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Not that he was surprised about the sudden awkwardness; not when he'd spent most of the day exchanging emails with Angel, and rather expected that Wes had done the same.
Wesley had been driving with both hands on the wheel, which wasn't actually all that usual either -- he was obviously tense and distracted, the few attempts that Doyle had made to start a conversation met with a minimum of reply. He kept his eyes on the road, but when Doyle looked at him, it seemed like he was seeing something far away.
Doyle wanted to start the conversation he knew they needed to have, but the car probably wasn't the best place for it. At least not when they were actually moving. So he was waiting until they got home.
But damn was it hard to just sit here and wait.
He kept quiet until they'd turned onto their street, and then, to his surprise, it was Wesley who broke the silence, turning to glance at him just for a second. "Are you all right?"
"That depends," Doyle answered, taking this for an opening. "On if you are all right."
"I'm fine," Wesley said in a flat voice that made it perfectly clear that he was anything but.
Deciding that hitting this head on was the only way he was going to get Wes to talk to him, Doyle asked, "Okay, and now do you want to try the truth?"
Wesley pulled the car into the nearest spot, not seeming to notice or care that they could have got one closer to the building. "I really don't think you want to know what I'm thinking right now. It might be best to give it some time."
"No, I don't think it would." Doyle reached over and laid a hand on top of Wesley's. "Talk to me, Wes."
"I don't," Wesley said slowly, "want to say anything that will hurt you."
"Keeping things from me hurts more, ya know that. I'm pretty resilient -- you've said so yourself -- so spill already." He deliberately softened his voice a little as he added, "You really don't think I don't have some idea already?"
Wesley looked at him with a small, strained smile. "I didn't say that."
Deciding something other than words might be more effective here, Doyle leaned over and kissed Wes gently. "Come on. Let's go inside and we'll talk this out. It's not as bad as you're thinking, I promise."
"All right."
They made their way inside, Wesley walking just behind Doyle like he usually did, some unconscious kind of chivalry, Doyle thought. Dennis opened the door for them and, also as usual, Wesley was the one to close and lock it. Doyle watched as Wesley hesitated for a long moment, then crouched down to untie his shoes.
Doyle waited patiently, knowing that eventually Wes would run out of things to delay with.
Without getting up or lifting his head, fingers still working at his laces, Wesley asked, "Do you have any idea how angry I am with him?"
"Can guess, yeah."
"I can't *believe* he'd do this. Put you through this again." Wesley stood up, looking anywhere but at Doyle, running a hand through his hair and mussing it up instead of straightening it. "If he hurts you again..."
"I'll survive. Just like I have up to now. Well, barring those years I was dead." Doyle shook his head getting himself back on topic. "He made a mistake and it was a huge one, but he's trying to fix it."
"A 'mistake' is forgetting to phone when you're going to be late coming home," Wesley said, toeing his shoes off. "It's not going off for days and then, when you finally get in touch, saying that you're *never* coming home." His expression softened. "There. I told you I'd just end up hurting you."
"Angel never does anything small." Doyle crossed over to Wes and wrapped his arms around Wesley's waist, having learned that with Wes, touch was as important as words for getting through to him. "That's not what's really bothering you though, is it? Or, at least not all of it."
"No," Wesley admitted, his arms encircling Doyle as well. "Being angry with him isn't bothering me nearly as much as it probably should."
"You don't want him to come back." Doyle said it with a deliberate question in his voice, wanting to get to the heart of what he knew was lurking under the surface.
"What I want," Wesley said, "is for you to be happy. That's what's important to me."
"You make me happy."
It seemed like the right thing to say.
Wesley's eyes were troubled. "But you want him back."
"Yeah. But not at the cost of giving you up." Doyle knew what he wanted; he just didn't know yet if it was anything but a crazy dream. And if that's all it was, he wasn't sure what his fallback position was going to be.
"After everything he's done, you still love him. You still trust him." It was clear that Wesley was looking for confirmation.
"Yeah," Doyle said unflinching.
Shifting their positions slightly, Wesley lay his hand on Doyle's abdomen. "And this is his child."
"Yeah," Doyle said again, softer this time.
"What do you want to do?" Wesley rubbed the barely noticeable swelling of Doyle's stomach in gentle circles. "Will you ask him to come back? Have you... have you even told him about us?"
"I'm working up to it," Doyle said with a faint smile that wasn't the least bit humourous.
Wesley pulled his hand back. "I love you," he said simply. "You know that. I'm not willing to just give you up to him because he's taken it into his head to come waltzing back into your life."
"I'm glad to hear that," Doyle said with a more genuine smile. "Because I'm not willing to be given up." At least he wasn't going to have to deal with some misguided noble gesture. From Wesley at least.
He found himself being gathered back into Wesley's arms and kissed breathless, Wesley's hands possessive in a way he couldn't remember them being before. When they drew apart again, Wesley was looking at him intensely. "You can count on me to be here no matter what," he said. "I'm not leaving."
Okay, this was starting to look like it might be easier than Doyle had been anticipating. "Even if Angel comes back?" he asked, reaching up and laying a hand against Wes' cheek.
There was only the slightest hesitation before Wesley answered. "Even then. I'm not saying that I'll welcome him with open arms -- apparently I'm not as forgiving as you are -- but if you want me to stay, I'll stay."
"I want you to stay," Doyle said, punctuating it with a kiss.
"Even if I'm somewhat less than pleasant?" Wesley asked ruefully, his hand rubbing Doyle's back soothingly.
"Y'know, you're not nearly the ogre you seem to think you are," Doyle pointed out.
"You haven't seen me when the person who abandoned a loved one at a difficult time returns." Wesley brushed his lips across Doyle's mouth lightly. "You look tired. It must have been a very stressful day for you."
"Some yeah," Doyle said, allowing himself to lean on Wesley just a little. "Though a good kind of stress in the end."
"What would you like? I could run you a hot bath?" As usual, Wesley was doing a stellar job of trying to pamper him, even if there were times when Doyle didn't let him because it wasn't necessary.
It wasn't like Doyle didn't like being pampered -- and between Dennis and Wesley he was getting far more than his share of it -- but he worried sometimes about the thought process behind Wesley doing so, so consistently. It spoke of someone feeling like he needed to earn Doyle's regard, of fearing if he stopped, Doyle would stop caring as well.
But every time Doyle brought up the subject, tried to talk to Wesley about it, Wes had skillfully changed the subject. Or just distracted him, which he also did quite skillfully. It was, consequently, a subject that Doyle was trying to take a long-term approach to.
With that in mind, Doyle offered, "Only if you're going to join me in the bath."
Wesley smiled. "I can do that." Even as he stepped back, Doyle could
hear the sound of the water turning on in the bathroom, and Wesley called, "Contrary
to
"Maybe he thinks you need to be pampered a bit too?" Doyle suggested, heading for his bedroom to undress.
"Maybe." Wesley disappeared briefly into the bathroom, then reappeared flicking water from his hands and with his shirt half-unbuttoned. "Just checking the temperature," he explained.
Doyle chuckled, pulling off his clothes and dropping them in the corner with the rest of the dirty clothes. "Can't help yourself, can you?"
Removing his shirt and setting it down on a chair, Wesley shrugged, then came over closer and ran his hand over Doyle's bare stomach, his touch making Doyle's skin tingle with warmth. "There are times when I don't want to help myself," he said huskily. His hand moved a bit lower, cupping the curve of Doyle's body. "God, it's incredible, isn't it?"
This was one of the things that Doyle loved the most about Wesley -- this sense of wonder that had somehow managed to survive everything he'd been through; a sense of wonder that always made Doyle more aware of his own. "Yeah," he replied, smiling at Wesley and covering his hand with his own. "It is."
"To think that you created life, that it's growing inside you..." Wesley's voice was soft.
"Pretty cool, huh?" Doyle grinned, the whole thing a bit too much for him to look too closely at. "Specially considering all the circumstances."
Wesley seemed to shake himself out of his reverie at the mention of circumstances. "Yes," he said, straightening up. "Come on. I'll wash your back."
"In a minute," Doyle said, pressing close to Wesley and kissing him thoroughly. Seeing exactly how far he could push Wesley's restraint had fast become a favourite pastime.
Considerably longer than a minute later, Wesley had one hand on Doyle's ass and another tangled in his hair, and his gaze was heated when he pulled back. "You are far too talented at that for your own good."
"Oh, I don't know, seems to be pretty good so far." He traced Wesley's smile with a finger. "I like making you look at me like that."
"It's actually difficult *not* to look at you like this," Wesley said. The look in his eyes notwithstanding, it was clear from the press of his body against Doyle's that he was aroused.
"I never said it was a difficult pastime," Doyle teased, leaning in for another kiss.
This one got out of control much more quickly, to the point where Doyle found himself pressed up against the nearest wall with Wesley's hands running over his body knowingly. Wesley's mouth was hard on his, coaxing small sounds from him, the intensity of it spiraling past any they'd experienced together before.
Doyle wrapped himself around Wesley, moving on instinct as he lost himself in Wesley's touch, Wesley's kiss.
Wesley shifted his position slightly, keeping Doyle pinned to the wall with his body and sliding a hand between Doyle's thighs to tease him with fleeting touches. "See what you do to me?" he asked, thrusting the evidence forward against Doyle's hip.
"Maybe you better show me some more?" Doyle suggested, nipping at Wesley's lips and wriggling as much as he could against him.
"Maybe I'd better," Wesley said. He leaned back just enough so that he could fumble with the front of his trousers, then he reached for Doyle's hand and slid it down to press it against his cotton-covered erection. "There. See?"
Doyle tightened his grip around Wesley's cock, squeezing in the way he knew Wes liked. "I'm getting a picture painted here, yeah."
With a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl, Wesley kissed Doyle again.
"You're wearing too much," Doyle managed between kisses.
"I know."
"Ya think we should see about doing something about that?"
Wesley nodded in the middle of the next kiss. "But that would require stopping what we're doing now."
"Or just real good dexterity and multitasking abilities," Doyle pointed out, not letting up at all. "Like patting your head and rubbing your stomach at the same time."
He felt Wesley shudder. "It's not my stomach I want you rubbing," Wesley gasped.
"I'll be happy to oblige. Just as soon as these annoying clothes are outta the way." Doyle grinned, nipping at Wes' throat.
"Oh, for -- " Wesley spun Doyle around and backed him up the few steps until his legs hit the bed, then pushed him down gently onto the mattress, standing over Doyle as he finished undoing his trousers and shoved them impatiently to the floor. He crawled onto the bed until he was straddling Doyle and kissed him, letting the full lengths of their bodies rub against each other.
Oh yeah, that was *much* better. Doyle all but purred as they lost themselves in teasing each other with what they both wanted.
When Wesley's mouth settled over his nipple, Doyle arched his back, wanting more. Wesley got one knee between his thighs and spread them further, fingers exploring and drawing Doyle to a point of shivering arousal. "God, there's nothing more I want than to be inside you," Wesley said, flicking his tongue over Doyle's nipple.
"Yeah," Doyle gasped, beginning to lose coherent thought. "Sounds good. Let's do that."
He shifted cooperatively when Wesley bent his legs at the knees, and then he could feel just the tip of Wesley's cock nudging at his slick opening, spreading him apart. Wesley kissed him again, and Doyle thought there was a tension there, a need to let go.
"Want you," Doyle whispered against Wes' ear, trying to overcome whatever restraint Wes still had.
It worked -- with one swift movement, Wesley thrust forward, his cock sliding all the way into Doyle. The suddenness of it took Doyle's breath away, leaving him gasping. "God yes," Wesley said, pulling most of the way out and immediately thrusting back in again, his body finding the rhythm it wanted in moments.
Doyle just let himself go, letting Wesley carry him along, losing himself in the rhythm and the pleasure.
Always, before, Wesley had been almost gentle with him, drawing Doyle slowly to orgasm through careful touches and what seemed to be a sort of worshipfulness. Now it seemed that Wesley had, consciously or unconsciously, given that up. Instead of slow, smooth thrusts there were harder, more forceful ones, instead of fleeting touches there was a sense of urgent possessiveness.
It was swiftly driving Doyle completely crazy. He responded with equal fierceness, nails scratching done Wesley's back, wrapping his legs around him, arching up against him, wordlessly asking for more.
Wesley gave it to him, grabbing onto Doyle's hip and using the grip to pull Doyle to him with each thrust, his mouth coming down on Doyle's in an insistent kiss.
It was all intense and overwhelming and so very, very good; Doyle could feel himself on the precipice already as he kissed Wesley back with a wildness he didn't get to express often.
"<i>Yes</i>," Wesley said, licking Doyle's lower lip and not once slowing his deep, forceful thrusts. "God, Doyle. Yes."
"More," Doyle gasped, capturing Wes' mouth again. He was so close... "Don't stop."
Wesley didn't seem to have any intention of stopping -- he began to move even more quickly, his breathing a steady series of small groans as they rocked together. He bit Doyle's lip and shifted the angle of his thrusts slightly so that each one provided just a bit more friction in the place Doyle needed it.
The sound that shift pulled from Doyle was close to a wail as he shook and came.
As Doyle trembled with the force of his orgasm rushing through him, Wesley thrust into him again and again. Doyle could feel the tension in Wesley's body as he neared his release, could hear it in the way Wesley's groans grew rougher, more pained sounding, and then Wesley froze for just an instant before his hips jerked forward one last time as he poured himself into Doyle.
Doyle wrapped his arms around Wesley when he collapsed forward, holding him close in the aftermath.
For long moments, Wesley lay on top of him, his weight a warm comfort as they both recovered slowly. Then, without lifting his head or moving, Wesley asked, "Are you all right?"
"All right?" Doyle chuckled. "That would be an understatement."
Wesley did lift his head then, looking into Doyle's face with some concern. "Are you sure?"
"I'm positive." Doyle reached up to lay a hand against Wesley's cheek. "Wes, in case you didn't notice that was pretty damned fantastic. Like died and gone to heaven fantastic."
"I don't want to hurt you or the baby," Wesley said, pulling out and moving over to lie beside Doyle, one hand cupped protectively over Doyle's stomach.
"Wes, I'm fine. Better than fine. The word blissful comes to mind. Completely sated and besotted." He turned his head and smiled at Wes. "Is any of this sinking in?"
Wesley smiled back at him gently, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the skin of Doyle's abdomen. "Yes. And despite how it might sound, I really do know how strong you are. I know you don't need -- or want -- to be coddled."
Doyle ran his hand down Wesley's arm lazily. "Pampering every now and then's permitted," he offered after a moment's silence.
"I'd love to pamper you," Wesley said, his eyes on his hand where it rested on Doyle's body. "As often as you think you can tolerate it."
"There's a catch though."
He could see from the way Wesley's eyes flickered up to his face apprehensively that Wesley was hiding more insecurity than he was letting on. "A catch?"
Doyle shifted enough to be able to catch Wesley's lips with his own. "Ya have to be willing to let me pamper you as well."
"Oh," Wesley said.
Doyle continued to move until he was lying atop of Wesley, kissing him again before pulling back and grinning at him. "I'm determined to do it, y'know."
"I'm sure you are." Wesley's hand slid up along Doyle's shoulder and into his short hair. "And, as I also know that I'd probably let you do anything you liked, I have no plans to put up a fight."
Doyle snorted at that. "So can I remind you that you said that next time you do put up a fight?"
"I really don't require pampering," Wesley said, evading the question.
"The whole point of pampering is that it consists of things that aren't required," Doyle pointed out.
Wesley's lips twitched. "You really *are* determined, aren't you." His other hand traced its way up and down along Doyle's spine, lingering over each vertebra.
"Pretty much the main thing I'm known for," Doyle teased. "-- determination in the face of senseless resistance."
"Senseless?" Wesley smiled fondly. "I'll make note of that."
"I'm sure you will," Doyle smiled back, then laid his head down on Wesley's shoulder contentedly.
For a few minutes they were quiet, Doyle feeling the gentle rise and fall of Wesley's chest beneath him. Then Wesley said softly, "Things are going to change."
Doyle knew exactly what Wesley was referring to. "Yeah. But things have been pretty much in a state of flux since I got back, so change isn't exactly nothing new. And it doesn't have to be bad."
"What would you like to have happen?" Wesley asked.
"It's probably not very realistic but... I've found I've become very greedy. I want both of you." Even as he said it, Doyle knew it sounded unreasonable to ask for.
Wesley's hand on Doyle's back stilled. "And you think there's some way to manage that?"
"Depends I guess." He caught and held Wesley's gaze. "On how you and Angel feel."
"If you want me to say I'm happy about the idea, I have to tell you in all honesty that I don't think that's going to happen. I don't want to share you. I will, if it's the only way to have you, but I wouldn't like it under any circumstances, and I certainly don't when it's someone who hurt you so badly." Wesley was tense underneath him now.
"So your feelings for Angel have changed then?"
"Since he decided to abandon you despite everything we both had to say to him on the matter? Yes, I'd say they have." Wesley sighed. "I expected more from him."
Doyle shook his head. "I'm not talking about your feelings about Angel in regards to me. For a minute pretend I'm not in the equation. If it was just you and Angel... do you still love him?"
"I'm very, very angry with him," Wesley said, as if that were an answer.
Doyle wasn't going to let him get away with that. "But do you love him?"
When Wesley responded, it was quietly. "I don't know that I want to."
"What makes you think you get a choice in wanting to?" Doyle asked with a sympathetic smile.
Wesley just looked at him for a long moment. "I don't want you to get hurt again. *I* don't want to get hurt again. But yes, I still love him." He sounded defeated.
Doyle laid a hand along Wesley's cheek. "Then there's just a chance that we can make this work." He smiled slightly. "Once we whip a certain souled vampire into shape."
"I'm not like you," Wesley said, clearly troubled. "I can't forgive him that easily. It's likely to be uncomfortable and awkward. There might be shouting."
"Ya think I've never shouted at Angel?"
Wesley shook his head. "That's not the point. Sometimes... well, it can be difficult to listen to someone that you love being shouted at, even if you understand the reasons behind it."
Doyle wondered when in Wesley's past he'd been faced with that situation. "Shouting in this case I think is entirely warranted. I may even join in." He tried a grin. "We could take turns."
"We could," Wesley agreed, his own smile just as strained as Doyle's felt. "I'm concerned that this isn't going to work out the way you want it to. That it might be better for you to let me down gently and just focus on rebuilding your relationship with Angel, if that's what you really want."
"But I don't want to let you down -- gently or otherwise. *Go* down on you, yeah, but not let you down." He brushed fingers through Wesley's hair and stared into his eyes. "You've already been let down far too many times. I won't add to it."
"That's not a reason to stay with me," Wesley said tightly. "Because you feel sorry for me?"
"Trust me Wes, this isn't about pity. I don't do pity fucks." He paused and admitted, "Might have received one or two back a couple of lifetimes ago..." Shaking his head Doyle got back on subject. "You have to know by now that I love you, don't you?"
"But not as much as you love him," Wesley said, rolling Doyle to one side carefully and getting out of bed.
What? Doyle blinked. "What?" he said out loud, flabbergasted. He sat up and stared at Wesley. "Just where in hell did you get that crazy idea?"
"Be honest," Wesley said. "Would you have even looked at me twice if Angel hadn't left?"
"I *had* looked at you twice."
"But you never would have approached me. Not like that." Wesley seemed utterly certain.
"Well, not without laying some prep work with Angel," Doyle admitted.
The expression on Wesley's face was hard, unfamiliar. "I'm not deluded, Doyle. I'm perfectly aware that I'm playing second fiddle to Angel, and I think I've made it clear that I've accepted that. I'm not sure why we need to continue to discuss it."
Doyle ran his hand over his face, frustrated and tired all of a sudden. "So tell me what I have to do to prove you're not."
"If it's true, then you can't." Wesley's shoulders relaxed slightly then, and he came closer and offered Doyle a hand. "You're supposed to be taking a bath."
"You're supposed to be taking it with me," Doyle replied, taking Wesley's hand and letting the other subject drop.
For now.
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