Angel laid out towels and soap and scented body wash things that they, as manly men, weren't actually supposed to admit to possessing, but as long as Cordelia kept buying them for Christmas and birthdays and obscure anniversaries that thank god she reminded him of, it wouldn't be polite not to use them. Even if they did smell foofy. Officially.

He found himself whistling, which most of his extended family would probably find extremely frightening. The only thing that stopped him from using it to scare Spike and Xander when they were annoying him was the threat of Wes or Gunn hearing him do it, and exile to the dreaded Couch as punishment for trying to make music in any form. Xander and Spike's Couch.

Whenever he tried doing things like that when Wesley or Gunn weren't around, it always turned out that they had just walked in the room as he began. That was how Wesley had got that photo of him dancing with a broom. No amount of explanations could convince anyone that it *hadn't* been what it looked like. He chalked it up to learning patience and humility, and the price he paid for having people who shared his life and his bed and occasionally his underwear.

Angel heard Wesley and Gunn approaching the door to their suites, and immediately stopped whistling. He turned and waited, hoping that his position and attire were deemed appropriate for a towel boy. He had considered putting on the thong Wes had bought him, but finally opted for simple nudity. It would be faster that way, once the shower turned into having sex.

When Wes and Gunn walked in the door to the suite, he was standing in front of the bathroom, towel over his arm. Wesley blinked, then did his trying-not-to-smile smile. "Very nice. I presume you're going to tip him well for this, Gunn?"

"Oh, I'll tip him all right. Maybe let him give me a blow job, later, if he's *really* good."

Angel liked that idea immensely, but he tried to retain his act and not respond. Except, of course, for his cock, which had a mind of its own.

Wesley was giving Gunn an amused look, then stepped past him towards the shower. "Seems as though the water is nice and hot."

That was an understatement -- the large bathroom was rapidly filling with steam. Then Wes was stripping, dropping goo covered clothes on the floor. He was facing the shower, giving them both an excellent view of his backside as he removed his trousers and underwear.

Gunn followed suit, his jeans and t-shirt joining Wesley's on the floor. He looked down at the pile of clothes and curled his lip. "Can I just say, ew? I mean, I know we do this all the time, but this is a really ew-y ew."

"Aren't you glad I didn't wear my James Bond clothes, then?" Wesley asked as he tentatively put one foot into the hot shower. Angel stood as still as he could, considering the towel that was hanging over his arm was no longer hanging straight down at the sight of Wesley's ass flexing as he extended his leg.

"Yeah. You can change into 'em after the shower, and I can rip them off then."

Angel looked at them in surprise. "Tearing dress clothes off Wesley? I get to be here for that, right? Because I live here, and it would be mean to kick me out." He gave his lovers a cute look, not sure he needed to, but it couldn't hurt. Of course, neither of them was looking at him. Wesley was looking into the shower, and Gunn was looking at Wesley's ass.

For a moment he and Gunn communed silently -- taking time to appreciate the truly fine things in life. Then Gunn was walking forward and reaching a hand in to test the water. "Feels just right. Come on, English, let's get hot and soapy."

Angel was pretty sure his whimper was subvocalised. He moved to follow the two of them into the shower -- and stopped short when the curtain was pulled shut in his face.

This time the whimper wasn't subvocalised. Insofar as you could call "Hey!" a whimper at all.

Wesley's face peered around the edge of the curtain. "Was there something you forgot to provide for us in here?"

Angel blinked. "Ah, no, but..."

"Thank you. You're welcome to wait there; we'll call you if we need anything." Wesley disappeared behind the curtain again, leaving Angel to stand there, towel still hanging over his arm, open mouthed.

He didn't move at all as he watched the two silhouettes moving on the other side of the curtain. Gunn moved aside for Wesley to stand in front of him under the spray, and was running his hands down Wesley's chest. There was a moan, which Angel echoed. How was this fair? He'd done as they'd asked - done the towel boy thing and been docile and well-trained. Now he had to wait out *here*? "Uh...guys? Wes?" he asked, feeling very confused.

"Yes, Angel?" Wesley called back, even as Angel saw him leaning back against Gunn and letting the hot water cascade over them.

Angel had to pick his jaw up from the sight, and the image in his mind that removed the curtain from what he was seeing. "Can't I--" he began, and he knew he was whining. That would probably *not* get him entrance into the shower. He cleared his throat. "Are you sure you don't need any help in there?" he asked, trying to sound simply concerned. Solicitous.

He saw the shadow of Gunn's hand move, down Wesley's side.. Saw Gunn's body follow, and the voice that replied rose up at him from the shower floor. "I think I got everything under control."

Wesley was moving in a way that made Angel want to defy their refusal to invite him in. It wasn't as though he needed the invitation -- he might be a vampire, but the rule didn't apply to bathrooms. Especially *his* bathroom. He owned the entire hotel -- he ought to be able to step into one single shower stall. But he hadn't been invited, and Wesley and Gunn would probably just send him right back out, refusing to do anything at all with him in there. He settled for sighing despondently, and watching.

Gunn was doing something, now - maybe he'd picked up the soap while Angel was blinking? He was running his hands up and down Wesley's body -- and Wesley's body was making a much more intriguing silhouette, now. Angel really, really wanted to pull the curtain back and watch them make love in the shower.

Or help. He was the towel boy, after all. Soap suds should be his responsibility. So should licking body parts off after they'd been soaped and rinsed just to be extra certain everything was cleaned. But as he raised a hand to try twitching the curtain back, Wesley turned around and began running his hands over Gunn.

The two silhouettes -- one tall and thin, the other shorter, compactly muscled, made a portrait in contrasts that tickled the artistic part of his brain. The part that managed to work on its own even when he would normally assume his cerebrum had gone into shutdown mode, and the bit that was rubbing at the towel he was holding, was doing his thinking for him. Some part of him wanted to draw them like this, in broad charcoal strokes, on white canvas. Shadows behind a screen, touching each other. A curtain, thin as paper, immovable as steel, forever separating the lovers and the viewer.

Another part of him, halfway between his two functioning brains, clenched in a brief ache. Even though it was only a game, though he *knew* it was only a game, he felt that separation. Wondered if this was the way Wesley had been feeling. Welcomed, and yet always to one side. Apart. He found himself taking a step forward and stopped himself from making any more motion towards the shower. They had invited him only to watch, to stand here on the other side and wait to be allowed more.

It was erotic, hearing them, seeing their movements this way. He made a note to do this again sometime with one of the others in the role of the voyeur. But it didn't stop him from wanting to be inside. With them. He'd been away from them all evening, and had anticipated them not returning until much later. He'd done his best not to pace, or brood, but it had proved difficult. For all that he'd preferred his solitude for decades, he craved their companionship now.

He *got* that this was supposed to be Gunn's date. He also knew it was more about Wesley feeling like he had some separate connection with each of them, than it was about him and Gunn competing for the privilege of Wesley's company. Not that it wasn't worth competing over, but there wasn't any need, for the two of them. They were perfectly happy to share.

But the competition game was fun, and it tickled Wes, and there really wasn't any bad. Except this, of course. The aftermath. Angel listened to the two of them breathing. Listened to that breathing speed up, grow deeper and raspier. He raised one hand, wanting to at least hold them while they made love. Again he stopped himself, and reminded himself that he should be glad they let him be this close. They might have left him downstairs to play alone, and leave him wondering what he was missing.

The curtain yanked back and Angel jumped half a foot. "Are you just going to stand there?" Wesley inquired.

"What do you want?" Angel asked, quickly, in as helpful a tone as he could. He hoped Wesley wouldn't notice that he was a couple of feet closer then he had been when they'd closed the curtain.

"I need someone to stand here." Wesley pointed.

To a spot inside the shower stall. It took Angel half a second, using every ounce of eager vampiric speed he possessed, to be in that spot.

Wesley and Gunn looked at him. "Excellent," Wesley said, then he turned back to face the spray of water. Gunn stood behind him, bath sponge in his hand, gently rubbing it over Wesley's back. Across his shoulders, down his spine, wringing it out so that a rivulet of water ran down the small of his back, barely discernable amid the spray from the shower head, but Angel saw Wesley shudder with the movement, all the same.

Gunn paused with the sponge in his hand, then tossed it casually at Angel, who caught it without effort. Was Gunn passing off the washing duties, he wondered? Angel began to take a step towards them, but stopped himself as he saw Gunn shoot him a tiny glare. Then Gunn's attention was back on Wesley, his arms wrapping around the slim frame, to trace patterns across Wesley's stomach, while Gunn pressed his mouth to the skin of Wesley's back.

Apparently Angel's role was still towel boy -- stand back and hold the towels, washcloths, sponges. Not so bad, though, from this side of the curtain. He could see every drop of water on Wesley's back that was being licked off by Gunn. He could hear clearly each gasp and every little groan Wesley made. He could see how Wesley swayed, and was held firm by Gunn's arms. He wondered if it was within the towel boy's domain to jerk off, while watching.

Angel suspected not, somehow; or more to the point, he suspected they'd be subtly disappointed with him for not being able to hold out, and they'd make unfavorable comparisons between himself and Spike. Who actually *could* hold out for quite a long time, if properly motivated, but Angel had never seen the need to point that out to his lovers, with the everpresent threat of his children-in-law's couch hanging over his head.

He stood still, holding the sponge, determined not to be compared to *anyone* and found wanting, no matter how much he did want. Especially when Gunn began sliding his mouth down Wesley's flesh, a line of wet kisses down his spine, pausing each time to swirl his tongue against the skin, press his lips close, and move on.

Angel's own mouth was open, and his tongue moved in tiny swirls, echoing Gunn's movements. He had to catch himself to avoid making any sound; holding out probably meant not whimpering, as well as not touching. It didn't mean not getting so hard he was going to hurt, though, and he had a feeling that was good -- because Gunn was still working his way down Wesley's back, and he wasn't stopping.

Gunn pressed a kiss and a lick at the top of Wesley's buttocks, causing Wesley to gasp and drop his head forward. Angel locked his knees to avoid moving forward, himself. He stared, transfixed, as Gunn's tongue flicked out and ran down the line between Wesley's buttocks. He had to lock his jaw closed, as well, when Gunn pulled those buttocks apart.

Vampiric vision had its advantages -- or disadvantages, as the case might be. Even through the steam, Angel could see Gunn's tongue dart out as he pressed his mouth to Wesley's skin again. He could see the shudder that went through Wesley's entire body, as Gunn kiss-licked up one side of his cleft and down the other. Leisurely, never quite flicking his tongue close enough to the center. A torment Angel had both given and received, in his time, but standing here watching Wesley endure it, without getting to participate, was its own sort of agony.

Would it be cheating, if he closed his eyes? Wesley's eyes were closed; how could it not be fair for Angel to close his? But it was a stupid question -- even if it fell within the rules of the game, Angel wouldn't miss a minute of this for the world. He started to lean backwards against the tiled wall, just so he could stop sparing a braincell or two to keeping himself upright. But Wesley gave a sharp gasp, like his voice was strangled in his chest, and Angel shivered as though *he* were the one with his body spread wide.

For Gunn had pressed the tip of his tongue into Wesley's body, just for a second, before pulling away and placing deceptively gentle kisses along the underswell of his buttocks. Wesley panted, and Angel could hear the beginnings of a voiced request, or maybe just a moan in the back of Wesley's throat. Gunn seemed to hear it too, or maybe he was moving anyhow, back towards the edge of the opening. Angel had to scoot sideways quickly, so he could still see as Gunn turned his head a bit, to lick around and around, never quite penetrating again.

"Charles, please!" Wesley groaned, startling Angel. He'd have thought Wes couldn't speak -- but it was his own voice that was caught, and once Wesley had spoken he didn't seem able or willing to stop. "Please, please, do that again."

'Yes,' Angel echoed silently. 'Do that again, and again, and let me see every moment of it. Don't stop til he screams....' Angel once again had to force himself to stop clenching his fists.

"What, this?" Gunn rumbled, low, breathing across Wesley's ass, but not touching it. The voice was enough to make Angel's skin tingle where he stood; he could only imagine -- and watch -- what it was doing to Wesley. Warm breath. Warm water, rolling down in droplets from his hair, from his back, and raining down from above, slick on his skin.

Like statues in a fountain, Angel thought, looking at them both. Ivory and some warm, polished wood, too sunlit brown to be ebony. Except statues didn't move like that, didn't quiver and moan. He was the one who was frozen, breathless and unmoving.

Luckily for him, breathless was a natural state. Otherwise, he'd be fainted on the shower floor and he'd be missing this. He wasn't even sure Gunn and Wesley would notice if he fainted, what with the way Wesley was closed up into his body, eyes closed and moaning deep, soft in his throat and apparently unaware of everything except the tongue on his skin.

Gunn, too, seemed absorbed in his task -- the careful way he touched Wesley, as though he might ignite if he touched too hard, or too fast, or moved too far away. Gunn pressed his tongue in a spot that made Wesley gasp, and Angel tensed -- wanting to jerk forward and see which spot it was, touch it for himself. But he was frozen, and Wesley gasped again as though he were being killed infinitely slowly.

Angel wanted to beg Gunn to fuck him, but he couldn't speak. He also wasn't sure whether he meant fuck Wesley, or fuck Angel. Wasn't sure if one didn't mean the other, anyway. Wesley was doing enough speaking for the both of them, a constant low stream of please and Gunn and now, interspersed with nonsense sounds that were just as meaningful to someone who'd known and loved him for as long as Angel had. That one meant, 'Harder,' and that one, 'Faster,' and the little sigh that was almost sung, that meant 'Yes, just right.'

He seemed to be communicating well with Gunn; after a few moans, Wesley settled into one, long, panting expression of 'yes, just right'. Angel didn't blame him -- Gunn had Wesley spread wide -- pressed against the wall as though gravity was pulling him sideways -- and was pushing his tongue inside Wesley's body.

Angel wondered if he, himself, might die from the arousal. He'd turn to ash and be washed away, and the worst part was he'd die frustrated, because he couldn't move -- might not have even if Gunn turned around and told him to. Instead, he was only able to watch, wide eyed and grateful he needn't breathe, as Gunn's tongue entered Wesley again, and again, all in time to the delighted and urgent sounds coming from Wesley's throat.

Then Gunn pushed his way in and stayed there, and Wesley made a high-pitched gasp that nearly made Angel come. Later, he couldn't explain why he hadn't, unless he really *was* well-trained and knew he hadn't been told he was allowed. But what were the chances of that?

For whatever reason, Angel managed to stay still, holding sponge and soap and not moving a muscle while Gunn pushed Wes to extremes that, if Angel had been the one doing it, would have got him accused of being a bad, evil vampire. Then, without moving anything but his arm, without withdrawing from Wesley or making any sort of noise whatsoever, Gunn held out his hand.

This was an old game, really, though he'd never been specifically assigned to play towel boy before, and Angel knew without having to think about it, what Gunn was requesting. Certainly not a shower sponge. But he couldn't move, because he'd been told not to. Even though he *was*, now, being told to move, move exactly to where he'd been begging silently to go -- he couldn't move.

But Gunn moved his fingers, and Angel jolted in place; the sudden motion tearing him free from his inability to do anything but stare. He scrambled for the lube, water-proof lubricant they kept in the shower with the shampoo and soap and shaving cream. A pump-action bottle, one then two squirts and he was holding his hand out to Gunn, tiny mountain of lube ready, willing, and able. Angel wanted to ask if Gunn needed any help applying it, but dared not break his silence.

Gunn reached his hand back, but before Angel could transfer the contents of his palm, he found his wrist being grabbed.

If he couldn't move before, if he'd been the statue, then this sudden hot touch, warm human skin made warmer by the water, was enough to break whatever stone had encased Angel. He moved forward, pliant to the pulling of Gunn's arm, unsure what was happening, but not about to protest. Probably not able, if for some reason he'd been insane enough to want to.

Gunn took Angel's hand -- and wiped it onto Angel's erection. Mouth open with a silent gasp, Angel stared at him. Gunn smiled, a cocky smile that made Angel wonder if both of his lovers had been spending too much time with Spike. But he didn't want to think about Spike right now -- he wanted to think about Gunn, kneeling in the shower, guiding Angel towards their lover.

Galvanized, Angel quickly spread the lube over his erection, then moved his hand towards Wesley. He looked again at Gunn, who nodded his head, leaning back on his heels to watch. Slowly, not completely sure why he'd been allowed in, Angel placed his hand on Wesley's ass and heard his lover moan, and press back into his hand. He slipped one finger inside, and the groans sounded again.

Wesley had to know, didn't he? Difference in tempertaure, and, god knew, difference in size. Big hands, big fingers. He'd expressed his appreciation of them often enough when Angel was massaging his neck, or -- though only in those coded sounds of pleasure -- fisting his cock. But maybe not. The way he threw back his head when Angel moved his finger, then let it fall forward again -- maybe Wesley was too far gone to know *anything*. Or maybe he knew, and he didn't mind as long as someone was fucking him.

Or maybe he knew and he *wanted* it to be Angel. Or, Angel told himself, he was thinking about it too much and should listen to the way Wesley was moaning and whimpering, begging him to get on with it.

He moved up behind Wesley, positioning his cock right at the edge of Wesley's asshole, and glanced back at Gunn one more time. The impatient look he got in return was enough. All he needed, before he was sliding in and the tight, hot flesh was encasing him and he had to act fast to bite back a moan as loud as loud as Wesley's.

He damn well has to know *now*, Angel didn't really think. More of a brief senseless blip through his head before thought was useless and it became all *about* his senses. Soft moans. Sweet, clean scent of soap. Hot water pouring down over him, now, and hot flesh against him, surrounding him. *His* hands on Wesley now, feeling slick hot skin of stomach. Old scars, scars he remembered all too well, beneath his fingers.

He stood still, for a moment, just being there, where he'd been wanting to be since he steeped into the shower. Touching, touched. It took the soft tracing of a warm hand down his own back, to startle him from his stillness. He didn't have to look back, to know it was Gunn standing there. Closer than anyone except his lovers could have gotten without his being consciously aware, yet Gunn wasn't touching him anywhere except the one hand moving down his back.

He thought briefly of Gunn torturing him the way he'd tortured Wesley with slow, languid touches and kisses and-- and he shoved himself into Wesley, hard, at the thought. Wesley gasped, and Gunn traced his hand lower, and Angel had to fight to remain silent even though he didn't know why. The hand pushed at his hips, very slightly, barely a suggestion, but Angel took it. He thrust again, slower this time, feeling himself slide into Wesley's welcoming body.

The feeling of fingers on his own skin, the feeling of skin beneath his fingers... Wesley breathing, harsh and uneven. The scent, impossible to wash away fast enough even beneath the showerspray, of arousal. His own. Wesley. Gunn. It wasn't fair, he thought -- vampires weren't made to deal with this much input at once, to heightened senses, designed only for focusing on the chase, the capture. It made him lose what little control he still possessed, fingers sliding down Wesley's stomach, cock sliding in and out of his lover, and barely a brain cell left to figure out what Gunn was doing to *him*, besides something nice.

His own hand closed around hot, smooth flesh, painfully hard, the evidence of Wesley's torment having gone on just as long as his own, and Angel moved his hand in sympathy, or perhaps just in rhythm.

It was impossible to tell which of them came first, which sharp spasm triggered the next, but within seconds they were both wrapped in the spreading orgasm, pulling them apart and slamming them together with each wave of force. Angel shouted now, throat tight and lungs burning with long unneeded air, and beneath his own voice he heard Wesley's, rolling with long, undulating tones of need, and release.

He had to wrap his free arm around Wesley's chest, holding on to him to keep himself upright -- or perhaps to keep Wesley upright, or keep Wesley close. Some instinct he shoved away the need to analyze as soon as it tried to steal thought away from noticing the body pressed against him. Mortal hot, slick and wet from the shower, scent that Angel had connected deep in his brain to love and need and want -- he pulled his face closer to that body and took as much as he could take.

How long he stood like that, he wasn't sure. Later, when he was able to think again, he knew it couldn't have been very long, but while it was happening, it seemed to last forever. Until, finally, forever was brought to a halt by a warm hand on his shoulder, pulling at him, patient, but firm. "Hey towel boy..."

"Uh?" Angel looked over his shoulder to find Gunn standing there, smiling at him.

It was a very intriguing smile, and Angel reached for him, hand behind Gunn's neck to pull him close for a kiss without necessitating a break of contact with Wesley. Gunn took him in, kissing him deeply, passionately, and with an urgency that made Angel's brain kick in long enough to recall that only *two* of them had come. But Angel still didn't let go of his grip on Wesley's waist, nor move back enough to let his softening cock slip free. He wanted all of it, both of them, pulled inside him and part of his own skin.

Then Gunn bit gently at his lower lip. Then less gently. Angel opened his eyes, to see *that* look -- the one that said, 'I'm going to kick your ass from here to Pylea if you leave me hanging like this, you selfish bastard.' It was a very expressive look -- Gunn had been developing it for a long time. Angel supposed that, talent and graceful vampire as he was, he might manage to hand onto Wesley with only *one* hand. His right arm still encircling Wesley's waist, holding him close, Angel found Gunn's cock with the other. Not that it was difficult to find, since it made its presence known against his thigh as Gunn pressed closer.

Angel heard a chuckle from Wesley, though it sounded as if he were perfectly willing to lie down on the shower floor and watch from there. Angel held him more tightly, then held Gunn more tightly. He kissed Gunn, then turned his head and reached for Wesley.

"Someone needs another appendage," Wesley said, sounding greatly amused.

"I don't," Angel growled. "I just need you over here."

"How much closer can I get? You're still *inside* me."

"I want to kiss you." Angel reached for him again, and Wesley craned his head around. Still too far to reach.

"You stopped," Gunn was suddenly growling in Angel's ear, and Angel realized his hand was still.

He remedied that as best he could, but something just wasn't right, in the whole arrangement. Angel growled, louder than Gunn had. Unhappy vampire growl, which by itself had scared the life out of ...well, all right, not Wes or Gunn or Cordy or his idiot grandspawn or his idiot grandspawn's idiot husband, but at least *several* people, in his long career.

"Was that supposed to be a suggestion?" Wesley asked, amused.

"No. This is. You," he tugged on Gunn by the nearest available handle, "need to be over *there*." Angel pulled Wesley back, leaving a space for Gunn directly beneath the fountaining shower head. Gunn raised an eyebrow.

"Just whose date is this?"

"Consider this part of the service." Angel couldn't quite stop himself from continuing to growl, but by know they knew the difference between possessive, 'I'm in charge here' growl, and 'Vampire barely under control' growl. Gunn grinned and moved where he indicated, then looked at him again. Angel shook his head. "Now *you* kiss him, since I can't reach." He could still reach Gunn, and he could lower his mouth to the back of Wesley's neck, and press his teeth there. Lightly, not breaking the skin, just enough to make Wes squirm back against him.

This was *much* better. No losing Wesley, no Gunn interrupting him with remarks about being left hanging, and no Wesley and Gunn not being kissed. He went back to stroking Gunn's length, making sure he kept his grip not-too-tight, and the speed not too fast. Gunn had demonstrated a preference for slow torture, this evening, and Angel was happy to give it to him.

Angel concentrated on tasting Wesley's skin and feeling the rushing of the blood against his tongue when he pressed his mouth above Wesley's veins. He could hear Gunn moaning, muffled by Wesley's mouth. Angel continued what he was doing, careful not to rush -- and felt himself slowly growing hard again. He smiled.

Wes pushed back against him. Gunn followed, his mouth pressed to Wesley's, his hands reaching around Wes, holding him as close as Angel was. Resting lightly on Angel's arm, driving his cock not nearly so lightly into the tunnel of Angel's fist. The three of them in a circle of desire, of warm and wet and just absolutely right.

Angel wondered how any of them could have doubted this.

*******

He could tell it was still night, when he woke up. No light anywhere in the room, no sound except Wesley breathing softly in his arms, and Angel...not breathing, behind him. Gunn blinked a bit, wondering what had awakened him, then shrugged, stretched a little, and settled his head against Wesley's shoulder again, closing his eyes.

Poke.

So that was it. Gunn frowned, but didn't move.

Poke. In the ribs. Light, but firm. When he still did nothing, it was followed by skittering fingers, tickling up his side.

Gunn freed one hand carefully, and grabbed those fingers. "What do you want, Angel," he whispered.

"Wanna cuddle Wes," came the sleepy grumble.

Angel might be able to see him grin in the dark, with vampire sight, but he couldn't see it with Gunn's back to him. "What, I'm not good enough?" He thought he managed a pretty good imitation of Wesley pretending to be insulted -- just the right amount of acting like he didn't really care, with the little sniff at the end that said otherwise.

"Want both," Angel growled, lower, almost awake. His hand slipped out from under Gunn's, and around his waist. Across him, so Angel's fingertips just brushed the inside of Wesley's arm, the one that wasn't resting on Gunn's hip.

Gunn could have moved from his spot in the middle, where, more often than not, Wes usually slept. Could have let Angel slip into the center and draw them both in to him. God knew they'd slept that way hundreds of times, and it was worth the occasional stiff neck from using Angel's arm as a pillow, instead of a real one. But doing so would mean waking Wesley up, shifting around. Waking everybody up, and yeah, that might mean they spent a little time enjoying each other's company before they fell back asleep, but...

But Wesley's head lay heavily on the pillow, his hair tumbled into his face, and Wesley's body was there, pressed against him, one leg entwined with Gunn's, and Wesley's breath was warm on his face. And Angel was right there behind him, for Gunn to lean back into, arm wrapped tightly around his waist, and it was all good. Too good to move.

"Tough," he whispered back without opening his eyes. "I called it."

the end