Welcome back! So I did utterly no writing over the weekend (con), but I did manage to piece this together over the last week-ish. This is number 27 of my 100 themes, 'Foreign'! Those of you on Tumblr might remember when I was rewatching Daredevil and I made a little ranting post about how I definitely needed an asexual, sex-disinterested, Wesley with a healthy relationship involving both Wilson and Vanessa. Well, I wrote it. Happy Multiamory March, everyone!

No warnings for this! Though, as a side note, this is a reminder that I have a story over on Ao3 called 'Broken Bullets in a Loaded Gun' which I am co-writing with TheLiterator. It is not posted here because FF has no good way to do co-written things, but it's fantastic and you should go read it (we just posted a second chapter on Monday).

Wesley can see the way that Vanessa looks at him when she first meets him. The way she tracks his quiet words to Wilson and his command of their guards, and, to a lesser extent, he can see her studying how he looks at Wilson, how he listens. She must be matching him in her head to the 'assistant' Wilson doubtless speaks of; he knows he's been mentioned to her at least a few times.

Vanessa might not be a full part of their world, not yet anyway, but she is certainly smart. Perceptive too. He assumed she had to be, if Wilson was interested in her to the extent he clearly is. He's never seen Wilson as taken with anyone as he is Vanessa, and distantly, he knows that could be dangerous. Anything that distracts Wilson is time that isn't spent fulfilling the intricate plan for Hell's Kitchen.

But he isn't there to judge.

His role is to protect Wilson, to serve him, to anticipate what he needs before it's happened, and he is very good at that. Wilson wants Vanessa, therefore, his only job is to make sure that happens. In that light, things are simple. He'll do what's needed.

On a more complicated note, he can see that Wilson is happy with her, genuinely so, and so of course he'd support it. Whatever name his own relationship might have with Wilson, he is well aware that he does not fill all of his employer's needs, and he would never deny Wilson the opportunity to satisfy those needs with someone else. If he were that selfish, he has no doubt that he would never have taken his place at Wilson's side to begin with. There's no room for personal ambition as Wilson's assistant, and that's never bothered him.

He offers a smile to Vanessa, a small dip of his head to her and then a larger one to Wilson. "Enjoy your night, sir. If you need anything, I'll be a phone call away."

Wilson smiles back, sincere gratitude in every syllable when he answers, "Thank you, Wesley."

He turns to go, before Vanessa speaks. "Wait, just a moment?"

His glance towards Wilson tells him that Wilson is as ignorant of her desire as he is, and so he only faces her again and clasps his hands behind his back, prepared to meet whatever intrusive questions she has in mind. If that's her next move, anyway. He doesn't know her well enough to anticipate her as perfectly as he would like to, though he imagines that will change.

She takes a step away from Wilson and towards him, looking between them. "Forgive me if this is out of place, but the two of you… Are you involved?" Her question is hidden in the deceptively smooth, gentle twist of her accent, but it is direct.

Wilson seems frozen, pained, so Vanessa focuses on him instead. He knows the best way to reassure her, to deny any involvement between them and simply brush it aside, but that is not his decision to make. Wilson's interactions with Vanessa are between them, and besides, she is perceptive. A lie might do more harm than good, considering Wilson's apparent inability to lie to her.

When he doesn't answer her, Vanessa turns back to Wilson. "Wilson?" she prompts, and the lowering of Wilson's eyes tells him just about everything he needs to know about the answer that's about to come.

"Vanessa, I… promised I would always be honest with you." Wilson takes one of her hands between his much larger ones, clasps it and looks at her as if he can will her to believe him through pure intensity of gaze. "Wesley is very dear to me. He is… precious to me in a way most things are not. He is my right hand and my most trusted companion. But what we share is not what most would define as a relationship."

Vanessa studies Wilson for a moment, glances at Wesley, and then murmurs, "I don't believe you answered my question, Wilson. Are the two of you involved?" She doesn't pull her hand away, which is at least one good sign.

Wilson falters.

"Sir," he intercedes, "may I?"

Wilson's movements are jerky in the way they always are when he's emotionally distressed, but he nods. "Yes, Wesley, I would… appreciate that."

He dips his head, and then meets Vanessa's gaze. "Would you mind defining 'involved' for me, Vanessa?"

Her eyes narrow a touch. "Are you having sex?" she asks bluntly.

"No," is his honest answer, "and we never have. It is not my place to label what relationship Mr. Fisk and I share, but please rest assured that it is no threat to what you have with him." He offers a smile, one that's small and implies confidential secrets that he doesn't actually possess. "I have no ambitions towards that particular role, ma'am."

He can see that she doesn't fully believe him, or perhaps wants to ask more, but instead she only nods.

"Very well," she murmurs. "Forgive my implications, then."

"There is nothing to forgive," Wilson says, almost instantly. "You always have the right to ask questions of me, Vanessa. And I will always answer."

One of her eyebrows rises, but she smiles at the same time. "Really? It seems like your assistant is the one who answered my question." Vanessa looks at him, keeps the smile even as she eases her hand free from Wilson's grip. "You have an excellent taste in wine, Wesley. Thank you for guiding Wilson when he required it."

"Of course," he answers simply, inclining his head just a fraction. "That's my job, ma'am. Enjoy your night."

"You as well, Wesley," Wilson says.

He spares a moment for another smile, then turns to go. This time, he isn't stopped.

Of course it comes up again, but much later down the road. He and Vanessa have shared meals, spoken with and without Wilson by their sides, and though she clearly doesn't fully understand it, Vanessa respects that there is a bond between them. A strange one, perhaps, and certainly unconventional, but there nonetheless.

For Wilson's part, his employer is clearly head over heels in love and that fact is always enough to warm his heart in a way he's mostly careful not to show. The only time he lets that guard slip even a little is when he's alone with both of them, and then only so far as a slightly widened smile. It wouldn't do for Vanessa's earlier suspicions to reawaken, and he has no interest in disrupting their relationship with any false accusations caused by his own inappropriate actions.

He likes Vanessa, is another simple truth. She's cunning, unflinching, and her obvious ease in and manipulation of social situations impresses him. Of course there are all the political advantages too — having a woman at his side softens Wilson, makes him more relatable — but behind all of that he truly does enjoy Vanessa's company.

It isn't until a late night a ways down the road that anything more comes of it.

They've spent most of the night working on minute changes in their plans, finalizing points of both public and private politics to keep the gangs from leaving behind too big of a mess when they're eliminated. Vanessa watches all of it with a calculating, cool edge to her gaze, even at the bloodiest details, and he respects her ability to handle it. It isn't until they've sorted everything out and Wilson is heading for bed that Vanessa approaches him.

"You do excellent work," she comments, peering over his shoulder.

He half-turns to look at her, offers a small smile. "I can't take all the credit," he answers, keeping his voice as quiet as hers, "but thank you."

There's a moment of silence where he shifts the last of the papers into the folder, and then she gently touches the back of his shoulder with one hand. It's only the faintest of pressure past the barrier of his suit, but he still pauses his work and turns to give her his attention.

"You can join us, Wesley, if you wish."

The offer actually surprises him, and for a moment he knows that shows on his face. Then the idea actually registers in his mind, and he lets out a small rush of breath that turns into a smile and a soft laugh.

"I appreciate the offer," he murmurs, "but no thank you."

Her eyes narrow a fraction, and he can see that spark of confusion in her gaze. "May I be frank?" she asks, and he inclines his head in silent permission. "I do not understand you, Wesley. You love Wilson, do you not? And clearly, he loves you as well. My offer was not a test; you can accept it."

He gathers his thoughts for a moment, considering his phrasing before even beginning to speak. "I do love him," he admits, holding her gaze. "I can't speak for Wilson, but I believe the feeling is mutual, to an extent. However, there is nothing physical about our connection, and I doubt there ever will be."

"Why?" she presses, and he turns fully towards her so they're face to face.

"I'm not interested." She looks a tad taken aback, so he continues with an attempt at an explanation. "I'm asexual. Do you know what that means?"

It's her turn to pause. "I'm afraid I don't."

"Most don't. Asexual is a wide category, but in my particular case it means that I have no interest in sex." A flicker of her eyes, confusion, and he offers a small smile. "Forgive my bluntness, but it's true. I find the thought of sexual relations of any sort, with anyone, uninteresting. So while I appreciate the thought of including me, Vanessa, it's simply not something I want. Thank you anyway."

"I see…"

She has that edge to her gaze that makes him think she's considering something manipulative, but those sharp corners have never caused harm as far as he's seen, so he doesn't bring it up. He's content to stand there, to let her reorder the world of her mind as she must to accommodate his existence. Most people need at least a few minutes to wrap their head around the fact he's so detached from something so many people consider integral to their life.

"You've had sex before, yes?" she continues, studying him.

"A few times," he answers, completely honestly. "I found nothing particularly enticing about it, though it was enjoyable enough. I participated in enough to make sure that my lack of desire for it was how I am built, and not a fault with my partners. Nothing past that."

Another look, like she's trying to see past all his layers to some inner core. "Have you thought about it with Wilson?"

It's a pinpoint accurate question, and he lets himself smirk just a touch in respect for how well she's apparently figured things out. "I've considered the mechanics, yes."

"But not more than that?"

"What you're asking is 'would I have sex with Wilson,' right?" Her smile is answer enough, and he echoes it. Despite the direct questioning, it feels… friendly. It's been a long time since anyone's greeted news of his sexuality with friendliness. "If he asked it of me, yes. But Wilson would never ask."

The look she gives him is somewhere between disbelieving and very interested. "And you're so sure of that?"

The answer comes easily.

"Of course. Wilson would never ask me to participate in something he knows I don't want, nor would he ever want to take someone who wasn't enjoying it. If he was that kind of person, we wouldn't care for him as much, would we?"

This time her smile is soft, no edge remaining as she glances towards the door leading to Wilson's bedroom. "No, I suppose we wouldn't."

He echoes the smile, waits just a moment for her to say anything else, and then turns back to finish gathering up the papers. Which, of course, is when she does choose to speak again,

"Wesley?"

Looking up is second nature. "Yes, ma'am?"

Her hand touches the back of his shoulder again, as she tilts her head towards the door. "Would you like to stay the night?" she asks quietly. Before he can even begin to defend himself, again, she lightly grasps a fistful of his jacket and gives a knowing smile. "Not for sex; just to sleep. Join us?"

For the first time in a long time, he hesitates.

"Have you spoken to Wilson about this?" he asks, almost dreading the answer.

"No," is her answer, and she sounds completely unconcerned with the prospect. "But he cares for you; he won't protest. You still like touch, don't you? If not, I'll understand."

"You mean you'll accept it," he corrects, with a small smirk, before seriousness takes back over. "I would… appreciate that. If you're willing."

"I invited you, didn't I?" She takes his hand, and he leaves the papers on the table without all that much care for them. "Come with me, Wesley."

He lets her lead him to the door, and then inside. He's been in Wilson's bedroom before, of course, but never with any sense of anticipation behind it. Wilson's always taken care to be courteous and very professional whenever skin is involved even in the slightest, which is something that he's always enormously appreciated. He's had too many people press for things he wasn't interested in, and Wilson's careful respect of his boundaries has always been a welcome breath of fresh air.

Wilson is already in the bed, at least shirtless since he sits up when they enter. He inclines his head automatically, as Vanessa leads him to the foot of the bed. Wilson's gaze has a sharp note of confusion that sets him slightly on edge, but before either of them can act on it Vanessa takes the lead.

"Wilson, Wesley would like to stay the night. That's acceptable, isn't it?"

He almost winces when Wilson's jaw tightens just a touch. "Vanessa," Wilson starts, in a tone with just a hint of warning, "Wesley has never been interested in any more… physical aspects of a relationship. Did you—"

"Just to sleep," she interrupts, even as something deep in his chest warms at the fact that Wilson's only reaction is to rise to his defense. "Nothing more than sharing a bed, Wilson."

Wilson looks startled for a second, before that gaze turns to him and he steels himself to meet it. "Wesley? Is that what you want?"

"Yes, sir," he manages, after a moment. "But if it's not on the table I understand; I can leave."

"Nonsense," Wilson says immediately, "of course you're welcome, Wesley."

"Told you," Vanessa offers, with a smile and a squeeze of his hand. "Are you comfortable with nudity?"

This, "Yes," is as hard won as the last. It feels a bit like his throat has dried out, even as every piece of his chest is trying to soar away in something close to joy. He can't remember the last time he was this nervous.

Vanessa releases his hand, turns her back on him and bows her head to offer him the back of her neck. "Would you mind?" On automatic, he steps forward and raises his hands to the zipper on the back of her dress. He pulls it all the way down, to the small of her back, and then helps ease the sleeveless dress off of her shoulders and down to her waist. "Thank you," she murmurs, as it falls to the floor at her feet.

He averts his eyes as she bends to remove the pair of black, lace panties, and somehow finds Wilson's gaze. Aimed at him, not her, and with the slightest hint of concern in those dark eyes.

Before he can decipher it, Vanessa is turning back to him, stripped of heels as well and looking so much smaller for it. "May I return the favor?"

He pauses, considers, and then dips his head in acceptance. "Of course."

Her hands rise to push the suit jacket off of his shoulders, and he eases it the rest of the way off his arms as she starts to loosen his tie. Her fingers are deft, practiced even though Wilson never wears a tie — bringing up interesting questions as to whose ties she's undone to be so practiced — and by the time he's folded his jacket over an arm she's pulling the tie from around his neck. It slips loose, and she offers him a small smile as she lays it over his jacket with a certain kind of delicacy. Then she takes both items from him, crossing the room to set them on top of a chair apparently specifically set aside for that.

"Wesley…"

He looks over, meeting Wilson's gaze. "Yes, sir?"

Wilson seems to struggle for words for just a moment, before spitting out, "You do not have to agree to this; you can refuse if that is what you wish. There will be no hard feelings, I swear to you. You are… important to me and I would not wish to taint things between us."

That eases some of the nerves biting at him, and he takes a moment to think about those words, to consider them with the gravity they deserve.

"Sir," he starts, meeting Wilson's gaze evenly, "with all due respect, this was never a case of agreeing to something. An offer was made; I accepted. If this wasn't what I wanted, I wouldn't have. Vanessa can attest that I was clear about what I didn't want."

"That's true," she announces, as she comes back up to him. Her hand touches his shoulder again. "You'd prefer to do the rest yourself, yes?"

Again, how perceptive she is impresses him.

"Yes, thank you."

She steps away from him, circling the bed to the opposite side of Wilson as he raises his hands to start on the buttons on his shirt. First the cuffs, then pulling it out from where it's tucked in, and finally undoing the buttons down the center. He can feel Wilson's gaze on him as he shrugs the shirt off, but doesn't look over to meet it; not this time. Instead he neatly folds the shirt, then kneels down to get his shoes and socks off. His slacks are the last, and only once it's all folded and — his glasses included — set aside on that chair does he look back at the bed.

Vanessa is curled beneath the covers, one hand propping her head up to watch. Wilson is still sitting up, back against the headboard, but the concern is gone from his look. In fact, Wilson immediately looks away when Wesley notices him looking at all.

"Forgive me," comes the immediate request. "You are… very attractive. I should not have stared."

"I don't mind," he says, and finds that it's actually true. He has to pause then though, looking at the bed and unsure of where he fits into their dynamic. Between, or to the side? But then, which side?

"Here." It's Vanessa that calls him over, as she shifts over to leave a wide gap between her and Wilson. He glances to Wilson to confirm it, and gets a small nod of approval.

It's only a bit awkward to climb up the bed to reach the empty spot, and slide in beneath the sheets. Wilson jerks into motion behind him, sliding down as Vanessa turns and reaches for the light. It clicks off, leaving the room in darkness, and he can feel both of them settle in to either side of him. It takes a moment, but then Wilson's arm hooks over his waist, one large palm spreading over the small of his back and gently pulling. Just enough pressure to suggest he shift forward, so he does.

It's a small piece of heaven to be curling into Wilson's chest, pressing his forehead to one large shoulder and carefully reciprocating Wilson's touch by shifting his own arm around the other man's larger waist. It's a bigger piece when Vanessa presses up against his back, not even the slightest bit shy as one of her legs slides over his. Her breasts press against his spine, and he can feel the rush of her breath against the back of his neck, the heat of her arm as it joins Wilson's on his waist and presses up against his chest.

He can feel the tension sliding from his shoulders, worn away by the warmth of their skin and the easy belief that he belongs here. Right with them.