NOTES: For Ins, because she is a pretty, pretty princess. And many hugs to both her and Te, who pushed and pushed and reassured me. Look, it's a soppy, snarky mess. And now I shall go back to writing Oz and the trickster gods.
Improv #16 -- A Very 'Shippy Improv.
*
Gunn didn't exactly agree to darts, but he didn't exactly play either. He watched from the bar, and at what had to be the last possible moment of sobriety he figured out why Wesley was having so much fun. Darts was all of Wesley's should'ves and ought-tos -- a game where all that mattered was keeping cool, aiming high, and staying straight.
Definitely not Gunn's thing.
Too distant, for one: it had always seemed way more fair to get up close and personal, push and get pushed back. Way more *alive* 'cause it got the blood pumping and the adrenaline going and Gunn wasn't afraid to admit that he got off on it. Just a little. Not the fighting, exactly, but just being that close, feeling his heart beat all over like an out there bass line.
Gunn settled himself on the bar stool and looked around, ending up back at Wesley who was cleaning some poor guy out of a wad of cash and looking extremely satisfied. That went a ways toward explaining Wesley's clothes and left Gunn grinning. Not so much on the straight and narrow path as wandering along the side and doing what needed to be done. Too fucking *right*.
Wesley as hustler. Definitely a thought that was going to keep Gunn entertained for *days*. It was too damn easy to see Wesley in some smoky dive, all wide-eyes and embarrassed stammering, getting taken for everything and more, ripped off. Hustled.
Hidden depths. Layers. It made Gunn wonder which one was real -- precise, pastel wearing Wes, or the guy wearing jeans and a t-shirt. No question which belonged on a motorcycle, but that wasn't the flag it used to be.
The beer was warm, but doing the job and it sucked that Wesley wasn't even a little wasted.
Of course, Wesley hadn't been drinking. He said something about rent and wandered off, looking all harmless and Wesley-ish and suckered two guys into playing with him. Smooth as anything, and that wasn't a word Gunn had *ever* even thought in Wesley's direction. He hadn't known Wesley could do anything like that, and it just went to prove that first impressions were wrong more often than not.
Gunn was pretty sure that Wesley could hustle him if he tried to throw a dart just then. He was even pretty sure that Wesley could do it if Gunn were completely sober. Little revelation, not earth-quaking or anything, but it was nice.
Or maybe that was just the beer.
Probably was and it didn't much matter, 'cause it was good. Gunn was, and Wesley definitely was, and there was something to be said about post-battle bonding.
And rain. The roads were too slick for Wesley to use the bike, and Gunn had that nice truck with the roof, and did Gunn want a drink at this place Wesley knew?
He'd said why not, and then they were inside this place that looked like something out of a movie, and it was brave new world time. An honest-to-God *pub*, and Gunn felt like the only person there who didn't salute the Queen.
Wesley came back and sat down next to Gunn, flushed and actually grinning, which was just a little more surprising than the hustling.
Gunn grinned back. "They tapped out?"
"So it would seem." Wesley signaled the bartender and ordered a beer, the same Gunn was having, and his smile got just a little bit smaller, went a little deeper, and he looked satisfied.
"You always do that?"
"Good Lord, no." Wesley took a swallow of his beer and glanced at him. "Occasionally someone else wins."
The whole night was turning out to be a lesson in just how much setting mattered. Not one that Gunn had forgotten, exactly, but Wesley hadn't *looked* out of place at the hotel or fighting demons or anything. A little stiff maybe, but Gunn had just assumed that came out of work-related injuries. Pulled muscles, bone deep bruises, shit like that. Maybe a *little* fundamental personality problem.
And it probably was all of that, just not as much as Gunn thought.
"Just darts?"
"For money, yes."
Gunn blinked. "What's for fun?"
"Making money," said Wesley promptly. And he still had that canary smile, turned it on Gunn who had to smile back. "Then spending it."
"You sound like Cordelia."
"Yes, well. She has a point there, don't you think?" Wesley leaned over and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I actually bought novels a few weeks ago. *Novels*."
Gunn rolled his eyes. "Can't have that."
"It was frivolous."
"You've got to be the only guy I know who feels buyer's remorse over *books*."
Wesley didn't respond. He just took another swallow of his beer and looked thoughtful. "Sometimes I play billiards."
"Pardon?"
"For fun."
Gunn took a moment to process the thought of Wesley playing pool. Handy weapon and it seemed right up Wesley's alley, geometry and angles and Gunn could vaguely a cartoon about it. "That's normal."
"Is it?"
"Yeah. Face it, Wes. You're a pretty normal guy."
Wesley laughed quietly. "I work with a vampire, routinely translate demonic texts, and come home with stains that make my dry cleaner blush." He paused. Looked at Gunn again. "Not in an, er, embarrassed way."
"*You're* blushing," said Gunn.
"Oh, I am not. I'm simply flushed. From the heat." Wesley cleared his throat. "It's rather warm in here."
"Oh yeah." The door opened and a couple walked in, shaking the rain off their coats, laughing and shivering. Gunn grinned. "Toasty."
Wesley made a face at him and Gunn laughed, watched Wesley's smile come back and disappear again, but it wiped away the embarrassed red and left Wes looking happy. Good thing, deeply, deeply good and Gunn almost wished for Cordelia and Angel to be around, drinking with them and sharing in it.
Almost.
Gunn looked down at his empty glass and debated getting another one. Just once, it couldn't be that bad, and Wesley had his back.
He pushed the glass away and folded his arms across the edge of the bar. Slouched a little, just to see if Wes would say anything about proper posture and how Gunn would have back problems later in life because he didn't sit straight now and.
Well, shit. Wesley slouched too.
Interesting. He hadn't known Wesley could actually unbend enough to *look* relaxed, jeans and t-shirts aside. And if anyone had asked, he would have put money down on Wesley being the type to starch his boxers and iron his jeans.
Live and learn, he guessed.
*
Gunn found out that not only did Wesley hustle at darts, but he hustled at pool too.
Wesley was bent over the pool table, lining up his shot with exaggerated care while Gunn leaned back next to him.
"I don't see why they wouldn't play anymore," said Wesley.
"I'm guessing it's 'cause you took all their money."
"Right." He shot, and Gunn wasn't really surprised to see the ball roll smoothly into the pocket. Wesley smirked at Gunn.
"Shut up."
"I haven't said a word."
"You're smiling."
"I can't simply be enjoying your company?" Wesley asked. He moved around the table and tilted his head, probably studying the layout or some other damn thing. Wesley stopped considering of the table and did some considering of Gunn. "I can't simply be happy?"
"With that smile? Nah."
Wesley snickered. "At least we're not playing for money."
"I'm not that stupid," said Gunn.
Wesley took his shot and looked up at Gunn. His expression behind the glasses was unreadable. "No, you're not."
Gunn raised an eyebrow at that and settled back for Wesley to finish up. It was nice to be out from the office and away from visions and demons and certain vampires that Gunn was still sometimes pissed at.
It was even nicer to see Wesley moving around normally.
Okay, so maybe Angel was good for something other than being an easy target. Him around meant Wesley had time to heal up from getting shot, and ripping open stitches, and all that dumb ass shit that just proved that no matter how smart Wesley thought he was, there was a serious amount of stupid mixed in.
Wesley missed his next, and Gunn had the sneaking suspicion that it was on purpose. Like he was trying to save Gunn's dignity.
And if Wesley wanted to be noble, who was Gunn to turn it down?
His turn and it had Wesley moving back over to lean comfortably beside him, which Gunn liked.
Post-battle bonding.
Yes indeed. A fine, *fine* thing.
He took the first shot he could, sinking the ball easy and glancing back at Wes to see what he thought of that. Wesley just looked back at him, smiling a little. There was a faint blush on his cheeks and Gunn had to wonder what, exactly, Wesley was thinking that got him to do that.
He straightened and got really close to Wesley. Stepped up almost between his legs and stared down a challenge. "You're in my shot."
Wesley tilted his head back enough to meet Gunn's eyes and his smile got bigger. He licked his bottom lip, just a little flicker of tongue, and suddenly, abruptly, Gunn wanted to push Wesley down across the pool table and suck on it. "I'm sorry. Did you want me to move?"
*Hell* no. But Gunn didn't say that. He just shrugged a little, swung the cue back and forth, tapping the heavier part against his leg.
Wesley slid his ass off the side of the table, brushing up against Gunn and standing way too close for them to be doing anything but making it in the middle of Wesley's expatriate bar.
Somewhere, buried deep in the back of Gunn's head, there was a little voice shrieking and jumping up and down, telling Gunn that he did not want to be starting something with a guy, and a skinny English white guy at that. But since that was also the part of his brain that said to kill Angel sometime during the day, and that the Host was evil kill kill kill, Gunn ignored it. He'd gotten good at that.
But he was the one to break first, give a step, and let Wesley move how he wanted.
Yeah, like *that* was new.
Wesley stepped to the side, waving Gunn in with a flourish.
"Wiseass."
"You know, Gunn, you take exception to the oddest things."
"Whatever, Wes," he said as lined up his shot, taking his sweet damn time about it. "You say more when you don't say nothing, *anyway*."
"Do I?" asked Wesley.
Gunn sank the next ball as easy as he'd done the first, and waited until it fell into the pocket before saying anything. "Yeah." He sank another. "I don't mean you don't say a lot when you do talk. Just. Actions, words. You know." Fourth shot, which he was gonna fuck up, but that was no reason not to try.
He felt Wesley get closer like he had some kind of British Guy radar sending alarms through his head. He felt Wesley's hand on his back, just between his shoulder blades, wide and heavy and warm, even through his shirt. S. Shirts.
Fucker, Gunn thought fondly.
Wesley's hand slid down the length of Gunn's back and he manfully stopped himself from shivering. Gunn coughed. "You really want to do this here?"
"Mm," said Wesley. "Why not?"
"Won't your friends care?" Gunn asked carefully.
"I don't know." Wesley's hand stopped at Gunn's waist. "Do you?"
"What?"
"Care."
Gunn felt Wesley's hand on the small of his back. "No."
"No yes, or no no?"
"No, I don't care." Gunn's hands were steady as drew the cue back, and he felt good. About the shot, and about Wesley, and about--
Wesley's hand on his *ass*.
Gunn scratched hard. The cue ball went off to motherfuck.
"Oh," said Wesley cheerfully, "look at that."
"You *cheater*." Gunn stood up and glared at him. "I can't believe you did that."
"One must endeavor to function under the most distracting of circumstances." Wesley picked up his cue and moved over to the other end of the table. "I believe it's my shot."
Gunn watched Wesley sink two shots and flipped him off casually when Wesley looked his way. He wandered over casually as Wesley walked around, checking the lay of the table; he leaned over casually when Wesley lined his shot up, and when Wesley started to take it, Gunn casually licked his ear.
And then he had the damn fine satisfaction of watching Wesley fall onto the table, scattering his shot and the balls and *everything*.
Plus he got to hear Wesley swear in three languages, and he was pretty sure one of them wasn't human.
Gunn smirked. "What's the matter, English? Distracted?"
"Very funny."
"Now, now," said Gunn. He reached over and pushed the eight-ball into the nearest pocket. "Game over."
*
"You are a cruel man, Charles Gunn."
Wesley's hands were clenched tight around the steering wheel, and Gunn slouched down lower into the bench seat, grinning at him. "Just 'cause I said no sex in the truck?"
Wesley nodded. "Yes."
"I barely have room to *sit* comfortably, and you want to have sex?"
"We'd have found a way."
"Not in this lifetime."
"Spoilsport."
"Suck it up, English. We're almost back to your place."
"All I'm saying is that I wouldn't have to 'suck it up' if you'd just let me--"
Gunn leaned over and covered Wesley's mouth with his hand. "Ease up. We're almost there, and you have a bed."
Wesley bit his palm. "You have no sense of adventure."
"My sense of adventure is just fine. I just don't see any reason to have sex in the truck where one of us is going to hit our head and someone's ass will be sticking out the door and I'm telling you now, Wes, it ain't gonna be me."
"Hmmph."
"Light's green."
"I see it," Wesley said testily.
"Well, aren't *you* cranky?"
"I *wouldn't* be."
"Just drive."
"Bastard."
Gunn shook his head. "And you're supposed to be the polite one."
They pulled in to another red light and Wesley turned to him. Gunn couldn't see his eyes behind the glasses but he could see the unholy grin on Wesley's face. "Polite?"
"Uh...yeah?"
"So, polite would mean that I should say, 'Gunn, may I please suck your cock right now'?"
Gunn sat up. "Hey."
"Or maybe, 'Please, may I fuck you in that alley, because I can think of few things I'd enjoy more?'"
"You suck. You *suck*," said Gunn, carefully not looking at Wesley. "Drive."
"Interesting."
"You're paying for that."
Wesley snorted. "Promises, promises."
"Just fucking *drive*, Wes."
"Ve-ry interesting."
Wesley was kicking his ass, hustling *him* like some poor fucker just in from the suburbs who didn't know shit about the games people played in the big bad city. Like he didn't when he started out, but he knows the game now.
And he knew that Wesley's kicking of his ass was more on Gunn's surprise that Wesley was good, goddamn fucking *great* at the game, than it was on Wesley wanting to win.
He *knew* Wesley.
Gunn went back to slumping in the seat, but moved over a little. Just enough that his knee brushed up against Wesley's leg whenever they hit a pothole and it'd just be *mean* if he got the party started when Wesley couldn't.
Mean.
He slid his hand down his stomach, making damn sure that Wesley could see it, and lower down until all that stopped him from having dick in hand was a little bit of cloth and Wesley's voice, catching on his name.
"Gunn--"
"Drive."
Wesley glared. "Don't you *dare*."
Gunn smiled wide. "Please, English, can I suck you off?"
"*Bastard*."
Gunn settled back against the seat, still grinning. But he didn't move his hand.
*
Wesley's apartment was in a swank part of Santa Monica, not too far from the beach and not too far from the pub bar thing, and far enough away from the hotel that it wasn't gonna be on Angel's check-up route like they all knew Cordy's was.
The truck was almost too big to fit in the underground garage, but Wesley pulled off a slick move and wedged the fucker into the space like it was no big thing. Smooth.
Gunn hoped that meant good things for later.
And they didn't even make it out of the garage before Gunn had Wesley pushed up against the truck, trying to find that catch in Wesley's voice, the one that turned it from all stern and business-like to soft and fuckable.
He had a fucking crush on Wesley's voice. How sad was that?
Gunn had this dream, recurring, where Wesley just talked to him in the soft voice while Gunn was inside him and moving slow, 'cause yeah, he had it all on *fast* and *now* and *again*, but mostly he wanted to take his time the way neither of them really could anywhere else.
Wesley's mouth was great. And Wesley's tongue was better, and his hands were doing all the things that they did in Gunn's dreams, but better 'cause they clenched in his shirt and Wesley had calluses that scratched just a little against his skin. The whole package made Gunn's knees shake and he was damn glad for the jeans that hid that.
*And* Wesley was his height. Or almost. Close enough. Gunn could bring them off right then and there, he knew he could and that Wesley was probably not going to stop him, but he wanted.
Mostly he wanted to see Wesley on the bed and Wesley flushed and Wesley with his head tipped back and hands all tangled in the sheets 'cause he was polite, phone sex talk all aside.
So he let Wesley push him off and followed him silently up the stairs and into Wesley's apartment.
The blinds were up and Gunn could see straight out onto the street. It made the skin on the back of his neck itch.
"It's warded," said Wesley softly and Gunn just barely stopped himself from jumping.
"Yeah?"
"Mm-hmm. It won't keep anything out that's truly focused, but most people won't even look."
"Yeah?" said Gunn. Wesley must have heard the "Fuck this shit" note in the word, 'cause he went over and dropped the blinds. The light from the streetlamps outside cut off, until all Gunn could see of them was a thin little square of light where the windows were. "Thanks."
"It's no problem at all."
Something rustled.
Something rustled a *lot*.
"You're getting naked, aren't you?" asked Gunn.
Wesley's voice purred right into Gunn's ear. Jesus. "Why ever would you say that?"
"Wishful thinking."
Wesley rested his chin on Gunn's shoulder and wrapped his arms around Gunn's waist. Rubbed a little. "And if I grant that wish?"
"You get three back."
"Anything I like?"
"Well I'm not singing 'I'm a little tea-pot' and performing the high tea ceremony while wearing a flowered apron, but other than that. Yeah." Gunn pushed himself back against Wesley and did some rubbing of his own. "Just about anything."
And *that* was Wesley laughing like he was going to bust a lung. But whatever, it gave Gunn a little room to maneuver.
"Yeah, yeah," said Gunn, pulling off one boot, then the other and hoping like hell that dropping them on the floor wasn't going to come back and trip him up. "You naked?"
"As the day I was born."
"Nice," he said appreciatively.
"Mm-hmm."
Wesley's hands found their way under Gunn's jacket and shirts, and he pushed Gunn forward a little.
"English?"
"There's a couch in front of you," Wesley said calmly. "You can hold on if you'd like."
"Hold--Wes?"
"Preparation. I need..." Wesley snapped his fingers. "Ah. Yes. Gunn, do me the kindness of nudity?"
Damn it all to fuck if Wesley didn't wander off, leaving Gunn hard and aching, braced up against the couch like he couldn't *wait* for it.
And he had to be honest, he couldn't. Off came everything, until he was stripped down way past nude and into a whole new *world* of naked and Gunn was thanking God for the lights out.
There was a long, cold moment of Gunn standing alone in the dark, but then there was Wesley again, hands skating down Gunn's back and a soft kiss to his shoulder. Sap. And it was almost sad that he didn't know which one of them he was talking about.
Wesley's tongue licked a path up the back of his neck; Wesley's hand was on his stomach holding him still; the whole long ass *line* of Wesley's body matched his, muscle to muscle and point to point.
That little voice in his head was going off again, because Gunn was supposed to be the fuck*er*, and not the fuck-ee, oh no, that wasn't the chest-thumping man thing to do, but the hell with it. Wesley wanted to fuck Gunn, and Gunn wanted to fuck Wesley, and if he'd learned *anything* since hooking up with Angel and his crew it was that Wesley had an overdeveloped sense of fair play.
And foreplay. *Damn*, Wesley's bad jokes were *contagious*.
Oh, shame. Oh, deep and abiding shame. Gunn snorted.
"Gunn?" asked Wesley quietly.
"Wes. Wesley. Fuck. Wes, did I *say* stop?" He tried to make himself sound stern, and he was more than sure that he failed. But hey, points for effort.
"You're sure?"
"Yeah. Get a move on."
"Cheeky bastard."
"Cheeky?" said Gunn, snickering. "*Cheeky*. Jesus, English, welcome to the New World already. *Ow*."
Wesley rubbed the place on Gunn's ass that he'd just smacked. "Stop being such a wanker."
Which, really, just made Gunn laugh harder until he was shaking with it, and then there were Wesley's fingers, slicked up and cool and *inside*, and Gunn was still shaking with it. No way not to feel that all the way down 'cause it was.
Fucked. All the way in, and Gunn had to move back, get *more*, 'cause it wasn't anywhere close to enough no matter how much it felt like Wesley had just hotwired his body and taken it over. "*Wesley*."
"Getting a move on."
And God love him, he *did*. Gunn was good to go, and hell if Wesley wasn't just as good and going for it, going all out like there was nothing else in the world that mattered, not Angel, not Cordy, and it was something else to be on the receiving end of Wesley's enthusiasm.
Wesley's free hand found Gunn's dick, found a rhythm and that was fantastic, that was fucking *fabulous* and Gunn couldn't stop himself rocking forward into Wesley's hand and Wesley followed, keeping them pressed right up against each other and that was even better. Goodness to feel Wesley behind him, tall and smooth and hard.
"Gunn--"
"I'm good, I'm good," Gunn said quickly. "I'm *great*."
"I'm so glad," Wesley answered in that voice, that soft amazed sounding voice, "can I?"
"Go, go, go."
"You are a *lunatic*," Wesley said, laughing and still sounding like he'd just won the lottery, which was about the coolest thing ever from where Gunn was standing, *and* he was going for it, sliding in slow, like he was born to be inside Gunn, stretching him open and making him laugh the whole time.
Slow and slow and Jesus Christ, Wes, Gunn could *take* it. And maybe that's what Wesley was waiting for, for Gunn to move, let him know that it was okay 'cause Wesley talked too much, yeah, but he loved action more.
So.
Push it.
Nothing, no*thing* new under the sun, and Gunn was about ready to start barking orders like a fucking drill sergeant
--Lord save him from mad dogs and Englishmen and horrible, terrible jokes, and of all the things about Wesley that he could have picked up, why the fuck did he get the skewed funny bone?--
except that Wesley's hand found Gunn's hip and Wesley said, "Gunn?" and this was even better than the amazed voice, 'cause this was the goddamned impatient want to have sex right *now* voice, and Gunn was right there with him.
"Yeah," said Gunn, pushing himself back onto Wesley's cock. It hurt just that little bit at first, 'cause not new didn't mean *recent*, but that was gone as quick as it arrived.
Then there was Wesley, all wandering hands and greedy mouth on his neck.
Inside and around and *talking*, fucking Gunn and Gunn had it all on perfect happiness, or as close to perfect as it got this side of life. He was giving as good as he got, and that was him making those open sounds while Wesley was stroking deep and fast and erratic, following his own rhythm and they were just barely moving together.
And wasn't that always the way? Just barely together, but more than good enough, right and necessary and it worked 'cause he had Wesley's back and Wesley damn well had his, and they just...met in the middle.
Nothing polite, nothing hesitant or soft or paranoid about Wesley then; this was a Wesley on fire, going his own way and expecting Gunn to be right there with, and Gunn was right there, he was and he was and he was
Not. What the fuck? "What the fuck?"
"Oh dear," said Wesley, sounding embarrassed and a little amused, but mostly he sounded sexy as hell breathing like he'd just run a race. And he fucking won it too, the bastard. "It should be known that simultaneous orgasm is really--"
"*Wesley*." Gunn didn't know if he should be laughing or swearing, probably both 'cause *goddamn*. And damn some more.
"--the Holy Grail of sex, and as such--"
"Keep talking," said Gunn, annoyed and already stroking himself.
And of course Wesley *didn't*, 'cause when the hell had Wesley ever done anything to make Gunn's life easier except for saving it, which, hey, no bad there. Couldn't complain really except that Gunn was gonna fucking *die* of frustration.
Wesley pulled out of him, muttered something that Gunn wasn't paying any kind of attention to and disappeared *again*, for just long enough to make Gunn reconsider jerking off in the middle of Wesley's living room.
A light turned on next to him, one of the little lamps and not the overheads, and Gunn flinched. Stopped. Glared at Wesley. "I hate you."
Wesley stroked a hand down his back. "I sincerely doubt that." He turned Gunn around easily and backed him up tighter against the couch. "Oh," he said very, very softly, "look at you."
Then Wesley kissed Gunn hard, tongue in his mouth and hand on his dick, and was bringing him off like some kind of pro. Gunn had time to think "pushy" and "oh fuck" and then he was coming and could give a flying fuck about how bossy Wesley was.
If it worked. And God, did it ever.
Wesley held on through it all, kissing Gunn, sucking on his tongue. And yes, yes, he was shamelessly groping Gunn, pushing insistently against him as if the only thing Wesley wanted was to climb inside Gunn's skin and never ever leave. The whole thing made Gunn wonder when Wesley had stopped being an incredibly irritating white guy and ended up being someone that he *liked*.
Not that it mattered in the run of things. Gunn liked Wesley, Wesley liked Gunn, and that was more than anyone really needed to get going.
They broke apart, just far enough to get a little breathing room and Gunn rested his forehead against Wesley's and closed his eyes. He ran his hands along Wesley's sides, down his ribs which made him laugh in a quiet little way, across the scar on Wesley's stomach and up to find a nipple, or hey, two, 'cause this was the first real chance Gunn had to touch.
Wesley just stood there, rocking against Gunn lazily, mimicking the movements of Gunn's hands. Sometimes he got really still and made a small sound in the back of his throat, and once he pushed his chin forward, licked Gunn's lower lip and caught him in another long kiss.
When Gunn finally opened his eyes again, he could just barely see Wesley smiling at him.
"Enjoying yourself?" asked Wesley.
"What do you think?"
"Mostly I think it's time to sleep." He yawned then, emphasizing his point.
Gunn snickered.
Wesley rolled his eyes and walked back into what Gunn could see was the bedroom. "Follow me."
"I always do."
Wesley grinned at him.
* End.