Chapter Eight

"So you're sure this is the place?" Angel asked, as they walked through the sewer tunnels toward Santa Monica. He was feeling calm and twitchy at the same time, wanting to get this over and done with and taken care of. Somehow getting Wes' soul back was taking a back seat to the need to mete out justice, and that wasn't something Angel was sure he wanted to think about.

"Absolutely," Wesley said. "This particular shop is the only one in LA that imports Chateau de Roderer champagne. If the bottle was purchased in the city, it's almost certain that it was here."

As always, Wes learned quickly-- they slipped from the tunnels into the small specialty store without incident, with Wesley cleverly avoiding the sunshine as if he'd been doing it for a hundred years.

Angel blinked as they entered the discreetly-lit store. Richly-stained wooden wine racks lined the walls, with another two rows in the middle of the store, creating a center aisle. The air smelled of fermentation and cork, and very faintly of dust.

A slender woman behind the counter cleared her throat and nodded at them politely. "Is there something I can help you find?"

Wes stepped closer, his frame radiating a tension that Angel knew was only obvious to another vampire. Angel was glad Wes had fed heavily before they'd left the hotel -- otherwise he might not have been able to keep it together. The fact that Angel could see the nervousness on him meant that they'd made the right call.

Wesley slipped his glasses from a pocket and put them on, instantly transforming his face from rogueish into something closer to bookish and intellectual. "Actually, yes. We're looking for a specific brand of champagne and were told that you might carry it? Chateau de Roderer."

The woman pursed her lips. "Oh, how unfortunate. We do carry it usually, but we're sold out just now." She came around from behind the counter and walked away as if she expected them to follow, glancing back over her shoulder at Wesley with a little smile that made Angel feel strangely irritated. She stopped in front of a rack of bottles and pointed at one with a subtle gold label. "This particular brand would make a fine substitute, whether you were looking for yourself or intending to use it as a gift."

Wes looked at it carefully and then shook his head, exchanging a glance with Angel. "No, it was really the Chateau de Roderer that we wanted. We'd heard such good things about it."

Smoothing the front of her very expensive suit jacket, the woman frowned. "I can assure you that this one is its equal in every way. You wouldn't be disappointed."

"Oh no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply..." Wesley gave her an almost-shy looking grin and adjusted his glasses. "No, it was just that we were at a reception, and someone was telling us about how exquisite the Roderer was. They'd received it as a company gift, I believe."

"Well, as I said, bottles of this quality do make excellent gifts. You're sure I couldn't convince you to try the other? I assure you that it's of the highest caliber."

Wesley leaned in a bit closer to her, as if eyeing her name tag. "Look, Miss Wagner... I should be frank. We're not what we seem."

Angel managed to keep himself from shooting Wes a look of horror. He wasn't seriously going to tell her that they were --

"We're private detectives," Wes continued, and Angel sighed as relief rushed over him. "There's been a murder. Multiple murders, in fact, and it's come to the police department's attention that the murder weapon was a bottle of poisoned champagne."

Miss Wagner put a hand to her chest in what seemed like genuine dismay. Angel almost felt sorry for her. "And you're... working for the police?"

"We often work closely with the police department. Side by side, one might say." Wesley gestured at the rack of bottles in front of them. "And I have to tell you that there is some concern that your shop -- that someone working here -- could be a suspect in this investigation."

With a gasp of outrage, Miss Wagner drew herself to her full height -- which actually wasn't that tall. "Our employees are all upstanding citizens," she said haughtily. "I can assure you that no one who has anything to do with this store would ever -- *ever* -- harm another human being."

What about vampires and demons? Angel thought, but kept quiet because Wes seemed to be doing a good job of handling the situation. In fact, all signs of his earlier nervousness and tension had vanished, seemingly forgotten as he threw himself into this role.

"We very much hope that that's the case," Wesley said calmly. "But you'll understand if we need a bit more than your assurances to convince us."

For the first time, the woman seemed uncertain. "What... what do you want to see?"

"Perhaps you could show us how the business works? Do you keep records of purchases made that might help us to track down the individuals who might have bought this particular type of champagne?"

Miss Wagner started back to the sales counter. "We'd only have records of purchases made on account," she said. "If the champagne was paid for with cash, we wouldn't have note of the sale." She pulled a small book out from under the counter and began to flip through it. "Do you have any idea of the time frame?"

Wesley glanced at Angel. "Well, it would be difficult to say for sure. Anything in the past month or so could be a possibility, certainly."

She began to page through carefully. "If it *was* purchased on account, it shouldn't be hard to find. We only sell a case of the Roderer every six months or so - it's not a common sale, as it's quite expensive *and* not well known."

"You never order it specially for a specific customer?" Wes asked.

"We never have, no," Miss Wagner answered absently, continuing to turn pages slowly. "We would if someone requested it, of course, but that's never happened. And I've been managing the store for nearly ten years."

For the first time, Angel asked a question. "So if hardly anyone wants it, why do you keep it in stock?"

She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, something sincere and quiet in them that hadn't been there before. "Because some things are worth it, even if not many people are able to recognize it."

Angel nodded, and Miss Wagner went back to her search while they stood there patiently. Angel was struck with a sudden memory of another wine shop, more than a century ago. The lighting had been similar, but for different reasons, and vaguely Angel thought that the language spoken hadn't been English. Not that it would have mattered much, since the begging voice of the man behind the counter had descended into babbling and then whimpers, as Dru had played with him. He and Spike had taken turns drinking from an assortment of bottles and encouraging Dru to have fun.

Firmly, Angel told himself he didn't miss those days at all.

His eyes passed slowly over the bottles of wine, the labels, some of them dustier than others. Spike had always been so hard to tame -- there had been times when he'd been convinced he'd managed to do it, but they'd always been short-lived. Not that it had really mattered, since without the soul he'd reveled in the beatings, the pain, the blood... The sex. Spike had been so fucking *stubborn,* and at the same time so responsive. It had driven Angel crazy.

Just like last night. Fuck, Wesley was just as responsive as Spike had ever been, wanted it just as much -- maybe more so. The way Wes acted, his desperation, all added together to bring Angel right to the point where he snapped. Where no matter how hard he tried to be gentle, he found it impossible not to give Wesley the violence that they both craved. It was exhilarating and terrifying. He'd worked so hard to get past this point, to control the part of himself that needed the pain and the terror, and now after a hundred-plus years it felt like he was right back at square one. And all because of Wes.

Angel sighed, and Wesley glanced over at him, but just then Miss Wagner suddenly looked up again.

"Here," she said, pointing at the page. "A bottle sold less than two weeks ago. That must have been the last one. It was on the Wolfram and Hart account."

"Who signed for it?" Wesley asked, and the tension was back in his voice.

"Edith Brenton," Miss Wagner answered, offering the book to Wes, who took it. "She's been in a few times -- I'd forgotten that the Roderer was the champagne she purchased this last time."

Angel shook his head -- there'd been a little part of him that had suspected Lilah, and now he was relieved, for Wes' sake, that it might not have been her. "She works for Wolfram and Hart?"

"So it would appear." Wesley looked down at the page, staring at it like he was imprinting the name in his brain. There was an expression on his face that Angel couldn't quite read, but after a moment he blinked and then handed the book back to Miss Wagner. "You remember her visit then?"

The woman nodded. "It was very curious actually, now that I think of it. In the past she'd just come in and made a quick purchase, without asking any questions. Once or twice she asked for a recommendation -- once it was for a bottle of wine that would go with steak tartare, I believe. This time... well, she asked a lot of questions. About the types of bottles used, about the different kinds of corks and seals on the bottles." She paused, her expression slightly horrified. "Oh dear. You don't suppose...?"

"Can you tell us anything else?" Wes asked, ignoring her unspoken question. "Anything at all. Small details can mean a great deal to an investigation."

Miss Wagner seemed to think carefully. "No, I'm afraid not. She looked at a number of bottles before deciding on that one in particular, although I couldn't tell you why. It certainly didn't seem to be because of my recommendation."

Wes smiled slightly. "Well. Thank you very much for your cooperation."

"Will you..." The woman hesitated. "I mean, I hope you find whoever did this."

"Oh, don't worry," Wesley said, and his smile slid into something almost predatory. "We will."

In the sewer again, Wes dropped the facade he'd done such a good job of creating, his walk becoming looser-limbed. He took his glasses off and put them back into his pocket.

Angel thought he should have gotten used to seeing Wes without the glasses by now -- after all, even before, he'd been going without them for a while -- but somehow he hadn't. With the glasses, Wes was undeniably *Wesley.* Without them, he was someone else. Angel sighed and tried to turn his attention back to the matter at hand, tried to ignore the steady ache in his chest that reasserted itself every time he thought about before. When Wes had been Wes. When he and everyone else had still been alive.

"So someone who works for Wolfram and Hart," he said, hoping to prod Wes into telling him what was going on inside his head.

"Someone who works for *Lilah,*" Wesley stressed. "She's... she *was* Lilah's personal assistant. She answered her phones, took dictation... did all sorts of other things, I'm certain, some of them possibly unsavory."

Angel made a gesture with his hand for Wes to continue.

"There are so many questions we need to find answers to," Wesley went on. "Was her goal actually to affect all of us? Or did she have some sort of personal vendetta against Lilah? Did she even know that Lilah was going to drink that champagne? And then of course, there's the possibility that Ms. Brenton had nothing to do with the incident but was merely the instrument by which the champagne was purchased." Wesley paused, and Angel could practically hear the gears in his head turning.

"True. It still could have been anyone."

"We'll need to speak with her, of course. Try to find out if she knows anything."

Angel nodded. "We'll have to be... you know, discreet."

Wesley gave him a look of astonishment crossed with irritation. "Do you think I was indiscreet just now?"

"No, no," Angel back-peddled quickly, not wanting Wes to think that he'd thought that when he really hadn't. "You were great," he said truthfully.

Wes' expression softened. "Thank you." After a minute or so, he said, "I'm glad. That... well, that you're pleased."

"I am. You keep this up, we're both gonna be happy." Angel kept glancing at Wes. Damned if he could tell when the other vampire was being genuine, or when Wes was trying to manipulate him. All he could do, he guessed, was wait until Wes was resouled, and then see if his friend still wanted anything to do with him. The way things were now, it was too hard to tell.

"I want you to be happy, Angel," Wes said, and when he looked at Angel his eyes shone with sincerity.

Angel was starting to worry that this was all a ploy -- that it was just the demon and none of it was actually Wes. And that maybe this fledgling with Wesley's face was, inherently, just as untameable as Spike had been, and was just better at hiding it.

***

"I kept my promise. You had plenty of sex last night."

Wes blinked, unsure if the subject had changed or if Angel really did think that was the only reason Wes wanted him to be happy. But then he grinned smugly, moving closer to his sire. "It was good. I'm... sore. I like that."

Angel frowned, wincing. "You weren't healed enough. I shouldn't have..."

Rolling his eyes, Wes interrupted. "Angel, I'm *fine*. You've fed me well. I feel good." He moved close enough to touch Angel, and as he could see no refusal in the other vampire's expression, Wesley did touch him, running his hands down Angel's flanks to rest at his hips. "I feel *very* good."

Angel pulled him roughly closer with a hand around Wesley's waist. "Yeah, you did," he agreed, looking hungry for more.

Wesley writhed sensually against Angel, rubbing their bodies together. "I tasted good too, didn't I?" He could still feel fangs in his neck from last night. The wound was almost invisible now, but he was aware of it when he stretched his neck. The feeling, and the memory attached, aroused him.

Angel's hand tightened on Wesley's back, and the larger vampire didn't seem to be able to stop himself licking his lips. "Yeah, you did," he said again. Wes could feel his sire hardening against him.

"Would you like more?" Wesley invited, tipping his head to one side.

"Christ," Angel muttered, his eyes fixed avidly on Wesley's neck. "You are..."

"Evil?" Wes suggested with an appropriate smile.

Angel frowned. He knotted his fingers in Wesley's hair and forced him to straighten up. "I was going to say... ah, fuck it. 'Evil' will do." He pushed Wes away from him, a disquieted look on his face. "Let's go home."

Cold panic filled Wesley. "I'm... I'm sorry. Please. I was..." What had he done wrong? Offered his blood? No, Angel had hardened further at that. It was the word 'evil' that was somehow upsetting Angel. "I was only joking."

"It doesn't matter," Angel shrugged, giving Wes a little shove to get him walking.

Wes moved as far as he was pushed, but didn't continue. He gave Angel a pained look. "Please. Let me apologise."

"You didn't do anything wrong. You are what you are." Angel's voice was flat. "You don't get a choice about that."

"But you do?"

"I have a soul. I don't have to act like..." Angel stopped himself and shoved Wes forward again. "Get going. You haven't broken any rules."

"That will be why you're treating me like a schoolboy caught doing something disgusting then."

"Drop it, Wes."

"No."

He found himself slammed back against the tunnel wall, a furious Angel right in his face. Fear filled Wesley instantly, but also a thrill of excitement. Was it going to happen again? He wanted it to happen again.

Angel snarled out, "You're all the fucking same. Fledglings that just don't know when to shut up. No, they have to tweet and twitter and drive the rest of us crazy until blam! They're sobbing on the ground, and you have to go out and kill and kill just to stop yourself from ripping their head off their spine."

Angel's words should have been terrifying, originating as they clearly did from his bloodthirsty history, but Wes was granite hard in his trousers and couldn't stop himself pushing forward, trying to rub himself on Angel.

Angel stepped back, preventing their bodies touching, but still painfully pinning Wes to the wall with strong hands on his shoulders. "Should've known better," he muttered, seemingly to himself. "You're not Wes. You just pretend sometimes. Like you put on an act for that woman in the shop, with the glasses and everything. You got me with the glasses too. Guess you think you're pretty smart manipulating me like that."

"No, I... I just wanted to please you."

"You just wanted to get your needs met."

There was undeniable truth in that, even though it wasn't the whole story. Wes calculated quickly, and rather desperately, and dropped his head. In a quiet, non-demanding voice, he asked, "Punish me?"

"No." Angel released him and stalked away down the corridor. Wes stared after him, upset and not knowing what to do. Was his sire really abandoning him?

"Angel, I love you!" he heard himself call out.

Angel released a bark of cold laughter. "You have no soul. You can't love."

"I *need* you."

"That I'll believe. Keep up then. I won't come back for you." Angel turned a corner. Having nothing better to do, Wes hurried after him.

They walked in stiff unhappy silence until Wesley asked, "May I talk?"

"Better if you don't."

Wesley ignored that and plodded doggedly on. "Why won't you punish me?"

Angel sighed heavily in exasperation. "Because you want me to, which kinda defeats the purpose, doesn't it?"

"It would make you feel better," Wes pointed out.

Angel stopped in his tracks. "Would it really?"

"Yes. You're angry with me. You'd feel better after expressing that."

Without turning to face Wesley, Angel asked, "Shrink to the vamps now, are you, Wes? So you tell me why mashing the face of the man who used to be my best friend is going to make me feel better."

Wesley wasn't sure if he was happy to know he *had* been Angel's best friend, or unhappy that he was no longer. Shaking his head a little, he didn't let himself get distracted from his point. "Because like it or not, you have the same desires as me. The soul doesn't stop them; you told me that yourself."

"I can control them," Angel growled.

"Why bother? I'm soulless. Use me as your punching bag."

Angel's expression was somewhere between incredulous, disgusted, and lustful, or at least that was how Wes interpreted it. "Do you have any idea what you're asking for?"

"Well, yes. I was there when you broke my bones and then raped me, Angel."

Angel flashed an indecipherable look at Wes. "That wasn't rape."

He raised an eyebrow. "Because I'm soulless?"

"Because you wanted it!"

"Yes, I did eventually. But I meant 'no' when I said it."

Angel looked down, his posture rigid.

Wesley used his most gentle and reasonable tones. "Angel, it doesn't matter. Some terrible things have happened, and you needed an outlet for how you felt if you wanted to stay sane. You still need it. I'm the logical choice of... outlet." Tentatively, he reached forward and touched Angel's face.

His sire didn't move, either into or away from the touch.

Wes continued, "It isn't so much that I want to hear the crack of my own kneecap splintering again. Frankly, I could give that a miss. But you're right, I did enjoy some of what was done to me, and I don't like seeing you like this. I've upset you somehow."

"Don't worry, you'll still get fed." Angel's tone was bitter, still apparently convinced that Wesley was worrying only about his own satisfaction.

Wes sighed, letting his hand fall. "Stop it. If all I cared about was obtaining blood and sex, I'd have been gone days ago. And you *know* I could have effectively vanished if I'd really wanted to. I want to be with you, and I want to make you happy. To put it in your terms, I have a need for *you*."

Angel finally looked around, a flicker of what could have been hope in his eyes. "The soulless can't love," he insisted. Wesley had heard Angel say this before, but he wasn't sure how he could support such an argument. Unconditional, spiritual love could well be a product of the soul, but ordinary selfish human love was not, and therefore wasn't denied to the undead.

"James and Elizabeth loved," Wes said quietly, reminding Angel of the vampire pair who had accompanied Angelus and Darla during some of their travels. When Angel had dusted Elizabeth, James had had his own heart cut out in a desperate last ditch attempt for revenge.

Angel didn't answer, but he stepped closer to Wes, reaching out yet not quite touching his face. Wes leant forward that small way and gently kissed the tips of Angel's fingers, and Angel made a small moaning noise.

Wes begged breathily. "Please. Take what you need."

Angel's eyes closed, and his hand began to fall. Wes gritted his teeth in frustration and looked away. Then suddenly, again, he was being compelled back against the tunnel wall, Angel's face close to his, but this time he was being kissed passionately, a thick, hard tongue being thrust into his throat. Oh Lord, yes. Wes wrapped himself around Angel and gave back as good as he received.

When the kiss finally broke, after quite a time of smothered moaning and frottage from the pair of them, Angel seemed in a very different mood. He grinned lustfully at Wes. "So, you want punishing then, do you, boy?"

"Yes, please, sire," Wes grinned back, overjoyed that Angel had finally relaxed and accepted things again.

"I'm a generous man. You've got a minute's head start." Angel gave Wes a look that the younger vampire could only describe as devilish.

It was the expression and attitude Wesley associated with Angelus, whom he frequently saw evidence of in Angel's behaviour. Normally when some demon that should have known better had enraged the older vampire just a little too much. Or Lilah. Angel had shown this face to Lilah a lot, and she'd seemed to like it. Wesley was beginning to understand why, and he stared at his sire in fascination.

Angel laughed. "Run then, Wes. Time's a wasting."

Wesley turned and fled. He pounded through the storm drains with no clear idea of where he was going at all. He was half-hard in his trousers and filled with a delicious fear that was far closer to exhilaration than terror. What would Angel do when he caught Wes? What would he have Wes do? Wesley couldn't yet hear Angel following, but knew he would be. And Wesley enjoyed every nuance of his own fear, every hint of pheromone that his body emitted.

Scooting around a corner, he stopped dead at the edge of a pool of stagnant water. His senses were so opened and alive that for a few moments, as he teetered on the edge, he was captivated by the swirls and ripples in the surface of the black pool.

Then he turned and ran again, back the way he'd come a little way, and then on down another tunnel. Were those Angel's footfalls he could hear, or just his own echoing in the cavernous dark?

He knew that he would be caught, knew he couldn't escape his sire, not like this, even had he desired to. But he wanted to provide a good chase, to get Angel hard and excited and ready to forcibly take what he needed, and what he was far too good at denying himself.

As a human, Wesley had thoroughly approved, and indeed admired, Angel's monkish abstinence from all that was Angelus inside him, and he had been alarmed and worried for his friend at those times when the sadistic, violent animal that was Angelus seemed to be present in Angel's actions. But that was before Wes had understood.

Now Wesley knew the power and thrill of those urges first hand, and the thought of Angel's self-depravation hurt him. He understood intellectually that Angel could never happily start taking human lives again, nor would he indulge in sadistic sex with the living, but Wesley was now another matter. In Wesley, Angel could find a safe victim. At with Wes alone, Angel could be, for once, his whole self.

Wesley's fledgling sense of direction told him he was getting ever further from the hotel, and he was certainly far from territory known to him. Angel, on the other hand, knew all the tunnels intimately. He knew the short cuts and the dead ends, and he could take his time. Wes felt like a rabbit in a strange warren, a ferret at his heels. He knew it was only a matter of time.

On Wes pounded, a spray of grimy water splashing his trouser legs with every footfall. He was panting, and no amount of correction from his intellect seemed to stop the autonomic reflex left over from when he was alive. Wesley almost expected to hear his heart start to beat again.

The gradient changed, and he was pell-melling downhill, trying to slow a little as he didn't know what was at the bottom, shrouded in shadow. As he reached within a few feet of finding out, a large figure moved out from an unseen side tunnel and stepped in front of him.

Wes skidded to an abrupt halt in front of Angel, tripping over his own feet and falling onto his knees in the shallow slurry. His sire laughed, and it wasn't an altogether pleasant sound.

"I could've caught you six times already, Wes. You've got a lot to learn." Angel placed a heavy hand on Wesley's shoulder, preventing the younger vampire from rising to his feet. "While you're down there, make yourself useful."

Finally mastering his body's illogical and embarrassing desire to pant, Wes looked up at Angel, smiled fondly, and then said in a defiant tone, "No."

Angel cuffed him hard, keeping his other hand on Wesley's shoulder to prevent him falling into the dirty water. "Do what you're told, boy."

Reeling from the blow, and instantly erect again, Wesley grinned some more and claimed, "Can't make me."

Angel growled, the expression on his face one of dark delight. He grabbed Wes tightly by the hair on the back of his head, while his other hand undid his own zipper and took out his cock, hard and ready for Wesley's mouth.

Wes locked his lips shut.

Calmly, Angel said. "Open or lose teeth. Your choice."

Knowing Angel meant it, and not wanting to be without teeth for even a few days, Wes obeyed, parting his lips slightly and relaxing his jaw. Instantly, two vice-like fingers were pushing into his cheeks, serrating the flesh inside on his own teeth. Wesley opened wide in a hurry and with a moan of complaint.

The hand on Wesley's face was removed, but the one on the back of his neck remained. Angel positioned himself right in front of Wes, so that his cock hovered just before the younger vampire's lips. "Beg for it."

Wes shook his head, swallowing his own blood from his torn cheeks.

Angel repeated, "Beg for it."

There was no threat made concerning what would be done if Wesley didn't obey, and that somehow worried Wes more. Reluctantly, he muttered, "Please."

Angel sighed. "Haven't got all day, Wes."

The temptation to refuse and receive further punishment, to make Angel more enraged, was significant. On the other hand, Angel's cock looked and smelled irresistible. Wes decided on a compromise and stuck his tongue out, licking wetly around the head.

Angel's response was predictably fast and violent. Wes was dragged to his feet by the scruff of his neck and punched with bruising force in the gut. He was then pushed down on his knees again, in front of the dangerously tempting cock. "Beg for it."

Wesley surrendered. "Please. Please fuck my mouth, Angel. Please take what you need from me. Dear god, *please*."

There was a heavy sigh from Angel, nearly a groan, and almost instantly, Wes was gagging on many inches of thick sire shaft, thrusting hard into the back of his throat.

Angel cuffed him again, quite softly this time. "You're not human. Stop making that stupid noise."

Wesley quickly mastered the redundant gag reflex, but for a while that was all he could do as he tried desperately to adjust to being fucked fast and aggressively in the mouth. Angel was making no attempt to cushion Wes or make it fun for Wes. He was just using him, as Wesley had begged him to do.

Wesley moaned deep in his throat, the vibrations provoking an answering moan from Angel above. Wes was starting to feel the rhythm of Angel's movements now, and he began to enhance the experience with suction, scraping teeth, and well-timed swallows. Soon Angel was grunting, shaking with need.

Being used so callously was somehow deeply erotic, and Wes reached with his hand for his own erection, only to receive another smack from his sire, ear-ringingly hard. He let his hand drop... And then raised it again, bringing it up to cup and then tug hard at Angel's balls.

Angel growled and sped up his pace. Wes could feel the tension rising in his sire and knew the Angel would be reaching orgasm very soon. Wesley began to make a contented growling noise of his own, almost like a deep purr, causing vibrations to resonate throughout his own body.

It seemed that was enough to send Angel hurtling over the edge, and Wes was held rigidly still as Angel emptied all he had deep inside Wesley's throat. Angel moaned --almost sobbed-- Wesley's name as he came.

After shuddering for a while, Angel pulled out. He smiled down at Wes. "Nice mouth you have there. I'll have to remember to do this every time you say something that pisses me off."

"As punishments go," Wes commented a little hoarsely, "I doubt that one would be very effective." The experience had been positively exhilarating actually, like riding his motorbike dangerously fast through traffic. Now if Angel would only let him touch himself for a few moments, he could quickly...

"Stand up."

Wes obliged instantly, no longer in the mood to invite punishment.

"Face the wall."

Again Wes obeyed, and he felt Angel close against his back as the strong arms wrapped around him, one hand heading instantly down to rub at the bulge in Wesley's trousers.

"Want this, Wes?"

Hissing at the much needed touch, Wes said, "You do ask bloody silly questions at times, Angel." The hand at his groin immediately tightened until he whimpered at the pain. "Sorry. Yes. Please. I want it."

The hand relaxed and undid his zipper, feeling inside his boxers. Wes felt his cock encircled in a firm grip, and as it was pulled out into the dank air, he whimpered again and leant back against Angel.

"Yeah, that's right," Angel said. "Keep your head just like that." Angel's free hand was brought up to Wesley's neck to ensure obedience.

Angel was working his cock now, pulling moans and small cries from Wes with every hard jerk of his hand. Wesley writhed back against him, trapped by the two strong hands into an awkward and uncomfortable position, but not caring so long as the lowest hand didn't stop what it was doing.

He heard the crackle as Angel changed faces, and so he knew what was coming, and that knowledge alone was enough to send him charging towards orgasm. As the sharp fangs were forced through the side of his throat, and he could feel his own blood being drawn from him, Wes came, splattering the wall in front of him. His wail echoed away through the tunnels.

As he calmed down, Angel withdrew his fangs and licked his lips. "What'd you say now, Wesley?"

With a euphoric smile, Wes replied. "Thank you, Angel, for taking what you need."