Control Issues

Evil might not sleep, but eventually the employees of Wolfram & Hart leave the building in the hands of the cleaners and the guards.

It belongs to Angel then, in a way it never does when the sun is shining.

He wanders around his empire, wondering why, when he used to claim a city, they expect him to be impressed by this glorified office space, but secretly he is, he supposes, because deadening the scuff of his feet as he walks, cushioning his ass as he sits, filtering the light of the sun, is power, undiluted and raw.

And evil it might be, but he feels a grudging respect all the same, sniffing appreciatively at the tang and bite of it in the air.

But sometimes the power feels like something he's subject to, not wielding, and that's enough to make the suits he wears feel like straitjackets, and his penthouse a prison.

Which is why, after all, he's here outside Wesley's office.

A side-effect of all the introspection is that he generally knows exactly why he does something. This, tonight, right now – in part at least – is because he wants to feel in control of something, someone. That's ABC-easy to figure out.

And so is choosing Wesley to be that someone.

There's more to it than that, he supposes, and he's fucking certain Wesley's got a whole different take on it, but he doesn't plan to ask for details. That's really not what this is about.

The light shining out from Wesley's office is soft, warm and welcoming. Behind that door Wesley's waiting and maybe, if the glances and nervous swipes of tongue over lips, the clumsy hands and trip-happy feet of today are any indication, he's picked up on Angel's intent enough to make this visit expected.

Which is almost enough to make Angel turn on his heel and go back upstairs; leave Wesley waiting for yet another night. Almost. On the other hand, it means that when he opens the door, there's enough genuine irritation on his face that Wesley flinches, the quick, happy smile fading to uncertain apprehension.

And yes that's good, because it might be a game for Angel, although he's already got his doubts about that, but for Wesley it has to be real.

He can give him that much at least.

"Working late, Wes?"

"Yes, I'm just finishing up the translation of the –" Wesley swallows the rest of his words and eyes Angel uneasily. "Is that a problem?"

"You not taking care of your assigned work in office hours?" Angel purses his lips as if he's giving that serious thought. "Well, have to say you're not impressing me with your efficiency, Wesley. Want me to send you off on one of those time management courses or something?"

The cruelty of it, unexpected and sharp, leaves its mark on Wesley; his pale face darkening with shamed heat. Oh, God, yes, he's pretty like that, Angel thinks. But Wesley's come a long way and he gets points for a level voice as he meets Angel's gaze. "I don't believe that will be necessary, Angel."

Angel lifts his eyebrows, still framed in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest. "Well, we have to do something with you, Wesley."

"It's not as if I claim overtime," Wesley points out, not letting his gaze drop.

"No, you don't do that," Angel agrees. "But if it's all getting too much for you –"

"It's not." Definite and defiant, the words hang and quiver between them.

"Don't let me down, Wesley," Angel says softly, not even trying to make it a warning rather than a threat.

"How would I do that?"

Angel starts to walk towards him, taking his time. Wesley places his hands palm-down on the desk in front of him and his heartbeat speeds up, but he keeps a look of polite interest on his face, although his eyes are blind with something Angel won't allow himself to wish were fear.

He walks behind Wesley, who doesn't turn, and rests his arms on the back of Wesley's chair. "That's an interesting question, Wesley. Kinda makes me think you want to know the answer so that you can go right ahead and do it, just to piss me off."

"No, I wouldn't –"

Angel slips one hand around Wesley's neck, his thumb rubbing slowly up and down, his fingers pressing against Wesley's throat. Wesley stops talking and freezes in place, the scratch of his nails against the wood of his desk as his fingers spread wide and then contract the only sound in the room, because Wesley's stopped breathing.

"I think that's just what you'd do, Wesley." He makes his voice drip with sorrow and regret, as fake as the plastic flowers Cordelia once gave him. "If I'd let you." Wesley's throat shifts under Angel's fingers as he swallows and takes in a shuddering gulp of air. "Do you think I'm gonna let you, Wes?" He lets his fingers caress the skin he knows they've left reddened. "Well?"

Wesley's brief attempt to keep his composure is over. "Please..."

"Now you're not making any sense," Angel chides him. "Please let you disappoint me? Tell me you don't mean that, Wesley." He can feel the words cluster thick in the throat his fingers clasp but before Wesley forces them through lips stiff with tension Angel continues, "Because if that was what you were asking, I'd have to punish you, you know."

And Wesley surprises him, bypassing the open, inviting trap, ignoring the way out, marked so clearly, and finding a third way.


He pushes back from the desk, knocking Angel's hand away, sending Angel staggering back a single step.

Then they're facing each other and Wesley's face is marked with emptiness, hunger and pain.

"Not like this," he says, with an intensity that's enough to make Angel pause, but not for long. "You don't need to play games. Just tell me what to do –"

"Kind of thought I was," Angel says. "Congratulations, Wesley. You managed to fuck it up in less time than I would've thought possible. 'Night."

And he means it, he really does, which is why there's genuine horror in Wesley's eyes as Angel gives him a tight, humourless smile and steps aside before heading for the door.

Takes Wesley a while to work out what to do to stop him leaving. In fact, Angel's half way down the corridor when Wesley comes up beside him, moving fast enough to get in front of Angel and leave him with a choice of stopping or walking right over him.

He stops because he's curious. No other reason. Really.

"You don't get another chance, Wesley."

"Not even if I beg for it?"

Angel smiles at him with a pitying kindness he knows has to sting. "You got permission to beg, Wesley? Didn't think so."

Wesley turns and punches the wall, driving his fist against the plaster deep enough to dent it, the shock of the blow jarring his arm. Breathing heavily he turns and steps close to Angel before bringing his abraded, bleeding knuckles up to rub hard against his own lips, smearing them scarlet.

As amends go, it's not bad.

"Kinda wanted the first time you bled to be down to me," Angel muses, giving Wesley nothing to hang a hope on.

"It was," Wesley says.

Oh well, if that's understood...

Angel doesn't kiss him; doesn't plan on kissing him for a long time yet, but he hooks his middle finger under Wesley's chin and holds him in place while he licks Wesley's mouth clean. Wesley's lips tremble and part but he's got the sense to be passive. When Wesley's mouth is wet and bare, Angel steps back.

"You've earned the chance to beg," he concedes. "But I know you, Wesley. You're persuasive and I don't like that. Got enough people trying to manipulate me without adding you to the list. So you don't get to talk again tonight." Wesley's eyes widen and there's that delicious look of panic again. Angel smiles and leans forward to whisper confidentially in Wesley's ear. "Want to know what would've been happening to you if you'd been my good boy, Wes?" The whimper Wesley tests the limits of 'no talking' with is enough to make Angel's cock ache with the sweetness of it, cotton candy on a rotten tooth.

"You'd have been bent over your desk, Wes, pants down, ass bare where your shirt doesn't cover it. And I'll let you keep that shirt and I won't even push it out of the way." Wesley's trembling now, full body-shivers without breaking the position he was in when Angel told him couldn't speak, "No... I'll be using my hands for something else. Don't need to spell it out, do I? But maybe you don't want even that much protection, Wes, what do you think? Maybe you'll be arching your back, rising up on tiptoe, wriggling your ass until your shirt slips up and rests in the hollow of your back."

He can see the pulse throbbing in Wesley's neck; hear the hoarse, desperate pants of Wesley trying to breathe steadily.

"Do you know how fucking shameless you look doing that? Do you care? You should do, Wes... because I can guarantee I told you not to move - and you know, any way we play this, you're such a disobedient fucking slut I don't know why I bother with you."

Wesley shakes his head with a stubborn desperation and Angel can smell the salt of unshed tears he'll have to do more than this to get to see spill.

"You think you know better than me –" Wesley gasps as Angel reaches down and unbuckles Wesley's belt, sliding it free of the loops with a casual snap-crack. "Think we both know deep-down that's bullshit, Wes." He nods at him. "Turn around."

Wesley turns, back rigid and Angel reaches around and forces the leather of the belt between Wesley's teeth, pulling it back and twisting his fist around the ends until his knuckles are digging into the back of Wesley's skull.

"This is because I don't trust you to remember that I gave you an order to be quiet, Wes," he tells him as they start to walk along the corridor. "I don't trust you at all when it comes to obeying me. You've got to earn that as well as learn how. But I'll help make it easy."

They reach the double doors of Angel's office, standing invitingly open, and he urges Wesley through, listening to Wesley's frantic, laboured breathing and knowing the only time Wesley's come close to true panic was when he thought Angel was going to leave him alone.

Nice that they're on the same page here.

He slides the spit-wet belt free from Wesley's mouth and studies the teeth marks in it with a mild curiosity.

"For instance," he says. "Tomorrow it's gonna be easy for you to remember I wasn't pleased with you tonight." He smiles and goes to sit in his chair, beckoning Wesley over to him. "Because that belt's going to be on your desk, right where you can see it. And you're going to remember how it tasted between your teeth, and how it helped when you bit down on it to keep from talking."

He motions Wesley closer and pulls down Wes' pants and shorts, tipping Wesley over his knee without ceremony, ignoring the moan that comes as Wesley's cock, swollen and slick, gets Angel's lap to rub into.

"You come on me, you'll clean it up with your tongue," Angel warns. "And if that gets you off, trust me, I can think of plenty of ways to punish you that won't."

He supposes he should've known someone like Wes would get off on the words as much as the pain because even that's enough to have Wesley's ass lift, just an inch or two, so that when he settles down again there's another of those sounds that even a human would need to be deaf to miss.

Angel sighs. "You're gonna disappoint me again, aren't you, Wes?" He grabs a handful of Wesley's dark hair. "No. Don't shake your head. You are. Want to know why?" Angel settles back in his chair, hearing it creak under the unaccustomed weight of them both. Wesley's thigh is pressed hard against the upward strut of the chair arm now although that's mostly his fault because he's spreading his legs as wide as he can and still have them on Angel's lap.

Angel wants to touch all that new skin, places on Wes he's never seen, never felt, but he can't. Not yet. And that's definitely Wesley's fault.

"I'm gonna make this nice and simple, Wesley. Not because you wouldn't get it complicated- you're clever, and I know you would. But I'm tired of waiting, or you wouldn't be across my knee, so I want to make this fast."

Wesley doesn't answer, unless you count the soft, fast, in and out of his breath. That's nice. That's good. Angel spends all day being interrupted by people when he tells them what to do and the pleasure of talking to someone who's doing nothing but listen is an unexpected, unlooked-for bonus of all this.

"I don't know why you want this and I don't particularly care. Could be you've got good reasons, could be it's just what gets you off. Don't care. I know why I'm doing it – and yeah, I bet you've worked it out too, because you've had time to think it through – I've given you time –" He smiles. "I'll let you speak for just long enough to say three words."

"Thank you, Angel," Wesley says in a voice that's barely his and yet pure Wes. Angel makes sure his body doesn't react to that fervent, grateful obedience but Wes can't see his face, and he allows himself a long moment where his eyes are closed because when they're open he can't take them off Wesley and that's not making this easy.

"You're welcome. So that's 'why' and now we move onto 'what' and that's where you're gonna let me down, Wes. You see, I want to use my hand on you until you're some place where nothing exists for you but that. My hand. Your ass. Nothing else. Wes, you move like that again and this ends now, you got that? Good. I can get you there, but it takes time, and you're gonna come so fucking fast I'm not going to have that time. You're going to disappoint me."

Wesley's lying still now, and it's a tense, trembling, defeated stillness. Angel pats Wesley's ass for the first time and gets a whimper that's eloquent enough to come close to being disobedient. "See?" He reaches under Wesley and grabs a handful of his shirt, hauling him upright and pushing him back against the desk, releasing him at once, so Wesley's standing in front of him, dick out, hands grabbing at his pants which are starting to slide down.

"Stop that," Angel says. "Kick off your shoes and socks. Strip down apart from your shirt."

 Wesley hadn't expected this, he can tell. Probably never thought he'd have to show Angel his face until it was over either. He's been biting hard on his lip to keep himself from talking and it's swollen and cut. There's the faintest smear of blood there but Angel's looking at the blush that's rising in Wesley's thin cheeks when he's finished undressing.

"You ever think what it's like for a vampire when you're all hot and flushed like that?" he asks conversationally. "Blood rising to the surface, separated from me by skin I could tear with the tip of a fang? Any idea how fucking tempting you are right now, Wes? I don't think you have, or you'd be running."

Wesley shakes his head.

"Thought you were clever," Angel says. "Trusting me isn't always smart, Wesley."

If it's possible to look obdurate when your dick's leaking and your eyes are tear-glazed with need, Wesley manages it.

"But you can trust me to find a way out of this problem, so maybe we're both smart," Angel goes on. "No way – no fucking way – have you earned my hand or my mouth on your cock, Wesley, and you're not getting that. But coming, yeah, you can come. That way I get to take my time and you get to concentrate on what I'm doing, not this –" He taps his finger hard against the side of Wesley's cock and watches the small surge and spill of precome with interest. "You really are a fucking slut, you know that?" he says pleasantly. He reaches down and picks up Wesley's shorts. "Jerk off into those, Wes. Make it fast, not fancy, don't make a mess on the floor, and hey, if you want to pretend they're mine, go ahead."

The spark of anger in Wesley's eyes just makes him chuckle.

He waits until Wesley's wrapped his hand around himself and dealt with the rush from that first contact, and then reaches past him and picks up a file. "Hurry up," he says absently, starting to read it.

Now this is a gamble. Wesley's getting punished here, whether he knows it or not, and the only thing Angel's not sure of is what's going to be worse for him; being watched as he jerks off, or being ignored.

Angel's going with ignored. Not that he's oblivious to what's going on, of course; the air's thick with the rich scent of blood and sex and Wesley's making these anguished, tiny noises that don't go anywhere near to hiding the skin on skin sounds. Just as well. Angel wants to hear them. He can tell the moment Wesley's foreskin retracts and stays like that and he can definitely tell when Wesley's balls tighten because his hand speeds up and then Wesley comes and he's gasping, hips jerking and those cotton shorts are soaking up a whole load of released tension along with the spunk.

Angel sees Wesley recover and watches, sidelong, as Wesley dabs at himself looking anxiously down at the carpet.

"You done?" he enquires, leaning forward to put the file in his out tray. "Right. Over my knee again, Wesley." He sits back and doesn't help Wesley at all, watching the agony of embarrassment on Wesley's face as he lowers himself down across Angel's knee. "Makes a difference when you've got more to think about than your dick, doesn't it, Wes?" he asks, touching the supine body without hesitation now, adjusting Wesley's position enough to make it quite plain that Wesley hadn't got it right. "Think about how you are, Wesley. How far apart your legs are, what your hands can touch, what you can see – got it? Good." He sends Wesley sprawling to the floor. "Do it again."

It takes Wesley four times and Angel keeps any anger from his voice as he repeats, "Do it again." Not difficult – Wesley nailed it first time after all, and he gets it right every time after that – but he doesn't stop repeating the order until he sees realisation dawn in Wesley's eyes that he's only doing this to suit Angel's whim. Once the penny's dropped that he's not fucking this up, Wes relaxes, which means it stops being worth doing.

Angel slides Wesley's belt between his fingers. "Could let you have this to bite down on," he muses. "Might make it easier for you – 'course, that's not really high on my list of priorities right now. Maybe if we do this again and I'm feeling pleased with you I'll let you use it – or give you permission to scream and beg and say all sorts of things. Could be fun. But not tonight." his voice is gentle as he leans in and says softly, "Tonight, all you have to do is suffer in silence until I think you've had enough. You do that and you'll make me happy, Wes."

His hand cracks down without warning, drawing blood in a way because Wesley's teeth go deep into his lip, and Angel feels the faint sting, instantly fading, in his palm. By the time he's finished he wants that sting to be a throb that lasts for at least as long as it takes him to jerk off. Going to take some doing but it'll be worth it to feel a warm hand around his cock for once.

And yeah, he could have Wesley's hand, mouth or ass around it, and he knows it, but by the time he's finished with him, if he's done this right, Wesley won't be in any state to follow orders or to be anything but a real disappointment.

Angel doesn't want that happening.

Not to his Wesley.

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