at the words.

Angel asked sadly, "You don't think our friendship can survive this?"

Wes began to squeeze the last drops from his blood bag. "That's rather up to you, isn't it?"

"No?"

Angel was clearly flummoxed, and Wes reviewed the conversation to see where the confusion had arisen. It seemed that Angel must be thinking solely about the future, whereas Wesley had been contemplating their mutual past. "Were we friends again before... before you made me?"

"I thought so. Getting there, anyway."

"Oh. I didn't realise." Which seemed a stupid thing to say, but it was the truth. Wes had taken Angel's words, which had accompanied the pillow, as a solemn vow; he was never to be forgiven. "I'm sorry."

Angel's hands tensed upon him. "Are you?"

Wesley knew full well what Angel meant. "I don't think I can feel guilt anymore, Angel, at least not in the same way. But I *was* sorry, quite appallingly so."

There was silence for a while during which Angel seemed immobile, and Wes felt the stirrings of fear begin to return. Had he gone too far? Was the violence to start again? Wesley found that, although his brain was clear and fog-free after so much blood, he was still running mostly on emotion and instinct rather than intellectual thought. And that felt precarious and unsettling; it wasn't him. At least, it wasn't who he'd once been.

Angel jolted out of some thought process and seemed to only now notice that Wes had finished his blood. "That's my boy," he said, taking the empty packet and putting it with the others. "C'mon, turn around so I can take a look at you."

Angel was still talking to Wesley as if the younger vampire were a child, but Wes couldn't bring himself to care much, as the words and the loving attention were reassuring, and indeed, catering to a deep and long-hidden need inside of him. He shuffled around, remaining between Angel's legs and laying his own carefully over his sire's thigh. He twisted his upper body to face Angel, meeting his gaze.

"You're looking much better already. That's good to see." Angel examined Wesley's face, tipping it from side to side with a hand under his chin. "Soon you'll be as good as new."

Wes thought that even with vampire healing, it would take a good few days, but perhaps that was what Angel meant by 'soon'. He felt very warm and grateful towards Angel, and he wondered if this was the nature of Stockholm Syndrome. Upon consideration, he decided it was more the nature of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, as he could remember thinking his father was wonderful every time an expression of small mercy followed a heavy punishment.

"I won't forget," he promised, lightly stroking fingers -- which seemed to be straighter now -- over Angel's shirt.

"What?"

"I won't forget the lesson. When the injuries have healed and vanished, I'll still remember what you taught me."

"Ah. Good. My good Wes." Angel's voice thickened with some emotion, and he held Wesley tightly against him.

A brief ripple of humiliation flickered through Wesley on the tail of the rush of pure pleasure that came again with Angel's embarrassingly paternal praise. But the shame, if that was indeed what it was, was quickly extinguished, as Wes felt Angel's cock harden against his hip. He wriggled sensually against it. "Angel..."

"Shh..." he murmured in reply. "It's too early for this. You need to heal."

Wes calculated his next response with the sense of taking a big gamble. "I want to please you. I want to very much."

The imprisoned cock twitched again against Wesley, and Angel groaned. "You are. You're pleasing me. But we need to wait before sex. You need more time to heal inside."

The reaction had been satisfying even if the ultimate refusal was not. Wes glanced up to meet Angel's eyes again, looking at him from under hooded lids. "Perhaps there's something less physically adventurous I could do that would please?"

Wes knew he was behaving like some coquette, but it was all about cause and effect. Angel seemed to like Wes this way, and pleasing Angel should ultimately lead to pleasurable rewards. Unless Wesley escaped somehow, his sire had control of his unlife, and Angel was therefore the complex control panel that Wes had to learn to manipulate. It was a question of understanding and adapting to a new rules set. He hadn't done too well so far, but he was determined to do better.

Wes lowered his gaze to stare at Angel's lips; he knew where he wanted to start his studies.

So did Angel, and he laughed. "You can kiss me, Wes." So Wesley did, looping his arms around Angel's neck and pressing his lips hesitantly against Angel's, quickly growing more confident. Angel's hands tightened upon him again, but after a few minutes they pushed Wes away. "Heh. Nice." Angel looked a little flustered.

Encouraged, Wes pushed his hip against his sire's erection once more. "Maybe I'm more healed than you realise?" he offered.

"Because of this?" Angel asked, drawing a finger up Wesley's own cock from base to tip and making him whimper. "Wasn't sure you'd still want sex after what I did."

"I... I enjoyed it. That bit, I mean." He looked up at Angel and added wryly, "I really have changed, haven't I?"

"Yeah, Wes," Angel nodded. "As a vamp you'll enjoy -- you'll *need*-- things that as a human would have... well, been not so good."

"Do you need those things too?" Wes was concerned that his question might have been too invasive, but Angel continued to indulge him.

"Violence, pain, blood... yeah. The needs don't go away with the soul."

Wes thought that yesterday must have satisfied quite a few of those needs for Angel. "And sex? I seem to have been constantly, well..."

"Like this?" Angel asked with a small laugh, encircling Wesley's cock and jerking it gently.

Wes gasped, inadvertently thrusting forward with his hips and clinging to Angel's shoulders. "Oh. Yes, like that," he acknowledged with a slightly strangled voice.

"Now look what you've got me doing. After I said no and all." Angel's hand was still stroking Wesley, who very much wanted that state of affairs to continue. "You wanna please me, Wes? You wanna be my good boy?"

"Very much," he replied earnestly, meaning it, for the time being at least.

Angel smacked Wesley's arse lightly. "Then quit with the flirting, get up, and get dressed." He laughed, removing his hands from Wes. "And don't look at me like that, it won't be long. I just want to give that blood a chance to work."

Knowing far better then to argue, even with Angel in such an expansive mood, Wes shifted stiffly to his feet, noting he was in considerably less pain than he had been. He tried to ignore his throbbing erection, but the ghosts of Angel's fingers were still caressing him. "What clothes would you like me to wear?"

"I brought back some of yours. In the suitcase."

Wes walked to where Angel indicated around the other side of the bed and found an item of his own luggage. "You've been to my apartment?"

Angel nodded. "Wanted to make you feel more at home."

Wesley couldn't decide if he was touched by the consideration or annoyed at the invasion of his territory, but ultimately the opportunity to wear his own things was something to be grateful for. "Thank you."

He lifted the suitcase to the bed and opened it. There were books and a bottle of good whisky on top of the clothes, and Wes looked at Angel curiously, who shifted on the bed. "I was looking for things that might make you feel more comfortable. But there wasn't anything that really stood out."

And now there was no question of annoyance; Angel really had been trying his clumsy best to look after Wes, and Wesley was warmed by the concern. He stroked the covers of the books thoughtfully. "They don't seem to have much to do with me now. So much has changed. Everything really."

"I'm still here," Angel pointed out.

"Yes, you're the one constant," Wes acknowledged with a small smile. His life had revolved around Angel for over three years. It had been a somewhat deadly obsession for Wesley really, but it showed no signs of easing.

He chose some clothes and started to get dressed. As he did, Angel rose and came to stand beside him. Wes felt his sire's presence like a magnet dragging on the iron in his blood, but he tried his best to ignore the sensation.

Angel said, "You're moving better now."

"The blood really helped. Thank you."

"So... how are we going to stop this happening again, Wes?"

Many facetious comments flickered through Wesley's mind, all of which he immediately discarded as highly unwise. He paused halfway through buttoning his shirt. "I... I do have a suggestion if you'd care to hear it."

"Go ahead."

"You need my brain functions to be optimal if we want to discover the reason behind the..." He stopped as flashes of his dead friend's faces caught him unguarded. It really was a bit much. Being soulless, Wes would have thought, would mean far more not giving a damn, and considerably less of the torment of loss. Swallowing, he continued. "The reason everyone we cared about is dead. Therefore, depriving me of my physical needs may not be... I mean, it may be wise to..."

Angel seemed to sense Wes was having trouble finding suitably meek words. "You think I should keep you well-fed and well-fucked."

"Yes," Wesley replied, smiling weakly. "I know you want me to learn self-control, but perhaps for now, solving this case is more important."

Angel snorted. "Could be that you're trying to manipulate me, Wes. But you're lucky because, in this case, I happen to agree with you."

Wesley supposed there had been some manipulation in his words, but his intent had been genuine. It really was the solution that made the most pragmatic sense to him. Even as a human, his thought processes had become fractured and unreliable when his body's physical needs had drained his attention. And his vampiric urges were so much more demanding.

Angel promised, "I'll keep you happy unless you piss me off again."

"Ah yes, about that. Perhaps you would consider leaving me chained next time you leave me downstairs?" Wes surprised himself very little with the request, as he'd already realised that beatings and forced sex were apparently not enough to break him from his Angelic obsession, and he clearly didn't want to escape. He looked earnestly at Angel. "Please?"

Angel took Wes into his arms. "The chains make you feel safe?" Wes didn't answer. Instead, he found himself leaning in for a kiss. Angel craned his head away while keeping his arms tight around Wes. "Uh-uh-uh. Not until I say."

"I really *am* better," Wes insisted, rubbing himself against Angel, who growled.

"Don't push it." Immediately, Wesley froze in a fear response to the tone, and then tried to cringe away from Angel, who sighed with exasperation. "You need to find a happy medium. I want respect from you, not a nervous wreck."

"I'm sorry." Wesley thought that what Angel was asking for was totally unreasonable considering his actions yesterday, but ultimately, it seemed, it was Angel's to ask for. He tried very hard to relax again within Angel's hold. "I'm trying to learn. I fall down on the... drives. The hungers -- they're so strong. How on earth do you...?"

"Years of practice. It'll never be easy." Angel sighed and admitted, "I'm probably expecting too much from you too soon.

"People always have," Wes smiled shyly, returning to coquetry again, as it had been a lot more successful than more overt sexual behaviour. "I should be used to it by now."

Angel kissed Wes briefly on the lips. "C'mon, let's go downstairs. We need to find out who or what we have to get even with." He let Wes go and turned to the door. "You gonna follow me like a good boy?"

Wes smiled wryly at his sire's broad back and answered, "Always, Angel."