[Gunnwesley] Fic: Kungai Part Five 9/20 (Wesley/Gunn, NC17)

[helenraven]

Title: Kungai Part Five 9/20

Author: Helen Raven

Email: helenraven at talk21.com

Pairing: Wesley/Gunn

Summary: The full history of the relationship between
Gunn and Wesley in the Birthdayverse. A novel in six
parts.

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit, not even a blip
on the litigation radar.

The Story's Home Page: http://www.kelper.co.uk/kungai

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Anne called in the evening, when Gunn and Wesley were
about to go for training. Lindsey had got back to her,
and the news was much better than she'd expected:
Wolfram and Hart were going to ask the clients, all
the clients. The partners had made the decision very
quickly, stated the firm's position very clearly. A
person might consider buying a Tak horn if told it was
an antique, like buying an ancient ivory chess-set.
One accepts the cruelties of the distant past - what
else can one do? People were different then, though
ignorance. But to find that you'd been tricked into
taking part in such a crime, into bringing it into
your own home... Yes, Wolfram and Hart knew that their
clients would want to know.

So Lindsey needed a full list of the items, as much
detail as possible; he'd be waiting for the call or
the fax from whoever was running the case. Gunn called
Swift and gave her Lindsey's details, and took the
chance to remind her that she'd promised to warn him
if he needed to get Wesley out of town. She acted like
she thought he was joking - a lot had happened since
she'd made the promise, and no one she knew had
thought of Wesley in days. Of course she'd warn him,
but she wouldn't ever need to.

Training was better. Gunn was still fired up from his
afternoon of work, and he thought that made most of
the difference; he was in-the-moment, forgetting to
worry about Wesley and Wesley's imagination, and he
drew Wesley in too.

Back home Wesley cooked, then he went to the bedroom
and Gunn watched TV and played with the computer.
Wesley wouldn't read, nothing except the newspaper and
his translation books. He said Angel didn't want to
read either. Gunn would wait a week, then see if he
could bribe Angel into wanting to read.

Wesley wasn't sleeping well. No surprise. Some of his
nightmares were noisy, frantic; others a long, low
moaning and there were some where he snarled like
Angelus. Wesley never wanted to tell Gunn what he'd
been dreaming, and he didn't even want Gunn to wake
him up. "It's only a nightmare. It's not going to kill
me. Obviously, if it's stopping you from sleeping...
But I think you'll get used to it, like we got used to
Angel."

Yeah, he probably would, and wasn't that sick? He
could feel it settling into place, their new routine.
Every day (every night) looking the same for Wesley.
Except for his meetings with Lilah on Wednesdays
morning when he'd shave and wear his chinos and a
sweater. And the training with the crew on Wednesdays
and Sundays, when he'd be so normal, laughing with
George, taking in all the news and gossip, talking his
share of crap during the breaks - and then shutting
down the second they were out of sight in the truck,
blank and withdrawn like Angel huddled in his corner.
He wouldn't speak until the next morning, and once not
until the next afternoon.

But he didn't say those terrible things any more, he
didn't cry (or not that Gunn could see). He seemed to
enjoy the training - no, not having to act normal for
the crew, but he enjoyed the fighting, would talk
about it when he was ready to talk. And he liked
cooking, wanted Gunn to think about what he asked for,
really care about it. Gunn started looking through
Wesley's cookbooks, not knowing how to describe many
of the dishes he liked, and they talked about food
more than they ever had. Strange, with Wesley still
leaving at least half of most meals. But then Wesley
was a strange man.

* * * * *

Angel had his next vision on a Saturday night, when
Gunn was on his way back from the beach-house. A group
of five or six vamps were crashing a party at Wilson
College. Gunn was less than ten minutes away, Wesley
more than twenty. Room 918, Bonner Hall. Gunn would go
straight in - he had crosses and holy water in the
truck, enough for the college kids to hold the vamps
off until Wesley arrived. The leader of the vamps was
a blonde female. Elizabeth, Wesley thought. Low-cut
blouse, heart-shaped locket. She had the invitation,
she'd get the others in.

Gunn arrived just after the vamps, though it took him
several minutes to be sure of that (working hard to
blend in, to look like any other student with a heavy
sports bag), to find someone who'd seen the blonde
chick turn up, saying she'd met Jude at the pier, and
she knew he hadn't said, but friends were OK, right?
Well, the blonde was over there with Shep. The
others... Dunno. Looked like they hadn't stuck
together. Wow. Actual mingling. At a party and all.

That wasn't mingling, it was infiltration. They were
all around the room. Gonna be difficult. Gunn wanted
to warn the kids, hand out crosses and holy-water, but
the moment he tried there'd be someone yelling,
"Vampires? Oh, man, what a joke!" and then that had to
be five kids dead.

Wait for Wesley? But Wes would blow their cover for
sure, Wes would never blend in here, even without the
crossbows. So be ready to use the surprise? Get to the
back of the room, between the two vamps who were
closest together. Keep track of the other three. And
when Wes appeared in the doorway, stake the first two
from behind, and then keep the others too busy to have
time to feed. He sent a text message to Wesley to go
straight in with his crossbow, and then he started to
move into position; casual, grabbing two beers on the
way like he was threading through to join a friend.

He got his two vamps like he planned, and that and
Wesley put the other three enough off-balance. So even
with all the kids in the way, a whole roomful of
hostages, the vamps never got close to playing it
smart. Wesley got the blonde and the other nearest the
door, and Gunn took the last.

Some of the kids had bruises, cuts from glass broken
in the panic. And some were talking about suing Wesley
and Gunn, and their asshole friends in the masks, who
couldn't have gone far. Who was it who'd put them up
to such a fucking stupid stunt? Who?

Nothing they could do except offer to take the kids to
hospital, then shrug and walk out. No one really tried
to stop them (Wesley was slung with weapons), and no
one followed them down to get the number of the truck
or the car.

Wesley thought it was funny, the kids all so clear on
what they hadn't seen, no one, not even on an evening
of beers, saying, "But how did they do that? I mean,
where it looked like she turned to dust?" Stupid
stunt, not worth thinking about. They lived in such a
safe world and they'd been able to stay there, and
Wesley wouldn't want it any different.

Gunn laughed too, but as they were maintaining and
restocking their weapons he felt like he was counting
down the minutes, waiting for Wesley to close down
again, like he did after training. But no, Wesley
stayed relaxed, even said yes when Gunn offered him a
beer. They sat on the couch and talked about college
kids: what they were like in England, the Greek
system, Matt.

Wesley had got back to normal. That was what he'd
needed, not time or the right word from Gunn, but the
chance to kill a couple of vamps, save a roomful of
people. That simple. All he needed to remind him of
all the other visions, how he'd devoted his life to
saving people, risked his life over and over. Enough
of that crap about feeling like a disease: he should
feel like a cure, hundreds of people could tell him
that, Gunn should have told him but Wesley remembered
for himself now. And he was laughing and drinking beer
and wanting to sit and talk to Gunn; and Gunn could
feel the heat in the air between them, his skin
buzzing with the pull towards Wesley. You'd think he'd
be hard immediately, the wait had been so long, but
instead it was a slow simmer, like the last stages of
a good date.

"Another?" Wesley had drained his beer and looked
about to get up.

Gunn had started planning for this five minutes ago.
He turned to half-kneel on the couch and put his hand
on Wesley's stomach; and then his cock caught up, at
the thought of the skin under the T-shirt and sliding
his hand under. "I'd rather take you to bed."

Wesley sighed and sank back and closed his eyes, but
it wasn't an "Oh, yes" sigh. Not an "Oh, no" sigh,
either. Maybe "Oh, I don't know". And "I wish I'd had
warning." His cock knew, though, suddenly standing out
plain against the corduroy.

Gunn rubbed with his fingertips, just slightly,
feeling the skin of Wesley's stomach yield and shift,
and seeing the effect between Wesley's legs. Wesley
gave another of those sighs and jerked his head,
frowning deeply. Impossible to tell what he was
thinking, except that he was thinking hard.

"Or I could take you right here." Almost a whisper,
and Gunn slid his hand down and covered Wesley's cock;
and tasted sweet saliva gathering in his mouth: for
kissing, for sucking, anything.

"No. No. Not here." Wesley was pushing Gunn's arm
away. He was breathless.

"So say where. Anywhere. "

"Oh." A long sigh, and Wesley stared at Gunn for five,
ten seconds, then: "Get ready for bed, will you?"

"Don't have to ask me twice." Gunn was already off the
couch. He took Wesley's beer and put both bottles on
the coffee table, then reached out for Wesley's hand,
to pull him to his feet.

Wesley shook his head. "I'll get ready after you."

When Gunn came out of the bathroom, Wesley was
standing a few feet from the bathroom door. He was
looking up at Angel on the screen, and he didn't turn
round for Gunn. Angel was stuck fast in the vision,
same as he had been since they got back, calling out
warnings about the female, trying to hide, then the
next second throwing himself into the attack, roaring
with fury.

Gunn put his hands on Wesley's waist. Lightly, not
pulling Wesley back even a fraction, making his cock
keep a good inch away from Wesley's ass. "English?" No
response from Wesley. "You know he'll still be there
tomorrow. Y'got me ready now."

Wesley put his hand over Gunn's then slowly turned,
like he was pulling himself around on Gunn's arm.
"You've been ready before, haven't you? What have you
been doing?"

What any guy would do. But maybe Wes wanted to hear
him say it. "Jerking off. " A nod of the head towards
the bathroom. "In there."

"What do you think about?"

Gunn shrugged. "Stuff from here and there. Depends.
Gettin' you naked. What it was like when you had the
dressing on your hand. A long rubdown. What if we'd
said yes to Angel that time."

"Do you think about... being angry with me? Wanting
to... show me?"

" 'cos it's been so long?" Wesley shrugged, and Gunn
shook his head. "Been through it myself. When things
were bad with the crew. How'd I be angry? 'n' when I
was jerkin' off... Wouldn't think it then anyway,
defeat the point. What d'you want me to think about?"

A long sigh, and Wesley looked away for a few seconds.
Very quietly, voice tense: "Loving me."

"Hell, you got that," and Gunn was pulling him close
and then they were kissing. Wesley tasted of beer, and
Gunn knew he must taste of mint to Wesley, and he
liked that difference: the reminder of the evening,
how they'd earned the wind-down on the couch, and the
promise of bed.

"Here?" Gunn had his hand at the buckle of Wesley's
belt, thumb starting to ease the leather through,
fingers pushing down between the trousers and the
T-shirt. "Feels like we're both ready."

"No. No." Wesley pulled away, panting, then nodded
towards the bedroom. "In there. I need - In there."

Gunn went in first, sat on the edge of the bed, and
had his clothes off within half a minute. Then he
turned the bedside light on, and knelt up on the bed
to wait for Wesley.

"No. Please. Turn it off." And Wesley had just drawn
the drapes, too.

Gunn didn't hesitate, but when the light was off and
Wesley was sitting in his chair and unlacing his
shoes, Gunn said, "What's wrong? With the light."

A pause, then: "Seeing you. It would be too much. I
need... less."

Gunn laughed. "Well, you're damn fine yourself. Yeah,
don't need more than a tenth what you got."

Wesley didn't laugh back, just lay down on the bed.
He'd only taken his shoes off but now he was releasing
his belt, and now pulling the zipper down. Gunn felt
his way over to kneel on either side of Wesley's right
leg, put his hands on Wesley's hips ready to pull
those godawful pants right off as soon as Wesley
arched himself up.

"No. That's enough." Not even to mid-thigh. Just
enough to let his cock out - which he was doing for
himself. Gunn put his hand between Wesley's legs,
moved it up till it met Wesley's hand; and at the
first touch of the moist, tender skin, so yielding,
over such hardness, he gave a tearing groan and threw
himself down, sucking, licking, and dragging his
teeth, too, over Wesley's knuckles as he forced his
tongue under Wesley's fingers, needing to reach more,
needing everything.

Wesley was making small sounds, half-surprise, all
pleasure. He slowly pulled his hand away, over Gunn's
lips then up to his cheek; kept it there for a long
time, like he needed to be near Gunn's mouth, ride the
movement of Gunn's jaw, and then, when Gunn's finger
started pressing into him, he suddenly grabbed for the
back of Gunn's head and held tight. He was calling
Gunn his darling, his love, his good, good Charles.

Gunn came very soon after Wesley, rubbing himself
against Wesley's leg, with Wesley still half-hard in
his mouth, and Wesley's ass (so hot, so eager) still
clutching at his finger.

Wesley wouldn't get undressed, he wouldn't get into
bed, not even when Gunn got cold enough to shiver. So
Gunn got up and put on his robe, and then they fitted
back together into the same kiss.

* * * * *

Wesley wasn't in the bed when Gunn woke on Sunday
morning - he wasn't even in the apartment. The car was
out where he'd parked it the night before, his
cellphone was on his desk. He hadn't made coffee, and
there was no beaker drying on the rack so he hadn't
fed Angel, either - though Angel didn't look able to
be fed, crouched in his corner, tearing at himself,
banging his head against the wall.

So Wesley had either gone for a walk - just possible
early on a fresh Sunday morning - or he was downstairs
doing laundry. Gunn checked the laundry basket, and
then headed straight down to the laundry room.

Not even the chair this time: Wesley was sitting on
the floor with his back to the drier, hunched like
Angel when Wesley was mad at him. He hadn't been
crying, but god it looked like he'd been hating
himself. Angel did that loudly, enough to shake the
room, but Wesley did it so quietly.

Gunn stood in the doorway for about a minute. He only
had one new idea for what to say: to remind Wesley
about all the people he'd saved, and he couldn't
imagine launching straight into that. Finally he went
over and knelt down next to Wesley and said, "Are you
thinkin' what you're usually thinkin'? Or's this
somethin' else? You were - more like you used to be,
last night. I thought maybe you'd worked something
out."

A long pause, then quietly, hard like a splinter: "I
forgot. I let myself forget."

"Wha'd'you forget?"

"What I really am. What I was - made for."

Made for sitting on a cement floor. Getting up at dawn
to wash his boyfriend's come out of his clothes.
"Sounds like you are thinkin' the usual."

A nod that was partly a shrug, and a turning away; all
slight, like it didn't matter to him, couldn't matter
to Gunn.

"So what're you sayin'?" Gunn tried to keep his voice
quiet, like he was asking some harmless question about
English college kids. "That I'll be jerkin' off in the
bathroom from now until... I dunno... we're gettin'
sent out to save the grandkids of the guys from that
party." He took a deep breath and tried again for
quiet. "Know that sounds like I'm... It's not about
me. 'n' of course you've took it hard, don't wanna
meet the guy who could just shrug it off, but..." A
quick shake of the head. "I don't think you forgot,
last night, I think you remembered: that you're a good
man." Wesley flinched and brought his hand up to his
face, held it like he was shielding his eyes from
Gunn. "You're good, Wes. You're brave and honest and
you never count the cost, not to yourself, and you
worry about the strangest shit - when it comes to
keeping yourself straight, keeping other people
straight. And everyone can see that. You're well past
due for givin' yourself a break, for swearing off that
crazy shit you been talkin'. And last night... Yeah,
you were still kinda fucked up but you coulda made it
a start. You don't have to do this, man." And then he
sighed, shrugged, and stepped back to lean against the
door and wait for Wesley's reply. He'd give it five
minutes, and then he'd go make coffee.

Less than half a minute, and Wesley slowly got to his
feet. He turned, rested his hand on the top of the
drier, and then started talking to some spot on the
wall just above the washer. "I'd be glad to suck you
off. Whenever you needed. But I couldn't do it like a
lover. So you might prefer to imagine..."

"Imagine!" Gunn had jerked away from the wall like it
had given him a shock. "What's it mean, then, when you
call a man your 'darling'? That he knows how you take
your coffee? Or - What happened to you last night?
What the hell've you been thinking? Why would you say
that?"

Finally Wesley looked at him. Very slowly: "I can't
have... pleasure. I shouldn't be - I shouldn't have
that freedom. When I look at what I am. What I've
always been. The cost of that, to other people. If I
count that cost..." He shook his head, over and over.
"How could I let myself take anything?"

A long pause, then Gunn said, "What're the three most
fucked-up things about what you just said? That I'm
thinkin' right now? Know you're smart enough to find
ten, but I just want y'r best three."

Wesley sighed and looked down at the washer, which was
reaching the peak of a spin cycle. "That it doesn't do
anyone else any good, if I live like a monk, it
doesn't make up for anything. That I'm making you live
like a monk too, when you're the last person who
deserves... And what about all the people I've helped,
who'd be sending cases of champagne to our door every
day, if only they knew our address." Gunn had them in
a different order, but he wouldn't mark Wesley down
for that. "That doesn't..." Eyes back to Gunn.
"Charles. I woke up. And I heard a car pull up outside
and the doors slammed. And I imagined... If there'd
been a trial. For me. They'd finally organised it,
they'd finally decided I had to be - And they'd met,
and they'd heard everything. I could imagine how
they'd been when they passed judgement: hardly even
angry, just sad. That I'd been allowed to -" A
shudder, then he shook his head and swallowed. "That
I'd been allowed to do so much damage for so long. And
the sound of the car pulling up, that meant it was
over, they were coming to take me away. To
somewhere... where they could make sure there was
nothing more I could ever do. Not just this morning. I
imagine that almost every morning. At almost any sound
from the street. And I'm always..."

"Disappointed. When they don't break down the door."

Wesley nodded. "I'd have to explain, anyway. About
Angel and the visions. That they couldn't take me. But
it's what - It would be right. On so many levels."

He'd fallen asleep in Gunn's arms, and woken up
wanting to be beaten senseless in a demon jail cell.
So what else would you do, then, but get up and do
laundry?

Gunn sighed and shrugged. "You made a mistake, Wes,
but..." Another sigh. "I'm sick of saying that and
you're sick of hearing it. I'm going back up to make
the coffee. And I'll bring you one, don't care if you
want it or not. And sit in the chair, for God's sake."

A small smile, and Wesley nodded. "Thank you."

* * * * *


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