Fic: BtVS: Still Breathing, Giles/Wesley/Spike, NC-17/FRAO
Title: Still Breathing
Author: lostgirlslair
Pairing: Giles/Wesley/Spike
Rating: NC-17/FRAO
Summary: Sequel to A Night Out, but it'll stand alone as established relationship fic.
Spoilers: Set post "Not Fade Away"
Feedback and Concrit adored: lostgirlslair AT yahoo DOT com
Disclaimer: All things BtVS and AtS belong to Joss Whedon and various corporate entities. I am neither.
Big, huge thanks to mireille719, for the beta magic! Any remaining mistakes are all my fault.
For cafedemonde and the Fourth Annual watcherlove Ficathon ( masterlist here)! I didn't quite work everything into the story, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Prompts at the end.
Wesley arched against Spike's hand, groaning as Spike pushed harder against his neck, pressing Wesley's chest against the desktop. Wesley's shoulders strained upward, but Spike didn't lessen his hold. Instead, he buried his cock deep inside Wesley with a few jerky thrusts of his hips.
Rupert gasped at the sight of the two of them, his hand stroking along his cock. He reached out with his free hand to run his fingers down Spike's arm. Lacking the vampiric strength he'd possessed before the Shansu, Spike's muscles were taut with the effort of holding Wesley down. Rupert skimmed his fingers along Spike's hand and over his fingers until it was Wesley's skin beneath his touch. He could feel Wesley's muscles, tight under smooth skin.
Spike withdrew and pushed in, hard and deep. He and Wesley groaned in unison, and Rupert echoed them a pounding heartbeat later. He slid his fingers through the film of sweat that had sprung up on Wesley's back.
After sharing a grin with Spike, Rupert leaned forward, brushing his lips along the shell of Wesley's ear.
"Love to watch you like this," Rupert said, "Love to see you stretched and straining, to watch Spike fuck you."
Wesley moaned, pressing back to meet Spike's thrust. He tried to say something, but the words became another groan. Rupert nipped hard at Wesley's earlobe, his free hand carding through the damp hair at the base of Wesley's neck just above Spike's straining fingers.
Wesley squeezed his eyes shut, his lips parting with each desperate pant as Spike drove into him. Stretched flat across the narrow desk, Wesley clung to the edge of it, his knuckles white, his body trembling. Rupert couldn't get enough of that sight.
"Want to slide my cock between your lips," Rupert said, quite aware of how hoarse his voice had become. A tremor, stronger than the others, swept along Wesley's body, and he nodded wildly. He licked his lips as if preparing to speak, but Spike thrust into him, and all three of them groaned together.
Rupert straightened from his place beside Wesley, moving to stand in front of him. He positioned his cock, gasping as Wesley's tongue darted out along the head. Rupert glanced down to find Wesley's gaze strained upward, his lips wet and swollen from earlier attention. Rupert let out a soft breath, pressing his cock into the wet warmth of that lovely mouth. Wesley's lips tightened around his length, and Wesley's tongue rubbed along the underside.
Spike's gaze--heavy-lidded and dark--met Rupert's. They worked together, Spike's thrusts pushed Wesley forward, and Rupert's cock slid deep into Wesley's throat.
Wesley sputtered a little. He couldn't seem to peel his hands free of their grip on the desk. He adjusted quickly, though, and the three of them fell into a rhythm, moving together with a hard, jerking grace.
Rupert slid a hand out of Wesley's hair, laying it over Spike's fingers at the base of Wesley's neck. Wesley's tongue worked against his cock; his lips like rough velvet as they scrape-slid along.
Spike's rhythm changed, grew quicker, a sure sign that he was close to the edge. The hand Spike had been using to grip Wesley's hip slid around to grasp Wesley's cock. Spike leaned in, his body as taut as Wesley's, muscles straining with each erratic snap of his hips.
Wesley's lips tightened around Rupert, pulling a gasp from his throat. Rupert leaned in above Wesley's head, and Spike was already there. Their kiss was a desperate, frantic clash, hard and sharp and drawing just a little blood from both of them as teeth nipped at sensitive lips.
Wesley tried to groan, the sound muffled and yet still clearly desperate. Spike's fingers tightened on Wesley's neck, and he jerked his mouth away from Rupert's just long enough to snatch a breath and gasp out, "Come."
Wesley went rigid between them, beneath them. Rupert could feel each spasm as Wesley's hips jerked forward, and he came. Spike's mouth met Rupert's again, stinging, bruising, and so perfect that Rupert found himself teetering on the brink of his own orgasm. When Spike ripped his mouth away to shout, thrusting hard into Wesley, Rupert was only a heartbeat behind him.
-----
The main problem with surprising Wesley with sex at the office was that there was no couch and the carpet felt rather like sandpaper. The three of them lay on the floor, sprawled and panting and tangled. Tired hands moved lazily over whatever skin happened to be close enough. The only sound was that of three sets of lungs, desperately trying to find enough air to satisfy them.
Wesley had been working late, late enough that the building was empty, and Rupert and Spike had grown bored with waiting for him to finish up. Rupert secretly liked it when Spike got bored; it meant he was about to be tempted into something exhilarating, even if he did feel the need to make the tempting as difficult as he could manage.
"Well," Wesley finally said, the first real word he'd gotten out since Spike and Rupert had entered his office. Rupert didn't think "God," "yes," or "please," really counted in this instance. "That was a pleasant surprise." Wesley's voice was thick and husky, still breathless, and Rupert couldn't help but smile as he stroked a hand over Wesley's stomach and onto Spike's thigh.
After the mood Wesley had been in the past few days, it was wonderful to hear him sound something other than morose or irritated.
"Shame, that," Spike said, shaking his head in mock sorrow. "All that vocabulary and 'pleasant' is the best you can come up with? We're gonna have to work harder next time." Spike tried to sound surly, but the light, skimming brush of his fingers along Rupert's arm belied his tone.
Wesley laughed, a deep, husky chuckle, and it was only then that Rupert realized how long it had been since he heard that sound.
"You'll have to excuse my understatement," Wesley said. "I've just been shagged to within an inch of my thought processes. If you two 'work' any harder, you'll kill me."
Rupert snorted, turning onto his side and ignoring the grate of his skin against the carpet as he propped his head up on his arm.
Wesley looked up at them with half-closed eyes, a sated smile flitting around the corners of his mouth. He looked rumpled, well-fucked, and sleepy; something Rupert was sure could be said for all three of them.
"We were bored," he said, meeting Spike's eyes and grinning before his gaze flicked back to Wesley. Spike turned toward Wesley as well, mirroring Rupert's position. Their fingers tangled together where they rested on Wesley's stomach.
"Dangerous," Wesley said through a yawn. "Not that I’m complaining. A break from the work is just what I needed."
Spike snorted. "A break, my well-toned arse. This is an intervention."
Wesley blinked, his forehead furrowing as if he didn't grasp what Spike was telling him. Rupert leaned down, brushing his lips over Wesley's forehead, glad to see the worry lines smooth as he pulled away.
"You've been working far too hard, lately," Rupert put in.
"And when Rupes can keep a straight face saying that, you know you're pushin' it." Spike squeezed Rupert's fingers as he said it, but there was only irritation on his face. "We've barely seen you in days, and when you do pull your nose out of the books you're nothing but bad attitude."
"And when Spike can say that . . ." Rupert said, relieved to see a quick smile ghost across Wesley's lips. His eyes had gone thoughtful, though, which was exactly what they didn't want.
Spike and Rupert exchanged a glance over Wesley; it was time to change the subject.
"Doesn't matter," Spike said. "Let's move this back to Rupert's, where there's a bed."
Wesley blinked, and Rupert could almost see him pushing away whatever had been occupying his mind. "And food. I don't think I've eaten since breakfast."
"Frankly," Rupert said, climbing to his feet and offering both Spike and Wesley a hand up, "I'm surprised you managed breakfast."
"Toast," Wesley said, his expression a little sheepish, "but I did eat."
Rupert rolled his eyes, but didn't comment, instead searching out his glasses and trying to sort through the pile of discarded clothing.
-----
Together, Spike and he managed to keep Wesley occupied, distracted. It wasn't much of a chore, after the last week spent hardly seeing him.
Much later, after a good meal, a little too much to drink, and a group shower that quickly turned into something else entirely, the three of them had finally settled into Rupert's bed. They all kept separate flats, partly for appearance's sake, but also because it wasn't uncommon that one or another of them needed a place to retreat. For the moment, they all rather liked having their space, even if, more often than not, all three of them wound up staying together.
The place itself changed. They'd spend a few weeks at Spike's and then find themselves staying at Rupert's or Wesley's flat for a while. It was a strange, semi-nomadic life, but it suited them. Perhaps, so much had changed over the last few years that they'd become accustomed to it.
Rupert wasn't sure when he'd dozed off, or what had awoken him, for that matter. It hadn't been Wesley, however. One look at Wes' hunched shoulders as he sat on the edge of the bed--as far as he could get from them and still be on the bed at all--made it clear that Wesley hadn't moved in a while.
Spike snored and snorted away, so deeply asleep that Rupert had to wonder how he'd made it through his decades as a vampire without being staked in his sleep.
Then Rupert's eyes slid back to Wesley, and his sleep-blurred eyes started picking out the details. Wesley's back was tight from the way he hunched in on himself, his elbows resting on his knees. Rupert couldn't see his face, but he didn't really need to; Wesley's posture spoke volumes.
Rupert carefully extracted himself from Spike and then slid to the edge of the bed, up behind Wesley. Though Wesley had to have felt the movement, he didn't straighten until Rupert's arms wrapped around him from behind, sliding under his arms and around his chest. He leaned back then, tilting his head to give Rupert's chin more room on his shoulder.
Despite the ease of the embrace, Rupert could still feel the tension in Wesley's body. He could see what Wesley was looking at as well. It was a picture, of Wesley and another man and a woman. From what he'd learned of Wesley's time in LA--mostly from Spike--Rupert guessed the man to be Gunn, and the woman to be Fred.
Wesley remained silent, and Rupert didn't want to push him. He knew well how hard it could be speak of the past. Though he hoped Wesley would tell him, he wasn't going to pry. Instead, he forced his eyes to move away from the picture. Wesley's drawer in the nightstand was open and there were more pictures inside. On top of the pictures rested Wesley's gun, which Wes never went anywhere without.
Rupert hated the sight of it. Though he understood Wesley's need to have it with him--Rupert himself always had a few stakes on his person and a bag full of weapons in the boot of his car--the gun seemed a crass sort of weapon, reminiscent of the all-too-human violence in the world. Even more than that, or perhaps because of it, the gun was a symbol of all Wesley had gone through: the hurt, the betrayal, the self-recriminations. It was the hardness that Rupert would sometimes see peering out from behind his lover's eyes.
"It was her birthday yesterday," Wesley said, voice whisper soft and too devoid of emotion to be genuine.
"Spike told me," Rupert said, his voice just as soft. He turned his head, laying a kiss on Wesley's neck and letting his mouth rest there, waiting.
"I still . . . I miss her." His voice broke a little then, and Rupert felt relief flood through along with the ache of sympathy he felt for Wesley's grief. At least Wesley was letting himself mourn.
"I know," Rupert said, his arms tightening around Wesley. "I still miss Jenny." Hers wasn't the only name that sprang to Rupert's mind, just the least complicated. There were, after the last twenty-some years, many people to miss.
"Jenny Calendar. You loved her," Wesley said, more statement than question.
"Yes," Rupert said, the single word feeling crowded with memories. "Every June 18th I come home early, with a bottle of champagne, and remember her. Her birthday. It feels . . . better than remembering other anniversaries."
Wesley nodded, still staring at the picture in his hands. "I almost forgot this year."
And those three words sounded thick, sounded choked, as if they'd been pushed from a throat unwilling to speak them. They filled the air, heavy and impossibly real, as if they were solid manifestations of guilt and pain.
Nothing he could say would make that easier on Wesley. Wes felt so guilty about it all that Rupert doubted he could convince Wesley that almost forgetting was all right. "Sometimes life gets in the way. We may not want it to, but it has to if we're not to spend our lives forever mourning. It doesn't mean you don't love her, don't miss her, just that you're still alive, still human."
"But should I be?" Those words were no less heavy than the previous ones, and Rupert had to force himself to relax his grip for fear of crushing the breath out of Wesley's lungs.
"You are," he said, his words heavy now, too. "In my experience, there is no should be or shouldn't be. There just is, and we can't do anything but pick up the pieces, keep moving, remember." Wesley nodded and Rupert laid his temple against Wesley's. "We could do something. To remember her. It's not too late."
"You didn't know her." The words weren't recrimination, just a statement of fact, caught halfway between dismissive and hopeful.
"You did; Spike did. What better way to remember and honor her life than to tell me all about her?"
"You'd want that?" There was a rare touch of wistfulness to Wesley's voice.
"I would love that."
They sat together in silence a few moments longer. Then Wesley tucked the picture into the drawer, beneath his gun, and shut it. Still, they sat, until Wesley relaxed completely against Rupert.
"Come on," Rupert said, kissing Wesley's shoulder. "Let's go back to sleep. Tomorrow we'll buy a bottle of champagne."
Wesley nodded, turning his head to brush his lips over Rupert's. "Yes, let's get back before Spike wakes up and starts complaining he's cold."
Rupert gave a soft chuckle, letting go of Wesley long enough to crawl back up the bed. He kept to the right, making sure that Wesley would be sleeping between Spike and himself. Wes gave him a weak smile, quite aware of his machinations. Then they settled in, and Rupert pushed up behind Wesley, sliding his arm around Wes' midsection.
The quiet rustle of the sheets faded, and the only sound remaining was that of three sets of lungs, still breathing.
-----
Preferred rating range: R-NC17
Wanted: Spike topping Wes, a stakeout, a birthday party for Fred.
Unwanted: character death, sweet talk.
Author: lostgirlslair
Pairing: Giles/Wesley/Spike
Rating: NC-17/FRAO
Summary: Sequel to A Night Out, but it'll stand alone as established relationship fic.
Spoilers: Set post "Not Fade Away"
Feedback and Concrit adored: lostgirlslair AT yahoo DOT com
Disclaimer: All things BtVS and AtS belong to Joss Whedon and various corporate entities. I am neither.
Big, huge thanks to mireille719, for the beta magic! Any remaining mistakes are all my fault.
For cafedemonde and the Fourth Annual watcherlove Ficathon ( masterlist here)! I didn't quite work everything into the story, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Prompts at the end.
Wesley arched against Spike's hand, groaning as Spike pushed harder against his neck, pressing Wesley's chest against the desktop. Wesley's shoulders strained upward, but Spike didn't lessen his hold. Instead, he buried his cock deep inside Wesley with a few jerky thrusts of his hips.
Rupert gasped at the sight of the two of them, his hand stroking along his cock. He reached out with his free hand to run his fingers down Spike's arm. Lacking the vampiric strength he'd possessed before the Shansu, Spike's muscles were taut with the effort of holding Wesley down. Rupert skimmed his fingers along Spike's hand and over his fingers until it was Wesley's skin beneath his touch. He could feel Wesley's muscles, tight under smooth skin.
Spike withdrew and pushed in, hard and deep. He and Wesley groaned in unison, and Rupert echoed them a pounding heartbeat later. He slid his fingers through the film of sweat that had sprung up on Wesley's back.
After sharing a grin with Spike, Rupert leaned forward, brushing his lips along the shell of Wesley's ear.
"Love to watch you like this," Rupert said, "Love to see you stretched and straining, to watch Spike fuck you."
Wesley moaned, pressing back to meet Spike's thrust. He tried to say something, but the words became another groan. Rupert nipped hard at Wesley's earlobe, his free hand carding through the damp hair at the base of Wesley's neck just above Spike's straining fingers.
Wesley squeezed his eyes shut, his lips parting with each desperate pant as Spike drove into him. Stretched flat across the narrow desk, Wesley clung to the edge of it, his knuckles white, his body trembling. Rupert couldn't get enough of that sight.
"Want to slide my cock between your lips," Rupert said, quite aware of how hoarse his voice had become. A tremor, stronger than the others, swept along Wesley's body, and he nodded wildly. He licked his lips as if preparing to speak, but Spike thrust into him, and all three of them groaned together.
Rupert straightened from his place beside Wesley, moving to stand in front of him. He positioned his cock, gasping as Wesley's tongue darted out along the head. Rupert glanced down to find Wesley's gaze strained upward, his lips wet and swollen from earlier attention. Rupert let out a soft breath, pressing his cock into the wet warmth of that lovely mouth. Wesley's lips tightened around his length, and Wesley's tongue rubbed along the underside.
Spike's gaze--heavy-lidded and dark--met Rupert's. They worked together, Spike's thrusts pushed Wesley forward, and Rupert's cock slid deep into Wesley's throat.
Wesley sputtered a little. He couldn't seem to peel his hands free of their grip on the desk. He adjusted quickly, though, and the three of them fell into a rhythm, moving together with a hard, jerking grace.
Rupert slid a hand out of Wesley's hair, laying it over Spike's fingers at the base of Wesley's neck. Wesley's tongue worked against his cock; his lips like rough velvet as they scrape-slid along.
Spike's rhythm changed, grew quicker, a sure sign that he was close to the edge. The hand Spike had been using to grip Wesley's hip slid around to grasp Wesley's cock. Spike leaned in, his body as taut as Wesley's, muscles straining with each erratic snap of his hips.
Wesley's lips tightened around Rupert, pulling a gasp from his throat. Rupert leaned in above Wesley's head, and Spike was already there. Their kiss was a desperate, frantic clash, hard and sharp and drawing just a little blood from both of them as teeth nipped at sensitive lips.
Wesley tried to groan, the sound muffled and yet still clearly desperate. Spike's fingers tightened on Wesley's neck, and he jerked his mouth away from Rupert's just long enough to snatch a breath and gasp out, "Come."
Wesley went rigid between them, beneath them. Rupert could feel each spasm as Wesley's hips jerked forward, and he came. Spike's mouth met Rupert's again, stinging, bruising, and so perfect that Rupert found himself teetering on the brink of his own orgasm. When Spike ripped his mouth away to shout, thrusting hard into Wesley, Rupert was only a heartbeat behind him.
-----
The main problem with surprising Wesley with sex at the office was that there was no couch and the carpet felt rather like sandpaper. The three of them lay on the floor, sprawled and panting and tangled. Tired hands moved lazily over whatever skin happened to be close enough. The only sound was that of three sets of lungs, desperately trying to find enough air to satisfy them.
Wesley had been working late, late enough that the building was empty, and Rupert and Spike had grown bored with waiting for him to finish up. Rupert secretly liked it when Spike got bored; it meant he was about to be tempted into something exhilarating, even if he did feel the need to make the tempting as difficult as he could manage.
"Well," Wesley finally said, the first real word he'd gotten out since Spike and Rupert had entered his office. Rupert didn't think "God," "yes," or "please," really counted in this instance. "That was a pleasant surprise." Wesley's voice was thick and husky, still breathless, and Rupert couldn't help but smile as he stroked a hand over Wesley's stomach and onto Spike's thigh.
After the mood Wesley had been in the past few days, it was wonderful to hear him sound something other than morose or irritated.
"Shame, that," Spike said, shaking his head in mock sorrow. "All that vocabulary and 'pleasant' is the best you can come up with? We're gonna have to work harder next time." Spike tried to sound surly, but the light, skimming brush of his fingers along Rupert's arm belied his tone.
Wesley laughed, a deep, husky chuckle, and it was only then that Rupert realized how long it had been since he heard that sound.
"You'll have to excuse my understatement," Wesley said. "I've just been shagged to within an inch of my thought processes. If you two 'work' any harder, you'll kill me."
Rupert snorted, turning onto his side and ignoring the grate of his skin against the carpet as he propped his head up on his arm.
Wesley looked up at them with half-closed eyes, a sated smile flitting around the corners of his mouth. He looked rumpled, well-fucked, and sleepy; something Rupert was sure could be said for all three of them.
"We were bored," he said, meeting Spike's eyes and grinning before his gaze flicked back to Wesley. Spike turned toward Wesley as well, mirroring Rupert's position. Their fingers tangled together where they rested on Wesley's stomach.
"Dangerous," Wesley said through a yawn. "Not that I’m complaining. A break from the work is just what I needed."
Spike snorted. "A break, my well-toned arse. This is an intervention."
Wesley blinked, his forehead furrowing as if he didn't grasp what Spike was telling him. Rupert leaned down, brushing his lips over Wesley's forehead, glad to see the worry lines smooth as he pulled away.
"You've been working far too hard, lately," Rupert put in.
"And when Rupes can keep a straight face saying that, you know you're pushin' it." Spike squeezed Rupert's fingers as he said it, but there was only irritation on his face. "We've barely seen you in days, and when you do pull your nose out of the books you're nothing but bad attitude."
"And when Spike can say that . . ." Rupert said, relieved to see a quick smile ghost across Wesley's lips. His eyes had gone thoughtful, though, which was exactly what they didn't want.
Spike and Rupert exchanged a glance over Wesley; it was time to change the subject.
"Doesn't matter," Spike said. "Let's move this back to Rupert's, where there's a bed."
Wesley blinked, and Rupert could almost see him pushing away whatever had been occupying his mind. "And food. I don't think I've eaten since breakfast."
"Frankly," Rupert said, climbing to his feet and offering both Spike and Wesley a hand up, "I'm surprised you managed breakfast."
"Toast," Wesley said, his expression a little sheepish, "but I did eat."
Rupert rolled his eyes, but didn't comment, instead searching out his glasses and trying to sort through the pile of discarded clothing.
-----
Together, Spike and he managed to keep Wesley occupied, distracted. It wasn't much of a chore, after the last week spent hardly seeing him.
Much later, after a good meal, a little too much to drink, and a group shower that quickly turned into something else entirely, the three of them had finally settled into Rupert's bed. They all kept separate flats, partly for appearance's sake, but also because it wasn't uncommon that one or another of them needed a place to retreat. For the moment, they all rather liked having their space, even if, more often than not, all three of them wound up staying together.
The place itself changed. They'd spend a few weeks at Spike's and then find themselves staying at Rupert's or Wesley's flat for a while. It was a strange, semi-nomadic life, but it suited them. Perhaps, so much had changed over the last few years that they'd become accustomed to it.
Rupert wasn't sure when he'd dozed off, or what had awoken him, for that matter. It hadn't been Wesley, however. One look at Wes' hunched shoulders as he sat on the edge of the bed--as far as he could get from them and still be on the bed at all--made it clear that Wesley hadn't moved in a while.
Spike snored and snorted away, so deeply asleep that Rupert had to wonder how he'd made it through his decades as a vampire without being staked in his sleep.
Then Rupert's eyes slid back to Wesley, and his sleep-blurred eyes started picking out the details. Wesley's back was tight from the way he hunched in on himself, his elbows resting on his knees. Rupert couldn't see his face, but he didn't really need to; Wesley's posture spoke volumes.
Rupert carefully extracted himself from Spike and then slid to the edge of the bed, up behind Wesley. Though Wesley had to have felt the movement, he didn't straighten until Rupert's arms wrapped around him from behind, sliding under his arms and around his chest. He leaned back then, tilting his head to give Rupert's chin more room on his shoulder.
Despite the ease of the embrace, Rupert could still feel the tension in Wesley's body. He could see what Wesley was looking at as well. It was a picture, of Wesley and another man and a woman. From what he'd learned of Wesley's time in LA--mostly from Spike--Rupert guessed the man to be Gunn, and the woman to be Fred.
Wesley remained silent, and Rupert didn't want to push him. He knew well how hard it could be speak of the past. Though he hoped Wesley would tell him, he wasn't going to pry. Instead, he forced his eyes to move away from the picture. Wesley's drawer in the nightstand was open and there were more pictures inside. On top of the pictures rested Wesley's gun, which Wes never went anywhere without.
Rupert hated the sight of it. Though he understood Wesley's need to have it with him--Rupert himself always had a few stakes on his person and a bag full of weapons in the boot of his car--the gun seemed a crass sort of weapon, reminiscent of the all-too-human violence in the world. Even more than that, or perhaps because of it, the gun was a symbol of all Wesley had gone through: the hurt, the betrayal, the self-recriminations. It was the hardness that Rupert would sometimes see peering out from behind his lover's eyes.
"It was her birthday yesterday," Wesley said, voice whisper soft and too devoid of emotion to be genuine.
"Spike told me," Rupert said, his voice just as soft. He turned his head, laying a kiss on Wesley's neck and letting his mouth rest there, waiting.
"I still . . . I miss her." His voice broke a little then, and Rupert felt relief flood through along with the ache of sympathy he felt for Wesley's grief. At least Wesley was letting himself mourn.
"I know," Rupert said, his arms tightening around Wesley. "I still miss Jenny." Hers wasn't the only name that sprang to Rupert's mind, just the least complicated. There were, after the last twenty-some years, many people to miss.
"Jenny Calendar. You loved her," Wesley said, more statement than question.
"Yes," Rupert said, the single word feeling crowded with memories. "Every June 18th I come home early, with a bottle of champagne, and remember her. Her birthday. It feels . . . better than remembering other anniversaries."
Wesley nodded, still staring at the picture in his hands. "I almost forgot this year."
And those three words sounded thick, sounded choked, as if they'd been pushed from a throat unwilling to speak them. They filled the air, heavy and impossibly real, as if they were solid manifestations of guilt and pain.
Nothing he could say would make that easier on Wesley. Wes felt so guilty about it all that Rupert doubted he could convince Wesley that almost forgetting was all right. "Sometimes life gets in the way. We may not want it to, but it has to if we're not to spend our lives forever mourning. It doesn't mean you don't love her, don't miss her, just that you're still alive, still human."
"But should I be?" Those words were no less heavy than the previous ones, and Rupert had to force himself to relax his grip for fear of crushing the breath out of Wesley's lungs.
"You are," he said, his words heavy now, too. "In my experience, there is no should be or shouldn't be. There just is, and we can't do anything but pick up the pieces, keep moving, remember." Wesley nodded and Rupert laid his temple against Wesley's. "We could do something. To remember her. It's not too late."
"You didn't know her." The words weren't recrimination, just a statement of fact, caught halfway between dismissive and hopeful.
"You did; Spike did. What better way to remember and honor her life than to tell me all about her?"
"You'd want that?" There was a rare touch of wistfulness to Wesley's voice.
"I would love that."
They sat together in silence a few moments longer. Then Wesley tucked the picture into the drawer, beneath his gun, and shut it. Still, they sat, until Wesley relaxed completely against Rupert.
"Come on," Rupert said, kissing Wesley's shoulder. "Let's go back to sleep. Tomorrow we'll buy a bottle of champagne."
Wesley nodded, turning his head to brush his lips over Rupert's. "Yes, let's get back before Spike wakes up and starts complaining he's cold."
Rupert gave a soft chuckle, letting go of Wesley long enough to crawl back up the bed. He kept to the right, making sure that Wesley would be sleeping between Spike and himself. Wes gave him a weak smile, quite aware of his machinations. Then they settled in, and Rupert pushed up behind Wesley, sliding his arm around Wes' midsection.
The quiet rustle of the sheets faded, and the only sound remaining was that of three sets of lungs, still breathing.
-----
Preferred rating range: R-NC17
Wanted: Spike topping Wes, a stakeout, a birthday party for Fred.
Unwanted: character death, sweet talk.