home

"Heavy... undead... bastard!" Cordelia exclaims, struggling to free herself from underneath a sleeping, half-naked Angel. She's not entirely sure how she ended up here, but she's mostly clothed, and that's a start.

"For fuck's sake, Cordelia, keep it down," Wesley pleads, and Cordelia notices that he's also pinned by the great bulk that is their employer, and not quite so clothed.

"But I want to wake him up," she pouts, openly eyeing the expanse of Wesley's bare chest that is not obscured by Angel's torso; he's definitely too skinny, but it's more defined than she expected. "I can't feel my leg!"

"That's all well and good," Wes winces, "but I'm bloody hung over and I'd appreciate you putting a stop to the stabbing pain in my head."

A bottle of aspirin floats over to land on the bedside table, and its cap is removed by unseen hands.

"Thank you, Dennis, you're a lifesaver," Wes groans, swallowing three tablets dry. Cordelia winces; that can't have felt nice going down.

Angel stirs, then jolts off the bed. "What happened?" he asks. "Is everyone okay? Cordelia, why are you in bed with Wes?" He looks down and realizes he is wearing only a pair of boxers. "Gah!"

"That's too many questions I don't have answers to," Cordelia says. "He's brain guy; ask him."

"Has anyone, er, seen my, well, anything?" Wesley is confused; there isn't a stitch of his clothing in sight.

"Gonna go out on a limb and say we've seen your everything," Cordelia smirks, "but luckily it wasn't that memorable."

~*~

"Could you guys not make with the naked in my bed?" Cordelia grumbled. "I'm as excited as you are, yea Shanshu, but the naked? Can't say I'm a fan."

"You're lying," Angel said bluntly. "You're a big fan. Believe me, I can tell."

Cordelia did her best imitation of a fish out of water. "If you think I'm gonna join you, let me tell ya, brothers, there ain't enough Champagne in the Valley -"

"She wants to watch," Wesley said, realizing. The champagne buzz was a warm, fuzzy hum in his head and belly.

"Cordy," Angel smirked. "You naughty girl!" He turned to Wes. "Should we let her?"

Wes shrugged. "It is her bed."

~*~

Cordelia resists the urge to peek under the blankets; or, she tries, but fails gloriously. "Okay, remembering now," she says, wide-eyed.

Wesley looks scandalized. "Cordelia!" She loves the way he says her name, with the R lost in his accent, and the emphasis on the Delia. She's always been a Cordy, but she thinks it might be nice to be a Delia.

"What?" she grins. "Ain't nothin' I didn't see last night."

Angel sits in a chair near the bed, his face buried in his hands. "How the hell much did we drink?"

Wesley looks hurt this time. "Obviously enough to cloud your judgement," he says, his voice sounding forced.

"No, Wes, I didn't mean it like that..." Angel protests, but Wes has rolled over and is facing the wall.

"Nice job, Mr. Sensitive," Cordy admonishes, and Angel looks helpless.

"I didn't mean it like that," he insists. "Remember how there was kissing before there was alcohol?"

Wesley does remember, and he rolls back over, looking suspicious. "So there was," he agrees. "And I distinctly recall you," he turns to Cordelia, "saying you wanted no part in that, yet here you are."

"Hey, there, naked boy, I've got clothes on!"

Wesley silently thinks that perhaps she shouldn't.

"Cordy can't help her voyeuristic streak," Angel defends. "It's perfectly natural to want to watch your two friends... okay, maybe not so much with the natural."

"Since when are you with the boy on boy action, anyway?" Cordelia addresses this to Angel, and Wesley takes offense.

"It's surprising from him, a vampire who at certain points in his life and unlife has been completely without conscience or morals, but you don't bat an eyelash when I'm involved?"

Cordelia shrugs. "You don't have to be gay to lay back and enjoy a blowjob."

"I'm not gay!" Angel says defensively, and Wesley and Cordelia give him identical Looks. "I'm not. Wes is... he's a special case."

"Oh, so I'm a case," Wesley says, his expression taking on a stony quality. "That makes it so much better."

~*~

"Can't you put down plastic or something?" Cordelia frowned, sitting on the edge of her chair. "That's 100% Egyptian cotton, 650 thread count!"

"Watching means no talking," Angel said, looking up from his assault on Wesley's lips. The other man was naked under him, and moaned in protest at the loss of contact. Inspiration struck. "Here, come keep the top half of him busy." That would keep her quiet.

"What?" Wesley asked intelligently. "You don't have to - Cordelia -" His lips were swollen from Angel's previous attentions, and she thought perhaps she did want a part in the kissing after all.

Cordelia crossed the short distance to the bed; Wesley tasted like Champagne and blood, sweet and metallic. His mouth was pliant under hers, and he moaned when she nipped at his bottom lip. Or it might have been because at that exact moment, Angel's mouth made contact with Wesley's achingly erect cock. "Angel," he whispered against her lips, and she thought it was weird that it wasn't weird.

~*~

"Emphasis on the special, not the case," Cordelia points out. It's true, Wesley is special. She feels phenomenally stupid for not having seen it before. Angel is the champion; he has to work towards his own redemption. She is the connection to the Powers; she has to help him. Wesley has a choice to have a normal life, but he chooses to fight the good fight at their side anyway. He is loyal, yet at the same time she knows that if he had to, he would stake Angel. It's unsettling that this thought is relieving; she's not sure she could do it herself.

"You're not just a guy," Angel says, "you're Wesley. Our Wesley."

Wesley hears the truth behind Angel's words, and his face softens.

"So, as mornings after go, this could be worse," Cordelia says, lightening the mood. "Nobody's knocked up with demon spawn, and I always say that's a great place to start."

"We're all still friends," Angel says, "right?"

Wesley nods, though he wants to ask whether that's all they are. "I'll never leave you," he says, and he could mean Angel, or he could mean both of them. Cordelia wonders why there's so much space between them on the bed, and scoots closer, rolling over in the process so her bottom is pressed firmly against Wesley's groin. It's almost teasing, except that she means it as a passive invitation as much as a comforting gesture. His arm automatically goes around her, holding her close.

Angel hates to be left out of this tender gesture and joins them on the bed, spooning Wesley from behind. Wesley thinks he should feel uncomfortable, but instead he feels like this is where he belongs.