Afterwards, spell applied and taken upstairs to bed, Wesley found himself being waited on by two very large, adorable, and contrite lovers. They'd managed to leave Spike and Xander down below, though Wes could still hear Spike yelling about someone's very rude behavior. Truthfully, Wes thought Gunn was the one who'd leaned Wes sideways enough to aim for Spike.

And it wasn't as though the vampire hadn't leapt into the pool to clean off, thereby requiring a call to the pool company before anyone could use it again. Right now, all Wesley cared about was the two men before him, who were taking turns reading to him from out of one of his favorite books.

"Mr. and Mrs. Brown first met Paddington on a railway platform. In fact, that was how he came to have such an unusual name for a bear, for Paddington was the name of the station." Angel read aloud with a pained expression. "Wes, are you sure you don't want to hear something out of _Leatherlust 3_ ?" he asked.

"No. Now tell about the sign that says 'Please look after this bear.' Wesley stuck out his chin determinedly. He'd spent a most entertaining hour taking lessons from Spike on how to do this, and he had to admit it worked like a charm.

"Okay, okay... um, that's not on this page. Do you want me to skip to where it is?" Wesley just trembled his lower lip a bit, and Angel quickly turned the pages. "Mrs. Brown caught a glimpse of the writing on the label. It said, simply, Please Look After This Bear. Thank You."

Wesley sniffed for the poor abandoned bear, causing Angel and Gunn to look over at him, alarmed. "Poor Paddington," Wesley said. "All alone in a strange country. How terribly frightened he must have been." He caught the concerned, confused look Gunn and Angel exchanged. Obviously wondering if the anti-concussion spell had worked completely.

"Maybe you should read for a bit," Angel said to Gunn, handing the book over.

"Nah, man, he doesn't wanna hear me read. You read." Gunn pushed the book back.

Angel shook his head. "No, it's your turn. I read *all* of _The Velveteen Rabbit_, *and* _The Pokey Little Puppy_."

"Yeah, but those were short. This one's a novel. Besides, I can't do the accents."

"Trust me, Angel can't either." Wesley gave them both a glare. "And if one of you doesn't start reading soon, I'm going to throw a tantrum." Which foretold many dangers, chief among them being the danger of getting hit in the head by levitating throw-pillows, and the danger of no sex.

Angel gave Wesley a frantic -- for Angel -- look, threw the book at Gunn and dove for the mattress beside Wesley. He ignored both of their surprised looks, though Wes' turned into a triumphant grin when Angel wriggled under the duvet and snuggled him. "I'll cuddle. You read."

"How come you get all the good jobs?" Gunn demanded.

"Because I thought of it first," Angel replied easily. Wesley just settled himself into Angel's arms, and waited. And waited.

At a mild throat clearing from Wesley, Gunn jumped. "I uh... lost the page."

"Page ten," Wesley prompted him patiently.

"Oh." More silence, because Gunn was obviously already *on* page ten. The illustration on page eleven was plainly visible even from the bed. "She... ah... she turned appealingly to her husband. 'Oh, Henry, what *shall* we do? We can't just leave him here...' " Gunn shook his head and closed the book, holding his place with his finger. "Yes, they can! I mean, who goes around pickin' up strange bears in subway stations? It's a damn good way to get chomped on."

Wesley frowned. "You're worse at this than Angel. I realize that you think if you bollocks up doing it, I'll let you stop. And you're correct--"

He was interrupted by Gunn yelling "yes!" and tossing the book down. Gunn froze when he saw Wesley frowning slightly at him.

"*However*," Wesley continued. "I shall be read to, and if I have to ask Spike to do so -- again -- I shall. He does a very good job of it, does all the different voices, and Xander knows how to stay quiet and be an appreciative audience." Which meant bang went any chance at sex, and from the looks on their faces, Angel and Gunn realized this at the same time, because they both dove for the book.

"Be careful, you two-- that's a first edition!"

Gunn managed to get his hands on it first, and quickly located the correct page. "We can't just leave him here. There's no knowing what will happen to him..." He glanced up at Wesley. "Um, can I read and cuddle at the same time?"

Wesley considered. "Possibly. As long as you can still do the different voices." From the look on Gunn's face, he was clearly debating the choice. He looked from Wesley, to the book, and back. Wesley wriggled a bit, enticingly, and Gunn finally scooted over.

It took a moment to get everyone situated so everyone could snuggle, and Gunn could still hold the book. Wesley waited until Gunn was half a sentence into the next paragraph before asking, "Could you let me up? I have to use the loo."

Gunn and Angel looked across Wesley at each other. "Really?' Angel asked. "Or are we still being punished?"

Wesley made a quick mental note-- when taking headgame lessons from Spike, keep in mind that Angel has known him for over a hundred years. "Really. Unless you'd like a waterbed in addition to an indoor pool." His lovers reluctantly untangled their arms from around him and let him rise.

He did so, gracefully, and headed to the bathroom. He made use of the facilities, then noticed something. He wandered back out to the bedroom and stood there. Angel and Gunn looked up at him, confused expressions on their faces appearing when they saw the one on his.

"Where are my swim briefs?" Wesley asked.

Angel and Gunn gave each other surprised, confused looks. "Did you see his briefs?" Angel asked.

"Nah, man. I thought you had 'em."

"I don't have them," Angel replied with a slow shake of his head.

"Hope we didn't *lose* them," Gunn muttered, and made a show of looking around.

Wesley's eyes narrowed. "I think you lot made off with them, just because I let someone whose name will not be mentioned pay for them." They both looked innocently at him, and he shook his head sternly. "I suppose you'll just have to buy me a new pair, then, won't you."

"I kinda like the pair you have now," Gunn said with a sly smile.

Wesley crossed his arms in front of his chest and returned the smile with a scolding frown. Not that he minded being leered at while naked, but the briefs had cost a bit of money which he'd had to pay *back*. For a few square inches of cloth, they'd been rather expensive. Then he smiled, slowly. "Then you don't mind if I use the pool in this outfit?"

"Uh-" Gunn stopped, and turned to Angel. "Is this a trick question?"

Angel sighed. "I don't know. He's worse than a girlfriend sometimes."

"I shall mention that to your last one, the next time I speak with her," Wesley promised, adding the evil quirk of his eyebrow that someone whose name would not be mentioned had assured him would knock his lovers senseless.

"Ubbadubba..." Angel replied with great coherence.

"*I* don't mind if you use the pool in that outfit, as long as the poster boys for drowning-at-birth ain't in it," Gunn finally ventured.

"Good one," Angel told him.

"Thanks."

"So if I suggested I might be in the pool tomorrow afternoon, wearing this outfit, that would be all right with you?" Wesley asked.

Angel furrowed his brow. "This all seems too easy, somehow."

Gunn picked up the book from his lap. Studied it meticulously, as if it might offer him the correct answer. And it might, if he knew how to read it-- Paddington was very wise, for a marmalade-eating bear from darkest Peru. At last he raised his head. "Are they gonna be cleaning the pool tomorrow afternoon?"

Angel shook his head. "No, it should be clean before brunch."

"Brunch?" Gunn gave him a questioning look, and Angel shrugged.

"If Cordelia says thou shalt eat brunch, then thou shalt eat brunch."

"Why does Cordelia want us to eat brunch tomorrow?"

Wesley rolled his eyes. He didn't understand why it was so difficult for anyone to remember such simple details. He was, on the other hand, beginning to understand why every female on the planet thought men were dolts. They *were*.

Angel and Gunn were looking at him, now, obviously hoping for a clue. He cleared his throat. "Brunch. A late, large, catered breakfast. Serving twelve."

Angel started to count on his fingers. "Me, Gunn, Wesley, Cordy, my idiot child, my idiot child's boyfriend..." He looked up. "That's six..."

Gunn took over. "Um.. Detective Kate? She likes you this week, right?"

Angel nodded. "I bought six tickets to the Policeman's Ball from her, and that put her ahead in the office contest, apparently." He glanced sheepishly at his lovers. "By the way, we're going to the Policeman's Ball next Saturday..." Wesley ahem'd. Angel went back to his finger-counting.

"Okay, Kate, that's seven... Oh, God, Spike's not bringing the kids down again, is he? The last time he brought the piranhas to the table, he ended up feeding them all the cinnamon rolls."

Wesley ahem'ed again. When Angel and Gunn were facing him, quietly, he said, "Try 'idiot child's boyfriend's best friend since pre-school.' Work your way from there, if you like."

"Willow?" Angel asked. "Why-- brunch. Tomorrow." He scurried out of bed as quickly as he could. "We're buying you a new suit."

Gunn looked from Angel to Wesley. "Would someone like to tell me what I'm missing? How do you get from Willow, to brunch, to...oh shit. That's tomorrow?" He followed Angel out of the bed and dug around for his clothes, as Angel was doing. "I *knew* it was a trick question. Hey!" He stopped as he found his jeans. "Why are we buying him a new pair? We've got the other pair stashed--"

Angel looked at him. "Do you want everyone looking at his stripes?"

Gunn took a quick glance at where the stripes used to be, and shook his head, with an accompanying gulp. "No. Uh-uh. G-Man would probably cross his eyes and fall over dead of a heart attack, anyway."

"He'll turn you into a newt again if he hears you calling him that," Wesley pointed out.

Gunn shrugged. "Wasn't that bad. I got better."

Angel paused, one leg in his trousers, one leg out. An interesting picture, and thank God they'd managed to convince him that leather wasn't just for evil vampires anymore. "Where are we gonna find him a new suit at this time of night?"

"Why don't we just cut off a pair of cargo pants. At the knee. You can swim in that, right, Wes?" Gunn suggested.

Wesley looked at his two mind-boggling lovers. "Right, then." He crossed over to the bed, grabbed his book, and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Angel asked.

"To find someone to finish reading to me." Cut-off cargo pants. Really. How was he supposed to show off his arse in cargo pants?

"Yo, you're still naked," Gunn pointed out.

He shrugged one shoulder. "I don't suppose Spike and Xander will mind, given their own swimming attire."

Angel pulled his leg back *out* of his leather trousers, and was across the room before Wesley had even thought about taking another step towards the door. Gunn wasn't far behind him. "We'll buy you a new suit in the morning," Angel promised. "Well, Gunn'll buy you a new suit in the morning. I'll just stay here and not turn to dust."

"Yeah, whatever kind you want. Micro-mini-whatever. Long as it covers the important parts."

Wesley folded his arms, tucking the book between them. "I thought you loved me for my mind?"

"What mind?" Gunn said, then when he realized what he'd just said, stammered, "What if I stop at that funky bookstore on my way, and get you..uh...something?"

"Randal's Manifesto on Komodo Demons," Angel suggested. "He's been after that one for weeks."

Gunn nodded quickly. "I can do that."

Wesley was trying very hard not to smile. It was flattering to see how quickly he'd managed to get these two so completely well-trained. To control his smile, he asked, "If you're going to be at the book seller's, can you stop in next door and get me some more tea?"

Gunn started to nod. Then his eyes narrowed. "Do I look like your personal errand boy?"

If Gunn thought Wesley was going to fold, he would be sorely disappointed. This just called for a slight change in tactics. "If you want to see me try to survive on Cordelia's coffee, it is, of course, up to you. But I tend to get very weak, and rather grumpy..."

"I think I'm being manipulated, here..." Gunn frowned.

Really? What clued him in, exactly--the fact that the naked man with the children's book in his arms was directing the progress of his every step? Wesley rolled his eyes. "I think I'm going to go find someone to read to me," he said simply, and took another step toward the door. He found himself being lifted up and carried back to the bed. As he landed on the bed with a gentle bounce, he looked up at Angel. "Was there something you wanted?"

Angel glowered at him. "You are staying there. Tomorrow morning, Gunn will go get you a new pair of briefs. Tomorrow night, all three of us will go get you your book and tea -- Giles will want to go to the book shop, so we can take them along. Sometime after everyone from Sunnydale goes *back* to Sunnydale, the three of us are locking the doors and windows and sewer escapes to the hotel and enjoying the pool in privacy."

Angel leaned over and plucked the book from Wes' arms. "And right now, you are going to listen to *us* read to you." He glared at Gunn, as if daring him to object.

"I ain't reading that stupid book," Gunn said.

"Excuse me," Angel said to Wesley, and hauled Gunn out the door and into the hallway, by his ear.

"What?" Gunn asked grumpily when the door had shut behind them and they were standing in the carpeted hall.

"You are *going* to read that stupid book, and you're going to *sound* like you like it, and you're going to shut up about it," Angel said, growling softly.

"Why the hell should I? It's a kid's book, and he's just doing it to prove we'll do anything for him."

Angel nodded. "Yeah. Think about it. If you were a guy as smart as Wesley, would you be asking your lovers to read you kid's books, unless you *needed* to know they'd do anything for you?"

Gunn opened his mouth to retort, then he paused. "You don't think he's just seeing how far he can push us?"

Angel nodded. "I think that's exactly what he's doing. See how far we'll go for him. He knows what we'd do in life and death situations. But this stuff? Embarrass ourselves? Gunn -- Spike and Xander had to talk him *into* this thing in the first place, remember?"

"So if we do stupid shit like read him Paddington Bear, he'll know what? That we like him?"

Angel shook his head. "That's not what he needs to know." He paused, tapping on the wall. "Gunn, that guy in there has saved our asses more times than I can count, and he's fucked over his damn English pride any time we needed him to. If he needs us to do the same thing, to read him Paddington Bear or _The Little Engine That Could_, or _Politically Incorrect Bedtime Stories_, in order to know that we love him, I don't think it's too much to ask."

"I kinda like _The Little Engine That Could_," Gunn said. "Yeah, I hear ya. Can't we just say 'hey, we love you, let's get sweaty'?"

Angel shrugged. "Maybe after we finish reading to him."

They stood there silently, while Gunn thought it over. Finally he sighed. "Hell, it's a short book."

"Don't try skipping pages or anything," Angel warned. "He's got it memorized."

Gunn snorted. "Couldn't he have read anything *normal* when he was a kid? Y'know, like _The Urban Survival Manual_, or _How To Kill A Vampire With Things You Find In Your Own Kitchen_ "

"You frighten me sometimes." Angel took the book from him. "Actually, I think Cordelia may have read that last one." Angel opened the door slowly, half afraid that Wesley had escaped out the window to go buy his own swimsuit at Wal-Mart while they were arguing.

Instead they saw him, lying on his side with the blankets pulled up to his shoulder. Sound asleep.

"Think he's faking?" Gunn whispered.

Angel shook his head. "His heart's beating too slow for him to be awake." Gunn blinked at that, but looked back at Wesley.

His head was sunk slightly into the middle pillow, still-wet hair fanned out across it, and a tiny frown twisted his otherwise expressionless face. He was still wearing his glasses.

"Damn," Gunn whispered. "Shoulda just read--" He cut himself off, and went over to the bed. Easing himself onto the bed, slowly and carefully enough that Wesley wouldn't wake, Gunn scooted closer -- close enough to touch, though he didn't. "How can he not know?" he whispered, knowing Angel could hear, whether or not the vampire had followed him to the bedside.

"Just stupid?" Angel whispered back. "I mean, he *is* with *us*."

Angel managed to cross the space between the door and the bed in the time it took Gunn to realize he was trying to make a joke. "Angel, nobody who can come up with a way to give blowjobs in a swimming pool without having to breathe could be too stupid to realize we love him."

"I think that was more a matter of motivation," Angel said as he climbed into the bed on the other side of Wesley. Then his face grew serious, as he looked down at Wes' face. "He just doesn't expect it."

Gunn didn't say anything in response. He looked from Angel back to Wesley, and thought things over. Finally he came to a decision. He reached up, carefully removed Wesley's glasses, and snuggled in closer to hold the sleeping man. "Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"One of these days...."

"He's going to take it for granted?"

"If I have to read him everything up to _Paddington Goes To College_."

"_Paddington Gets Married_."

"Paddington buys a house and has two point five fuzzy damn bear kids who grow up to raise piranhas."

Angel chuckled. He bit his lip, trying not to make any noise, but when Gunn looked up at him, he laughed again.

Gunn smiled, and shook his head. "Yeah. Well, what can I say. The *weirdest* ass people in your family."

Angel gave him a look. "That would include you, too, you know."

Gunn nodded. "Yeah. I know." He reached across Wesley with one arm, and put his hand on Angel's shoulder. They lay like that for a minute, just listening to Wes breathe. Then Gunn added, "But do I have to admit to being related to Spike? Couldn't we just say you found him under a stinkweed bush or something?"

Angel shook his head. "If we don't claim him, he'll pout." When Gunn just gave him a 'yeah, so?' look, Angel added, "Have you noticed the way Wes has been pouting, recently?"

"Yeah. He's getting damn good at it."

"Spike gave him some pointers."

Gunn just gaped at him. He turned his gaze back to Wesley, and stopped whatever he'd been about to say when he saw the grin the not-so-asleep Wesley was trying to hide. Tapping Angel on the shoulder, Gunn shifted his eyes just a bit, and hid his own grin. "We can't let those two play together anymore, man. Spike's a bad influence."

Angel didn't have to hide his smile, with Wesley's back turned to him. "I think you're right. We'll have to lock Wes up in here and keep him to ourselves."

"Whoever thought those two would hang together, anyway?" Gunn asked in honest bewilderment. "Unless Wesley's just observing be-kind-to-morons year."

"He's the only one who can carry on a decent conversation about politics, football, and Fyarl economics." Wesley didn't open his eyes, though his voice showed no signs of his having been asleep.

"Spike? Decent conversation?" Gunn looked at Angel. "Is he delirious, man?"

"Concussion, remember?"

"Are you questioning my mystical skills?" Wesley asked, assuming a tone of patently false petulance.

"No, just your taste in drinking buddies. And beer." Gunn nestled his chin against Wesley's forehead, so he couldn't see the mortally-offended frown he knew was appearing on Wesley's face.

"You, who drink *American* beer, cast aspersion on what I drink?" Wesley shifted a little, cuddling himself in more tightly. Angel shifted as well, moving forward into the inch of space Wes' motion left between them.

"That stuff you drink would kill a horse."

"Or someone weaned on grain-flavored water," Wesley countered.

"Hey, *I* was weaned on Irish whiskey," Angel pointed out. "And even I think the stuff you drink could kill a horse and the sumo wrestler who rode in on it."

Wesley started to protest, and Gunn lowered his face to cut him off with a kiss. After a second: "Shut up, Wes. We're saying you drink manly beer. Go with it."

He sighed. "It's only four point three percent alcohol, you know."

"Yeah, and you think it's safe because of that, until you wake up the next morning after five mugs and find your battle-axe stuck in the dart board and your underwear hangin' from the moose head," Gunn complained. "No more of that stuff for me."

"That was Angel's underwear, you know," Wesley said mildly. He ignored Angel's surprised "It was what?" and continued, "Just because one mug is the fluid ounce equivalent of a can and a half of American beer--"

"And I don't recall anyone *saying* that when I ordered my second one," Gunn countered.

"Well, I thought you knew how much alcohol you could tolerate. No one forced you to drink it. Unless you considered Spike's taunts a form of irresistible motivation."

"No whiny little punk-ass vampire is gonna tell me I can't hold my liquor, even if he *is* family."

Wesley leaned his head back against Angel's chest. "Spike's not so bad, really. We've got a lot in common, when you come down to it. We're both English. Both not really wanted by our own families..." At Angel's indrawn breath-just-for-speaking-purposes, Wesley shook his head. "Our original families. And we've both been adopted into a better one."

"Man, you can't--" Gunn started to object, then he stopped, no doubt realizing that Wesley wasn't saying anything even remotely untrue. "You picked a lot better boyfriend, though."

Angel and Gunn found that they were both now holding Wesley tighter, so tightly there was barely any room at all, between them.

"Wes," Angel began, but he faltered when Wesley and Gunn looked at him.

"It's all right," Wesley said, a moment later. But Angel shook his head.

"No, it's not."

"No, I suppose it isn't. Just sometimes. It's not that I miss home, because this *is* home. Just... sometimes..." Just sometimes he missed what home might've been. And that was why there were cases of Batham's Bitter and a dart board in which to get one's helm-axe stuck.

"Yeah, we know. Sometimes you just gotta drink imported beer and watch _Red Dwarf_ 'til two-thirty in the morning. But maybe we could get the G-Man to move down here, so you have a better class of pansy-ass British guys to chill with?"

Wesley poked Gunn in the ribs, right in the one ticklish spot they'd ever found. As Gunn yelped, Wesley said, "You cannot drag Rupert down here just to keep me company. He has a life, and work, in Sunnydale. Besides which, he's entirely the wrong class. His family is low upper class. Mine is upper middle class. We would never get along for more than an hour."

"Um..." Gunn sounded as though he was doing some figuring, in his head.

Meanwhile, Angel said, "We could invite him down sometime. I mean, more often. I know Xander wants to see him again -- we don't have to tell him we just want him here for his accent."

"Hang on," Gunn interrupted. "What's the difference between upper lower and middle whatever?"

"Five pounds more in income per year and a stripe on your old school tie that's about a millimeter wider," Wesley answered seriously. Semi-seriously.

"About that stripe..." Angel began, but Gunn cut him off.

"If we can't get G-m... I mean, Rupert, to move down here... does this mean I have to be nice to Spike?"

"If you are nice to Spike, it will only make him wonder what you're up to." Wesley paused, then added with a faint smile, "If you were nice to him for a few days, it would drive him absolutely mad with paranoia."

"Oh, yeah?" Gunn raised an eyebrow. Then he slowly smiled. "Sounds like fun. When can I start? Can I go be nice to him right now?"

Wesley shook his head and pressed himself closer to Gunn, if that was possible. Angel obligingly filled in the sesquicentillimeter of space that was left between them. "No. You have to stay here and be nice to me."

"Should I get up and get Paddington?"

Wes shook his head again. "No. I think not. I think you should be nice to me in a manner that doesn't involve bears. Even ones from darkest Peru."

"About that stripe," Angel said again.

"Yes?"

"Which one is wider?"

Wesley kept his face straight as he looked over his shoulder. "If you can't tell by looking, you obviously weren't properly educated."

"Oh." Angel nodded, then leaned down and placed his teeth carefully around Wesley's shoulder.

"Um, I'm thinking you'd better not tease him, or the fangs come out," Gunn explained.

"I'm quaking in terror," Wesley said, wriggling in something other than terror. Angel pressed down with his teeth, just a little. "I...ah...mine."

"Your what?" (Or actually, "Youh wha?")

"My stripe."

"Yeah, and about *that* stripe..." Gunn looked him in the eye.

"Hmmm?"

"We love you, Wes." Angel bit down a little harder, and Wesley was torn between looking back at Gunn and allowing his eyeballs to roll up in his head. "But you are *never* seein' those briefs again."

Wesley blinked at him, astonished at the sincerity of the growl. Gunn had sounded positively vampiric. "I don't understand. I thought you rather liked them."

"I do. But they're getting burned."

"Burned?" Wesley had tried to keep the tone of hurt out of his voice, but from his lovers' reactions, he knew he hadn't been entirely successful. Not that he minded, given where their hands were.

"Yeah. In a ritual sacrifice in the middle of Rodeo Drive. While Angel sings 'This is the song that doesn't end...' They just cause too much trouble, Wes."

Angel took his teeth off Wesley's shoulder, to the tune of a disappointed moan. "I'm not singing that again."

Both of his lovers looked back at him. "You're not *singing* again. We promised the Powers That Be."

"Perhaps I could...just wear it for you?" Wesley suggested.

Gunn considered it. He looked over at Angel, and they held a silent conference. Wesley wriggled a bit, trying to encourage Angel to return his mouth to its former residence. "Maybe," Gunn finally allowed.

"Only in this room," Angel added.

"Or in the pool *if* the terrible twins, Cordelia, and everyone else including David and the Sunnydale crew are at least two hundred miles away and guaranteed not to return until the weekend."

Wesley pouted a bit. "Are you sure that will be safe enough?" He felt a hand suddenly tracing the path where the stripe would have been.

"No. Three hundred miles."

*****
the end