Falling in Love in Three Easy Steps.
Wesley didn't remember what it was like to be dead.
Really, all he remembered was a rather horrible amount of pain, and Fred's sweet face above him, crying and telling him that she loved him. He remembered that he'd died for Angel, for Angel's cause, and that had been enough for him because he'd always devoted everything to Angel, even when Angel didn't want it (or deserve it.)
He didn't know how long he'd been dead. In fact, in those first confusing moments, he didn't even know that he had been dead. So when he fell from nothingness and landed on a table in front of a very surprised Xander Harris, his first words weren't anything profound.
"Ow."
Xander Harris was a lot of things, but if you asked him to pick one thing about himself to explain, he'd tell you that he was a Council Op.
Council Operative, for the full term, though Field Agent worked as well. Xander refused to let them list Field Agent on his file, though, because a Field Agent could be assigned a Slayer to train, and while Xander completely sympathized with the plight of the Council in not having enough Watchers, he wasn't interested in becoming one. When he was on a hunt he either worked alone or with a partner, but he wasn't ever going to be responsible for someone else's fate, and there was no way to avoid responsibility when you were hunting with a teenage girl you were trying to train.
He worked mainly in America these days, though during the first year he'd traveled Africa, searching for Slayers. He hadn't been able to speak the language, but Giles had managed to find a translator who knew the deal, and Julian had traveled with him the entire time. Julian, who had the smooth voice and dark skin and knowing eyes, who had seen death and coaxed Xander out of his grief in those first few, bitter months. Julian, who could do things with his mouth that Xander couldn't even describe, and always smiled at Xander just before they kissed.
Yeah, Xander remembered Julian fondly. He wasn't the first, though, and he wouldn't be the last.
After Africa he recuperated in London for a month or two, but it didn't take long for him to get bored. After living on the Hellmouth and then Africa, which was almost as hair-raising as Sunnydale, he needed a little excitement in his life. So he talked to Giles, got his status changed from Inactive to Council Op, and headed back across the pond to the good ol' US of A.
It was there that he ran into Spike, who was on his own again after the Wolfram and Hart mess in LA, and not long after that before they were sleeping together. Xander hadn't hated Spike too much at the End of Days, after all, and he'd loosened up a lot since then. Besides, Spike was a good fighter, one of the best, and Xander was always glad of the company on his hunts.
Spike drifted away after a while, though, went back to Angel who was back to doing the hero gig in LA. It was the one place Xander never visited, for reasons he never explained to Spike, but he sent him off with a kiss and good wishes, and went on his way alone.
Xander liked to kill things, and he liked people, and he liked sex. These were things that meshed well for him in his life as a demon hunter, and he had friends and sometime-lovers scattered across the country. Not a ridiculous number, not a guy or girl in every port, but some. They all knew the score; most of them were in the same gig he was. All of them were friends, were people he'd count on to have his back in a heartbeat, and though he'd never fall in love with any of them, there was one who meant a bit more than the others. Not that he told him that, because Xander knew damn well that he didn't own the guy's heart. He enjoyed him when they were together, and didn't think about him too much when they were apart. That was how it went.
With one thing and another, two years had passed since Sunnydale, and Giles called him back to London for the annual Council Convocation.
Xander had expected to be bored. He'd expected to want to kill some of the Old Council that remained and still believed that Slayers were expendable weapons. He'd even expected that maybe, if he was lucky, he'd be able to duck out before too long while Giles was in a separate meeting with the Slayers.
He'd expected a lot of things.
He hadn't expected a naked Wesley Wyndham-Pryce to fall from the ceiling and land on the table in front of him.
Step One: Being Friends
Wesley had never been particularly fond of being naked in front of strangers. Being naked in front of the entire Council of Watchers ranked fairly highly as one of his worst childhood nightmares.
But here he was, stark naked on the council table, struggling to make it even to his hands and knees, and failing spectacularly. Xander's familiar face, with its unfamiliar black eye patch, filled his vision even as shouts of surprise and concern filled the room, and he managed a half-smile.
"Hey," Xander said. "You're not dead anymore."
"I'd rather assumed that, yes," Wesley said, at his driest. "Don't suppose you can help me up?"
"'Course," Xander said, and managed to peel him off the table and to a vaguely upright position with one huge flex of his rather impressive biceps.
(Wesley was newly not-dead, not blind.)
Wesley quickly turned, managing not to overbalance himself, till his backside was facing the Council table. Only moderately more modest, but he'd take what he could get.
"Here," Xander's low voice said in his ear, and the next thing he knew there was warm, Xander-scented black fabric wrapped around his shoulders. "Good thing I wore my long coat today, isn't it?"
The coat was indeed long, falling all the way to the back of his calves, and Wesley wrapped it tightly across his front, grateful to Xander. And more than a little admiring of the way stubble darkened his jaw. It gave him quite the rakish look, especially in combination with the all-black clothing and the black eye patch.
"Dawn," Xander said, his voice raised to carry across the room. Wesley risked a glance over his shoulder, and saw a young woman with long brown hair, carrying a camcorder, that he recognized as the Slayer's little sister even though he knew he'd never really met her. She looked older than Buffy had when Wesley had first met her, and Wesley wondered just how much time had elapsed since his death.
"Yeah," she called back. At least the camcorder was lowered now. At some point, Wesley was going to have to see about getting that tape and destroying it.
"Keep an eye on things for me, will you?" he said. "I'm gonna get him back to my place."
"Young man, you can't do that," an elderly man near Xander's left elbow protested. "This… man could be dangerous. He needs to be tested."
Xander smiled, and it wasn't friendly. "Do you know who in this room outranks me?" Xander asked conversationally, and the man flinched as if he was just realizing who he was talking to.
"Um…"
"Nobody," Xander continued. "I report directly to Head Watcher Rupert Giles. I allow you to run the meetings, Sanderson, because you're a good little pencil-pusher, but you're crap as a Watcher. I am taking my friend," and he emphasized the word, causing another little flinch, "back to my apartment because he's obviously gone through a lot. Now, Giles is meeting with the Slayers right now, but I'm sure he'll be here once he hears the commotion. Until then, Assistant Head Dawn Summers is in charge." He raised his voice again. "Got it, Dawnie?"
"Got it," she called back, and tipped him a wink. Xander grinned back, and the last thing Wesley saw before Xander grabbed him firmly by the elbow and led him out of the room was Dawn, climbing up onto the table with her hands cupped over her mouth.
"LISTEN UP!" she yelled, in a parade-ground voice, and the resulting silence echoed after them as they strode quickly down the hall, away from the Meeting Hall.
"She's such a little bitch these days, it's great," Xander said affectionately. "Let me grab you a pair of my spares before we head back to my place, and I'll get you settled in and you can tell me your story."
Wesley cast a skeptical glance at Xander, who was two inches shorter than him and of a considerably more solid build. "They won't fit," he said, and Xander shrugged.
"They'll do to get back to my place, it's only a couple blocks away," Xander said, and tugged on his elbow. "Come on, before one of the Oldies breaks away from Dawn's hypnotizing glare."
It wouldn't occur to Wesley till later, but that was the moment that Xander became thoroughly, completely, and hopelessly entangled in his life. Though once he did realize, well, it wasn't as though he was about to complain much.
Or at all, really.
Xander liked seeing Wesley in his apartment. (He knew that here it was "flat," but hell, he was American, and it was a damn apartment, okay?)
He liked seeing Wes in his clothes, too. He looked surprisingly good in a pair of black cargo shorts and a black t-shirt that was way too small for Xander, thanks to the time Dawn had taken it into her head to do laundry. The boots were a little ridiculous, but it wasn't exactly Xander's fault that the only thing he could find at the last minute was an old pair of Spike's. It wasn't like he could bring Wesley back to his apartment barefoot, after all. It might have been spring, but it was after dark and fucking freezing outside.
Wes had shed the boots just inside the front door anyway, along with Xander's coat, hanging in its customary place right by the door. Spike had teased him about ripping off his style, the bastard, but Xander thought that the long canvas duster was way more durable than Spike's leather one, and at least he hadn't stolen his from a dead Slayer, and then had it replaced by an evil law firm.
So now Wesley was just standing in the middle of Xander's apartment, barefoot and wearing his clothes, and this brought back some very pleasant memories for Xander. Not that he was going to say anything about it, since Wesley had been dead less than an hour ago, and that had to be pretty traumatic for the guy, but there was no law that said Xander couldn't enjoy the view.
"This is very nice," Wesley said, turning in a slow circle to take in the view of Xander's spacious apartment. "The Council must be paying very well."
Xander just shrugged and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Actually, this isn't mine," he said. "It's a Council temp. I still live in America; I'm just here for the Convocation."
Wesley made a face. "I did pick the worst possible time to reappear, didn't I?" he asked, mostly rhetorically, but Xander was Xander and therefore answered anyway.
"I doubt you picked it, but yeah," he said. Then grinned. "Thought Dawn did get the whole thing on film. It'll give me something to laugh over for months."
"I'm so glad my return from death was so amusing to you," Wesley said with mock-affront, but he was grinning too. "I'll admit that the expressions on their faces were quite amusing, at that."
"They were indeed," Xander said. He took a brief detour into the kitchen, raising his voice so that he could be heard in the living room. "You want a beer? I've got the good stuff, no American piss-water here."
"Well, in that case, of course," Wesley responded, and Xander came back into the living room with two bottles in his hands. Wesley was still standing there, and he greeted Xander with a serious expression.
"What's up?" Xander asked, handing over one of the bottles and tilting his head to suggest they sit on the couch.
Wesley complied, settling down next to Xander in a graceful heap of limbs. Xander carefully ignored the bare calf pressed against his. "I'd like to know what's going on, if possible. I have absolutely no idea how I came to be here, as the last thing I remember is my own death. Suddenly I turn up in the middle of a Council Convocation and I'm alive and seem to be human. How did it happen? Why did it happen? And what happens next?"
Xander took a thoughtful swig of his beer, to give himself time to think before answering. "I don't have any answers about what happened," he said finally. "I've never been the answers guy. I can tell you what'll probably happen next, if you want."
"I'd like that," Wes said quietly.
"Well, like the annoying guy back there said, you'll probably need to be tested. That might give us a clue as to what happened to you. You'll probably be hounded by some of the Research department- they're all new and a little overeager, sorry in advance- and then after that you can take a nice long vacation while you figure out what you want to do next." Xander shrugged. "It's not too complicated, really. Resurrections are kinda old hat by this point."
Wesley nodded- he understood perfectly well. "Can-" he said, then hesitated. Xander prompted him with a raised eyebrow. "Can you tell me about what's happened while I've been gone?" Wesley asked in a rush. "I'm afraid I don't even know what year it is…"
"It's 2005," Xander said. "The end of October. You've been dead for a year and a half."
"Did…" Wesley didn't seem to be able to ask the question, but that was okay, because Xander knew what he was talking about.
"Everyone made it out alive," Xander said. "Angel started up Angel Investigations again, with Illyria helping him. Spike's told me some pretty hilarious stories. Gunn helps them out sometimes, when he's not working for Anne's shelter- he managed to put that lawyer-brain of his to good use. Spike took off for a while, but he's back in LA with Angel now, getting into all sorts of trouble and Angel's pants." Xander grinned when Wesley expressed no sign of surprise at all. "You knew about them, huh?"
Wesley made a noise of disgust. "Who wouldn't?" he said. "They were at each other's throats so much they had to be shagging." He shrugged. "What about you? We didn't keep in touch much after Sunnydale collapsed. Andrew said something about Africa when he visited, but…" He shrugged again.
"I was in Africa for a year, rounding up Slayers. After that I changed status to Council Operative, and headed back to America. Been there for the past year or so, doing the rogue demon hunter thing." He shared a smile with Wes. "Giles called me back for the Convocation, and here I am. And here you are."
"Here we are indeed," Wesley said. "You're an Operative? Dangerous work."
"But rewarding," Xander said. "I'm pretty good at it."
"I don't doubt it," Wesley said. "Tell me about the others?"
"The others…? Oh, you mean Buffy and the gang." Wesley nodded. "Well, Willow is running her own coven now, and busy training a lot of new witches. Giles, of course, is Council Head- Dawn's his assistant, runs everyone ragged. Buffy's the Head Slayer here, has been ever since the bad breakup that got her out of Rome. Faith's with Robin, babysitting Cleveland." He glanced over, saw that Wesley was swaying where he sat. "Shit, Wes! You look like you're about to black out."
"Just tired," Wesley defended himself, but it looked like he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. "I'm fine."
"You're exhausted," Xander said, inwardly kicking himself. He should have known that there'd be some physical trauma involved with a resurrection. If Wesley was only exhausted, it'd be the least of their worries. "Lie down, will you?"
He got out of the way, tugged on Wesley's slack limbs until he was stretched out on the couch. A quick detour to the closet gained him a blanket and an extra pillow, but Wesley was already asleep when he got back.
He tucked the pillow under his head and covered him with the blanket anyway, because he didn't want him to wake up cold or with a cramp in his neck. And then he just stood there, looking down at him, at his familiar face with the slightest hint of stubble, and those gold-tipped lashes resting so peacefully against his cheek.
Wesley was dead. And now he was back.
Xander leaned down and pressed a very light kiss to Wesley's forehead. "I'm glad you're back," he whispered into the night air, and then turned and went to bed.
Wesley tried very hard not to glare at the young man in a lab coat poking at him, but it was a losing battle.
It didn't help that Xander was sitting in the corner, doing a very bad job of muffling his laughter. The lab tech was chattering in excitement, waving very complicated-looking instruments around his person, and he'd already did a thorough enough examination that if Wesley had still had his virginity, he would be sure that he'd just lost it, and taken several vials of blood. The exam was stretching on into its third hour and Wesley was losing his patience, but Xander seemed to be endlessly amused, if his expression was anything to go by.
"Must you keep poking at me?" he finally snapped, and the lab tech skittered back, his eyes wide and startled. Another round of muffled laughter came from Xander's corner, and Wesley very briefly shifted his glare to him before looking back at the frightened tech.
"S-sorry," the man stuttered. "It's just, we've never really had anyone return to the dead here before, and we just wanted to make sure…"
The man's nervousness is suddenly understandable. "You think I'm some sort of revenant, or shade," Wesley said, tiredly. "I can assure you that I'm myself."
"Well, some shades have been known to have all the memories of the person they're mimicking…" the lab tech said, his voice trailing away at Wesley's fierce glare.
"You're the best that the New Council could find?" Wesley said incredulously. He shot a glance at Xander. "I realize that the Council was all but wiped out, but surely there was a better candidate for this position than… him?" Disgust practically dripped from his voice.
"I'm afraid not," Xander said, mock-seriously. "Hell, for a while there Giles made me a Watcher. If that wasn't a clue, I don't know what was."
"Fine," Wesley said, then turned his irate stare back on the lab tech. "For your edification, since apparently you didn't both to do the slightest shred of actual research before jumping to ridiculous conclusions, if I were a revenant I would have eaten you by now." Wesley took a fierce sort of satisfaction in the way the man- boy, really- paled. "If I were a shade, I would have found some way to bring down the building around our ears. Instead I have sat patiently and subjected myself to your inanity, which I assure you, was no easy task." Wesley jumped off the lab table, grabbing his shirt from the hook it was hanging on. "Can we be done with this?" he demanded of Xander. "We've been here for hours, and I'd rather like lunch."
"Yeah, we're done," Xander said. His laughter had faded, but he was still grinning. "Let's go on up to Giles' office, see if they're free for a little grub, okay?"
"It sounds like a plan to me," Wesley said, following him out and buttoning his shirt as he went. "Honestly, that boy. I knew better than that by the time I was fourteen."
"Yeah, we all know what a brain you are," Xander said affectionately. "Robert's not that bad, really, he's just… a little raw. You should be able to understand that," he teased. "Or have you forgotten what you were like when you first came to Sunnydale?"
"I'd managed to block it from my memory, thank you," Wesley said. "I was horrible, wasn't I?"
"Worse than Robert," Xander said agreeably. He grinned when Wesley let out an irritated huff of breath. "You shaped up real nice, though," he said, in a tone that was probably meant to be conciliatory, but actually came out flirtatious.
"I'll take it as a compliment," Wesley said, pretending the moment hadn't happened, but he kept sneaking glances at Xander out of the corner of his eye as they walked up to the main office. Xander had always been an attractive man, clothed or naked, ever since Wesley had known him as an impetuous eighteen-year-old, but there was some sort of… easiness about him now, a sense of comfort in his own skin, that radiated confidence. Xander was the sort of person who was simultaneously charming and likeable, as well as hard-edged and dangerous. And the eye patch… Wesley knew that he could have gotten a glass eye, one of high enough quality that if you didn't know it wasn't real, you wouldn't be able to tell. And yet Xander stuck to his traditional black eye patch. Either he wanted to advertise his difference to the world, or he knew how damn attractive it was on him. Probably a bit of both, if Wesley knew Xander at all.
And he did. He didn't know this knew, confident version as well as he knew the pre-apocalypse version, but he and Xander had been friends for years, and there wasn't much he didn't know about the man- and vice versa. Wesley couldn't even begin to remember the number of times Xander had made the trip to LA to get drunk and talk and crash on his couch.
Once or twice, the two of them had been drunk enough to sleep together, but it hadn't been awkward like so many of Wesley's one-night stands. Xander wasn't a one-night stand, anyway- he was Wesley's friend, and no matter what they had shared, that hadn't changed. And now, after his death and resurrection, they'd fallen right back into old patterns, and Wesley was starting to think that nothing could change that.
"Hey, you alright?" Xander asked, glancing over at him. "You're being really quiet."
"And we can't have that, can we?" Wesley said. "No, I'm just thinking, is all."
"Well, you've got plenty to think about," Xander said agreeably, and then pushed through a pair of swinging doors marked "Main Office."
Wesley had only been here once or twice when he was still a member of the Watcher's Council, and remembered it as a somber, oppressive place. He definitely didn't remember it being quite this… busy, with people going in and out every which way, most with heavy books or clipboards, many of them on the phone.
"Giles overhauled the entire place once he took over," Xander explained, walking backwards and somehow avoiding several people that almost stumbled over him in their rush to get from one place to another. "He had to. We have over six hundred Slayers currently, of all different ages. Some of them don't want to fight and that's fine, but we still have to give them the rundown and emergency contacts before we let them go. Then there's all the ones that do want to fight, so they have to be brought in for training, and then they have to be assigned a sector and a Watcher. And that's not even considering all the researchers, paranormal scientists, and administrative grunts that we need to run this place."
"Definitely not the Council of my childhood," Wesley said, dizzy from the flood of information and the masses of people. "Is it always like this?"
"It's usually a little quieter, but it's crazy because the Convocation is going on," Xander said, moving through the main room and heading towards an ornately carved door with a tasteful plaque that read, "Head Watcher." "It'll calm back down in a few days once the whole thing is over, and Giles' blood pressure can go back down too."
"Tell me about it," Dawn said. She was sitting at a desk just inside the ornate door, typing frantically away on a laptop. "God it's insane. Wes, remind me to get you flowers later."
"What for?" Wesley asked curiously.
"Because all the Old Council assholes are more focused on your resurrection than the proper training of Slayers, which means that you spared us a huge headache."
"Glad I could help," Wesley said wryly.
"Is Giles in?" Xander said, leaning across her desk. "Wes and I were hoping for some lunch."
"He's in, good luck getting him out," she said. "He told me he planned on hiding under his desk."
"Oh, he'll come out," Xander said with a grin, and Dawn returned the smile with a distinct twinkle in her eye.
"Bring me back something," she ordered, and then went back to whatever she was working on. From what Wesley could see as he walked by, she was typing up a report of his precipitous return. He just hoped that she didn't include the video tape in the archives.
"Hey, G-man," Xander called, knocking on a smaller door next to Dawn's desk. "Wake up, it's lunch time."
"Come in, Xander," Giles called, his voice taking Wesley back to Sunnydale and the cold war between them, but Xander was grinning as he went inside so Wesley was smiling too.
"Wesley," Giles said, when they'd come inside. "It's good to see you alive and well. I've heard several very wild tales of your return. Some of them include you with horns and dancing a jig on the table. I trust that there was some exaggeration?"
"No horns, no jigging," Wesley said with a faint smile. "Though it seems your research department had heard some of the wilder tales before my exam this morning."
Giles sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "What happened?"
"He gave Robert a bit of a lecture," Xander said delicately, humor showing in the half-hidden quirk of his mouth. "Explained exactly why he wasn't a shade or a revenant."
"Oh, dear," Giles said, but his mouth was twitching. "Poor Robert."
"Poor me," Wesley put in. "I was the one getting poked and prodded for hours."
"Yes, well, my sympathies are with you," Giles said. "Robert can be rather… overenthusiastic."
"Tell me about it," Xander muttered. Wesley shot him a curious glance, but Xander made a big show of not meeting his gaze, and Wesley realized that at some point, Xander had been involved with the young man.
Wesley wasn't sure how he felt about that, so he turned his attention back to Giles. "We came in to see if you'd like lunch," Wesley said. "If you have time, that is."
Giles nodded. "I heard," he said, proving that the door wasn't as thick as it seemed. "I'm afraid I'll have to go with Dawn on this- bring me something back?"
"Sure," Xander said. He slung an arm around Wesley's shoulders. "Come on, Wes, let's get some grub."
Wesley resisted, turning back to Giles. "Is there anything else I need to do?" he asked. "Tests, paperwork, anything?"
"We can handle it," Giles said firmly. "You've just been dead, man, take a break for a bit."
Wesley smiled at him. "Thanks," he said, and let Xander drag him from the room.
"Robert?" he asked as soon as they were clear of the main office, his eyebrow raised. "You slept with Robert?"
"Don't start," Xander said, hunching his shoulders inward a little. "He's cute, he was available, he wanted me. I'm allowed to be shallow sometimes."
"Of course you are," Wesley said soothingly, then cracked another grin. "But Robert?"" he asked gleefully, and Xander growled at him in a frighteningly appealing way before dragging him off to lunch.
Step Two: Having Sex
A week on his couch stretched out into two weeks in the guest room, and Wesley didn't seem to be making a move to leave. Not that Xander wanted him to, at all. No, he liked having Wesley in his apartment, seeing him stumble out of bed in the morning and then emerge from the shower, sharp-eyed and alert, just as Xander was getting breakfast on the table. He liked going out to lunch with Wesley, liked how his friend had grown up there and remembered all the best secret spots that no one else even knew about, and shared all of that with him.
The only thing he didn't like was that Wesley was sleeping in the spare bed and not his, but Xander figured that he had time to change that.
They were flirting, had been from the moment Wesley had landed on that table in front of him. They'd ended up in bed with each other before, post-Anya and pre-the First, when both of them were drunk and fucked out of their heads with the shit that was happening in their lives, and that knowledge of each other's bodies was between them every time they accidentally brushed against each other, every time one of them left the shower with only a towel wrapped around his waist and the other was there, watching. Xander could feel the tension between them, ratcheting tighter with every passing day, and he figured that sooner or later, like an overstretched rubber band, it would snap.
The snap came on an ordinary evening, with both of them sprawled out on the couch, playing video games and cursing each other creatively. Xander won the first two rounds, and then declared a break to get snacks and headed into the kitchen.
Wesley hadn't moved when he came back with supplies; he seemed to be lost in thought, staring out into space. Xander dumped the chips and stuff on the floor next to the controllers and collapsed down next to Wesley, nudging him with a friendly shoulder.
"What's up?" he asked.
"I was just wondering what I'm supposed to do next," Wesley said. "I can't stay in your apartment like this forever."
"Forever, no," Xander said. "But you can stay here as long as you want." Wesley looked doubtful. "You're on vacation, remember?"
"What about you?" Wesley asked. "Are you on vacation?"
"Yep," Xander said. It wasn't entirely a lie. He would be on vacation, as soon as he called Giles tomorrow and requested it. "Come on, don't do the guilt thing. You've having a good time, right?"
A reluctant smile curled the corners of Wesley's mouth. "Right."
"Then just enjoy it," Xander said. "We'll both of us eventually have to go back to work, but there's no reason not have fun while it lasts. You know?"
"I do know," Wesley said. There was a peculiar look on his face, like he was considering doing something stupid, but Xander, for the first time in a while, had no idea what was going on in his head.
"Wes?" Xander asked hesitantly, and Wes responded with a flashed grin that made Xander dizzy for a moment.
"Yes, Xander?" he asked sweetly. That tone of voice instantly made Xander nervous.
"You look like you're up to something."
"Not yet," Wesley murmured. And then leaned in and kissed him.
Xander froze for a moment, just because it was unexpected and he'd been waiting for this to happen ever since Wesley had come back from the dead, but it didn't take long for his brain to click back on and get with the program, and a split second later he was kissing Wesley back quite happily.
They ended up with Xander sprawled back against the couch and Wesley straddling him, his hands in Xander's too-long hair and his head bent to kiss him while they ground together. Wesley kissed with a peculiar intensity, like the entirety of his not-inconsiderable brain was focused on right now, this moment, with Xander. It was addictive, but- off, somehow. Like maybe Wesley was trying to prove something- to Xander, to himself, who knew.
Xander pulled his mouth free and panted for a second before he had enough breath to speak. He clenched his hands, with had somehow found their way to Wesley's lean hips, and pinned Wes with a hot look.
"You sure?" he asked, a world of questions in two short words. He needed to know that this was right, that this was what Wesley wanted. He didn't want Wesley trying to prove something. He wanted Wesley here, with him.
Wesley's gaze softened, and he looked like Wesley again as he smiled down at Xander. "I'm sure," he said, and bent his head to kiss Xander again.
"Good," Xander said against his mouth, and flipped them till Wesley was on his back on the couch, with Xander looming over him. "'Cause I've got plans for you."
"Take me, I'm yours," Wesley said, and if there was a ring of truth in his words, neither of them acknowledged it.
They had better things to do.
A week or so later, Wesley realized that the only thing that surprised him was how much things didn't change.
For some reason, he would have thought that they'd be more… couple-y. Thinking on it, though, they'd practically been a couple before they were sleeping together, as they'd done everything but hold hands while walking down the street, so he probably shouldn't be so surprised.
He'd only been living with Xander for a couple of weeks, but already they were like an old married couple, comfortable with each other even if they were just sitting around reading the paper or watching TV, with routines and patterns already established. The only thing that didn't fit with the "old married couple" image was the fact that they had sex. Rather a lot of sex.
Back before Sunnydale's implosion, before Wesley's death and resurrection, they'd had sex precisely three times. Neither of them had been anything like sober any of the times, and while it had been good sex, it hadn't been mind-blowing.
Now… Now they were both sober, and sometime between Sunnydale and now, Xander had gotten more experience than you could shake a stick at. Lucian, a translator in Africa, the overeager Robert, even Spike. There was a man named Dean that Xander spoke of a little wistfully, and several others that Wesley knew he wasn't naming, just in the past two and a half years.
It all added up to toe-curling, mind-blowing, pass-out-afterwards brilliantly good shagging. Wesley had never had sex this frequently or this good, and some little voice in the back of his head that belonged to the prudish boy Watcher who couldn't kiss a pretty girl properly shrieked at him, but he ignored it. He was having absolutely the best time in his life, and he wasn't going to let some Puritan qualms instilled by his bastard of a father interfere with that.
There was another nagging voice in the back of his head, the practical one that said that this idyllic time couldn't last. Something was going to change soon, for the better or for the worse, and he couldn't do anything but wait for it to happen.
Step Three: Realizing You've Already Fallen
Xander listened to the muted sounds of Wesley putting groceries away in their kitchen, so familiar with the ritual that he could tell what Wesley was doing when, just from the sound of it. He didn't get up and join him, though, like he usually would. He just stared down at the phone in his hand, lost in thought.
"Xander?" Wesley said, coming into the living room. "Are you alright?"
He looked up with an attempt at a smile. "I'm fine, just a little…"
"A little what?" Wesley asked, coming over to sit next to him. "You look like you've been hit by a bus."
"That would be a fair analogy," Xander admitted, running a hand through his hair. "That was a friend of mine who just called. He and I… well, when he's upset there's me to talk to, you know?"
"I do," Wesley said. He had been that to Xander, once upon a time. Before death and apocalypses and resurrection and friendship as perfect as anything. Before this.
"So he had a bad day and he called me and we were talking about love," he said. "And he asked me if I'd ever felt the grand passion, the Romeo-and-Juliet love."
Wesley stiffened slightly next to him. "What'd you say?" he asked, his voice very neutral. Xander looked up, looked at Wesley who was trying so hard to look like he didn't care but wasn't succeeding very well.
"I told him," Xander said slowly, "that I thought I might be falling in love with you." He tried out a painful smile. "If that's alright with you."
Wesley seemed frozen for a moment, staring at his toes, but then he looked up, and his smile was like the first morning of spring after a long winter.
"That's absolutely alright with me," Wesley said, his voice a little unsteady, and Xander felt something heavy break away in his chest and take flight, and they were both laughing as he leapt for Wesley, and kissed him till he couldn't breathe.
The ringing of the phone seemed almost distant in his ear, and Wesley waited patiently for someone to pick up.
He got the answering machine, though, and tried not to feel relieved. He wasn't sure he was up to having a deep conversation, probably wouldn't ever be. At some point he'd have to suck it up, but, as Xander had pointed out, he had plenty of time before that.
"You've reached Angel Investigations," an achingly familiar voice said in his ear. "We're out right now, but if you'll leave us a message we'll get back to you as soon as possible."
"Unless you're a soddin' telemarketer," Spike's voice added helpfully. "Then we'll eat you."
"Yes, Spike, thank you," Angel snapped. "Please, if you have a problem, leave us a message. We can help."
"Except when we don't want to," Spike chimed in again, and the message ended with the sound of someone getting smacked on the side of the head and then a tastefully quiet "beep."
"Angel," Wesley said, his voice wavering a little. "I know someone from the Council has contacted you already, and I'm sorry it took this long to call you myself but- I'm alive. The Powers that Be brought me back, for what purpose I can't imagine.
"I don't know what to say to you," he said after a long moment. "I'm glad you're still alive, that you made it out when none of us thought we would. I'd tell you not to be guilty for my death, but I know that it wouldn't do any good. Even though every one of us knew the risks and chose to follow you. You never could give us credit for choosing our own paths, and choosing yours.
"I'm fine, as I'm sure you've heard. Living with Xander Harris. He's a Council Operative now, and at some point we'll probably return to the States. At the moment we're both on extended vacation, however. If… If you want me to, we can visit when we do. If you'd like to see me. If you want to see us. Xander and I are something of a package deal now.
"I'm happy, Angel. With Xander. In fact, I'm happier than I've been for… a long time. This is right.
"He told me you're with Spike now, so it seems we've both found our matches. Though I suppose you deserve a bit of sympathy as well as congratulations- though I know you can handle yourself.
"I really don't have anymore to say. I hope you're well, that you're happy, or at least content. I hope things worked out for you." He paused, swallowed. "I know they've worked out for me."
He wanted to say more, but in the end he just hung up the phone, then just sat there and breathed.
A moment later, he felt the couch cushion depress next to him, and Xander's warm hand come to rest on his shoulder. "You loved him once, didn't you?"
Wesley just leaned into Xander, and didn't say anything. What could he say? He had loved Angel. Once.
"It was a long time ago," Wesley said. "A literal lifetime."
"I know," Xander said, and pressed a kiss to his temple. "Come to bed," he said quietly, and Wesley thought that that was the best idea he'd heard in ages.
He followed Xander's guiding hand out of the living room and back into their bedroom. They both shed their clothes down to the skin, and then crawled in bed together as Xander turned off the light.
Wesley relaxed into his embrace, resting his head on Xander's broad shoulder. This was what he'd been looking for all his life, this comfort and wordless love at the end of the day. This was what he'd died for, what he'd come back to life for. This was his reason, and all it had taken was his painful death and resurrection to find it.
"I love you, you know," he said into the dark.
"I know," Xander said, and shifted. Wesley's nose pressed into his throat. "Go to sleep, Wes."
He closed his eyes. He was content.