ethrosdemon & Lar ||| Buffy & Angel

The Devil's Own - Mission Impossible
by ethrosdemon & Lar

EMAIL: naturallycalm@yahoo.com =and= HERE

RATING: NC-17 (sex, drugs, sex, alcohol, sex & bad 80's music)
PAIRING: men, they have sex.
DISTRIBUTION: List archives, eterniata, Biblioteque Diabolique. Anyone else, just ask so we can do the ceremonial high-fiving before saying yes.
DISCLAIMER: Not ours. Damn it.
IMPROV: #8 glow -- rain -- bound -- crave
DEDICATION: to Te for the snappy beta, and our entire posse. Shout outs! ethrosdemon says: to Lar for making it through the entire series without killing me. Lar says: to ethrosdemon for being.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Begins immediately after the conclusion of "The Tuanari Connection."

.. .. .. .. ..

Gunn spots Wesley back at the bar, eyes fixated on the surface. He's intent on the task at hand, which is apparently lining up all the maraschino cherries from behind the counter into a straight and even line.

Xander leans over and catches his eye. "Wes, maybe you remember us, we're the people you came here with." Gunn approaches and stands on Wes’s other side.

”What happen, you put the moves on Ol' Pointy Tooth, and he run outta here leaving skid marks?” Gunn looks amused at the thought, despite their need to be elsewhere at the moment.

Wesley startles violently, a real accomplishment with the lethargy of the drug still running through him and making him feel anything but jumpy. "Wha…how? Did you see it?"

Xander blushes, thankful for the dark of their corner. “No, we were…occupied.” Gunn clears his throat, adjusts himself quickly and as unobtrusively as possible. Of course, Xander is looking at him doing it, watching the big hands that had been on his -

"The Lestrian singing Boy George? Yes, he is very good." Wes smiles benignly, and Xander blushes harder, crimson and hot.

"Riiiiiight, gotta love the 80's. So, no, we missed Blirak making his get away, but the Horny-guy slithered up and gave us this note." Xander extends his hand, note crumpled on his palm.

Wesley blinks stupidly. "Blirak? Uh, pointy-tooth, I get it, what's this note all…oh good lord!"

Gunn slams his hand down on the bar. "Get your skinny ass in gear, we're ready to hit the pavement."

Xander glares at him. "I don't feel in a major hurry to do anything, much less run headlong into our immanent death. Take a pill, let Wes get it together. Dru will be around."

Gunn sighs. "Wes hasn't ever had it together."

.. .. ..

He knew the instant the sweet tang of Wes’s blood hit the air that he needed to get out of there. Resist. Like he always does when he smells one of his pet human’s blood pouring, weeping, trickling from a wound. Nightly. Different flavor for each one. Anise scented for Cordelia with her endless licorice breath mints. Bitter undernotes from Gunn, caffeine and chocolate. Wes's blood tonight still carrying the fragrance of alcohol, but the drug overpowering it. It was tainted. Tainted and still tasting heady and copper-alive, and since the night with Kate that crave has been beating him down a notch at a time.

The welling gash on Wes's hand looking like the slit throat of a long-desired victim. There was no denial in that instant it took him to drag the warm bundle into the corner. Besides, hadn’t Wes wanted to give it up? Angel’s inner-beast believes they all do.Lust mixed in with the uneasy need to know what it's like to give their essence over to another to sustain un-life.

Angel fidgets with his key chain, souvenir from a Christina bookstore from Cordelia, little brass male angel //Well, you won’t tell us your last name or birthday, so I made one up. Happy Unbirthday, Angel O’Shea.//. He turns it ‘round in the light, wonders why she picked that name, and wills his justifications real. It’s not like he took that much. It’s not like Wesley didn’t want him to take a lot more than his blood. Cordelia regaling him with her high school dalliances maintained he kissed like a fish. Must have been her inexperience, or his come to think of it. Who’s he been with since then? Doesn’t want to think about it. Just calm down, can’t kill them all. Virginia’s absence would be conspicuous. Killing his lovers one at a time is not an option, he runs his fingers through his hair and tries to get a hold of himself.

“What the hell is wrong with me? Fucking Tuanaris.” His skin’s buzzing. Inside his mind he starts a chant: pins and needles, pins and needles. That’s what they call it now, or so he assumes from the way he’s heard it used.

His patience is starting to slip. The echo in his mind of his inner voice is starting to pick up speed and anxiety, and he always wonders whose thoughts they really are: What the hell is taking them so long to get out of there? Maybe they ran into trouble, I should go back in and help them. No, wait, I am waiting, blending, not running in there. Don't want a confrontation. Wonder which ones will end up fucking each other tonight. Bide my time, I might get to see it go down.

Wonder what kind of fish Wes looked like? Barracuda? Guppy? Angelfish?

.. .. ..

"Why do you always get to drive?" Xander's in the middle again, soaking up the body heat from both sides as they rattle and bounce out of the parking lot and into the street.

"It's my truck." Gunn doesn't spare him a glance, but his leg nudges Xander's thigh.

”Oh, forgot that part” Swallows down all the saliva that threatens to drool out of his mouth and presses back harder, hands clenched with the effort not to give in to the pull of hard muscle and heated skin.

”Change the station, Xander, this music is about to make my ears bleed.” Jumps at the order from Wes and flips the dial until something less boy-band comes out of the speakers.

”Don’t you know better than to mess with a man’s radio?” Nudge again, which Xander takes as signal that Gunn’s only joking, and he gulps audibly at the wave of lust that rolls through him, makes him shudder.

"Watch the blasted road, Gunn." Wes sounds like a spoiled child, and Xander looks over to see him attempting to sip out of the glass he has apparently stolen from Caritas.

"Gimme some of that." Xander grabs the glass, slops some onto Wes's khakis, looks idly at the stain and finds himself wanting to lean down and lick it, taste the alcohol, and tomatoes and spices, keep on licking right up his thigh until he has his face over Wesley's crotch so he can...

Huge gulp of the drink, burning all the way down his throat and into his stomach, making his eyes water. Stifling a cough, he hands the glass back to Wes and shakes his head like a wet dog. Wants to clear some of the fluff from his brain.

The streets are nearly deserted for L.A standards, and Xander finds himself transfixed by the stop lights changing colors in a hypnotic cadence of green yellow red green yellow red and the street lights seeming to stream out into one long arc of light as they pass. It's soothing, it's mesmerising, it's making him feel like he's being stroked by the lights, like they are swirling over him, their colors a living thing as they tickle his skin. He realizes the noises are leaking out of his mouth and skipping around the cab of the truck.

He also realizes it's Gunn's hand running over him, not the colors. Gunn's switched to steering with his left hand and his right is slipping into the tight place where Xander's legs are pressed together. Heat and pressure through denim, only takes a second until he has his own hand over Gunn's and is guiding it higher, out of the juncture and onto the top of his leg, up to where his cock strains against his zipper.

"Could you two not be so obvious?" Wes is openly staring at Gunn's roving hand, glass empty and clenched in his hand.

"We could do that…but why don't you join in instead?" Xander reaches over and puts his hand on the spot he was contemplating not too very long ago and rubs it, scratching his nails over the texture of the fabric. He skims along quickly, light tingling touches on Wesley, even as he grinds himself into the massive warmth that is Gunn's cupping palm. Reaches Wesley's belt and teases the tongue out and has it open while Wes just sits there and watches everything, once a Watcher always a Watcher.

The fake tortoise button is popped and the zipper is falling. White glow of cotton in the dimness of the truck's interior and Wesley presses forward with his hips, catching Xander's hand in his own, playng his fingers over the raised veins on the back of Xander’s hand. Hissing as he scrapes the still fresh cut on his open belt buckle.

Xander stops, thinking he caused the pain somehow. Grabs Wesley's hand and turns it over, pulls it to his face. "What happened to your hand? I didn't notice this yesterday."

Gunn's looking now too, but his eyes travel from the cut to the bare skin he can see where Wes' boxer's gape. Pale as the cotton framing them, small brush of black curl, all startling in the clarity from this distance. He has a sudden urge to just pull over, push them both out and strip them, compare the shades of white skin and dark hair and ...

Wes tugs his hand back, sees Gunn has also stopped his exploration of Xander's body for the moment. He blusters, stalling for time. “Do you actually know where the Observatory is?” Discreetly tucks his hand under one thigh, hoping it will be forgotten like so much else in the last couple days.

"I never been there from the topside of the street before, but I think I can manage. It's all good." He looks away and returns his hand to Xander's leg, resting on his knee this time. Studies the street and tries to concentrate on getting there and getting the vamps dusted so he can press Xander up against the nearest wall, kiss that soft, swollen mouth again until he's had enough.

He thinks he might never have enough.

"I knew you hung out in sewer tunnels." Xander grins at him.

"That's where I met your mama." Gunn refuses to smile back.

"You're so beneath lame." Xander wonders how many people Gunn’s taken underground, moans and whispers bouncing off the cylindrical walls calling out a message of lust for whatever or whoever might be within a mile radius.

Wesley gets himself organized, tucks and zips and belts himself into some semblance of order. Brings his wounded hand up to his mouth and licks it furtively while the boys flirt and tease. Thinks of Angel's mouth on the same spot, Angel's tongue tasting him, drinking him. Tries not to groan when his cock swells again and begins to ache.

.. .. ..

Angel’s beginning to have a difficult time concentrating on the driving portion of his allotted tasks for the evening. He’s too obsessed with peering in the back window of the cab of Gunn’s truck, as much as he can at this distance. Xander's head's lolling against the seat. He ponders which hand is doing that to him, and a bag lady to his right hunkers down at the growl that reverberates off her tin-foil helmet.

It’s obvious to him that it doesn't seem like any of them have started to come down yet. Flash of the Host’s face // You're at a fork in the road, and one wrong turn means more than just getting lost in the dark.// He thinks that could be this instant, his unlife could be about to split into two new realities, the one he chooses and the one he was fated to choose. He should go back to the hotel before this gets out of hand. Before he runs them off the road, whips the ropes out of the trunk, binds them all to the bumper and takes them one at a time. Pretty picture accompanied by full audio soundtrack in his mind. Might make life slightly more difficult.

“Just turn around, go home and take care of your problem yourself. Swing by the Persian Kitty Video store on the way,” He’s letting his internal dialog out now, making it real, putting it into the world instead of just letting it sit caught in the net of his mind.

He could do that, pull back and let the boys go, have a little adventure and a lot of sex. On another night, maybe any other night.

The buzz in his skin has sunk down to his bones, and he knows the only way to get rid of it. Yeah, he knows better than most why he should fight it. But it’s been too long since he had a taste of something truly delicious, and his desire is straining in a different direction than fighting it off. He watches the tail lights on the truck shimmy as it bounces over a man-hole, and he starts the familiar picking at his internal wounds: How many people will I have to save to make up for the slaughter of the wicked? How many more years will I pay for the lives I didn't actually take myself? What more can they do to me for giving in to the drug and falling back into my favorite flavor of decadence? Not a whole fucking lot.

.. .. ..

Wes is suddenly distracted by a flare of glowing neon to his left. It looks like molten spun floss, and he wants to reach his fingers into it and draw them back coated in brilliant blue and pink and yellow, lick the swirling liquid from his fingers. He can taste it in the back of his throat, sweet sweet sweet and clinging.

"We have to stop." Wes rolls down the window, puts his hand out like a child.

"I was just thinking that." Gunn swerves immediately, and they round the corner with a bump as the rear tire rides up and over the curb and back down again.

"Just do it, pull over here." The door is already open and Wes is ready to walk out before they even roll to a stop.

Xander is straining to see what has compelled Wes to go even nuttier than he already was. He admits the lights here are much more seductive than the repeating colors of the traffic lights. They pull over and spill out in to the street, Wes waving his fingers toward a sign reading "All Nite Diner," Gunn rounding the front of the cab. Wes ambles down the street following the signs: "Donuts", "Hearts of Desire Body Piercing," "Condomania," Gunn on his heels looking a little dazzled himself.

Xander's bladder keeps him from falling to the sway of neon seduction. "I just need to take a leak. Be right there."

He ducks between the hood of Gunn's truck and the bumper of the Volvo parked ahead of them. Whips it out, does his business, is about to zip up and make for his friends when he feels a hand slip over his mouth and another around his waist.

There's a freaky sense of familiarity about the whole damn thing.

.. .. ..

Angel has had enough - he can smell the sex rolling down the street - and makes his move when Xander shields himself to piss. He waits for the boy to reach to zip up and has one arm around his torso and the other latched over his mouth faster than the zoned out man can realize his night has just taken on a new wrinkle. He carries him against his body to his car a block away and throws him in the passenger seat.

"Just like old times, huh Deadboy? The old snatch and grab." Xander recovers quickly enough, sitting up and glaring at Angel. "I fucking knew you'd gone evil as soon as I heard you on the Wes's machine."

"Baby, I wasn't ever anything but evil, and we both know it." Smirks at him from the other side of the black bench seat which is both too close and too far away at the same time.

Xander's heart is thudding against his ribs. "And I just can't seem to care."

"What did you say?" Angel’s hand is clenching into the top of the seat, and Xander wonders how long it will take him rip through the leather and for the horse hair to come bursting out.

"I just can't seem to care?" Eyebrow raised at the look on Angel's face, jerking back when he hears him laugh. Angel and laughter; Xander shivers, not entirely for the fear factor involved. "Insane and evil, just what I need."

"Don't worry, Xander, I know what you need." Angel's got his hands on Xander's legs and with a twitch of his wrists, he's pulled him much much closer. There's a cool hand on his neck and another under his shirt. Brush of knuckles on his nipples, five chilly trails to his waistband, one finger inside at the button. "I know what we both need…and I can finish what Gunn started."

Xander inhales sharply. "Angel…shit, I thought this was over…how did you know about…damn, vamp senses." Close up glimpse of dark hooded eyes, slip of hand from neck to tangle in his hair, then nothing but Angel's mouth on his. Not the crushing kiss he expects, either, but a slide of moist lips over his own, skimming and almost imagined brushes of the tip of his tongue. Tease, promise of more of come. The tongue comes all the way out, tracing Xander's mouth with frightening precision, like it’s something he knows by heart and draws from memory.

"I'm jealous. Don't know which part of it makes me more, you with another man or you getting a taste of Gunn." Breathes these words over the boy's face. Nuzzles in again, mouth parted slightly, bottom lip rubbing over Xander's damp upper.

Xander groans, turns his head to the side. "What ... what's going on? You haven't done this since you came back from hell, and the whole Gunn thing, it's like being 15 again, I can't seem to stop myself, it’s not like I jones for men on a regular basis, not too regular anyway, and I couldn’t keep my hands off him…" Can't stop himself now either, turns back for more of those taunting, maddeningly soft lips sliding across his own. Opens his mouth hopefully but gets nothing more than a rush of adrenaline from the awareness of what he's doing.

"You can thank the Tuanari you smoked with tonight. It's the drug. It's meant to lure their human lovers. It lulls humans, makes them pliant, placid, heightens all sensory stimulation, makes the urges to mate irresistible, until they are sated that is. It builds up and up and up until they give in and, well, do what we’re about to." Catches Xander's open mouth with his own, but does nothing more than rub again, while his hands tug open the button at the top of the jeans he’s been holding onto. When Xander makes a motion of protest, Angel draws the boy's lower lip into his mouth and sucks on it softly, sweet, tender flesh between his teeth. Fights the urge to bite down harder, for the moment. Releases him and tugs the jeans down.

"Blirak said we had to smoke to prove we're human, not that it was Spanish Fly. Wait, what about you?" He's trying to stall again, trying to find the small strand of sanity he seems to have lost somewhere in the vicinity of the bus he took here from Sunnydale. But it's Angel's hands on him again, Angel's mouth, his voice, his smell, and Xander's drowning in it.

"The drug works differently on vampires. It makes us antsy, wired, kind of like speed, but the sexual side effects are the same." Tugs on Xander's shirt until it tears a little and the boy lets him rip it off.

"I didn't see you at the table toking up." The sound of Angel's belt coming off is the loudest thing in the world. Angel checks himself when he realises he’s holding his belt in one hand preparing to reach for Xander’s wrists with the other, bound and begging, that’s what he wants. Lets the belt fall into the floorboard, he presses Xander back on the seat, hands everywhere at once, touching, pinching, until he reaches his cock and wraps his hand around it, slippery with pre-come already.

"Wesley…shared." Eyes golden around the pupils for a minute and Xander bucks into his grip.

"Huh? Oh God, his hand, what happens if you don’t get a chance to you know, to release the tension?" Groans again as he's stroked with finesse, Angel's hand warming from the friction.

“Humans start to get edgy and angry, vampires kill lots of things in ways you don’t want to know about, my boy.” Words spoken directly into Xander’s ear, pausing to punctuate with deft touches of his tongue. He rolls his fingers over the head of Xander’ cock and feels the flesh twitch from the stimulation.

"I almost forgot how easy you are, boy." But Angel's the one panting now, and his own cock is drooling strands of glistening slickness down onto Xander's belly. He gets an arm under Xander's leg and pulls him closer, rolling him up, spreading him open.

Xander's eyes flutter closed, dark crescents on his flushed skin as he surrenders to the roar of desire and the need to let it all happen. Let Angel's hands stroke him, let his fingers tremble down the warm skin of his inner thigh. Slippery finger pressing into him, making him grunt which merges into a sigh.

The colors from the street pulse behind his eyelids when that finger curls, stutters over the spot that makes him moan and writhe, press up for more. Feels himself loosening up, wanting to be filled, wanting the pressure and the pain and the release that comes with it.

"Angelus," he gasps out, and opens his eyes when he gets a growl in return. The finger leaves him abruptly, and he gets his legs pushed open wider. Sees Angel sucking on three of his own fingers and before Xander can protest, the fingers slide in one at a time, slick and wide and burning as he stretches.

Soon it's not fingers anymore, it's Angel's cock inside of him in a slow push that's so fucking *good* that Xander yells, just opens his mouth and lets the sound come out.

"Want this, want you..." Angel's face is painted in shadow as he moves, hips bucking in an erratic pace. The boys is so tight, so warm, so fucking familiar to him. He remembers the sweet submission, the taste of Xander's blood in his mouth, the smell of his semen spilled out on sweating skin. The sound of his voice begging for release, pleading to be fucked, wanting and wanting and always his.

Angel comes with a groan, collapses onto Xander, who releases his own flood of heat and slickness between them. Angel's face rests in the hollow of Xander's shoulder, and the murmur of his blood is maddeningly loud. Turns his head just the tiniest bit. Cool tongue flicks out to lick sweat from the pulsing carotid. Tastes the salt, inhales the scent and tells himself it's enough, it's enough; he won’t let the thrum of the blood over take him, won’t let tonight be a complete re-enactment of so many others.

Xander slides back to his side of the car, he can feel something easing inside of him, loosening the overarching need, but the tingle is still there. Still whispering to him. He buttons his pants and realizes his shirt is a lost cause, kind of like him at the moment. He glances over at Angel who has his pants done up, belt buckled, and shirt streaked with Xander's come.

Angel still seems seriously off, and wired to the hilt. He leans up, turns the ignition over, and flicks on the stereo. The wild frenzy of violins sweeps out of the speakers and into the night.

"Where to, my boy?" His grin is feral and possessing.

"I should find Wes and Gunn, make sure they're…why do I even bother? Take me to my hotel. I'm sure you already know where it is."

Angel pops the car into gear and almost fishtails spinning the car in the opposite direction.

.. .. ..

Gunn loses his interest in the lights in a hurry. He was all for the whole pulling over plan, but not so he could trail along after Wesley like some dog in heat. "Wes, slow your scrawny legs up. I don't wanna be chasin' you down the street half the night. Hold up, God damn it!"

Wes suddenly stills and raises his hand to Gunn. The other man catches up to him, and stops on his right. Follows Wesley's line of sight and sees it.

Three buildings down, a smashed out plate glass window, and a willowy woman standing surrounded by miniscule, furry carcasses. She raises her face to them and drops the kitten she has just fed from, demon fading to wide eyes and lovely smile. She dances in swirling movements and rolled shoulders towards them. "I needed a snack before the stars started to sing to me. Soft and sweet. Purrrrrrrrr" She clicks her teeth together twice, and her eyes roll back in her head.

"You gotta stake on you, g?" Gunn taps Wesley's shoulder and never takes his eyes off the girl who has begun to sway to some inner tune that only she can hear. It's freaky, and he's getting all kinds of bad vibes.

"Gunn, that is Druscilla."

"What? Shit, we gotta pull the orgy up three blocks from the Observatory. I'm starting to consider a new career in gambling, I mean what are the odds that she would just be here gnawin’ down on some cats on the street we stop on?"

"Pretty men. So naughty." She leans towards them, sniffs the air. "You've been playing with Daddy and my kitten. And now they're gone. Bad boys!"

Gunn mutters to Wesley from the corner of his mouth. "When you said insane, you didn't say padded walls and thorazine. You know what that wacky bitch is jawin' about?"

"I'm guessing Daddy would be Angel, and that he must have been following us again. As for the kitten thing, god only knows." He looks behind him, to ask Xander if he noticed anything. Gunn sees him and looks too, even though his skin prickles at the thought of taking his eyes off of Dru even for a split-second.

The street is empty.

"Daddy took my kitten again. Bad daddy, never lets me play. Greedy with the kitten." She raises her hands into claws and makes tearing motions in the air.

Gunn turns to Wesley. "Fuck. Wes, your little psychedelic romp just got Xander snatched!"

"Are you worried that Angel is going to hurt him, or that he's going to fuck him?!" Wes rages back, Gunn's sudden anger touching off a flare of delirious jealousy. "Afraid someone else will get your pretty boy before you can sample the wares?"

"Whoa, don't you even front with me, boy. I ain't the one who decided we needed to pull over." Gunn steps closer, face right in Wesley's, noses almost touching.

"As far as I know, you were the one operating the brake on the truck." Wes stabs a finger into Gunn's chest for emphasis.

"'Ooooooooh, pretty colors, let's get out and risk our asses.' Sound familiar, you head-case?"

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE stop it! Anger and red red red and it's not tasty. Dirty Tuanari. Lusty men. Stop. Please stop it." Dru's wail breaks up the argument for the moment as they both turn to see her holding her head and rocking on her toes.

Gunn smacks Wes on his back. "You made the insane chick lose her shit. Way to go."

"You were the one who started the accusations. Which are extremely unhelpful in this situation, I might add."

//Dru watches the men turn back to their argument and capers off mumbling to herself. "Ooooooohhh, my little friends, psst psst psst, sing to Dru. Make the words stop biting me, ripping, gnash gnash, sharp teeth. And the firey rain of lust in the air…Four and twenty blackbirds…" //

"Well, while you're adding, make sure to count up you trippin' down the street and losin' track of Xander."

"*Me* losing track of him? That's rich! You two were awfully familiar back in the truck. It seems to me that you're rather careless with your toys, Charles."

"So that's how it's gonna be?" He puts a hand on Wesley's chest and pushes just a little.

"Oh that's brilliant, Gunn." Wes staggers, regains his balance. "Let's fight over this while one of the very vampires we seek stands and waits for us to finish."

They both turn to look. Again, the street is empty.

"Bloody buggering FUCK!" Wesley explodes. "You lost her. She was right bloody *here* and you let her get away!"

"Are you calling me out? Because I'm not afraid to kick your ass six weeks to Sunday, boy"

"I expected that from you. Everything solved with your fists."

"Step up on this, you sorry punk ass." Gunn shoves him, hard this time, both hands grabbing shirt and tossing him back against the wall. He follows with the rest of his body, pinning Wes in place. With the full body contact comes a crashing wave of *need*, instead of slamming his fist into Wesley's face, Gunn presses his hips in, rocks against the hardness he finds there.

Wes freezes. Stunned, expecting a blow to be followed by several of its friends. Gunn grinds into him again, and the thinner man bucks up hard enough to make Gunn grab his upper arms to steady himself.

"Christ," Wes grits out from clenched teeth and surges to capture Gunn's mouth with his own, tongue thrusting in right away. This was always there, waiting for him nights after battles with creatures better left unremembered, and he never even considered it, never once contemplated the talent laying dormant in these lips or hands.

Gunn leans back, glances up and down the street, hones back in on Wesley whose panting against the rough brick of the wall. "I don't care that we're on a sidewalk two doors down from a 24 hour diner, do you?"

"Shut up, Gunn." Wes grabs his shirt, pulls him back in for another groin-inflaming kiss, lets his hands tug at the buttons on his jeans while he absorbs the taste of Gunn's mouth, texture of his tightly muscled belly. Unfurls his tongue and traces the indentation above of Gunn's upper-lip. Runs one hand up to brush a nipple, gets a guttural whoosh of breath from Gunn.

"Damn, Wes," he groans out when he feels Wesley's hands move down lower, cup the bulge of him through the heavy denim, tear open the fly of his jeans. Long slender fingers, hot and seeking, free his aching dick from the confines of his pants and wrap around. Squeeze once, and again, before sliding up and brushing a thumb over the head.

Gunn lets his head fall back for a second, brings his hand up and pushes Wes away. He's on his knees before Wesley has time to process the movement. Gunn's hands make quick work of the stubborn button of the khakis: he rips it off. The zipper slips down easily, the pants drop and Gunn shoves the boxers down impatiently. Wes braces one of his hands on his ex-coworker’s shoulders and brushes his other over the man’s smooth scalp. He realizes he's never done this before with someone who has no hair to grab on to.

Gunn drinks in the site of Wes's hard cock, dark tangle of hair at the base, and takes him into his mouth in one smooth motion. Tastes the bitter tang of the precome that coats it, lets it hit the back of his throat before releasing it and letting it slip back out. Tongues the slit and is rewarded with a gasp from Wes that makes Gunn grab his own dick and begin to stroke.

Almost translucent white fingers flutter over startlingly butter smooth, cocoa skin, face, shell of an ear, they come back to rest on the back of the skull tracing the lines the bone raises, pushing forward. He's almost keening, and Gunn *knew* Wes was a screamer. He takes Wes down down and back, no gag reflex to speak of anymore; he wants to hear him howl, wants to make him howl to the God damn moon before he comes. Sucks the head of Wes's cock into his mouth and gets a gush of warmth on his hand as he spills out his own rising excitement. Grabs himself below the head and pinches for a minute - too soon, not yet.

Wes looks down and sees Gunn rapidly moving his hand back and forth in brutal strokes on his own dick. He can feel the edge approaching, Gunn's tongue gliding over the *right * place, the fleshy ribbon of the scar he always worries when he does this with his own hand. He throws his head back with an audible smack on the brick wall, lets the moan out for Gunn and the world and all the higher beings who may be watching, and comes so hard he almost passes out. His fuzzy brain does register one fact: Gunn swallows.

As Wesley fills his throat, Gunn's hand stokes harder, faster, until he comes, growling. Ropey strands of white hit Wesley from knees to thighs, heat of it soaking into his skin. Gunn lets the cock slip from his mouth, presses his forehead into the soft skin of Wes's belly, the dark hair there tickling his face as he catches his breath. Wes reaches his shaky hands down and under Gunn's arms, pulls him up and let's the bulky weight rest against his chest.

Gunn slides a grin on to his lips and pulls out of the embrace. "You look a little worse for wear. Let me help." He pulls Wes's pants back up and zips them. "Uh, you seem to be missing a button." He turns slightly and yanks his own pants up.

Rubber legs are not good for walking, and the two demon hunters take way longer to get back in the truck than would seem reasonable.

“Whatcha wanna do?” Gunn’s leaning his head against the steering wheel, can see Wes searching his pockets for his smokes while trying to move as little as humanly possible.

“We should make an attempt to find Xander. Go to the Hyperion, maybe back to Caritas, perhaps the Host could help us.” He’s rolling his head back and forth on the window of his door, picking at the loose threads on the inside of his fly from the missing button with a thumbnail.

“Shit, how we ever gonna find them? This is Angel, man. You think he’ll make it easy?” Pulls himself back, slumps against the seat and belts himself in.

“Indeed. It will be quite an ordeal, but he is our companion…” Makes a go for his own seatbelt.

“You’re the one who said that Angel wouldn’t hurt any of us. Was that smoke up our asses, or should we put out a missing person’s bulletin, call Cordelia in, the Sunnydale crew, the whole anti-demon squad?” Gunn’s watching Wesley, the former Watcher never covers his true feels well. The wince is visible when the suggestion of calling in Cordelia is made.

“I think perhaps we could, uh, pray? And wait until morning. Less chance of Angel taking another one of us that way.” He knows he’s betraying Xander in a way, and turns to make sure Gunn is not judging him for it.

The truck’s pulling into the street, rattling Wes’s fillings in ten seconds. Gunn grinning smooth and just a touch of wicked. “You know I always got your back, dog. You’ll crash at my crib. Always room for one more.”

He sees Wes pull out his finally found cigarettes and put one in his mouth unlit. “Thank god for small favors.”

.. .. ..

Gunn and Wes stand outside of the Hyperion, blinking in the harsh sunlight. Neither seems ready to make the step through the door and possibly discover that their desire to go back to Gunn's place and spend the rest of the dark hours working the drug out of their system has cost them Xander's life.

"Dear lord, I hope he's here. I can't imagine what I will tell Rupert otherwise." Wesley is actually wringing his hands like an old maiden aunt who's found her kitten up a tree.

"Why don't you ever wait until the bad thing happens before you lose your mind?" Gunn gives him a small shove on the shoulder, nudging him into motion.

Wesley moves hesitantly, grousing at Gunn over his shoulder as they approach the hotel door. "Why don't you ever keep a thought in your head instead of making the world listen to it?"

"Snap, you got me there."

Cautious entrance into the deserted lobby does nothing to reassure Wesley that Xander hasn't met a bloody death at the hands of Angel...or Angelus. Gunn motions silently for them to climb the stairs, and they track together to Angel's suite on the second floor.

Wesley whispers, "Shall we break it down?"

Gunn rolls his eyes and reaches past him to rap on the door, a harsh staccato rhythm that echoes in the empty hallway.

There's a muffled reply from inside the room. "Come in, Wesley."

They open the door and find Angel sitting on the couch, watching TV. Wesley looks astounded to see him lounging there, so completely casual at their arrival that he could almost take it for disdain.

"What? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well, duh, daytime. I'm trapped." Faint trace of a suppressed smile as he looks at them mildly, fingers laced loosely and resting on his bare stomach.

"Where is Xander? What have you done with him?" Gunn's eyes are roaming through the room while Wesley does the third degree, looking for something, some trace of Xander. He sees the rumpled covers of the bed through the open double doors that mark the bedroom. He looks over to see Angel watching him with a lifted eyebrow that all but screams "beat you to it."

Angel turns back to Wes. "Love the support. He left you a note, over there on the table."

Gunn snatches the note up, wonders why he would even bother to pretend it doesn’t annoy him to no end that Angel and Xander spent the night doing exactly what he and Wes did. Sweaty tumbled exercises in strung out ache and thundering release; whispers and groans even past the point when the drug has evaporated. Every one of them has needs the drug didn’t even touch. He’s more comfortable in hiding behind the excuse that they'll probably pull out, and polishing up the same tired facades they’ve lived behind the entire time they’ve known each other, especially if things go south from here.

Wonders if Xander was as sweet as he promised to be, all wet kisses and soft hands and writhing heat.

Turns his eyes to the note:

"Hey guys,

I'm sorry to bail on you like that, but well, I gotta get home. Angel didn't kill me, this isn't one of his sick little mind fucks. I'll call Cordelia when I get home so you know I'm alive. I don't have either one of your numbers, and I didn't want to ask Deadboy for them. Have no fear, I won't tell her anything, like I need that. Just call her in a few hours, she'll tell you all about the call without you even asking, I'm sure.

It was good to see you again, Wes. And Gunn, it was great to meet you. Both of you feel free to come up to Sunnydale anytime for a visit. I'm sure there will be imminent world-endage soon enough to bring us all back together. Too bad we never got around to the whole PLAN. Chalk it up to a lesson learned, another day, another plan thwarted.

X"

Gunn hands the note to Wesley, who skims it quickly and then crumples it up. They look at each other; how hard would it be for Angel to have written the note himself? It's not like they can verify the handwriting; ask Angel to stay there while they run back to Sunnydale, dig up some old homework and compare the loops and scrolls of that writing to this.

"You guys wanna let me in on the 'plan'?" Angel asks mockingly. "It must be devastatingly brilliant, what with the greatest masterminds of the 21st century cooking it up between the booze and the drugs."

"Yes, well, the plan seems to have fallen prey to a distinct lack of foresight." Wesley looks at a loss.

Gunn crosses his arms and glares until Angel catches his eye.

“What? You really think I killed him?” Angel stretches his legs out in front of him and gives his most innocent face.

“Yes.” Both men chime in unison

~e.n.d~



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