Title: "And By Addition, Me"

by Willa

willsheornillshe@hotmail.com

Pairing: Xander/Spike/Doyle/Angel

Setting: AU season 1, AtS

Rating: R/NC-17

Feedback?: Yes, please!

Archive: Just ask - I'll say yes.

*All standard disclaimers to BtVS/AtS fiction apply*

A/N: Other stories (various pairings, all slash) can be found at http://www.willshenillshe.com or
http://www.livejournal.com/users/willshenillshe in the "Memories" section.

Summary: A not-so-sleepy Saturday morning leads to four times the fun, games, schmoop, and smut.


And By Addition, Me
by Willa

Nobody at AI has to work on Saturdays, especially the morning. Angel gets the whole weekend concept. People like to sleep in, sleep it off, read the paper, go to the mall or a park or a movie. And there's times he'd just as soon keep the office door locked and stay downstairs where it's cozy, crowded and warm, sipping blood and, more than occasionally, indulging in... the finer things.

Anyway, no one's required to come in between Friday night and Monday morning. They're mostly good at disregarding normal hours anyway. But somehow, it always happens.

One by one, like stragglers on the Ark, they drift in and make themselves at home. Because it's lonely where they are, or because there's not enough action on the street in daylight. Because she doesn't have a ride to the store. Because they stayed there the night before.

When Xander crawls out from under the embroidered duvet in a bed he's still getting used to and opens one sleepy eye he can already tell that it's happened again. The alarm clock blares a baleful "9:00" at him and he's pretty sure that's not P.M. He can smell the richness and slightly burned taint of Cordelia's coffee drifting down the stairwell and elevator shaft, along with a hint of sugar and cinnamon that suggests she stopped off for pastries. Gunn's talking quietly to someone - Angel? - and he hears the creak of Wesley on his stepladder, getting a beat-up volume down from the highest top shelf.

Xander crawls - hell, nearly *swims*, this bed is huge - to the edge of the mattress and swings his legs over. No worries about cold toes; the floor's padded with thick rugs that send your soles to heaven. Blearily, he bats at the alarm clock so it won't go off later and wake anyone else up.

That is, if he's not the only one left. A glance over his shoulder at the various tangles of sheets and covers, lumps and bumps, and he figures there's one body still fast asleep in there, hugged tight to the wall under a heating vent. Aww, poor guy. Did he get cold when Xander rolled away in his sleep? That's unusual. Spike has more arms and legs than a squid has tentacles when he really wants to latch on. They must have passed out before the customary deathlock.

It's an arduous trek back over the soft squishiness of the bed, but Xander makes the sacrifice, kicking duvet out of the way in his travels. He'll make the thing up later; maybe rope Doyle into helping. He'll bitch, but end up helping. Don't even think about asking the others because it's so not worth it. He's learned that the hard way. Bitching from one and woeful put-upon looks from the other. Ugh.

Speaking of bitching, bitchers, and the bitch-ee in question... Xander folds himself up Indian-style at the sleeper's feet and lifts them into his lap. Oh, the temptation to tickle... but a quick eyeballing calculates the first thrashing kick would catch him square into his nose. No thanks. Beside, he has better things in mind.

He runs one finger up the length of a long, pale leg, over the fine frosting of pale-brown hair. Growing back in nicely. He thinks Spike has almost forgiven Cordelia for just "testing" out a new "it's painless, really, but I just want to get the consumer reaction first", and, well...

He knew that Spike could be really, really loud at certain times. He didn't realize anyone had *that* much lung power. He'd scared off a Fyarl from two floors down.

Good legs, Xander decides, sliding his finger up to the thigh. The sleeper twitches slightly, murmuring something. "Sleepyhead," he whispers. "Hey, you, snoozing the day away..."

"'M a sodding vampire," comes a grumble. "'Less that's Xander, you're getting your arse kicked."

"It's me and you know it." One finger becomes a full palm splayed out on Spike's thigh, and is joined by a matching pair on his other leg. Balancing himself, Xander leans forward and nudges at the covers over Spike's head with nose and chin. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty. C'mon. I wanta good-morning kiss."

"You want a kick in the nadgers," Spike grumbles. His face emerges, squinty-eyed in the near-darkness. "It's not even noon!"

"So? When has that stopped you?"

"Hasn't," Spike admits. "But I was just having the most lovely dreams. You and me in Madrid, nice warm summer night..."

Xander kisses him softly, mouths closed, sweet touches across his lips. "Sounds great," he murmurs as he withdraws.

"And where d'you think you're going?"

"Me?" Patented innocent stare. "I'm hungry. I was thinking breakfast -"

"I'll bloody show you breakfast," Spike growls. An arm snakes around his waist and pulls Xander down flush against his body. He thrusts up, letting the boy feel his morning erection hard in the crease of his hip. His grin is savage. "Care for some of that instead?"

Xander undulates against him. "Don't you know it." He kisses Spike again, mouths open this time. Spike's tongue sweeps his palate, cat- licking over his lips. He makes such a satisfied noise that Xander has to ask:

"The hell, Spike? Am I suddenly made of chocolate or something?"

"Nah." Spike lies back on the pillow and reaches up to card his fingers through Xander's hair, grown out a decent length now. "It's your taste. Last night's toothpaste and pure Xander." He thrusts again. "No Doyle, no Peaches, just you and me. You know how good..." He grabs Xander's hips and grinds in the best, nastiest way imaginable.

When the little birdies stop flying around Xander's head, he takes Spike by the shoulders and kisses back with all his might. "Glad you like it."

"Best of all."

"But don't you lie to me, mister. How many times have I seen you searching for Doyle's tonsils? And let's not even mention what I've seen you do with Angel... looks like you're fucking his mouth with your tongue."

Spike subsides a little. "Well, yeah," he grumbles. "Package deal ain't all bad."

"You love them too and you know it."

Heavy sigh. "Fine, I love them, but I adore you." Hard kiss. "You know it."

"Yep." Xander pecks the lips, rolls his hips one more time, then bounces back up on his heels.

"Hey! Where d'you think-"

"Well, you reminded me about Doyle and Angel. I should go say good morning to them too, you know."

Heartfelt groan. "Ah, god, Xander-"

"Tell you what - if you're up for it, meet me back here in fifteen minutes."

Spike grips himself. "Up, he asks? When I could bloody well pound rocks?"

"So stay that way. Back in fifteen." Xander starts crawling out again. Hell, this really is a journey going the long way. Maybe he should start tucking pouches of trail mix behind the headboard. Nice and ornate, good for tying things to. All sorts of things.

He can still remember - like he'll ever forget - the day they bought that bed. Spike gleefully bouncing on mattresses to test them - "Got to have good springs, pet! How else you gonna know?" while Doyle hid behind a pillar declaring that no, he didn't know that guy. Xander stood with a boggling saleslady and earnestly discussed standard versus adjustable. Angel just sighed, bribed the manager not to have Spike arrested, and bought the biggest damn bed since the days of the French kings. Room for four and plenty left over.

Of course he'd had a fit when they got home, over its cost and the likely price of sheets that would need constant replacing. So they'd smeared him with jelly, utterly destroyed the cracked and crowding bed they were getting rid of, and as soon as the deliverymen were gone convinced him how much better extra leg room really was.

Xander licks his lips, remembering. Now those were the good old days. Couple months ago, wasn't it?

He carries on, checking for any other bodies lost in the sheets - lingering for the scent of Doyle's whiskey nightcap or Angel's hair gel on the sheets. Spike's whining all the while, but Xander just laughs at him.

When he reaches the edge, he slides off, twists and looks back, dark eyes nearly gleaming: "I want you so ready when I get back here."

"Bloody tease," Spike murmurs. But he's already stretched langorously out in the covers, an oversized cat, petting himself with a gentle hand. Xander swallows hard at the sight of all that luminous beauty on display, then backs away. Plan, Xander. Stick to the plan.

A few feet away from Bed Heaven, he starts to hear the shower running. That's definitely Angel upstairs, so it must be Doyle in there. Xander's smile turns sly. Perfect.

He snicks the door open just a crack and peeks in. Oh, better still - Doyle's back is turned, one hand resting on the wall. At his insistence, they'd gutted the old tub-and-stall and turned this one room into mostly open shower space with four separate jets. Just like gym but so much better, and they *did* usually come here after good old fashioned exercising.

Doyle's propped under the shower head in the corner. Water must be blocking his ears, because he doesn't seem to hear Xander tiptoeing up behind him. What's that other hand doing? he wonders. Up to no good? A man can always hope...

Then he sees that the hand braced on the wall is white-knuckled, the arm shaking, and the other one is gripping his face. Wild green eyes stare at nothing.

"Shit!" Xander yelps. A vision. He manages to jump forward just before Doyle drops hard and fast. Steaming water mocks them now with the comfort, pelts off their skin as he cradles his lover and murmurs nonsense to him. "It'll be okay, baby, just hang on..."

He smoothes wet curls back out of Doyle's forehead. What he's going to do to the PTB if he ever catches up to them - well, even Spike was impressed when he laid out the plan. No one hurt what was his, and Doyle belonged to *him*.

It was moments like this that had brought them together when Spike and Xander first arrived in LA. During the middle of the huge Fighty McFight that had been Spike explaining that "he and Xan took a fancy to each other, see, after this dream I had, and her royal Slayerness not caring too much for that-" the quiet Irishman by Angel's desk had suddenly gasped, grabbed his head, and gone down.

Xander still doesn't know how he was quick enough to catch him, just that he did. If he hadn't, Doyle would have bashed his head on the desk's edge as he fell towards the floor. Every time he thinks about it, his blood pressure rachets up and not in a good way.

There'd been shy smiles, and thanks. A glance from beneath dark lashes and Xander was gone, even if he didn't know it. He was just glad that his move warded off Angel's wrath, and got them a place to stay.

Days had come, nights had gone, and he began to share more time with Doyle when Spike was off killing something at Angel's request or with Angel chasing after him. He learned about how much the half-demon longed for his vampire boss, and told him stories of stamina that made him reach for the whiskey bottle a time or two more than he might. And when visions came, Xander caught him before he fell.

Nothing happened for weeks. He wouldn't cheat on Spike. Doyle wouldn't betray what he felt for Angel. But one day, the blond vampire came across the sight of the two of them on the floor, Xander rocking the other like a baby, nursing him through the worst of a really bad vision.

He'd kneeled beside them, and ran his hand down Doyle's arm. "S'okay, pet," he'd said quietly. "Once Xander's got you, he'll take proper care of you."

Xander had looked up in panic. "Spike - no - I haven't, I don't -"

"Shhhhhh." Spike pressed his finger, then his lips, over Xander's. "It's all right. I know. Would have smelled it. I know you've been true to me. That you still love me, for whatever reasons."

"Because you're-"

"Shush, now. I know you love him, too, and whether he'll admit it or not he loves you and neither of us want to give you up. So I had a chat with him, only he's too bashful to blurt it out-"

"Fuckin' kill you, Spike," came the groggy murmur from below.

"Later, if you like." Spike kissed Xander again, lingering sweetly. "Neither of us have to lose you. All just depends on what you think of... sharing."

Xander had swallowed, hard.

And after the shock wore off and he was learning what it meant to be devoured by two mouths, have two sets of hands on him in love and lust, and (ka-ching!) now a total of three cocks to play and be played with... he'd thought himself the luckiest man alive. Who cared if his partners weren't human? This was definitely heaven.

He snaps back to the present as Doyle shivers, letting out a dry sob. "It's okay, it's okay, baby," he soothes. "I've got you."

Shaky nod. "That was one of the worst yet, huh?" Xander guesses. He fumbles above them for the spigot, to turn the now-cooling water off. Doyle shudders. No words yet, just a nod of the head as he buries his face in Xander's chest. Xander holds him close, kissing the soaking curls, gently rocking.

They can't stay there, though, Doyle's already shivering from cold. "Can you stand? Walk?"

Somehow they get the Irishman to his feet and over to the vanity. "Look like drowned rats, the pair of us," he says shakily when he catches a glimpse in the mirror.

"And you care since when?" Xander teases. He finds a towel, vast and soft and fluffy Thank God that Angel insisted on these, when he and the others would have just bought the bulk lot at Costco - thinner's better for snapping and starting towel-fights. These are almost like blankets. Stroking gently, he gets the water off Doyle's skin and watches it start to pink back up.

"So what did you see?" he asks quietly. Sometimes he gets flashes of insight that Doyle misses, puts two and two together to get the correct number of five; they work well together.

"Great big bunch of demons," Doyle sighs. "Tregedite. Nasty, but almost anything'll kill them if you can get a shot in."

"When?"

"Not till full dark - maybe midnight. We've hours yet." Doyle's shoulders slump wearily. These visions are taking more and more out of him, and Xander's not the only one getting worried about it.

"Then back to bed with you, mister," he scolds, with a light swat to Doyle's ass that turns into a caress. He runs the flat of his other palm down the sternum and lightly over Doyle's groin, which begins to rise.

A groan turns into a laugh. "You're killing me here, darlin'."

"Not yet, and only if you're good." Xander pulls the man's face to his for a deep, lingering kiss. "Go back to bed. Spike's still in there. Make him cuddle you until I get back. Tell him I'll punish him by refusing to punish him, whatever you have to do."

Both laugh, if softly. They know Spike puts up a front, but once he sees Doyle like this, he'll be lucky to get out of bed before dark without the exposed Internal Nurse Vampire (tm) throwing a fit.

Doyle totters to the door, glances back over his shoulder. "You are coming too, right?"

"In a minute," Xander reassures. "I'm going to go tell Angel about the vision. The others are up there, they can get to researching."

Doyle nods and heads off. In deference to Cordy's sensibilities and so he doesn't have to listen to Gunn hooting, Xander throws on a pair of sweatpants. No bothering with a T-shirt, though. Let only he who has no muscle tone be afraid to show it off.

Still, Cordy drops a bite of fat-free bagel into her coffee when she sees him bolt up the stairs two at a time. She dabs at splashes on her white blouse and makes noises that promise No Good. "Jeez, Xander!"

Wesley, behind the newspaper, lowers it a bit. "Cordelia, at least he did wear trousers this time. Count your blessings."

"Small blessings," Gunn gibes. Xander flips them all off as he makes for Angel's office.

He catches Wesley musing out loud behind them: "Construction work does seem to be quite effective as an exercise regime," and Cordelia's heartfelt "Ewww!" in response. Then he's pounding for Angel and forgetting them all.

Ah, vampire hearing. Angel's already out of his desk chair and heading for the door; they almost collide on the threshold. His eyes are huge and worried. "Doyle?"

"Vision."

"A bad one?"

"Bad enough. I caught him."

Angel's broad palm skims down Xander's arm. A brief kiss is pressed to the underside of his jaw. "You always do," he whispers.

Whistles and catcalls come from the client's area. "Keep it in the bedroom, you two!" Cordy complains.

"Oh, now you went and said it. After that, where you think they're gonna head?"

Wesley blinks calmly behind his glasses. "Are we to deduce that Doyle's had a vision?"

"Yep. Angel, you go on ahead, he's -"

"I'll wait for you." That hand comes to rest on the small of his back, rubbing small circles. "Tell us about it."

He fills them in quickly as possible. Wesley looks utterly fascinated at the name of the new demons coming to play. Gunn shrugs and reaches for his axe, to polish it. All the same to him. Cordelia sighs heavily and boots up her database. All three have turned away from Angel and Xander.

After a moment, Cordy flicks up an irritated glance. "What? They won't show up until after midnight, you said. And we all know what you four are inevitably going to end up doing now -"

"And to whom," Wesley mutters, nose-deep in a book.

"And loudly," Gunn snorts.

"So go!" She flaps a hand at him. "But for the love of God, put the soundproofing flap over the door this time!"

If Angel could blush, he'd be red as Xander is. They exchange very guilty looks... then realize they've been given a free pass for the morning - hell, the afternoon. So what exactly are they waiting on?

Back down the stairs, forgetting the flap, Xander's right on Angel's heels. He can feel the concern for Doyle rolling off the older man in waves, and his heart reaches out. If not for the love Angel had always hidden for the Irishman... Getting him to accept their group, much less be in their group,
wasn't easy. Those are the bad memories. Angel finding the three of them tumbled in a heap like puppies, and the look on his face when Doyle struggled up out of the middle. The arguments. Doyle's tears when he couldn't take it any more. Spike's fist through a wall.

Xander finally sucked it up and hauled Angel's ass over to the Oracles. The male turned a hastily swiped-up gift of an AmEx card over and over with fascinated disdain and said nothing. While the female did speak, her words were gift-wrapped up in riddles, but they got the point: shut up and get over it, Angel. You had your chance.

Then the shocker: there are such things as second chances. If you choose to see them.

They'd said nothing, walking home. They'd said nothing for days. But the three lovers began to feel Angel's eyes following them around in a different way... on Doyle, with as much longing as ever, but now with hope. At Xander, with reluctant admiration and the beginnings of curious heat. Between himself and Spike, mutual rage that slowly, ever so slowly uncoiled into shared memories.

Then came the cool hand on Xander's ankle one night as he, Spike and Doyle snuggled up, for once too worn out from slaying for sex, just content to sleep in each other's arms. The way they'd all looked up to see Angel, tired beyond words, just reaching out to them in the only way that he could.

It was Xander, as ever, who broke the tension by reaching back. "Come here," he'd said softly. And Angel had come.

No full sex at first. Not for a while. Too much to overcome. But touching, yes, and stroking, suckling, and re-learning what another hand felt like. Fear of the curse, until the night when, with Doyle at his mouth and Xander at his cock and Spike behind him, he'd shouted and spasmed and come hard enough to crack a mortal's spine in two.

And no Angelus yet. They still don't know why. Spike thinks they're bloody lucky and shouldn't blather on about it. Doyle thinks (silently and to himself) that maybe Angel doesn't love all of them enough for it to be perfect pleasure. Xander thinks about the female Oracle and "second chances", and wonders; then, he reassures Doyle, and agrees with Spike.

They're almost at the bottom of the stairs, now, and Angel pauses to turn to Xander. "You're sure he's OK?" He touches Xander's face, stroking with the ball of his thumb. Xander kisses it softly as it passes. "You too?"

"I'm fine." They're almost the same height, so it's leaning over instead of standing up, to kiss Angel the way he's wanted since they collided upstairs. "Waiting for you. We all are."

The ghost of a wicked smile flitters across Angel's face. "Naked?"

"It's Spike and Doyle. What do you think?"

"I think I'm lucky you bothered with the sweatpants."

Xander presses up against him. "I don't know about that. Maybe unlucky?"

Angel's eyes dilate at the pressure of erection against erection. He reaches around to squeeze the taut mounds of Xander's ass. "Not for long," he rumbles. Then he pulls the basement door open. "Get in there, boy."

"Hah!" Xander slaps him lightly on the back of the head. "Tag team!"

Then he bolts away, swan-diving into the middle of that glorious bed. Spike and a slightly-pale Doyle are already laughing themselves sick at the two brunettes. And would you look at that, wandering hands already. Bad boys; they'll have to be punished... but hey, there go the hands wandering over him, and one of them is Angel's, so maybe he'll put off being bad and just be very, very good for right now.

The slam of the soundproofing flap is the last thing Xander's clear on before they lose themselves in each other. That, and Cordy's shouted obscenity that would have raised blisters on a basilisk demon.

But that doesn't matter, when there's so much of so many good things, all right here for the taking...

*

He was wrong, earlier, Xander thinks as he wraps around his sated, snoozing better fourths and lavishes all he love he has to give on them with gentle kisses and pats. This - this is heaven.

Curling into Angel's shoulder, Spike's arm thrown over his waist, and Doyle's head resting on his chest - life couldn't be better.

But there is one thing...

Xander's been thinking lately, about the others. Cordy? Disgusted but tolerates it because deep down, she loves them. Besides, the first outsider to complain would get a Jimmy Choo upside the head or through the eye, depending on species. Gunn? Couldn't care less about poly-amorous goings-on, but they're priceless to him. Fuck all you want, just keep on fighting and he'll stick by you. Gunn's a good guy that way.

Then there's Wesley... and that's a different story.

He's changed since Sunnydale. Lost his polish, and looks all the better for it. And Xander's noticed that when he's meant to be reading, sometimes he's watching... and there's a look of loneliness and longing on his face that a blind man could read.

The others have seen. They've talked. Haven't quite come around to it yet, but admitted it might not be a bad idea.

After all, a bed this size?

It's big enough for five.


END

For those interested:

Sonnet #20 (which I'm calling a Song of Xander...)

A woman's face with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion:
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue all hues in his controlling,
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.