ethrosdemon & Lar ||| Buffy & Angel

The Devil's Own - The Tuanari Connection
by ethrosdemon & Lar

EMAIL: naturallycalm@yahoo.com =and= HERE

RATING: R (Language, alcohol, drugs, slashy fun)
DISTRIBUTION: List Archives, eterniata. Otherwise just ask so we can feel all warm and fuzzy when we say yes.
DISCLAIMER: Not ours. That covers it, don't you think?
SPOILERS: Pretty much the entire S2 Angel series, up to and including "Reunion"
SUMMARY: The boys get up to much more of not getting anywhere
IMPROV: #7 (wander, hollow, silver, fitting)
DEDICATIONS: ethrosdemon would like to dedicate this to Sam for being so smashing. To Te for loving us. To all the people who fed us back. And to Lar for putting up with my crap. Lar would like to dedicate this to ethrosdemon for hauling her headlong into this adventure, to Donna for offering a challenge that we are doing our damnedest to answer, to Sam for swearing some parts made her sweat, and to Te who said the boys had to play.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Story begins immediately after "The Devil's Own: Secret Agent Man"

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..

Wesley and Xander are both far too drunk to get very worked up about it.

About the best they could manage was looking up and down the street, rather like two children not sure about the guidelines for crossing.

The bouncer from The Downlow took pity, however. He called out to them from the doorway. "Don't worry, y'all, G-dog called you a cab before he left."

Wes looks at Xander for a translation. "G-dog?"

"He means Gunn, Wes." Xander is spared further actual brain activity by the arrival of the vehicle in question. "And looky, here it is, just in time,"

"Indeed."

After much fumbling over the complicated mechanics of the door handle, they both tumble in and Xander drags out the key again to give the address. The driver eyes them with a great deal of suspicion; two drunken white men in this neighborhood at this time of the night can't be on the up and up. But a fare's a fare and the address is a decent one. He drives away from the club, one eye on the road and the other on the pile of humanity in the back seat.

With a sigh, Xander slouches down in his seat and lets his body relax. His eyes slip closed and his head finds a comfortable, albeit odd, pillow on Wes's shoulder. He drifts into a fuzzy half conscious state that allows him to forget any urgent problems and concentrate instead on the basics: the warmth of Wes's body, the vibrations of the cab around him, the yeasty odor of his own shirt from spilled beer earlier tonight.

"Xander?" Wes's voice is jarring despite the low volume. He looks up at him bleary eyed.

"Nothing."

And that's just fine with Xander who snuggles back into the blanket of alcohol again as the cab rattles and bumps to the hotel.

The Ramada the driver takes them to is rather nice. Certainly not the run-down, rat-infested dive that Wesley was half expecting. When they get to the room, and Xander fumbles them in with the key, it's a business suite. Complete with kitchenette and separate bedroom.

Wesley is aghast. "Xander, this looks quite expensive, not that I mean…that is…"

Grinning, Xander tosses the key onto the table. "Giles paid. Tax write off for the magic shop."

"He owns it now, does he?"

"Oh yeah. The G-man's gone corporate." Xander meanders over to the couch and collapses, Wesley on his trail. "We fixed it up. So far, no one has died there under the new management. No one human." He gives Wes a thumbs up, ironic little smirk to go with it.

"How do you live with it every day? You're so very young." Wesley is so serious, same tone of voice he had in the cab on the way over.

"Live with what? Oh, the death thing."

"Yes. Aren't you afraid of death?"

"Afraid of the pain. Not afraid of being dead. Seen too many dead people. Seen things worse than being dead. How about you?" Propping his head up, Xander looks interested in the answer.

Wesley turns to him, seems so earnest that Xander feels a little of his buzz slipping off. "Not afraid. More worried. I keep waiting for my life to start, the real part, the part with the meaning. I'm worried it might end before it ever gets to start."

"To that I can relate although I'm more worried about the whole being a vamp and never dying angle. Anya told me it's the case in more than one alternate world."

"Hm, she must be quite the source for disturbing information."

"You have no idea." Pause. Frown of concentration. "You don't love me, do you, Wes?"

"Excuse me?"

"All right, no, not like that…whatever. Listen. If I do ever get vamped, and you haven't started your new real life, would you, you know, keep me from killing Willow and Tara?" It's said with a smile, but Xander's eyes are dark, serious, and completely sober.

"I would do everything in my power." Equally determined look from Wesley that somehow makes Xander's heart lighter.

"On that note, let's hit the hay."

"Brilliant idea."

~~~~~

Wesley is dreaming of jungles and drums in the darkness. The drums get louder and more insistent until finally his brain lets go of the dream-net and allows consciousness to roll in. Glancing over at the other bed, Wesley ponders the figure of Xander, sound asleep in the loudest boxers he has ever had the misfortune to lay his eyes on. They actually make his head throb.

No wait, that's the drums. No, no, it's the door. Stumbling slightly, adjusting his glasses, which are somehow thankfully not bent despite his sleeping with them on, Wesley makes it to the door.

”Who is it”? Glance out the window of the hotel room to see that it's close to sundown; they've slept through the entire day.

"Not Angel. Open the damn door." Gunn sounds mildly annoyed at being kept waiting. This is nothing new, and Wesley wonders if this is the only tone of voice Gunn actually has in his repertoire. He opens the door and steps back so Gunn can enter.

"Uh huh. Looks like I shoulda come home wit y'all, for real." Gunn's glance sweeps over Wesley in his wrinkled undershirt and thankfully plain white boxers.

Wesley arches an eyebrow at him but decides it's not worth rising to the bait this time. Instead he asks, “Is there coffee in one of those bags?”

Gunn is setting a couple bags on the counter of the kitchenette. “Yeah, don’t get your panties in a wad.” He hands a large styrofoam cup back to Wes and begins to unload the rest.

Xander wanders out, drawn by the sound of the voices or possibly the smell of food. He walks right past Wesley and reaches over Gunn to grab a paper wrapped sandwich. He brings it to his face and inhales deeply. “Greasy food, now.”

Gunn looks him over, taking in the bare chest and obnoxious choice in underwear, red palm trees on a purple field with multicoloured, frolicking monkeys interspersed. "Man, that has got to be the ugliest pair of drawers I have ever seen."

Xander glances down and then looks back at Gunn. "You see a lot of men's underwear, Gunn? I mean, like on a regular basis?" Takes a big bite of his sandwich as Wesley turns to cover his smile.

Conversation pretty much dies at that point as the three of them ingest grease and inhale caffeine. There's vague small talk on the eating habits of civilized people, and the anal retentiveness of a certain individual at the table who actually looks for silverware before giving up and eating with his hands. As if they’re all agreed not to discuss the larger matters right away, there's no mention of Angel, or Dru and Darla.

Xander goes to take a shower and dress. When he leaves, Wesley sweeps their trash into one of the discarded bags and says, "This is practically a suicide mission. You do realize that."

"That's what I like about you. You're always looking at the bright side of life." Gunn pushes his empty coffee container across the table and leans back. "We need to find them before you go and have us dying at their feet."

"I'm being realistic. You of all people should know that."

"Whatever, man. We need to think about this. How are we gonna track down the Deadly Duo in a city this big? Use that overstuffed brain of yours and give me something to work with, Wes."

Xander comes back out, looking much more awake. He hands Wesley a bundle of clothes. "I don't think you want to put your old stuff back on. It's kind of disgusting, burn it at your first chance."

Wesley eyes the colorful pile in his hand. "Really? It's worse than this?"

"Shut up and get a shower before I look for something with more colors in it."

Wes heads off, looking doubtful and almost as troubled over the wardrobe as he was over the prospect of their plan for tonight. Xander drops onto the couch.

"Gunn, I just want to go home. I'm not any help to you guys, and I think Buffy should know about all this. You need the Slayer, not me."

The other man is silent for a minute, considering. "Look, I won't tell you that you have to stay, because you don't. But if you really know what can happen here, with Angel and Darla, and the other messed-up chick, I think we could use your help for as along as you can give it." He looks out the window and continues. "If Wesley thinks your Slayer is a bad idea, I've got his back on that. Because if Angel's walking the line right now, I don't want to see what happens when he steps over it."

"Monday. I'll stay until Monday. Unless we all die first."

Wesley steps into the room, a look on his face that threatens immediate death to anyone who dares to comment. He's wearing the clothes Xander gave him, and the effect is less than attractive. The pants sag from his waist and the shirt hangs off his body. Coupled with the neat black loafers, it's a true effort not to grin.

They decide on their first stop of the night: Wesley's apartment.

Gunn objects at first, but it's half hearted, almost as if he feels it's required to argue with whatever Wesley suggests. "Yeah, let's risk our asses and our blood supply for some God damned books." But even he has to admit that there's no way they can walk around all night with Wesley looking like that.

. . .

Wes's apartment is pretty much what Xander had expected. Lots of bizarre curios, books lying about on every available surface, overflowing antique ashtrays, no television, prints of London in various mediums on the walls. The home of a dispossessed Watcher.

Gunn flops down on the nearest armchair and picks up the constant stream of belligerence he left off when they exited the truck.

"Wes, move your ass. Angel's gonna be up any time now, and where do you think he's gonna start his stalking? My guess, about 15 feet from where we all are now."

Wesley crosses to the desk against the far wall and hits the play button on his answering machine, turns up the volume. He heads off to the other room to change while the messages begin to play.

Beep: "Wes, you better not’ve turned off your beeper on purpose. Call me. Now. I mean it. This isn't an acting exercise. This is real stress you hear."

Beep: "Wesley, baby. Where were you this afternoon? I thought we agreed to see Aida tonight. When you get this, call me right away. Did you know your beeper wasn't working? Miss you."

Gun yells to him. "You still seeing that high society babe? Never woulda thought it would go this long without you fucking it up.”

From the next room, Wes responds "And, Charles, why don't you tell me about your current romantic relationship."

Beep: "Wes, this is serious. I don't know if you got this from my last message, but I had a vision. There is the huge slug-creature eating things in the middle of an intersection. Do you know where Gunn is? Why am I asking? It's not like you call. You're probably out with Virginia.”

Beep: “Wesley, I would think you’d be smart enough not to go back there, but you might be able to remotely check this thing. The little joke with the Vliqw was not as amusing to me or my clothes as it was for you and Gunn. Oh, and Xander, don't want to leave him out. Tell him hi from me. I’m sure I’ll see you all soon.”

Xander freezes at the first sound of Angel's voice, but when his name is mentioned he goes absolutely white. "Oh shit. Wesley hurry! Are we sure about the whole not Angelus thing? Because that sounded, you know, Angelusy to me.”

Wesley walks out of his bedroom reclad in khakis, a T-shirt, and dark blue pullover. His shoes also appear more fitted for running than his last pair.

”I'm as sure as…”

Beep: “Wesley, this is Blirak. I might know some things you would be interested in. Meet me tonight at the sanctuary.”

"Damn, you got sources on the street? I always wondered where all that demon underworld gossip came from. Thought it was Angel."

"I do have some sources of which you are unaware." Wes refrains from gloating; it's rare to get one up on Gunn.

"Well, let's saddle up and ride! Where the hell is this ‘sanctuary’?" Gunn’s already on his feet and hovering near the door, bouncing on his heels with the need to be anywhere but here. He feels exposed, like there's a crosshair trained on his back.

"It's Caritas." Wes puts a hand on Xander's shoulder and ushers him towards the door, which Gunn opens with a visible sense of relief.

Xander all but squeaks. "Caritas? Wait, isn't that the bar from hell? Oh God. Will that horny guy be there tonight?"

. . .

Caritas is exactly the same tonight as it was last night, and Xander doesn't feel any hope in that fact.

He sees the lavender-trailing creatures ensconced in what must be “their spot” at the bar and moves to Gunn's other side. If they thought he smelled repulsive last time, he's afraid they might actually have a physical reaction to his pheromones tonight. He's jacked way up on adrenaline and about as ready to have a complete freak-out as he has ever been in his life.

Wesley motions for them to stop. "I see my man. You two go sit over there and order a drink or something. Try not to look too conspicuous."

“You hear that, pretty boy, try not to act too human.” Gunn half leers in Xander’s direction, all kinds of amused by his own joke.

Xander's mouth is engaged without the benefit of that part of his brain that controls what actually comes out. "Well, the hangover's starting to fade, so that must mean it's time to drink again. I think I might stick to Uncle Rory's hang over cure, Bloody Marys…wait, do you think they would…no, not even in here, they wouldn't have actual BLOOD in them, right?"

Gunn rolls his eyes and points to a table. "Quit trippin'. Park your ass over there and don't make eye-contact with anything."

Wesley watches them head for the table, bickering all the way. Wonders if this is how Angel sees he and Cordelia in their daily interactions.

"Who made you the boss of me?"

"Wesley."

"He so did not."

"Just SIT DOWN."

"Whatever." But Xander sits, and when he’s sure they aren't moving again, Wes turns to the bar and approaches Blirak.

The demon could almost pass for human, if not for his opalescent skin and forked tongue

"Blirak." He nods and then turns to watch the room, nonchalance in every line of his body.

"Wesley." The demon remains facing the bar.

"You have some information for me?"

"I did."

Wes jerks around, all attempts at casualness gone. "What on earth do you mean by that?"

"Who're those people you came in with? Our deal is alone. You always come alone." Blirak sips his drink, a concoction that looks like beer but that Wesley knows is far more potent.

"Well, I... they are associates of mine, and I can assure you that they are completely…"

The demon interrupts him abruptly. "How do I know they’re human?"

"Can't you smell them or something?" Wes is becoming something between annoyed and frantic.

"What do I look like to you, a Mlrst? No, I can’t fucking smell them. I have to know they're human, have to know they're cool. I know you run with vampires, so don't try to bullshit me."

"They would both be rather put out if you suggested to their faces that they were vampires, Blirak." He nods towards Gunn, hoping that will be enough to put off what he knows is coming next.

"You and I, we're cool. We go way back. But I also know what happens to Watchers who leave the Council. Sometimes they go off the deep end, use their magic to conjure sex sprites, run demon brothels, fuck vamps. You know how it is, Wes. I gotta be careful." He produces a silver box and sets it on the counter.

Wesley puts his head in his hands for a moment. "Oh lord. They are never going to do this." He looks up, thinks of Darla and Druscilla out there. Thinks of Angel. "Wait here."

Wes walks over to the table where Xander is in full on hyperactive mode.

"If you call me pretty boy one more time, you’re going to be short an eye!"

"Could you two keep it down over here? I have to talk to you about something." Wesley sits down, thinks about the best approach to this.

Gunn leans in towards the table, eagerness to get on with the hunt written all over him. "You get the skinny on the vamp-ho's?"

"Not precisely."

"What did you precisely find out." Gunn clenches a fist and Wesley looks at it for a moment before continuing.

"That my source doesn’t trust you. He wants you to prove you’re 'cool' I believe is the term he used."

"He a pusher?"

"No, nothing like that…how did you know what I was going to suggest?" Maybe Gunn is a little more in on the lore and legends than Wesley has ever given him credit for.

"Out of the loop here." Xander is looking between the two of them like a spectator at a tennis match.

"My source wants you two to prove yourselves by partaking of an herb his people ingest."

"Herb? I'm guessing this is more of the pot variety than the basil variety." Xander looks less alarmed than Wesley would have expected. Gunn's face, however, has got that stubborn look to it again. He leans back, folds his arms over his chest.

"I ain't smokin' no demon crack."

Xander looks more enthusiastic than ever now, and Wes suspects it has more to do with annoying Gunn than with an actual eagerness to experiment with demon pharmacology. "What kind of effect does it have? Wait, it won’t make my internal organs bleed, right?”

"I have myself used this herb previously on more than one occasion. It’s totally safe. It will produce a sense of euphoria which will last a limited amount of time." Wes is all but pleading now.

"Uh huh, just what I need right now, demonic E. Hate to go all Nancy Reagan on your ass, but just say no." "Listen, he is my best source for information. If he says he knows where Druscilla and Darla are, he does. Let me also tell you that his species detest chaos and work for the harmony of this plane, he is not your garden variety hellspawn." Wesley takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes.

"Do-gooder, stoner demons? Hippie demons?" Gunn's arms unfold, he looks up to the ceiling.

"Something like that. Gunn, please. We don't have much time."

"You better be right about this, Wes. Go get the shit."

. . .

Angel is starting to think his boys are not nearly as bright as he had given them credit for. He's just finished fending off the Host //Angel, just the smooth groove I was needing tonight. You're looking tense, daddio, how does a massage suit you? I know an ogre over in…// when they burst through the door. Stealth is not Wesley or Xander's forte, but Gunn is especially boisterous tonight.

He pulls himself back from the obvious glare of the bar, and stands back in the shadows of the corner to watch Gunn and Xander veer for a table, and Wesley approach a Tuanari.

The two of them seem familiar with one another, too familiar. Angel's gut reaction to the demon whose species was known for destroying vampires in untold hordes is impossible to quell. He might not condone his brethren's behavior now, but his demon is rattling in his head to snatch Wesley by his hair away from that beast. When he sees the Tuanari pull out the box, the ridges and teeth manifest without his knowledge or care. This is not going to happen.

He tears his glare off the Tuanari to plant it on Gunn and Xander arguing with Wes at the table, and his sliver of reason starts to squeal that he should to get out of the sanctuary before he cuts a bloody swath through all the bodies between him and his humans. There is no way in Hell that he's going to allow them to smoke with a Tuanari. He knows the rituals, what effects the herb produces, and he’s not above spilling blood to prevent it, not without him to chaperone at least.

The Host is suddenly there at his side, approaching with uncharacteristic silence.

"All dressed up to kill, and everywhere but here to go, big boy?"

"What?" Angel snaps his head around lightning fast, sees the Host staring blatantly at his gameface. Makes no attempt to shake it off. "What do you want? I already told you I'm not singing tonight."

"You might not have the stage, but I hear you loud and clear. You're vibrating to a whole new rhythm, and it's way out of tune." He takes a sip of his drink and considers. "I know you want to do the superhero thing here tonight, but I want you to consider this with all the reason your pretty head can muster. You're at a fork in the road, and one wrong turn means more than just getting lost in the dark."

"Don't you ever just say what you mean without the lounge lizard patter?" Angel lets his eyes slide back to the table, where the Tuanari has joined Wes, Gunn and Xander. He feels his hands clenching into fists, and realizes he's growling.

”Listen, baby, my way is not to lead, just to inform, and I did my bit. I would hate for this to be our last goodbye, but we’ll always have ‘Mandy’.”

Angel doesn't respond, doesn't even see him leave. He's watching them all as they smoke, sees their bodies relax as the drug hits them right away, and his entire world takes on the throb of need, want and pain.

. . .

The drug goes into the bloodstream almost immediately, and all three of them visibly relax. Blirak grins widely, showing pointed little teeth, and puts his silver box away. Wes eyes Gunn and Xander with some amusement as they seem to have been remarkably hostile before the ritual and are now looking anything but that. Xander's cheeks are flushed and his eyes are fairly twinkling as he leans over to whisper in Gunn's ear.

"Wesley, let's have our discussion someplace less populated." Blirak gestures to the end of the bar where there are shadows and distinct lack of patrons.

"Stay here," Wes says to the other two as he gets up to follow the demon.

They wave him off and turn their attention to the stage where a Sleerva is growling its way through a truly awful version of "Wind Beneath My Wings."

Wesley hurries over to the bar and joins Blirak. He feels none of the panic and urgency he's been experiencing for so long. Instead there's an exceptionally clear sense of being right where he belongs. The drug has enhanced certain senses: he can feel the grain in the wood beneath his fingertips, and his vision is startlingly colorful. And in a somewhat disturbing turn of events, he has the oddest urge to reach over and lick the shimmering skin of Blirak's neck. He restrains himself, and listens to the demon give him the word.

Wes is startled to find a cool hand on his neck and then Angel's voice is in his ear. "Nice to see you again, Wesley."

"Angel...I..." Wesley stops talking immediately as Angel squeezes just the tiniest bit, the smallest amount of pressure on his carotid artery as a warning.

Turning his attention to the Tuanari, Angel forces his demon down and says, "We're all done here. Why don't you leave while you still can." Not a suggestion, a warning.

Blirak narrows his eyes, sizes up the vampire and decides that this is not a battle he can win alone. He looks at Wesley, blinks slowly as if memorizing his face, and then melts away into the crowd. Angel turns back to Wes, hand still on the back of his neck.

"What kind of game do you think you're playing here, Wes?" He whispers it in Wes's ear again, low and deadly.

The vibrations go right through Wesley's system, resistance already gone thanks to the drugs, and he swallows back a groan. "That was one of my contacts. He has information on Darla. I was hoping to..."

"What is it with you and Cordelia? Do the words 'you're fired' just not register with you?" Angel lets go of him and growls just once, a sound that should have made the top ten on Wesley's warning list. All it does is make him want to put his hand on Angel's chest and see if the skin there will feel as soft as the hand that had been on his neck.

Wes shakes himself out of his trance. "This isn't just about you anymore, Angel. The fight for good goes on whether or not you condone our part in it."

Angel smiles at him, a condescending grin that never touches his eyes. Anger has made him tense, his shoulders high, none of his usual languid grace about him now. He looks dangerous in a new way, in a lethal, hair trigger kind of way as opposed to the feline threat he usually possesses.

Wesley backs up a step, hand dragging along the bar and knocking over a tall, thin glass. It shatters on the wood and a high, wavering sliver of pain pierces his consciousness as the crystal shards slide into his skin. He lifts his arm, watches Angel's gaze hone in on the gash as blood wells up, and feels himself travel from the bar to the corner in the blink of an eye.

Wesley's world narrows to the feeling of Angel's hand on his shoulder, the other wrapped around the wrist of his wounded hand. The cool slip of Angel's tongue as it catches the blood, pulls it into his mouth, lips soft over the edges of the cut as he suckles there for a heart stopping minute.

Angel's head comes up, and save for the golden glint in his eyes, he betrays none of the demon that had just fed. Instead he leans into Wesley's face, inhales deeply, nose pressed to his cheek.

"You're playing with fire here, Wesley," he warns him, and Wesley wonders which particular blaze he is being reminded of. Right now, he doesn't really care about anything except the closeness of the other man's body, and how the memory of Angel's mouth on his skin is enough to make him throbbingly hard.

"I've already been burned by that flame," he breathes out and then his lips are on Angel's, tasting his own blood there and feeling the cold silken texture, lets his fingers slide down to the hollow of Angel's collarbone and strokes the chain he knew he would find there. Angel isn't pulling away, isn't moving at all, in fact, so the kiss goes on and on, until Wesley can't breathe and he has to pull away.

Abruptly there's a noticeable lack of presence where Angel was just moments ago. Wesley knows he didn't imagine it; his lips still remember the feel of Angel's own, and his cut hand is sending out little tingles of itchy pain.

Angel is gone, so completely and so quickly it's like he was never there at all. Wesley doesn't know how to feel about that. He tells himself he feels relieved that things didn't get violent and bloody, and adjusts himself uncomfortably so that he can walk to the restrooms without being accosted.

Or ridiculed.

Inside the surprisingly clean space, he washes his hands carefully, although the cut looks oddly bloodless and the lips of the wound are healing already. //Nice little side effect of vampire saliva...too bad the bite victims aren't usually around to enjoy the benefits//

. . .

“How you feelin’, dog? Because I haven’t been this fucked up since Dwayne dropped the tabs in the punch in ’96.”

Gunn is smiling, a sight that Xander should find a little disturbing, but all he can do is smile back. He feels really...there. In the moment. All the colors of the various demon clientele around him are crystal clear and bright, brand new paintbox bright, and he can just about taste the air on his tongue when he opens his mouth. Senses on overdrive for real, and his body is aware and relaxed at the same time.

It feels completely natural for Gunn to lean way over and say, "Cat got your tongue, pretty boy?" He can smell Gunn's breath on his face, tang of whiskey he’s been sipping, that's how up close and personal things are getting. He can see about thirty shades of brown in those dark eyes, kaleidoscope in sable.

In the next heartbeat, they're both leaning into a slow meeting of mouths, for no other reason except that Gunn's been calling him a pretty boy all damn night, and Xander's got the longest lashes Gunn has ever seen, and they both can't think of anything that should prevent this from happening.

Soft searching brush of lips and then a pause. "Gunn, you know I have a GIRLfriend." Leans in again and waits there, breathes in the anticipation, feels the blood pooling in his groin while Gunn licks his own lips and raises an eyebrow.

"Don't see a ring on your finger, or your girl at the table."

"I'm not trying to be an ass here, I'm just saying." Nuzzling into Gunn's face now, hand reaching out to balance himself and landing on the heavy muscles of Gunn's thigh.

"I wasn't asking you to move in, man." Another kiss, slipping taste of tongue over Xander's mouth this time, just enough to make his lips tingle before he breaks off again. "And you're always an ass."

"As long as we're all upfront about it." No more tentativeness this time, Xander's fingers dig into the rough denim and the harder muscles beneath it. Gunn's own hands wander over, under the table, and he strokes Xander's thigh with a maddeningly sensual rhythm.

The music of the bar fades in Xander's ears, and he concentrates instead on the sound of Gunn's harsh breathing, the sounds they make as mouths meet, and part and tongues slip in to explore. Tiny, delicate females are light years away from this, and it's like wallowing in everything that's good about kissing. There's a wider, lusher mouth to plunder, a thicker tongue that makes him wonder what other places it should be licking other than the outline of his lips, and god, the hands that know just where to rub, and squeeze.

"Is it just the drugs, or you normally play all sides?" Gunn's finger is still in the waistband of Xander's pants, so the question takes a few minutes to process with that distraction in the way.

"Oh, uh, well it's been a long time now, mainly playing on Team Hetero." And if that's not an answer that begs for more exploration, then Gunn doesn’t think there ever has been one.

Xander stops him most effectively by using his mouth in ways that have nothing to do with speaking. He captures the lobe of Gunn's ear in his teeth, bites down just hard enough to get a tug on his waistband in response. The button’s popping open and who knows where this is going to end, becuase it seems like Gunn is ready to throw him right down on the table, and Xander hasn’t got a problem with that, not at all, even thought his brain is rumbling at him vaguely, something about the drugs, and about the demons watching, and a little tiny reminder about Anya.

All of them are easily ignored when Gunn's mouth comes down on Xander's again, and his tongue slides back inside to taste every inch of him. The zipper of his pants has given in to gravity and Gunn's tugging fingers, and there's just a thin layer of cotton between the heat of that dark hand and the hard length that's just begging to be stroked.

“Hate to be the rain in this parade, but your auras were just screaming for some attention.” Xander looks up from Gunn’s mouth and his hand moves with something other than normal human speed in the need to shield his erection from the Host.

“What you want, demon head-shrinker?” Gunn is not amused to have his hand batted away by Xander as he makes another go at his hastily retreating prize.

“Not that this scene isn’t as tasty as a Baybreeze on a hot day, I have a note for you. From Blirak, seems he has to scadaddle in a hurry.” He passes a folded bit of paper to Xander, and struts away.

“You wanna read what that says?” Gunn has disengaged himself and is trying to seem as collected as possible to salvage his rep.

“Not really, but what’s new. What the fuck? Where the hell is Wes?”

Gunn snatches the paper and reads: “You can find Druscilla nightly at he Observatory.”

"Time to move. Let's find Wes and roll on this."



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