[Gunnwesley] Fic: Kungai Part Two 5/12 (Wesley/Gunn, NC17)

[helenraven]

Title: Kungai Part Two 5/12

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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"You haven't taken your eyes off the screen in at
least twenty minutes." Gunn had been aware that Wesley
had stopped reading, had been moving quietly around
the room. In the process Wesley must have watched
enough of the game to know when he should speak, since
he'd chosen a gap between levels 22 and 23.

Gunn paused the game and turned, hooking his elbow
over the back of the chair. "Have you never played one
of these things?"

"Not since I was in school. A friend had a BBC, I
think it was. There was one term we must have spent
every spare hour playing adventure games. But in those
days it was like reading a book. You'd type in 'turn
left' and then on the screen it would say 'You are
standing in front of an archway with a rusted iron
gate. Through the archway you can see...' And so on.
There weren't any pictures. And you weren't against
the clock."

"And then you grew out of it?"

"I think so. He made some new friends. Things changed.
Games changed too, and what I saw of the shooting
games didn't appeal to me. There was nothing you could
say about playing them except what score you'd got.
You couldn't discuss your decisions, couldn't share
anything. It wasn't a discovery."

"It gonna bug you that I like shoot-em-ups? Way more
than this." He nodded at the screen.

Wesley laughed and came forward to stand by the chair,
his hand stroking Gunn's shoulder. "I look forward to
boasting about your scores to Angel." Gunn reached up
to take Wesley by the neck of his shirt, and brought
him down so their lips touched.

Wesley was obviously in one of his slow and serious
moods, from the amount of time he was insisting on
spending just easing Gunn's mouth open. In a girl,
Gunn would have found such slow-motion foreplay creepy
- a bad sign about what she expected sex to be like -
but with Wesley it was exciting.

"You know..." A whisper against Gunn's cheek.
"Watching you play I was thinking, there must be a
word for someone who's trying to decide whether to
interrupt a young man... a younger man... who's in the
middle of a computer game. For wondering how long you
might have to wait before he'll stop and you can ask
him if he's ready to take you to bed and fuck you."

Gunn gasped, then lurched to his feet and dragged
Wesley towards the bedroom. "Sure there's a word. It's
'idiot'. Like there was anything to decide. Like I'd
ever not be ready."

Gunn had put his fingers in Wesley often enough by
then that he knew the feelings that got him worried
most that he was hurting Wesley, and he also knew he
wouldn't get an answer either way from asking Wesley.
Wesley never really seemed to hear the question, would
just grunt and shake his head, and push against Gunn,
far harder than Gunn would have dared. Gunn wanted to
take the head-shake as a simple no ("No, no, of course
you're not."), but it wasn't, it was raw impatience.
But Wesley only got impatient with the question, not
when Gunn went slow and careful, so Gunn did what he'd
done before when it was just his fingers, and stroked
and coaxed and opened Wesley as carefully as he knew
how; then he pushed his cock in slowly, so slowly,
using the width of his thumb and counted heartbeats to
pace himself, fighting every second against the urge
to slam in as deep as he could go, get his cock as
much of this incredible feeling as he could.

Once he was all the way in he lay on top of Wesley
like he was exhausted at the end of a race, finally
giving up control over his breathing and letting
himself pant and gasp against the crook of Wesley's
neck, and moan whenever Wesley clenched around him.

He thought, "Wesley, I love you. I love you," then
gathered himself and stretched forward to kiss
Wesley's shoulder. He moaned again at the taste of
Wesley's sweat and then when he felt Wesley's pulse
under his tongue. Wesley sighed, and lifted his head
back to roll his cheek against the curve of Gunn's
skull; and Gunn felt the working of Wesley's back
muscles all the way down his body, nearly to his cock.
He pushed forward to meet the movement and found
himself rocking his hips against Wesley's. He was
still pressed in tight, but even so he could flex and
twist and ride; and soon he was wondering if he was
really feeling what he thought: that Wesley was
changing around him, getting fitted to his shape, and
fitted so well that anyone who went inside him from
now on would know that there was just one cock that he
wanted. Not really possible, not really, but didn't
you have to imagine something almost-impossible when
you heard the change in Wesley's voice? After all
those slow, wondering moans and sighs... to bring him
so quickly to such sharp, wild cries of total
excitement.

Gunn didn't want them to come yet, he wanted to learn
how to fuck Wesley, a real, slippery, pumping fuck. He
didn't want to have to wait until the next time, even
if that would be just this same night. He slowed then
stilled, and lay on Wesley like he had before. Their
bodies gradually became almost calm, Gunn's more
quickly than Wesley's.

"You're right, I'm an idiot. To think I waited so
long, when I could have had this."

Gunn laughed quietly, then said very quietly, "Wes?
This is the best thing I've ever done." In bed, Wes
would think he meant. But Gunn could also believe, in
that moment, that the two of them were doing something
that the world needed, that they were taking their
part in something secret and important.

"Oh, Charles." Hushed. "Yes."

Gunn kissed Wesley's neck again and they murmured at
one another for a while, falling silent whenever
Wesley's muscles tightened along the length of Gunn's
cock - trying to push him out, but instead making him
want to stay forever - and afterwards they were more
urgent each time, more direct, almost competing in
telling each other how good this was feeling.

With each contraction, the throbbing in Gunn's cock
took longer to fade afterwards from insistent to just
hungry. Soon there wouldn't be anything except
insistent. They couldn't lie and murmur for much
longer. One last open-mouthed kiss, almost a bite, and
then he lifted himself off Wesley's back. "Wesley.
What sort of fuck do you want me to give you? What are
you ready for?" Really: how hard can I take you and
know I won't hurt you? But he still didn't trust
Wesley to answer that question properly.

"I want you to make me feel it for a week."

Gunn closed his eyes, bit his lip, and thought as hard
as his body would let him. Finally: "OK, I'll give you
that on one condition..." He waited until Wesley
grunted for him to continue. "You have to keep lettin'
me know what you like. And what you don't like. You go
quiet on me, I'll think you're lettin' me do something
I'll regret."

Breathless: "I won't go quiet. I'll let you know
everything."

Gunn only found one thing Wesley didn't like: Gunn
trying to make him come, when he wanted Gunn to be
working only on the fucking. "Not now. Not now. Don't
need it like that. Too much. Wasted." For what he
liked he used even fewer words, but Gunn would have
believed the pleasure in his voice even without any
words.

Afterwards there was a long, long time where Gunn's
mind felt wiped clean, like it would never think
again. He was still inside Wesley, though being pushed
out fraction by fraction now that he was softening;
and the idea that he couldn't make himself stay seemed
like the saddest thing in the world. Wesley was tense
underneath him, heart pounding, and Wesley's noises
now were close to begging.

"Now?" Gunn shifted so that he could reach his hand
around.

"Yes. Please."

Wesley's coming was quick and violent, punching the
breath from Gunn's chest, and also pushing Gunn's cock
the rest of the way out of Wesley's body. Gunn sighed,
slumped along with Wesley, and lay thinking about what
they'd done, what it made him.

This was a different league. Fooling around with your
best friend; once in a while - a long while - getting
the mood to suck off the first guy you found who was
close enough to the look of that best friend. Never
looking for more, not usually even a name. That was
kids' stuff, almost. Safe. Close to home. This was a
different league. The Gunn who'd led the crew never
could have suspected that anyone - let alone himself -
could be truly, tenderly in love with that part of
another man's body. Gunn see how it was going to be,
how it would drive him near-crazy sometimes: so many
hours in every day when he simply couldn't be where he
wanted.

"Charles, can you lift up? I want to turn over."

The longest kiss in the world. They were both drenched
with sweat, thighs, chests slicked together, hands
sliding where they couldn't grip.

"Is it always like that?" Gunn felt like his voice
sounded different. Deeper. Or slower. Needing more
room. But different somehow, and it would be saying
new things.

"God, no." A pause. "Like what, though? What aspect
were you thinking of?"

What aspect? An "aspect" of fucking? Wesley cracked
him up. "The aspect where when I said it was the best
thing I'd ever done, I didn't know the half of it
then. Oh, Wes, could be you'll wish you'd never got me
started."

"No, never. Never."

Some time later Gunn said, "There're other aspects?"

Wesley looked for a few seconds like he'd forgotten
what they'd been talking about. Then: "Well, I'm not
often in the mood to feel quite this sore afterwards.
I feel a hundred and fifty percent fucked. Usually a
hundred percent is enough."

"C'n I ask how sore? Or you gonna just grunt at me
again?"

"Throbbing beautifully. Very much awake. But hoping
you'll help cover for me in our next few training
sessions."

Gunn laughed. "Cover for you? Angel's gonna get a
surprise you're walkin' tomorrow, after what he
must've heard."

Wesley pulled a face. "I'm also hoping that this falls
straight into one of the many chasms in his memory."

"Yeah, and the next fifty times. You think he puts his
pillow over his head? Or maybe his ear to the door."

Firmly: "I do not think about that, at all. Perverse,
Charles. As long as he says nothing, we do not ever
need to think about that."

Gunn couldn't tell how much Wesley was joking, acting
the uptight Brit while they both knew they got a
charge from the idea of Angel. On the other hand, the
idea of Angel trying to ask them about their sex life
was way too much. Jeez, what would he say to Gunn now?
"Wesley smells different. He's sore. He's thinking
about what you did, nearly as much as you are." Yeah,
Wesley had a point, whether he was joking or not. Gunn
raised himself up on his elbow, acting indignant.
"Perverse? Comin' from the guy who doesn't like
shoot-em-ups?"

* * * * *

Gunn was out for most of the day on Monday, getting
his face and card known around El Segundo, Westwood
and Fairfax, and going to Glendale to meet his second
ex-client over the guy's lunchbreak. He got back to
the apartment a couple of hours after dark, just in
time for the training session.

"How come you never mentioned Wes is a crack shot with
the crossbow? Guy I met today said you took out a
whole nest of those flying Xuaxi demons for him.
Didn't miss once. We gotta be workin' that into our
act."

Wesley was shaking his head. "That was a very unusual
situation. How many fights have you gone into, knowing
that you'll have that much warning before you need to
change to a close-range weapon? If there might not be
any warning, then you have to go into the fight with a
sword. Or an axe. That has to be your choice."

"What about if you're good enough with the crossbow
that you stop it ever getting to close range? Like you
did with the Xuaxi."

"It takes two hands to reload a crossbow. I think
you're asking a lot from my one shot. Against the
Xuaxi we took all of our bows, ready-loaded. We knew
we'd be able to lay them out ready, and my sword.
That's really not going to happen again."

"Man, you both been takin' this like there's some tax
on usin' y'r imagination! What happens is we all go in
with loaded bows - swords on our backs or whatever.
Angel and I do the reload, keep you supplied. Ditch
the bows if it's goin' to close-quarters. Plenty of
time."

Angel looked at Gunn, his expression unreadable.
Wesley scratched his head for a few seconds, looking
at some point on the floor, then, without enthusiasm:
"Yes. It's worth trying."

"Angel? What do you think?" Angel just shrugged and
nodded. "Then we'll start workin' on it tomorrow,
yeah? Bring the bows. Have to start simple with the
targets but we'll soon figure out how to get Wes some
real practice."

* * * * *

Wednesday afternoon, Gunn got a call on his cell phone
from someone calling himself Merl. Slow, creepy voice
- made Gunn think of a lizard.

"Yeahuh. Heard you were asking round. Got one of your
cards. Think we could do business, the money's right."

"What kind of business?"

"I hear things, man. Like I heard you were asking
round, what you were asking. I tell you for free, that
Macuju ain't in Fairfax anymore. Gone to New Mexico.
Where in New Mexico, now that'd be on the meter. "

Gunn hadn't used the term 'Macuju' when he'd been
talking to the kids and the bums in Fairfax, although
that demon had been Wesley's prime suspect for the
mounds of crushed rats. OK, this Merl could be useful.
But he'd have to meet Gunn's face-to-face test first.
Gunn didn't do business with someone who was only a
voice on the phone, especially not that voice.

"Don't need more than gone. Gone's good. Buy you a
drink, you tell me how you heard? We go on the meter,
I wanna know what's under the hood."

A slight pause. "You know Caritas, right? Off La Brea
near West 8th. Down the stairs. Tomorrow night, round
nine."

"How'll I know you?"

"Don't need to. You take a seat at the bar. I know
you."

"A Special on 'mysterious'. You run that every
Thursday?"

"Fine. Black leather jacket. 'bout as much hair as
you. Good enough?"

"Guess I'll find out tomorrow, won't I?"

Gunn was close to the address Merl had given, so he
drove around straight away to check it out. The door
was closed, but the colour of its paintwork, the
design of the sign above, and the condition of both
suggested that this was a dive bar that most guys
would be happy to bring a date to. Safe enough
neighbourhood, too. Be better to see it at night, see
that the guys and their dates weren't cannibal bikers
or anything, but it really didn't look like more
trouble than he could get himself out of - and he knew
his way around trouble.

Back home, Gunn learned that Angel had taken the
online search for a drive-in into his own hands and
had discovered that the nearest was about 15 miles
east, in La Puente. Angel didn't want to see any of
the four movies that were showing that week, but he
and Wesley had gone far enough in making plans that
they'd discussed the need for chains. Angel had
apparently accepted Wesley's argument immediately and
the two of them had moved straight on to details of
design and materials. Gunn found himself chilled by
the sight of Wesley's neat technical drawings; he
didn't even want to touch them. White folks. This is
how they do all the things they do. It put the next
day's meeting with Merl into perspective: a piece of
routine; reassuring, even - a slice of ordinary.

* * * * *

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