Chapter One
It's fairly unexpected when it happens the first time. Wesley's in his office, leaning back in his plush, black leather Herman Miller Aeron chair, trying to work the kink out of the left side of his neck and ease the stiffness from his left shoulder. He's been working on this translation for days, and he's remembering by now that making his eyes cross permanently isn't going to speed up the translation.
He's wishing he'd asked Jennifer to order him a masseuse before she went home for the day when there's a light knock on the door. "Come in," he calls, sitting back in his chair and wincing slightly as his neck protests it.
"Angel," he greets the enterer. His smile is genuine, if more than a little tired.
"Still working?" Angel asks quietly.
"I'm afraid so. I've yet to find the word carri-nikmar in any of the texts Wolfram and Hart has available, however."
"That's a word?" Angel asks, coming closer to the desk.
Wesley stretches his neck to the right, this time managing to hold back the grimace. "By all accounts, yes. Except that it doesn't appear to have a definition."
"Is it important?"
"Not terribly, but…"
"But you can't bring yourself to stop looking."
"I'm afraid not."
Angel gives him a half-smile. Wesley smiles back. He's comfortable with the fact that he and Angel have worked together long enough that his peculiar obsession about proper translation isn't seen as a character flaw.
Angel moves to lean against Wesley's desk, and Wesley bites his lip when Angel's behind wrinkles the corner of a page that's resting there.
That's when it happens. Angel reaches out, and Wesley trusts his friend enough not to flinch back from the touch, and then Angel's hand is on the left side of his neck, and there's the most delicious pressure, for barely a second, and a feeling in the top of his spine that almost feels like a pop but is far too gentle to be such, and the tension is gone. Completely gone; no pain, no stiffness, no overwhelming need to see a chiropractor.
Wesley blinks up at him, and Angel gives him a gentle smile before standing, turning, and leaving the office. Wesley silently watches the door close and waits a full ten seconds before letting the air out of his lungs.
The next day, Angel appears to have forgotten the incident, so Wesley pretends that he has as well. Obviously it wasn't a big deal to Angel, so Wesley convinces himself that it's not a big deal to him, either. After all, Angel could likely see the stress on the muscles in Wesley's neck, and was doing his friend a favor. Granted, a little warning might have been appreciated, but the end result was favorable; Wesley's neck didn't hurt anymore, and without that distracting him he'd managed to find the translation he'd been looking for, which meant he'd been able to go home for a few hours of sleep before appearing back in the office.
With no acknowledgement of the incident the night before, the day goes along as usual. There's a new threat to thwart, and they do so as efficiently as always, which is to say that it takes entirely too much time and there's one too many injuries on their side, but they manage to scrape by at the last moment without any real casualties save for the previously mentioned threat.
Of course, by 'real casualties', Wesley isn't including his own back. He's walking stiffly, when they get back to the office, annoyed at himself for over-rolling and obviously pulling an important muscle. He manages to make it to his office all right, but when he moves to sit down in his plush leather chair, his spine protests so much that he can't actually move. He would very much like to be sitting, or preferably lying down, but his back has locked itself into a position that has him hissing in pain while he leans forward, propped up by his hands on his desk.
He's stuck like that for a few minutes, debating whether to risk falling while reaching to press the intercom button on his phone, when there's a knock at the door. He silently thanks a deity or two, and calls for the individual to enter.
"You okay, Wes?" Angel asks, stepping directly to the desk, already knowing the answer to his question as Wesley's tense eyes flick up to look at him.
"One would imagine that a man barely over thirty could roll on the ground without having to suffer back spasms," Wesley replies ruefully, pain straining his voice slightly.
"Let me help you."
Angel moves and supports him enough so that he can stand with a not-quite contained groan. Angel practically has to drag him over to the sofa, and when they find that Wesley can't actually lie down on it himself, Angel simply picks him up and deposits him carefully on it. He turns Wesley so that he's lying on his stomach, and moves to touch his back.
"Really, Angel, I'm fine," Wesley says. "You don't have to…"
But Angel's hands are on his back, and Wesley remembers the magic Angel managed to work on his neck the day before. "I can do this, Wes."
"I think if I just lie here without moving for a month or so, I'll be able to get up," Wesley protests again, although Angel's gently massaging hands seem to be helping a little.
"Or, you could let me help, and you'll be doing the Robot in an hour."
Angel presses the pads of his fingers against the dip of Wesley's lower back, earning a creak of almost-pleasure from him.
"I don't think I've ever done the Robot."
"You must have."
"I'll never admit to having tried it. I never was a very good dancer, " Wesley replies, chuckling low in his throat. Angel's hands are amazing. He seems to find just the right places to press, and Wesley can feel the pain lessening enough that he probably could stand, now, and even walk to his SUV and get home to lie in his own bed.
But strangely, he doesn't want to tell Angel so.
"Not that you could call the Robot fine dancing," Angel says softly. "You should relax more."
Wesley blinks at the sudden turn of the conversation. "I'm sorry?"
"You don't relax. Ever. You leave the office after I do, and you're here before me. And I live upstairs."
Wesley stiffens. "There are things that need to be done," he finally says.
"It isn't good for you. No wonder you've got so many knots back here."
Wesley moves his arms, and starts to push himself up.
"Done, then?" Angel asks, moving back and sitting on his heels as Wesley sits up, swinging his legs down so his feet are on the carpet. Wesley has to look down at it; Angel's eyes are far too knowing.
"I'm fine, Angel. Thank you. I believe I can make it home, now."
"Why don't you stay there, tomorrow?"
"I have work to do here," Wesley replies, standing up stiffly, wincing at the slight twinge in his back but grateful that he's able enough to at least move. There's a challenge in Angel's eyes, but he says nothing.
"I worry about you," he finally says, before turning and leaving the office.
Wesley's feeling even more dumbfounded than he had been last night.
The third time's the charm, which is a cliché but incredibly valid. It's a week later, and Wesley's knocking on Angel's door. Angel calls him in, already moving to the door and taking the thick folder from Wesley's hand. Angel goes directly to the desk, sits down and opens it.
"This is everything?"
"Everything I've managed to come up with about a leporid demon raising, yes. I wish it were more, but I think that's a fairly extensive overview. It should be enough."
Angel skims over the file.
"Is there a rush?" Wesley finally asks. From all accounts, the event won't even be plausible for at least several months. The planets have to be within a certain alignment, and some of the components to perform such a raising are impossible to find at best.
"No."
"Then is there a particular reason you've had me spend the entire day on this?"
Angel glances up. "Yes."
"Perhaps you'd like to shed some light on it for those of us who haven't had the pleasure of living in your head?"
Angel sits back. "Because I know you Wes," he says, standing up and walking around to stand in front of his desk. In front of Wesley. "If I give you a project, you're going to spend the entire day working on it. You won't stop for meals, and you won't go home until it's either finished, or you're so tired you can barely stand."
"So you've decided to take up torture again, then?"
Angel steps forward. "No." Wesley stiffens, because suddenly he's hyper-aware of the fact that Angel's worked his way well into Wesley's personal space. "Mostly I just wanted to get you alone."
With that, Angel leans forward and kisses Wesley breathless.
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