Fandom: Angel

Dinner bell ringing for the undead and they can only do so much. Angel's off being a super-hero and Cordelia is taking the rest of the night because of not one, not two, not three, but four visions in a row and that last had had screaming. Worry from all of them and it wasn't so long ago that Gunn had seen her strapped to a bed and that's not something he wants to visit again.

Wesley's got his arms around the guy and he -- not Wes, the guy, the fucked up guy with bites and he volunteered to be dinner -- he's shivering and crying and it makes Gunn's skin crawl. Rule number one: give it up and die, but obviously no one told this guy, 'cause he's all over with the messy puncture wounds and there is blood on Wesley's white, white shirt.

Too easy, too goddamn easy to see Wesley with blood on his neck.

If Angel ordered, if he looked at Wes, he'd do it. Peel down and close his eyes and tilt his head and Vampires Drink Free.

And that is wrong on more levels than Gunn can even think of. He fights the urge to pull Wesley away from the other guy, stupid urge to protect him from seriously bad vibes and he knows the guy is a victim and it doesn't matter. He's seen too many good people die to be able to look at this person and not feel a slow angry burn in his stomach.

Checks his jacket for a stake, bottle of holy water.

Human servants. Shit, but he had hoped there was something that Dracula had made up.

Something about the guy, inflection or the way he moves, and Gunn's pretty sure that teeth weren't the only things doing the penetrating.

Wes'd let Angel do that too. Let himself be pushed down into a mattress, held down and God, he does not need this. Can't help thinking it, but he doesn't want to imagine Wesley doing something so wrong. Wants to believe that loyalty only goes so far, because fuck, it'd be cold.

Fucked by a corpse, and oh no, Gunn cannot think that without feeling sick.

Nice looking corpse, no doubt. Good too. But still. Cold.

No shirt, no shoes, no pulse, no service. Because there has to be a line somewhere, limits to how far he'll go for Angel and hey, apparently sex is it.

He wonders where Wesley's lines are.

"Gunn?"

"Yeah?"

Wesley's eyes are cloudy behind the glasses. "I'm going to get Mr. Anderson settled upstairs."

Short nod, jerk of the head really and Gunn's pretty sure he looks goddamn scary standing there glaring at poor Mr. Anderson the human chewtoy because Wesley gives him that look, the one that says he's being unreasonable and to ease on down.

He's not. Unreasonable or easing down, and that look turns into the other look. The patient one that Angel gets more than anyone and how the everlasting fuck did Wesley get blood on his cheek?

Gunn settles himself against the desk and shrugs, watches Wesley walk the guy upstairs. Ten minutes, fifteen, and he comes back without the guy and he looks...tired.

Blood still on his shirt and Gunn wants it gone. Feels a knot of something in his stomach that is not fear because he is completely sure that Wesley Is Not That Stupid.

He swallows the urge to order Wesley's shirt off. Not totally sure he wants to go there, either.

"He asleep?"

"Yes." Wesley doesn't give any more and Gunn doesn't ask.

Still wants the shirt gone. But..."You've got blood on your face."

"Oh, do I?" and he reaches up, brushes at his cheek and shrugs. "I'll go wash up."

"Probably a good idea." Wesley wanders off, looking lost enough to make Gunn wonder what happened upstairs.

He's not gonna ask.

Easiest to just let it all go, snipe at Wesley, get sniped back and it'll all be normal and Gunn won't have to imagine coming to the hotel to an evil Angel and a dead Wes and shit now he's gonna have nightmares.

Little voice in his head that says: This is what you get for working for a vampire.

Nightmares and evil and all this earnestness. Brooding. Oh, he does not need this, has enough trouble keeping the demons out of his own neighborhood and he helps because...it's a good fight. 'Cause it'd all go to hell without him.

Oh yeah, and he will not admit that sometimes it's nice to not be in charge.

He looks down at the front desk with its mess of papers and books and forgotten mug of tea. Wesley's half-offended half-affectionate look and it isn't like Gunn really wants Cordelia to bring him coffee. But.

It'd be nice.

Outside contractor and doesn't that say it all? Inner circle which he has yet to break into, but he's got Cordelia watching his back and Angel to help and Wesley to--

Aw, shit.

The hell with nightmares, Gunn's working his way into a full-blown paranoid fit and wouldn't that just have Wesley on the floor and laughing? Not funny at all and what used to be the employee bathroom is just down the hall, door closed. He tries the knob and it's not locked. Invitation?

Probably not. Doesn't really matter because the door swings open and Wesley doesn't even look at the mirror.

Now that he's here, Gunn has no idea what to say. Hey, Wes, how close are you to opening a vein for Angel to suck on? or maybe What are you thinking?

Yeah, that'd go over real well and he's more than half-tempted to just leave again. Sucks it up and stays, rocking back on his heels just a little 'cause Wesley's harmless, mostly, and it would be crass to tackle a guy for barging into the bathroom. "Just wanted to make sure you hadn't fallen in."

Tiny shiver of tension across Wesley's shoulders that Gunn would've missed it if he hadn't been looking. "As you can see, I'm perfectly fine."

"Yeah, fine."

Wesley still hasn't turned around and Gunn feels no guilt for a little indulgent looking. Pale, definitely. Not a hardbody and entirely too skinny, but he's seen how often Cordelia forces Wesley to eat a sandwich so Gunn just chalks it up to fundamental weirdness and not anything sinister.

Doesn't stop him from checking for bite marks. None visible, but that means exactly nothing because Wesley's still got his pants on and yeah, Gunn's made it a point to know where all the major veins and arteries are.

He watches Wesley scrub fiercely at the stain on his shirt and he thinks that they both realize it's a lost cause. "Wesley. Wes, hey. Stop." Reaches out and grabs his shoulder, shaking him a little.

Breathless little laugh. "It's rather pointless, isn't it?"

He can't help but agree. "Kind of."

Wesley drops the shirt and leans against the sink, head down. Breathes deep a couple of times and turns around, searching glance at Gunn, and it's a shock to realize how much harder Wesley looks without his glasses.

That Clark Kent thing suddenly makes a lot more sense.

Gunn looks around for them, finds the glasses sitting on the edge of the sink, and he almost asks Wesley to put them back on. Complete stranger in front of him and the sheer weight of what Gunn does not know slaps him in the face and suddenly he needs to know where Wesley got the scar on his left shoulder and why he uses the glasses when he obviously doesn't need them and.

Why is Wesley here?

Doesn't ask any of it, instead says, "You okay?" Good question, nice and easy to say yeah, fine, you? only he knows Wesley won't. Maybe won't.

Another long look from Wesley and he looks a lot like one of Gunn's old history teachers, fresh out of school and wanting to help, full up with good intentions and that hadn't lasted long, transferred out after a year of dealing with lockdowns and security checks and no one giving a shit. "Yes," he says, cautiously, like he expects Gunn to laugh or call him on it.

And he could call him on it, could but won't because that line between okay-not-wanting-to-talk and not-wanting-to-talk-but-needing-to is not one that Gunn feels comfortable crossing. "Okay."

He should leave Wesley to finish cleaning himself up. Doesn't. And Wesley is staring at him. He shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets, not bashful or anything, but he needs something to do with his hands other than grabbing the other guy and--

Gunn's been hanging around Cordelia way too much because the words that come out of his mouth really aren't the ones he would have chosen. "Do you feed him?"

Startled little jump, startled little look, then Wesley's staring determinedly at the floor, lips pressed together. "No."

"You want to." And he tries, fails, to keep the disgust out of his voice. Oh, Gunn owns his prejudices and he doesn't hate Angel. Just doesn't entirely trust him, not since the little bombshell of 'oh, he turns evil sometimes' and even before that, the thought of opening a vein and becoming food was just not one that sat well with him.

"Not particularly, no." Wesley sighs and rubs his eyes. "I...no. I don't want to feed him."

Gunn leans back against the bathroom door and gives him the eye. "You would, though."

"If there were no alternative."

Bites back the urge to say that there's always an alternative. Settles for a shrug and eases back some more, lets the door take more of his weight and he doesn't miss the glance Wesley gives him.

And sure, Gunn's been on the receiving end of looks like that, slow and lingering and it's always been fun, but this is just a step to the left of normal, sharp and Wesley looks like he's about to break, fall, and Gunn can't have that.

Pushes himself away from the door and toward Wesley, is reaching out to touch all that skin on display when he hears Angel outside the door, and he knows that Angel knows he's in here, and with who. Probably can hear their heartbeats or some shit and Gunn will not stop.

Can't. Has to give Wesley a choice, an alternative to laying bare for a vampire, no matter how pretty.

Hands on Wesley's waist, spinning him around toward the wall. Lets him go, but leans in, braces his hands on either side of Wesley and there's more than enough room for him to get out. He doesn't move away, just blinks at Gunn and licks his lips, and Gunn wonders what's happening in his head.

Long, slow moment, and Gunn needs for Wesley to ask. Needs for him to give because otherwise there's no damn point to any of it. But oh, he wants to just tear through all those walls that Wes throws between them and play hail the conquering hero and Angel has to know exactly what he's got on his side.

Wesley takes a breath, and another, reaches up and his hand fists in the material of Gunn's shirt. Tiny sound and God, the look on his face, and that's all the invitation Gunn needs.

Dives in and kisses Wesley hard, doesn't move his hands because he's afraid that he'll strip Wes the rest of the way down and this isn't the time or the place, but he wants the taste. Present to himself and Wesley makes another sound, presses closer and it's too fucking much.

Gunn hauls himself away and tries to breathe, pulling himself together. Looks, really really looks at Wesley and his eyes are closed, hand still clenched against Gunn's chest. And Gunn can't not kiss him again, gentler, nuzzling against Wesley's mouth and stealing his air.

Wesley relaxes, lets the death grip on his shirt go, and it eases something in his chest to feel Wesley stroking his thumb along Gunn's collarbone. Makes stepping back easier, less desperate. Possible. So he does, because any more and the hell with Angel outside or lack of space inside, Gunn will pull Wesley close enough to crawl under his skin and set up camp.

And Wesley looks not so hungry now, which is good, and he could let it go here. Knows he won't, because there are worse things than having Wesley's focus all on him and he's selfish enough to want that.

Also selfish enough to want Angel to see Wesley like this, flushed and willing, for Angel to know that Wesley's body is off limits.

Angel will get it. Gunn doesn't so much believe in subtlety and this is the easiest message of all to send. Don't touch. Mine.

Deep down, he knows that Angel could snap his fingers and Wesley would go running, no matter what Gunn does. He also knows that Angel, good soul having boy that he is, will respect Gunn's claim.

It's that soul having part that worries him. Angel goes evil and there's not a single damn thing that Gunn could do to protect anyone, and all the great sex in the world isn't going to stop Wesley from needing to help Angel.

Deeper down, in the dark places where his fear lives, Gunn knows that Wesley would do anything if it meant saving Angel. Anything and Gunn does not have a hold on that kind of unreasoning loyalty.

Definitely not going there.

Brushes fingers across Wesley's closed eyes, across his cheek, and is not surprised when his eyes open and pin Gunn in place. Still looks lost, tired, and maybe Wesley knows exactly what Gunn is thinking and why. Maybe Wesley feels the same way and. Can't help it.

Well and doesn't Gunn feel stupid? Familiar feeling around Wesley who never tries, but lives in his own head and isn't afraid of showing it. Stupid to forget that, stupid to forget that Wesley is anything but, to underestimate him, and it's his own mistake for judging Wesley on the wrong terms. His terms. Angel's.

Breathing, slow and steady, and Wesley's hand flattens against Gunn's chest. Over his heart. Desperation in his eyes and it's all so obvious.

Gunn's breathing matches Wesley's and he doesn't move, just lets Wesley feel his heart beat.

The thing about distance is that it gives Gunn time to think about how having sex with Wesley is probably not the best idea he's ever had. Working relationship -- what little of it there is -- shot to hell, and there is going to be weirdness. Already is, lurking in Angel's eyes and in Wesley's stutter and Gunn did not like the feeling of being measured and judged.

Doesn't know if he's been found okay and it doesn't matter, really, because it wouldn't stop him anyway.

He taps out an impatient rhythm on the steering wheel, ignores the mariachi band blaring from the radio and why is it that the only station he can pick up plays nothing but Mexican folk music?

And now he's just distracting himself because the other thing about distance is that it gives Wesley time to think.

Little silver Civic between his truck and Wesley's motorcycle and it's pouring out a heavy beat that pounds against the windows and up through Gunn's spine. Takes over the rhythm on the steering wheel and this much bass just drowns whatever music goes with it until it's nothing but a feeling.

Wonders if Wesley can feel it.

Light turns and they're off again, toward Gunn's neighborhood but not quite and he was surprised to find out how close Wesley lived. He had expected someplace by Cordelia's, maybe near Westwood Village or cross town, but Wesley's apartment is.

Well, Gunn wouldn't live there if he didn't need to.

All good, though, because the other option was a room in the hotel and however weird things had been when they left, things would have been weirder if they hadn't.

Stares up at the apartment building and he's positive that Wes does not need to live here. Doesn't matter. He's not going to be outside for too much longer.

Wesley's eyes are dark when he comes down to unlock the door and he doesn't say anything, just steps aside and lets Gunn up the stairs first. Follows him, making no attempt at being quiet, and Gunn likes the steady thump of Wesley's boots echoing through the stairwell. Solid sound, heavy, and it feels good to have Wesley at his back.

Didn't used to, but that was life for you.

Gunn stops in front of the apartment door and Wesley says quietly, "It's open." Walks through and feels a tingle move over his skin. Looks the question at Wesley who shrugs. "Better than a security alarm."

"Yeah, remind me to get one of those installed at my place."

And inside it's colder than anything in L.A. has a right to be and Gunn looks around at the apartment, notes the fire escape outside the wide-open window and the leaning piles of books and notebooks, scattered through with axes and swords, the occasional big freaking stick, and all of this stuff looks mad expensive.

Behind him, Wesley does up the locks on the door and Gunn can't help asking. "You invite Angel in?"

Silence before the last lock clicks into place and, "No."

"Just wondering."

"Of course."

Falls into quiet so deep that all he can hear is his own breathing and he turns to see Wesley looking at him, not moving, and he looks right back. Can't help but remember Wesley without his shirt, the taste of him, and short little flash of the skin on Wesley's shoulder being smooth.

That memory is not nearly enough to hold him and Gunn needs more than a couple of kisses and that desperate want in Wesley's eyes. Hidden behind the glasses again, softer, and Gunn can't figure out if he really likes that better. Is on Wesley before the thought finishes and he knows he likes the leather, a thing alive under his hands.

Wesley just holds on, one hand against Gunn's neck and the other fumbling at Gunn's belt. Gets it open and yanks, hiss against the cloth and a clatter when the buckle hits the floor.

Not nearly enough to pull them totally apart, but plenty to get them breathing their own air. "Bedroom," says Wesley and Gunn's thoughts are scattered enough to force him into just nodding. Follows Wesley into the small bedroom, spots another open window and it's strange enough to pull Gunn back to himself.

Nods his head at the window and, "Why?"

"Sunrises here are lovely. I suspect it's the pollution."

Good enough and Wesley's pulled off the glasses, set them carefully on the table by his bed. Works his way out of the jacket and drops it on the floor. Gunn definitely likes Wesley in jeans and a t-shirt, neither one of them baggy or too tight, both thin from too much washing.

Oh, he likes that a lot.

Watches Wes shiver a little, steps up close to feel it and Wesley presses up against him, shoving Gunn's jacket out of the way. Pushes forward, cups Gunn's face in cool hands and kisses him, all tongue and teeth and need so hungry it could swallow them both.

Won't happen and they know it, can't happen and that's okay.

Break apart, breathe and strip away a few more layers. Gunn's jacket and a couple of shirts, layered cloth being a damn good shield against vampire fangs, Wesley's shirt. Lose the shoes and then they're right up on each other again, skin on skin, and Gunn loves the way Wes smells, like leather and something green, eucalyptus and sage. Clean and Wesley's shoulder did not lie. Smooth all over.

Gunn reaches down, hauls Wesley closer and swallows the startled groan that he makes. Has enough time to feel Wesley's hands on his chest, Wesley's leg working its way between his own, and Wesley pushes him hard. Foot hooked behind Gunn's own sends Gunn sprawling onto the bed and that's a dirty trick.

Can't stop laughing at the look on Wesley's face, smug and smiling and still hungry. Dark look, surprising on him and no way has Angel ever seen this.

Pushes that thought away, focuses on Wesley's hands on his fly. Efficient, really efficient and it's no request when Wesley says, "Up." Lifts his hips off the bed and Wesley pulls the jeans away, tosses them behind him and takes a good long look.

Gunn wonders if Wesley's going to blush.

Decides no when Wesley pets him, firm, sure stroke on his cock. Rubs his thumb across the head, almost detached look when he licks his lips and good God damn, Wesley's mouth.

Hands everywhere and whatever Gunn had expected, this is not it, not anywhere close to it. Can't look down, can't, because he's right there and Wesley's just focused. Stroking and licking and Gunn can't stay quiet either. Direct connection between his dick and his mouth and there is something to be said for babbling.

Feels no shame at begging for more, harder, something and Wesley gives it to him, quick and hard and dirty, takes everything Gunn has to give and demands more and no way, no fucking way can Gunn say no.

Grabs fistfuls of the blanket beneath him and thrusts, watches Wesley move with it and this is so much more than he had hoped for. Manages to hiss out a warning, that lesson having been learned a long time ago, and Wesley doesn't go anywhere, just strokes his hip, takes him deeper and nothing should feel so good.

Comes hard, dizzy and hoarse and it takes a minute to realize that he's not dead. That the white light is only Wesley's ceiling, bare bulb leaving neon afterimages every time Gunn blinks. No heavenly choir, just Wesley laughing, simple and pure and Gunn narrows his eyes. "Hey, soon as I can move--"

Just makes Wes laugh harder. Good sound. Nice.

"Oh, shut up," but he's smiling still. Impossible not to. Slow stretch, just to see Wesley's smile fade, to hear him hiss and he's back to demanding. Impatient hand on Gunn's hip, urging him over.

And that seems like a lot to ask because Wesley's sucked out every single one of Gunn's bones, left him a mass of muscle and skin and Gunn stretches again, loves the burn of tendons at their limit, loves the sound Wesley makes, helpless and low growl that shivers all along Gunn's spine.

Finally works his way over, gets one knee up far enough to push himself off his stomach and Wesley makes another sound, trails off. Gunn can hear Wesley behind him, hushed rustle of cloth and he has to look. Naked Wesley, finally, flushed all over and Gunn more than likes that.

Plants the image in memory, feels it take root, sink deep. Something to hold onto if he needs it, all his and a ward against future nightmares.

Gunn smiles and Wesley just stops, studies him. Up turn at the corners of his mouth, not all a smile, but that's Gunn's too. A sigh, soft eyes but still wanting. Good.

Braces himself, hears Wes sigh again. Bare whisper of his name and Gunn seriously considers making some demands of his own. Now and Again and brief silly moment: Just do it. Doubts Wesley will get it, but that's okay, 'cause he'll do it.

Creak of the bed and he's not cold anymore, doesn't even mind the open window across the way, just wants Wesley closer. Inside.

Wesley will not need to hold him down.

Warm wet kiss at the base of his spine almost sends Gunn flat on his face, does make him twitch and moan and Wesley's hand is shaking on his side. Feels a long crooked scratch down the center of his back, too thin to be anything but the condom wrapper's corner, tiny hurt and Wesley soothes it away, kisses him again.

Christ, it's so much better than he hoped it'd be.

Needs more and he's not afraid to tell Wesley so. Pants it out and Wesley's hands are gone, creak and groan of the bed underneath, Wesley's voice--

"Dammit, Gunn" and it breaks in the middle and if Wesley doesn't get moving Gunn is going to die. Just keel over and not be there anymore because he needs to have Wesley have him, has to give Wesley something in return, something warm and oh God, he'd forgotten about how long Wesley's fingers are.

Good strong fingers, slicked up and moving in all the right ways, deep and anything but gentle. Doesn't need gentle, time for it later when they're lying in bed and the sun is up, pouring through the window and onto the bed. Dark time now and Gunn pushes back, hears Wesley bite off a curse, thick accent, thick voice.

His name again and he's never going to be able to listen to Wesley talk without hearing him like this.

Wonders if he's ever going to be able to look at Wesley again without wanting to fuck him through a wall. Doubts it. Doubts it a lot.

Another push back and God, he's hard again. Briefly considers bringing himself off, tosses that idea out when Wesley grabs onto his hips, slides in, short sharp thrusts and Gunn can just tell he's trying to be careful. Can't have that because, "I won't break."

Hears Wesley laugh, echo of the one from the bathroom but without the hopelessness. But he listens, good man, and gets with the moving.

Thank you God.

Doesn't take long for any rhythm Wesley had to get lost somewhere between them, pushed down into hard and fast and irregular and Gunn's doing nothing to help, pushes and moves according to his own inner drummer and the fuck with steady, too good like this, held close and hot and Wesley's right with him.

Too damn good to hear Wesley lose his words, incoherent sounds that mean nothing except that whatever Wesley's thinking is there, caught up in sweat and come and trapped inside Gunn. Laid bare on the bed beneath them, where Gunn's collapsed, where Wesley's still shaking a little on top of him.

Still shaking when he gets up, pulls out. Swears again and Gunn echoes him. Listens to Wesley moving around behind him and can barely twitch when Wesley whacks him on the side and says, "Get up."

"Hell no."

"Gunn."

"Fine."

The fighting feels almost as good as the sex, and Gunn knows he's got a stupid grin on his face and it doesn't matter because the one on Wesley is pretty damn stupid too. He gets up though, helps Wesley clean up and strip the blanket off the bed. Kisses him again and talks him into just leaving the blanket on the floor.

"You are incorrigible."

"Keep talking dirty and we'll see how much." Rolls onto his back and closes his eyes. Lets himself drift, dimly aware of Wesley beside him, hand on Gunn's chest and breathing deep.