A-Squared Plus B-Squared

by EFAW

Falling for Travis is like firecrackers and lightning, a flash of white-hot light, striking him and fading away before he even realizes he was hit. Oneshot. WesAlexTravis.

Summary: Falling for Travis is like firecrackers and lightning, a flash of white-hot light, striking him and fading away before he even realizes he was hit. Oneshot. WesAlexTravis.

Warnings: Polyamory. M/M/F. Pre-canon. Pre-divorce. Demisexual!Wes. Sex—no explicit descriptions. Panic attack. Some swearing.

Disclaimer: I neither own nor am affiliated with Common Law in any way.

"Hypotenuse" started as a stand-alone, but then I realized how much of the story we weren't seeing through Travis's view, and how different Wes's views of the events could be. I felt like the story wouldn't be complete if we only saw Travis's side of things.

So here's Wes's part, and the second of the trilogy.

OOOO

A-Squared Plus B-Squared

"Struck by love; I barely had a choice. My heart stole my words and my soul was my voice."

—Jordan Sarah Weatherhead

XXXX

It's a tiny strip of skin, coffee-brown, peeking between shirt and jeans every time Travis's raises his arm. Travis is currently standing in front of the whiteboard, writing everything they know on the board, which means he raises his arm a lot.

Wes can't stop staring.

He leans back in his seat, idly spinning his pen in his hands, and watches the flicker-flash of skin. It's tempting him—he wants to reach out and run his fingers over smooth flesh, feel the warmth of Travis's skin, wants to—

"Wes! Hey, Wes!" Fingers snap in front of his face, and Wes blinks, pulling back to look at his partner. Travis gives him a bemused frown, hands on his hips, which makes one side of his shirt ruck up invitingly and Wes's mouth goes a little dry.

"Are you even listening at all?" Travis demands, and Wes has to fight for composure.

He clears his throat and sits up, putting on his blandest You're an annoying thorn in my side face. "Not often, really. I mean, you just go on and on…"

Travis rolls his eyes, grabbing the arms of Wes's chair and shaking him. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Pay attention, I have a theory that's gonna knock your socks off."

"Uh-huh." Rolling his eyes, Wes pushes Travis aside and climbs to his feet. "What's this grand theory of yours, then?"

Travis bounds up beside him, dry erase marker in hand, and yet again his shirt rides up, flashing a peek of smooth skin and Wes kind of wants to touch and then touch again.

He keeps his hands to himself and snaps, "Tuck in your shirt, you look like a slob."

XXXX

He doesn't let it distract him.

Well, he tries not to.

It's harder than he might have expected. For all these years, Travis has just been there, and Wes knows objectively that his partner is attractive—the hordes of men and women throwing themselves at Travis's feet would tell him that, if nothing else—but now he's noticing it like it's the first time.

Like Travis's mouth. Not something Wes has ever really paid attention to before, but now he catches himself watching all the time. Travis's lips are pink and plump and Travis moves them all the fucking time, not just when he's talking; he bites them and twists them when he's thinking and licks them, a little dart of his tongue making them slick and shiny and Wes wants to—

And god, does Travis own any shirts that aren't slightly too small? They're constantly pulling up just a little, tantalizing slivers of skin that appear whenever he raises his arms even a little bit. Or maybe he just wears his jeans low, who the hell fucking cares, the point is Travis keeps flashing all this skin around and Wes's fingers keep itching to touch.

Even Travis's cologne is annoying. Used to be, Wes would use it purely as a measure of how irritating Travis was going to be that day: the more cologne he poured on, the more he was trying to impress someone, which meant he would pull out all of his flashy, peacock-ish charm to draw in whoever he was hoping to impress.

Now Wes finds himself thinking Travis's cologne smells really, really good, especially when it mixes with the rich scent of his leather jacket and Wes catches himself more than once leaning in to get a better sniff.

Basically, Travis is really, really hot and Wes isn't sure how he missed it before but now it's all he can notice. And he's trying not to be distracted, he really is, but it's so hard when Travis is right there all day every day and god, Wes feels like a pubescent teenager.

Wes really doesn't know what's happening here, but he'd like it to stop at any time, please, because it is really fucking annoying.

XXXX

But he's dealing with it. He's always been good about putting aside things that are bothering him, dealing with it later (and later and later and later). Sometimes it becomes too big to handle, too intrusive to possibly ignore, but he's not at that point yet with Travis.

Then comes the bar.

XXXX

They follow their suspect to the bar, which is something they've done a dozen times before. Then, when she gets up and heads to the back, they trail through the crowd after her, hoping she'll lead them to the drug ring they're like 65% certain she's a part of.

Then she turns around, and if she spots them and catches on the entire thing is screwed, so Travis pushes Wes against the wall and immediately starts sucking face. Which, honestly, is also something they've done before, to the utter amusement of their coworkers. And it's fine—it always throws the suspect off, Wes goes home and brushes his teeth twice that night, and there's a brief resurgence of the married-couple jokes at work. It's not that big of a deal.

Except this time, when Travis kisses him, brushing his teeth is the last thing on Wes's mind. It's hot and wet and typically Wes would be kind of grossed out but this time he leans into the kiss, clutching Travis's jacket and hauling him in. Travis makes a surprised, pleased sound and dives in, tongue darting into Wes's mouth and swiping the roof of his mouth, and Wes's knees go a little bit wobbly.

He's not prepared for Travis to pull away, still clutching at Travis's jacket. But Travis looks down the hall, craning his neck to peer through the crowd. "I think she bought it."

Wes blinks a couple of times, trying to restart his brain. "What?"

His partner turns and beams at him. "Nice acting, man. I'm a little impressed." He takes a step back, dislodging Wes's hands, and heads back into the bar. "Come on, we don't want to lose her."

Wes doesn't follow immediately, clutching the wall for support, feeling fevered and flushed with his lips still tingling from the kiss.

XXXX

Okay. This. This is…

Well, this is a problem, isn't it?

XXXX

Puberty was hell for Wes. Everything was changing and it felt like he could hardly control his own body and it was a nightmare that went on for years. He hated every second of it.

In the midst of all of this, everything was suddenly about sex. It seemed like that was all the guys at school could talk about, which girls were the hottest and how far they'd like to go. And Wes just…didn't see it. Oh, he could look at someone and admit they were pretty, but that was as far as it went. He never felt any desire for anything more, and truth be told some of the things the guys talked about just sounded awfully messy and gross, really.

Honestly, sex just seemed like a hassle. Wes was kind of relieved he didn't have to deal with that, too.

XXXX

Alex was the first person he'd ever really noticed like that. They'd been friends for just over a year—she was, in fact, pretty much his best friend—and he just started noticing her. The way she smiled, how her hair swept across her cheeks, the scent of her shampoo. He found himself wanting to reach out and touch, wanting to draw her in, wanting to…

None of that has changed, he thinks, watching her move through the living room. He still wants her, a steady, soft, slow burn in his gut.

It's nothing like what he feels for Travis. His desire for Travis is hot and sharp, like firecrackers, like a bonfire, engulfing and sweeping through him, and maybe that's simply because the feelings themselves are so new, something he's never felt for Travis before, but the thing is, he shouldn't be feeling them at all. Not for his partner, his friend, not when he has Alex.

Alex was the One. She was the only one who'd ever managed to evoke such feelings in him, so clearly she's something special.

But then there's Travis. And suddenly Wes is feeling for Travis what he'd only ever felt for his wife, which means…?

"Alex," he calls, drawing her attention. She smiles warmly at him, but her face drops with his next words:

"We need to talk."

XXXX

He tells her everything. About the kiss, the distraction, his constant desire to just reach out and touch. He tells her everything he can, and he doesn't hold back.

She's not taking it well. He doesn't know if that's because of what he's saying, or how he's saying it—he's not sure he has the words to properly explain what he's trying to convey, and he's afraid he's making it worse than it really is.

All he can do is try to be as concise as he can and wait for her reaction.

Finally, she says, quiet and hurt, "Do you love him?"

He hesitates. Does he love Travis? Of course he does, Travis is his partner and friend and—(and what?) But that's not what she's asking, she's asking if he's in love with Travis, and he honestly doesn't know. What he feels for Travis is so different than what he feels for Alex, it's not a fair comparison.

He shakes his head a little. "That's not—"

"Wes." She cuts him off, sharp and upset. "Do you love him?"

As honestly as he can, he admits, "I don't know."

Her eyes fill. She blinks hard, tightens her jaw and lifts her chin, bracing herself. Her hands are tight fists on the table. "Do you still love me?"

What?

He gapes at her. "Of course I do! How could you—Alex." He reaches out, wraps his hands around hers. "Alex, Travis isn't—" Well, there aren't any good words for what Travis isn't, because Wes isn't entirely certain himself. "I love you," and this, at least, he knows for certain. "Of course I do."

Her lip wobbles, and he rushes around the table, gathers her up in his arms.

"I love you," he whispers into her hair, and then, "I'm sorry."

So sorry.

XXXX

It's not like he wanted to become attracted to Travis. If he was going to become sexually attracted towards someone other than Alex, he certainly wouldn't have picked his partner, the person he works with and is near practically every single day. He's seen enough of Travis's workplace romances fall through to know it never works.

He stares at the ceiling, Alex breathing soft, slow, even on his shoulder, a solid reminder of everything he has to lose.

He can't risk it. He'll just keep his eyes and hands and thoughts to himself from now on.

XXXX

Easier said than done. Travis exudes these…these vibes, sort of rough sexy rogue mixed with feed me I'm harmless and it's hard to resist. But Wes is pretty sure he's getting a handle on it, little experience as he has with this sort of thing. And okay, maybe he's a little sharper and stiffer than normal, but really, he's working on it. It's fine.

XXXX

"Aww, man." Travis pouts at his shirt, dark coke sticking his shirt to his chest. He grabs the fabric with two fingers, pulling it away from his skin with a heavy 'shluck' sound. "I can't believe I did that. Hey, Wes, I used my spare shirt a couple weeks ago. You got one I can borrow?"

Wes swallows hard, tearing his eyes away from the clinging fabric. "My shirt?" Wow, his voice almost sounds steady. Nice.

Travis rolls his eyes. "Come on, I know you have, like, five spare shirts around here. I'll wash it, promise."

"You'd better," Wes mutters, but his heart isn't in it. He grabs his (one of many) spare shirts from his desk drawer and passes it over.

"Button-down? Really?" Travis pulls a face. "Then again, what did I expect?"

These last worse are a bit muffled as Travis grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head, right there at his desk. Wes quickly yanks his gaze away from Travis's exposed chest, shoulders, navel.

He stands, mutters excuses, and walks as fast as socially acceptable out of the squad room.

In the hall, he slaps his palm against the wall. Okay, no, he's fine. This is fine. He is an adult, he can control himself, this is nothing.

Travis just pulled his shirt off like it was nothing, and Wes still feels flushed.

He knocks his head against the wall. "Fuck."

XXXX

Okay. So maybe not as easy as he thought it would be. But it's fine, he'll get around it, work through it. It'll be totally fine.

Maybe this is puberty catching up with him—he spent so long feeling relieved that he didn't have to deal with all the sex stuff his classmates suffered through, maybe now all those hormones are striking back, twenty years too late.

XXXX

Alex is watching him, a pensive frown tugging at her lips. One day she asks, casually, "How are things going with Travis?"

Travis, who is always there with his casual touches and his harmless flirting that Wes isn't even sure Travis realizes he's doing, and Wes, it turns out, is not nearly as immune as he thought he was and the temptation is always there, dancing in his fingertips and Travis doesn't even notice, just keeps doing his normal thing and Wesis affected so much more than he ever thought he would be.

He clears his throat, ducks his head. "Everything's fine."

Alex narrows her eyes and goes, "Uh-huh." It's a lot more judgmental than he feels he deserves.

The temptation is there, but Wes hasn't acted on it. He can't. He won't.

It's fine.

XXXX

He's in the kitchen, staring pensively at the omelet in front of him, pondering his next move. He can make this work, he absolutely can. He just has to find a better method, because what he's doing now isn't working so well. He has to figure out how.

Alex saunters in, gives him a peck on the cheek and heads for the fridge. "I've been thinking," she says, "About Travis."

His shoulders tense. He carefully folds the omelet, projecting calm he doesn't feel. "Uh-huh."

Alex pours orange juice and says, "We should have sex with him."

Wes drops the spatula. She turns, and he knows he's gaping like a fish but all she does is beam at him. "Think of it like sex therapy."

Wes doesn't believe in therapy. "If any therapist suggested that, I'd question their credibility."

She smiles sweetly and says, "Your eggs are burning, dear."

XXXX

It's absurd. It should be absurd, unthinkable, a ridiculous suggestion they both laugh off. But she's earnestly serious, and when she lays it out like that, plain and simple like she's reviewing evidence for one of her cases, it almost sounds reasonable.

He frowns, pokes at his food. "What's in it for us?"

She delicately sips her juice. "I think it could do us some good. All the websites say adding some excitement into your sex life can help the marriage."

He frowns. "We're fine."

She gives him a flat look. He bites his lip and starts cutting his omelet into tiny, bite-sized pieces.

"Besides," she offers a moment later, "it might help at work. If you get it out of your system, maybe you won't get so distracted."

His frown deepens, and he glances up. "What's in it for you?"

She just smiles mysteriously and drinks her juice. "So what do you say?"

Omelet cut into as many manageable pieces possible, he picks up his fork once more. "Sex. As in…"

"As in sex." She verbally sketches a few things that make him blush, but when he tries to imagine it with Travis in the middle of it all…

Well.

He studies his plate, jabs his fork into what is slowly turning into scrambled eggs with all the poking he's doing. "What if he says no?"

Which is as good as a 'yes' and she knows it. She grins and hooks their ankles under the table. "Trust me. He won't say no."

XXXX

He asks her one more time before they bring the proposal to Travis, one more reassurance that she's really okay with this. It was her idea, but if she's just doing this for him…

But she says she's fine, and when she asks if he is, he says the same thing. It should be scary, strange, and it is, a little bit, even just thinking about it.

But he's a lot more okay than he thought he would be. It's kind of exciting, really, in a terrifying sort of way.

XXXX

Still, there's a big difference between contemplating something and actually proposing something, and the entire time they're eating dinner Wes stares at his plate and tries not to give anything away. Travis is eating with blithe abandon, just another dinner at the Mitchell home, but Wes knows what's coming, and every time he thinks about it…

What if Travis says yes? Then that means… and then… and they would…

What if Travis says no? Then Wes would have asked his partner, his best friend, for… It could ruin them, irreparably damage their relationship, because Travis would always think of Wes as the guy who asked for a threesome to save his marriage, and that's so outside the bounds of a normal friendship, so what if Travis decides he can't handle it and wants to—

Alex bumps his knee under the table, draws his attention. When he glances up, she gives him a smile, the one that says, It's alright, everything is going to be fine, and even though his stomach is still twisting into knots, he nods and gives her a wavering smile back.

After dinner, after he's rinsed the dishes and put the food away and stalled as long as he can, he and Alex sit facing Travis and lay it all out. Well, Alex lays it all out, as succinctly and clearly as she'd explained it to him. Wes sits with his hands clasped together, feeling the blood rushing to his face and unable to meet his partner's eyes.

(what if he says no?)

Travis is silent a long time, too long, and Wes can feel their relationship already cracking apart. He tenses, ready to spring up off the couch, and he turns to his wife and snaps, "I told you this was a stupid idea."

Alex pats his arm, gentle, comfort, wordless reassurance that everything will be okay, he just needs to wait, and he settles. He's absolutely prepared to leave at the first sign of rejection, but for this very second…

"Okay." Travis sits back, and Wes can hear the thoughtful frown in his voice, even if he's not looking at his partner's face. "Go through this one more time for me."

Alex, her hand still on his arm, takes a breath. "We've realized that there is something…missing in our relationship, and we're afraid if we keep going as we are, we'll just…fall apart. And we don't want that."

(Wes would argue with her wording choice—he certainly doesn't think they're at the point where they need to worry about falling apart, and as for something missing…)

"So you thought of me." Travis frowns, drums his fingers on his knee. "Because…I'm promiscuous?"

That makes Wes's head snap up, meeting Travis's eyes for the first time all evening. "We didn't say that. No one said that!"

It has nothing to do with Travis history of girlfriends or one-night stands or anything, and for all the grief Wes has given Travis about his short-lived relationships, that Travis would think Wes thought that about him—!

Alex pats his arm again, settling him, and Wes resumes staring at his clasped hands, grinding his teeth together. God, he knew this was a bad idea…

"We thought of you," Alex says firmly, "because you're our friend, and we like you. We care about you. So we'd like your help."

Wes fidgets and coughs into his fist. "You don't have to, of course," he says, offering Travis a way out, one final escape for Travis to walk away and pretend this never happened, a chance for everything to go back to normal even if Travis doesn't take them up on this. "This isn't—you don't have to."

They've been through so much shit together, if this is what finally pushes them apart, Wes won't ever be able to forgive himself.

Alex's grip tightens on Wes's arm, her whole body tensing, preparing for an answer. "Will you do it?"

After an impossibly long moment, Travis agrees, and Wes's chest explodes with relief. They're going to be fine. They're not going to fall apart. Travis said yes.

And then Wes realizes what exactly that means, and the nerves come tearing through him.

XXXX

It's not that he hasn't had sex before—he has. He's just…never had sex with Travis, and it's hard enough in the first place, being naked and open to another person, and honestly he doesn't understand how Travis can do it so often without tearing pieces of himself out in little chunks.

The higher Wes ascends the stairs, the more his stomach churns, and he can't tell if it's nerves or anticipation or something else entirely. He wants it, he does, just the thought is enough to get his interest to perk up, but at the same time…

He can't bring himself to actually go into the bedroom, just lingers in the doorway and watches.

Alex makes the first move. In some ways, she's so much stronger than he is, willing to jump without hesitating, even knowing all the ways things can go wrong. Wes holds back, too uncertain, afraid of the possibilities and all the potential consequences. He admires that in her, in Travis too, both so bold, so willing to go for what they want.

And Wes can't know for absolute, one-hundred-percent certain that Alex wants this, despite what she's said, but she only hesitates a moment before she says, "Okay," and takes off her shirt.

It's not an unfamiliar sight, the gentle curve of her shoulder, the dark line of her bra, the smooth swell of her breasts. She's gorgeous and familiar and Wes would reach out and touch her, but instead his eyes are drawn to Travis, and the quiet, stunned awe on Travis's face makes Wes's stomach spark with butterflies. It's the same feeling Wes gets, a sort of, Oh, I can't believe I'm here.

If nothing else, Travis gets it.

And then Travis takes his shirt off, too, and Wes has to clutch the doorframe as so much skin is revealed, all smooth planes and sharp angles and subtle curves. And he doesn't know what sort of noise he makes, but Travis looks over—they both look over, and he can't imagine what he looks like, what expression he's making, but that awed, stunned look never falls from Travis's face.

Alex makes a little noise in her throat, a vague, half-formed sound of amusement. "I think Wes is overdressed for the party."

"I think you're absolutely right." Without breaking their gaze, Travis crosses the room, stopping in front of Wes. This close, Wes can feel him, the heat of his skin, the scent of his cologne, the air moving in his lungs, and he trembles with the urge to—

He feels like he's standing on a precipice, toes dangling in the air, and he can't decide if he'll throw himself back to solid ground or leap over the edge.

Travis must see something in his face, because he offers, "We don't have to," echoing Wes's words from downstairs, and up until the second Travis said that, Wes had entertained the idea of walking away.

But he can't turn away from this. There's no way he could stop now.

He rolls his eyes, grabs Travis, and mutters, "Shut up, Travis," as he hauls him in close, and as they kiss he lets himself fall.

XXXX

It's not strange. Odd, yes, this configuration of their bodies, but not strange. Because he knows them, knows the shape of their bodies. Alex is familiar and sweet and—safe, a known quantity he understands. Travis is an unexpected addition, but that just means some adjusting—he's not unfamiliar. Wes has patched up Travis's wounds, wrapped his hands around Travis's thigh and splayed his fingers across Travis's chest, and maybe the circumstances were different, maybe before there were bandages between them and now there's nothing, but he knows Travis's body, his skin, the play of muscles over bones. Knows them both, they're both so familiar and safe and he trusts them with his life, and it's easy to close his eyes and let himself be swept away.

It's odd, a third body when there's normally only two, but it's not strange, because it's Alex and Travis and nothing has ever felt more natural.

XXXX

After, lying between them, he drowses, Alex tucked warm against his chest, Travis a hot, steady warmth against his back. And god, it should be strange, this sort of thing, his wife and his partner in bed together, and after—after what they just did…

Wes will be embarrassed about that in the morning. But now, god, now it feels like this is the only place in the world he needs to be.

XXXX

He wakes alone in an empty bed, the sharp scent of coffee ticking his nose. There's something wrong with that, he thinks, something not right with this situation, but he's never at his best before his coffee and he can't make his brain focus on the right things.

He gets up, gets ready on autopilot, and staggers downstairs, drawn by the lure of coffee and the quiet sounds of movement in the kitchen. Alex stands by the coffeemaker, and when he appears in the doorway she looks up, smiles, and holds out his mug, a familiar routine.

He takes a sip of coffee, leans against the counter, looks around the room. Aside from Alex, the kitchen is empty. Wes frowns.

"Travis?"

"He left sometime this morning," Alex tells him, grabbing her own coffee and heading for the table.

Wes thinks about this. There's something wrong with that, but it's too early and the caffeine hasn't hit his system yet, so all he does is make a small, "Huh," and take another sip of coffee.

XXXX

It isn't until he gets to work that he realizes what the problem is. Because he's sitting there, and after the initial embarrassment when he first looked at Travis and the memories of last night came rushing in, after he valiantly didn't burst into flames from the blood rushing into his face, he looks at Travis at his desk, and he thinks Oh. He thinks There you are. And something slots into place that's been out of alignment since he woke up.

It was wrong, this morning, because Travis wasn't there. Because he'd stolen away in the night and left.

He doesn't bring it up until lunch, when they're sitting in a little sidewalk table, away from their coworker's ears. He picks at his food, gathers his nerve, and says, "So."

Travis stops eating. And he waits. And waits, because Wes isn't any good at this, awkward questions and emotions like this. His nerve seems to have fled him completely, because now he's back to all the what-ifs and complications and he really should have let Alex handle this. She's so much better at this, doesn't get hung up the same way he does.

After a few minutes, Travis raises his eyebrows and prompts, "So…?"

Wes swallows, feels a blush rise in his cheeks, but he keeps his gaze steady. "So. You, ah, you didn't stay."

Wes doesn't know what's worse—the utterly blank look Travis gives him for a full thirty seconds, or the baffled, incredulous look Travis shoots at him a moment later. "Why would I have stayed?"

And Wes's stomach drops and he realizes he made a terrible, horrible miscalculation. Because this was just sex. Just sex, so there was no reason for Travis to stay, because that's not what Travis does. And Wes doesn't even know why he was expecting it, just that it seemed wrong for Travis not to be there.

But why would Travis have stayed?

"Right," he mutters, scowling and picking at his sandwich. "Why would you?"

There's absolutely no reason.

He doesn't eat much of his lunch. By the time Travis finishes, he has a small, shredded pile of the sub's crust on his wrapper, but he's eaten less than half of it. So when Travis says, "You gonna finish that?" Wes just rolls his eyes and pushes it over.

He's lost his appetite anyway.

XXXX

Now that he thinks about it, he doesn't know why he thought Travis would stay. Travis was just there for the sex—besides, Wes knows exactly what Travis is like when people try to tie him down with anything more, maybe better than anyone. Anyway, this whole thing is complicated enough with Travis simply being there, he doesn't need to add anything else to the mix by insisting Travis stay.

It just…it feels wrong, somehow, that someone he was so intimate with the night before would just leave like that, without saying a word. But it's just him; clearly, Travis doesn't feel the same way, and Alex…well, Alex didn't say anything either way, but considering this whole thing is for the two of them, she probably wouldn't appreciate Travis lingering around in the morning.

It doesn't mean anything. It's just sex. It's all fine.

Wes resolves to stop thinking about it, and he ignores the disquiet in his chest.

XXXX

After lunch, they're at their desks when Travis makes a little noise in his throat, his I've just won something awesome and I'm gonna rub it in Wes's face! sound. (Travis doesn't know he makes this sound. Wes has never told him. The whole point of tells is that the person doesn't know they're making them—if Travis knew, Wes would never have the advantage.)

He looks up, narrowing his eyes at the sight of Travis grinning down at his phone. "What?"

Without a word, Travis turns his phone, revealing a string of plus marks. Wes doesn't get it, not until he reads Travis's original comment (Did I pass?) and who the reply is from (Alex). Then he turns bright red and ducks his head, staring fiercely at his paperwork.

Travis, the smug bastard, scoots his chair next to Wes's and nudges him. "You really think so?" he teases, like a cat who got the canary. Or a guy who had really really awesome sex. "All those pluses. That's like extra extra credit."

Wes blushes some more and shoves his partner away. "Get back to work, idiot," he mutters.

But there's a tiny smile curling the corner of his lips, and he's pretty sure Travis notices.

XXXX

Okay. So. Clearly, Travis enjoyed what they did. And, judging by Alex's response to the whole matter, she had a positive reaction to the experience as well.

Wes…

Wes thought it felt right, natural, normal, almost. Which shouldn't have been the case, because three people is just… And if it were anyone else other than Travis, it definitely would have been strange and unnatural. But it was Travis, so…

Yes, the sex was good, Wes can admit that (to himself. Not out loud, not without probably bursting into flames). And he's already decided to ignore the whole 'wanting Travis to spend the night' thing, because that's just complicated and emotional and messy. So.

If Wes enjoyed it and Alex enjoyed it and Travis enjoyed it, then they're probably going to do it again, aren't they?

That thought doesn't freak him out nearly as much as he thinks it should.

XXXX

Friday night, they do it again.

Travis comes over for dinner after work, just like any other night. Except this isn't like any other night, and they all know it. There's a crackle in the air, a charged tension flowing between the three of them. It shoots sparks with every casual touch, every heated glance, and by the time dinner is over Wes feels like his blood is alive, charged, pounding beneath his flesh.

He puts the food and dishes away, because there's a certain order to these things and if he doesn't, it'll just bother him, but he maybe moves a little faster than typical.

In defiance of his uncharacteristic eagerness, Wes pauses by the stairs and makes a mocking, sweeping motion with his hand. "Shall we?"

Travis grins, hooks his arm with Alex, and says, "Lead on," and Wes barely makes it to the top before he's got his mouth all over his partner, hands dragging him close. Travis chuckles against his lips, pulls away so he can bring Alex into the mix, and this—

This is right, his partner and his wife at hand, both of them close enough to touch, to hold, to grab tight and never let go.

Wes closes his eyes and sinks into their arms.

XXXX

He has a vague recollection of waking in the middle of the night, disturbed by some small movement. He blinks into Alex's dark hair, listening to the soft rustle of clothing, the whisper of Travis moving through the room. It isn't until he hears the gentle 'thud, thud' of Travis moving down the stairs, so quiet he wouldn't have heard it at all if he weren't listening for it, that he closes his eyes and slips back to sleep.

He doesn't mention it all weekend. Alex doesn't bring it up. On Monday, he thinks about saying something, but what would he say? Stay, I don't like it when you leave. That doesn't even make sense.

It's just sex, and having Travis stay would just be…complicated. Travis doesn't do complicated.

Neither does Wes, if he can avoid it.

So he keeps his mouth shut, and they keep moving forward.

XXXX

It quickly becomes routine, just another thing that happens in his life. Wes is good at adapting to routines, about forming his life around repetition. Once or twice a week, Travis comes home with him, and they have dinner, and then—

And every time Travis leaves, Wes thinks about saying something, thinks about reaching out and keeping Travis here, holding him back from leaving. But he never does. He doesn't want to think about what Alex would say, what Travis would say if he did stay. How does he explain that the next morning?

How would he react if Travis didn't stay? No, better to keep his hands to himself and keep ignoring the unease, the sense of wrongness as Travis leaves. There's just something shallow about it, about Travis leaving after everything.

But this is about Wes and Alex, and Travis is… he wouldn't…

It doesn't really matter, he supposes.

XXXX

Other than that, everything is amazingly normal. Their bickering continues, Kate and Amy roll their eyes at their antics, and Travis still drags him headfirst into ridiculously reckless situations. Nothing new there at all.

Alex did have the right of it—doing…this with Travis, it keeps him from getting distracted during work hours. He no longer imagines what it would be like to caress the sliver of skin that peeks out under Travis's shirt, no longer wonders what kissing Travis would taste like, because now he knows, he has deep and intimate experience. So he doesn't have to wonder, and he can shove all the questions aside and focus on his work.

Wes always has been good at compartmentalizing.

XXXX

It's still a little strange, and he gets nervous tingles in his stomach every time he asks Travis if he'll come over that night. But they're good kinds of tingles, and Wes is getting used to this. This, being him and Alex and Travis, an odd sort of relationship where the three of them weave in and out of each other's spaces.

Nothing changes, because there's nothing strange about this at all.

XXXX

Except, of course, there is.

XXXX

Travis is humming. Travis doesn't normally hum, and he especially doesn't hum when he's doing paperwork. Travis loathes paperwork with every fiber of his being, so he must be in a really good mood for his humming to overpower his hatred of paperwork. The most curious part of all this is that Travis has not talked at length about whatever is making him so happy.

It kind of annoys Wes.

"What is wrong with you?" he demands, which is not exactly how he meant to word the question, but the humming has been going on all day and he kind of snapped a little.

Travis flashes him a sunny grin and a peace sign. "Nothing."

"You're humming. And you're doing your paperwork without complaining." Wes narrows his eyes. "Are you sick?" A brain-eating parasite could very easily explain the sudden, irrational behavior change.

Travis lifts an eyebrow. "You're complaining about any sickness that makes me do my paperwork? Dude, you're weird." Travis signs his report, sets it aside, and without stopping grabs the next one, just chugging right through, totally uncharacteristic. "No," he says, "I'm just in a good mood. Got a date tonight."

Wes's hand jerks of its own volition, knocking the phone right out of the cradle. "A date?" he squeaks, voice strained. Fumbling to right the phone is a good excuse to avoid gaping at Travis like he's grown a second head.

"Yes, a date." Travis shakes his head at Wes and pauses in his report, twirling his pen between his fingers. "It's what us single people do when we have free time." He grins, all smug, cattish glee. "Her name is Melinda and I met her outside the bookstore and she thinks I'm charming."

Wes glares at the paper in front of him. "Well, you have a way of misleading people."

"Hey!" The shocked, annoyed tone makes Wes keep his eyes glued to his paper, because if he looks up he'll see that hurt, sad puppy-dog look on Travis's face, and he can't manage that, not when he's so upset—

Wait, why is he so upset?

All of a sudden Travis is there, leaning over the desk and whispering, "You didn't, ah, want me to come over tonight, did you? I mean, you didn't say anything, but I can totally reschedule with Melinda, it's fine…"

Wes has no idea why he's so pissed, but he's pretty sure the problem doesn't have to do with Travis being unavailable tonight.

He scowls and shoves Travis away, maybe a little more forcefully than he intended. (Or maybe not.) "It's fine. I'm sure Alex and I can manage by ourselves for one night. Go have fun."

He's in a bad mood the rest of the day. Travis is confused.

Honestly, so is Wes.

XXXX

As a general rule, Wes and his emotions are not friends. He ignores them on a good day—on a bad day, they bubble up out of him and explode everywhere. Emotions are like sex; complicated and unruly and just kind of messy. He prefers to avoid it when he can.

This makes him come off as cold and uncaring a lot of the time, but honestly, that doesn't particularly bother Wes. The people who deserve to know what he's feeling are the ones who have gotten close enough to understand him, who see the tiny smiles and understand that biting sarcasm is sometimes his way of caring.

It works. Emotions are better dealt with at a distance. He knows better than most how getting too up-close and personal can ruin you, can tear you right down to your core and hollow you out. So he takes a step back, and he feels things but he doesn't let it get too close to his heart.

For the most part, it works.

On occasion, though, it leads to trouble.

Specifically, those occasions where he's upset but he's not quite sure why, and he can't dissect his emotions enough to figure out what he's feeling in order to figure out why he's feeling it.

XXXX

Alex asks, almost as soon as he walks in the door, what's got him so upset. Jokingly, she says, "Is it Travis?" which is not an unfair assumption to make, but kind of pisses him off even more.

"Travis is an idiot and I hate him," he growls, stomping upstairs. When he comes back down, he's in his old, worn gardening clothes. Before he can make his escape to the backyard, Alex grabs his arm, gently guides him to a stop, and she's wearing her Concerned Face, which is almost exactly the same as her Disapproving Face except for the angle of her eyebrows.

"Wes," she says, "what happened with Travis?"

"Who says it has anything to do with Travis?" he snarls, pulling his arm away, which is a stupid comeback, considering he all but admitted it was about Travis the moment he walked in. As her mouth opens, he amends his statement. "He's got a date tonight." He spits the word like it's poisonous, feeling disgusted just thinking about Travis out with Melinda from the bookstore.

Alex just frowns a little more, brows pulling together. "Doesn't he go on dates all the time?"

She doesn't sound nearly as upset as Wes thinks she should. Which gives Wes a hint that he may, in fact, be acting a bit irrationally.

"Yes," he says through gritted teeth, "He does."

Alex blinks at him and continues frowning. "Then why are you upset?"

"I! Am not! Upset!" he shouts and storms out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

XXXX

Okay. So maybe he's a little bit upset.

But identifying what he's feeling doesn't tell him why he's feeling it, and everything with Travis is so complicated anyway he's made it a habit to just skim the surface of his emotions and never look any deeper.

It's a good habit. He doesn't plan on stopping now.

XXXX

It's late by the time he drags himself inside. He smells like dirt and grass and he sheds little green clippings all over the carpet. He's worked out most of the anger, and he can stop long enough to kiss Alex on the cheek and say, "I'm sorry I shouted at you," before he absolutely must take a shower.

Halfway through dinner, Alex very cautiously says, "Do you want to talk about it?"

To which Wes says, sharp and short, "No." He doesn't want to talk about it or even think about it.

Alex sighs, a big, long-suffering sigh, the kind of mildly-annoyed sound Wes makes at Travis all the time, but she doesn't bring it up again.

XXXX

He can't leave it alone, of course. He's not that lucky. It sticks in his craw, and he keeps poking at it, trying to work out the puzzle of his own emotions. Which is not exactly the easiest task in the world.

He knows he's annoyed that Travis is on a date, but that shouldn't bother him, because Travis goes on dates all the time, and it's annoyed him but has never pissed him off like this.

It takes him days to realize he's upset because Travis is on a date with someone else.

It's the sex, he decides morosely. Somewhere along the way, the boundaries blurred, and now Wes thinks of Travis as a major part of his life, the same way Alex is. Not that Travis isn't a huge part of his life, of course he is, he's Wes's partner and pretty much his best friend. But this is different, this is deeper, burrowing past that distance Wes keeps with his emotions into the small, fragile heart of him.

Travis is important. Travis is…

He's started thinking of them as Alex and Wes and Travis—except they're not. It's Alex and Wes, and also Travis, and that may not seem like a huge distinction, but it's an important separation that Wes has so easily lost track of.

It's because of the sex, he decides, and he can't even begin to parse out the tangled confusion inside of him.

XXXX

It's been almost two months since this whole thing started when Travis says, "How're things going?"

Assuming Travis isn't asking about the Discharge of Weapon form he's filling out, Wes glances up. "Hmm?"

"You know." Travis waves a lazy hand in the air, not even starting his paperwork. "With you and Alex. How are things?"

It's a sudden, startling burst of clarity that hits him, exploding practically in front of his face, leaving him stunned and gaping at his partner. Because now, with that question, he knows exactly what his problem with Travis's dating was, and why it upset him so much, and holy crap, how did he miss it so long?

Travis hesitates, takes his shock the wrong way and carefully asks, "Are things…better? Because of…" He waves a hand, encompassing all the things he can't say in the middle of the bullpen.

"Um…" Wes clicks his pen a few times, but it doesn't help clear his thoughts, doesn't make him feel any less like he's been sucker-punched.

He's been silent too long, because Travis fidgets and, looking unaccountably concerned, asks, "Is something wrong?"

Wes drags himself back together enough to assure Travis that things are fine. Everything with Alex is fine, better than ever.

No, the problem is not between him and Alex.

Travis and Melinda, it turns out, did not work out. Wes is annoyed by how relieved he feels, but at least now it makes sense.

XXXX

He's in love with Travis. He doesn't know how he missed it before. Except, no, he does. Travis always makes fun of how oblivious he is, how he's a great detective but misses the social and emotional cues Travis takes for granted.

The thing is, emotions are just annoying, and messy, and a pain to deal with. Wes doesn't look too closely inside himself, and if he sees something he doesn't like, he ignores it until it goes away. (Alex has, on more than one occasion, used the word 'denial'.)

He's been so focused on keeping things good with Alex, about dealing with the whole new sexual aspect of his relationship with Travis, that he never even paid attention to the why—never, honestly, wanted to delve too deep into the why. Why he was so upset that Travis was dating someone else, why he wanted Travis to stay, hell, why he was willing to start this whole threesome thing in the first place.

He loves Travis. He's in love with Travis.

Shit.

XXXX

He doesn't know how he's going to tell Alex. He's definitely not telling Travis—he knows exactly how that would go down, knows just what Travis is like when things get too deep. No, much better to keep that to himself.

But he can't keep it from Alex. She knows him too well, would be able to spot the difference in an instant. Besides, she's his wife, and he loves her, and he doesn't like lying to her, doesn't like keeping things from her. Especially something as important things as this.

How is he going to tell her without losing her?

XXXX

Falling for Alex was slow, black velvet and smooth jazz and chocolate fondue. He slipped into it easily, gracefully, and it was never any trouble at all.

Falling for Travis is like firecrackers and lightning, a flash of white-hot light, striking him and fading away before he even realizes he was hit. It's sharp and burning and hot in the back of his throat, fire in his veins scorching him from his head to his toes. It's ecstasy and agony and he is really, really in trouble here.

XXXX

"What's wrong?" Alex asks after dinner, sitting beside him on the couch. He stares down at his hands, trying to find the words. He's spent all evening trying to figure it out, and he's still got no clue.

"Wes?" Her hand on his arm jolts him out of his thoughts, makes him look at her. "What is it?" she asks, mouth pulled down in a pretty little frown.

God, she's beautiful. She's smart and capable and the strongest woman he knows, and she's stayed with him despite how easily she could have walked away after everything that happened with Anthony.

He loves her. He knows that for a fact, deep down in his bones.

But he loves Travis, too.

How can that even work?

"Travis asked how we were doing today," he says finally, laying the stage. "If this…thing is helping our relationship." 'Thing' being, of course, the way all three of them get together and have sex once or twice a week. Even when it's just Alex, he can't talk about it directly.

Alex nods slowly, prompts, "And…?"

He shifts, staring at his hands as he twines his fingers together. "I hadn't even thought about… us," he admits, and it's the truth. Things have been better with Alex, so much better he hadn't thought about the problem at all. He's been focusing on Travis, on the way things are different and strange and somehow exactly the same. "I was…it was enough with just…" He bites his lip, lining things up in his head.

He hadn't thought about him and Alex because it was more than enough when it was just the three of them. When Travis was there too.

"Do you remember when you asked if I loved Travis?" he asks carefully. "And how I couldn't answer?"

"I do," Alex says slowly, guardedly, bracing herself for hurt.

Wes shifts, wringing his hands. "I didn't know the answer then, but—I do now." He swallows hard. "I do now."

She knows him well enough to hear the double meaning in his words, to understand what he's saying no matter how obliquely. She's silent beside him, and he can feel the weight of all the things she's not voicing.

They had their problems before, but he was always confident they would work through them. This, though…

She takes a slow breath. "Do you still love me?" and it's the same question she asked before.

His answer hasn't changed one bit. "I do. I love you." Until his dying day, he knows he'll love Alex. But… "I just…love Travis too."

And he's prepared for her to cry, to scream, to get upset. He's prepared for her to kick him out, to ask him why, to demand a stop to everything immediately.

He's not prepared for her to take his hand and softly ask, "Wes. Have you ever heard of polyamory?"

XXXX

"No." He shakes his head, part disbelief, part stunned shock, part simple negation. "No, there's no way. It won't work."

She tilts her head, frowns curiously. "You don't think he'd go for it?"

Wes laughs, short and harsh, running his fingers through his hair. "Travis? No, I don't think he'll go for it. Are you kidding? It's Travis. The second this becomes anything more than just sex, he'll be running for the hills." And what Alex is suggesting is so much more.

Wes has been on the sidelines for every single one of Travis's so-called relationships over the years, has seen exactly how Travis reacts when it becomes anything more than just sex. He's seen, dealt with, lived with the aftermath of broken bonds and empty space between Travis and the people he's dumped. Once the relationship ends, they become nothing to Travis. Randi is the rare exception—Wes can't dare to hope it'd be so easy with him, not with their tumultuous relationship as it is.

He can't. He doesn't dare.

He's still shaking his head. "There's no way. Absolutely no way he'd be willing to—" God, it sounds absurd just thinking about it. "To date us. Together." He runs his hands through his hair again, peers up at Alex. "Really? You're okay with this?"

Alex smiles, soft and sweet. "We found it, Wes. The thing that was missing." She grips his arm, gives him a little squeeze. "We need him. And I think he needs us just as much."

He's still hesitant, but mostly because it's new and odd and Wes has never been fantastic with change.

The thing is, he can picture it, can see how it could work. They all get along, paired off—Wes and Alex, obviously, they're married and have stuck together this far; Wes and Travis, while they have their problems, are still the best in the precinct; and Alex and Travis get together like a house on fire, thick as thieves. And they enjoy hanging out together, the three of them. How many times did Travis come over for dinner and end up spending hours with them, just talking and laughing and being together, even before this whole thing started.

And they've already proven there's a physical compatibility, so that's not too much of an issue.

It could work. It probably would work, and they would be amazing, the three of them. It makes sense, fits with the confusion he's been feeling all this time.

But…

"It'll never happen," he tells her, still shaking his head. "He'll never say yes. He'll run, Alex." And Wes can't lose Travis like that, not over this.

Alex is silent a long minute, mulling it over. "You're right," she finally sighs, and Wes can't help but feel disappointed she gave in so easily. And then she says, "Which is why we don't tell him."

Wes's head-shaking stops. "What?"

"We'll court him. But without him knowing. Get him used to the idea of being in a relationship, and then, when he's fully invested, that's when we tell him."

Wes continues to stare at his wife. "Court him? He's not a heroine in one of your romance novels."

"No, he's a commitment-phobe who has a tendency to break things off completely when he ends things with people." Alex rolls her eyes a little. "Which is why we have to be subtle. We lure him in with sex and food, and then we woo him. We've already got the sex covered, and I'm pretty sure you can handle the food."

"Now we're wooing him," Wes grumbles half-heartedly. Alex has got to stop reading those ridiculous romance novels.

Alex sighs, leaning against his side. "It was just an idea," she says. "I'm not even saying we should. It's just…something to think about."

He turns, looks at her. "You're okay with this?"

And she smiles, leans in, and presses a quick kiss to his lips. "I wouldn't suggest it if I wasn't."

Well, alright then.

XXXX

The thing is, it really could work the way Alex is suggesting. Travis is Wes's opposite in a lot of ways, and this is no exception—he's made up of loud, brash gestures, overenthusiastic and over the top. He can do subtle, but it's not intrinsic to him, not something that comes naturally.

And when it's something like this, related to those pesky feelings Travis always avoids…

If they go about it subtly, it could actually work.

XXXX

Subtlety, when it comes to Travis, involves touch. Travis is a tactile person, always reaching out, bumping their shoulders or elbows or legs. Sometimes Wes thinks Travis doesn't even realize he's doing it, doesn't know how often he reaches for Wes, like he's reaffirming Wes's existence with his fingertips.

Wes, on the other hand, notices it all too keenly. It used to bother him a lot more, back when he thought Travis was infringing on his boundaries on purpose. Now, he still notices when Travis reaches out to him, but it doesn't bother him nearly as much. Travis is one of the only people who has slipped past Wes's boundaries into something comfortable and familiar.

Wes has never touched back, though. That's where the subtly comes in. If Wes reaches out, extends his hand to Travis, then Travis, being so tactile, might not even notice. At least not consciously.

Lure him in, Alex said, and Travis thrives on touch.

It starts with a little thing, a quick pass of their fingers when he passes a photo over their desks. Travis doesn't even bat an eye. Wes does it a few hours later, letting his fingers linger when he hands Travis a report, but Travis takes the report and finishes his sentence without missing a beat.

So he keeps at it, ups the ante. Stands a little closer, casually bumps Travis a little more often. And it seems to be working—Travis responds, letting his hands linger a heartbeat too long when they touch, leaning in ever so slightly when they stand next to each other. But like said, Travis is a tactile person, this could just be Travis responding to physical affection being thrown his way. This might have nothing to do with Wes.

It's supposed to have something to do with Wes, and Alex, and all three of them.

XXXX

The touching is only part of the plan, to get Travis relaxed and compliant, more used to…to this, to everything about this. Make him comfortable.

Comfortable enough that maybe he won't bolt in the night as soon as they're done with the sex.

He sees his opportunity to raise the stakes when Travis gets heartburn. Wes hands over his Tums, passes some banter back and forth, and steels himself.

"So," he says, clicking his pen once, twice, unable to help himself. "Are you coming over tonight?"

"Course I am," Travis says, easy as anything, like he can't sense Wes's nerves cascading off him. "What's for dinner?"

Wes forces himself to stop clicking the pen, gives his partner a small, nervous smile. "I found this recipe for vindaloo I want to try."

Travis snorts, holding out the bottle of Tums. "Speaking of heartburn…"

This is his chance. Wes takes a breath, pen clicking away in his hand. It's easier, somehow, if he's studying the report in front of him than watching Travis's face. "You should stay the night."

From the corner of his eye, he can see the way Travis freezes. "What? I—what?"

Well. That's…not the best reaction.

Wes looks up, his Lawyer Face on, the one that doesn't let any of his true feelings show, because—well, in court it's supposed to be about the client, not him. Here, he just doesn't want Travis to see all his emotions written on his face. "You should stay the night," he says again, like this is completely normal, like his heart isn't pounding in his chest with hope, fear, anxiety.

Travis just gapes at him. "Why?"

Despite his façade, his pen is clicking away in his hand, click-click, click-click, click-click, and he can't bring himself to stop. "It's always late when you leave. You shouldn't be driving that time of night, especially after being up all day. So just spend the night. Neither of us mind."

There. Perfectly thought out and logical. If Travis says no, it's just Wes being a good partner. If Travis says yes…

Well. That would be a step in the right direction, would bring this back to Wes and Travis and Alex, instead of just the two of them.

Travis opens his mouth, and Wes knows what he's going to say before he even makes the first word, can read Travis's face like it's his own, so he blurts out before Travis can speak, "I'll make pancakes in the morning."

Travis snaps his mouth closed, eyes narrowing as he studies Wes. Wes keeps his Lawyer Face on, doesn't let anything show, can't, because what if Travis sees, what if, they're not there yet and if Travis knows he'll run, just like he always does.

He keeps his face and doesn't flinch at all under Travis's scrutiny.

The corner of Travis's mouth twitches upward, and he holds out the Tums once more. "Next time, lead with that."

And Wes can't help it, he lets his Lawyer Face drop and smiles, and when he takes the Tums back he lets his fingers linger against Travis's and feels a long, slow warmth travel up his arm.

This is good.

XXXX

He is aware, vaguely, of Travis climbing out of bed in the middle of the night, his warmth pulling away, leaving Wes cold and disappointed. He sighs and, without opening his eyes, curls into Alex, and, telling himself it's fine this way, he drifts back into sleep.

XXXX

Thank god for automatic coffeemakers, he thinks every morning, and he's hunched over his mug when Alex steps into the kitchen.

"Morning Wes," she chirps, way too perky this early when Wes hasn't had nearly enough caffeine in his system. Too used to his ways, she leans over, pecks his cheek, and snags her own cup of coffee.

Then she starts getting things out, from the fridge and the cupboards, and Wes watches her blearily and makes a vaguely curious sound.

"For pancakes," she says, beaming over her shoulder. "He stayed."

What? "No he didn't," Wes mutters, taking a huge swallow of coffee to try and wake himself up. He distinctly remembers Travis leaving, and he certainly wasn't there when Wes stumbled downstairs.

Alex just grins. "He stayed in the guest room."

Oh. Oh. Well, that's…

Okay then.

"Pancakes," he says, and fills his mug to the top before heading for the stove.

XXXX

It's a two-part plan, this hope to draw Travis in. The first step is sex, which they've got pretty well-covered, and the next is food. ("Because the best way to a man's heart is through his dick, and through his stomach," Alex had declared decisively, and Wes went with it because even he'd heard of that one, and he also knows that food and sex are two of Travis's favorite things.)

So he makes pancakes in the morning, which Travis oohs and aahs over while simultaneously stuffing his face, and it says a lot that Wes is only mildly disgusted anymore. And then, somehow, he manages to pack a third lunch for Travis, secrete it to work, and stick it in the fridge without Travis ever noticing, resulting in Travis's blank-face, stunned shock when Wes puts the red lunchbag on Travis's desk.

Carefully, Travis opens the lunchbag and peers inside, which doesn't appear to clear any of his confusion. "What's this?"

Wes rolls his eyes. "It's lunch, you dumbass."

"What? I don't—why?" Travis pulls out the Tupperware, staring at the pasta salad like it's been made with nitroglycerin. "What?"

Wes can feel himself flushing, and he ducks his head, staring at his own packed lunch. He's not certain that Travis's reaction is a very good one. "Well. You know. You, ah…you stayed over, and I was already making my lunch and Alex's, so one more wasn't…" He coughs, rubs the back of his neck and fidgets in his chair. "Anyway."

After a moment, Wes heard a quiet, confused, but pleased, "Thanks, Wes," and he bites back a smile.

XXXX

This part of the plan is the easiest of it all. Feeding Travis is—simple. Uncomplicated. It's the easiest way to show how he feels, to imbue his cooking with his love and hand his heart to Travis in blue-lidded Tupperware. He keeps snacks in his drawer, his glovebox, always has something on hand if Travis starts whining about being hungry (which happens often). He's even stopped complaining when Travis eats in his car, just hands over a wad of napkins and tells Travis to wipe up the crumbs. (Okay, so he hasn't stopped complaining completely, but it's practically the same thing.)

Some things have always been difficult to say, but this. This is easy.

Alex pitches in with the lunches, throwing in treats and little post-it notes with hearts on them. ("Don't you think that's a bit too obvious?" he'd asked the first time, and she'd just winked and said, "Nope." Travis never commented.)

This is easy. And yet…

Wes isn't certain it's accomplishing anything. Travis doesn't say anything except thanks for the food, doesn't seem to notice the ulterior motive saturated in every bite. He watches his partner, trying to gauge Travis's reaction, but Travis frowns when he thinks Wes isn't looking and just seems to get more and more puzzled with every meal.

"I think it's working," Alex says happily, leaning against the counter as Wes prepares dinner.

Wes glances at the clock, though he knows Travis isn't due to arrive for another forty-five minutes. "I think it's just making him confused," he says, not wanting to admit the plan isn't working when it had sounded so sure-fire at the time.

But instead of being discouraged, Alex merely smiles and steals a grape tomato from the cutting board. "If he's confused, that means he's thinking about it," she says sagely. "And that means it's working." And she pops the tomato in her mouth and grins.

Wes isn't entirely convinced, but he'll give her this; Travis isn't looking discouraged, or freaked out, or hesitant, the way Wes has seen so many times when a plethora of past relationships have gotten this far.

So maybe she's got a point.

XXXX

He still touches Travis, little things, a hand on his shoulder, leaning a little too close. It's for Travis, part of the plan, but it's also a little bit for himself, too.

Travis is a tactile person; Wes is not.

But he's learning to see the comfort touch can bring, and maybe he understands why Travis craves it so much.

XXXX

It's the end of a long day after a fruitless lead that fizzled to nothing, and Wes can feel the adrenaline crashing. But he can't let it go (can never let it go), and he orders Travis to his side to help figure this out, to hopefully find one more lead they can follow. And yet, sitting here, still for the first time in over six hours, the exhaustion creeps in, greying out the edges of his vision, and all he wants to do is collapse.

There's no one else in the squad room, one of those rare times of night when it's just him and Travis, and it seems completely natural to slump in his chair and relax, head resting on Travis's shoulder.

(the touching is for Travis, but it's for him, too)

If there were anyone else in the room… But there's not. There's Travis, and Wes…Wes trusts Travis, can afford to let his guard down around Travis, because he knows Travis won't betray that trust.

(maybe that's what love is all about)

Travis's hand comes up, wraps around his shoulder and pulls him close, and Wes lets his eyes droop. This, he thinks, staring muzzily at the case file spread across his desk, this is...

(he's starting to understand why Travis craves it so)

And the heat of Travis's hand seeps into his skin even through his clothes, and Wes feels warm all the way to his heart.

XXXX

He doesn't remember much of the drive home, or staggering up the stairs at Alex's gentle guidance. He gets ready for bed on automatic, the motions familiar and empty with the drag of post-adrenaline exhaustion pulling him under.

He doesn't remember much of anything until he's standing beside the bed, staring down at the still form face-down on the bed, and it's strange to see Travis here, in their bed, without sex preceding it, but oh, it's so right, Travis here and Alex on the other side, right here where he can hold onto them tight and fast.

He crawls under the covers, leaving an inch of space between them because he knows, even exhausted as he is, that they're not there yet. He can't just sling an arm around Travis's chest and hang on, can't cling to Travis because that will make Travis run. It always does.

But he can feel Travis, the heat of his skin traversing the mere inch that separates them, and he falls asleep thinking there's nothing more right than this.

XXXX

When he wakes, Travis isn't there. Again.

He should be used to this by now, he thinks.

XXXX

Travis races out of the house like the hounds of hell are nipping at his heels, and Wes's stomach sinks alarmingly. He's seen—well, not this reaction exactly, but he's imagined something similar, when Travis feels too cornered by a relationship and does his best to bolt before he gets tied down into anything permanent. It doesn't take a genius to think that it's not a good sign, happening here, like this.

"I don't think it's working," he murmurs into his coffee, gripping the mug tighter than he intends. The warmth of the brew doesn't ease the chill that's settling in his gut.

Alex hums in the direction of the doorway, the rumble of Travis's motorcycle fading away. "I think you might be right this time."

That makes him pause, turn to her with one eyebrow raised. "This time?"

She smiles sunnily at him and ignores the question. "We need to up the stakes." She takes a sip of her coffee, brow furrowed thoughtfully. "We're gonna have to take him out."

"Now, Alex," Wes chides playfully, sliding along the counter to wrap an arm around her waist. "As much as I think about murdering Travis on a regular basis, I'm not sure that's really the best course of action here."

She pokes him in the ribs and gives him a look. "Cute. You know what I mean."

Yes, yes he does. "What did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking start out small, friendly. Ease him into it." Alex grins. "You know, I still have those baseball tickets I won at work. Does Travis like baseball?"

XXXX

It's late by the time Alex gets home, late enough he's already dressed for bed and reading by the time Alex comes in. He sets down his book and watches her bound in, high on enthusiasm and cheap stadium food, and he watches her fondly.

"How'd it go?"

She turns, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. "Oh man, it was amazing. We won by six points, and about five of them were all made in the last inning. And our seats were incredible."

He can't help the indulgent smile that crosses his lips, though he tries. "Not what I meant."

Alex blinks, none of her enthusiasm dimming. "Oh, I think that went really well too. He got a bit shy when I kissed him, but I'm pretty sure I got us past that, so we should be good."

Wes's eyebrows go up. "You kissed him?"

With an impish grin, Alex crawls up the bed, coming to a stop beside him. "On the cheek. You jealous?"

"That I wasn't there, maybe."

"This is why you need to have a better appreciation for baseball. You miss out on all the fun stuff."

He smiles, her enthusiasm catching. "Well then, I guess I'll have to make sure to join the next one," and she beams at him like the sun coming out.

XXXX

"It's movie night at seven," Wes tells Travis, "You get to pick the movie," and when Travis immediately tries to back out, Wes barrels right over him, tearing apart the flimsy excuse like it's made of tissue paper, gliding away before Travis can say anything or try to protest any more. Because Travis is the kind of guy who will always show up if he's made an obligation, or even if he thinks someone expects him to show up, and Wes feels kind of bad playing on that, but it's more important for Travis to be there than to let him bow out with a lame excuse.

Travis shows up, surprisingly early for once, and they all settle onto the couch, two bowls of popcorn shared between the three of them because Travis insisted on bringing his own. And they don't get through two minutes of the movie straight without someone talking over the dialogue, and Travis steals Wes's popcorn when his is all gone, and Alex spends an equal amount of time draped across both their laps.

Wes starts off the night on the other side of the couch, a healthy, professional amount of space between him and Travis, because despite everything, he still can't bring himself to sit any closer, to imply something he's still not certain Travis will accept, so he has to keep that distance.

But he drapes his arm across the back of the couch, lets his fingers trail over his partner's shoulder, the heat of Travis's skin seeping into his fingertips, and it hits him hard, how much braver he wishes he could be.

XXXX

"Have you ever been to a jazz club?" Wes asks, and he's not entirely surprised when Travis says no. He can't help smiling, not a little smirk but a real, true smile, unable to contain his joy at the thought of showing Travis this thing that he loves, and maybe Travis won't like it at all, maybe it'll be a huge bust, but maybe it won't and he says, "Good," and "Wear something nice."

They go Saturday night, when the band is live and the crowds are lively; it's not really Travis's kind of place, but Travis seems to have fun anyway, dancing on the floor even though he doesn't know the steps. Wes aches a little, watching them, Alex in that sleek red dress that brings out the sparkle in her eyes, Travis in his suit that matures him, makes him look striking and sharp.

He imagines going out there, tapping Alex on the shoulder and taking her spot, gliding with Travis and showing him how the steps go. But he can't bring himself to be that brave, can't take that leap, so when the song changes he taps Travis's shoulder instead, switches places with his partner and takes his wife's hands.

"Wes?" she murmurs quietly, seeing something in his face, maybe, something he can't quite contain, and he buries his face in her hair and takes a deep breath of Travis's cologne lingering on her skin.

XXXX

"Are you having second thoughts?" Alex asks quietly one night, once they've turned off the lights but before either of them has fallen asleep. He can feel her watching him in the dark, and he wonders what she's seeing. "We can still stop. It's not too late."

Wes sighs, closes his eyes, and he aches. "That's not it." He does want this, wants him and Alex and Travis—he thinks it could work so well, has seen it working, but he can't—

He's still not certain, of Travis, of them, and he can't—

She shifts, props herself up on her elbow and looks down at him. He can't meet her gaze. After a long minute, she asks, even softer than before, "Are you getting stuck?"

She knows him too well. He closes his eyes once more, grits his teeth.

She lets out a breath, wraps her hand around his neck and runs a reassuring thumb over his skin. "It's going to be alright, Wes," she says, and it's hard not to believe her when she says it so confidently, without even a waver of doubt in her voice. "Everything's going to be fine."

XXXX

He wants to believe her. More than anything, he does. She's the person he trusts most in this world, right up there with Travis.

But she said that right after Anthony, too.

XXXX

He gets like this sometimes, when things are going well. He gets gun-shy, wary, cautious to the point of inactivity. He overthinks things, he's heard people say that more than once. His mind races, running over scenarios and potential outcomes at a million miles per hour, and then—he gets stuck, fixated on the worst possible futures ahead of him, and he can't take a single step. Doesn't dare take a chance if it could lead to failure.

In some ways, he's grateful to Alex and Travis. (they're so much stronger than he is.) Alex will go over the possible futures the same way he does, but she doesn't get bogged down in the negatives. She's just as capable of seeing the potential positive futures, and she strives for it, reaches for it and doesn't let anything stop her. Wes used to be like that, once, before, willing to climb and not let anything stand in his way. And Travis…well, Travis hardly ever seems to consider the future ahead of him, good or bad, just rushes in blindly, and that's a refreshing change of pace—it forces Wes to scramble to keep up, and he can't possibly overthink a situation if he's being dragged in Travis's wake.

Logically, Wes knows there's no guarantee. Knows that he could do everything right, and still it could all fall to pieces. Knows just as fiercely that it might be amazing, the best thing in the world, if he just takes a chance, just reaches out.

But he keeps getting bogged down with the what-ifs. What if he and Alex make their intentions perfectly clear and Travis doesn't want it? What if Travis doesn't feel the same way? What if Travis leaves? Wes can't lose Travis, can't even bear the thought—Travis is half of the stable bedrock his life is built upon, and if he left because of this, because Wes couldn't keep his damn feelings to himself…

It's not that he wants to hold back, not that he doesn't want it anymore.

But what if?

XXXX

The smell of coffee lures him down the stairs and into the kitchen. Wes pauses momentarily in the doorway upon seeing Travis at the stove, rather than Alex, but it's not an alarming enough change to deter him for long. He beelines for the coffeemaker, where his mug (Don't take it personally, I'm always like this, Travis got it for him, no further explanation needed) is already full and waiting for him. He wraps his hands around the mug and takes three long sips of delightful caffeine before he even turns around.

When he does finally turn, he sees Alex, pressed up against Travis's back, stealing a pancake from the ready batch beside the stove. It makes him stare fondly, lean against the counter and watch them, the two people he loves the most, side by side and nothing has ever been more right. Wes takes another sip of coffee and smiles against the ceramic.

Alex suddenly leans up on her toes, pressing a kiss to the corner of Travis's mouth, and Wes smiles again, soft and sleepy. She's good that at, making bold moves and taking chances. Just last week she sent them that photo of the new purple lingerie, right in the middle of work, and Wes and Travis had both been distracted for a good half hour. She doesn't hesitate when she wants something, just steps right up, and Travis—Travis doesn't even think about it, he just goes for it.

Wes catches Travis watching him, and, suddenly feeling inspired, he pushes off the counter and crosses the room. There will always be time for what-ifs and uncertain futures; but right now, standing in his kitchen, Wes is taking a page out of Alex's book, out of Travis's. He's throwing caution to the wind and taking a chance, being bold.

(and if it goes to hell he's totally blaming it on the lack of coffee in his system)

"Morning," he murmurs, leaning in and pressing a firm kiss to Travis's mouth. Big and bold and Wes doesn't overthink it, doesn't get caught up, he just enjoys the taste and feel of Travis's mouth against his own.

"Thanks for breakfast," he says when he pulls back, grabbing the pancakes and heading for the table. He doesn't look back, even though he's dying to know what kind of look is on Travis's face. He refuses to ruin this for himself.

XXXX

Maybe.

Wes can't stop the what-ifs, the uncertainty that makes his chest tight, the fear that curdles his stomach. He can't stop thinking about the possible futures, the ones where Travis walks away and he's left behind in the shattered ruins of his heart.

But one little kiss has him hoping, has him thinking maybe…

Just maybe…

XXXX

He allows himself to hope. For one brief, glorious moment, he hopes that everything will turn out the way he wants it to, the way he dreams it could be. That's his mistake.

He hopes, and that's when everything shatters apart.

(he really should know better by now)

XXXX

"So here's the thing," Travis says in a rush, bursting through the front door before Wes has it halfway open. "I can't—where's Alex?"

Wes knows Travis's moods, can read him like a finely tuned piano after all these years. This is Travis restless, anxious, upset. This is Travis determined, resolved, ready to take a bullet.

Wes has got a bad feeling about this.

To cover the sinking in his stomach, Wes quietly shuts the door and snarks, "Hi, Travis, good to see you too. Please, come inside. Alex is in the living room." When in doubt, fall back on the usual.

"Yeah, okay, whatever, come on." Travis grabs his arm and drags him into the living room. Alex glances up, but Travis cuts her off, abrupt, determined (resolved, ready to take a bullet)

"I can't do this anymore."

Wes's chest constricts painfully. Alex has frozen in place, mouth hanging open, and Travis doesn't look like he's breathing.

He's got a very bad feeling about this.

Hoping against hope, Wes shifts minutely, swallows hard and asks, "This…?" His voice sounds empty to his ears, hollow. Somehow he already knows what Travis is going to say.

As if this wasn't bad enough, Travis suddenly realizes he's still got a hold of Wes's arm and drops it like a hot potato, taking a few steps back. Wes didn't realize it was possible for his stomach to sink any lower.

Travis takes a breath, and Wes braces himself for the pain. "This," Travis says, waving his hand wildly between the three of them. "I can't do this anymore."

Wes knew it was coming, and it still manages to tear holes through him. He wants to say something. He can't. He doesn't know what he could say.

To make things worse, Travis keeps going. "It's not that I have a problem with this, that's not it at all. It's just that I sort of…I think I…no, okay, I know I've developed f-feelings." That makes Wes perk up—what kind of feelings? but Travis doesn't stop. "And it—it's not fair, to either of you, so we really need to stop."

No! Wes wants to shout, No, this is perfect, don't you see? but he can't get the words to come out.

Travis continues. "I really want to help—" Help what? (oh right, the whole marriage thing—Wes forgot that was the original lure) "—you guys are my favorites, but I can't be your fucktoy anymore." Wait, what? "And—and honestly, you two are doing great, way better than some of the relationships I've seen in my life, so, you know, that's awesome. You'll be fine, even without…this."

No. No, no, oh god, he has to say something, do something, but he can't move. His nightmares and his dreams are colliding in his living room and Wes can't do anything but stand there in horror.

Travis turns to him, face twisted in what is probably supposed to be a reassuring smile, but is nowhere close enough. "Look, I'll talk to the captain on Monday, we'll figure something out at work. It'll be fine."

Which means reassignments and transfers and new partners oh god, and Wes's vision goes a little grey around the edges.

He has to say something, do something, stop this, but all he can manage is a choked, "Travis—" the word strangled out of him, and he barely gets that out before Travis is backing towards the door saying, "Anyway, That's all I wanted to say. So have a good night and—and—and a good life. And. Bye."

And then he's gone, and Wes can feel everything falling, falling, falling down.

XXXX

Wes's world has fallen apart before, a devastation that swept through him, that crumbled the ground beneath his feet and left a wasteland in its wake. He knows what it's like to have everything shatter, to have the pieces spiral between his fingers and he's powerless to stop it. This, right here, is an all too familiar feeling, one he'd hoped to never experience again.

Hands cup his face, and Alex says sternly, "Wes, look at me." He does, drags his gaze to hers, and her eyes are blazing, fierce and determined (she's so much stronger than he is in so many ways). "Wes," she says, and there's steel in her voice, to match the fire in her eyes. "We're going to fix this."

Fix this? How? Travis left. "I told you he'd run," he says, hearing himself from a thousand miles away. This is why he was hesitant in the first place, why he could never bring himself to be bolder. This, right here.

(he can't lose Travis, he can't)

"Not like this," Alex says, "he's running for the wrong reasons. We were too subtle. So we'll go to him, and we'll tell him the truth. We'll fix this."

She sounds 100% confident, not a trace of doubt in her voice, and Wes clings to that. It's the only hope he's got.

XXXX

It isn't about the sex. None of this has ever been about the sex. But they let Travis think it was, and they never clarified the issue. Actions may speak louder than words, but sometimes words are the only way to get the right message across.

If Wes loses Travis because they weren't clear enough, he'll never forgive himself.

XXXX

Travis isn't at his trailer when they arrive. Wes can't honestly say he's surprised—he's always known Travis gets skittish when he's scared. His first instinct is to rush right back out, scour the streets until he finds Travis and can explain. Which is a stupid idea, something he realizes when Alex sits on the steps of Travis's trailer, prepared to wait until he returns, and yes, that is a much better plan with a much higher chance of success.

Alex sits and waits. Wes paces. They don't talk much—there's not much to say. They need to talk to Travis, not each other. So they wait, and the silence fills the warehouse.

Some time later (two hours and seven minutes, no Wes wasn't counting at all) the rumble of Travis's motorcycle fills the air. Wes freezes; Alex's head comes up.

Slowly, Travis's bike trundles into the warehouse.

They're probably lucky Travis doesn't spot Alex until he dismounts. If he'd still been on the bike, he'd have turned around and rode right out of there, and they'd never have a chance to catch him. As it is, Wes is there before Travis can make his escape, grabbing his partner by the arm and marching him to the patio table. Travis bitches the whole way, but finally he's seated, Alex in the opposite chair and Wes standing behind him to make sure he doesn't try and run. (Also, there are no other chairs.)

Travis doesn't say anything, scowling fiercely at the table. Wes doesn't know what to say, too many words crowding him throat, knotting up tight in his neck.

So Alex takes the lead. "We're sorry, Travis."

Travis's head snaps up. Alex reaches for his arm, but her hand doesn't make it all the way, dropping to the table instead, and she says again, "We're sorry."

"For what?"

Wes has never seen Alex smile like this, a small, timid thing. If he were sitting there, though, he's not sure he could do any better. "For misleading you. For not telling you the truth."

"What truth?" Travis demands. "I was sleeping with you to help your marriage."

"Yes. That's…" Alex pauses, glances at Wes.

Wes has no intention of talking about all the messy, complicated feelings that started this fiasco. He knows better. They've barely got this far with Travis—talking about anything more will just make Travis shut down. The full, unvarnished truth…that can come later.

"It started that way," Wes says, which is not entirely a lie. Travis turns to look at him; Wes drops his gaze to his shoes and tries to act like he's not scared of the look on his partner's face.

"Started that way…" Travis says slowly, turning to Alex once more.

Alex reaches out once more, and this time her hand reaches its destination, clasping Travis's arm. Solidarity, comfort, reassurance, a thousand things in one touch. "It started that way," she says, following Wes's lead, bless her heart. "You were never a fucktoy, Travis. You brought us something we'd been missing in our marriage. And you're…not the only one who developed feelings."

Travis sits in silence, gaping at her. He turns and gapes at Wes.

And Wes can almost see the anger rising in Travis's eyes, humiliation and betrayal that they would be doing this to him, and he shakes Alex's arm off and starts to rise, snapping a fierce, hurt, "Bullshit."

Wes reaches out, clasps his partner's shoulders and pushes him back into the chair. "Really not," he says, and he's proud of how level his voice sounds, no sense of the turmoil of emotion roiling through him, the nausea churning his gut and the fear that none of this will work at all and he'll end up losing his partner anyway.

Travis pauses, shifts, asks, "Really?" and his voice cracks a little.

Neither of them comment on it. "Really, Travis," Alex says softly, taking Travis's hand in her own.

Wes can hear Travis swallow from here. "You never…said anything."

"We thought we were," Alex says simply.

"Bullshit," Travis snaps, a little less fiercely, a little more wobbly, and Wes flinches minutely.

He swallows the emotion down, takes a breath, and does his level best to sound as normal as possible, to not let on. Messy, complicated emotions, and he knows better than anyone how much Travis hates those.

"Come on, Travis, if we'd told you, you would have run for the hills as fast as you could. We had to…to…" He gropes for the right phrasing.

"To ease you into it," Alex takes over. "To show you, rather than tell you. To get you used to the idea before we just dumped it on you."

Okay, not the exact wording Wes would have used, but it works.

"Get used to what?" Travis snaps, soundly a little angry still, but mostly confused.

In unison, Wes and Alex reply, "To being in a relationship."

It takes a minute for it to sink in, for Travis to understand what they're trying to say, but then he stiffens, staring at her. "Oh my god! You were dating me!" he cries, jabbing an accusing finger at Alex. "You two were sneak dating me!"

"Yes," Wes says, because they were, and Alex takes Travis's hand again and says, "We were trying to show you how we felt, Travis," and it had seemed like such a clever idea at the time but obviously it wasn't because Travis is—Travis is—

Travis's breathing changes, hitching, become short, quick, harsh, and Wes can feel his partner trembling beneath his hands. Immediately, Wes drops to one knee beside Travis's chair, wraps a hand around Travis's neck and cups his cheek, because Travis is a tactile person and the touch can only help ground him.

"Breathe, Travis," he says gently, carefully, trying to remember all those seminars about talking down a panicking or hysterical witness (that's never been his thing, Travis is always so good at that). "You're okay, you're safe, you need to breathe."

"I can't," Travis gasps, and he blinks and tears trickle down his cheeks, "I can't, I can't—"

And oh, wow, Wes didn't realize how deep it went, the commitmentphobia and the serial dating. And then he curses himself for an idiot, because why wouldn't it be that deep, Travis has had over thirty years for everything to build up. Wes shouldn't let have himself be fooled by the face Travis puts on, not when he knows how very good Travis is at acting like he's fine.

"I can't," Travis chokes, sobs, "I'm sorry but I can't," and Wes exchanges a helpless look with Alex and does the only thing he can think to, whispering mindless assurances, and Alex is suddenly by Travis's side too, and they hold him as he shudders to pieces.

XXXX

Compared to Travis and Alex, Wes has always felt like the weakest link; they're strong, capable, confident, always pushing forward even when the challenge seems insurmountable, and he's…not.

But right here, right now, Wes has never felt stronger.

XXXX

It's a long time before Travis settles, before the tears stop falling and his breathing evens out into something close to normal. Wes, who has been muttering comfort this entire time, falls silent, leaning into Travis's side; Alex, protectively curled around Travis's other side, does the same.

It sends a pang through his heart, that the first word out of Travis's mouth is an apology…but honestly, Wes would probably do the same in his situation.

Alex pressed a gentle kiss to Travis's temple, his cheek, his hair, as though she can shower him with affection and show him how much they care. "We're not asking for anything you don't want to give," she says, voice as soft as her kisses.

And oh, Wes feels stupid—Travis wasn't just apologizing for freaking out. He squeezes his partner's shoulder. "We're simply leaving the door open," he assures Travis gently. "If you want to join us, we'll be waiting." He closes the distance, presses his lips to Travis's jaw. "We're not going anywhere, Trav."

He means that. With everything he has, he means that.

With Alex's help, he pulls Travis to his feet, snagging his keys and tossing them to Alex. "We can go as slow as you want."

Alex catches the keys and unlocks the door of the trailer. "Or we can go as fast as you want. We're not pushing for anything. You call the shots."

Travis thinks this over, letting himself be nudged into the trailer. And then Travis, who is nothing if not consistent, asks, "We can still have sex, though, right? Because I really liked the sex," and Wes feels his lips twitch upward.

"And anything else as well," Alex assures him, leading the way through the trailer.

"Okay," Travis says slowly. "But definitely the sex, right?"

Wes can't help huffing a dry little laugh. "Yes, Travis, we can still have the sex."

"Oh. Good." But then Travis sees they're heading for the bedroom and tries to backpedal, going, "Woah, hey, I didn't mean now," and Wes is there right beside Alex, reassuring and soothing, because this isn't about the sex. And even if it was, he's not about to take to bed someone who just came down from a panic attack.

Slowly, they undress him. Wes is the first one to kiss him, a small, dry press of his lips against the back of Travis's neck as he peels the leather jacket off. Alex picks up on it, though, and then they're both doing it, feathering kisses to every inch of skin exposed, and Travis stands there, watching them blankly, but Wes doesn't stop. It's an adoration of his partner, a promise that he's not going to get bored and leave, that he'll stay until the end, no matter what happens.

He's only ever loved two people like this, and he's going to do whatever it takes to convey that as best he can.

When Travis is down to his underwear, Wes and Alex follow suit, leading him to bed and tucking themselves beneath the covers, Travis safe in the middle. On his side, Wes keeps a careful few inches between himself and his partner. Travis has calmed down, but Wes doesn't want to crowd him, scare him off again.

He's being considerate, but apparently Travis thinks differently, because he reaches out and hauls Wes close. Hauls them both close, he corrects, hearing Alex squeak a little in surprise, and he grumbles out of form but inwardly he's pleased, and he buries his smile in Travis's chest.

XXXX

Wes has only loved two people this deeply, this completely.

The fact that he has them both right here, in his arms, makes him feel like the luckiest guy in the world.

XXXX

There's something different when he wakes up, but it takes a long time for his sleepy, pre-caffeinated brain cells to figure it out. It isn't until Travis stirs beneath him, and he feels Alex's legs brush his, and then the pieces slot into place.

Oh, he thinks, and he smiles, a somnolent and tender thing, and holds them close.

OOOO

All in all, I'm pretty pleased with how this one turned out. There were some twists and turns in the fic that I hadn't planned on concerning Wes's characterization, but I feel like it still managed to stay pretty true to character, so I'm happy with it.

I hope you enjoyed this, and I'd love to know what you think. Comments, reviews and construction criticism are always welcome.

Until next time~!