Open Season

by Wesleysgirl

Part 2

Now that he'd been at the hotel for most of the day, Doyle wasn't wondering if Angel was avoiding him -- he knew. He'd tried a couple of times to start a conversation, only to have Angel stammer and make some flimsy excuse and disappear to 'do something.' The weirdest thing was that Angel wasn't mad at him -- it was more like he was worried, because when he was making his excuses his voice was too friendly, too cheerful.

It was enough to drive Doyle batty.

Finally, he managed to corner Angel alone. Fred was up in her room, Cordelia had taken the day off, and Gunn and Wesley had gone on some kind of weapons supply run. Angel'd made the mistake of going into the office, so Doyle stood in the doorway and waited to be noticed.

Angel closed the drawer he'd been looking in and stood up. "Oh," he said, glancing at Doyle and then back down at the folder in his hands. "Um, hey."

"There some reason you're avoiding me?" Doyle figured it was best to take the bull by the horns.

"What? I'm not." Angel looked down at the folder again. "I'm not avoiding you."

"Bull. Other than our casual little 'fill me in on what's been happening' chat yesterday, you've hardly said two words to me."

"That's not true."

"Angel, come on, man. I thought we were friends. At least be honest with me." Doyle was starting to wonder if he really did want to know what was going on.

"I am. Being honest."

"Uh huh." Doyle crossed his arms and leaned on the door frame, trying his best to look like he had all the time in the world.

Angel met his gaze, finally, and then sighed and sat down on the edge of the desk. "I'm not good at this."

"You're tellin' me. Look, whatever it is, just spit it out. You want me gone?"

"What? No!" Angel dropped his folder agitatedly, his face creased with concern. "No."

"Then what?"

"I guess... I guess I was so busy thinking about saving Cordy that I didn't think about what it would be like to have you back."

"And now that I am, I'm crampin' your style?" Doyle shifted his weight, watching Angel for something -- anything -- that'd give him a clue as to what the vampire was thinking.

Angel shook his head. "I forgot."

"Forgot what?" Okay, getting to the point now where he'd strangle the guy if it'd make a difference.

"How, you know... things were. Between you and Cordy."

This provided the tiniest glimmer of clarity. "Me and Cordy. You forgot that I had a thing for her? Jeez man, color me offended." Doyle put a hand over his heart. "Guess I didn't mean too much to you, if you'd forget all the times I asked you to put in a good word for me."

"Not that," Angel said, frowning. "I meant... how she felt about you."

"Disgusted and annoyed?"

Angel's frown deepened. "No. Well okay, yeah, but that was before."

"Before I inadvertently passed on a terrible burden to her, and then went out in a literal blaze of glory?" Doyle thought that somewhere along the line, Angel's perception of the situation had gotten seriously skewed. "Because yeah, I can see why after that she'd be feeling all warm and glowy when she thought of me."

"She had feelings for you before that." Angel's voice was quiet and a little bit gravelly. "It took her a while to figure it out."

Now Doyle was the one wanting to sit down, and it seemed less likely that Angel was going to try to run off in the middle of their little talk, so he went further into the room and sank down on one of the wooden chairs. "Okay, so for whatever reason, last night's little argument notwithstanding, you think Cordy's still got feelings for me? Is that what you're saying?"

Angel glanced down, then back up. "Yeah."

"And that would be a problem why?"

For a few seconds, Doyle thought that Angel was on the edge of tears. There was something about his eyes -- deep and dark and soulful, and wow wasn't *that* an appropriate word -- that begged Doyle to understand without his having to explain.

"Oh," Doyle said, the reality hitting him like a punch to the gut. "*You've* got feelings for her." He thought back to the night before in the club -- the way Angel had been watching Cordy, the way Cordy had gone over and drawn a smile out of the vampire like that was an easy thing to do.

"I didn't mean to," Angel said, his voice pained. "I don't even know how it happened. And I can't -- I mean, I know I can't. *You* know I can't. And I don't want to stand in your way, if you want to -- "

"Angel." Doyle interrupted because listening to Angel go on about it was just going to hurt him too. "Jesus man, you think I'd go after her knowing that you want her? What kind of a friend do you think I am?"

There was a long pause before Angel answered. "The good kind," he said quietly, looking into Doyle's eyes with an intensity that took his breath away. "The kind that wants her to be happy."

"But... Angel..." Doyle didn't know what to say. There had to be a way. Didn't there? "I know the fleshy thing didn't work out so well for ya the last time, but... perfect happiness, that's hard to come by. Isn't there some way you could have, I don't know, pretty-decent-happiness?"

Angel stood up and picked up his folder from the desk, walking past Doyle and to the doorway. He paused and turned his head slightly so that Doyle could hear him. "Look, just... take care of her, okay? Whatever she wants. She deserves it."

There wasn't any argument to that, so Doyle let him go.

* * * * *

"We're back!" Gunn's voice rang through the lobby as he and Wesley came down the steps and started to unload their purchases onto the counter.

Doyle appeared from inside Wesley's office. "Hey, how's it goin'?"

Wesley smiled at him. "How are you? Any visions?"

"Not a one," Doyle said, with what Wesley thought was gratitude. "Spent some time looking through the filing system. You know, trying to get reacquainted with the business."

"Good. If you have any questions, just ask." Wesley unpacked a handful of polishing cloths and opened the weapons cabinet, tucking them into the box where they were stored. "I'm sure it's not all that different from before."

"Are you kidding? Have you *seen* Cordy's filing?" Doyle grinned. "This is like a whole new animal. Real alphabetical order and everything."

Gunn took a short length of heavy chain out of one bag. "Angel around?"

"He was here a while ago," Doyle said, eyeing the chain. "You gonna beat him up? Because a wee bit of holy water'd work a hell of a lot better."

"It's to fix his heavy bag," Gunn explained, with the little smirk that Wesley knew was his acknowledgment of humor. "Well, guess I'll just go down and do it for him."

Wesley finished unpacking the supplies while Doyle watched. "It won't take you long to get back into the swing of things," he said.

"Probably not," Doyle agreed, and then Wesley caught something from the corner of his eye, a twitch that was unique and yet also disturbingly familiar. He turned in time to see Doyle clutching the edge of the counter, the heel of his hand pressed to his temple. "Oh shit," Doyle muttered, just before he fell.

* * * * *

He'd forgotten how a vision was like a freight train through your skull. No, not a freight train, one of those super-fast ones, like a speeding bullet. No, that was Superman. There was the long, excruciatingly painful moment in which he knew it was coming, in which he knew that there was nothing he could do to stop it. He had enough time to acknowledge it, and to mutter a curse, and then it slammed into him.

Flames. Running their way up a curtain that had little bunnies and kittens on it -- was that Beatrix Potter? The smell was wrong, sulfur and ash that shouldn't be there, not in that room, not there. He could hear the crackle of the flames, see edges of pale yellow wallpaper curling up and turning black, see tiny cinders floating in the air like dust motes, and it was all wrong.

Doyle could feel his body spasm, the back of his already-battered shoe hit the floor hard, but it was all dim, like it was happening to someone else. The vision was what was real.

A crib, and the flames were spreading across the wall, and there were small choking sounds now. His chest felt tight, and it was too warm. The sense of panic, of wrongness, was building.

Green house. Ranch. 54 Jackson.

On the windowsill was perched a creature -- some kind of lizard, but too big, the size of a dog. Webbed feet, and skin that mottled from red to green, and a long black tongue that lolled out like it would have been laughing if it could have. The lizard turned its head and made a rasping sound, and another gout of fire spouted from its mouth and added a new set of flames to the curtain.

Someone was saying something, but he couldn't understand what it was.

Fire. The distant sound of very high-pitched beeping, but the knowledge that it was too late. All wrong, too late. He couldn't breathe the air, his lungs were seared with it, burning. Too hot, too hot, too hot, burning BURNING --

Then it was over, and the tile floor was hard, but someone softer was holding him, a supportive arm around his back, a hand on his shoulder.

"Fire," Doyle choked, shuddering as the reality of it pressed against him again, reminding him. "Jesus. Jesus Christ." He felt sick.

"All right, just take some deep breaths, you're all right." Wesley's voice was soft too.

"Where the *fuck's* Angel?" Doyle asked, just before the sound of footsteps came thundering up, too loud and echoing in this place that was safe when somewhere else wasn't.

Angel's hand on his other shoulder, gripping. "I'm here. What was it?"

God, he was gonna be sick. Pulling away from both of them, Doyle rolled, curling his body so that his knees and elbows were supporting his weight against the floor. The marble tile was cold against his forehead, and that along with a couple of deep breaths helped the moment pass. "Fire," he repeated, swallowing the bile that lingered at the back of his throat. "54 Jackson Street. Green house."

"No offense, but isn't that a job for the fire department?" Gunn's voice asked.

Doyle pushed himself up onto his knees and looked at them. "There's a demon -- some kind of fire lizard or something. It's not big but it, you know," he had to stop and clear his throat, "breathes fire." He met Angel's eyes. "It's a baby's room."

Angel nodded brusquely. "Wes? Any idea what this thing is?"

Moving to a crouched position from his previously kneeling one, Wesley looked at Doyle, his expression serious. "Was it the size of a rat terrier? Red, with a green underbelly?"

Doyle wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. He could still taste the soot on his tongue, smell the scorching wallpaper glue. "Webbed feet."

"Filanticium demon." Wesley nodded decisively, as if he didn't have any doubt. "They move quickly, but they're very susceptible to water. If you wet them down well, they're immobilized and incapable of producing fire."

Angel stood up. "Okay, I'm thinking this'd be one of those times when it would be handy to have a *water* thrower instead of a flame thrower."

Gunn shook his head. "Not a problem. Got those Super Soakers in the back of my truck. Quick stop to fill 'em up, and we're good to go."

"Super Soakers?" Angel looked confused.

"Big-ass squirt guns?" Gunn tried to clarify, and when Angel still looked mystified, added, "Used to put the holy water in 'em?"

"Oh, right." Angel went to the weapons cabinet and took out a sword, then paused and looked from Doyle to Wesley. "Gunn and I can handle this one," he said with authority. "Keep an eye on him?" It was clear that he was talking to Wesley.

"Of course," Wesley said.

Doyle didn't have the energy to protest, but he managed to struggle to his feet as they left. He leaned heavily against the counter, resting his head on his forearm, just concentrating on breathing and *not* throwing up.

After a minute, he felt a warm hand on his back. "Can I get you anything? Water? Aspirin?" Wesley's voice was a study in gentleness.

"Bottle of scotch?" Doyle suggested wryly, not moving.

"I'm sure there's some around here somewhere," Wesley agreed, not moving either. His hand slid up and down Doyle's spine, then back and forth across his lower back in small circles. "Do you really think it would be the best option?"

"Might make me care less," Doyle muttered. His gut twisted again, and he tried concentrating on breathing through his nose.

There was a pause in the gentle circling. "You don't want that," Wesley said. "I *am* sorry that your re-acquaintance with the visions had to start with something so unpleasant, but I can tell you're not the sort of person who wants to stop caring." Wesley's hand slid across Doyle's back and then up his side, and Doyle stopped thinking about his stomach for just a second as, to his surprise, other body parts reacted to the intimacy of the touch.

"I'd go with 'Why did it have to be fire?' but that's a little too Indiana-Jones for me," Doyle said, trying to inject some kind of warmth into his voice despite the pounding in his head, not sure he was ready to try to puzzle out why Wes touching him seemed to be turning him on. Maybe it was just some kind of after-vision body weirdness.

He heard the sound of the front door swinging open, and turned so that he could see who it was. Cordy was wearing a short skirt and a low-cut blue blouse and she looked like she'd taken some care with her appearance. "Hello! Look who managed to come into work despite her raging hangover!" Cordelia sounded like she was forcing herself to be cheerful.

Wesley's hand stopped touching him. "Cordelia, it's almost seven o'clock. I'd hardly get too excited about the fact that you managed to make your way to the office nearly ten hours late."

"Geez, and I thought *I* looked bad," Cordy said, eyeing Doyle critically. "You didn't seem this drunk last night. Or are you trying to get a jump on tonight's binge?"

"He had a vision," Wesley said shortly, patting Doyle's shoulder one more time and starting to walk toward his office. "I'll leave you two to talk."

Cordy waited until Wesley was gone before she smiled at him, a little bit apologetically, and came over to touch his arm. "You okay?"

He'd been doing his best to pretend that the night before hadn't happened -- it was bad enough knowing what the visions had done to Cordy without having her yell at him about it -- but it was probably better to get it over with. "Yeah." He eyed her shoulder bag. "Got any of those pills in there?"

"No." She glanced down at the floor, then back up at him. "Besides, weren't you the one telling me that they were all addictive and serious and stuff?"

"Guess it's different when you're talking about your own head," Doyle admitted, then pointed over at the couch. "Think we could sit down?"

"Sure."

Once they were settled -- Doyle slouched down with his head resting on the not-padded-enough back of the couch, Cordy turned so that she was half-facing him -- Cordy sighed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "About last night. I shouldn't have flipped out on you like that."

"As far as flips go that one was pretty mild, Princess." Doyle rolled his head to the side so that he could look at her. She was just as gorgeous as ever -- at least two years as the spokesperson for the PTB hadn't changed that.

"Yeah, but it was you." Cordy was genuinely upset.

"You've got every right to be mad at me. If I hadn't kissed you none of this would have happened."

Cordelia's eyes searched his. "I promised myself that if it worked -- if we got you back -- that things would be different. That even if we couldn't make the visions do the magical version of musical chairs, I'd make sure that I didn't do, you know, that thing I do."

"What thing?"

"That thing where I say stuff without thinking first and hurt the people I care about?" Her head was tilted to the side, a tiny crooked smile on her lips.

"Oh right, that thing." Doyle smiled back at her. "It's okay. Really."

Cordy's grin became genuine. "Really?"

"Yeah." He reached out and patted her knee.

"So..." Cordy started to dig around in her purse. "You want some aspirin?"

"That'd be great." Doyle accepted the pills and washed them down with the bottle of water that Cordy handed him, then closed his eyes as his stomach protested the intrusion. "Forgot how much this sucks," he said, after a few more deep breaths.

He felt Cordy's fingers brush through his hair soothingly. "What was it?"

"Fire," he said. "Some kind of lizard demon thing -- Wesley knew what it was -- in a baby's room." He kept his eyes closed, trying to let Cordy's touch smooth away the memory. It was nice to pretend that it might, even though he knew he was only fooling himself.

There was a noise off to the side, and Doyle turned his head to see Wesley hesitating in the doorway to the office. "I don't want to interrupt," Wes said, "but I found this picture, and I thought it would be good to verify... if you didn't mind..."

Doyle pushed himself to a more upright sitting position and gestured at the book Wesley had in his hands. "Let me see."

Wesley came over and put the book into Doyle's lap.

"Yeah, that's it." No question about it -- that was the thing he'd seen. Impressed by how quickly Wesley'd been able to find a picture of the thing, Doyle grinned up at him and offered the book back. "Too bad you weren't around back in the day. Woulda been a sight better than Demons, Demons, Demons."

Wesley and Cordy both looked confused at that, which was a fresh reminder that to Cordy it really *was* back in the day, and not a matter of weeks like it seemed to him. Wes was looking at him with an expression that might have been understanding, even though Doyle couldn't figure how that was possible.

"Look, I'm gonna go home -- I just kinda stopped in to apologize. Call me if anything happens?" Cordy stood up, and then paused and gave Wesley a meaningful glance.

"Oh! I just need to, er, put this back where it belongs." Wesley retreated quickly to the office, leaving them alone again.

"So I was kind of thinking," Cordelia started.

"Only kind of?"

Cordy frowned and nudged him with her foot. "Would you shut up and let me talk?"

Doyle held his hands up in surrender. "The floor's all yours, Princess. 'Course, that's because standing up's not really an option for me right now..."

"I was thinking that we should talk. I mean, really." Cordy's eyes were dark and unusually soft. "So... do you want to have dinner?"

"It's kinda late," Doyle pointed out.

"I didn't mean tonight. Tomorrow. I'd offer to have you over to my place but... still not so much with the cooking."

"Why does that not surprise me?" It felt natural, poking fun at her like this.

Cordy's eyes widened in mock outrage. "Oh mister, you are gonna be in *serious* trouble if you don't knock it off."

Feigning contrite about as successfully, he thought, as Cordy faked outrage, Doyle said honestly, "I'd love to have dinner with you. You want me to find someplace? I mean, I've been out of the loop for a while, but I could -- "

"No," Cordelia said quickly. "No, that's okay. I'll do it. Eight?"

"You gonna pick me up and bring me flowers too?" Doyle asked, bemused.

Cordy reached out and smacked his upper arm lightly. "No flowers. And you can meet me there. I'll call and let you know."

As Doyle watched her leave, he tried to tell himself that the uncomfortable feeling in his chest was the result of the post-vision hangover. Just more of that body weirdness. That was definitely what it was.

* * * * *

Sunday mornings were generally a bit confusing for Wesley, at least at first. He was so used to getting up to the alarm clock that to be able to wake naturally, on one's own, always seemed... well, *unnatural.*

Sometimes he went back to sleep on Sundays -- never for long, but it felt wasteful not to enjoy the opportunity, even when he'd gone to bed at a decent hour the night before. Other days he got up at the normal time, but allowed himself the luxury of an unusually long hot shower, or an actual cooked breakfast instead of his normal toast and coffee.

This morning, though, he woke to the sounds of cookware being banged about in the kitchen. A glance at the clock showed that it was only half an hour past his normal rising time, so he closed his eyes and sleepily contemplated drifting off for a bit longer. After a few minutes of continued clatter, however, he got out of bed, pulled on his dressing gown, and wandered out to see what all the racket was about.

Doyle was just sliding an omelet onto a plate as Wesley paused in the doorway.

"What on earth are you doing?" Wesley asked, yawning.

"Oh good, you're up. Was just starting to think I'd have to wake you if we wanted to get to the office on time."

"It's Sunday."

Doyle's face fell. "Are you serious? Jesus."

Wesley smiled encouragingly and went into the kitchen, patting Doyle's arm as he passed by on his way to get some juice from the refrigerator. "Don't worry -- I often get up at this time even on Sundays."

"Yeah, but... I should have known."

"I'd imagine you've had much more important things on your mind than what day of the week it is." Wesley poured juice into two glasses and handed one to Doyle. "Besides, it should have occurred to me to remind you. Do you even know what day it was that we brought you back?"

Doyle looked at him blankly for a long moment, then shook his head. "Never thought to ask. And things were so crazy..."

"My point exactly." Wesley looked hopefully at the plates of food sitting on the range top. "Is it safe to assume that one of those is for me?"

"What? Yeah, of course." Doyle took both plates to the table and set them down, then went back for his juice. "So, Sunday, huh?"

"Yes. Is there anything special you'd like to do?" Wesley tried to look casual. He'd overheard Doyle and Cordelia's conversation the evening before, and knew that they had a date that night, but if Doyle hadn't realized that today was Sunday, that meant he probably hadn't made other plans.

Doyle shoveled a huge bite of egg and chopped tomato into his mouth and chewed before answering. "Actually, I was kinda hoping to go shopping. The stuff Cordy bought me's great and all, but it might be nice to show up for dinner in something she *didn't* pick out, you know?"

"Oh." Wesley realized that had sounded a bit disappointed, so he immediately launched into, "Of course. I'm sure we could find you something suitable."

Doyle grinned. "Not sure I want to go quite as far as suitable, but yeah. Angel loaned me some cash until I can get my financial situation straightened out, but some advice on where to go -- not to mention what to buy -- would be fantastic."

Glancing down at his own clothing, Wesley shook his head. "I'm not certain I'm the person you should be taking advice from -- in fact, I'm quite sure Cordelia's first reaction would be to tell you to use me as an example of what *not* to purchase."

"Hey, no," Doyle protested. "I'm not deluding myself, man. I know nothing I pick's gonna be up to Cordy's standards. But I'd rather show up in something *I* chose than in something she bought for me, like I was some kid."

Wesley nodded. "I completely understand. We'll find you something. Perhaps at the mall."

Doyle swallowed and took a gulp of juice, then got up to pour coffee. While his back was still turned to Wesley, he said, "And Angel said some time in the next couple days we'll find a room for me at the hotel. Get me out of your hair."

"I see," Wesley said slowly, not unaware that he sounded distant. Even in a few days' time he'd gotten rather used to having Doyle around, and although admittedly the man wouldn't be comfortable sleeping on a sofa bed forever, it hadn't occurred to Wesley that he'd be leaving so soon. "Yes, I'm sure you're finding it a bit cramped here."

Doyle turned around with two cups of coffee in his hands and an expression of dismay on his face. "Jesus, don't say it like that."

"Like what?" Wesley wanted to hear what he had to say.

"Like... like you think *I* think your place isn't good enough for me. Or like I can't wait to get away from you." Doyle set a coffee cup down in front of Wesley and stood there, looking at him earnestly. "I just figured, you know... you didn't sign on for a permanent house guest. I've gotta be crampin' your style."

Wesley almost laughed. "My style?"

"Yeah, you know... the ladies and whatnot." Doyle was still standing there, still watching him.

This time he did laugh, but he didn't think it seemed any more genuine than it actually was. "I can assure you that your presence here hasn't affected my lifestyle in any way."

Finally Doyle moved over to sit back down. "So you're not seeing anyone right now?"

"No. There was someone, last year..." Wesley could still recall, faintly, the smell of Virginia's hair. "But it didn't... well. We broke up."

Doyle nodded sympathetically. "And no one since then?"

Wesley quickly took another bite of omelet to give himself time to think of the proper response. "There've been a few people. Here and there. Nothing that lasted longer than a night or two." He winced as he realized that this was probably the proper response only if he wanted to make himself look like a slut, which he most definitely did not. "Not that I wouldn't have liked them to last longer. Oh Lord, do I sound like someone who takes relationships very casually? Because I assure you I'm not that sort of person."

Doyle was watching him again, with that expression that said he understood more than people gave him credit for. "Nah, I kinda guessed that. You seem more like the serious type to me."

"Yes, I suppose that's an accurate description." Not always the most flattering, perhaps, but accurate nonetheless. Maybe this was a good time to change the subject. "We need to talk money," he said briskly.

There was a pause, and then Doyle said awkwardly, "Well Angel had to loan me some so that I could buy clothes -- actually, come to think of it, he probably paid for the ones Cordy bought too. But I'm sure he'd float me some more... I mean, I hadn't even thought about all this food -- " He gestured at the plate in front of him.

Wesley caught the misunderstanding almost immediately, and interrupted. "No, no, that's not what I meant at all. I was talking about a salary. *Your* salary."

"Oh. Right." Doyle didn't seem any less awkward now that Wesley had explained. In fact, he looked embarrassed. "Look, you don't have to pay me. I mean the visions were my gig to start with -- just because they ended up being all connected to Angel and his redemption thing doesn't mean you should, you know, feel obliged to -- "

Again Wesley interrupted, this time making his voice firm. "It's not that I feel obliged, it's that you're doing your share -- arguably more than your share, as any of us fortunate enough *not* to have a direct connection to the Powers That Be would agree -- and you should be fairly recompensed. I won't take no for an answer."

Doyle looked at him, his lips twisted slightly in something that didn't look like a grin. "Fine. Yes, then."

"I'm sorry." Wesley felt like an ass. "Of course we can discuss it further if you'd like to. I suppose being forced into employment due to circumstances beyond your control must be... unpleasant."

"It's not that." Doyle poked his leftover food with his fork, moving it around, eyes on his plate. "Guess I just didn't realize how complicated all this was going to be." He looked up and gestured with his fork. "Coming back, I mean."

Wesley nodded, feeling a great deal of sympathy for the other man. "Perhaps you'd like to take some time?" he suggested hesitantly. "Take a room somewhere -- somewhere *not* the Hyperion. Give yourself some space so that you can think without all of us on top of you..." He realized how that last bit might have sounded and felt himself blush.

"No -- last thing I need's time alone. Trust me, my head's not a fun place to be." Doyle's smile was self-deprecating. "'Specially with the PTB making guest appearances." He stood up and took his plate to the sink. "Thanks. For the job, I mean. I appreciate it."

"You already had the job," Wesley said. "Now we're just making arrangements for you to actually be paid for it."

"Right." Doyle came back to the table and picked up his coffee mug. "So... you said somethin' about the mall?"

"Absolutely. If you're sure you trust me."

"Oh, I trust you." Doyle's eyes seemed dark, and Wesley had to wrench his own away.

Flustered, and not sure why, Wesley got up and took his own dishes to the sink. "All right then. Just let me grab a quick shower -- " There was a flash in his head of what Doyle might look like in the shower, small and compact, his skin sleek under the running water, and Wesley realized why he was flustered. "And I'll, er... be ready to go."

Wesley beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom, admonishing himself to get over it. Not only had Doyle shown no inclination of being interested in men -- and every interest in women -- but the man was obviously at the beginning of pursuing, or perhaps reestablishing, a relationship with Cordelia.

In the shower, Wesley tried not to think about Doyle, but it was impossible. He was erect and aching -- if he didn't take care of it he'd be in the bathroom for an hour waiting for it to subside. With one hand braced against the tile wall and the other stroking his cock, he brought himself to a shuddering climax, unable to stop himself from picturing sharp green eyes, from imagining Doyle on his knees...

Guilty and shaken, Wesley toweled dry and put his robe on again.

He was so conflicted that he didn't know whether to look forward to an afternoon with Doyle, or wish it were already over.

* * * * *

"So what d'ya think?" Doyle came out of the changing room and turned around once. He was starting to feel like he'd been doing this for hours. Come to think of it, maybe he had. He didn't have a watch.

"It's nice," Wesley said. "They've all been nice."

"Is that supposed to be helpful?" Doyle crossed his arms.

"I did warn you that I was hardly the most qualified person for this kind of assistance," Wesley said, coming over and uncrossing Doyle's arms for him. He brushed the shirt and tie Doyle was wearing with his palm gently, smoothing out the wrinkles that had no doubt been caused by Doyle's display of immaturity.

"You don't need a doctorate," Doyle pointed out. "Just tell me what you think. This one? Or the blue?"

Wesley hesitated. "This one," he said finally. "Although I think I liked the other tie better. The silver one with the green accents."

"Cool. Thanks." Doyle went back into the booth and started to change back into the clothes he'd worn to the mall. It hadn't taken long to find slacks that fit, but the shirt had been a bit of a challenge because he had a thing about fabric -- well actually, to be totally honest, *Cordy* had a thing about fabric. It wouldn't feel right showing up for their date wearing something she wouldn't approve of. He wanted her happy. After all this time, she deserved it.

"So where are you going tonight?" Wesley's voice asked from the other side of the door.

"I dunno. Cordy said she'd call." He finished hanging the new shirt up and then looked from the tie to the little plastic hanger thing it had come on, trying to figure out how to get it back on. "You probably know the places she likes better than me. Any ideas?"

"Not really. Over the past year or so she's been... well. Less social, I suppose."

Doyle winced and opened the door, the shirt hanger in one hand with the tie draped over it. "Yeah, guess I can figure out why." He was trying not to look too closely at the fact that he wasn't as excited about his date with Cordy as he'd have thought.

Wesley took the little plastic clip thing from him and grabbed the tie, starting to thread it back on. "You really need to stop blaming yourself," he said, his eyes on what he was trying to do.

"Someone else I should be blaming?" He sounded just as bitter as he felt.

"The Powers That Be?" Wes suggested, handing the little tie hanger back over to Doyle. "Certainly they're the ones who allowed the visions to be transferred in the first place."

"Yeah, but if I hadn't kissed her, this never -- " Doyle stopped at the stern look Wesley was giving him.

"This sort of self-flagellation isn't going to help her, you know." Wesley's voice was gentle, belying his expression. "If you want to make things better for her, you need to focus on the future. On *her* future, now that she has one again. Beating yourself up over something that was out of your control will only make things worse."

Doyle found himself looking into Wesley's eyes -- the blue of them was almost hypnotizing. In that moment, he felt like he'd have agreed to anything Wesley suggested. "Yeah." He shook his head, trying to clear it. "Yeah, you're right. It's just... well, I guess guilt's something I got pretty good at."

"So it would seem." Wesley smiled, and reached out to squeeze Doyle's shoulder. "Now it's something you'll have to unlearn."

As they headed out of the changing area and back into the large department store, Doyle asked plaintively, "Think they have classes in *that?*"

* * * * *

Doyle was nervous, and he was telling himself that it was a good kind of nervous -- pleasantly anxious, those were the words. Excited. Yeah, that was it. He'd taken a cab to the restaurant -- thank god for Angel and his willingness to loan money -- and now he was waiting at the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand that he wanted to be drinking but couldn't quite bring himself to. Trying not to think about Angel, and how much his friend would probably have given to be here in his place.

He was sitting with a clear view of the front door, so when it opened and an older couple came in followed by Cordelia, he saw her right away. He stood up automatically, drink still in hand.

Christ, she was gorgeous. He missed the long hair -- although he'd refrained from telling her so -- but even with it shorter, she was a stunner. And the way she smiled when she saw him was enough to melt his heart.

"Hi," she said as she came up to him, and then gave a little spin to show off her slinky dress. "What do you think?"

"You're gorgeous. I'll be the envy of every man here."

Cordelia's smile was breathtaking. "Darn right you will." She reached out and ran a finger down his tie. "And look at you with the fancy new duds that I didn't pick out."

"I take it you approve?"

"You look great," Cordy said, nodding her head in emphasis.

"What can I say? I'm a quick learner." That felt a bit like a lie after his earlier conversation with Wesley, but Doyle tried to concentrate on what Wes had recommended -- being focused on the future, instead of the past.

Once they were sitting at the table and had ordered a bottle of wine, Cordelia reached out for his hand. "So how's it going?" she asked, her thumb moving gently over his knuckles. "You know, in your head?"

Doyle shrugged. "So far so good. I'm tough, Princess -- I can take it. Don't worry about me."

"Don't worry about you? That's a stupid thing to say. Of *course* I'm going to worry about you," Cordy said indignantly.

He put his hand over hers. "I just meant... sure, the visions aren't the best fun I've ever had in my life, but they aren't gonna kill me." There'd been times when he sort of wished they would, but strangely those times seemed to be in the past now.

In the past, where Wesley'd said they belonged.

The waiter came back to the table with their bottle of wine, and to Doyle's surprise, Cordy didn't let go of his hand.

"But they seem the same?" she asked, once the waiter had finished pouring and left again.

"The visions?" Doyle shrugged. "Yeah, basically. That first one was a doozy, but then I'm thinking that stuff burnin's always gonna be an issue for me, considering."

She nodded, her thumb making little side-to-side motions across the back of his hand. "But look, you've only been back a few days and already you've saved people. That's gotta feel good, right?"

He thought about the little baby in that crib, the flames licking up the walls. Thought about Cordy lying unconscious on the floor in the wake of her last vision. Her *last* vision.

Doyle smiled. "Yeah. Actually it does."

The rest of their dinner conversation was light and on the casual side, but after all the heavy topics of the past few days that was kind of a relief. Cordy was less animated than Doyle remembered her, but he tried not to dwell on the reasons for that. She was going to be okay -- that was what mattered. He found himself looking at her fondly as she described the plot of a movie to him, realizing that on some level he thought of her as a sister.

"Okay, I'm thinking I need my beauty sleep," Cordy said finally, throwing some money onto the table.

"I can pay for that," Doyle objected, not mentioning that it wouldn't exactly be with his own money.

Cordy smirked. "Angel loaned you some cash, didn't he."

"Well yeah," Doyle said, standing up and sticking his hands in his pockets. "But I'm on the payroll too, all official-like. So I'll be able to pay Angel back, get my own place again..."

"Good. If you have any sense you'll tell Wes you want a bonus for every vision."

They made their way out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk out front. Doyle looked down the street to see if he could spot a cab, but that was when Cordy grabbed onto his shirt front with both hands, pulling him close.

"Well hello," Doyle said. Her eyes were dark and wide, sparkling with warmth and humor.

"I want to show you something," Cordelia said, and leaned in and kissed him.

It was unbearably sweet -- her mouth tasted of wine and, faintly, of lipstick. It was soft and...

She pulled back and looked at him seriously, a little smile playing at the corners of her lips. "See?"

"See... what?" he asked, totally mystified.

"How was that? I mean... how did it feel?"

"It felt amazing, Princess. *You're* amazing." Doyle looked at her, wondering what it was he was missing. "What is it you're gettin' at, here?"

Cordelia rested her palm against his chest. "But did it turn you on?"

"What?" he sputtered. "What are you... of *course* it..." He blinked and thought about it, and realized that if he *had* to think about it, he already knew the answer.

"It didn't," Cordelia answered for him, and then moved away slightly and gestured with her hand at a passing cab. "Come on. We can talk about it on the way home."

He followed her wordlessly into the cab, and blinked again as she cuddled up close to him when the car pulled away from the curb.

"We're friends," she said quietly.

"Of course we are," he agreed.

She tilted her head to look up at him, and her eyes were dark, her face framed by her hair. "You know that I love you, right?"

For a second Doyle thought maybe his heart had stopped. Hearing it was... special. But nope, there it went, thumping along in his chest. "Yeah. I love you, too."

"But not like that." Cordy sighed. "I think it's good, you know? That we both realized it before we got into anything."

He kissed her forehead and smiled, a little bit sadly. "This way we can just be friends? Can't say that was something I was looking forward to hearing, but yeah. You're right. Besides, Angel..." Doyle realized what he'd been about to say and cut himself off, cursing silently.

Cordy waited for him to continue, then said, "Besides Angel what?"

"Nothing." And of course that would definitely be taken as meaning *something,* so Doyle tried to cover it up. "I just meant, maybe he wouldn't be too thrilled to have one of those office romance things going on."

"Angel?" Cordy snorted in disbelief. "He wouldn't notice if one of those office romance things was going on right underneath his nose. Yet another point in favor of you and Wesley, by the way."

"Me and...?" Doyle's brain raced ahead, leaving the thought unfinished, as he realized the assumption that Cordy'd been making all this time.

And realized that it was entirely possible she was right.

Of *course.* The way he'd felt when Wesley touched him. The weird way Wesley had been acting about the whole date thing in the first place, although he had to give the guy credit for doing a good job trying to cover it up. And just before Doyle had left, Wesley had straightened his tie, and there was something about the way they'd been looking at each other that had been...

"Of course you and Wesley," Cordy said, derailing his train of thought. "You think the rest of us haven't noticed the way you two look at each other?"

"The rest of you?"

"Well okay, me and Gunn. And Lorne."

"But not Angel?"

"Again with the not-even-when-underneath-his-nose." Cordy sat up so that she could look him in the eye.

Doyle was confused. "So is that what this was all about tonight? You proving to me that I have a thing for Wesley?"

Cordy nodded, then shrugged. "Well, not just that. Angel's been really pushing the whole me-and-you thing since you got back. He said something about how he forgot how we were together or something, and... I figured either way it'd work out, you know? Either we'd kiss and both be surprised and it'd go somewhere, or... not. And here we are," she finished brightly.

"Angel just wants you to be happy," Doyle told her.

"I know." Cordy's face took on a slightly dreamy look for a second, and Doyle wondered how she could be so astute about someone else's feelings but blind to her own. "The big dork."

"I think you should go back there," Doyle said impulsively. "Tonight. Tell him that things didn't work out between us."

"What?"

"Well like you said, he's been pushing for it. Not fair to let him get his hopes up about us having some kind of fairytale happy ending when that's not in the cards." Doyle wondered if he sounded like a babbling idiot, but there had to be a way. "Go on. How am I supposed to go back to Wes' place and tell him..." He took a deep breath, then said it aloud, "That there's something going on there, knowing that Angel's gonna expect you and me to walk in there tomorrow morning all hand-in-hand?"

Cordy's eyebrows lowered in a frown. "Yeah, you're right," she said, and then grinned as the rest of what he'd said sunk in. "You're really gonna say something to Wesley?"

"If you promise to go and tell Angel." Doyle prayed he wasn't doing the wrong thing, and that Angel would have the sense to tell Cordy how he felt about her once he knew that he wouldn't be standing in anyone's way.

"Okay." Cordy leaned forward to tell the cab driver of the change in plans, then sat back again. "But you'd better not chicken out on me here."

Doyle pictured Wesley in his mind's eye, imagined the touch of his hands. "Don't worry. I won't."

* * * * *

Doyle took a deep breath and lifted his hand, and then another breath before he could make himself knock. He was nervous, but this time it really was the excited kind of nervous.

Wesley's expression when he opened the door was surprised, but there was something underneath it that Doyle wasn't sure he could identify. Wesley frowned. "What happened? Didn't Cordelia turn up?"

"She did. We went out, had dinner, a few drinks. Talked." Doyle stuck his hands in his jacket pocket and stared at Wesley.

"And yet, you're here." Wesley stepped back a little further, and then said, "I'm trying to invite you in. I assume you didn't come back just to report that you weren't going to be spending the night here."

"No. That's not why I came back." He went through the doorway and past Wesley in the apartment.

Wes closed the door and sighed. "No, I'm sorry. I'm being rude. I... well, I wasn't expecting you back -- not so soon, perhaps not at all. Which doesn't mean that you're unwelcome," he continued quickly. "Just a surprise. Can I get you anything?"

"No. Actually, I was hoping we could talk."

"Of course. Come and sit down. Are you sure you wouldn't like a drink?"

Doyle would have loved a drink, but he figured it was probably the last thing he actually needed, if he wanted to get through this conversation without making a fool of himself. "No, really. I'm good."

Wesley gestured at the couch and moved over near a chair himself, not sitting, like he was waiting for Doyle to sit first.

For some reason, that annoyed him. "Y'don't have to be all proper, you know," Doyle grumbled as he sat down. "We're supposed to be friends."

"Do you doubt that we are?" Wesley looked surprised and a little bit hurt, and Doyle's annoyance faded immediately into guilt.

"No." It was his turn to sigh. "Sorry. Geez, we're a pair tonight, aren't we?"

"We certainly seem to be taking the art of conversation to new lows." Wesley lowered himself down onto the edge of the chair. "Was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?"

"Cordy," he blurted out.

Wesley blinked. "You wanted to speak with me about Cordelia?"

Doyle leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs, shaking his head. "No. I mean, Cordy was the one who thought I needed to talk to you."

"Really," Wesley said thoughtfully. "What about?"

Here was the hard part. "She and I, we realized... we aren't meant to be anything more than friends."

"I see."

"That maybe, you know, there was a time when things might have been different. But that time's come and gone. Nothing to do but admit it and move on. As friends."

"Sounds wise." Wes sounded kind of flat, not like himself, but Doyle forged ahead determinedly.

"Yeah. She has her moments -- she's no dummy, our Cordy."

"No, certainly not."

He was starting to wonder if Wesley was even paying attention to this conversation, or if he was having it all by himself. "So I told her maybe we should all move to Madagascar."

Wesley met his eyes and smiled. "I *am* listening, you know."

"Was startin' to wonder, what with all the 'I see's and all." Doyle grinned at him apologetically. "Anyway... like I was saying, Cordy's no dummy. Sometimes she sees stuff that goes right over my head."

"Like what?"

"Like," Doyle swallowed heavily and stood up, took a hesitant step toward Wesley, whose blue eyes were looking into his own, "Like, how I might feel about people."

"She was able to see that your feelings for her were those of a friend, you mean?"

"That, yeah. And that my feelings for... someone else... were -- *are* -- maybe more than just those of a friend. You know what I'm saying?"

Wesley's expression was patient, but didn't give anything away. "She helped you realize that you have romantic feelings for someone that you hadn't been seeing in that light before?"

"Yeah." He couldn't help but grin widely at that. Trust the Brit to dazzle him with his vocabulary. "'Cept she used smaller words."

Standing up himself, Wesley gestured with one hand toward the kitchen without looking away from Doyle. "Are you sure you don't... want anything?"

He took a few steps closer to the taller man. "Oh, I most definitely *do* want something."

"Whatever it is, I'm sure I can get it. For you." Wesley's gaze was still locked on his, but he started to move away.

Doyle put a hand out to stop him, his fingers closing around Wes' wrist. "It isn't anything you need to get," he said slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. "It's you. I think. I mean... this is a first for me."

Wesley froze and looked at him very steadily. "I see," he said again, and took a shaky breath that Doyle could feel beneath his fingers.

"'Course, if you're... not interested, or don't want to... you know, see where it could go, that's okay." Doyle let go of Wesley. "And I hope we'd still be friends, even if you didn't want..."

"Doyle." The accent was more clipped when Wesley lowered his voice to interrupt. "I have to apologize. If there's any reason I've given you to believe that I -- "

But it was his turn to interrupt, as the sinking feeling in his gut when he realized what Wesley was going to say told him exactly how much he had actually wanted this more than anything else could have. "No. No, it's okay, really. No need to be sorry."

"*Doyle,*" Wesley said again. "It's amazing you ever let anyone get a word in edgewise. Will you please let me finish?"

"Yeah, sure." He owed him that much, at least.

"Thank you." Wesley removed his wrist from Doyle's grip, and then slid his own hand up along Doyle's arm to his shoulder. "As I was saying, I owe you an apology if I've given you any reason to think that I wasn't interested."

He blinked. "What?"

"I thought my feelings were rather obvious, actually," Wesley said, with a warm squeeze of his hand. "I had no idea that you weren't aware. In fact, I thought *you* weren't interested."

"Yeah, well... like I said, I didn't exactly realize I was. Chalk one up for the oblivious team, I guess." He grinned ruefully. "So we're both... interested?"

"It would appear so, yes," Wesley said.

"So what happens next?"

"I'm not sure. What would you like to have happen?"

Doyle let his own hand come up and cover Wesley's where it lingered on his shoulder. "I have no idea. Until twenty minutes ago I hadn't even realized how I felt -- it's a bit much to take in all at once, you know?"

"We could sit down and have a drink? Talk?"

He nodded. "Okay."

Wesley went over to a cabinet, got out a bottle, and poured some scotch into two glasses. Handing one to Doyle, he gestured with the other toward the couch and said, "And this would be the part where we actually sit down."

Doyle nodded again. "Right." They both moved over and sat down -- not at opposite ends of the couch, but not quite next to each other, either. For the life of him, Doyle couldn't think of a thing to say. He took a large sip of the scotch, opened his mouth to say something -- anything -- and then took another sip. Finally, he said, "Wow, this sucks."

"I beg your pardon?" Wesley looked almost offended, his eyes slightly wider than usual behind his glasses.

"Not... *this,*" Doyle clarified quickly. "I mean... you know, this whole beginning stuff."

"We could skip it?" Wesley asked. He sipped his own drink and then licked his lower lip thoughtfully; Doyle was temporarily mesmerized. "Just move on to something past the beginning part?"

Not knowing what else to do, Doyle drained the rest of the scotch from his glass in one big swallow and lunged for Wes, grabbing onto his shoulder and kissing him.

It had started out as near-desperation, but that faded almost as soon as his lips touched Wesley's. Sitting, the other man wasn't taller enough for it to make a difference, and once he was past the strangeness of *actually* kissing a guy -- because it wasn't like he hadn't thought about it, sometimes, though Wes himself hadn't figured into those daydreams -- it was just a kiss like any other. But no, that wasn't true. If the kiss with Cordelia earlier had been sweet and even somewhat chaste, this was a liquid nearer to smoke than fire. Smoldering, heady, tasting of the whiskey they'd been drinking.

Doyle pulled back and looked at Wesley -- his eyes seemed darker than usual, though it was probably a trick of the light. His lips were slightly parted and he reached up and took off his glasses, setting them and his glass down on the table next to Doyle's.

"That was... well, I'd have to say that was a first," Wesley said.

"Yeah, me too. Like I said, the whole guy-kissing thing isn't something I've ever put into practice."

Wesley shook his head slightly. "No, I didn't mean that. I've... been with men, before. But I've never had a first kiss like that."

He felt a little surge of pride at that, then said, "Wait. You mean that in a good way, right?"

"Yes."

"Well. Good." Doyle was back at that place of not knowing what to do, but he figured kissing Wes had worked well enough last time, so he leaned in again and gave it another try.

Wesley's shoulder wasn't quite as slender as it looked under his clothes, and he was wiry, sturdy. It didn't feel like anything could break him. Wes' tongue slicked over Doyle's upper lip and he groaned, and then suddenly Doyle's hands were at the collar of Wes' shirt, fumbling with the buttons, shaking with the overpowering desire to feel Wesley's skin under his fingertips.

"Shh," Wesley said, his own hands coming up and stilling Doyle's. "We've plenty of time. Relax." He reached for the tie Doyle had forgotten he was wearing and started to loosen it. "Although I do think you'd be more comfortable without this."

Doyle thought he'd be more comfortable without his pants than without his tie at that moment, but getting rid of any clothing sounded like a good idea, even if it was just the tie. He captured Wesley's lips again with his own, kissing no less desperately in spite of the order to relax. "Jesus, you taste good," he breathed.

Wes had gotten rid of the tie and somehow managed to undo the top couple of buttons of Doyle's shirt, and now he slid his mouth down along the sensitive skin of Doyle's throat, teeth nipping gently.

Gasping and squirming, Doyle grabbed onto Wesley's hair, not hard enough to hurt him, just enough to encourage him to keep doing what he was doing. Wes' hands undid another couple of buttons and pushed the shirt down off Doyle's shoulder, and that warm, wet mouth trailed lower and fastened around Doyle's nipple, tongue flicking over it. "Yeah," he said, squirming again in an attempt to give his cock either some more room or some more friction. Something.

Wesley's hand moved down and the heel of it pressed against Doyle's erection, exactly where he needed it.

Doyle groaned in relief. "Jeez, you weren't kiddin' when you said you'd been with guys."

"Does it bother you?" Wesley straightened, meeting Doyle's eyes.

In response, Doyle pushed his hips up. "Not if it means you're gonna keep touching me like that," he said, aware that he was breathing kind of heavily.

"This is all right? You wouldn't rather... take things more slowly?" Wes' fingers were tracing him through his slacks almost absently, like he didn't realize he was doing it.

Doyle slid his hand around to the back of Wesley's neck and pulled him in close, their noses nearly touching. "This is perfect," he said, with an honesty that made his heart clench in his chest. "I wouldn't want to do it any other way. Or with anyone else." Without waiting for a response, he tilted his head and kissed Wes again.

That kiss seemed to give what had already been set in motion a violent shove forward -- they were struggling with each other's clothes, trying to unbutton and unfasten. Doyle's shirt was on the couch behind him and Wes' was on the floor, and Doyle couldn't believe how fantastic Wesley's skin felt under his hands. Smooth and warm, and somehow familiar.

"We could," Wes suggested between kisses, "move to the bedroom?"

Doyle groaned and held onto the other man tighter. "Don't wanna move," he said, panting. Wesley had unzipped his trousers and slid a hand inside, and was now stroking his cock lightly through the thin cotton fabric of his boxers. And Doyle was trembling, aching. "I think you might be killin' me, here. You don't want a dead man in your bed, do you?" He closed his eyes as he realized the many levels of implications behind those words. "Sorry."

"It's all right," Wesley said. "And no, I rather prefer you this way." Wes kissed him some more, letting Doyle's tongue do whatever it wanted inside his mouth, then pulled back and slid down off the couch onto the floor. His hands yanked impatiently at the waistband of Doyle's slacks, and Doyle lifted his arse up off the sofa to make it easier.

When Wesley licked the head of his cock, Doyle thought he was going to explode right then. He'd been kissing a *guy,* and now said guy was licking his cock, and that talented, talented tongue was tracing its way down to his balls. He wondered how many times Wes had done this, then decided he didn't care as Wesley started to suck on his cock and the pressure began to build to an unbearable level.

"Wes," Doyle gasped, trying to sound a warning.

He knew Wesley must have heard him, but he didn't stop. Doyle's fingers were twisted in Wesley's hair, and his thigh muscles ached with tension that coiled tighter and tighter as Wes' tongue spiraled and the suction increased.

It was too much, and even as a little voice inside Doyle's head chanted that he should try to hold off, he was coming, groaning and throwing his head back onto the couch. He shuddered with the force of it, the heels of his shoes digging into the carpet beneath him, hand still clenched in Wesley's hair.

Wrung out and panting to catch his breath, he forced himself to let go of Wes, letting his arms fall limply at his sides. "Jesus," he said finally.

Wes' expression might have been a tiny bit smug, but there was also something hopeful there. Open, wanting praise, but not willing to ask for it. There was a moment of silence in which Doyle didn't know what to say, and Wes' face fell. "I'm sorry," he said, reaching for his shirt on the floor, and shifting his weight back away from Doyle, suddenly refusing to meet his eyes. "I shouldn't have... it was too soon, you weren't sure..."

Doyle leaned forward and caught Wesley's arm. "Stop. Do you always do this to yourself?"

Uncertainly, Wes glanced up at him. "You're not...?"

"Not what? Pissed off? Feeling taken advantage of?" Doyle shook his head. "No. A little stunned maybe, but not in a bad way." He realized he was three-quarters of the way undressed, and sighed. He shifted his weight and yanked his slacks back up, then pulled on Wes, trying to get the other man to sit on the sofa next to him.

Wesley hesitated, then moved and sat down. "You aren't upset?"

"Not like that." Doyle rubbed a hand over his face. "Look, I'm not gonna lie to ya. There's this tiny part of me that thinks two guys together isn't, you know, nature's way."

"Actually, there are numerous cases of same-sex relationships in nature," Wesley started, eliciting a grin from Doyle. The guy could come up with a scientific explanation for anything.

He held up a hand. "That's great, and seriously, I'd love to hear all about it later. I'm not lookin' for you to make it all okay -- it's just one of those things. And I'm not upset. Christ, only an idiot would be upset after something that amazing."

Wesley smiled shyly. "It was... amazing?"

"Are you kidding?" Despite the conversation that they were trying to have, Doyle had to kiss Wesley again, lingeringly and gently. Reassuringly. "Beyond amazing. Thing is..." he paused, trying to come up with the right words. "It might take a bit of time for me to get totally used to all this."

"I understand." It sounded like something Wesley was saying because he thought he ought to. "And please believe that it wasn't my intention to pressure you into anything. If you'd rather I backed off, I'd be more than -- "

Doyle reached over and put his hand on Wesley's obvious erection, letting his palm rest on the smooth cotton of Wes' slacks.

Wesley's breath hitched slightly in his chest. "Oh," he said.

"You didn't think I was just gonna leave you hanging, did you?" He let his fingers trace the length of Wes' cock lightly, getting himself familiar with the territory.

Wes swallowed heavily, his eyes half-closed. "You don't have to."

"I want to." Doyle liked this look on Wes -- wanton, his lips just a little bit swollen from their earlier kissing. He undid the button on Wesley's trousers slowly, then slid the zipper down and slipped his hand under the waistband of Wes' underwear.

"Oh God." Wes' eyes were closed now, one hand gripping the edge of the sofa cushion like he was trying to hold himself together.

Wesley's cock felt good in Doyle's hand. Hot and heavy, weighted with arousal and pulsing slightly as it got even harder in his grip. "Would this be the time to ask if you want to move to the bedroom?" Doyle asked, expecting Wes would give the same answer he himself had given earlier.

But Wesley surprised him, opening his eyes and looking at him with desire. "I'd love to move to the bedroom. If you're sure?"

Doyle kissed him, then stood up, unable to hide a small grin at the sound of Wes' noise of disappointment at the sudden lack of contact. "I'm sure," he said, toeing off his shoes and leaving them where they fell, and taking Wesley's hand. "Come on."

* * * * *

It felt strange, letting Doyle be the one to lead him to the bedroom instead of the other way around, but Wesley was desperately aroused and willing to let Doyle be in charge. The last thing he wanted was for Doyle to feel that he'd been pressured into any of this.

Once they were next to the bed, Doyle's courage seemed to fail him. "What now?"

Wesley kissed him, running his hands up Doyle's back where the skin was smooth and silky. The smaller man was so pale that he nearly glowed in the dim light. "Anything you want," Wesley said, with their lips still touching.

"Right. Well, what about what you want?" Doyle's hands were pushing Wesley's slacks and underwear down over his hips, and Wesley moved cooperatively, allowing Doyle to undress him. "We could lie down?" Doyle suggested, shoving down his own clothes and letting them fall to the floor. "Seems like a shame to let this big bed go to waste."

Wesley immediately sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Doyle down along with him. "Promise that you'll stop me if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

Doyle snorted, then pushed Wesley down onto the bed and straddled him, causing a groan to rise unbidden from Wesley's chest. "Same here." He kissed Wesley, hard, grinding his body against Wes' insistent cock. "Feeling uncomfortable yet?" he asked, with a little grin.

Wesley groaned again -- it had been rather a long time since he'd been in anything close to this position, and the feel of Doyle's balls and cock and thighs against his own was mind-numbingly good. He was quite certain that in moments he'd lose the ability to speak altogether. "Please," he said, trembling as he tried to retain control.

Doyle's mouth was on his throat, then lower, biting gently at a nipple, and that only made him tremble harder. "Can't say I know what I'm doing here," Doyle said. "But if it's any consolation, I've been told I'm a quick learner. Well, in anything but fashion."

Wesley's chuckle at that turned into a small cry when Doyle's fingers closed around his cock, stroking gently. He could feel Doyle's own cock, hard once more, pressed against his thigh, rubbing there as Doyle touched him. "Fuck me," Wesley said without thinking, and then felt heat in his cheeks that had more to do with embarrassment than arousal as he realized how that must have sounded.

Doyle's hand stilled for what seemed like a very long moment, then resumed its careful stroking. "You want me to?"

"Yes. *Please.*" Wesley could feel himself shaking all over with need.

With a grin that transformed his face, Doyle nodded. "I might need a few pointers," he said. "You have any, you know...?"

"In the bedside table drawer," Wesley said, not knowing if Doyle was asking for condoms or lubricant, although it didn't matter, as the answer was the same either way.

He could see Doyle's hands trembling a little bit as well, as he got out the necessary supplies and rolled on a condom. Somehow, it made Wesley feel better that they were both unsure -- they were in this together.

Wes gasped as Doyle teased him with a slick finger. For a man with no admitted homosexual experience, he certainly seemed to have an instinctive knack for the basics.

Wesley spread his thighs further apart to grant Doyle easier access. "Just like that," he said encouragingly, as Doyle's finger pushed inside, stretching him. "God, more. Please."

Doyle obeyed, and in less than a minute had three fingers moving gently in and out of Wesley, whose cock was leaking all over his stomach and who was shaking with a desperation greater than he'd ever known.

"Please," Wesley said. It was begging now, there was no other word for it. "I need... you. In me."

He felt the head of Doyle's cock probing at him, the angle not quite right, and he shifted position to make the way easier.

"Jesus," Doyle muttered, as he pushed in an inch or so. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. You aren't," Wes reassured him, feeling the burn and stretch, and canting his hips.

That movement seemed to surprise Doyle, who suddenly slid all the way inside, filling Wes. "Christ. Holy... *why* didn't I ever do this before?" Doyle sounded stunned.

"You're doing it now." Wesley pulled him down for a kiss, and Doyle surprised *him* by pushing his tongue into Wesley's mouth at the same time he started to thrust carefully.

"Had no idea," Doyle murmured into Wes' mouth, still kissing, still thrusting. "Jesus, you're so good. So hot, and... never felt anything like it."

Wesley slid his hands down to Doyle's arse, pulling him deeper, meeting his thrusts. He was so close already -- he thought that he might be able to come just from the feel of Doyle's cock inside him, from the way his own cock was rubbing against Doyle's stomach, trapped between them as it was. "Doyle," he gasped, as his legs started trembling again.

Doyle pushed himself up onto one arm, looking down at Wes' cock and then back up into his eyes. Deliberately, he reached down and took Wes' cock into his hand, stroking quickly and firmly as his thrusts speeded up. "Come on, Wes," he said, rather breathlessly, his hips moving faster, slamming himself into Wes with impressive strength. The sensation was too much -- Wesley was writhing, trying for less, more, something. "Come for me."

And Wesley came, with a shout that seemed to echo in the room, his climax pouring from him in a rush that left him light-headed and gasping for air.

"Yes," he panted, when he'd recovered enough to speak. "God, yes. Fuck me."

Startled, wide green eyes met his for one second before closing, then Doyle's face contorted into a grimace of pleasure as he came as well, pounding into Wesley as he did. His face flickered for just a moment -- human, demon, human -- then he collapsed forward onto Wesley, limp and sated.

They were a sticky mess, but in that moment Wesley couldn't have cared in the slightest. He trailed a hand up Doyle's back, ran fingers through his fine dark hair. He drew in a breath to speak, but Doyle must have felt it, because he quickly said, "If you ask me if I'm all right I'm gonna yell at you."

Wesley blinked.

Doyle pushed up onto one elbow and kissed Wesley's lower lip. "That's what you were gonna say, wasn't it."

Wesley lifted his head and caught Doyle's lips with his own again, kissing him with a little whimper of pleasure. Despite what they'd just done, he wanted more. "Maybe?" he ventured finally. "I have to admit that it's a bit disconcerting how well you seem to know me." A thought struck him. "Or are you like this with everyone?"

"Insightful's only my middle name in an alternate universe," Doyle said, with a shake of his head. He shifted his lower body and then eased out of Wesley, eliciting another small whimper. "Sorry about, you know, that thing."

"Er... what thing would that be?" Wesley was genuinely confused.

Doyle turned away, sitting up on the edge of the bed and, from his movements, apparently taking off the condom. "You know, the... demon thing." His voice was low.

"I beg your pardon?" Wesley sat up as well, reaching for Doyle's shoulder. "I work for -- well, technically *with,* at this point, I suppose -- a vampire. And I'm perfectly aware of your demon heritage."

Doyle stood up and moved across the room to throw the condom into the trash. He didn't turn around. "Guess I've got some issues with it myself," he admitted slowly, like it was hard to get the words out. "I can't always control it."

Wesley got up and went to him, slipping an arm around the smaller man and pulling him back against his own chest. "I dare say it's not necessary that you control it," he said. "And I'm sorry that it bothers you. But it doesn't bother me."

"Yeah?" Doyle's voice was hopeful, and he turned slightly in Wesley's grasp to look at him.

"Not at all." Wesley kissed him, their tongues meeting tentatively, with less passion now. "I care about you. The fact that you sometimes wear another face doesn't detract from that."

Doyle turned around more completely in Wes' arms, putting his own around Wesley's waist, holding him close.

They kissed softly for a few minutes, and then Wesley murmured, "Come back to bed."

"You sure? I didn't do this just to get off the couch, you know." Doyle sounded like he was trying for humor, and was aware that he wasn't quite succeeding.

Wesley kissed him again and walked backward toward the bed. He could feel Doyle trembling just slightly. "It's been a very long couple of days, hasn't it."

"I guess." They settled into the bed, arms around each other, their breathing slowing as they both relaxed after their exertions.

The room was quiet -- the walls in his apartment building weren't particularly thin, and it was often quiet at night. It was one of the things Wesley liked about his home; it made it easy to concentrate if there was something he was working on. Doyle was warm against him, and Wesley felt more at peace than he had in some time.

"You think they'll be able to tell?" Doyle asked softly, after a while.

"Tell what? That we slept together?" Wesley's fingers traced down Doyle's spine. "I can't say for certain how keen Angel's sense of smell is, but my guess would be he might be able to tell, yes. Unless we were to take an awfully long shower in the morning."

Doyle sighed. "Yeah. I'd forgotten about the smell thing. Think me of all people'd be able to remember that, huh?"

Wesley could feel himself tensing at the implications that he was drawing from the conversation. "I didn't realize that people knowing was going to be such a problem."

Doyle lifted his head immediately, his eyes seeking out Wesley's, the arm that had been thrown over Wesley's waist sliding back so that his hand was resting on Wes' hip. "It's not. Not like that. I just... don't know what to say." He sounded genuinely apologetic.

"How to tell people, you mean?" Wesley tried to force himself to relax -- a contradiction in terms if there ever was one. Tried to be understanding. "That you're... that you might be...?" Bisexual? Gay? He wasn't sure why he couldn't quite bring himself to say either of the words.

"It's not even *that,*" Doyle said, drawing a little pattern over Wes' hip in a way that was rather distracting. "I mean... do I say 'Yeah sure, we had a thing'? Or is it... more than that?"

"Oh, I see." Wesley had thought he'd made his feelings on the situation quite clear, but perhaps not. "When I said that I didn't prefer casual relationships, I meant it."

Doyle's eyes were dark and troubled. He was quiet for a long moment, almost as if he were afraid to ask for further clarification. Finally, he said, "Don't leave me hangin' here, man."

More than a bit disturbed that he was going to have to be the one to spell it out, Wesley nonetheless took the proverbial bull by the horns. "I don't want this... between us... to be a casual fling. In fact, I'd rather prefer it to be... something serious. I've grown to care for you a great deal just in the time you've been back. But if you're not interested in this going further, I'll understand. If nothing else, I'd like -- "

Doyle cut him off with a fierce kiss, the hand on Wesley's hip sliding back to grip his buttock. "Jesus, is that really all you think of yourself?" Doyle asked, when they separated. "I'm the one who should be saying that sorta thing. I mean, look at you -- you're smart, Angel obviously respects you enough to put you in charge. Not to mention you give the best fucking blow jobs on the planet." There was a slight flush in the man's cheeks, as though with this last admission he'd surprised himself.

The comments were flattering, and Wesley suspected that he might be blushing as well. "Er, thank you. So you're saying..."

"I'm saying," Doyle said slowly and clearly, "That I care about you too. And that I, you know, want this to be serious."

"I'm glad," Wesley said, feeling relief and what might have been joy. He kissed Doyle again.

They settled in a second time, Wesley's chin resting against Doyle's shoulder, one arm thrown over the other man's chest. He could feel Doyle's breath, warm on his skin.

"This is nice," Doyle said after a while, his words slurred with what sounded like exhaustion. His chin lifted slightly and he nuzzled Wesley's temple.

"It is," Wesley agreed. He didn't move, thinking that if Doyle was as close to sleep as it seemed, it wouldn't do to wake him. "Shh. Go to sleep. It will still be nice in the morning."

But there was no response, and Wesley realized that Doyle had already drifted off.

* * * * *

"So how was it?" Cordelia asked, bouncing up to Doyle as soon as he and Wesley walked into the lobby of the hotel. "Did you tell him? What did he say?" She crossed her arms and raised both eyebrows. "Did you guys have sex?"

Doyle shot Wesley a look of panic. "I thought you said they wouldn't be able to tell."

Cordelia snorted. "Smooth."

Wesley gave Cordy a measured look. "I suppose it's too much to think that you might be capable of being discreet?"

"Discreet?" Cordy snorted again. "Is that like tact?"

"Of course it would," Wesley sighed, answering his own question. He patted Doyle's shoulder comfortingly.

"Not sure I'm ready to announce it to the world," Doyle told Cordy, sticking his hands into his pockets sheepishly. He felt like an idiot for being so freaked out about the whole thing, especially for Wes' sake, but it was just, well, a bit much. He'd never handled the big changes well.

"Oh. Right." Cordy nodded at him like he was feeble and she didn't want to upset him.

"Something going on you all want to tell me about?" Gunn's rich deep voice startled all three of them, and they turned as one to look at him. He was leaning up against the wall -- he'd probably just come from downstairs, Doyle thought.

"Um... well, that is to say..." Doyle knew his stammering was likely making it seem worse than it already did, but for the life of him he couldn't come up with anything meaningful. "Um... Wesley and me, we..." Nope, that was it. He was defeated. He looked at Wes, hoping that the other man would read the desire to do the right thing in his eyes.

"We're..." Wesley apparently couldn't manage more than one word. At least it made Doyle feel a little bit better that he wasn't the only one.

"They got all couple-y last night," Cordy stage-whispered, from behind her hand.

"They *what?*" Gunn shifted himself away from the wall and sauntered over closer almost casually, but there was something in the way he moved that spoke of his surprise just as loudly as his voice had.

"Yes, well..." Wesley's chin was raised, that look of determination that Doyle was already familiar with back in his eyes, flashing behind his glasses. "It's not as if you didn't know."

"What, that you like guys?" Gunn said. "Yeah, I knew that part. Didn't know that you'd hook up with just anybody. Someone you barely even *know.*"

Wes and Gunn were standing facing each other now, squared off. "He's been staying with me since he got back," Wes said. "I don't think you're qualified to judge how well I know him."

"Maybe not, but I know *you.*" Gunn crossed his arms. "Listen, I'm just looking out for you here."

"I know. And I appreciate it. But I can make my own decisions."

Doyle glanced at Cordy, who was standing there watching the two of them talk just like he was, without interrupting. He was actually kind of surprised that she was showing so much restraint.

Gunn looked at Wesley for a long moment. "Doesn't mean I have to agree with them," he said finally.

Wes blinked, and Doyle thought he sounded disappointed when he said, "I don't need your permission."

"Um, is there some reason not to be happy here?" Cordy piped up, using her you-people'd-better-do-as-I-say voice. "Is this not a good thing?"

"Depends on where you're standing I guess," Gunn said.

"From where *I'm* standing, this is a very good thing." Wes gave Cordy a little smile like he was thanking her for the support.

"Me too," Doyle said, and turned to Gunn. "Look, you have something against me? Because call me insane but I thought we were gettin' along okay until now."

Gunn shrugged. "We were."

"So, what? Now you've suddenly dug up some dirt on me, learned that I sacrifice goats in my spare time?" Doyle could tell that Wes was having a hard time letting him deal with the conversation on his own, and reached out to squeeze Wes' hand quickly, not caring if it made the situation worse.

"Look, I don't *know* you." Gunn sounded genuinely uptight. "Maybe you're a great guy. Maybe not. I just don't wanna see Wes get hurt."

Doyle nodded. "I don't wanna see him get hurt either. And I sure as heck don't want to be the one hurtin' him. But I can't promise you that nothing's gonna go wrong -- only that I'm gonna do my best not to let it."

Gunn's eyes were dark, but they softened a little bit as Doyle's sincerity got through. Doyle couldn't help but wonder if maybe the guy was a bit jealous, not that that was something he'd suggest without expecting to get his jaw broken. "Good."

"So we're okay?"

The answer was slow in coming. "Yeah," Gunn said eventually. "Guess I just need a little time to get used to the idea."

That pulled a chuckle out of Doyle. "Tell me about it."

"Well thank God *that's* over," Cordy said, flipping her hair back with a dramatic sigh. "If you guys can't play nice I'm gonna have to get Angel to smack some sense into you."

"Have me what?" Angel asked, mildly enough, as he came out into the lobby.

Doyle grinned tentatively. "Cordy here was just talking about the fact that me and Wes, well, we're..."

"Yeah. I know." Angel didn't seem upset or surprised, just matter of fact.

"You weren't kiddin' about the discreet thing, were ya?" Doyle asked Wes.

"No, I really wasn't."

"Bite me," Cordy said. "And no, Mr. Broody Pants, I wasn't talking to you. Doyle, you didn't really expect me to come back here last night and *not* say something to Angel?"

"Guess that woulda been asking for the moon," Doyle said, giving her a wry grin. "So how'd that go?"

To his amazement, Cordy blushed. Actually *blushed,* and dropped her eyes down to the floor. "Um... okay."

"Yeah?"

She glanced back up at him with a shy smile on her face. "Uh-huh."

"Ohhh," Gunn said, miming smacking himself upside the head. "You're talking about that kissy face thing that I wasn't supposed to see."

Doyle grinned and looked at Angel, who had his hands in his pockets and was refusing to meet anyone's eyes. "Geez, man," he said to Gunn. "No wonder you reacted the way you did."

"Thought I woke up in an alternate dimension," Gunn agreed. "'Course, the last time that happened -- um, the alternate dimension part, not the waking up part -- everyone was green, so at least it was easy to tell."

"This isn't something to joke about," Wesley said sternly, his expression grim. "Angel shouldn't be taking chances with this sort of thing. No matter how slim the chances that he might experience a moment of true happiness while kissing Cordelia -- "

"Hey!" Cordy's hands were on her hips. "I'll have you know that kissing me is a *recipe* for perfect happiness."

"She's not far wrong," Doyle added, wanting to contribute even though he knew he probably wasn't being helpful.

"*Angel* should know better," Wes finished.

"You think I haven't thought about it?" Angel's mood had gone from sheepish to defensive in light of the accusations. "Do you *really* think I'd take any chances with Cordy's safety?
With anyone's?"

"You already have," Wes pointed out.

"It was just kissing!" Angel protested.

"And you'll be satisfied with that for the long haul, will you?" Wes crossed his arms and frowned. Doyle thought he couldn't have looked more serious if Angel actually *was* Angelus.

Although actually, come to think of it, under those circumstances they'd probably all be cowering in fear.

"Look, Angel's right," Cordy said. "It was just kissing. It doesn't mean anything else is going to happen."

Wesley's voice was gentler when he spoke to her. "Nothing else *can* happen. It's not an option."

"I know that. *We* know that." Cordy included Angel with a glance in his direction, inching toward him in a way Doyle didn't even think she was conscious of.

"Then you shouldn't be takin' chances," Gunn said, obviously not wanting to be left out of the discussion.

"You were fine with it when you walked in on us," Cordy shot back.

"That's 'cause I wasn't thinking about the whole happiness thing making Angel back into a natural born killer," Gunn said, shaking his head back and forth. Doyle wasn't sure if the guy was mad at himself or at Cordy and Angel, and he tried not to be even the tiniest bit glad that this situation took the heat off of him and Wes.

"Isn't there something we could do?" he heard himself asking. "You know... some way to change the curse?"

"The curse is his soul," Wesley said patiently. "The happiness clause is... an addendum."

"Well, fine. Isn't there some way we could change the addendum? Like the magical equivalent of... a paper shredder?"

Wesley frowned again, but this time the expression was more thoughtful than serious. "We don't want to shred it," he said. "More white it out. But yes, I suppose there might be a way. We'd have to do a great deal of research, of course."

"We can do that," Cordy said. "Right? I mean, that's what we do."

Doyle nodded at her. "Sure it is." But his eyes sought out Wesley's, and he wasn't real confident that what he saw there was nearly as reassuring.

* * * * *

"You don't think we're gonna find anything," Doyle said quietly.

Wesley looked up from the book in his lap, realizing that his neck had stiffened up only when he felt a twinge. "Did I say that?"

"You didn't have to." Doyle came into the office, closing the door behind himself. "You think it's a lost cause and you just want to put on a good show of trying before you say there's nothing we can do."

Wesley felt a surge of dismay at being so misunderstood. "I'm not putting on a show -- I'm looking for a solution to the problem." He carefully put a slip of paper into the book as a place holder and then set it down on the desk. "Do you really think that I'd -- "

Doyle cut him off before he could go any farther. "No! No. I didn't meant that the way it sounded." The expression on Wesley's face must have been reflecting his dismay, because Doyle came closer and sat down in the chair closest to the desk, perched on the edge like he might not stay sitting long. "Sorry. I just meant you're not convinced we're gonna find anything, but you didn't want to disappoint them."

Wesley relaxed a little bit. "Well. I suppose that's true -- I don't want to disappoint them, and I suspect that I'm going to."

"This isn't your fault," Doyle said.

He couldn't help but think that it would be if he couldn't find a solution and Cordelia and Angel's hopes were shattered, but he said, "No, I know."

Doyle looked at him critically. "You're just sayin' that so I'll drop it, aren't you."

A little laugh escaped Wesley, a laugh he hadn't realized was there. He took his glasses off and rubbed his temple, head tilted to one side watching Doyle even as he chuckled. "You really do know me awfully well, don't you."

Grinning, Doyle got up and came closer, dragging his chair behind him until his knees were touching the edge of Wesley's chair, then leaning in to take Wesley's glasses from his fingers. Wesley let him, even though the glasses were a bit of a security measure, and continued to sit there as Doyle leaned in even closer and kissed him.

God it was good. Doyle might not have been a big man, but he kissed as if he were -- strong, full of intensity. There was nothing of hesitancy or insecurity, not now. Wesley might have thought Doyle had been kissing men all his life.

"You're..." Wesley stopped, tried again. "That is, I... should be working."

"Cordy and Angel went upstairs to get a book Angel was lookin' for," Doyle said. "And Gunn's out."

The temptation to continue was enormous, but the sense of guilt at what he ought to be doing was greater. Wesley sighed and took his glasses back. "I assure you it's not that I don't want to. I just... need to do this. You understand."

"Yeah," Doyle agreed, then kissed him again before standing. "Okay. I finished up with that book you gave me before... didn't find anything, but then, can't say that this kind of thing is my..." He broke off, his eyes suddenly going a bit unfocused, as if he were looking at something far away.

Wesley knew what that look meant; not just from Doyle, but also from Cordelia. He had time to get up and push Doyle back down into the chair before Doyle trembled and then spasmed in the throes of a vision. Wes kept one hand on the arm of the chair as a sort of makeshift stabilizer, and curled the other around the back of Doyle's skull, a cushion against the possibility that Doyle might hit his head on the hard back of the chair.

"It's all right," he said, wishing that there was something more that he could. Doyle's head jerked backward, bruising Wesley's hand on the seat back, but he barely felt it for the adrenaline coursing through him. Doyle's own hand tightened on the arm of the chair to the point where it looked like it would be bruised as well, from the sheer force of it.

"Gotta stop 'em," Doyle muttered. "Jesus, no..."

Wesley wasn't sure if Doyle even knew he was there. "What do you see?" he asked in his gentlest voice.

Doyle jerked again, then gasped and sat up a bit, shaking his head as if throwing off the worst of it. "Upstairs," he managed to say, and the urgency in his eyes propelled Wesley to his feet before he even thought. "Cordy... *Angelus.*"

Fear gripping his heart, Wesley scrabbled in the desk drawer for a stake and took off into the lobby and up the staircase, not waiting to see if Doyle was following. If he could, he would. If not, someone had to stop Angelus.

He turned at the top of the stairs and ran down the hallway as fast as he could, aware that his breath was catching in his throat, and not just from the physical exertion. Upon reaching Angel's door, Wesley flung it open and raced inside, halfway into the room even as the door slammed into the wall beside it. "Cordelia, get back!"

Cordelia blinked at him from her... perfectly innocent position sitting on the bed. Angel was crouched over against the wall, where he'd obviously been looking at the spines of the books in his collection.

"Um... you feeling okay, Wesley?" Cordelia's tone had a condescending edge to it that he hadn't heard in some time.

"Doyle had a vision," Wesley explained, panting slightly. "He saw you and Angel."

"Uh-huh." Cordelia's eyes were wide with mock patience. "And look! Here we are. Good thing the Powers That Be decided to scramble up his brain to share *that* important piece of information."

"Angelus," said Doyle's voice from the doorway. He was leaning on the door frame, looking pale and shaken and distinctly the worse for wear from his trip upstairs. Wesley glanced at Angel, still crouched in front of the bookcase, clearly confused and a bit hurt, and then moved over to support Doyle with an arm around his waist.

"What are you talking about?" Angel asked, getting up and moving over closer to both of them, at the same time Cordelia did as well.

"Saw the two of you," Doyle said, his hand where it gripped the door frame white-knuckled. "Together. And then Angelus."

There was no missing the tiny half-step away from Angel that Cordelia took. "Uh-uh," she said tightly. "No way. *So* not gonna happen." Her chin raised defiantly. "Why would the PTB show you something like that when it's *not* going to happen?"

Doyle was still standing there, wavering slightly, and Wesley urged him into the room. "Come sit down. Do you need anything?"

Angel helped on the other side, and they got Doyle sitting on the edge of the bed. "Half a bottle of aspirin'd be good," Doyle groaned, flopping back onto the mattress with his forearm over his eyes.

Cordelia perched herself next to him, reaching back to stroke his hair as Angel went off in search of painkillers. "Tell me what you saw," she said.

Shifting his arm an inch higher so that he could look at her, Doyle opened his eyes. "Kissing, along with some other stuff that... involved less clothes. Then Angelus, and you dead."

"It was a warning." Angel stood awkwardly near the bathroom door. "The Powers That Be telling us that this isn't an option."

Wesley kept quiet, because he didn't disagree with this assessment.

"Well, I for one say 'Thanks for the warning,'" Cordelia said, standing up and crossing her arms.

Angel came over and handed a glass of water and three tablets to Wesley, who lay a hand on the flat of Doyle's stomach. "You'll have to sit up to take these."

Obeying with a slight groan, Doyle swallowed the pills with a sip of the water, then gave the glass back to Wesley, who wasn't sure what to do with it. Then he flopped back down, curling up on his side facing Wesley. "You guys can't let this happen."

"Hello? What part of 'Thanks for the warning' did you not understand?" Cordelia asked, meeting Wesley's eyes because Doyle was turned away from her. "We're *so* not gonna let this happen."

"Of course we're not." Angel's voice was resolute, determined.

Wesley ran his own hand through Doyle's hair, marveling at the way Doyle curled further into his touch. "I think it's best if the two of you aren't alone together for some time. Until this attraction dies down a bit."

"Where were we?" Cordelia asked. "In the vision."

Doyle blinked, then sighed as Wesley shifted his thumb to rub one temple, and closed his eyes. "In here. Angel's rooms."

"Okay, so maybe just to be on the safe side I should stay out of here too." Cordelia bit her lower lip. "Angel, I -- "

"It's okay, Cordy," Angel said quickly, cutting off whatever she'd been about to say. "We knew this wasn't... that we couldn't... it's okay. I think this is the way it was meant to be, you know?"

"Yeah, well personally I've had about enough of Fate sticking it's big old nose in my business," Cordelia said.

Angel shifted uneasily. "Maybe you should, you know, go home. Just for the rest of the day."

Cordelia moved back over to the bed and sat behind Doyle, rubbing the back of his shoulder. Wesley felt a slight twinge of jealousy, which was absurd since his own hand was touching Doyle more intimately than a friendly shoulder rub, not to mention the fact that Doyle and Cordelia had already decided all on their own that they were nothing more than friends. "You okay?" Cordelia asked Doyle gently.

Doyle twisted around slightly so that he could look at her. "I'm fine, Princess. I think Angel's right -- why don't you get out of here for a while?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. Maybe a little space might be a good thing." Wesley watched as her eyes met Angel's again. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Angel said. "I'll be here."

Doyle turned again, looking at Wesley this time. "Hey, you think you could walk Cordy down? I could use a few minutes with the big guy here."

Wesley brushed his thumb over Doyle's temple one last time. He wanted to lean down and kiss him, even just on the temple, but thought it best not to. "Of course. I'll see you both downstairs."

* * * * *

Doyle waited until the door closed behind Wes and Cordy before forcing himself to sit up. His head was aching though, so he moved up closer to the head of the bed and leaned back against the headboard.

Angel was still standing there watching him.

"I'm sorry, man," Doyle said, closing his eyes for a few seconds and trying to let the darkness soothe his head.

"It's not your fault." There was a dip in the mattress as Angel sat down on the side of the bed.

"Actually yeah, it is." He sighed. "After last night, I was the one who encouraged her to come back here and talk to you. If I hadn't done that, maybe none of this would have happened."

Angel patted his knee, tentatively, like he thought Doyle might break. "It might have happened anyway. I mean... I told you how I felt about her." Quiet, then, "Too bad she doesn't feel the same about me."

Doyle opened one eye. "Didn't sound like that to me. Actually, it sounded like she was just trying to be practical. Which, I'll remind you, isn't a normal state for our Cordelia."

Getting up and pacing over toward the bathroom door, Angel ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more than usual. "You think she's, you know... trying to make me feel better?"

"By pretending like it's no big deal, now?" Doyle thought about this for a minute. "Yeah, maybe. Heck, you know her better than I do, these days. What do you think?"

"I think I don't want to think about it anymore," Angel said.

"Glad to know you're ready and willing to confront the hard issues head on." Doyle sighed again. "So what happens now?"

Angel looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Doyle said slowly, "what are you going to do?"

"Well, you know... what Wes said. Make sure we're not alone together... wait until things die down." Angel shrugged helplessly. "What else *can* we do?"

"I'm not gonna stop looking for some kind of answer to this," Doyle promised rashly.

"Yes you are," Angel said. "This is it -- it's over. It never should have started in the first place."

Doyle sat up straighter on the bed, wincing. "That's bullshit, man. If anyone deserves to be happy, it's you. You think there isn't some way to convince the universe of that?"

"I don't know. I don't even think I care." Angel sounded tired, that was for sure. He was looking down at the floor, but he glanced up at Doyle for a quick second. "I just... can't do this. It's better for her -- better for everyone -- if it ends here."

Unconvinced, but not wanting to press Angel at that moment, Doyle sighed. "Okay -- whatever you say. Just remember something?"

"What?"

"Remember that there's a bunch of us who *do* want you to be happy. Happy as you can be, anyway. And we're willing to go the extra mile to get you there. If you'll let us."

Angel didn't seem to have an answer to that, and after a minute Doyle slid back down and rested his aching head on his arm. He didn't hear Angel walk across the room, but he did hear the soft sound of the door opening as Angel left.

* * * * *

Cordelia had a big fake smile plastered on her face, but once she and Wesley started down the staircase it fell away.

"Are you all right?" Wesley asked her.

"Yeah," Cordelia said, then shook her head. "No. I kind of wasn't expecting this."

"Which part?"

"*Any* part. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's not like I ever thought Angel'd break any mirrors." Cordelia paused on the last stair. "Which actually I guess he couldn't do anyway, being a vampire and all."

"Probably not." Wesley wasn't one hundred percent certain where Cordelia was going with this, but under the circumstances he was more than willing to let her wander a bit. "So...?"

"So I didn't think things between me and Angel were going to get all, you know..." She made a completely meaningless gesture with her hand.

"Romantic?" Wesley ventured.

"I guess."

"You... don't sound as upset as I thought you'd be."

Cordelia shrugged. "What do you want me to do, cry all over your shirt?" She seemed casual, but Wesley suspected there was something deeper going on, a suspicion that was confirmed when her voice softened, and she glanced at him with troubled eyes. "Besides... crying about it's not gonna change anything. Right?"

"That's true," Wesley said hesitantly. "But... that doesn't mean you haven't a right to your feelings. Whatever they are."

"What I'm feeling right now is tired," Cordelia said, with a slight gesture behind her at the doors to the outside. "I'm gonna go home."

"Sounds like a wise idea."

"That's me, wise." Cordelia gave him a bright smile, one that only seemed partially forced. "It's okay, Wesley. We're all gonna be okay."

She stepped out through the doors and into the sunshine.

There really wasn't, Wesley mused, any other place she belonged.

* * * * *

"You're sure you're all right?" Wesley asked again, glancing at Doyle with concern. "It really wouldn't be any trouble to drop you back off at the apartment first."

"I'm fine," Doyle repeated.

It sounded as if he was getting impatient, and Wesley decided it was time to back off a bit. "Well, I suppose this way you can help me figure out what to buy," he said lightly. "Up until this point you've been rather at my whim."

"I don't mind. Food's food." Doyle shrugged, then winced. "Some more aspirin might be good though."

Wesley pulled the car into a parking space and shut it off, then reached over and cupped the side of Doyle's face in his hand. Doyle closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. "Would you like to stay here? I could just grab a few things."

Doyle took a deep breath, then shook his head. "Nah. I'm okay. Just gettin' used to it again I think."

"There may be things we can do to make it easier on you," Wesley said, as they got out of the car and headed into the brightly-lit supermarket.

"Uh huh. Like all the things that worked so well on Cordy?"

"There's a world of difference between you and Cordelia." Wesley decided on a trolley rather than a basket, then clarified, "Well, half a world. The fact that she's human was a serious obstacle in our attempts to help her. That fact that you're not -- at least, not wholly -- puts you into a completely different category altogether." He walked slowly, mindful of Doyle's shorter legs and aching head.

"So you think there's some, I don't know..." Doyle made a slight, vague gesture in the air, "Magic? That could help?"

Wesley nodded as they turned down the first aisle. "There are things that might block the pain. Of course there's always the issue of whether or not they might block the visions as -- "

"No," Doyle said, putting out a hand to stop the trolley. "We don't block the visions."

"No, of course not." Wesley moved closer, hoping he sounded soothing. "I only meant that that might be a temporary side effect while we try to work out where our best options lie. It wouldn't be a permanent -- "

Doyle cut him off again. "It won't be a temporary, either. I'd rather put up with the killer headaches than take a chance on missing a vision."

"I know you feel an obligation toward Angel..." Wesley started, and a third time Doyle interrupted him.

"Screw Angel," Doyle said hotly, then flushed a bit and shook his head. "Um... not literally."

"I hope not." Wesley waited, then asked. "What did you mean?"

Doyle shrugged, but the look in his eyes was intense. "The visions -- they're a responsibility. I'm not saying I like the side effects, but that still doesn't mean I want to take chances with other people's lives just to avoid having to take a few bottles of aspirin."

"Speaking of which..." They walked further down the aisle, and Wesley pointed out the shelves of painkillers on the right, watching as Doyle chose one and tossed it into the trolley. Wesley felt ashamed of himself for not having realised what Doyle was talking about, for not having assumed that there was more to it than just wanting to do right by Angel. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"What for?" Doyle looked confused, and stepped closer to lay a hand over Wesley's where it rested on the handle of the trolley.

"For thinking the worst," Wesley admitted.

"You mean the Angel thing?" Doyle squeezed his fingers gently. "It's okay. Don't beat yourself up over it. Remember, I was dealing with the visions before you even came onto the scene -- it's old hat by now. And it's not like I don't appreciate the concern."

"That's what it is," Wesley said gratefully. "I don't like seeing you in pain, any more than I liked seeing Cordelia in pain."

"It's not as bad for me," Doyle said. "One of those times when being half-demon actually comes in handy."

"And the other times would be...?" They started walking again and turned into the next aisle, where Wesley paused to put a loaf of the toasting bread he preferred into the trolley.

"Fighting, mostly." Doyle stood looking at the shelves, then took down a jar of peanut butter. "We should stock up," he said. "Not necessarily right now, what with this Ceilidh band playing 'Whiskey in the Jar' right behind my eyes, but... at some point."

Wesley considered this. "You're probably right. I suppose I've gotten a bit too used to living on take-aways and leftover take-aways."

"Nothing wrong with take-out," Doyle countered. "In moderation. But all that fried stuff'll get to you after a while."

Trying to muster up a feigned affront, Wesley frowned. "Are you suggesting that I'm out of shape?"

"Suggesting what?" Doyle looked astonished, then grinned as he realised that Wesley was joking. He fell in step behind Wesley, snaking an arm around his waist from behind for just a moment, hand brushing over Wesley's flat stomach. "Feels like a great shape to me," Doyle said, very quietly, although they were alone in the aisle and no one would have overheard him regardless.

Wesley turned and smiled at him. All of this was so... unexpected. And wonderful. He supposed that on some level he was waiting for it to all go bad, when really he should be enjoying it while it lasted.

They moved to the fresh vegetable aisle, each of them choosing a few items.

"Used to drive Angel nuts," Doyle said suddenly, in a casual tone.

"What did?"

"Me. Not wanting to go into demon face when we were fighting."

Wesley nodded. It was clear that Doyle was trying to tell him something that was difficult to admit, so he didn't say anything, just waited to see what came next.

"I think he thought I was being stubborn. You know, denying who I was." Doyle picked up a small sack of bakery cookies. "Think the budget extends to food with no actual nutritional value?"

"Of course," Wesley said absently, gesturing for Doyle to put the package into the trolley, more interested in the topic of conversation at this point than he was in what they were buying. "So you prefer to fight as a human? Even if it's to your benefit to do otherwise?"

Doyle glanced at him, then shrugged. "It's just... not my style."

"It shouldn't be about fighting fairly," Wesley said.

That earned him a snicker. "That's pretty much what Angel said."

"But there are other benefits as well," Wesley pressed on. "Enhanced sense of smell, enhanced hearing... I'd imagine even your vision is sharper."

"Yeah. And don't get me wrong, I appreciate all that stuff, as far as it goes." Doyle added something else to the trolley. "I dunno, maybe I was already so used to doing without all the extra... *super powers*..." He shrugged again, leaving Wesley to wonder if the gesture was some new form of communication he hadn't gotten the memo on.

"I'm sure it was quite an adjustment." Wesley thought that perhaps Doyle was still gearing up to saying something even more difficult to admit to. "Although... maybe not as big as this one?"

Doyle shot him a look. "'This one' being what, exactly?"

"Us," Wesley said simply. "Or rather, you. With me."

"You're really the king of reading in stuff that's not there, aren't ya." There was, rather surprisingly, a smile on Doyle's face -- the fond sort of smile that Cordelia often wore when Wesley had done something a bit silly but also endearing. "Yeah, it's an adjustment, but no, I'm not trying to say that it's one I can't make."

Wesley found himself smiling back. "I'm... I'm glad," he managed to say, an enormous understatement if there ever was one. He was actually tempted to pull Doyle close and kiss him, but realised that the place was no doubt a bit too public for that.

Besides, there was always the rest of the evening, stretched out ahead of them.

As they headed for the checkout, Wesley began to think about the future. He liked what he saw.

* * * * *

"We should get you a key," Wesley said, as he unlocked the door while Doyle juggled the other three bags of groceries. "I had a spare somewhere, but I don't know where it ended up. Actually, I think I loaned it to Cordelia and never saw it again."

"Sounds about right," Doyle said, following Wes inside and kicking the door closed behind him. Wes dropped the book he'd been holding in one hand onto the nearest end table and headed toward the kitchen with the other bag of food.

As Wes started to put the groceries away, Doyle watched and tried to help where he could. Wes stretched to put a box of dried pasta on the top shelf and the movement pulled his slacks tight against his thighs, and Doyle felt himself getting hard at the image. Christ, he was pitiful. Couldn't even unpack a few bags without getting turned on. Firmly, he told himself that they were going to put away the food and eat a decent dinner without getting all distracted by the pleasures of the flesh.

Wes had turned and was looking at him with a funny expression on his face.

"Sorry. What?"

Wesley gestured at the bag Doyle was still holding. "I said, you could hand me that. Are you all right?"

Doyle nodded, trying not to notice the curve of Wesley's upper lip. Trying not to think about how it would taste if he licked it. "Yeah, sorry. Just... distracted." He tried to turn the conversation in another direction as he handed the bag over. "You sure about the key thing?"

Opening the fridge, Wesley bent to put some carrots and lettuce into the crisper bin, and Doyle had to look away and try to think of something other than his cock in Wes' arse. "Of course I am," Wes said, straightening up. "Unless... did you not want to keep staying here? I suppose it might be rather small for two people."

"I don't take up much room," Doyle pointed out. "And not like I've got a lot of stuff. I just wanted to make sure you'd thought this through. I'd hate to wake up in a couple of weeks and find out you were feeling cramped."

Wes set a can of soup down on the counter and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Doyle's.

Doyle moaned softly into the kiss, then murmured, "I was trying to control myself here, you know."

"I want you," Wesley said, his voice smooth around the edges like a caress. "Here, in the apartment with me. Not to mention right now."

"We should finish putting away the food," Doyle said weakly, still trying to do the right thing, whatever the hell that was. "And cook dinner."

Wesley's hand moved down to fondle Doyle's cock, his touch teasing. "Do you really think it's fair to expect ourselves to concentrate when we're like this?" He slid down to his knees and breathed warm air through the fabric of Doyle's slacks.

"Jesus." Doyle closed his eyes, feeling his cock twitch.

"But if you really think we should stop..." Wesley said, with a show of great reluctance.

A sound that might have been a yelp escaped Doyle, and he grabbed onto Wes' shoulder. "No. Christ, don't stop. Please."

Wesley's smile was warm, lighting up his face. One finger traced its way along the inseam of Doyle's trousers. "You're sure?"

"No. I mean, yeah, I'm sure." Doyle wasn't sure of much, including what he was saying, but he knew that he wanted more. Needed it.

Wes was undoing the button on his trousers, pulling out Doyle's cock and licking it. "Oh good," Wes said, and slid his lips down around the shaft, warm and wet and every bit as good as Doyle had remembered it.

In less than a minute, Doyle was trembling, his hands clenched into fists as he tried to control himself. The sight of Wes down there on his knees just about took his breath away.

Then Wes stopped and pulled back.

Doyle whimpered slightly before he could stop himself, but Wes was already getting to his feet. "Come on," he said.

"Well, that's what I was *hopin'* to do before you stopped," Doyle said, the whine in his own voice enough to set his teeth on edge.

Wesley kissed him, then took his hand and started to tow him out of the kitchen and into the hallway. "If I'm going to love you, I want to do it properly," Wes explained, then paused, as if aware that he'd said too much.

Doyle took Wes' face between his hands, looking directly into his eyes. He felt something welling up inside of himself, some nameless affection, vast and powerful. Or maybe not so nameless after all. "Sounds perfect," he said, very distinctly so there'd be no question of what he meant.

He found himself being walked down the hallway, carefully stripped of his clothes, then pushed down onto the bed. Wes' mouth was hot and slick around his cock again, and a slippery fingertip was teasing just behind his balls -- not trying to get inside him, just sliding across the skin, making every nerve in his body feel over-sensitized.

Wes moved back up to kiss him, and Doyle groaned at the loss of contact, his own hands clutching at Wes' hips, pulling him closer.

"I want you," Wesley said, like an echo from before. "Want to be inside you." The gently probing finger found his entrance and pushed inside, just a tiny bit.

Doyle's cock throbbed painfully. "Yeah," he said, thinking that in that moment he might have agreed to anything. His hips rose slightly, and he groaned again as Wes' finger moved deeper. "Yeah."

More kissing, slowly, while Wes finger-fucked him. Wes pressed in carefully, still deeper, bumping a spot that felt aching and swollen in a way that made Doyle's cock jump.

"Wes... Wesley. Christ. More."

Wes sure as hell knew what he was doing -- Doyle could barely keep still, writhing and squirming on the bed as Wesley rubbed that spot over and over again. Doyle's cock was harder than it had even been in his life.

"More," Doyle gasped again, then choked back a groan when Wesley obliged and added a second finger, stretching him almost painfully. "Fuck."

Wesley stopped, waited, then moved his fingers just the slightest bit, curling them so that his fingertips pushed over that same spot. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked quietly, kissing Doyle's lower lip.

"What? No." Doyle felt like the world around him was dimmer compared to this, the pure sensation that he was experiencing. "No, don't stop." He squirmed again, still wanting more. "Actually, I think that might have been a request."

Fingers moving again, in and out, making Doyle's cock ache with the need to come. "Are you sure?" Wesley asked. "Because that's something that can wait, if you're not ready..."

Doyle tilted his hips and closed his eyes. "You want me to beg?" In a somewhat desperate voice that wasn't in any way an exaggeration, he said, "Please. Fuck me?"

Only the briefest pause, and then Wesley was kissing him breathless, his fingers moving faster now, the combination making Doyle's head spin. "I'd love to. If you're sure," Wes said against his lips.

"Please," Doyle said, and something like a whimper escaped him. He was past the point of knowing what it was he wanted -- just that he needed more, needed to come, needed something. "Please."

Wesley pulled away briefly, his fingers disappearing and leaving Doyle achingly empty.

Doyle whimpered again as Wes' hand closed around his cock, stroking once, twice, then a third time, and his whole body shook as the urge to come got almost overwhelming. "Turn over," Wesley said softly. "It... you'll enjoy it more, this first time."

Barely aware of what he was doing, Doyle turned over onto his stomach, then let Wes pull him up onto his hands and knees. Wes was behind him, pressing kisses onto Doyle's spine and lower back.

Something hard and blunt and impossibly large pushed at Doyle's opening, and he realized that it was Wes' cock, slick with lubricant and a layer of latex. "Relax," Wes said, his hand reaching around to pull at Doyle's cock again, and Doyle would have come right then if Wes hadn't, in that moment, surged forward an inch or two into him.

Wes' hand was still stroking Doyle's cock. "Are you all right?" Wes asked, sounding calm even though Doyle could tell it was costing some effort for the other man not to move.

In response, Doyle shifted his own hips forward and then back again, so that Wes' cock slid deeper into him. "Yeah," he muttered, almost to himself, then moved again when it seemed like Wes wasn't going to, groaning at the feel of Wesley's hardness pushing into him. He'd expected it to hurt, and it did -- he hadn't expected it to feel good at the same time. Too big, and strangely, somehow, just right. Doyle didn't understand how Wes' cock pushing into his ass could make his own cock feel so good that it eclipsed everything else, but it did. He groaned again as that aching spot inside him was rubbed, and moved back onto Wesley's cock another time.

Finally seeming to take the hint, Wesley grabbed onto Doyle's hip with his free hand and started to thrust slowly, in and out, while Doyle bit his lower lip as he tried to keep himself from coming. It was so good, so much better than he ever could have imagined, that he didn't want it to be over, not this soon.

"Doyle," Wes said. "God, you feel... incredible."

Doyle pushed back hard to meet the next thrust, making it sharper, and gasped as what felt like fireworks jolted inside him and into his cock, which throbbed in Wes' hand. "Don't stop," he gasped, repeating the motion and getting the same result. "Jesus, Wes, please don't stop."

It was one time when having a brilliant lover paid off, because Wesley instantly started snapping his hips forward viciously, mimicking what Doyle had been doing. Wes' hand on his hip clenched, Wes' cock moved in and out faster and harder, not leaving Doyle time to breathe or think or do anything but feel, every nerve in his ass and cock sensitized to the point of where his orgasm was so close, so fucking close...

"Wes..." Doyle said, pained, trembling. "I'm so... I can't..."

Wesley pulled out almost all the way, then plunged into him again, forcing Doyle open, making him shake. The hand on Doyle's cock squeezed at the head, stroked, squeezed again.

One more long hard thrust, then Doyle felt Wes' cock throbbing rhythmically inside him. Wes gasped something that might have been Doyle's name and pressed further into him, not thrusting, but just pushing deep. Doyle could feel Wes coming in the clutch of the hand on his hip, in the trembling of the thighs that were up against his own. In the groan that worked its way out of Wes, vibrating through the small of Doyle's back and into his spine, then into his own cock.

Desperate for his own release, Doyle reached down and touched himself, just once, and then he came too. He cried out as it flashed through him, only dimly aware of the warm slickness spurting over his fingers, and over Wesley's fingers where they were tangled together. The orgasm seemed to tighten his whole body, including his ass, and Wes gave a little whimper in response.

Doyle's arms and legs felt warm and limp and like they weren't going to hold the two of them up much longer. Wes must have sensed that, because he gently pulled them both over onto their sides, somehow managing to get them onto the mattress without pulling out of Doyle's body.

"That was... wow," he said, knowing it was totally inadequate, but also the best he could do.

Wes' breath moved across the back of Doyle's shoulder as he spoke. "You won't hear any arguments from me."

Doyle waited a few seconds, feeling his muscles softening as he relaxed even more, feeling his body sinking into the mattress. Wesley took advantage of the moment to slide out carefully, and okay, maybe he was a *little* bit sore, but he was too sated to care. He reached blindly to where Wes' hand rested on his hip and lay his own hand over Wesley's. Sleepily, he asked, "Aren't we supposed to go make some dinner?"

"Sooner or later," Wesley agreed.

His eyelids were heavy, and his upper lip felt, just a tiny bit, like it had been rubbed with sandpaper. "Could take a nap first," he suggested, knowing that he was being a bad influence and not caring in the slightest.

"If we go to sleep now, we won't wake up until morning." It was a mild British protest, more for show than anything else.

"Would it be a bad thing if I said I didn't care?"

Wesley pressed a kiss to the back of Doyle's neck. "No. We can always eat in the morning."

Doyle sighed contentedly. "Good." The thoughts running through his head were slowing down, starting to become separate, like a slide show of individual concepts. Angel and the happiness clause. Cordy and her stubbornness. The visions. All things that needed to be dealt with, come hell or high water.

And then the one thing that was just fine the way it was: Wesley.

"Love you," Doyle breathed, and sleep drifted over him.

Love dragged its tail of pain,
its train of static thorns behind it,
and we closed our eyes so that nothing,
so that no wound could divide us.

This crying, it's not your eyes' fault;
your hands didn't plunge that sword;
your feet didn't seek this path;
this somber honey found its own way to your heart.

When love like a huge wave
carried us, crashed us against the boulder,
it milled us to a single flour;

this sorrow fell into another, sweeter, face:
so in an open season of the light
this wounded springtime was blessed.

-- Pablo Neruda, of course.