Dude! I *totally* forgot!

[serafina20]

WIP day!!!

ATS WIP. This one was supposed to be a Lindsey/Wesley, Wesley/Doyle fic. It needs work. A lot. And it was challenging because I needed to figure out how to write Wesley as young, sheltered, and timid, but, at the same time, rebellious and growing stronger, all without feminzing him or making him a cliche or something. I don't know if I succeeded very well.


Biting the tip of his tongue, Wesley swept the brush over his eyelid, glitter spreading smoothly over his skin. Then he set the brush down and blinked, sitting back to study his reflection. It wasn't quite right, so he added a bit more.

Vaguely, in the recesses of his memory, Wesley remembered a time when he had hated the glitter and make-up. When he had first been sold to Master, he had argued that real elves didn't look the way Master wanted him to dress. Real elves didn't wear glitter or lip-stick; they were creatures of the earth.

Wesley had been beaten for that. Badly. It had taken him almost a month to recover and after that, he never argued with Master again.

Lifting his eyes to the mirror, he painted his lips blue. He still disliked the blue, but never said anything about it. Master thought it brought out the color of his eyes and made Wesley look even more pretty. And that was all Wesley was good for: his looks. He was to look pretty, use his mouth and hands as he had been trained, and never say anything that might be displeasing.

At least he didn't need to worry about rape. Well, not yet, that is.

Fingers threaded through his hair and yanked his head back. Blinking, he gazed blandly into Master's dark eyes.

"Very good, Kieran. You look lovely tonight. Our guests will be most impressed. Turn around."

Wesley obeyed.

Master sat in a chair across from him, a thick iron needle in his hand. "Do you have your rings?"

"Yes, Master." Wesley produced four iron hoops.

"Are you excited about tonight?" Master asked as he pierced the needle through Wesley's nipple.

Wesley bit back a gasp and waited before the hoop was in place before speaking. "Yes, Master."

The second hoop went in place with no less pain. Attaching a chain to them, Master smiled. "Good. We are celebrating the promotion of one Eric Michaels. You know him, right?"

He nodded, wincing when his ear was pierced. "I serviced him at your last party, Master."

"I thought so. You won't need to play with him tonight; we brought in a more experienced help for that. But you will be needed for the rest." He pierced Wesley's other ear. Attaching the two hoops with chains, he threaded the chains through Wesley's collar, then the nipple rings. "Lovely." Rising, he kissed Wesley's forehead.

Taking a deep breath, Wesley asked, "Master, must I go? You have hired the best slave demons there are. The guests will want to have beings they can have sex with. I can't."

"People will want you. You have to go. And you will play with the guests, understand?"

Nodding, Wesley whispered, "Yes, Master."

"Good. Now, the guests should be arriving in about fifteen minutes. Come out in about forty five. Serve drinks, and make sure to make yourself available."

"Yes, Master."

Master looked at him searchingly for a long moment. "Do I have to remind you what will happen if you choose to disobey me?" He looked at the adjoining room, then back at Wesley, an unpleasant look in his eyes.

Wesley shuddered, gazing at the door to Master's private room. It was like something out of Wesley's worst nightmare: no windows, a bed with iron chains attached, whips, pokers, and more instruments of pain. Wesley had been in there more than once, each time swearing that he would be the perfect slave so he would never have to go in there again. And yet, he always managed to fail in some way, forcing Master to punish him.

"Kieran?"

"I'll be good, Master, I swear."

"Good." The doorbell rang. "That would be our guests. Come out when you should, and maybe I'll give you a treat tomorrow."

Wesley tried to smile as he knew he should, but his lips wouldn't quite cooperate. Nodding slowly, Wesley sighed, "Thank you, Master," at the Master's retreating back.

He was getting good at not crying before parties. It was always frustrating to have to re-do the make-up. Tonight, he might have to.

* * *

Lindsey sighed and bolted back his drink. Accepting another, he leaned against the wall, gazing at the crowd.

Normally, he liked these parties. Free food, free drink, free drugs, and free sex. Everything an up-and-coming lawyer for Wolfram and Hart needed. The senior partners liked their employees to party as hard as they worked. The more their souls were compromised, the better, and, normally, Lindsey had no problems indulging in his superiors desires.

Tonight, though, he just wasn't in the mood. His first major league client had been thrown out a window in front of his eyes. He'd lost the account and felt humiliated.

"A fucking vampire," he muttered, draining the second drink. "With a soul, no less. How the fuck was I supposed to fight that? He didn't even play by the fucking rules."

"You expect a vampire to play by the rules?" Holland Manners asked, walking up to him.

Lindsey managed not to flush. "Not exactly, sir. I'm just furious at myself for not anticipating what that bastard was going to do."

Holland shrugged. "It was a first contact mission, and you were gathering evidence."

"We lost a client, sir."

"So? He had no heirs, no will. We get all his assets: his property, money, and magical trinkets. Personally, I think it's better that he is dead. I've never much enjoyed dealing with vampires." Holland made a face, as if the mere thought of vampires disgusted him. "Plus, I have a feeling this Angel will be a major player; fatalities are expected when gathering information about our enemies."

"Yes, sir."

Holland placed a hand on Lindsey's shoulder, a fatherly look on his face. "Don't let it get to you, Lindsey. You reacted just fine. The senior partners in no way blame you for the loss."

He breathed a silent sigh of relief. "I hope not."

"They don't. Now, I want you to make sure you have fun tonight. This is a party. Act like it."

Lindsey grinned, feeling slightly hollow. "Yes sir."

Holland squeezed his shoulder once more, then left, eyes locked on one of the naked slave girls dancing on a table across the room.

Sighing, Lindsey turned to get another drink, when he bumped into a tall and solid object.

"I'm very sorry," a soft voice said, reaching out to steady him. "I meant no harm."

"It's fine," Lindsey assured the being. His breath caught as he looked up into the eyes of the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on.

The creature-for Lindsey could tell it wasn't human-was a few inches taller than him. His short dark hair was spiked with gel, blue eyes glowing with the glitter around them, skin smooth and flawless. Perfect. He was shirtless, upper body adorned only with nipple rings attached to a collar and earrings. His pants were pale tan and molded to his body seamlessly. Soft black leather boots that were laced to his calves completed the ensemble.

Clearing his throat, Lindsey couldn't help asking, "What are you?"

"I am an elf."

"I thought elves were extinct."

The elf shook his head. "Not yet. Almost." His tongue darted out and touched the corner of his lip in a nervous gesture. "Can I .... May I be of service to you?" he asked very softly.

Lindsey blinked. "Huh?" He tore his eyes away from the delicate ivory skin around the elf's collar.

He blushed. "May I be of service to you. To ..." The elf trailed off, running a hesitant hand down Lindsey's chest.

"Oh. Uh ... yeah. I guess."

Nodding, the elf turned. "This way."

He led Lindsey down the hall, away from the party. Coming to a closed door, he opened it and walked down a small flight of stairs. At the bottom was another door. Glancing at Lindsey, the elf took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Here."

Lindsey walked inside, gazing around. The room wasn't what he had expected. Normally, slaves took their masters for the night to decadent rooms filled with every sex toy imaginable, and some that weren't. This room was ... plain. Bare. There were no windows, no decorations on the wall, not even a bed. The closest thing to a bed, in fact, was a pile of blankets in the corner. There were a few books on the floor, and what looked like a piece of paper under the nest of blankets. Other than that, the room had no life or personality.

"Are we allowed to be in here?" Lindsey asked, his voice sounding strange against the cold walls.

The elf shrugged. "It has not been prohibited." He hesitated, then said, "If it is not acceptable to you, we can go to one of the upstairs rooms."

Lindsey turned, shaking his head. "No. This is fine."

The elf relaxed. "I am glad." He smiled tentatively.

"God, you're beautiful," Lindsey breathed, stepping closer to the elf. Reaching out, he gently touched the elf's face. "What's your name?"

Closing his eyes, the elf leaned into the caress stiffly, as if he wanted to enjoy it, but couldn't quite allow himself. "You may call me what you will."

Cupping his cheek, Lindsey frowned. "I want to call you by your name."

"Oh." The small, pink tongue darted out once more, licking along the blue painted lip, smearing the make-up. "My master calls me Kieran."

"Your master," Lindsey repeated. "And is that your name? Your true name?"

Distressed blue eyes fastened on Lindsey's shirt. "The Great War happened when I was one year old. I do not remember my true name."

"Oh. That's ... that's terrible." He didn't know much about elves, but he did know that nearly five hundred years ago, there had been a huge war that wiped them out. Lindsey had thought that all the elves were gone, but this one .... He looked real enough.

He stepped closer to the elf and kissed him gently on the corner of his mouth, wanting to give comfort. The sadness in the beautiful eyes wrenched at his heart, something that hadn't happened in a very long time. "How old are you?"

"Four hundred and forty eight year old."

"Four hundred and forty eight?" Elves had long lives and, as such, had long aging cycles. It took them centuries to mature. Unfortunately, Lindsey couldn't remember how many centuries. "I'm not up on elf aging; does that make you an adult?"

The elf looked up through his glittery eyelashes. "I am almost fully mature."

"So you're a teen-ager," he said slowly, a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Lindsey was supposed to enjoy this elf sexually. And, normally, he wouldn't have any qualms about fucking a slave, no matter how vulnerable or sad looking. But this one was a teenager, and not emotionally mature. It was a little too close to rape for him to be completely comfortable. "Is that right? You're an adolescent."

"That is a accurate comparison. I am maturing, both physically and sexually, but, unlike a human teenager, my .... I cannot, physically, do certain things."

"What do you mean?"

"I can give pleasure, but you cannot use my body from the waist down. It is not .... There are complications, and it is forbidden."

Nodding, Lindsey ran his hand up the side of the elf's face, then through his hair. "Very well." He licked his lips, wondering what he should say. "Do you like being called Kieran?"

He shrugged. "It does not matter what I feel."

"It does to me."

Blinking, the elf studied Lindsey. He rubbed his hair against Lindsey's hand, cat-like, eyes falling shut once more. "Wesley," he whispered after a moment. "They called me Wesley."

"Who did?"

"The people who first found me. The raised me, treated me like their own child until they were killed. That was when I ..." Wesley broke off, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Shhhh, baby, shah," Lindsey soothed, drawing Wesley close. Holding him tightly, he kissed the underside of Wesley's jaw. "It's ok, Wesley. I'm not going to hurt you."

Hand clutched tightly at Lindsey's shoulder. "You may if you like. I am yours." Wesley's voice was a bit breathy, face rubbing against Lindsey's.

"No." Lindsey turned his face to kiss the corner of Wesley's mouth. "No, I don't want to hurt you. I could never hurt you."

Wesley smiled slightly. "I believe you." He tugged Lindsey to the pile of blankets, sitting down slowly, while drawing Lindsey to him. "What would you like me to do?"

Leaning in, Lindsey brushed his lips over the elf's forehead, reveling in the smoothness of his skin. "I want to kiss you," he murmured.

Without saying a word, Wesley tilted his face into Lindsey's. Their lips met almost hesitantly, barely brushing against one another before pulling away. Wesley's eyes were wide, cheeks flushed. With one shaking hand, he wiped the blue paint from his lips.

"Beautiful," Lindsey murmured, capturing Wesley's lips with his own.

Moaning softly, Wesley opened his mouth, tongue tentatively reaching out to touch Lindsey's bottom lip.

Head swimming, Lindsey pressed Wesley into the nest. His mouth pulled away from Wesley's, pressing open mouthed kisses along his jaw. The scent and feel of him was intoxicating, making Lindsey hungry for more, for everything. A lifetime of exploring just his lips wouldn't have been enough.

Lindsey slid over so he was laying on top of Wesley.

Jerking, Wesley cried out in pain, shrinking away slightly.

Startled, Lindsey pulled back. "What?"

Tears were standing in the huge blue-gray eyes. "N-nothing."

"Wesley, something's wrong. Tell me. Please."

"Master, I am fine. I ..."

"Call me Lindsey."

Wesley blinked, a tear sliding down his cheek. "Lindsey, it is nothing. A momentary pain, but it is gone."

Sighing in frustration, Lindsey began pulling away. Then he saw it.

"I thought elves were allergic to iron," he said, fingering the rings threaded through the pink nipples. Pink, except for the raw redness surrounding each of the hoops.

Wesley nodded. "Yes, but iron keeps the piercings open for the parties. Otherwise, they would be permanent, and it is never good to permanently alter an elf before he has reached full maturity."

"But they hurt."

"It does not matter if they do. I do not matter."

Anger clenched Lindsey's stomach. Hands shaking, he undid the hoops, ignoring the whimpers of pain from Wesley as he did. "It matters to me," he said viciously, yanking them out.

Panting, Wesley shot up, panic in his eyes. "No, please!" he cried, scrambling away.

"I don't want them in you."

"If you take them out, Master will think I asked you to, and I will be punished! I would rather be uncomfortable with them in, than go through what he will do to me. Please, Master. Please let me be. Please."

Wesley was openly crying now, shaking in fear as he pleaded with Lindsey.

Shit. This was not what he wanted.

Rising to his knees, Lindsey tossed the hoops away. "I'm sorry, baby, I didn't know. I just didn't want you to be in pain. I'm sorry. I'll tell your master I didn't understand, and assure him that you never told me to take them out."

"Then he'll think I was rude to you."

Lindsey sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I'll figure something out. I'm a lawyer; I'm good at maneuvering." He reached a hand out. "Come back here? Please?"

After a moment, Wesley took the hand and crawled back to Lindsey. "I am sorry," he said, penitently bowing his head. "May I service you?"

"No."

"Then what do you want from me?" Confused blue eyes gazed up into his.

"Nothing. I want to hold you."

Wesley frowned. "Hold me?"

Grinning sheepishly, Lindsey shrugged. "I can't explain it either. Normally when I come to these parties, I want to play. I'm ruthless with the sex slaves and enjoy it. But I can't with you, and yet, there's no where else I want to be right now." He pressed his lips into Wesley's head, lowering them back to the nest. "Just let me hold you," he whispered.

Nodding, Wesley snuggled against Lindsey, eyes falling shut. "As you wish."

* * *

It wasn't long before Lindsey's breathing became even, and his grasp on Wesley slack. Even then, the elf waited a few more minutes, just to make sure that Lindsey was truly asleep.

Once he was assured, Wesley sat up, gazing down at the handsome face of the man sleeping next to him.

He was beautiful when he was asleep. Handsome and dashing and everything Wesley had never known he'd wanted. For the past fifty years, Wesley had been forced to service both men and women, attractive and not, and he had never felt on spark of interest or pull. Nothing like the raging fire that was currently coursing through him, making his cheeks hot, his stomach tight, and skin to tingle.

"I must be growing up," he whispered, touching Lindsey's cheek gently.

Lindsey stirred, eyes tightening. He moaned softly.

Holding his breath, Wesley waited to see if the other man would wake. He didn't. Rolling onto his side, Lindsey reached out and brushed his hand down Wesley's stomach.

Sighing, Wesley lay back down, eyes wide and on Lindsey's face. He liked the way Lindsey's eyelashes caught the dim light of the room, glinting dark brown against his pale skin.

"I want," Wesley whispered, nearly silent. "I want to mate with you." Then, feeling as if he'd done something extremely brave and foolish, Wesley curled into a ball next to Lindsey and, heart pounding wildly, closed his eyes and listened to Lindsey breathe.

* * *

"How much do elves usually go for?" Lindsey asked as casually as he could manage as he dropped a file off in Holland Manner's office.

Holland glanced up. He had asked Lindsey to stay when the young lawyer had arrived, chatting idly on seemingly inconsequential matters. The conversation had turned to the party the week before, giving Lindsey the opportunity to ask the question that had been burning in him for a week.

"Well, it depends. They are quite rare, so they are very expensive." Holland cocked his head. "May I ask why?"

Lindsey leaned back in his seat. "I got a chance to play with Mitch Robinson's elf the other day, and liked it. And I know they are rare. I thought that if I purchased on, it would really make a statement about where I was going. That I am a force to be reckoned with."

"Ah. Well, in that case, I would advise you not to get an elf. The investment is more than just monetary. You have to feed them a special diet, be prepared to take visitors to view it, offer it up at showings for conventions and such. Plus, they must be handled a certain way or they become insolent and free willed. Not a very good first investment. You should begin with inanimate objects."

Heart contracting, Lindsey forced his face to remain neutral. "All that, huh? I didn't realize it'd be such a pain. Still," he added in a musing tone, "I think that if I began at the top and then collected down ..."

"You'd ruin your image."

"Well ..."

"Lindsey, trust me on this one. You don't want an elf." Holland's tone was firm, informing Lindsey the conversation was over.

Well, great. Now if Lindsey found a way to buy Wesley, he'd have to keep it a secret. Otherwise, it was possible that Holland would take him away. The junior associates were closely watched and monitored at Wolfram and Hart; if they did anything that was not approve by their superiors or the senior partners, it was possible that their freedoms would be restricted. Or worse. Often, it was worse.

"Sorry, Wesley," Lindsey thought. "I'll find a way to free you; we'll just have to wait a bit longer than we thought."

* * *

Wesley was in his room, his fingers dancing on the silver ring he had found on his floor a few weeks ago. Master had not yet found it, but then, Wesley was quite good at hiding things like this from him. In fact, Wesley had a treasure trove of seemingly worthless possessions squirreled away in his room that Master knew nothing about: the button from a shirt his adopted mother had made him almost three hundred years ago, a flower petal from the garden outside, a peppermint carefully wrapped in plastic, a picture Wesley had torn from a magazine that reminded him of Ireland, where he had been found, and a small wood chip that Wesley had stolen from a display in a store. He kept them hidden in a small bag behind a loose panel of the wall, all his earthly treasures. The only things he truly owned.

And now the ring. A silver ring that fit almost perfectly on his own ring finger and had, etched inside, the initials LCM. Lindsey McDonald. Wesley could only guess what the C stood for. Colin, maybe. Christopher. Caleb. Cesar. Cillian. Christian. He didn't know. Ever since finding it, Wesley had spent hours dreaming of what Lindsey's middle name was and why he had left his ring. If he had left it, which, of course, Wesley liked to pretend he did. It was possible it was an accident, and any moment Master would enter with a whip and fury, demanding that Wesley give the stolen good back. And then Wesley would be beaten, and Lindsey, eyes cold and distant, would watch, uncaring.

"No," Wesley whispered. "Lindsey loves me. He left the ring for me to have to remember him always."

Even a poor slave needed dreams. Especially a poor slave.

Smiling dreamily, Wesley lifted the ring to his lips and kissed it. Then he froze, ears pricking.

"And he is in good condition?" an unfamiliar male voice asked.

"Yes, he is. A little thin, but it does not do to feed them too much," Master answered hastily. "But that, of course, it at the discretion of his master. I believe that too much food makes him rebellious."

The door open and master and a strange man walked in.

The stranger was over six foot, and strongly built. His hair was long and braided in thousands of braids of varying shades of brown and blond. He wore a black kilt, tee shirt, and Doc Martins. He was a handsome man, but his eyes spoke of pain.

They were practically screaming it right now as they found Wesley's eyes.

"Kieran," Master said sharply. "We have a guest."

Standing slowly, clenching the ring tightly in his hand, Wesley rose and bowed. He did not say anything as he was unsure what he should say.

"Here he is."

"So I see," the stranger drawled. He walked closer to Wesley. "Rise so I can look at you."

He obeyed, biting his lip.

"Very nice." The stranger walked in a full circle around Wesley, eyes heavy on his skin. "Very nice. How old is it?"

"Four hundred forty eight," Master replied.

Still behind Wesley, the stranger leaned forward, the tip of one finger caressing Wesley's ear.

He tried not to shudder, but didn't quite succeed. For no good reason, this stranger set off every survival instinct that Wesley possessed. He could feel magic pooling under his skin, ready to construct a defense against any possible harm, but it wouldn't help. Magic was growing in Wesley every day, but he couldn't use it.

"He's not fully mature."

"No, Raven, he's not."

"I was under the impression that elves matured at age four hundred and forty five. Is he defective?"

Master blanched. "N-no. It's a myth that they all reach maturity at the same age; like humans, there is an age range. Anywhere within the four hundred forties to five hundreds is considered normal. This one is in no way stunted or defective."

"Are you sure?" The stranger--Raven's hands were roaming Wesley's body now, sliding underneath the thin tee shirt, down the back of his threadbare shorts, squeezing and poking anywhere and everywhere.

Used to being treated as property, Wesley stood still, allowing his body to be violated. He continued to clutch the ring in his hand, hoping it was not discovered.

"Yes, I'm sure. His powers are developing normally."

"What can he do?"

"Not much. Occasionally he can make himself turn invisible, but only for a short period of time. He glows, but only when he feels threatened, and isn't wearing the collar, of course. He can make things levitate as well. And, when he tries very hard, he can make things grow or create a rainbow."

Raven slid his hands out of Wesley's shorts and walked back around him. "Wonderful; a very useful talent, I am sure," he said dryly.

Master's eyes flared with anger. "You asked."

"Does he have any useful talents? Magical or otherwise?"

"I am not a warlock; I have no use for a magical elf. That is why I keep him collared. If you want him, you can do whatever you like with his powers. As for his other talents, he is very good at giving head, never says no, and is able to withstand pain beyond human endurance."

A very satisfied smirk graced Raven's lips as he looked back at Wesley. "And yet, he looks so delicate."

"They were bred to look so, but their bodies were designed to withstand much punishment. The man I bought him from let me test what I thought was the extent of his endurance; I have since pushed him much farther."

Nodding once as if making a decision, Raven said, "How much do you want for him?"

"As I told you before, he's not really for sale. But ..." Master smiled slowly. "I could be persuaded."

"I will make you and offer ..."

Raven didn't get to finish what he was saying. The door was smashed to pieces, a tall, strong form bursting through.

Master got one indignant squeak out before he was beheaded. Raven was grabbed and shoved against the wall.

"Who are you?" he demanded of the man holding him.

"Angel. Nice to meet you." Then Angel head butted Raven, knocking him out.

Shaking in fear, Wesley took two steps away from the sight before him. Magic was pulsing so strong in him it was hard to breath.

"Hey," Angel said, turning to Wesley. "You ok?"

"Y-yes, Master," Wesley managed before he was overwhelmed by the powers coursing though him without release. The last thing he saw before blacking out was a small, slim man step inside, looking at him out of the most beautiful eyes Wesley had ever seen.

* * *

The sheets were cool and silky against Wesley's skin, almost luxurious. He moved his cheek fractionally, shivering at the sensation.

He sighed softly and rolled over. He was so tired, but starving as well. Master hadn't fed him that morning because Wesley hadn't gotten all the spots out of the crystal glasses. Wesley felt so empty that he was tempted to eat the peppermint. When he'd first stolen it, he'd sworn he would not eat it until there was a special occasion, but he needed food. And soon.

Yawing, Wesley rolled over again, deciding to slip back into sleep, just for awhile longer.

He rolled into a solid object.

"I'm sorry!" he cried when he saw the man stretched out besides him, dark brown eyes watching him. Heart pounding, Wesley scrambled away from the man, falling off the bed.

"Whoa! You ok?" the man asked, sounding concerned. He sat up, looking down at Wesley.

Memory returning, Wesley realized that this was the man who'd killed Master. Quickly, Wesley crouched on the floor, pressing his head to the rough carpeting. "I am sorry, Master. You startled me," he said softly.

"Master? Oh, no. My name is Angel. I saved you."

"Yes, I remember. And you are my new master. How may I serve you?"

"No," Angel said again. He got off the bed, kneeling next to Wesley. "Sit up."

Wesley complied, still gazing at the floor.

"I'm not your master. I rescued you from slavery. You're free now."

"If you say so, Master," he replied dully. It was not the first time that a master had tried this particularly ploy with him. Wesley knew he was supposed to play along, but he was too tired and hungry. Besides, the end results would be the same: pain.

Angel growled in frustration. "Call me Angel."

"Yes, Angel."

"What's your name?" Angel asked.

Wesley raised his eyes, quickly lowering them once more. "You may call me what you wish."

"Huh?"

"It is customary for the new master to give his slave whatever name he pleases. I have gone by many things. If I forget my new name, you may punish me as you wish."

Taking Wesley by the chin, Angel forced the elf to look at him. "Listen to me carefully: you are not a slave. You are free. I killed your master, but don't intend to replace him. And I won't name you. You can be called whatever you wish."

Free, Wesley though ironically. Yes, he must be free, and the slave collar around his neck that suppressed his powers was now only a decoration.

"Then I shall be called Kieran," Wesley said simply, not wanting to give his secret name to this master.

Angel smiled. "I like that name."

"I am pleased." Wesley stomach growled loudly.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes ... Angel."

Angel rose. "Follow me."

Standing as well, Wesley followed his master out of the bedroom and into a small apartment. It consisted of nothing more than a living room and tiny kitchen. Small though it was, the apartment was neat and nicely furnished, although Wesley suspected the weapons on the wall were more than just decoration.

Going into the kitchen, Angel opened the refrigerator. "I don't have much: some juice, milk. Some sort of bread, peanut butter ... corned beef, although it looks old. My friends are out getting food; we figured you might be hungry." Angel looked up expectantly. "What sounds good."

Wesley sighed, rubbing his stomach. "I can't eat meat, or peanut butter."

"You can't?"

"No. Elves can only eat certain foods: grains, fruits, vegetables, grass, leaves, eggs, flowers ..."

"I have eggs," Angel interrupted, pulling a carton out.

Wesley went very still, heart rate picking up. "Eggs?" he repeated, feeling breathless. "You have eggs?"

"Yeah. Right here." He opened the carton, revealing nine eggs, smooth and perfect.

Trembling, Wesley looked up at Angel, trying to see if his master was playing a cruel trick. "I may ... I may have one?"

Angel frowned. "Of course. How do you want it cooked?" He closed the refrigerator and turned.

"No," Wesley told Angel, stepping closer.

"No? You don't want one?"

"No, I do. I ... I don't want it cooked, I can't ... I ... please?" Shaking harder, he held out his hand, eagerness clouding his ability to think and speak clearly. It was all he could do to keep from bouncing or grabbing the carton from his master.

Understanding dawned on his mater's face. "You want to eat it raw," he said.

Nodding, Wesley said, "Please?"

"Of course. Here." He pulled one out and placed it in Wesley's hand. "Uh, why don't you sit down? You're ..." Angel trailed off as, afraid the egg would be taken away, Wesley ate half the egg in one bite.

The fragile shell shattered under Wesley's sharp front teeth, and practically melted on his tongue. He bit back a moan as the white and yolk flooded into his mouth, filling it with the frothy, thick sustenance. Eyes rolling back inside his head, Wesley swallowed, then tilted his head back to suck down the rest of the inside, feeling it as it slid down his throat.

He fell to the floor, licking the inside of the shell, trying to get every drop.

"Do you want another?"

He blinked up at his master, gasping for air as another egg was held out for him. Why was his master being so nice? Why was he allowing him to .... No. He mustn't ask questions, only take advantage now of the situation, before it disappeared. "I .... Yes M-Angel." He reached out hesitantly.

"Here." Angel placed the egg in his hands.

This once was not gulped down like the last. This time, Wesley made a tiny bite on top and sucked the yolk through it. When it was gone, he began eating the shell, reveling in it's sweet taste.

Angel handed him another. "Want anything else?"

Gazing up at his master, Wesley shook his head. "Nothing that you have, thank you. This is all I want."

"You should eat something else. I don't know anything about elves, but I do know that if you can eat more than one type of food, you should."

Blinking, Wesley licked the top of the egg, wanting the shell to dissolve in his mouth before he began on the inside. "What I want most to eat with the egg is some vegetables. Something cold and fresh."

"Doyle and Cordy said they'd get a variety of food; hopefully they think to stop by the grocery store." Angel opened the refrigerator door and put the eggs away. "I'm going to keep these in here; when you want another, just get one."

"Thank you," Wesley mumbled, sucking on the top of the egg. He watched as Angel pulled a container out and placed it in the microwave.

"How long has it been since you ate last?" Angel asked, running his eyes over Wesley.

He shrugged. "I think I ate yesterday. Some bread."

"How long have you been a slave?"

"All my life." The top of the shell melted away. Delicately, Wesley dipped his tongue into the yoke, closing his eyes as the taste enveloped his taste buds.

"Have you ever lived on your own?"

Wesley shook his head.

"Well, damn. There goes that plan," Angel murmured.

The microwave dinged. Angel took the container out, opened it, and took a drink.

His lips came away stained with blood.

It hit Wesley suddenly, what this man was. The energy he gave off wasn't quite human, and, had Wesley been more alert, he would have realized it before now. But, hungry and disoriented as he was, he didn't notice. Now, though, the cold magic hit Wesley so hard it made him gasp.

Vampire.

Vampire with a beautiful face.

Vampire named Angel.

Wesley began to shake, gazing at his master though tear filled eyes.

"Angelus," he whispered.

Angel blinked. "Kieran? You ok?"

He swallowed, finding it hard to breath around the lump in his throat. He could feel magic building up inside him again, but not as strong as before. Wesley wasn't going to pass out again.

No. he was just going to be killed by Angelus.

"Kieran, what's wrong?" Angel knelt before Wesley.

"I," Wesley started. He cleared his throat. "I used to belong to the Watcher's Council. They ... they always told me if I were bad, they would give me to Angelus. That ... I'd ... he'd ..." Something inside Wesley broke and he began sobbing. "I'm sorry, Master. What can I d-do for you?"

"No, Kieran, I ... I'm not ..."

The elevator clanged and the door opened. "Angel? We're home back!" a young woman called.

Overwhelmed, Wesley did the only thing he could think to do. Rising quickly, he fled to the bedroom and closed himself in the closet, still clutching the egg in one hand.

I'll post another later. Even my WIP's tend to be lenghty. *blushes*

Comments

[sam-gamgee.livejournal.com]

Ooh. This is neat. :-) Can I just be greedy and say that you should finish all these stories? If you want any help on any of them, let me know.


(Yes, I know I'm commenting in reverse order.)

Re:

[serafina20.livejournal.com]

I'll see what I can do about finishing them. :)

[raveninthewind.livejournal.com]

This is fun! More, bitte.