Wesley picked up the phone. “Angel Investi – oh. It’s you.”
He glanced across at the deserted foyer of the hotel, got comfortable, and leaned back in his chair.
“Yes, I can spare you a few moments. What was it this time? A spell? Or a – oh, really? That’s a new one. So tell me; how long has it been since your last transgression? No, I don’t suppose you did get the joke, but that’s beside the point, isn’t it? Let me answer for you. Three months since you last did something...stupid. Well. That’s showing a marked improvement, wouldn’t you say? I think we might consider a small reward, a treat for that.”
Wesley slid down his zipper and let his fingers meet the swelling length of his cock, running them along it in slow, satisfying strokes, curling them into a loose fist and thrusting upwards...
“You’re naked – aren’t you? I hope you are. I won’t have my time wasted while you get – very well. Since you’ve lasted this long without bothering me, you may touch yourself. One hand only. Three strokes. Good...yes, moan for me, I want to know you’re appreciating this. Now stop. Oh dear. I don’t think you did, did you? No; don’t lie to me. I know when you do. How many extra strokes was that? Two? Really? It sounded more like four. You know what to do. Yes, you may certainly try begging me to change my mind, to let you off lightly...in fact I insist on it. I won’t, but you know that anyway...Oh, that was pathetic. I’m minded to make it six for that – ah, now I’m getting the feeling you mean it. Doesn’t matter. What do I always say? Once spoken, never recalled? Six. I think you can manage that; they’re fairly small clamps after all. And you did summon a demon; you know I’m going to have far worse than this in store for you later. One on each nipple; yes, lovely whimper, you’re being good now, aren’t you? Two on your inner thighs, high up, as far as you can – oh, I’m sure it does hurt...let me see; two left...why don’t you just –”
“Wesley? Do you have the file for – oh my God, strike me blind and do it now!”
“I’ll call you back, Xander,” Wesley hissed, slamming the phone down hastily. He took a deep breath, adjusted his trousers, with some difficulty, and went in search of Gunn.
“It’s not what you think –” he began.
Gunn raised a hand to halt him. “Doesn’t matter ‘bout me, man. I know you uptight Brits have your little ways. I’m easy. Just don’t want to be you when Cordelia sees the phone bill. She’s going to be all over you and your high-priced sex lines. Those things cost like –”
“I wasn’t using one of those!” Wesley said indignantly. “If you must know, I was giving a friend a, a helping hand.”
He wondered, somewhat distractedly, if Xander would assume he could remove the clamps without permission just this once. Or get dressed for that matter. Had he been calling from the Magic Box? Oh, dear. If Giles took it into his head to go down into the storeroom...
“A hand. Right. And did you wash that hand, English? Because if not, I sure don’t want it anywhere near my jelly donuts.”
Wesley watched Gunn stalk off and sighed. It had been so much easier when he could deal with Xander in person. The lad really needed someone closer at times like this. He began to walk back to the office to call him and then paused. A demon who made people sing and dance? His mind flashed to a nightmare image of Angel serenading them all as he gyrated, and he turned on his heel. Xander could bloody well wait a while. Serve him right.
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