"Bless you. Glad to hear that cold you're most definitely not catching is coming along so well." Giles turned, raised an eyebrow, and reached to take the crossbow from Wesley. One hand rested on the weapon. At the sound of another long, wet sniffle, Giles took a quick step away from Wesley.
"rrRRUSSSHahh!!" Harsh and wet, this sneeze would have sprayed all over Giles if he hadn't taken that step and Wesley hadn't turned away in time. He inhaled carefully through his nose, each breath a tiny, wet sniffle that coaxed out the still present urge to sneeze. A warning look directed at Giles, Wesley braced himself against a tickle that made his full nose twitch and parted lips quiver before exploding out. "uh...HAROOOSHHH!!"
"Good god, Wesley." Giles took the crossbow. A slight frown creased his forehead, lingered for a moment, then disappeared. "Bless."
"Excuse me." Grateful to be able to get the weapons out of his hands and a handkerchief into them, Wesley gave his nose a long, relieving blow. Sniffling his way through the cemetery with Giles that evening hadn't helped what he had thought was only going to turn out to be a runny nose and sore throat. But he'd walked the patrol route every night with Giles since he got out of hospital � to not go just because he was snuffling seemed ridiculous. Besides, he liked going out on patrol, walking through the graveyard, next to Giles, a good distance behind Faith and Buffy. It might be life on the Hellmouth, but it wasn't hell. Except, perhaps, for the sore throat. And stuffy nose. And sneezing. And. Damnit. He was ill. Sighing, Wesley wiped his nose with the handkerchief. "I concede. I've caught cold."
Maybe it was the way his shoulders drooped or the way he snuffled miserably into the hanky, but suddenly Giles' face softened at the admission and he drew his arm around Wesley. "Poor thing. The change of seasons is different in California; your body's not used to this sort of autumn."
Giles felt warm, strong and almost surprisingly gentle as he walked Wesley into the living room. He always liked that about Giles � how the man appeared strong, unyielding, and yet, was so gentle. The touch of his fingers on Wesley's lips was always so soft, almost reverent. Tonight, the tone of voice, reassuring Wesley that it was neither odd nor embarrassing that Wesley had caught cold while it was still warm outside, was just as soft and familiar. "It's not like home."
"No, not like home..."
But Giles, he was like home. Like hot tea in the evening and fog crowding your vision in the morning. Wesley glanced up at Giles, and for a split second he could smell bergamot and fog clouded his vision. It was almost like being asleep, warm, and safe.
Home.
~*~*~*~
Something cold slithered down Wesley's spine, shivering and wet. It crawled over his skin, into his pores, making him freeze from the inside out. The thing shivered over him and Wesley shivered and shivered, trembling until strong arms came around him and pushed the shivering away.
"Hey... sshhh... it's all right." Angel slid up closer to Wesley in bed and pulled him into a protective embrace. "I got another blanket."
"Angel?"
"Yeah?"
"Oh, god... so cold..." Wesley curled up closer to his lover. Even Angel, who usually felt cool, only warmed by Wesley's body heat, tonight felt soothing. No, wait; Angel, soothing, those ideas weren't mutually exclusive. God, his brain didn't seem to want to work the right way. If only he could think or breathe clearly again. Wesley sat up in bed, just halfway, and pressed a hand to the center of his chest when the niggling itch started up again. In a few seconds he was coughing, the sound harsh and grating, all remnants of sleep shaken off. "Sorry,' Wesley choked out between coughs.
"Told you � it's all right. I got tea, too." Angel had sat up when Wesley did and now he held a mug to Wesley's lips, gently tipping it enough to let Wesley get a drink. "I knew that Gr�gen demon was bad news. Anything we have to track through the sewers during the night is bad news. Also? Anything with horns that big � never good news." As Wesley sipped at the tea, now holding the mug himself, Angel stroked his hair. His touch was easy, relaxed, like he sat every night in bed and stroked Wesley's hair. "I sent Connor home with Cordelia..."
Wesley groaned quietly. He'd almost forgotten. "Sorry," he repeated, "I didn't mean..."
"Wes, stop. You got a terrible cold. I can't look after you and a baby at the same time." Still stroking Wesley's hair, Angel leaned in to kiss Wesley on the cheek. "You didn't do anything wrong. So, no apologies, right?" Another light kiss and then Angel stroked the side of Wesley's face.
Wesley's breath caught when he opened his mouth. The itch was back, but forcing out a cough didn't help. Tentatively, Wesley sniffled through his stuffy nose. The sound was more liquid and so much more ticklish than he had expected it to be. Before he could do anything, Wesley's face tightened. The itch built quickly and uncontrollably, resulting in huge, wet, convulsive sneeze. "YEISSSSHEEWW!"
"Okay, you might want to apologize for that." A small grimace appeared on Angel's face. He dried his hand off with a tissue and started to pull a few out of the box for Wesley.
"S-suh..sisshoosh!" Wesley's meek apology quickly transformed itself into a little, wet sneeze and a series of heavy, wet snuffles. He mumbled something into the tissues, apologizing and thanking Angel, and then gave a full, nose clearing blow.
"No problem." Angel's arms went around Wes again and he nuzzled in close. He kept nuzzling until Wesley relaxed into his embrace, offered him a muzzy thank you, and started to fall back to sleep.
The shivering was gone and there was Angel and Wesley had nothing to be sorry for.
~*~*~*~
"Okay, I got you ice cream, and jello, and soup, and tea, and ..." Fred wrinkled her nose as she peered into a plastic container. "I think this is rice pudding. And y'know, whatever you don't eat, I can. I kinda like cafeteria food." She slid off the edge of the desk into Wesley's lap, light and smiling. "Even evil cafeteria food."
Wesley turned his face into his shoulder, sniffling a few times and rubbing at the persistent tickle in his nose. The light cold he'd caught hadn't been enough to keep him home, but it seemed to be enough to inspire Fred to fuss over him something awful. But then, how could he say no to her? She seemed so eager to take care of him and besides, the tea would do wonders for his throat. "You like all food."
"You know that's totally not true! I hate lima beans, and those little orange-colored bacon bits that don't even taste like bacon? I bet their chemical make up is something nasty and... oh." Fred paused mid-sentence, her brown eyes soft with worry and (possibly, he hoped, god, he hoped so hard sometimes he can't help but ache inside) love. She reached for the box of kleenex she had brought into Wesley's office and settled it on her lap. "You should've stayed home. You're sick, honey."
Wesley sniffled again, the sound more wet and getting urgently ticklish. His nose wrinkled against the sensation, only to twitch anew with damp, little sniffs. "huh...hutchushh! uh, huhhh...ufffchushuhh!"
"Bless you! Tissues? I got you the nice ones..." Fred eagerly pulled out a few from the box and offered them to Wesley. When he muffled another sneeze into his shoulder, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his hair. "Bless you, Wesley. Poor baby."
Wesley supposed he could come up with some reason why she shouldn't call him 'poor' or 'baby,' but really. Why? He... he liked it. He liked being surrounded by her perfect, caring warmth and the feel of her small hands stroking his chest or his hair. "Thank you," he mumbled and used both hands to bring the tissues to his face. After a moment of silence, a few small gasps and a long, wet sniffle, he buried his nose in the tissues. "huhh...USHH!" Wesley looked over the tissues, snuffling, slightly embarrassed of the strong, wet sneeze. "Scuze...s-sorry..."
"Bless you! Silly..." Fred kissed his hair again. "Finish up with your sneezies so you can have some tea and I can take care of you some more."
"husshhSHOO!" Wesley sneezed. His nose trembled a little; he snuffled once, softly; a sneeze tickled deep in his sinuses, then down to the edges of his nostrils. "huhh... uhh..h'USSHshushhuh...." A slim arm tightened around his shoulders and for a split second, Wesley could hardly believe she cared that much for him. He tried to hold onto the thought, snuffling and blowing his nose, turning away from Fred and letting the press of her arm on his neck remind him not to turn away too much.
"Bless you, there you go... now, tea? soup? Or, hey, this pudding really does look pretty yummy..."
Wesley could hardly believe it, believe her; it was too good to be true.
It was too good for him.
~*~*~*~
"Afternoon, lover."
Wesley blinked the gritty blurriness from his eyes. "Afternoon?"
"Only just. Lucky I woke you up before daylight disappeared. Looked like you were ready to spend all day asleep." Long, soft, brown hair tumbled over Wesley's face as Lilah leaned down to kiss him. Strong, slim fingers petted his shoulder and she kissed him again, then nuzzled his neck.
"You stayed the night?" Coming more awake, Wesley raised himself to lean against the pillows and accept the cup of coffee Lilah handed to him. She sat on the edge of the bed, dressed only in one of his shirts, a few strands of damp hair clinging to her neck and collarbone. A faint smile ghosted over Wesley's lips and he recalled the sensation of nuzzling that smooth, pale skin, muffling sneezes into her neck and sighing with relief when she came, driving him deeper inside her. Rubbing his nose and sniffling, Wesley placed the coffee cup aside and tugged at the hem of the shirt Lilah wore. "Can you stay longer?"
"How could I leave?" She stood up, slid the shirt off, and stretched out next to him on the bed. Lilah was so warm, hot even, that she threatened to engulf him, limbs twining around Wesley and fingers moving over his chest. "I get the feeling nobody is going to come around and take care of that nasty cold you caught." She kissed her way from Wesley's shoulder to the edge of his jaw. "Not the way I take care of you, Wes."
"No. Nobody manages that." True enough. Nobody comes by his flat as often as Lilah and Wesley's pretty sure that he doesn�t want anyone else over. She softens for him the way she does for nobody else, too, and that... It amazes him. Sliding his hands down her hips, Wesley pulls Lilah on top of him, still sniffling from his runny nose. "Nobody..."
Lilah sighed, deeply, sweetly, and moved against Wesley with a shiver of delight. She rubbed her nose slowly over Wesley's, nuzzling more ticklishly when he sniffled. Her touch got more and more teasing, even when Wesley couldn't stop from sniffling wetly and twitching his nose against hers. He could almost hear the purr of delight in her breath as he rubbed his nose back against hers over and over, until he had tip his head back.
"heh... h'ISH! ISH!" Sharply and wetly, Wesley sneezed over her shoulder. He gripped Lilah closer, suddenly wanting her warmth enfolding him as he gasped again. She moved against him again, hand slipping down to stroke his cock, smiling when he blinked and gasped. "Oh... g-god... I... huh... EISHEW!"
"Nice..." Drawing back slightly, Lilah smiled. The expression was easy, natural, beautiful, and tempting when she licked the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. "Once more?"
Wesley nodded. Sniffling repeatedly, he waited until he was right at the brink of sneezing again. Then, just when he knew he couldn't hold it back any longer, he held her tight to his chest and buried his face in her neck. "ehh.... ehehHEYISH! YEEISSH! oh..."
"God, Wes..." She shuddered once, then again, and then purred softly in the back of her throat. One more smile and Lilah kissed her way down Wesley's body. "I think I can find a lot of ways to take very good care of you."
"Already have..." You stayed the night, Wesley thought, and arched up into the warmth of Lilah's touch.
~*~*~*~
"You're gonna eat that chicken soup."
"I..." Wesley frowned at the bowl. "No, no, thank you."
"Was that a question? I don't think so." Gunn shoved the bowl closer and watched Wesley intently as Wesley frowned at the soup again. He took a few bits of his own sandwich without taking his eyes off Wesley. "Eat."
"I'm not exactly hungry, Charles."
"Good. 'Cause soup ain't something you eat when you're hungry. You eat it when you're sick. And in case you've forgotten � and I don't know how you'd manage that one, cause, damn, you sound terrible � you're sick, Wes."
"He's right. You sound and look like the living dead. Which, by the way � not a good look for you." Cordelia shoved Wesley over in the diner booth as she returned from the salad bar. As if to soften her words, she rubbed his shoulder lightly. "Cold?"
Wesley nodded. He wasn't sure if she was asking he had a cold or if he felt cold, but it didn't make much difference � both were true. A trip to the diner after working through the night wasn't unusual for him, Gunn, and Cordelia. The restaurant was preferable to their new office. Tonight, however, it felt too cold and too bright for Wesley. Huddling into his jacket and pressing a bit closer to Cordelia helped, especially when she yielded and pressed close in return.
Another pointed look from Gunn, after Wesley shivered, convinced him to pick up the spoon and try the soup. It was warm, which was nice, and he could almost taste it through the congestion, which was also nice. Having to pause between spoonfuls to wipe his nose couldn't really be called nice. Annoying, frustrating, and quite tiresome was more like it. Avoiding Gunn's eyes, Wesley pushed the soup away, drew a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket, and covered his nose and mouth.
The combination of the cold diner and the hot soup exacerbated the sniffling; Wesley had to keep the handkerchief over his nose for a long time, rubbing and snuffling and trying to work out the sniffly tickle. He was too stuffed up to clear his nose, but not, it seemed, to start sneezing in the middle of a near empty restaurant.
The first sneeze Wesley muffled into his handkerchief, body tense as he did so. An involuntary shiver triggered another small, muffled sneeze, then another, then Wesley gasped sharply. After frustratingly long buildup, all desperate breaths and uncontrollably itchy sniffles, he sneezed. A heavy, congested sneeze that made his throat and head ache sharply and that made it more than necessary for Wesley to finally blow his nose into the handkerchief. Shyly looking up over the edge of the cloth, wiping his nose once more, Wesley mumbled an apology when he encountered both Cordelia and Gunn staring at him. Quickly, he lowered his eyes again and inched away from Cordelia.
The bowl of soup got pushed back toward Wesley once more, but before he could pick up the spoon, a firm hand rested on his own. Gunn's hand rubbed over his slowly, thumb drawing circles over the palm when he lifted it slightly from the table.
"We should all sleep at my place tonight � it's the closest, and it's really late." Cordelia looked at Wesley, then Gunn. "Like, well. Okay, we do that every night, but..."
"Yeah. We'll go home soon." One more warm squeeze and Gunn let go of Wesley's hand. "Soon as Wes finishes his soup."
Resigned, Wesley retrieved the spoon. The knowledge that the line between business partners, friends and lovers had been blurred and that he would be spending another night with the two people he cared most about was more than enough to get him to swallow down a bowl of soup.
~*~*~*~
"How did you sleep?"
Wesley stared blankly as he sat up in bed. His throat was hot and dry and swallowing hurt more than he was willing to admit. The ache of illness and injury pervaded his body, making each small movement difficult. In those moments of haziness, he couldn't remember where he was, why he had been sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, or even why everything simply hurt so much. After a minute, he eased his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes.
The bed dipped and blankets were smoothed over Wesley's lap. A cool hand pressed to his forehead and stroked back his hair. The gentle, soothing motion continued, sometimes over Wesley's hair, more often over his forehead and face. "Your temperature went down overnight... you seemed to rest more easily, too."
Wesley kept quiet for a few more moments to enjoy the peace and coolness of his lover's touch. "I was dreaming."
"Good dreams?"
Lips brushed over his forehead and the rim of a cold glass pressed to his lips. Wesley drank eagerly and let the cool water wash the dryness and pain from his throat. Memories flooded through his mind � he remembered the dreams, how they felt so real, yet so unrealistic at the same time; he remembered how his life had almost been like those dreams; then, in a moment of crushing despair, he remembered how he had lost almost all those people in the burning, crumbling streets of Los Angeles.
He hadn't lost this. Trade Sunnydale for London and put six years of experience behind him, and he had nearly the same thing as his dream self. Opening his eyes, he murmured, 'I dreamt about you."
Giles smiled, then looked shy. "Good dream, though?"
"It was good." Taking the glass from Giles, he sat up cautiously, wincing when pain lanced through his torso. Wesley sighed with relief when he sagged against Giles' side. "Not as good as this, though," he muttered, face buried in Giles' neck, pushing back all the dream memories, save the ones that felt, tasted, smelled and sounded like home.
