Spike was in a very happy spot. Well, technically he was on the couch, lounged back, his feet in Wes's lap.

They were currently "undergoing a career set back", thanks to the fact that neither he nor Wes, during their disaffection, could be arsed to look for any work. So... their usual translations... evening work in the garden... and lots of general laziness in between.

Wes was gently rubbing his feet with one hand... the other holding up the paperback he was reading. It was a comforting feeling and as close to Heaven as Spike had been in a long time.... Well, aside from the times he had tried to shag the other man into the mattress...

Other than the soft turn of pages, and traffic noises from the other side of the building, the apartment was quiet. No thumps or crashes that signalled the presence of the third member of their little group. Xander had gone off to help Mr. Pak's nephew deliver a special order to one of the local Boy's Clubs.

It was an afternoon of contentment. Spike avoided the thought that it was all just perfect... the last time he'd thought that, well... it hadn't been the precursor to anything he wanted to relive.

Spike turned one foot slightly, gently tickling Wesley's stomach with it, "Tea?"

Wes barely glanced up from his book. "In the cupboard."

"No, you git," Spike chuckled, "Do you want some?"

Wes looked up blankly from his book and then asked dryly, "Do we still have a teapot?"

"Yeah.... Harris doesn't like tea much..." he stood up and stalked towards the kitchen. "Can we get one in metal? Or melmac maybe? Something indestructible..."

Wes followed him into the kitchen, "Or we could just cast a spell that makes the china act possessed... enough to keep out of his way..."

They both chuckled at that. Really, they knew it was just a matter of time until Xander's sense of perspective adjusted to make up for the lost eye... the question was would their kitchen survive it?

Must be something they could do to help him, assuming he'd accept the help. As Wes had pointed out, "Pride isn't the exclusive department of the undead, you know..."

"Ya know... I was thinking, maybe, that Mr. Pak might have something we could use... Some exercise or something to improve things for Xander." Spike considered.

"I'm sure he'd help, if he can...but unfortunately, Xander thinks he's a demon."

"Daft git..."

"Speaking of Mr. Pak - perhaps he would provide you with enough of a challenge for training purposes?" It was obviously something he'd given quite some consideration, judging from the tone of his voice.

"Human idn't he? Or so you keep telling the boy... Can't get a good challenge that way, yeah?" Spike filled the kettle and sat it on the range.

"He's good. And very, very critical. I was thinking...well, if defence is the best offence, perhaps there's a way around the chip?" Wes replied diffidently.

"Might be something in that, love," Spike reassured him. "Willing to give it a try. Just don't relish a migraine if I misstep."

"I don't think he'd let that happen, somehow - do you?"

There was a flash of a chuckle, "No... probably not."

Although, Spike was more than willing to agree with Wes that Mr. Pak was most likely not a demon... he wasn't exactly sure what the old man was. There was just something about him that was... different. On that he had to agree with Xander.

And if that wasn't the sign of impending apocalypse, Spike didn't know what was.

*

Wesley had no intention of pushing the issue about training, though he certainly had cause to know just how good Mr Pak was. It was, in fact, how he had met the old man, looking for somewhere cheap to improve his woefully non-existent skills after the shooting. Lorne had casually mentioned one day that if he really wanted to avoid Angel's well-meaning interference, doing something like a normal denizen of the city might be the best way - and a few days later he had overheard a young man talking about an old Korean who seemed to think studying theories was an integral part of defence training.

The young man had been dismissive of the technique, and was more focused on who he was going to approach next than what his trainer had actually been doing. Wesley, on the other hand, had decided that this was probably a method that would suit him down to the ground, and obtained the address from a confused and mildly suspicious stranger, who had point-blank refused to give out a phone number, but had suggested he go to the supermarket. Presumably, he had thought Wesley would take this as a practical joke, and take his lunacy elsewhere, but instead, he had driven over to the area, and presented himself as a potential student.

It turned out that Mr Pak didn't really focus on theory at all. He focused on what he thought you needed to know - and in Wesley's case that was practical application, not a study of what it meant. In fact, he got the distinct impression that Mr Pak thought he could do with a damn sight less theory, apart from anything else - and by the time he had ended up flat on his back for the tenth time in twenty minutes, his gut muscles aching and protesting as they hadn't since he first started trying to stand up without help, he had ruefully concluded that the old man had a point.

Mr Pak disapproved of Wesley's reliance on guns, but never mentioned anything else, which made him wonder - along with the herb and blood deliveries - just how much he really knew about Wesley's life - and about the creatures he encountered.

Although he would never mention this to Xander or Spike, he also suspected that the old Korean had wards up - what sort, he couldn't tell, since they had allowed Spike past them on the night of his arrival, but wards, nonetheless, making something in his nerve-ends fizz and tingle if he had been using magic and came home with the residue still clinging to him.

He thought about Mr Pak's strange combination of reticence and openness, and his thoughts drifted on to the last conversation he had actively participated in with him - even though he was already feeling dreadful, he had not quite reached the point of the last night, where he had actually been unable to clear his thoughts enough to have any sort of meaningful discussion with anyone.

"I wonder what's so special about this student of his?" he asked absently, leaning back against the draining board. Spike just shrugged.

"Dunno," he said, not sounding particularly interested, but obviously his thoughts had not changed direction, either, because he didn't have to ask who Wesley was talking about. "Pak give any reason why he wanted you to meet him?"

Wesley laughed faintly. It seemed that even exposure over time to Mr Pak didn't make you any more aware of how vague he could be. "Ah - no, he just smiled. Smile number 4.7, I think," he added dryly.

Spike picked up the whistling kettle and set the tea to steep, thinking for a minute, before nodding as though the reference made perfect sense. "Ah... the "this will be something you'll like, even if you don't know it yet" smile....."

"Yes, that would be the one." Wesley paused, before saying slowly, "You know, sometimes I wonder...I mean, obviously he's not a demon, but - oh, never mind." It wasn't something he could really put into words, just a niggling suspicion - and he wasn't even sure what it was of, besides.

Spike paused in his search through the cupboards for uncracked cups. "No, what, love?" He looked at Wesley, curious. "Something else? Must say... he...doesn't smell right..."

Wesley shrugged, uncomfortably, trying to find the right words. "I just sometimes feel...he's too good to be true. Oh, well, maybe we're just due a break and I can't recognise it."

Oddly enough, that seemed to be enough for Spike. "Yeah... Demon, non-demon, or ethereal fae, Pak's been good to us. Just have to accept that... and appreciate it without any more questions."

Well, Wesley thought, his eyebrows raising, now isn't that interesting. Since when did Spike not question things? Aloud, he only said, mouth twitching, "Yes, Spike..."

Spike chuckled at that. "Git..." he gently shoved at Wesley, who maintained his look of innocence with some difficulty. "Got me on that one..."
.
Wesley grinned at that. "I try..." He watched in some amusement as Spike dug around with a complete lack of success for something to go with the tea.

"Need ta shop again...." he said at last, investigating the contents of the fridge.

Wesley restrained himself from snorting. "Again?" he asked, meaning that as far as he knew, he hadn't been shopping in a bloody long time, and it was amazing they had tea, let alone anything else. Spike, however, obviously thought he was concerned about the fact that they had done a grocery shop recently, because he nodded.

"Bottomless pit Harris," he volunteered in semi-apologetic explanation. "I'd say he was growing again... but I don't think he ever stopped. Gonna be the size of Olaf the Troll, he keeps it up...."

Wesley blinked at the thought of a full-size troll in his increasingly too-small apartment. "Yes, and I doubt the couch could take that..."

"We have to get a bigger apartment...." Spike was apparently thinking along the same lines. "Shoulda took that body guard job..."

Eh? thought Wesley, wondering what else he had missed. "Which one was that?"

Spike seemed unwilling to meet his eyes, poking into the refrigerator and muttering to its depths - "Sonwithabandgig.."

"A what?" Had they been asked to protect a demon?

Spike looked hopefully at a carton of General Tso's Chicken, sniffed at it then tossed it in the trash. "The one with the band..." he said vaguely, "'cause their singer was getting threats...ya know..."

"No," Wesley said slowly and suspiciously, "No...I don't."

"Might not have mentioned it..." Spike responded, too nonchalantly, and Wesley's suspicions were confirmed.

"Aha, really? So you mean I didn't get the chance to mention that we don't do that sort of work, and that's why you were even considering it?"

He got a shrug in response. "Money was good..."

Not for the first time, Wesley wondered how an agency publicly dealing with supernatural and demonic entities - an advertising nightmare in itself - translated in people's minds to 'will get shot for cash'. "To do what?" he asked with some asperity. "Volunteer to jump in front of a bullet?"

Spike just shrugged again. "Wouldn't hurt me, love... keep the scrawny-arsed singer from getting hurt...."

Wesley gritted his teeth, trying to stamp on the alarm that was winding its way around his stomach at the thought. "If we're ever hard up enough to have to consider acting as bullet-catchers, I'll take on tutoring. Anything would be preferable to that."

Spike was back to mumbling, just barely hearable over the opening and closing of cupboard doors. "Didn't say it was for "us"."

Wesley felt rather blank. Oh. Yes. Well, he hadn't exactly done a good job of making Spike feel part of things recently, but still... "Oh." was all he could manage, his mouth running on autopilot. "Right, yes, sorry. Of course..."

Spike huffed at the innocent fridge, and turned around, having obviously meant something quite different, judging from his look of exasperation. "Not like I'm gonna let you go out and make a target of yourself now, am I?"

Wesley flushed, and rubbed at the back of his neck, embarrassed, pleased, and mildly irritated at Spike's cavalier attitude to his own safety in equal measure. "But you expect me to let you? I repeat. No."

Spike just shrugged, and repeated, "Not like it would hurt me..."

Wesley, who had a tendency to save battles for times he could win them, gave up - temporarily. "Fine," he said, making it clear that this was in no way an agreement, but simply a way of deferring the conversation until a later date, "but I'm reserving the right to absolutely hate the idea."

*

And really, what reaction could Spike have to those words, except to press himself tight against Wes, his hands on the countertop on either side of his hips, pinning him in place. " Love that you worry about me..."

There was a half-shrug and a rueful expression in reply, "It comes with the territory, rather..."

And then Wes leaned in to kiss him, unexpectedly sweet and fleeting, "Another right I'm reserving..."

"'S just for you..." he smirked at his own sappiness, then grinned wickedly and shifted, slipping one leg between Wes's. "Whelp's not due back for another hour or two at least..."

Wesley shifted, pulling Spike in closer, "Luxury indeed...what shall we do with this freedom?"

"Well, something more than drink tea, I'm hoping..." Spike rubbed suggestively against Wes, mouth licking down his neck to fasten on his pulse point. He loved this, the taste of the man, having him all to himself, it was more than he'd ever expected to have.

"Yes, that wouldn't take two hours, after all."

"Can think of a lot of things to fill in our time." Spike offered, soft cool words against warm skin.

"Really...? You amaze me." Wes's head tilted backwards to rest against the cupboard.

"'Course I do. I'm just naturally amazing." Yes, there it was, the old Spike bravado, with accompanying wicked leer. "Want me to show you?"

"Empirical evidence?" There was amusement in Wes's voice, along with the first hint of arousal. "Yes, I think so...."

"Right then.... get your kit off...." Spike tugged his own shirt off over his head.

Wes blinked but began to comply.

That was more than Spike could resist and he purred out, "Love the way you obey.... so quick and hot...."

"I can stop, you know..."

Spike leaned in suddenly, bare chest to bare chest, "Don't.... please...." and he breathed a kiss along Wes's jaw, teasing and tempting.

"I'm...easily persuaded."

"'m glad...." Spike unhooked Wes' belt and dropped the pants and all, down to the floor, "Ready for amazing?"

A terse nod and a slight twitch of amused lips were the reply.

*

Spike grabbed Wes around the hips and settled him on the counter, kissing his way across his chest, caressing with fingers, teasing skin and nipples. Testing, now that he had the time, to see just where Wes was most sensitive.

Whatever Wes had been expecting, it wasn't this, "Um, I'm not really very respon - oh!" His voice cut off, surprised, as his whole body twitched at the feel of Spike's fingernail running across his nipple. "Never mind...."

"Want to know you, Wes... like a favourite book... every bit of you..."

And looks like rougher gets more reaction.... Spike nipped his way lower, keeping the bites just this side of painful... but only just.

Wes was slowly beginning to realize that it would be himself that he was going to be amazed by, and he was just this side of not wanting to react so strongly - torn between letting himself arch forward into the almost-pain and pulling away. "Oh...hell...."

Spike chuckled, soft and warm, as his tongue circled Wes's navel... then thrust inside.... feeling stomach muscles tighten and ripple against his cheek. He looked up at Wes's face, wanting to catch every single reaction and memorize it.

Wes's face looked like a man who had come to a decision within himself. His eyes were heavy-lidded and his voice soft when he spoke, "I'm suitably amazed..."

"Easily impressed then... Not even half done here." Spike softly blew cool air over damp skin, watching those stomach muscles jump and tense once more.

"Not easily...just impressed...." Wes let his head fall back, eyes closed. "I was right about one thing..."

Spike straightened up, pushing his hips between Wes's spread thighs, "What's that, love?"

"Luxury indeed...." Wes opened his eyes fully and pulling Spike nearer, leaning forward to press against him more closely. Luxury for the two of them to be out in their own kitchen... alone... no interruptions any time soon. No crash of glass, or thud of a body that hadn't quite gotten used to the fact that its perception had altered.

"Mmmmm..." Spike closed his eyes and seemed to melt into the warmth, "'S nice..."

"Heat addict..." Wes teased gently, wrapping his arms and legs around Spike.

"'Course... Bloody hate the cold..." Spike nuzzled in closer, as if he were trying to soak in just as much of the warmth as he could., "But it's not only the heat, ya know.... You feel... amazing...."

Wes corrected him with a small bite to the top of his shoulder, "No. Amazed."

There was a soft hiss of reaction to the bite, "Yeah... that too..." Spike agreed, but sounded distracted and a bit unsure exactly what he'd agreed to, "Again?"

"Anything you want..."

"Want you... want this... want to make you scream..." Spike chuckled soft against Wes' neck, "Want you to make me scream... make me beg. I'm bad, Wes.... always want too much..." Spike's crooked smile was hidden, but Wes could still feel it against his collarbone.

"No, very little really. Although whether I can manage the last is another matter...still..." Wes spoke with deliberate practicality, "I'm quite sure I'll take pleasure in trying."

Spike looked up with hopeful leer, "Yeah?"

Wes' answer was a simple, "Of course."

And suddenly, Spike found the tables turned on him. Instead of him teasing Wes, Wes was teasing him. Teasing with touches and strokes that soon had him arching and moaning, and fighting to keep his eyes open so he wouldn't miss a single moment.

*

The edge of the cupboard door was digging into one of Wesley's vertebrae, the small pain serving to anchor him as he bent his head to kiss the point between Spike's neck and shoulder, moving one hand to stroke over the taut muscles of his chest, and slowly pulling back enough so that he could work his way down the other man's body, caressing, stroking and nibbling.

The edge dug further in the lower he moved, threatening a bruise, but he was in no mood to move, smiling against cool skin when he heard his name breathed out, and pressing the small movement of his lips into the small hollow beneath one hipbone, letting Spike feel his response.

"Mm-hm?" he almost-asked, more an affirmation that he was paying attention than anything else, and without waiting for a response, he took in Spike's cock in a single suck, and lightly trailed his fingers up and down his lover's inner thighs, altering the way he moved his tongue and lips to the reaction he could feel in the muscles beneath his fingertips. He had his hands wrapped around Spike's hips by now, pressing his fingertips into skin to feel the lines of muscle beneath, brushing his thumbs over the slightly softer skin between groin and thigh, and scratching his short nails over the coolness he could feel beneath his fingers, just enough to make Spike gasp and curse under his breath.

Wesley was single-mindedly focusing on giving as much pleasure as humanly possible, and, letting his hands take over from conscious thought with slow, repetitive alternation of fingertips and nails, moved his mouth enough for his tongue tip to trace delicate patterns up the sensitive head of the glans, punctuating his pattern with small nips of his teeth.

He was vaguely aware, along with the dull pain of the wood above him, of Spike's hands in his hair, clenching against themselves so as not to cause him pain, trying to wind into the too-short strands. He could feel, more than hear, the low noises Spike was making, the vibrations humming through his own body and into the counter until he was uncertain what was sound and what was sensation.

He breathed in through his nose, swallowing again, opening his throat with conscious relaxation of the always too-tight muscles, moving down to wrap his mouth around as much as he could take, as Spike's hands on his head caressed him every bit as surely as the way his tongue pushed against the underside of Spike's cock. He let his hands grip Spike's hips more tightly, giving warning as to what he was intending to do and a kind of support all at once, getting a choked-off curse and a groan in response - not quite the response he had promised to elicit, but close enough, closer than he would ever have believed he could get.

He could so easily lose himself in this, dissolve away from the cupboard door and the crick in his neck and the slight ache in his jaw, simply let himself be taken over by the simple rhythm of swallowing and sucking. A part of him, the part that had begun to want things to stretch out into infinity -

For the rest of my natural life

- wanted it to go on forever.

It couldn't, though, not this time, not when Spike was too close to losing control and Wesley had no intention of holding back. He swallowed again, and again, feeling his cheeks hollowing, adding pressure, knowing that his lips were swollen, feeling his jaw aching and the line of pain across his back, and God, he loved this, he loved all of this, he wouldn't change a damn thing if he were paid.

He could feel how close Spike was in every fibre of his own responding body, able to sense it in the taut muscles under his hands, hear it in Spike' ragged breaths, each unneeded, amazing inhalation that was catching in the back of his throat. He sucked harder, deeper, in response, wanting just that little bit more --

Spike made a low, rough sound in the back of his throat that might have been Wesley's name or might not and Wesley decided that he really didn't care either way. He swallowed, almost reflexively this time, tasting salt-sweet and musk and bitter all at once, licking Spike clean as he drew his head back, slowly, knowing that his expression was reminiscent of a cat who had not only caught the canary, but been thoroughly praised for it.

He straightened himself out of his suddenly very uncomfortable position, wrapping himself back around Spike, whose eyes were closed and, for once, seemed to have been rendered speechless, in a fair approximation of a human blanket. Wesley smiled to himself, saying nothing, letting the kinks ease out of his back gratefully.

"Yeah...." Spike said eventually, and if not particularly eloquent, the comment seemed heartfelt, and Wesley felt his smile, impossibly, widen. Then there was a chuckle from somewhere in the vicinity of his shoulder. "And you've still got 45 minutes..."

Wesley choked. "You're timing me?" he asked, incredulous, and received a snort in reply.

"Not you, love.... Timing Xander's return. Not sure if he's up to catching us starkers in the kitchen.... Together..."

A sentiment that Wesley could certainly sympathise with. "I'm not sure I'm up to him catching us, either...." he pointed out, before, reluctantly, conceding practicalities. "And knowing our luck, he'll get back early." He sighed. "Clothes?"

Spike looked impossibly hopeful. "Or we could just move to the bedroom...."

"True...." said Wesley thoughtfully, before another idea made its way sluggishly into his mind. "I need to fit a lock on the inside, by the way."

"Don't want to give the boy an advanced education?" Spike sounded completely serious, and Wesley might have missed the lip twitch if he hadn't been waiting for it.

"Oh God, no." he said fervently, despite his amusement. "Just - no."

"And shit!" Spike suddenly shoved Wesley's clothes at him and started grabbing for his own jeans. "Xander.... Can hear him heading this way..." He tugged on the jeans and shoved Wes towards the bedroom, making him stumble over his own feet as he haphazardly tugged on the clothes that he truly hoped were his own.

"Just go...." Spike gave him another push, which was decidedly unhelpful, tugged on his shirt and hit the sofa in a protest of already exhausted springs, splaying out over it in his usual pose.

Wesley rolled his eyes, closed the bedroom door, and put on his T-shirt, grumbling. "One day," he said irritably to the bed. "One day. Is that so much to ask?" He looked in the mirror, and grimaced, deciding that Xander would have to be all-the-way blind not to work out what he had been doing. With a sigh, he picked up a towel, and headed for the bathroom, in the vague, and probably vain, hope that there was something which repeated application of hot water and soap could achieve.

*

By the time the keys were actually turning in the lock, Spike could hear the water running in the shower. He, himself, was casually thumbing through the pages of Street Iron looking at the latest creation from Big Bear Cycles.

"Later, Nuygen...." Xander called over his shoulder as he walked into the apartment and shut the door behind him.

"Xanderrrr..." Spike drawled the name, peering over the top of the magazine.

"Sheesh, Spike... you still there? You were on that demonic thing when I left. Something you want confess to?" Xander eyed him suspiciously.

"Yeah, git... It's got hold of my arse... and I can't get up..." Spike's lip twitched as Wes stomped out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, muttering something under his breath about making tea.... Again.

"Damn, Spike...What the hell have you been doing in here?" Xander waved a hand around and then walked over to throw open the window. Although, Spike noted, the boy was still careful not to let in any excess light. "No... never mind... I don't really want to know if you've been wanking off to porn."

There was a clatter, a splash and a curse as Wes narrowly avoided scalding himself with the hot water. "One day, I swear to God...."

Spike covered his face with the magazine, shaking with silent laughter behind it.

Xander suddenly gave Wes a sheepish expression, "Oh... sorry, Wes. Old habits are a bit hard to break I guess."

He bit his lip and looked back at the chuckling Spike, but managed to mutter out, "Uh... sorry Spike...."

Spike nodded his acceptance of the apology. The boy had been trying, although Spike had no illusion that it was for his benefit. Xander knew it upset Wesley for him to harangue Spike, and since Wes was trying to help Xander to help Buffy... he was doing his best to curb his sharp tongue.

"Xander, if I give you a list, could you go and ask Mr. Pak for a delivery later?" Wes came out of the kitchen a moment later.

"Sure, Wes.... be glad to. Oh... and here..." Xander pulled out his wallet and attempted to hand Wes forty dollars. "Mr. Pak insisted that he pay me for helping this afternoon. Not much, I know... but... Well..."

Wes went red, with embarrassment. He still could not get used to people giving him money... even when it was payment... it often still felt like charity, "Really, I - it's not necessary. Just -ah - put it with the petty cash, if you like...."

"No... it is necessary. Maybe not for you... but for me..." Xander shrugged and put the money in the petty cash box.

"Yes, sorry... It's just..." Wes rubbed at the back of his neck, and tried to think of a way to make this less awkward. "Well, it's easier for me if it all goes in the same place - especially since everyone has a key to that...."

Xander just shrugged, waited for the list, and then went out the door and down the back stairs.

*

After Xander was gone, Spike spoke up, "Been waiting for that, you know? Boy always had a lot of pride. It must have been kicked good and hard for it to take this long for him to pick himself up."

Wes's face showed a mixture of confusion, guilt, regret and the determination to do something, anything, to try to correct a situation that he had very little control over. Between what Xander had gone through in Sunnydale, then with Angel, Wes somehow felt that his own recent - disassociation - had only aggravated Xander's feelings of inadequacy.

Spike pulled Wes onto the couch and held him against his chest, "Shhhh.... 's okay, love..."

"God, I want to believe that..."

"Believe it. I talked to him... told him... well... a bit about what's been going on. Hope you don't mind...." Spike hastened to add, "Not about us though... didn't want... Well... that's something we'd do together, yeah?"

"Definitely - I don't think the reaction's going to be one either of us should endure alone...and Xander might appreciate not having to repeat the conversation, to be fair."

Wesley's words, somehow, lifted a burden off of Spike as well. In spite of knowing that Wes cared about him... well... it wouldn't have been the first time he'd been someone's guilty secret, and a part of him was glad that Wes couldn't see the relief on his face.

"Boy's not stupid though, Wes... in spite of what he shows most of the time. Might just have a clue, ya know?"

"I'd imagine he does...but there's a difference between thinking you know something - and being made to face up to it." Wes smiled wryly, "It never brings out the best in people."

"Yeah... but sometimes... you can be surprised. Xander's been... better... in spite of that little..." Spike jerked his chin towards the window that Xander had opened.

"Under any other circumstance, that would have been pretty bloody funny, to be honest..." Wes laughed a bit. "You know, he really has helped. Quite considerably. I was wondering...if perhaps we could offer him a job here?"

"Can, love... Don't know if he'd take it though. As soon as Angel... or we... come up with something that might be helpful to the Slayer...he'll be off back to SunnyD..."

"Yes, of course. God, believe me, I understand his reasoning - and admire his loyalty, but....damn it, I could happily thump Rupert at times." Wes shook his head.

"And I'd sell tickets..."

"Think you'd make money?"

"No questions..." Spike asserted. "Of course, afterwards I'd have to shag you bleedin' blind....."

That sent Spike back to his "happy spot". Wes, all flashing eyes and tight jaw, kicking the crap out of Giles... or preferably someone else, because, well, he'd always, actually kind of liked Giles - though he'd never admit it.

With that image in his head, he snuggled down holding Wes against him... and giving a yawn, "Sorry... bit knackered... someone sucked my brains out not too long ago...."

"How inconsiderate of them..." Wes kissed him briefly, "Go to sleep."

"You first..."

"No, you..."

"Git...." Spike pulled Wes closer, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"Idiot..." Wes made himself more comfortable, his arms around Spike.

"Sod..." Spike wrapped one hand around Wes' wrist and sighed contentedly.

"Pr..." A yawn interrupted the last insult, "Prat..."

And with that, the demon couch pulled them into sleep, placing dreams of comfort and companionship in their heads, with no regard to the outside world or any consequences.

*

One of the best things about being asleep, Wesley decided, was being mostly asleep, enough to be just about under and yet driftingly aware that someone else, pity them, poor awake person, was doing something. Probably something unnecessarily energetic, and definitely something he felt no urge to help them with.

It would have been nice, really, if they had just kept on doing it and not tried to include him. He mumbled a hopefully appropriate response, and tried to push himself further down into layers of obliviousness.

Sadly, they weren't giving up. Wesley made a noise which was hopefully indicative of his extreme displeasure and refusal to wake up, and tried to get back into the wonderful feeling of all being right with the world that had been so pervasive only moments before.

"Wessss....esssss. Wow."

"Stop hissing at me," he grumbled in response, and tried to bury himself between Spike and the couch.

"Not...." Spike said with equal irritation, and what price vampire hearing now , wondered Wesley, as he was pulled in tighter, Spike's hand still locked on his wrist, centring in on his pulse even now, and that was a source of unexpected, twisting sorrow to Wesley, waking him up almost completely.

Feeling more awake than he wanted to, and quite definitely cranky, he pointed out, "Well, someone is...." Reluctantly, he opened one eye, and was tempted to shut it again almost immediately. Reality, however, being one of those things that had to be faced whether he felt like it or not, he conceded its presence with a mild curse. "Oh. Bugger." He sighed. "Hello, Xander."

And in most worlds, that would have been enough to alert Spike, but this being the one Wesley had to inhabit, of course it didn't. Instead, he slid one hand up under Wesley's shirt, his fingers rubbing at the sleep-warmed skin there, and muttered -

"Don' wanna bugger Xander.... not my type..."

This made Xander blink almost as much as a sleep-immobilised Wesley was doing, though it was unclear as to whether he was reacting to Spike's wandering hands or the comment.

"Hello..." he said eventually, and then, recovering somewhat, "and.. uh...yes... don't think I'm not grateful for that little titbit..."

Oh, dear God. Of all the ways Wesley had imagined the forthcoming conversation to begin, this had not been one of them. He turned his attention back to Spike's impression of an amorous octopus, and stopped him moving with one firm hand. "Um, Spike? Stop. Seriously. I meant hello, Xander as in hello Xander who is standing right here with an expression like a stunned goldfish...."

And that was probably not the most tactful thing he could have said, but really, he must have only managed twenty minutes doze at the most, and it wasn't helping either his thought processes or his ability to remain tactful. He looked up, and mustered an expression of apology. "Ah, sorry," he added, because who wanted to be compared to a goldfish, even if they were standing there with their mouth open and looking decidedly fish-like?

*

Spike, apparently deciding that it was his job to try and retrieve the situation, was blinking and shifting away and mumbling, pushing himself into a sitting position in the corner of the couch. "Know I'm a right catch and everything, Percy, but you'll just have to keep your hands to yourself...."

Wesley wondered if he could have said anything more obviously insincere, and quite aside from his re-surfacing irritation at being compared to a character in a children's book, this wasn't something he was intending to play along with. Before he could intervene, however, Xander was jumping on the interpretation being offered to him as though it were a lifeline.

"It's okay, Wes..." he said quickly, and apparently he thought the apology was for the situation, and not for the comment, because he continued, "I know you haven't been sleeping well..." He scowled at Spike, adding, before Wesley could get his brain to move fast enough to jump in and stop him, "Babysitting the not-so-evil undead probably isn't helping much...."

"Xander." Wesley cut across him ruthlessly. "Stop talking. Close your mouth. Rewind your brain and start again. And think very, very carefully before you say anything else." Watching carefully as Xander, looking a bit surprised, actually did so, he struggled into a more dignified and upright position, wondering suddenly if Xander had a point about the couch's demonic properties, even as he was adding, "And Spike...don't, all right? Just - don't. It's fine."

He didn't have to look at Spike to tell how relieved he must currently appear, the almost-nuzzle and whispered "Thanks, love...".in his ear enough to tell him that his instinct to refuse to allow any escape from this had been the right one. He leant back against Spike, keeping his face calm, simultaneously lending warmth and keeping the other man in place.

Xander was still frowning. He had obviously taken Wesley's advice to heart, but was just as obviously confused as to how he should apply it. "Uh... Wes?" he began, before coming to a stop, apparently not even sure himself as to what he was going to ask.

Wesley tried, and failed, to stifle a yawn. "Sorry," he mumbled, before saying with what even he could recognise was somewhat less than helpfulness - "Whatever you want to ask, try and do it in English, not Californian? I really am not up to a translation...."

It was almost amusing to watch Xander consider one thing, pause, and consider again. "So... Spike had another one of his...." He waved a hand in what could have been an apology for what he was about to say, an attempt at description, or the universal sign for 'making a sandwich' "...flights of insanity?" he finished, his expression ridiculously hopeful.

"Thank you for that," Wesley said dryly, "but under the circumstances, I'm really hoping not."

Xander looked a bit more confused at that answer, but tried another tack with what was almost starting to become amusing optimism. "Then... you were working and just nodded off and.... this happened?" He frowned at that, looking at the couch's occupants with an expression that quite clearly said he realised their current position didn't fit this scenario.

Wesley rolled his eyes, and gave up on any hopes he had begun to have that Xander was going to make the obvious connection on his own. "It's like pulling teeth - Xander, I know you aren't this stupid. No, I did not sleepwalk my way into this. Yes, it is exactly what it looks like. And if you feel in need of a drink, there's a bottle of whisky in the delivery order. Anything else?"

And hopefully, that covered everything. Except, he realised as Xander started pacing the small living room, of course, it didn't.

"So... it's a spell then.... or thrall. I know Drusilla could do thrall... so maybe Spike.... And then Dracula with the bugs and yuck... And or maybe...." He finally stopped and turned back to Wesley, finally taking the advice about thinking before he started speaking seriously. "Uh... and I've just taken a complete trip to Cairo, haven't I?" he asked, sitting down on the arm of the couch.

Wesley, who had felt his eyes get a bit wide as he tried to follow the thought processes, blinked again, and tried to find an appropriate response to that. "It was - comprehensive, yes." he said eventually. "Are you back? Because no, none of the above. Choice."

Xander slumped. "Back.." he agreed, "but confused." He looked at Spike... then at Wesley... then back at Spike, before apparently deciding what approach he was going to take. "I.... Okay... I have 18 million things popping into my head and I'm trying to sort through them all to come up with the one that will make me sound the least stupid..."

Spike, his voice soft, and very obviously making every effort not to antagonize Xander, was the one to try and struggle with that one. "Just got lucky this time, Xander... Fell for someone who didn't treat me like dirt.... even though I am..."

Wesley turned abruptly, dislodging Spike's arms, and looking straight at him. "Spike...I mean it. Stop." He kept his voice quiet, the tone for Spike alone, an illusion of privacy in the midst of observance "Not that. Never that." He brought one hand up to touch Spike's face, reconnecting through touch in a way no tone of voice could ever accomplish. "All right?" he asked softly, feeling the almost infinitesimal nod against his palm before Spike turned back to Xander, continuing his explanation.

"That's it, ya see, Xander. Wes knows me. Knows all the horrible things I've done... Knows what I could still be capable of... But... well... He also knows what I want to be. What I'm working towards."

Xander's response was horribly predictable. "Okay... I can get why you'd want to be with Wes... but..." he turned to Wesley, looking genuinely perturbed. "But Wes...how can you trust this? Yeah... a chip and a soul... but people with souls can still lie... can still do bad things..."

Wesley sighed, a little impatiently. "Yes, of course they can, and dozens of religions have tried to find the answer as to why. Having a soul isn't what makes someone worth trusting, Xander, it's who they are and what they do that makes that possible. I don't trust Spike because he had some piece of godforsaken technology in his head, or because he has a soul. I feel as I do because of who he is. Can you possibly understand that?" Because that's the most you're going to get out of me on the subject. I will not have my emotions dissected for the sake of an explanation you might find acceptable.

It was obvious that a million objections were running through Xander's head, and Wesley could only guess at what they might be - things about Spike and Buffy... things about the past...perhaps the girl who had once been a demon - Anya? "I do know what it's like to care about someone who... well... has things in their past that are horrible...." he said, and then looked at Spike, as if, just then, getting the correlation for the first time. "So...I'll try to understand, Wes. Or at least... keep my mouth shut."

*

"Yes, of course they can, and dozens of religions have tried to find the answer as to why. Having a soul isn't what makes someone worth trusting, Xander, it's who they are and what they do that makes that possible. I don't trust Spike because he had some piece of godforsaken technology in his head, or because he has a soul. I feel as I do because of who he is. Can you possibly understand that?"

Could Xander understand Wes loving... or at least caring... about Spike? A heartfelt, "NO!" was the first thing that came into his head. This was Spike. Spike, the crazy serial killer, who actually bragged about it. Spike, who had tried to rape Buffy. Spike, who had slept with his Anya. Spike who....

Yeah... Spike who had helped them so steadfastly when Buffy was dead. Who watched over Dawn in his own... unusual but effective way. Who, granted, had been a pain in Xander's ass for more years than he'd like to think about, but who now had a soul and was trying to... trying to what? Make up for years of wrong-doing by working with Wes?

Xander suspected every motivation that Spike had... But...

His mind whirled. Spike had said a few things since Xander had been in L.A. that made him think he had quite a few things wrong about the Vampire. First... what he'd said about Buffy. That she hadn't really fought him... and that was just... wrong. Buffy had kicked Spike's butt many times before... Why had that time been different? And second? Well, he'd seen how torn up Spike had seemed about Wesley running out that night. How worried. And not just because, for some strange reason, Wes seemed to be the only one who had taken the trouble to help anchor Spike in reality after he became Soul Boy the second.

And, just exactly why the Hell had he done that in the first place? Xander hadn't asked that question yet. Hadn't wanted to hear Spike lie and say it was all for Buffy. But then... if it had been for Buffy, why wasn't Spike in Sunnydale instead of L.A. with Wes?

No! No! Spike was no good and having a soul didn't make him any better. Spike was still the same evil, manipulative, bastard that had the nerve to get Anya drunk and sleep with her. And that was..... Yeah... not really any of his business, since by that time he had already left Anya. Anya who had tried to go back to being a Vengeance Demon... but that didn't work out either... She had become too human. After hundreds of years of wrecking havoc on unfaithful husbands and lovers... Anya couldn't do it anymore. She had gotten the taste of what love and friendship could be like and vengeance no longer had the same appeal. She was working with Buffy and fighting on the side of humanity.

Just like Spike was trying to do.

Oh, God... just like Spike was trying to do....

"I do know what it's like to care about someone who... well... has things in their past that are horrible..." Xander looked at Spike, then down at the floor. "So... I'll try to understand, Wes. Or at least... keep my mouth shut."

"That's - decent of you." Wesley's mouth twitched, not altogether in amusement. "Thank you."

"Look, Wes.... I know... I.... this is all a shock to me... I mean you... and.... " Xander waved his hand at Spike. "And you can't know everything.... and.... "

Spike snarled at that point, patience running thing, "I have a name, prat!"

Wes rubbed his hands over his face, "And it was all going so well...mere excruciating embarrassment...oh, Xander, for God's sake! Of course I don't know everything, who the bloody hell does?" Wes's voice got very sharp. " I reserve the right to choose who I love without the benefit of omniscience, just like everyone else! And if you're going to try and understand, as you claim, then begin with a little civility, would you?"

Xander opened his mouth... shut it... opened it again, "Yeah... yeah... you're right... Sorry, Wes."

"Sorry, Spike..." And, really, there wasn't too much of a sneer in that last.

"It's okay, Xanderrrr..." was Spike's reply with only a little more sneer there.

"Oh, good." And there was only the slightest trace of sarcasm in Wesley's voice.

"Now... all that's settled. Was a nice dream you interrupted. Going back to it..." And with that, Spike pulled Wes back against him, sliding his hand back underneath Wes' shirt.

"I'm sure you can find something to do....Xander." Spike shut his eyes.

"Uh... yeah.... " The look on Xander's face said quite clearly that he sooo didn't want to know just what that dream involved and... uh no, he was not embarrassed by the "almost" groping.. no... not at all.

"Which, in the vague hope of promoting goodwill and peace for all mankind, can be achieved in the bedroom," Wesley sighed, and extricated himself from the couch, dragging Spike after him.

Spike just barely managed to look back over his shoulder and waggle his eyebrows at Xander, before Wes shut the door behind them.

And I'll just turn the TV on.... real loud.... Because... so not wanting to hear whatever they might be doing in there besides sleeping.

*