That Way
by Te
November 2000

Disclaimers: If they were mine... ohohohohhhhh

Spoilers: For This Way, nothing else really.

Summary: Gunn and Wes continue after the party.

Ratings Note: NC-17

Author's Note: Um. Er. Urrrrrrge.

Acknowledgments: To my fabulous audience of Debchan, Dawn Sharon,
Puca, and li'l cock-free Sheila. *smooch*

Feedback: Hell yeah.


It doesn't end at the party, with them wrapped in each other and still
buzzing from what *ever* Vanessa had slipped in that punch. It's more
like morning when they think about breaking apart, after a slow, drunken
ramble to Gunn's nearest bolthole. This one has old velvet curtains from
a theater, cut to size. Thick and sound-muffling. A little necessary
privacy from the others who share this space.

He spent his first paycheck on sheets, among other things. Nice ones,
like his mom had pointed out one day in the boring part of a department
store. 200 count, sleek and cool to sleep on. Welcoming, even over the
old mattress. Swigs of water between long, stupidmaking kisses, twining
and retwining, shifting and moving.

It's been like this for a while now, slow buildup and relax, buildup and
relax. Unconscious little sex game, when all that was intended were
just small breaks to talk, laugh at the sound Gunn makes when Wesley
sets his strong, white teeth to one nipple and tugs a precise three
times before getting it hot and wet with his tongue.

"I can feel your 'rep' crumbling, Gunn..."

"Heh. My rep was built up over the course of years. Takes more than a
little whimper --"

Wes, doing it again to the other nipple, and Gunn rolls onto his back.
Pushes Wesley's head back down when he tries to move because. That.
Yeah, definitely that.

Wesley is doing everything impossibly right, even the parts where he
writhes when Gunn touches him there, and there. Where he whispers
Gunn's name, hoarse and low. When his cock twitches for Gunn's palm.
Yeah, Wesley's got it down. Straight out of too many fantasies,
treasured long and slow with the stroke of his palm.

Wesley's eyes on him, wet smiling kisses on his back, sometime earlier.

"I think I could trace every muscle with my tongue..." And proceeding to
do just that until Gunn was humping the expensive sheets. Not the licks
doing it so much as the bites, the rough-stubbled nuzzles.

The realization that this, between them, is getting so close to making
love as to not make a difference. At least, not right now.

Tomorrow it would be different.

Or the brighter, yellower part of today. He knows the light just beneath
the rough edge of the curtain. At some point Wesley will ask.

Not while Gunn has his tongue in the man's mouth, thigh nestled right
where it counts, skin-velvet brush of tightening balls against his thigh,
tickle of long, thin hair in contrast to what must be the scratch of his
own. Wesley wrapping himself around Gunn, pushing up and in. Moaning.

And Gunn needs more, breaks the kiss to explore the darkening cheeks,
down to the long, pale column of throat -- and how could this man *not*
be Angel's wet dream? Wes' hand cupping the back of his head, brief
squeeze and --

"Kiss me again."

Only way to answer that is a lick along the jawline, tease around the
surprisingly generous mouth. Not the soft, almost melon-like curve of,
say, a Lanisha, or an Anna, but definitely generous. For him.

Licking in deep, thorough, chasing hints of himself and oh, what it had
been like, down deep in Wesley's throat. Wants to kiss the fine scraped
caps of his knees, return the favor. Yeah. Good idea. Moves his hands
over as much of Wesley as he can touch during the kiss, the man shifting
to make it easier. Brush over the clean lines of a long arm, break the
kiss to speak but the slick of tongue to tongue is too much.

More kissing, catching hold of Wesley's nipple and twisting much too
hard, just to see, and oh, perfect. Hoarse cry to swallow and Wesley
thrusts into the air a few times.

Gotta move, have more of *this*. Drive Wesley and his scent right
down deep into the mattress, something to breathe in just before rest,
before cradling himself in his hand and replaying *this* because, no
question, Gunn's got it bad. Changeable blue eyes and a rueful smile on
command. Fifty cent words and a mean axe. Bright hot flare of sex,
pure *sex* when Gunn does it again.

With the nipple.

Breaks the kiss with a purpose this time, tempted to just latch onto
that beautiful neck and *suck*, a little terrified that it'll make Wesley
think of Angel. He needs Wesley right here, with him. Scholar/fighter
fingers scraping the tiny buzz of his stubble back and forth and back.
Looking right up at him with a dare.

No doubt. Goes for the other nipple and bites at it, fast nips. Redden it
up, get it nice and hard so that the vaguely cool air has its *own* bite
and Wesley has his hand now. Sucking on his fingers and it's wet and
it's hot and it's, oh *deep* and it sends a rush of pre-come *right* down
his cock even before he looks.

When he looks he groans right out loud. Wesley, eyes closed, fucking
his own mouth with three of Gunn's fingers. Wet, wet smack and slide
in the air and *fuck* Angel because Wesley's throat is all tipped back,
muscle and tendon and visible swallows and Gunn dives in and sucks once.

Just to make his point but Wes has immediately sucks Gunn's fingers in
to the second knuckle and he can definitely take a hint. Back down and
sucking, right around the base, where those collared shirts will do their
job and where it makes Wesley *writhe* against him, makes Gunn need

Bite harder and thrust and twist and move against Wesley, thrusting
cock to cock. Too good for just a rub off, too hot and sweet like like
candy tar. Has to take his fingers out of that wet furnace just to pull
Wesley in closer, wants to take off skin they're in so close, wants the
friction everywhere.

Flip onto their sides and Gunn's still latched on and Wesley yells his
name. *His* name at the jar and Gunn thinks he's gonna lose it right
there. Game over, sorry, no more Gunn but Wes pushes them apart so
hard Gunn nearly falls off the bed. Catches himself grabbing hold again
before he can stop himself and Wesley's eyes are as wild as Gunn feels.

Sweat curling his short hair, mouth open and bruised-looking. So *wet*.
Wesley holding Gunn back, palms to his chest for a moment before they
slide around his torso again. Slow, shivery pass, getting closer again.
Wesley's forehead against his own. Breathing.

"Wes..." Can't hide the rough plea in his voice.

"More. More than this. Do you have...?"

Trailing off panting and Gunn's heart is somewhere in his throat and yeah,
he *has*. Other fantasies, too many, running through in a blur, like the
one where Wesley's smile gets that smug little curl and they fight. Gunn
stronger and faster, Wes with more moves and they're both bruised, and
sweaty, when Wes does something that Gunn can't see. Pins him right
there and the slick appears magically and Wesley does him right there,
fucks him low and slow and hard, smug little smile fading into that
anguished lust Gunn's looking at right now and he wishes.

He wishes he could ask for that.

Instead asks the question silently, gathering the sweat at the base of
Wesley's spine, dipping into the cleft. Eye to eye now, until Gunn starts
to circle Wesley's hole. Until Wesley's eyes go soft, mouth slackening.

Slurred "yes" and it's all Gunn needs. Reaches for the shoebox at the
head of the bed and gets what he needs. Condom on first, while he can
still think and Wesley's already turned over, up on his knees. Head down
and panting like a race horse and too much. Too good, has to get *inside*.

Slicking his fingers and slipping two in, just to hear Wesley's gasp. Runs
his free hand over the lean back, flushed now, muscles shifting and
Wesley's hot inside. Burning Gunn alive and so tight he has to *fuck*.
Primitive urge to just get *in*, make a space. Make Wesley moan and sweat
with his fingers' thrusts and not let *anything* near his hungry, bobbing
cock because Gunn already knows he's not gonna last anything like long.

Making it good. Stabbing twists and crooking his fingers again and again
and again until Wesley is thrusting back mindlessly, biting back the moans
so they become choked, harsh things that make Gunn ache and he has to get

Keeps fucking Wesley with his fingers until he begs, though. Until
Wesley's cock is leaving strand after strand of pre-come connecting him
to Gunn's bed. Until it's just a haze of need. Vague brushstrokes of
everything, impressionistic hints of curtain, clothes, and man and he
notches himself up and slides in, one long sweet glide that bring Wesley's
moans to a higher pitch, that shorts out anything and everything remotely
capable of thought.

Until Gunn is his cock and the pleasure it flares through his body, his
hands holding Wesley just right, not letting him thrust back until it's
the rhythm, the right one, and Gunn's hips are moving, snap and roll and
snap, as oiled for this as anything else.

And he needs this, and he's getting it, and he needs it and he's thrusting
too hard, too fast, but he can't stop, can't, and Wesley's cries just spur
him on, let loose the slim hips and Wesley is immediately slamming back
against him. Roll his head forward and he sees Wesley scrabbling at the
sheet, whipping his head back and forth and it's *animal* hot and OK to
growl and necessary to *fuck* and it drives him over the edge, fast and
inescapable. Coming and coming, can't breathe to yell, and Wesley's still
pounding himself back and back and Gunn's somewhere in the ether when
a wordless scream drops him back into his body.

Wesley, jerking himself hard and coming all over the sheets and Gunn's
cock *pulses* and he barely manages not to collapse on the other man.

So much as *half* on Wesley, slipping out making them both groan. Bracing
himself on one shaking arm to slide the condom off, tie it up and get rid of
it. Good. Just.


Breathing hard into the pillow. Impression of a long, tall man beside him.
Also breathing hard, making sounds gradually getting closer to words.




"It's that or '*Damn*.'"

Wesley's laugh is light. Honest and bright enough to make something open
even wider inside Gunn.

Nothing to do but close his eyes and let the big dark curtains do their

"I'm using *your* t-shirt to cover the wet spot."

"Yo. Damn."


Into the warm black morning with a sleep-loose smile.