So, he and Fred seemed to be as over as made no difference; he and Gwen were probably not going to be doing that again any time soon – seeing as how she now had the choice of any guy touching her and not just one she could trick into helping her steal secret prototypes – and Cordelia was evil. And he’d only been gone for a day.

Right now they were regrouping. Team Angel. Supernatural Detectives. The people who had been as fucked over as it was possible to get by the people they had thought were helping them. Supposing the Powers were ‘people’ and not just kinda glowy. The people who had let Connor grow up in a hell dimension and Cordelia get hijacked by some kind of rogue evil, and every poor bastard in Wolfram & Hart turned into a zombie – save for Lilah who they’d first let into Wesley’s bed and then let onto the pointy end of Not-Cordy’s knife. The people who had watched them all chasing their tails for the past couple of months and not done jack to help.

The others were trying to make sense of it all; to work out the all-important What Happened Next. He was leaving that to the people who came up with the plans, while he thought about…Wesley. Maybe because it was easier than thinking about how screwed they all were or that Cordy was really gone, and maybe because he could still smell Gwen’s perfume on his skin, still remember the way she shivered when he touched her the way no one else ever had, and, even in the midst of all this apocalyptic shit, it was making him hot. Or maybe because the way things had been going recently it felt like the only friend he could trust was his dick.

Way too often recently Wes had been the one he thought about when he was horny – not Fred, who’d used to love the things they did in bed and now just lay there with her arms folded because he was a murderer and she didn’t want a killer’s hands touching her, no – he’d think about Wesley. Think about the sick twisted things he’d probably been doing with Lilah and how very wrong they were, and how a part of Gunn wouldn’t have minded watching.

There was a time when thinking about Wesley had been kind of…sweet. Something he’d do with a smile. His skinny white friend who never knew when he was beat even when he was in a wheelchair. Then they’d exchanged beer breath and spit a few times too many and it had been time to take a step back. And then thinking about Wesley had been something he did with a spasm of guilt; then a widening gulf of distance; then anger, because his friend was gone and he didn’t like the guy fate had left in his place.

No one else had ever given Charles Gunn a problem like this. It wasn’t just the being a guy thing, although that was bad enough – the way Wesley, somehow, way back when, had managed to wiggle his skinny white body onto the potentially fuckable list – it was the twisted indecision; because never before in his life had he had any confusion about the difference between wanting to hit someone and wanting to kiss them. Up to now those had been two very different things. You wanted to kiss the hot girl you liked; you wanted to punch the bad guy you didn’t like. Then suddenly he was wanting to kiss the good-bad guy he also wanted to punch. Did punch, in fact, not so long ago.

And that was another problem, because that was the only time in his life that his fist making contact with another guy’s face had given him a hard-on. Sometimes, he swore Wesley just lived to wind him up in ever-more new and interesting ways. For how long now had he been pulling all this passive-aggressive shit. All that ‘I’m not doing anything, you’re the one that’s being unreasonable, I was just talking to your girlfriend, what kind of Neanderthal won’t let a woman he supposedly loves and trusts even have a perfectly innocent conversation with another man…?’ Yeah, yeah. Gunn knew all the moves. He just didn’t know how to counter them.

And there was the whole thing about wanting Wes every damned minute of every damned day. Which was all kinds of wrong, because last time he’d wanted him it was a protective thing: skinny white guy who looked up to Gunn and needed his help and was a sweet drunk who liked to snuggle when he had one too many shots of tequila. That had been nothing to really worry about; just Wes getting in close when he was sleepy, and Gunn letting him cuddle up if he wanted to, maybe he’d run his fingers through his hair a few times, maybe when they’d both been really drunk it had gone a little too far, maybe there had even been some heavy breathing, some touching, a little friction, but it had been okay because they were friends and Wes was English and white and didn’t know any better. And, okay, it had eventually turned into a problem. It had gone further and further until Gunn had told Wes not to let that situation happen again. No using words like ‘dick’, no licking his lips the way he did sometimes, not too much with the pretty and the big eyes and the getting drunk and cuddling. Wes had been hurt but he’d done as he was told and they’d backed the hell off, both of them, and gone back to doing it with girls.

But it hadn’t been like this. Hadn’t been Wes walking in, all defensive and bitter and daring them to tell him he had no right to be here when the only reason they had Angel back was him, and the only reason Gunn was still alive right now and not burned to a cinder, was him, because he was Mr Fucked Up Shotgun’n’Stubble Shit Hot Guy these days and he didn’t need any one of them the way they needed him.

The old Wes, sweet Wes, Gunn had wanted to kiss sometimes, very gently, wanted to just suck that tequila from his tongue, wanted to stroke, wanted to gentle and hold, and whisper things to that were kind and encouraging, wanted to kiss so lightly Wes couldn’t even be sure it wasn’t just a dream. This Wes he wanted to shove up against a wall and feel up every which way; wanted to throw him down on a bed and make him lose control; wanted to peel away all the surface layers of Shit Hot New Wes to find out if Sweet Skinny Old Wes was still in there and could still make that little whimper he’d used to make sometimes when Gunn touched him in just the right place… But New Wes…New Wes he wanted to grind against and hold hard enough to leave bruises, he wanted to tear the clothes from his body, slam him up against a hard surface or pound him through the mattress. Even thinking about it made sweat begin to trickle down his shoulder blades, a tickle of lust from his brain down his spine to his balls. All kinds of wrong, that was what this situation was; all kinds of fucked up and wrong and….

“Gunn…?”

He turned and there he was. And come to think of it, here he was, in an unoccupied room in Angel’s big ass not so haunted hotel, an unoccupied room with a bed all made up ready, and a lockable door. Wesley was looking all dangerous and stubbly and couldn’t-be-any-cooler on the outside, still, but his eyes were looking a little Old Wes. That got to Gunn in the way the surface packaging couldn’t, because it turned out that he was still way too fond of Old Wes. He just didn’t know if that guy still existed or had gone for good.

“I’m sorry about…” A grimace. “I never meant for us to end up…”

So, this was the apology. This was Wesley saying sorry for the fight in the lobby. Cool, except…no. He didn’t get away with it that easily.

“You in or out?” Gunn demanded, keeping that abrasive edge to his voice. Wanting Wes this side of the doorway and the door closed behind them. Because Angel was going to come looking. Angel was going to come looking not just because he didn’t want them fighting, but because he knew what fighting could lead to. Down in that cage, Angelus had known all about Gunn’s hard-on, which meant Angel knew it too.

Wesley stepped into the room and closed the door behind him as if he’d always meant this conversation to be private. And Gunn remembered it, that moment of resignation, when Wesley let himself be slammed back into the desk, cause Wes had just landed one hell of a punch and his sense of justice was telling him that Gunn deserved his payback.

“One question, Wes. What was going on in there between you and Fred that I interrupted?”

Wesley sighed. “Gunn, I’m sorry. I never meant to…”

Gunn loomed over him; enjoying the experience way too much; enjoying being three inches taller and however many pounds heavier and Wesley having to look up to him, despite the designer stubble and the super-duper lasered vision and the three hundred dollar haircut, it coming right down to the basics of Gunn being taller and stronger however butch Wes liked to dress.

Gunn gazed right into those smoke-blue pretty boy eyes, looking for the old Wes, hoping he was still in there somewhere; wanting to find him and kiss him right after he’d fucked the hell out of this Wes first. This Wes deserved not to be able to sit down for a week; the old Wes deserved all kinds of foreplay and the sweetest kisses Gunn had ever brushed across anyone’s eagerly parted lips.

“Did you kiss her?”

Wesley closed his eyes. “Gunn, I really don’t think it’s…”

Gunn leaned in close, so close that Wesley couldn’t help but feel his breath against his mouth, and ran a hand through Wesley’s hair, fingers just playing with those designer tousled locks. “Cause I remember that story you told me.”

Wesley swallowed and it wasn’t out of fear. He had a long slender neck – it was no wonder Angelus had liked to choke him so damned slowly – and Gunn could see the gulp go all the way down. He wanted to kiss it, then he wanted to bite on his clavicle, feel his teeth grate against bone; feel Wes squirm and gasp and beg him for it harder. “What story?” Wesley breathed and Gunn knew Wes must be able to feel the warmth of every word, a tangible gust, because he could feel it too.

“The one about the guy who’s a guest in the knight’s house and every day the guy goes out hunting and he tells the guest that he has to give him whatever he was given while he was away. And one day it’s a kiss from his wife. But he’s honest and he gives it to the knight. You remember?”

Wesley looked into Gunn’s eyes and Gunn guessed he must be looking pretty damned good right now because what he saw reflected in those long-lashed smoky blue depths was someone who made Wes’s breath catch in his chest, made his knees start to weaken, someone who made Wes try to hide it so badly under that don’t-give-a-shit exterior but who was shivering anyway, and not with fear.

“I remember.”

Gunn didn’t smile; he just kept looking into his eyes. “So, do you owe me a kiss or not?”

Wesley braced himself for a blow – and by the tension up his spine, the way he half turned his face so he wouldn’t take the impact on his nose – it was clear he thought it was going to be a knockout punch, but he told the truth because it would hurt a little and New Wes kind of liked to hurt the ones he loved as much as they were always hurting him. “Yes.”

His gaze darted back to Gunn and it was half fear of being pounded and half a flicker of triumph cause Gunn was the one who’d told him they needed to make out with girls from now on, and, there it was, Wesley had done what he was told and Gunn could suck on that. Passive Aggressive Champion of the Fuckin Universe. Damn but he wanted to…

Heat flared and there was almost a whole second when he truly believed it was anger. Then the fingers of Gunn’s left hand tightened in Wesley’s hair, dragging his head back, while Gunn pressed in hard, wanting Wes to feel the erection digging into his abdomen, even as he bent and kissed him. Hard. His mouth claimed Wesley’s, letting him know this was a forfeit he had to pay, that he needed to open now, just like he let Gunn slam him back against the desk, no resistance, this he needed to let happen because there was nothing he could do to stop it and he owed him this damned kiss.

Nothing Wes could do to stop it except say the word, of course. Because his hormones were one thing, and his wants were another, but there were some things Charles Gunn didn’t do. One of them he might be doing right now, but the others – he liked to think the others were still sacrosanct. So, one ‘no’ was all it would take and Wes should know that. Gunn wasn’t the one who’d changed, after all.

His skin was prickling with heat, with sweat, clothes itching like a rash because he wanted his skin touching Wesley’s now, wanted to rip those clothes from his back, shove him against the nearest hard surface, wanted to rub against him so hard they both got blisters. His mouth was bruising Wesley’s and Wesley’s was open and Gunn’s tongue was in his mouth and making itself at home. He grabbed Wesley’s left hand in his right and cupped it to his groin, rubbing it over his cock, wanting Wesley to feel how hard he’d made him; enjoying that inarticulate gasp as Wesley realized, that moan as Gunn kissed him again, harder and deeper, tongue thrusting, demanding that Wesley open wider, take him in deeper, turn that newly gym-toned beaten-up body into a curve of reception to the wants of Charles Gunn. He rubbed Wesley’s hand across his cock, making him keep the friction steady, wanting Wes to feel the swelling hardness, the leaking eagerness. He finished by licking the side of Wesley’s mouth, then up his jaw, biting his way along it, not hard enough to leave marks, just hard enough to make Wesley squirm with pleasure.

He moved his mouth an inch away from Wesley’s and said huskily: “Was that how you kissed her? Like that?”

“No.” Wesley swallowed again. “Gentler.”

Gunn licked his own lips then leaned forward to kiss Wesley’s open mouth, lips brushing against lips as light as the touch of a butterfly’s wings, tongue flickering across his open yearning mouth, tantalizing and teasing, fingers carding through his hair so gently the tips barely brushed his scalp, turning Wesley’s head to brush his lips across the surface of Wesley’s while Wesley’s mouth kept opening in response, neck craning forward, trying to keep the contact while Gunn just teased him. “Like that…?” he breathed.

“Something in between…” Wesley swallowed again, gazing up at him warily.

Gunn still had hold of his hand and rubbed it over his cock again, rhythmic, harder than Wesley would have done without his hands controlling Wesley’s fingers. And he should have been the one starting to lose it, but it was Wesley who put his head back, just from that, his hands on Gunn’s bulging erection, feeling the hardness, closing his eyes ecstatically, gave that little noise that made Gunn want to nibble him all over.

“Come on, Wes, you must have known…” Gunn whispered hotly in his ear. “Wasn’t that who it was for…? The new look? The new body? Wanting Angel and me to see how much you didn’t need us any more? And just how good you were looking now you were out of our reach…?”

“No…” A breathless gasp from Wesley.

Gunn frowned; slowing the rhythm of Wesley’s hand being rubbed across his cock. “No?”

Wesley’s eyes opened, the blue of them shocking, and those long dark eyelashes way too pretty to be around any guy’s eyes. “I didn’t want to look like a victim.”

He turned his head so that Gunn could see the faint red scar that had once been that angry red gash. Gunn bent and kissed it, an impulse he couldn’t have explained, wanting to kiss away the horror of that night in the darkness with the lifeblood seeping away heartbeat by heartbeat.

Wesley gasped and put his head back so Gunn could lick it again, bite if it he wanted to – and maybe he’d been hanging around a vampire too long because he really wanted to. Wesley managed hoarsely: “Because, amazingly enough, not everything is about you.”

“You on crack, English?” Gunn nipped him and jerked Wesley’s hand across his cock at the same time, wanting to feel him push against him, which he did, hand, body, every molecule of Wesley wanting to be that much closer to every molecule of Gunn. “Of course everything’s about me.”

But, okay, maybe it made more sense that it was armour rather than flaunting. It just looked like flaunting when Wes was wearing jeans, or when he picked up a weapon and made it look like a come-on. Angelus had been the confirmation Gunn had been looking for – that what Wesley was these days was designed to make a guy get hot. And a woman too, going by how flustered Fred had been after that kiss.

“Lilah. Fred. You’d have done it with Angel any damned day he wanted you. Angelus too. Maybe Faith as well. When did you turn into such a fuckin’ slut?” he murmured. And then he did bite down on Wesley’s collarbone and Wesley arched and moaned, and Gunn pulled Wesley’s head back even further and kissed him breathless, fucking his mouth with his tongue.

Wesley gasped for breath as Gunn finally let him up for air; on the ropes but not yet admitting defeat as he managed hoarsely: “When did you?”

Like he knew about Gwen. And maybe he did. Maybe as many times as Gunn had been watching Wesley, Wesley had been watching him.

Gunn shoved one hand down the front of Wesley’s pants, seeking the confirmation that Wesley was every bit as painfully hard as he was, erect and leaking. And that made Gunn feel an inch taller all over, and especially where Little Gunn was taking notice, because this had been enough, some kissing and groping and Gunn getting hot and heavy in Wesley’s face, this was enough to get Wesley aching hard and ready to pop. He took Wesley to the brink then left him hanging, the guy unable to disguise how close he was, whimpering with need. Gunn crushed Wesley’s mouth with his, hand on the back of his skull pulling him in deeper, shoving his tongue as far as it would go, thinking about his cock where his tongue was now, thinking about his hand holding Wesley’s face against his cock and Wesley opening like this, throat working, gasping for air but swallowing anyway just because it was Gunn; the hot delicious warmth of Wesley’s mouth a kingdom he’d conquered.

With his other hand he grabbed Wesley’s again and shoved it down his jeans. Wesley tugging at his zipper blindly, pushing his hand in where it was needed, cupping Gunn’s balls, then as their bodies crushed together at Gunn’s growl of urgency, jerking him off just right, funnelling his shaft, slick and hard, his fingers giving him the perfect friction, while Gunn slammed himself against Wesley rhythmically, his fingers cushioning the tattoo his skull would otherwise be beating on the wall. He kept kissing him breathless, slamming his body against his in time to Wes jacking him off, but not letting Wesley grind himself against his hip or his thigh, twisting his body to deny Wesley the friction he needed; making this a hundred percent selfish, a hundred percent all about him. Wesley gasped an inarticulate protest as he let him snatch a gulp of air but then he was holding his head again and fucking his mouth with his tongue, hard thrusts into that delicious wet warmth, letting him know what else he wanted to do to him with the slam-slam-slam of his body against Wesley’s as he pounded him against the wall. And Wesley was taking it, and doing what Gunn wanted, jerking him off so slick and so hard, body squirming for some friction, trying to make contact while Gunn bounced off him over and over, thumping him breathless to the beat of both their hearts.

Wesley gave him one last hard twist of the wrist and fingers and oh god yes – the sensation shot up from the tips of his toes through his balls and ripped a fiery heat all the way up his spine to the top of his skull; and he was coming into Wesley’s hand while Wesley gasped and kept stroking him through it, stripping his cock of the last few pearly drops of seed.

Gunn collapsed against him and for a moment Wesley was holding him up; pants gusting against Gunn’s ear, as they clung to each other like competitors in a dance marathon, snatching breath from the heated air. A few moments and Gunn felt some strength return to his knees. Wesley tentatively reached up to stroke his face, that thumb against his skin, following the line of Gunn’s cheekbone like it was some kind of miracle. Gunn could feel the warmth of that touch, every cell in his body aware of where Wesley was right now; deafened and blinded he could have found him, could have sought out the comfort of his heat. And then Gunn pulled back and zipped himself up in one fluid movement. He made his expression hard; deciding two could play at being enigmatic. “Well, I guess that covers it.”

He watched blue eyes widen in shock and then Wes turned his head away, snatching a breath, still hard, of course, but like someone had just punched him in the solar plexus, like he was made of sawdust and his stuffing was starting to trickle out. Gunn stood and watched Wesley try to find his armour again, still clothed but somehow naked, reaching for the cool, the poise, the brittle shell that told them how much he didn’t need them. But he couldn’t help the look in his eyes as he glanced up at Gunn with all that hurt.

“So this was…payback?” And the hesitation, the expression in those damned pretty eyes – that was vintage Old Wes. So, the guy was still in there, he was just hiding, all this time, keeping his head down so no other bitch slashed his throat.

Gunn just looked at him. “Yeah. It was payback.” That was for New Wes. But Old Wes did the little shoulder slump too; he also had the ‘of course it was, how could you think it could possibly be anything else?’ body language, and that hurt he was feeling – too sharp and new to conceal – Old Wes was feeling that too. Wesley bowed his head and moved away, not making eye contact, zipping himself up and heading straight for the exit out of this particularly cruel piece of humiliation. And he was buying it. The guy who had used to know Gunn like an extension of himself, he was buying this crock of shit without even a moment of doubt. Gunn winced because he didn’t know when he’d turned into this good a player, but he didn’t like the man Wesley thought he had become. It was just lucky for both of them that Wesley was wrong.

He let Wes get out of the door, one step into the corridor, two, before he said it: “Are you stupid?”

Wesley looked at him over his shoulder and it was the same look as when he’d left Angel behind, skinny pretty fucked up New Wes, eyes full of reproach he thought he was keeping hidden. “Apparently.”

Gunn elbowed himself off the wall, grabbed Wesley by the front of his rumpled shirt and pulled him back into the room. Wesley let himself be towed, the way he let himself be kissed, the way he let himself be punched, the way he was going to let Gunn fuck him some time very soon, like half of him wanted it and half of him thought it was just something he deserved. Gunn really was going to have to give him all kinds of therapy before they could get to that point.

“You are so fucked up, you know that?” Gunn told him conversationally. “You’re so fucked up there aren’t even words for how fucked up you are.”

Wesley gave him that snippy look. “And I suppose you’re the poster child for well adjusted?”

“I’m not stupid enough to believe a guy would stick his tongue so far down my throat he can taste what I had for breakfast just because I kissed his girlfriend.”

Light dawned and Wesley gave an awkward little wriggle of half embarrassment and half relief. “Oh…”

“Man, for a smart guy, you’re dumb sometimes. Can you get a hard-on to make a point?”

Wesley was definitely looking Old Wes now, that dropped gaze, the slumped shoulders, the embarrassment at stupidity committed where it had been observed. “You were very convincing.”

“Well, I’m still pissed at you.” Gunn kissed him tenderly, mouth brushing mouth. “Doesn’t mean I don’t have other feelings for you as well.”

“What kind of feelings?”

“The kind that need exploring.” Gunn stroked his hair back, liking the feel of it against his fingers. “Maybe with a map of some kind.” He slid his hand across Wesley’s chest, brushing his thumb across his nipples. Then his mouth was claiming Wesley’s and Wesley was opening up, as if he couldn’t even help himself when Gunn did that ‘cause every hormone Wesley possessed just screamed at him in unison ‘give in’.

Wesley put his head back so Gunn could bite his neck again. “I think you’re more fucked up than I am.”

Gunn snorted. “Wes, man, no one’s more fucked up than you are.”

He tightened his grip on his hair, wanting to keep their eyes level, wanting Wesley’s open. Wesley obediently opened his eyes and they gazed for a long burning moment of comprehension. Gunn slipped his hand down the front of Wesley’s pants and began to stroke him, then kissed him, tenderly, hungrily, over and over; knowing it was just the two of them now, no disguises, no Old Wes or New Wes, just Real Wes, fucked up and insecure and, it turned out, as half in love with Gunn as he was half in love with Fred and half in love with Lilah and half in love with Angel, and that was more halves than any guy should have, but Wes was so many different versions of himself, he could still have all these feelings at all these peaks of intensity without – quite – starting to fragment. Gunn didn’t need every piece of him; he knew that wasn’t an option; he had parts of himself he needed to keep back for a rainy day as well; but he wanted what he got to be real. He kept kissing him over and over, fucking his mouth with his tongue, holding his head hard, crushing their mouths together, Wesley opening up to him, panting, whimpering as Gunn’s hand job brought him closer and closer to a climax he hadn’t thought he would be reaching. Then Gunn leaned in tight and whispered it in his ear, hot and soft:

“Who’s your ruler, baby? Say it, say my name…”

And that was it, Wesley spasmed so hard his spine almost whiplashed; giving a cry he could barely stifle, and saying it, saying “Gunn…” the way Gunn must have dreamed about him saying it, it felt so damned right, all aching and agonized and full of love, as he came into Gunn’s hand with a breathless sob. And then he was in Gunn’s arms, Gunn holding him as his legs gave out, and then lowering them both to the floor, kissing him fiercely because now he knew the truth, that Wes had thought Old Gunn was gone for good too, and with him all the memories of past tenderness.

“I didn’t forget…” Gunn breathed.

He kissed Wesley’s eyes, that were gazing up at him with that same adoration that it turned out had never really gone away; the expression telling him it was maybe okay to tear down all the walls of pride and resentment and hurt and rejection, because Wes was still Wes after all, and that meant he could still be Gunn.

“I missed you, you aggravating unreasonable son of a bitch.” Wesley said wistfully. And Gunn just knew that half an hour ago even electrodes to his testicles wouldn’t have made him say those words.

Gunn nuzzled his neck and then kissed him on the forehead, the way he would have dispensed absolution if his life had taken some wrong turn and he’d ended up a priest. When he held Wesley’s gaze this time he let him see the man that Wesley had been looking for, for all this time, and not finding, the man he still was inside. “I missed you, too, you passive-aggressive pansy-assed fucked-up slut.”

And then they curled together on the floor, damp and not a little sticky, in no way comfortable, salt sweat cooling on their skin, and it was just like old times, except in those days they’d always had to be drunk and this time they’d done it stone cold sober, and this time Gunn didn’t think he would be telling Wes that this could never happen again…

The End
 

 Multi Fandom fic