Changing The Subject
When the doorbell rings, Gunn doesn't even think about why someone's at his house at 11:30 at night. He just opens the door and lets his jaw drop to the floor.
Wesley's standing there, and he's as drunk as one of those tight-ass rich white lords Gunn's heard (from Wesley, no less) are always wasted on gin and tonic, and why the fuck he's thinking in cliches at a time like this, when there is unshaven, bottle-holding Wes on his doorstep, Gunn doesn't know.
"My lover left me for my Slayer," Wes announces, blinking at the light pouring from Gunn's apartment. "Isn't that absolutely bloody poetic?"
It takes a minute for Gunn to make the connection work. Then he's even more about the jaw on the floor.
"Wait, WHAT?" Gunn asks. "Are you shitting me, English?"
"If only," Wes replies cavalierly, trying to straighten (ha, and Gunn's brain is not only cliche, it's ironic) up and keep steady. "Lilah has left me for Faith. And vice versa. Isn't that simply..."
Gunn doesn't know why he's laughing--shock, maybe--but there he is. "I coulda told you those two were giving each other the evil eye," he offers, helping Wes into his apartment.
Wes squirms, apparently trying to wriggle away from Gunn's not-intentionally-sexy embrace. "Couldn't you have managed to tell me so before I walked in on them going at it on a conference table?" he asked plaintively, flopping down on Gunn's new couch. "This...is new."
Trust to English to focus on details when his life's going all to shit again.
"Yeah, I bought it a month or two ago," Gunn says indifferently. "You walked in on them? On a conference table at work? Were they--I mean...fuck, never mind. I didn't really know."
Wes smiles one of his bitter, jilted smiles that Gunn remembers far too fucking well for his own good before taking another long swig from the bottle.
"It's quite all right," he says, lying through his teeth. "In fact, I had an appointment with Miss Morgan to discuss library acquisitions. Faith had apparently forgotten to lock the door, and so I got a rather illuminating tutorial."
"That sucks, yo," Gunn says flatly, sitting down next to Wes on the couch. "I mean, couldn't she break up with you before tagging Slayer ass?"
Wes shrugs, looking dejected and worn. "I don't really feel much like talking about it any further," he says. "So why did you buy a new couch? I was rather fond of the old one."
Gunn takes the hint and goes with the subject change. "Man, that was a ratty-ass fucking 70s reject couch," he replies. "This thing's so ultramodern that even the fold-out bed is almost not uncomfortable."
Running his hand over the cushion, Wes looks at Gunn. "That's rather remarkable," he says before placing his bottle on the still ratty coffee table. "It's--sturdy?"
Gunn is suddenly reminded of just exactly how his old couch ended up ruined.
"It's solid," Gunn answers, looking at Wesley look at his couch and getting caught up in how everything's always in his eyes. Hurt, love, hate, confusion...it's just always there, swirling together like one of Lorne's cocktails.
"I..." and now Wes is looking the way he did back in the day, when his heart was broken because Angel kicked his ass out with the rest of them. "Charles, I'm--"
"Forget about it, English," Gunn says coolly. "Whatever it is, we're cool."
Nervously, Wes looks down at the couch cushions for a closer look, and now he's just sort of trembling. Gunn wants to make Wes look at him, make him understand that he means what he's saying. It's not just the thing he's trying to say because Lilah skanked off with Faith; it's what Gunn fucking feels.
"I love them both, you know," Wes says softly. "I love a lot of people. It never goes particularly well."
Gunn's heart is thinking about breaking, because he knows in the marrow of his bones what Wesley's trying to say. And he knows Wes doesn't deserve this, and Wes thinks he does, because Wes? Is in need of serious therapy and better friends and before Gunn can stop himself to think, his hands are on Wesley's jaw, lifting up that familiar chin so that he can kiss Wes. Again.
For a minute or two, it's the kiss. The familiarity of it, the hotness of it, after all this time. Wes yields at first, lets Gunn take the lead and decide where their mouths go, whose tongue tangles against whose, until something (and it was always something) snaps and suddenly Wes is shoving Wes into the couch, sucking all the air out of his lungs while his body presses against Gunn's.
Motherfuck, for such a skinny, unassuming bastard, when Wes is turned on, he's fucking turned on, no fucking around for him, not even for a second.
"Hey," Gunn manages to say when they finally come up for air. "You trying to break my new couch?"
"Not break," Wesley answers indolently, licking his lower lip. "Perhaps break in."
Gunn chuckles. "Hate to tell you, man," he says, giving a long look toward Wesley's constraining jeans. "But since you haven't been around, I had to go and get Angel--"
"Bite your tongue," Wes replies, leaning in to suck on Gunn's neck just below the earlobe so that Gunn will moan. Gunn, in retaliation, decides to grab Wes by the ass and drag him just a little closer instead.
"Plenty of time to do that later," Gunn answers. "Right now, I'm all about getting me a good old-fashioned tongue-lashing...fuck. Yeah, like that. fuck. Wes, where do you learn this shit?"
Wes flutters his eyelashes again like he's some goddamn schoolgirl before slamming his hips and his hard fucking cock up against Gunn's lap.
"I have--" and Wes is currently nibbling on the very sensitive spot on Gunn's neck-- "a rather demanding--" and now he's rubbing his scruffy, stubbly-ass jaw against Gunn's-- "ex--" his lips are grazing the top of Gunn's ear-- "or two..."
Gunn is gonna lose his goddamn mind. They're still fucking fully CLOTHED and Gunn's ready to come in his jeans if Wes doesn't stop teasing. The goddamn way he smells is sexy. The way he's letting Gunn pull off his shirt is gonna kill them both.
"Fuck, Wes, stop with the grinding," Gunn growls breathlessly. "If we're gonna break my couch in, I sure as hell ain't gonna do it dry-humping."
Wesley's eyes sparkle wickedly. "No?" he asks mildly, his fingers slowly undoing the first two buttons on Gunn's fly. "And what...precisely...would you like me to do instead?"
"You expect me to think when you got your hand next to my dick?" Gunn asks, sounding a little shrill even to himself.
"You've managed admirably before," Wesley replies, undoing another button.
Gunn knows this for a fact to be true, but these are extenuating fucking circumstances. No way he can be expected to think and articulate this shit when Wes walks in, announces he's been fucked over, and proceeds to jump Gunn's fine ass to feel better. Not that Gunn minds, it just isn't leading to deep sex thoughts.
Hell, maybe it's just also weird, after all this time, to be expected to flat out say, "Fuck, English, I seem to remember you were always really good at sucking dick."
"I'm not hearing a choice," Wesley taunts, moving in to rub his still-fully-clothed crotch harder against Gunn's, knowing just what it'll do to them both. His mouth opens against Gunn's for another kiss, and Gunn gives in, feeling like he's being asked to lick his way to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop when he's got Popsicles waiting for him on the table.
"Well?" Wes asks again, his mouth hot and toothy against Gunn's cheek.
"Fuck, man, you're drunk," Gunn murmurs, his hand aggressively going for Wesley's jeans, because fuck this taunting shit, man. Wes is as bad off as he is, and he's gonna prove it.
"And I've been drunker," Wes answers. "I want to fuck you, Charles. I want you to fuck me, and I don't care how."
Gunn lets it go. It's not like they don't both want this. Not like Gunn hasn't wanted it for a while. No one's gonna be crying in the morning either way.
"You could put that mouth of yours to better use," Gunn says, feeling a little dumb for putting it like that. "I mean--"
Wesley kisses him again, but only for a moment before practically slithering out of Gunn's lap. "There's a reason, you know," he says pragmatically, parting Gunn's knees with a smile that's half-sad and half-lustful, "For all those Head Boy jokes."
Gunn almost makes him stop, but fuck. and fuck. He hates to keep thinking about Lilah at a time like this, but someone clearly demanded Olympian-level head from Wes, and better to think Lilah than Angel or...hell, anyone else. Gunn's eyes half-close as Wes keeps going, his mouth wrapped around Gunn's cock, taking him deep and making Gunn feel it, really fucking feel it.
Actually, he'd feel worse if this were Fred. It always made Gunn kind of uncomfortable asking Fred for blowjobs. Not because she was some sort of pure saint or virgin or nothing, it was just that with people always putting her down, last thing his girl needed was to be on her knees. And besides which, Wesley was just--man was the cocksucking master, no contest.
But fuck. Wes was going to get him off rough and fast the way he kept doing it, Gunn had his hand twined in Wesley's hair, and it felt hot, fucking incredible, and yeah. Yeah, just like it used to be. Both of 'em sweaty and sore and Gunn feeling like the top of his head had come off, and yeah. Getting the edge off. No need to drag in all the ladies and the superstars when this was pretty simple. Wes could suck cock. He had gotten even better. And Gunn was pretty fucking close to going off like an alarm clock.
Close. Actually, closer. Actually--fuck. fuck yeah.
"god, Wes," Gunn calls out, coming hard as Wes takes it, waiting 'til Gunn is licked clean before letting Gunn's cock slide out of his mouth and climbing back into Gunn's lap with a smirk.
"Rather good, I thought," Wes says, kissing Gunn with sticky, friendly lips. "I'd forgotten just how agreeable you are to fuck. Now, would you rather mind--"
"One good turn deserves another," Gunn says, dazed but determined to give back as good as he got--and that had been pretty fucking good.
"Blood hell," Wesley answers, seemingly surprised that Gunn's hand is now busily removing the obstacles between it and Wesley's cock.
"Lay back, Wes," Gunn says, trying to figure out the positioning. "No, seriously. Get off. I'm gonna do this right."
Wes stares at him, and the word Gunn is now looking for is touched.
"Really? I rather didn't--"
Gunn kisses Wesley roughly, wrapping his arms around Wesley's waist before setting the other man back on the couch.
"I said we're cool," he says earnestly. "Do you wanna get fucked or not, English? Cuz I want to watch you come calling my name, and if you don't chill your shit out, it ain't happening."
Wes shivers, and Gunn can't tell if he's feeling gushy, or if he just really wants to get fucked on the couch. Probably both.
"I think perhaps I want to scream your name. More than once. More than tonight," Wes says carefully, clearly scripting this out in his head.
Gunn responds by sucking on one of his favorite places on Wesley's body--a spot of stomach about two inches above the bullet scar. And yeah, it still tastes pretty fucking amazing. Wesley moans, and Gunn looks up innocently, like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.
"So you basically want to be fucked a lot between watching the rest of the Kurosawa collection, huh?" Gunn asks, pretending to ignore how very much Wes needs to get off.
"I'm not against that plan of action," Wes agrees throatily. "Fuck...Gunn..."
"Yeah?" Gunn asks, taking the time to grin at him.
"If you don't put your hand or your mouth on my cock, I will explode and ruin another couch," Wes said. "And I want to watch Seven Samurai again first."
Gunn hides a chuckle before going back to the strangely fun work of getting Wesley off. Seven Samurai, another couch to ruin, and his boy to fuck raw. All in all, day wasn't what he's expected.
But it could definitely be worse.