[Gunnwesley] Fic: Kungai Part One 7/11 (Wesley/Gunn, NC17)

[helenraven]

Title: Kungai Part One 7/11

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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Wesley was the first to speak afterwards. Slowly,
voice still roughened: "Definitely the right thing to
do."

"Yeah. Oh, yeah." A long sigh. "You want me to move?"

"Some time in the next half hour, maybe. You're a good
weight. Not too thin."

"Not lean, that's for sure." Gunn raised himself
enough that they could kiss again - and the kiss felt
different to him from all the kisses they'd had
before: more casual, but much more intimate. Their
bodies knew that they had rights to one another now;
they'd earned them, and here was Gunn's first taste of
that difference.

"Guess I should call my crew. Before they try to call
me."

"They know where you are?"

"Nah. Got my cellphone. But I'm always tellin' 'em how
they gotta check in. So we know we can set the
defences for the night. I made the rules, so...
Haven't had a chance before, t'set an example."

"Because you always know when you're going to be out
all night?"

"Pretty much." In fact, he hadn't dated anyone - not
staying-the-night dated - since the vampires moved in.
Since Denise. But those kinds of details could wait
for another night. "I'll make the call next door, OK?"
He started getting out of bed.

"OK." Wesley's voice was quiet, almost a question; he
must be wondering what Gunn didn't want him to hear.
Gunn wasn't planning on saying anything beyond the
fact that he wouldn't be back until morning, but for
now it just didn't feel right to talk to his crew
while he was naked in the same room as Wesley, while
Wesley was lying in the bed where they'd had sex.
Because that would make it seem like it wasn't a big
deal - and it was a big deal to him, and it would be a
very big deal to his crew. He would explain to Wesley,
but not tonight. He just didn't want to get into any
of that tonight.

Eladio answered the 'phone, and Gunn told him as
planned that that he wouldn't be back until morning.
Eladio didn't ask where he was, though Vince or Dean
would have, and would have been told that it was none
of their business. Gunn went to the kitchen to get a
couple of beers from the fridge, and returned to find
that Wesley was still lying there with the covers
half-off, but with his arm now stretched out across
the sheet.

"D'you wanna beer? Hope so, 'cos I already opened
them."

Wesley sat up quickly - very quickly, suddenly very
alert. "You went to the fridge?" Definitely alert,
almost alarmed. Was he worried that Gunn might have
disturbed Angel somehow, that Angel might have come
out of his room and found Gunn wandering around naked
and sticky? But wouldn't the phone call be more likely
to wake Angel, not someone fetching beers?

"I shut the door 'n' everythin'. Do you want one? If
we're gonna talk all night."

Wesley suddenly smiled and relaxed, and held out his
hand. "Not all night. Unless you can talk while you're
kissing the back of my knee."

Gunn had just got settled with his left arm around
Wesley's waist, when Wesley said, "Actually... Could
you hand me my glasses and put the bedside light on?"

"Sure. What d'you need to check?"

Wesley didn't reply until he had his glasses on, and
until he'd looked at Gunn for what seemed like a
minute. "Exactly how lucky I am. I always want to be
able to see you. From now on."

"Yeah?" Gunn felt like he couldn't stop smiling.
"That'll be good. Does this mean that you... That
you're OK about -"

Wesley was shaking his head. "No. Not really. I don't
know how we..." A sigh. "Angel... When I first came
out of hospital, before we knew each other well enough
to know how to - He had this way of managing not to
see it. Maybe more for his own sake than for mine, but
it helped. And..." Another sigh, harsher. "I have
these things I have to do to get dressed. I couldn't
bear anyone to watch. In the morning, I'll have to ask
you to look away."

"You got it. You c'n ask me to do anythin'. Don't
havta tell me why."

"Charles. Thank you."

They got settled again and drank for a while in
silence, clearly both enjoying the sight of each
other, and of their bodies against one another. Gunn
was thinking that, with the way he felt now, he didn't
ever want to have sex with anyone else. Don't want to
have his arm around any other waist. Feel any hand
except Wesley's on his thigh. Still barely knew this
man but right now... If he wasn't in love with him,
then he didn't know what love would feel like, how a
heart or a body could manage to feel anything more
than this.

So what were they going to do? If they both felt the
same - and Gunn thought they did - and if they still
had those feelings in a week or a month? How much were
they going to let it change their lives?

"What will Angel think of me stayin' the night? Will
it freak him out? Freak him further out, guess I
should say."

"I - I don't -" A sigh and a long pause. "I think
that's his problem."

"You think he'll have a problem with it?"

"I have no idea. But he's not in a good position to
question anyone else's choices. And it's none of his
business."

"And you're gonna tell him that?"

"Yes. Ten or twenty times, if necessary." Angel had
made some bad choices? Gunn was curious, but he'd ask
some other time; he and Wesley must have a hundred
better things to talk about tonight than Angel. Well,
make that ninety-nine, because the next thing Wesley
said was: "So when was the first time you made me
laugh?"

Gunn shrugged. "When I asked if you and Angel were
'dating'." Not that he would have used that word at
the time if he had managed to complete any of his
sentences, but he used it now because he wanted to
make the whole idea ridiculous. Wesley was his. Even
if the rival was only there in his own imagination,
Wesley was his.

"Oh, yes. That time." A fond memory for Wesley, clear
in the tone of his voice.

"So he's completely straight, is he?"

Thoughtful: "I don't know that Angel is 'completely'
anything. As far as that goes, he was involved with a
girl when I first met him. A classmate of Cordelia's."

"Was that how the two of you met?"

"More or less."

Some time later, Gunn said, "I can't get over the idea
you'd noticed me too. Like you'd even put in time
wonderin' who I was dating. I'd been lookin' for
anythin', for you to give any sign I might have a
chance with you. And I still swear I got nothin'. I
mean, way you talked about Cordy! And then all that
about Susan Sarandon and Laura Dern. You couldn't've
given me one clue?"

"That would have meant that I was hoping. And I
wasn't. I couldn't. So I told myself to forget about
it and just look forward to the evening. Which I did."

"Man. I couldn't forget about it. I had to try. Was
prepared to wait a few weeks. Y'know, pickin' up
clues. But I wasn't gonna forget about it till I knew
I had to."

Slowly: "I can scarcely imagine doing that. Have you
always found it easy, making that first move with
someone?"

"Didn't say it was easy. Not with you. But, yeah, been
told no often enough I know it won't kill me."

"No? People say no to you?" Disbelieving.

"Strange, huh? Well, you said no to Cordy."

A groan. "That's not quite -"

Gunn interrupted, firmly. "That's gonna be my version.
And how she came to L.A. to try to forget you. I'd
have to wish her luck with that."

Wesley laughed so hard he nearly spilled his beer.
"Yes. I may borrow that version when you're not using
it. I do like your ideas about my sex life. Maybe we
should just decide that they're all true."

"If you can promise me Angel's gonna know he's met his
match, then sure."

* * * * *

When Gunn woke the next morning, he knew straight away
where he was, whose bed, and God, what a wonderful
fact to wake up to. He was facing away from Wesley and
their bodies weren't touching, so he rolled over, arm
reaching out - and found that Wesley was sitting up in
bed, and wearing a robe that felt cool and thin.

"You up already? What time is it?"

"It's about nine. I had to go and check on Angel."

Gunn hauled himself upright. "You tell him about us?
How'd he take it?"

"He took it very well." A shrug. "In fact, he insisted
I'd already told him. He said he already knew when he
met you last night."

"Oh. What you think that's about?"

"It's about the damage to his brain. There's nothing
to read into it. He does strange things with
information."

"OK. You had a shower too? Your hair's still damp."

"I usually get dressed before I check on him in the
mornings. But that didn't seem right when you were
still asleep."

"What about shaving?" Gunn smiled, and reached out to
place his hand on Wesley's face and rub his thumb
along Wesley's chin. "Just wondering how long each
morning I'll get to see you with the stubble."

Wesley smiled back, and pushed against Gunn's hand.
"You like stubble?"

"I like you. I like every new thing about you I
couldn't've guessed. This makes you look so different.
'n' I could already stare at you for hours."

"Different how?"

Years younger. And hopeful. Innocent, kind of. Like
he'd never been hurt. And his mouth... Against the
stubble his mouth looked so red and full. It looked so
tender.

Gunn had been horny from the moment he'd woken up: a
steady, all-over horny, no real focus, happy just to
simmer. But looking at Wesley's mouth, thinking the
words to describe it, and suddenly Gunn was burning up
with wanting to fuck that mouth. Not just fuck it but
claim it, make it know there was only one cock in the
world that could ever be real to it. God, so fierce,
the wanting so fierce Gunn was shocked he could feel
it - like it came from nowhere, like it came from
someone else. He tried to push the feeling down, tried
just to feel how he had when he first woke up.

"Oh, different like... Not lookin' anythin' like an
accountant. More like how I'd've imagined a demon
expert would look. If you'd asked me before I saw you
at work in your suit. With your books. Y'know, doin'
it your way. 's kinda sexy, though, t'see that you're
both."

Wesley looked shy and pleased and uncertain, and Gunn
caught his breath as the blood slammed into his cock,
thought he might've rocked like he'd been punched. His
hand had started to shake and he took it away from
Wesley's face, not trusting himself now to touch
Wesley.

Course this wasn't from nowhere. Course it came from
him. Was it...? Was it Wesley looking different, but
acting the same? Seeing Wesley gone distant, every
line in his face a warning to keep away, that you
couldn't know him? Seeing that and needing to break
through, needing it fierce. And right to need it, 'cos
when he was through Wesley would look at him like he
was now: like he was thinking this was too good, he
couldn't believe it, he hadn't let himself hope.
Looking at Gunn like that, while his face was still
giving the same warning to everyone else in the world.
So Gunn was hooked, through his cock, his heart, his
throat. And Wesley had no idea, because Wesley
expected nothing.

"As long as you like the accountant, too. Because
that's the only part I can ever see. I mean, sitting
here, I was never going to do anything except watch
you sleeping. But I still had to bring my Sanskrit
Grammar in with me, pretend it was an ordinary day.
The demon expert would have done better."

The book was open face-downwards in Wesley's lap. Gunn
touched the spine, and struggled to keep his voice
even. "Is this for the translation? The one you have
to finish today?"

"Yes, I've been -" Wesley broke off, and stared at
him, frowning. "What's wrong? You sound as if you're
in pain."

Gunn shook his head, made his best try at casual, a
grin, even. "It's the stubble. Got me so hard, so
fast, I could - Too hard. Want to take you." He closed
his eyes, swallowed. "Don't worry. I'll take care of
it. You don't have to..."

"You think I'll be worried that you want me?"

"Like this, yeah. The moment you touched me, I'd be -
I'd be so far past bein' able to think about you. It'd
be bad. Let me deal with it."

"No." Steely. Ice-cold. Another aspect of Wesley.
Another aspect Gunn hadn't suspected until it was
looking right at him. "Not under my roof. Will you
take my mouth or do you need to fuck me?"

Gunn gave a raw cry, clawed back the covers, and
seized himself, desperate - now beyond wanting
anything specific, even beyond wanting Wesley, aware
of little except the furnace between his legs. He was
vaguely aware of Wesley crouched over him, trying to
pull his hand away, get some purchase on his bucking
hips, but it would have taken maybe three men, each
with two strong arms, to make his hips and his hand
stop what they were doing. 

By the time it was over, he had slid halfway down the
bed. He lay, gasping and quivering, while Wesley
slowly licked the come from his belly - feeling the
rasp of stubble and the cold tracing of glass and
metal along with soft, liquid warmth, and feeling like
he was the one who had been claimed, and thoroughly,
thoroughly fucked.

They kissed for a long time, while Gunn's pulse slowed
to the same steady pace as Wesley's. "What about you?
What do you need? I've never done that with a man.
Fucking. Not yet."

Wesley was shaking his head. "It can wait. Everything.
Until this evening. I mean, I can wait. For whatever
we're both in the mood for. This evening. I have to
deliver the translation before five. So... any time
after six?"

"OK, I'll -" Gunn swore and banged his head hard,
twice, back against the pillow. "I'm on patrol. And
tomorrow, too. Every night except Tuesdays and
Fridays."

"What time do you finish?"

"Two? Three? Depends what's out there. Oh, damn!"

"What's the matter? Come over when you're finished."

"And make you wait up like that? When it could be any
time? You've got work, you've got Angel. You can't do
that every night."

"Then why don't you call when you're ready to come
over? I'm a light sleeper. I'll be awake then when you
arrive. Except..." A sudden frown. "If Angel gets a
tip-off and we have to go out. If I don't answer after
fifteen rings or more, that's what's happened."

"Then I'll call the next morning. Maybe meet you for
lunch? If Angel's OK to be left that long."

Gunn left the apartment just after ten, after he'd had
a shower and shared a coffee with Wesley. He didn't go
straight back to the base, but stopped at the same
diner, partly to give himself more time, but mostly
because he still needed breakfast. Wesley had nothing
but the plainest vanilla yogurts, and Gunn needed
something sweet in the morning, something with carbs.
He sat in the same window booth as he had the previous
week and ordered coffee and apple pie, same as then
too - wanting the same there, to mark how everything
else was different. Wesley had said yes, and
everything, everything was different.

When the pie arrived, Gunn sank his fork into it,
broke off a good chunk - and then left the fork on the
plate, left his coffee to go cold. What was food when
he could live for a month on this sizzling, amazed,
excited feeling? The feeling seemed larger than he
was, all the time bubbling up right in the core of
him, and pushing out and up, up to his throat. And his
throat... His throat was glowing with remembering the
shape of Wesley in his mouth; and it was like the
memories were just seconds old, not hours. Gunn sat
and stared out the window, and found he couldn't stop
smiling.

Once he was back at the base, he did managed to act
normally around his crew. Not difficult, really, since
all he had to do was imagine how they'd react if they
knew exactly why he was smiling. The day had its quiet
moments, and on an ordinary day he would have had ten
different ideas for filling the quiet, depending on
who was around; and none of the ideas would have
involved taking the truck out and parking a few blocks
away, and sitting for half an hour doing nothing but
be in love with Wesley.

The third quiet time was around seven in the evening,
and he knew, driving back, that it would be the last
one that day. From here on it was the evening meal,
then the week's finances, then preparation for patrol,
and then out in the truck again, but not alone, not
able to stop and close his eyes and see his skin
against Wesley's - this picture, and that picture, and
this moment - and oh how they were different, and how
well they fit. But after patrol... He'd be able to go
back to Wesley's bed, after patrol.

Unless Angel got a tip-off, and Wesley had to go out.

The idea made Gunn go cold, froze the bubbling inside
him, and twisted the frozen shards. A night alone in
his own bed: ordinary the day before, welcome rest at
the end of a full day; now, unnatural, hardly
bearable. He wouldn't go to bed alone, if he couldn't
go with Wesley; he'd spend the night in the truck
outside their apartment, not waiting for him even,
just needing to be there. What would Wesley think,
though, if he did come back and find Gunn waiting?
Would he think Gunn was crazy, scary crazy?

No. No, Wesley would understand. Wesley felt the same,
didn't he? "Not under my roof." That was the same
feeling. They had to be together, they had to be
close. That fierce, for both of them.

But what if it was a bad tip-off, one of those that
meant Angel had to be locked in? Wesley would call,
wouldn't he? Ask for help. He wouldn't try to go out
on his own? The ache of need inside Gunn turned
suddenly into the sharp pain of real fear. Wesley
might. He might go out on his own. He must have done
in the past, because Angel had got like that before,
hadn't he?

Yes, he'd gone out on his own and he'd come back.
Because he was tough, and smart, and Angel had taught
him well. And Gunn already knew that Wesley was smart
enough to ask for help when he needed it.

But this time Wesley knew that Gunn would be on
patrol. That might stop him from asking, if he thought
the crew might be doing something as important as the
tip-off. Gunn should have thought of that, he should
have told Wesley straight away that the patrol didn't
make any difference, that he could call any time.
Well, he'd tell him now.

Gunn counted at least twenty rings before Wesley's
'phone was picked up.

"Yes."

"Angel. Uh... It's Charles. Is Wesley there?"

"No."

"Do you know when he'll be back? Do you know where
he's gone?"

A long pause. "Wesley comes back."

"That's right. Did he take his sword? Or his axe? Did
you have a tip-off?"

Another pause, even longer. "He was late."

"Late? For the tip-off?" Then more slowly: "Or do you
mean he was late with the translation? Is he out
delivering his translation?"

"When he comes back."

Gunn spent at least ten seconds trying to make sense
of Angel's reply, then gave up. "Can I leave a message
for him? Can you write a message down?"

"Write a message?"

"Yes. Angel, please tell Wesley he can always call me
if he needs help. It doesn't matter if I'm on patrol."
Gunn couldn't hear any sounds of writing. "Will you be
able to tell Wesley that?"

"Tell Wesley?"

"Tell him to call me tonight if he needs help. Please,
Angel, will you write it down? Show Wesley the message
when he comes back."

A sound that might have been a yes, and then Angel
hung up. OK. So the chances of Angel passing the
message on were obviously zero. But he might still
tell Wesley that Gunn had called; and then Wesley
would probably call back.

Wesley didn't call back, and Gunn spent the next few
hours feeling as distracted as Wesley had seemed a
week ago after they'd killed the Lurgan. All Gunn's
attention was on that apartment in Inglewood - like
Wesley's must have been - and he was willing Wesley to
be there, almost praying for it. Let Wesley be there,
safe. And let Wesley be there, waiting for him.


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