Chapter Seven

"Who was there?" Wesley asked, still absently rubbing his wrist after Angel's most recent display of dominance. His sire was staring fixedly at one of the bloodstains on the office floor, and Wes wondered which body had been found in that spot.

Angel ignored the question and instead said, "I need to move them. The bodies. Get them to the AB. I've put it off too long."

The AB was the Arkwright Behemoth, a huge scavenging demon of limited animal intelligence that lived deep in the tunnels. Angel Investigations, like many other organisations of more dubious intention, had long used the Behemoth as an efficient means of corpse disposal. The corpses weren't normally those of friends however.

Wes nodded seriously. "I'll help."

"No."

Frowning at the bare negation, Wesley demanded, "Why not?"

"Are you questioning me?"

Well, yes. Obviously he was. And obviously he was about to meet with Angel's fists again if he didn't back-pedal fast. Clearly the camaraderie built during today's research session was over. Wes dropped his gaze. "I withdraw my words. I'll investigate suppliers of the toxin, shall I?"

"Yeah, you do that." Angel didn't sound like he cared much; his gaze was still directed at the stain, but Wes doubted Angel was focused on anything actually in this room anymore. After typing some keywords into a search engine, Wesley began to peruse the results. When Angel's voice eventually broke the silence again, it came as a surprise. "Chain yourself up."

Quickly obedient, Wes stood up and fixed one end of the chain and manacle set to the brass gas tap near the bookcase; he encircled his ankle with the broad iron cuff, closing it with a clink. "It needs locking," he pointed out quietly.

Angel stirred himself and came over. Kicking at the gas tap, he said dismissively, "That's not strong enough."

Angel was probably right; Wes didn't really know his own strength yet. He sighed. There was nothing more suitable in the office to use as a tether. "Shall I return to the bedroom?"

"I want you here, working." Angel crouched and quickly locked the manacle with the key Wes had known he was carrying around with him. "It oughta give you a chance to think twice at least." Angel straightened up. "It's simple. You want blood and sex? -- you stay here. You want broken bones -- you run, and make no mistake, I’ll find you. And if you kill anyone -- I'll dust you."

"I... understand." The idea of Angel wanting to dust him hurt Wes no less now than it had the first time it had been suggested.

Angel stared at him for a few moments longer as Wes tried hard to present an impassive face, then he surged forward, kissing Wesley briefly; not long enough even for Wes to respond. Angel turned and walked towards the basement entrance without another word.

Wesley stared after him, feeling more than a little lost. As the door slammed shut, he jumped a little. Listening dully to the noises Angel was making below, he wondered who was being carried away first. He tried to imagine Fred’s body being consumed by the Behemoth and frowned, wondering why his mind was venturing in such places. The thought of Lilah’s bones crunching was even worse -- simultaneously deeply upsetting and fascinating.

Wes sat back down at the desk and rubbed his face, trying to clear his mind ready for more research. The chain pulled tight on his ankle as he shuffled the chair in closer, dragging his leg out to the side. It was… distracting. But then, everything was now.

Such was the curse of predator senses that his perceptions of the world around him were constantly disturbing his concentration. He was used to seeing the world a little blurred around the edges, and letting sounds just fade into the background as he read books or pondered thoughts. And smell had rarely been an issue at all as a human. But everything was different now.

Now a slight breeze through an open window could set his skin tingling and inform his nose of the world outside the hotel, full of life to be taken by force and savoured. Oh god…

Yes, the instinctual demonic needs were worse even than his demanding new senses. He was already starting to feel hungry again, but having drunk the heated blood that Angel had brought in earlier, Wes was now stuck until Angel returned. And beyond the blood hunger was the desire for what Wesley could only describe as high-adrenaline activities -- danger sports for the ethically unconcerned. He craved violence and pain. He wanted the rich aroma of fear in his nostrils again and the feel of a struggling victim below him. He’d had it once, and once wasn’t nearly enough.

He closed his eyes and remembered Charles; the man’s muscular human body no match for Wesley’s new strength. The smell, the taste… oh god, the taste. The racing heartbeat, the muffled whimpers, the rush of hot, still-living blood into his mouth. Wesley moaned deeply and then jerked upright in his chair, his eyes wide open, shocked by the loudness of his own desire in this mortuary-quiet place.

He wasn’t stupid enough to try to escape again. He wasn’t a child, and although it was inarguably harder now, he was perfectly equipped to deal with delayed or deferred gratification. He hoped. He desperately hoped. Wes wanted to stay with Angel; he knew that without a doubt now. Therefore the kind of mayhem he felt urged to generate just couldn’t be permitted, at least not against human prey. Wesley tried to concentrate on less dangerous impulses as his research currently seemed beyond him.

And the ‘safe’ desire would be Angel. Despite agreeing that Wes would work better undistracted, Angel had succeeded only in working Wesley up to a plateau of uneasy arousal and then leaving him to deal with it alone. Wes thought he could still feel each kiss Angel had laid upon him, as if they, rather than the beatings, had left something lasting on him, something visible.

He wanted to feel those hard lips upon his own once more. He wanted to struggle and be unable to free himself from a greater strength when Angel finally was true to his word and buggered Wesley senseless again. He wanted to bleed and scream and break because if he couldn’t do it to a victim then at least he could feel it himself. God, this insistent erection was becoming insufferable; he had to do something about it.

Wesley tugged down his zipper and roughly pulled out his cock.

If Angel wouldn’t give Wes what he’d promised to give, what Wes needed in order to work effectively, it made pragmatic sense that Wesley should take matters into his own hands. Hand. The hand that was dragging up and down his hardened flesh in angry and resentful strokes. Just when was the last time anyone had kept a promise made to him anyway?

He considered, and immediately discarded, the idea of directing his browser page towards something pornographic in nature. It would take too long, and he just wanted this over and done with. And anyway, it seemed unlikely he’d gain much in the way of titillation from the kind of sanitised sites he’d allowed himself to purchase membership for as a human. Not even Lilah had been able to free him of his residual prudishness, but Angel had managed it.

Angel.

Wes closed his eyes and thought again of his sire. He thought about the heavy fists slamming into him, splitting skin and splintering bones, and his own pain and terror as it had happened. He thought about being manhandled, forced into position, made into a helpless victim and given no choice about the violation that followed. He moved his leg so that the chain was tugging on it, his shackled status arousing him further, as he thought about how the thick cock had felt, pistoning inside him on a lubrication of Wesley’s blood…

And even as he thought about these things, and became increasingly aroused doing so, his intellect was asking why and how. How could any creature with natural survival instincts find such things erotic? Why was he lusting after Angel rather than hating the demon that had done this to him? His only answer was that for all his years of training and research into the topic, and for all his intense obsession with Angel, he’d really been appallingly ignorant of the reality of vampire psychology.

Or perhaps this was just him -- who he really was. Perhaps, devoid of a soul, his true nature glowered through, and his father had been right all along. He was nothing but a snivelling snot with no backbone and a desire to be victimised.

No, he wouldn’t accept that. He tightened his hand on his cock, refusing to let himself soften in response to his thoughts. He had strength and will; qualities he’d fought hard to win and nurtured with bitterness and resolution since the Connor disaster. And now more than ever Wes was not a victim; he was a victimiser, reborn into a new and ferocious role. He deliberately stopped thinking about Angel and moved his thoughts back to Charles, the human who would have died in his arms had Angel not interfered.

Wesley’s hand sped up. He imagined death and smiled.

There was a noise from outside the hotel, and the main door opened. Wes quickly did himself up, more concerned in case it was Angel for some reason returning that way, than at the thought of a stranger seeing him like this -- hard and snarling, lost in fond thoughts of blood and terror.

The sound of a woman’s heels clicked across the foyer and for a fraction of a second, Wesley warmed, thinking it was Lilah. Until he remembered that she was Behemoth food now. A matronly woman he vaguely recognised arrived at the counter, but the chain stopped him going to her. He could hear her heartbeat; she was calm and obviously unaware of how much Wesley wanted to eat her. After the fantasies he’d just been indulging in, the woman seemed like a gift from some wicked vampire godmother just for him.

But he knew he couldn’t indulge.

He called out, "Angel Investigations is closed due to… staff shortages. I’m sorry we can’t help."

"Mr Wyndam-Pryce?" she asked, peering myopically over the counter into the office space beyond. "Oh, I’m sorry. Is there illness?"

He remembered her name now ­ June Ruperts. She’d employed them briefly last year when her family had experienced problems with a pack of Romnoth demons. "Yes, illness. So don’t come too close."

As if oblivious to his words, the stupid woman stepped around the counter and walked over towards Wesley. "Oh, you do look pale. Is it the flu?"

Alarmed, Wes held up a hand. "Please don’t come any closer; I’m almost certainly infectious."

"Oh, I’ve had everything that’s going, dear. That’s one of the joys of motherhood." June walked right up to the front of his desk, and he could smell the blood in her. Oh God, he really could. Was she menstruating? Did she have a wound? She looked closely at him. "My, you have been in the wars, haven’t you? I hope you killed whatever demon did that to you."

Obviously he was still showing a lot of the marks of his beating, despite the blood. "Not exactly, but… Please, I really must ask you to come no closer." This was fundamentally unfair. How was he meant to refuse his instincts when the food was served up to him on a platter saying ‘eat me’ with a pearlescent lipstick smile?

The woman paused. "Is it some kind of demonic disease? Oh dear, how awful for you. And everyone has it? Even that nice Mr Angel?"

"He is the source of this infection," Wes said dryly. "Please, I must ask you to leave. It’s not safe for you here. Angel will…"

"Angel will…?"

"Angel will kill me if I… infect you."

"Oh, please don’t worry. I promise won’t tell." She winked at him in a friendly fashion. "Should you really be working if you’re this ill?" Leaning forward, she laid the back of her hand on his forehead.

Shocked at the unexpected contact with warm human flesh ripe for the sucking, Wesley scooted his chair back and away from her. The chain pulled tight with a series of clinks, and June looked down at it in confusion and then consternation.

"Mr Wyndam-Pryce, are you a prisoner here?" she asked in shocked tones. "Oh my God, let me help you."

Bugger! "I’m not a prisoner. Please leave before…" His voice was taking on a desperate tone and June seemed to respond to the tone and not the words.

"I’m going to call the police if you don’t let me help you. You’re black and blue, and in a state of shock if your skin temperature is anything to go by. You’re clearly terrified of something, and you’re chained to your desk."

Again she came forward, and trapped on the limit of his chain, Wesley couldn’t escape. Her blood called out to him, begging him to release it from the prison of skin and capillaries. He could feel his fangs itching below the surface of his gums. "Go now. Or you will die," he spat out, word by word.

"Where’s the key?" she asked, resolute and brave, for all the definite scent of fear she was now exuding.

"He has it. Leave. You don’t understand." She was right by him, and yes, she had to be menstruating. He could smell the rich aroma wafting like smoke from between her plump, pantyhosed thighs. Quite without volition, Wesley leant forward and placed his hands upon her hips, drawing her closer and nuzzling his face into the area of her full skirt that covered her groin.

Her hand rested in his hair, soothing him as if her were upset. And indeed, he was sobbing dryly, as he knew Angel would dust him for this. June tried gently to free herself. "You poor thing, it must have been awful for you. We’re going to get you out of here. Was it Mr Angel that did this to you?"

"Yes," Wesley admitted, tightening his grasp. "But it’s too late now, don’t you see?" He looked up at June and watched her expression as his face changed. The rumble and crack of bones resounded in his skull as his brow ridges grew, and he snarled as his fangs protruded into the air.

June screamed.

Pulling her down to her knees beside him, Wesley curled an arm around her head, placing his hand firmly over her mouth. "Hush now. You have only yourself to blame here. I lost count of the number of times I told you, begged you even, to leave."

Her frightened eyes stared at him above his hand, as her own clawed and slapped, struggling pointlessly to remove it. He supposed he was suffocating her; ah well, it would make her more pliable. Her heart was racing, and it made something inside him want to dance to its frantic beat.

There was a noise from below in the basement. Angel was back for another body or bodies. Wesley shook June hard. "Stay still," he hissed. "Or I’ll break your neck." She froze obligingly, delicious fear soaking through her pores. He freed her nose so she could breathe.

Wesley listened carefully to Angel moving about beneath them. June wasn’t the only one afraid. "In a minute," he whispered. "I’m going to release you, and you are going to leave immediately without looking back. You will tell no one what you have seen here, and you will never return. Do you understand?"

She nodded as eagerly as his fierce grip would allow.

He couldn’t quite believe he was doing this. He could just wait for Angel to leave once more, eat the woman, break the gas pipe, and leave in the SUV, never to be seen again. He could find some town to settle in far from champions and Slayers and enjoy the local populace one by one. Instead, he was refusing this perfect delicacy and resigning himself to a mono-diet of dead pig’s blood in the vain hope that he might get what he wanted from Angel one day.

Whatever that was.

The woman smelled so sweet. Wesley listened to Angel leave again and then slipped his free hand between her legs, breaking through her pantyhose. She stiffened as he invaded her, and then he let her go. "Leave. Now. Never come back."

She stared at him with the huge eyes of a prey animal as he sucked his fingers clean. Then she turned and sprinted for the door, tripping once on her unwise heels, but getting straight back up and never once looking back.

Shaking, Wesley pulled his chair back to his desk. He supposed that in a way he’d passed some oblique and unfair test, but he actually felt like he’d failed -- failed even to make it as an evil predator. There was no limit to the things he couldn’t succeed at it seemed. And like every other failure of his for the past three years, it was all due to Angel, and Wesley’s longing for something he doubted his sire was capable of giving even if he wanted to.

Whatever that was. He really needed to decide that.

June Ruperts would almost certainly call the police or some other authority, Wes realised. Which meant he had to confess to Angel what he’d done before the trouble arrived. Which meant another beating, but perhaps one not quite as severe as yesterday’s, and it could possibly end in violent sex again so all was not quite lost. But despite trying to cheer himself up with that thought, Wesley remained depressed.

Having nothing better to do, he began his research tasks. The search for the suppliers of the ‘Natural Born Killer’ toxin quickly proved to be a waste of time. While only a couple of places listed it for mail order, it would be easy enough to create from its component parts by anyone with the appropriate knowledge and power.

However, his search for the supplier of the particular champagne that had been used as the toxin’s carrier was a lot more successful. It seemed that only one retailer in the whole of Los Angeles imported this particular rare vintage, and that was the West Side Winery on Santa Monica.

As he searched for more information on the proprietors, Wes found himself becoming more and more unhappy. He wished Angel would hurry up and finish his grisly task and return to administer punishment; get it over and done with. Angel had trusted him by going out today, and yet again, he’d failed to live up to that trust.

Not even having his soul replaced by a rapacious demon was enough to save him from himself.

***

Angel sighed as he came back upstairs. He was covered with filth of various kinds, and the stench that came from his clothes was beyond disgusting. There were definite drawbacks to having a vampire's sense of smell.

He shut the basement door and glanced into the office -- Wesley was still, apparently, hard at work at the desk. Angel couldn't deny the surge of relief that he felt at seeing Wesley where he'd left him, but there was no point in exposing Wes to the stink of the sewers. Angel would come back down and check on him after he'd washed up.

A long hot shower was just what he'd needed, washing away the dirt and grime of the tunnels even if it couldn't wash away his despair. Angel closed his eyes and let the steaming water run over his face, tasted the droplets on his tongue.

Angel stayed in the shower much longer than he really needed to and took his time about getting dressed, tossing the clothes he'd shed earlier in a corner for disposal later. He never wanted to wear them again; they'd always remind him of what it had been like to take his friends' bodies for disposal, of the utter bleak feeling that had accompanied throwing them to the AB.

Slowly, he went back downstairs.

Wesley looked up at him as he entered the office, and the expression on Wes' face -- fear mingled with something darker -- stopped Angel in his tracks, knocking him out of his funk in a fraction of an instant. "What happened?"

There was a long pause, then Wesley said, "There was... an incident."

Angel moved closer, slowly, and Wes cringed. Just a little bit, but enough to make it clear that he was expecting punishment. Angel spoke slowly and calmly. "Wes. Tell me what happened."

Wesley nodded. His glasses, Angel noted, were back on the desk, off to one side like he hadn't been using them.

"It was a client," Wesley said, keeping his eyes downcast now that he'd started to tell the story. "June Ruperts. She came in. I urged her to leave, but she wouldn't listen."

"You told her to go?" Angel was surprised.

Wesley nodded slightly. "Several times. She insisted on coming in despite my warnings that I was ill and that I might pass the sickness on to her. She..." He swallowed, then continued in a softer voice, "She touched me."

Angel took a step closer. "Then what happened?"

"She was..." Wes' eyes met his own again. "Bleeding. Menstruating. The scent of it was like an aura around her, and I was so hungry. I wanted to kill her."

"But you didn't." Angel knew that, since Wes was still chained and there was no sign of a body. "You let her go?"

Wes shook his head, then nodded, his expression one of confusion. "She saw that I was chained, and assumed that I was being held prisoner here against my will. She said that she'd call the police, and I -- I grabbed onto her. I threatened to kill her if she didn't leave at once and speak to no one of what she'd seen."

Angel was relieved. "So she left."

"Not before I..." Wesley hesitated and looked down at the desk again. "I assaulted her," he said. Angel knew that it wasn't guilt he was seeing on Wes' face, no matter how much he might have liked to believe otherwise. "I... tasted her."

"You -- oh." Angel nodded, pretty sure he could read between the lines there. "Yeah. But you didn't hurt her?"

"No. Not physically, at least. Of course she was terrified, once she finally realized that she was in danger." Wesley still looked nervous of Angel's reaction, but he also looked slightly proud, as if he liked the idea of having scared the woman. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Angel said, moving closer and noting as Wes flinched. "Hey? Wes? You think I'd tell you it was okay if I really meant I was pissed off?"

Wesley looked conflicted. "No," he said finally. "No. I don't think you'd do that."

"What would I do? If I was pissed off, I mean?" He was hoping to coax Wes' intellect to respond, to take over from the fear response that was what he was seeing.

"I suppose," Wes said, "you'd have already begun to punish me. Or..."

"Yeah?"

"Or you'd be asking me questions like this, but making it clear that I was to describe to you why I needed punishing."

Angel nodded. "Why do you think you need punishing? And no, I'm not getting ready to do it. I'd tell you if I was."

Wes' expression was one of confusion, like he was being asked to explain why the sky was blue. "Because I wanted to eat that woman. For all I know, if I hadn't been chained, I might have done so."

Angel looked at the manacle, at the way Wesley was chained, at the pipe. "You know," he said, "that if you'd really wanted to get your fangs on her, you would have been able to. The instinct to feed, that's a strong one, especially in the early days."

He went over and knelt at Wes' feet so that he could examine his ankle.

"I don't see any cuts or bruising," he announced. "If the chain had been what stopped you, there'd be some sign of that, don't you think?"

"You're... not angry with me," Wesley ventured.

"No," Angel said, looking up at him. Truth be told, he was pleased that Wes had managed to fight his instincts. "Could have been much worse."

"I thought you'd be angry." Wes sounded surprised.

"Yeah, I'm getting that." Angel shook his head slightly. "It wasn't your fault that she wandered in here. You did the best you could, considering."

"But I -- "

Angel interrupted him before he could get any further. "Wesley. Relax. I'm not mad; you did good."

Wesley nodded slowly, watching as Angel unlocked the manacle. "I'm glad that you're pleased."

Wes wanting to please him -- now *that* was the kind of thing Angel liked to hear about, even as he tried to remind himself that this wasn't really Wes. He set the manacle aside and got up, tucking the key back into his pocket in case they needed it later. Pulling Wesley to him, he said, "I am. Pleased, I mean."

Wes' arms came around Angel's waist eagerly. "You could show me how pleased you are. Reward me for good behavior, as it were."

"Would you like that?" Angel slid his hand up into Wes' hair and pulled his head back, kissing him roughly, but not without affection. He knew that Wes was just trying to get the things he wanted -- no surprise there -- and in this instance, Angel didn't mind being manipulated a little bit, since Wes really *did* deserve a reward.

By the time Angel broke the kiss, Wesley was panting and rubbing himself against Angel's body. "Please," he said, eyes lowered.

Angel couldn't deny that he wanted him, but if they were going to do this again it was going to be different this time, as much for his own sake as for Wesley's. Okay, maybe more for his own sake than for Wes'. He could control himself, make this good for both of them. "You want me to fuck you?"

Wes' eyes flashed up to meet his own, a flicker of gold so fast he'd almost have doubted it was there. "Yes. I've been good, haven't I?"

"You have," Angel confirmed. "You've been very good." He looked at Wes thoughtfully, considering his options. "Upstairs," he decided. Last time had been about immediacy -- this time they could take it slower.

Wesley followed him obediently, eagerly, to his suite. Angel led the way into the bedroom and stood waiting.

"What would you like me to do?" Wes asked.

"Take off your clothes, and then mine."

Angel stayed still as Wes undressed quickly and then came over and started to unbutton his shirt. He could feel the hesitancy in Wes' fingers, just a slight tremble that he thought was about nervousness and excitement both. He sighed with pleasure as Wes leaned in and mouthed his chest, tongue and teeth busy teasing his nipples, one and then the other.

Wes' hand moved down to cup Angel's erection through his slacks, and Angel gave a small groan of approval as Wesley unfastened the button and zipper. "Good," he said. "That's it. I want your mouth on me. Show me how much you want it."

Wesley nodded, and within a few seconds Angel's slacks were down around his ankles as Wes put his mouth around Angel's cock.

"Yeah," Angel said encouragingly. "Good boy."

Wes' tongue traced Angel's cock while one hand came up to hold it steady, and Angel felt his balls tighten in response. Someone had obviously spent some time teaching Wesley how to do this, and Angel couldn't say that he was upset to be the recipient.

Still, there was something missing. Wes knew what to do with his tongue, and had enough sense to have grasped that there wasn't anything wrong with using his teeth. But somehow...

Oh, of course.

"*Good* boy," Angel repeated, and then said, "You don't have to breathe anymore, Wes. That means you can take me in deep, into your throat, swallow around me and... *oh* yeah." He felt a little thrill that Wes was such a quick learner, and couldn't suppress a moan when Wes took the initiative and gave his balls a sharp tug.

Wes clearly knew just what he was doing, and it didn't take him more than half a minute or so to learn the proper technique. Tongue, teeth and throat combined to create an experience that was damned near transcendental.

It had been a long time, and Angel had to close his eyes and try to will himself into a calmer state. He wanted to make this good for Wes, give him what he needed without acting like an animal. Wasn't that the whole reason he had the soul?

But instinct roared within Angel, urging him to hold Wes' head in his hands and fuck his mouth, hard and rough, taking what he wanted without care. Hoping it would help him retain control, Angel opened his eyes again and watched as his cock slid between those smooth lips into that slick mouth. "Yeah," Angel sighed. "Just like that."

Wesley's eyes flickered up to meet his own, and Angel thought he might have seen some kind of pride there.

"You want me to fuck you?" he asked.

Wes nodded without stopping what he was doing, the motion causing Angel's cock to glance off his back teeth.

Angel hissed in pleasure and pulled Wes to his feet. "Tell me."

"I want you to fuck me, Angel." Wes' hands were on Angel's spit-slick cock, one pulling at him while the other cupped his balls and squeezed, then released. He brought his mouth closer to Angel's, obviously wanting to be kissed.

Obligingly, Angel kissed him, drew him closer and felt Wes' own persistent erection poking against his thigh. Wesley's mouth moved on his own devouringly, seeking more force, more pressure... just more.

"I'll do what you tell me to do," Wesley said. "Everything you tell me to do."

Angel grinned and raked his teeth across the sensitive skin of Wes' throat. "You'll do that anyway," he said. "Whether I fuck you or not."

Wes gasped and nodded, his hands still gripping Angel's now-aching cock. "You're right, I will. But I thought you'd decided to reward me? Have you changed your mind?" His hips were thrusting forward, and Angel could feel the dampness that the head of Wes' cock was leaving against his thigh.

"Nah," Angel said. "Just wanted to make sure you remembered what the score was."

"I haven't forgotten," Wesley said, pushing himself against Angel, writhing, clearly unable to stop himself.

"Good." God, there was a part of Angel that wanted to hit Wes, to throw him across the room. That wanted the scent of his blood in the air while he fucked him. That wanted Wes to struggle and fight it, even though deep down he really wanted it.

Angel wanted to hurt Wes. He didn't know if it was demon calling to demon -- Angelus recognizing the creature within Wesley, or just his own sick fantasy.

Either way, he wasn't going to let it happen.

"Lie down on the bed," Angel told Wesley.

Wes moved to obey immediately, his eyes on Angel the whole time.

Angel went over and sat down on the edge of the bed, circling his hand around Wes' cock gently. Wes moaned and shoved himself into Angel's grip helplessly. "I'm sorry," he gasped. "I can't -- if you don't want me to -- "

"It's okay," Angel told him, and bent to take Wesley's cock into his mouth.

A long time since he'd done this too, but it wasn't something you forgot how to do, apparently. Wes' hands were tangled in his hair, holding him in place, but Angel wasn't angry about it because Wes was obviously out of his mind with need. The cock in his mouth was smooth and hard, and the taste was something that he remembered as well. Wesley was thrusting upward, hips jerking frantically, low rhythmic cries in the back of his throat as he fucked Angel's mouth. Seeing and hearing Wes so out of control, at least in this situation, was a major turn-on for Angel, and he felt himself grow even harder as a result.

"Angel," Wes panted, warningly, and Angel had to smile at the thought that even at this point Wesley was trying to be good, to do what he thought Angel would want him to do.

He growled and let Wes fuck him deeper, taking him down into his throat and swallowing hard.

Wes' scream as he came echoed throughout the room, his body arching under Angel's as he shuddered violently.

Angel let Wes' cock slip from his mouth and moved up to kiss Wesley. Wes grabbed onto him and held him, tightly, his tongue searching Angel's mouth for the taste of himself that lingered there.

Grinning, Angel pulled back. "I'm still gonna fuck you," he said.

Wesley kissed him again, teeth-clashingly hard, his cock still semi-erect between them. "Good," he said, and started to get up.

Angel shoved him back onto the mattress. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I was..." Wesley looked confused. "I was going to turn around. So that you could fuck me."

Angel'd been thinking that they'd fuck in the position they were already in -- seemed like the thing to do. Gentler, somehow. He was aware that this line of thinking was only going to get him into trouble -- that Wesley was a *vampire* now, and that gentle didn't need to be part of the equation -- but for some reason he felt a strong urge to stick with it. "I can fuck you like this," he said, thrusting his cock against Wes' belly. "You know... face to face. You don't have to turn around."

Wes nodded, his arms coming back around Angel as he relaxed again. "Whatever you prefer."

Hesitating, Angel ran his teeth over Wesley's throat. "You sure you're up for this? Yesterday was... you know, pretty rough. If you're still healing..."

Wesley was quick to reassure him with hands as well as words. "No, I'm fine. Please, Angel, don't tease me. I want... I *need* you to fuck me."

Angel wanted it enough himself that at this point he wasn't going to argue any further. Still one thing to take care of though, if the point of this was for it to be different than yesterday had been. He shifted his weight and reached for the bedside table drawer, opening it and rifling through it, looking for something, anything... Ah. His fingers closed on a tube of some kind of lotion. Hand cream, maybe. Good enough.

"You want a good fucking?" he asked Wes, as he slicked his fingers and pushed one into Wes' body, nice and slow.

"Please," Wes groaned, rocking his hips upward against Angel's hand.

He added a second finger, stretching Wes, who just groaned again and writhed underneath him. "Tell me," Angel ordered.

"I need you to fuck me, Angel," Wesley said immediately, between gasps of pleasure as he all but fucked himself on Angel's fingers. "Please. I've been good, I'll be good, please..." His eyes were glassy with desire, his gaze locked on Angel's mouth.

"Well, since you ask so nicely and all," Angel said, and removed his fingers and pushed himself into Wes.

Wes bucked his hips to meet him, forcing Angel's cock deeper despite his intention to take this slow and easy. "Harder," Wes begged.

Angel groaned as his body did what Wesley asked without any input from his brain at all. He thrust in forcefully, and Wes slid an inch higher on the bed across the wrinkled sheets. Wes was vise-tight around him, and it was so fucking good that Angel knew he wasn't going to last long. "Yeah," he said, knowing he was losing it and not able to bring himself to care. "This what you need?"

"Yes... Angel..." Wesley's legs were wrapped around him, one heel digging into the small of Angel's back. "More," he said greedily, but then Angel could hear him make an effort to modulate the order into a request. "More, please."

"You like being fucked," Angel said, thrusting in again even more roughly, pulling a moan out of Wes. The moan went right to his own cock like a surge of power. He wanted to hear Wes scream again. "You like having my cock inside you." He shifted his weight onto one arm and spat into the other hand, then wrapped his grip around Wes' straining erection.

Wesley gave a wordless cry of triumph at the contact, his hips pushing up to meet Angel, working himself on Angel's cock at the same time he shoved his own cock into Angel's grasp. "Like you... fucking me," he managed, as Angel speeded up his thrusts. "Need you... oh Angel, *harder*..."

Ramming himself forward with a force that caused Wes to slide toward the head of the bed with every thrust, Angel tightened his hold on Wes' cock. At the same time as he brushed his thumb over the head, he roared into game face and bit down on Wes' exposed throat. The taste of blood washing over his tongue consumed him so completely that he was only dimly aware of Wes' hoarse scream as he came, and in fact was only dimly aware of his own orgasm, despite the fact that it left him shuddering and weak-limbed.

Blinking, Angel licked at the bite mark on Wes' throat slowly, letting his tongue rasp across the skin. "Better?" he asked.

Wes' eyes, when Angel pulled back, were dark and, Angel liked to think, satisfied. "Much," Wesley said, before rocking his hips upward slightly. "We could do it again?"

Angel couldn't totally suppress a chuckle, but he moved away from Wes and lay down on the mattress next to him, one arm draped across Wesley's waist. "We could," he agreed, feeling his eyelids getting heavy. The emotional chaos of the day had taken its toll on him. "In a little while. I need to get some sleep first."

He thought he could feel Wes choke back a protest, but then the younger vampire relaxed, his hand moving over Angel's hip sensuously. "All right," Wes said quietly. "Whatever you say, Angel."