Title: Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon 1/1
Author: Kath firstname.lastname@example.org
Disclaimer: Joss and David own Wes and Gunn; Ang Lee, Du Lu Wang et others
own the movie title and plot. I own my sick, twisted mind, and nothing else.
Rating: NC-17 m/m slash
Summary: Wes and Gunn go to the movies. Gunn's POV
Spoilers: Some for 'Thin Dead Line' and 'Reprise' and for the film 'Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon'.
Distribution: List archives; asking me for it will give me a big happy.
Feedback: Feed Me Seymour!
Notes: My first fic with Gunn as a major player. Hope I did okay.
I shift in my seat, trying to regain some feeling in my butt, legs crammed hopelessly beneath
the seat in front of me. Stretch one leg out and he's doing the same, cause now our knees
are bumping, calf of my leg casually draping over his, feet jockeying for a minimal amount
of space. Not an entirely uncomfortable situation, but it's distracting me from my reason
for being here. Eyes never leaving the screen, my hand gropes over, searching for the
jumbo size bucket'o popcorn, extra butter-extra salt. And I *know* his skinny white ass
can't have eaten it all. He whispers a 'sorry' in my ear and shoves a handful of twizzlers
into my grasp, like that's gonna make up for it. He's gonna have to come up with some
milk duds too or its hell to pay.
"Hmmph." If I lean a little bit more to the left, my elbow will rub against his, and maybe
that *is* why I'm here...only he doesn't know that, so I'd better play it cool. Yeah, that's
me...the Ice Man. But then, he's the one who wanted me here.
I steal a look, then stay for more. The picture from the screen is flickering distorted
images off his glasses, and he's so completely focused on the action, I could be naked and
he wouldn't notice. Hmmm, maybe I should test that theory. Could be fun. Could also
get me arrested. Not exactly an empty theater, which surprises me. A small smile curls
the ends of those soft, velvet lips, that I *know* taste like butter and salt right now - but
not chocolate because I've stolen the milk duds. Better pay attention to the film.
Knowing English, there's gonna be a quiz after this.
"Whoa." I'm stunned, as the credits roll.
"You didn't like it?" His voice is soft and tinged with disappointment.
"Wes, man, I tell ya I haven't seen a movie in a theater in like forever, and you couldn't
start me off with a little Spike Lee, or a Chris Rock comedy?" Okay, so that was a pretty
lame ass, stereotypical remark, but this theater ain't exactly in my neighborhood and
people are starting to stare, and I'm feeling certain things are expected of me.
"There *was* fighting in it...." He's reaching, and I really oughtta throw him a bone.
"The fighting was cool," I admit, with a nod. "Cordy could learn a thing or two from those
Chinese sisters. Like that flying bit..."
"I don't believe the audience fully understood the point of that. I mean, it's a fairy tale...a
fantasy." He sounds disgusted, and I don't blame him. Heckling at a movie is just...dumb.
I wanna tell him that, for me, the flying part *was* real...that it finally put a visual to this
weird image I've always had of Angel, doing the vamp thing, swooping down from
nowhere to save the day. Want to, but I can't because we're not saying the 'A' word right now.
"I thought they captured the mood of the book quite well." Look out Roger
Ebert, cause Wesley Wyndham-Pryce is in the building, and we're gonna get a full review,
no matter how many dirty looks we get for blockin' the row. Yo, go out the other side
if you're in such a hurry...and what the hell?
"You read the book? You *knew* how it was gonna end?"
He's doing that thing with his eyebrows, where they can't decide if they want to raise or
not. If I were the college going type, I'd want to major in Wesley's facial expressions,
cause that would keep me busy for years. "Yes, of course. Why?"
"And you didn't see fit to clue me in? Just let me sit here all night, thinking there was
gonna be a happy ending?" Uh oh, and I might have just said too much. I can tell, he's
figured out I actually did *like* the damn thing -- despite that seriously twisted ending.
He's leaning his pointy elbow on *my* armrest and his chin's in his hand, and he's in my
face, smiling that 'I've got your number' smile that he doesn't get to trot out nearly enough.
"I didn't want to spoil the story for you, Charles."
I gotta stand up, before these pins and needles jabbing at my feet crawl their way to my
ears. My knees are already stiff from being squished into that
way-too-small-for-a-tall-rugged-demon-fighting-man theater seat for two hours plus. And
I can smell the popcorn on his breath, which is leading me places I don't want to go just
yet. Wes is looking up at me, mouth in a round 'O', worry lines creasing his forehead.
Can't have that, so I flash him my pearly whites and stick out my rough, callused hand --
the one with the Winnie The Pooh band aid wrapped around the index finger, because
Cordelia was all out of Pokemon. He hesitates, reaches up to adjust his glasses and takes
my hand...his palm is warm and surprisingly dry, and it's alot harder than I thought to
unwind his legs and get his out of that seat. Skinny don't necessarily mean light, I'm
finding out. You'd never know, just by lookin at him, that he can down a
with one well-aimed punch just behind the...well, Wes *says* it's the equivalent of the ear,
but what use would an ear be 'down there'? On second thought, I don't wanna know.
A friendly smack on the back, just between those narrow shoulder blades, and we're
heading for the aisle, picking our way through half empty soda cups and overturned
"Chinese or English?"
"Huh?" He's looking back over his shoulder and nearly runs over the usher waiting
impatiently at the end of the row. Don't like being on the receiving end of that scowl much.
"The book...did ya read it in English or Chinese?"
"Really now, Charles...original Chinese, of course." That grin is challenging me to 'Guess
whether I'm lying or not,' and he *knows* I can't tell. Must be that damned accent or
something. Give him the eye roll, which is what he was looking for anyway, and keep moving.
Outside now, and it looks like it rained while we were in there. There's that fresh, clean
smell in the air that you just don't get in L.A. Must be a new pavement job, because our
feet are doing that crunching thing. I want to run and jump and maybe do that 'Sound Of
Music' spinning thing, like she does on the top of the hill, because it suddenly feels so
good to be outside, and free, and alive. I'm plowing right through the puddles, while Mr.
Fussy is sidestepping them like a good little gentleman. Gotta put an end to that. Stop at
the edge of a really big one and wait for him to catch up. He's reading my mind.
"Don't even think about it, Charles." Suddenly I'm six years old again. Shake my head to
rid myself of that image. *Don't* want to think of Wes as my old man. That would just
be too weird. I'm looking like I'm gonna jump, but no way do I want to spend the rest of
the evening with a sulking, scowly, wet Englishman.
"Hey, Wes, why'd you ask me to this thing, anyway? I woulda thought it was more of a
Virginia-type outing." Watch his shoulders sag just a bit, his footstep falter slightly, and I
think I just made a tiny crack in the wall.
"We...I...I just thought it would be nice to do something fun, away from the office for a
change." Yeah, because being at the office, complete with the funky smell, is usually a
barrel of laughs. Hear a small splat, feel the droplets of water on my ankle, and see he's
walking right through that puddle now. I side-step it and move to catch up.
"That's cool. Y'know, though, most guys woulda gone for a Lakers game, or a night at
the sports bar, or something. Subtitled movie at an arts theater -- not really a normal
male-bonding event." I'm teasing, but not sure he's seeing it that way.
"I'm sorry you didn't have a good time." He's looking down at his feet, and I think his
voice actually cracked.
"Hey!" Take him by the shoulders, and what I want to do is either hug him or shake him
hard. "I was *kidding*. I had a great time. Just being..." I almost let it all spill out.
Almost tell him how grateful I am that he's still alive, that just being with him is enough.
But I can't because that's the thought I've been avoiding since the whole thing came
down. Instead I throw an arm around his shoulder and wink.
"I just thought maybe you were trying to tell me something with that ending. Y'know,
that you wanted me to make a wish, and leap off a building, so it'd come true."
"Whaaaat?" Wonder if I can kiss that dumbfounded look off his face. On
second thought, that would probably just make it worse. Maybe the arm around the shoulder
wasn't such a good idea, because all I want to do is lean in and smell how clean he is.
Bet he smells better than the city, after it rains. Good thing we've made it to the truck.
Gotta help him get in, because its only been a couple of weeks, and he's still pretty weak.
Sometimes, I think he's so fragile I might break him, just by looking. Move around to the
other side and slide in, and he's off in his own world, thinking his deep thoughts. Wish
he'd leave the door open now and then, just a crack, so I could...
"Virginia and I aren't seeing each other anymore." Whoa!
"Hey, Wes, man, I'm sorry. You two seemed so...what happened?"
"This happened." He's gesturing vaguely around the truck, and I can't help
but look, like there's gonna be a sign tacked up somewhere with the answer on it.
Huge sigh. "My life...our lives, our chosen path." Big, hurting eyes burning into mine,
and I can't move, can't do anything but stare back. "My getting shot was the final straw. She couldn't handle the reality of the situation...couldn't bear to see me hurt."
"That bitch! Leaving you when you're in so much pain. There's no excuse for that. Does
she think it was any easier for us? She didn't have your blood on her hands. She didn't
have to watch you dying before her eyes!" The words explode out of me before I can
catch myself. And he's looking at me, all wide-eyed, and startled, and maybe a bit scared.
Can't blame him. I probably would be too, if some big, dumb, black guy started waving
his arms in the air and screaming at me for no reason. Well, I have a reason, but...*shit*,
now I'm crying.
"Charles?" Great, he's trying to comfort *me*, and he's pulling me over, wrapping his
arms around me, rubbing my back. "Shhhhh, it's alright. I'm going to be fine." My face
is in his chest, and damn, he does smell good. I'm blubbering like an idiot, and I guess I
went and got him all wet after all. Here I was, just trying to peak over his wall, and he's
gone and shattered mine into a million pieces. I pull back a little so I can see him, wiping
the worst of the tears from my face with my sleeve, while trying to suck the snot back up
my nose without sounding too gross.
"You okay?' I nod. His voice is so gentle, and so caring, that I just might lose it again. I
haven't cried since Alana, and even then I didn't let anyone else see me. Maybe someday
I'll tell him about my sister, about what a wonderful girl she was, how I never got to say
goodbye, and that that's my biggest regret in life.
"I'm not gonna let it happen again...I can't."
"Can't let what happen?" He's all concerned and confused. Didn't realize I'd said that
out loud, but now that I have, I pick up his thin, pale, delicate hands and hold them in my big, dark paws.
"I ain't gonna be like those guys in the movie, who waited too long to say how they really
felt about each other. I almost lost you once, English, and I ain't gonna let another day
slide by, without me letting you know..." Yeah, there's the hitch in my voice. Deep
breath. "...how much I care about you, and love you."
"I-I care about you too, Gunn." Yeah, there's the hitch in his voice now. He's trying to
be calm, but I can tell he's upset because he's breathing through his nose, his left eyebrow
is twitching, and the tips of is ears are turning pink. I think I just scared the shit out of
him. I'm not such a nice guy, because I'm about to scare him some more.
I'm leaning in close, so close he can probably feel my breath on his face. I've released his
hands, and he's gripping the back of the seat with one, while clutching the 'oh shit' handle
over the window with the other. His head's against the glass already, so he ain't going
anywhere, and his eyes are riveted on my nose. Yeah, you heard right - my nose. Not too
romantic, but I guess he figures its safer for him than my eyes. Not gonna give him any
warning neither; just gonna go for it. Which I do, pressing my lips up against his, our
noses bumping, and it's kinda awkward.
It feels like forever before he finally tilts his head to one side ever so slightly, allowing me
better access to that beautiful mouth. I'm finally getting my chance to suck on that lower
lip, and oh, the wait was worth it. Takes me a minute to realize he's got fistfuls of my
shirt in his hands now, and I keep waiting for him to push me off, but he doesn't. Instead,
he's pulling, stretching the material, drawing me closer. I run my tongue lightly along the
break between his lips and finally there's an opening. He's kissing back now. Oh. My.
God. I think my brain just exploded.
Can't think; don't want to think...about how long I've waited for this, how much I want
this. Trying not to crush him against the door; gotta be careful, cause Wes breaks easily.
Only now, Wes is crushing back, his hands creeping under my shirt, searching for bare
skin. Want me some of that. Yank his shirt up and run my hand along his stomach,
fingers coming to rest on the bumpy, jagged, nearly healed wound, where the bullet ripped
him open and nearly killed him. Jerk my hand away.
Pull back, frightened and panting, eyes glazed over with wanting him. He takes my hand
and places it back over the imperfect skin, holding his own hand over mine. "It's alright,"
he whispers. "You can't hurt me." We come crashing together again, this time with
hands moving everywhere at once. I'm in his hair, his hand's on my neck, but I need
more. And this wasn't supposed to be happening in the cab of my junky old truck, in the
middle of a deserted parking lot. I've got the belt undone, and I'm working on the button,
before he realizes what I'm doing. I think he's gonna push me away...think he thought
that too, but instead he's helping me, and I can feel him getting excited, as I slide the
zipper down., and slip my hand inside his shorts.
*crack* The back of his head hits the window. Don't seem to be no permanent damage;
he's rubbing his head and looking embarrassed.
"No, that's quite alright." Even now the guy is just so damned British.
I reach up and lay my palm on his chest. His heart is pounding like it wants to leap out
and lead a conga line. All I wanna do is get my head down there and pull him out, so I
can suck, suck, suck. Easier said than done. We're two tall guys in one small space. But
hey, we're nothing if not resourceful. A little wiggling on his part, and I 'm there.
And I want this. I *need* this. It's not about sex, although I want that too. It's about
making him a part of me, making him mine. I want to crawl inside his skin, and stay there,
nice and warm, but since I can't have that....and God, he is warm. I can feel the sweat
springing up on his body, and he's panting harder now. Gotta look up at his face; want to
see how much he needs me. His eyes are closed, eyelashes fluttering, and he's biting his
lip...and he's moaning, not real loud, but quiet, to himself. He's sliding down on the seat,
which is causing a problem for me, seeing as I'm running out of room.
My head jerks up, and he's watching me, with a look of near desperation. He grabs onto
the shoulders of my jacket and hauls me up his body, 'til he's kissing me again. I feel
hands on my crotch, unfastening my pants, then a fireball erupts inside my gut, shooting
up through my chest, to my head, then back down to my already hardening erection. He's
completely underneath me now, and I'm dazed, trying to figure out when - and how - he
got his pants down. He can't be seriously thinking we're gonna be doing *that* in
here...but apparently he does. I'm rubbing him hard, and almost wanna just finish him off,
and apologize later.
"Hey, Wes. Whoa! Slow down, Tiger. Wouldn't you rather finish this in a nice, warm
bed? Y'know, one with room for *both* of us?" But he just shakes his head and
mumbles "Now." I'm thinking this is more than just fun and games for him too. He needs
it as much as I do. Two lost souls, looking for a connection...and when did I become such
a goddam poet?
He can't possibly be comfortable, what with his head and shoulders scrunched up against
the passenger door, and his legs bent up against the drivers side... and then there's one
"Wes, I didn't exactly come prepared for this." He's looking a little lost, so I'll try again.
"I'm not just gonna do it, without any....y'know....anything to smooth the way. C'mon,
English, you act like you never done this shit before."
"Whaaaat?" And I know what my face looks like, cause I've seen him wear the
bewildered look lots of times. Never thought I'd be trying it on for size myself though.
He's not making sense. "Quit messing with me. I know you ain't no virgin."
I can barely make out the words, between the gasps for air. "Never. With. Another. Man."
Stunned silence. I guess I always assumed him and Angel... Now I *really* don't want
this to happen here, but he is *so* ready, and his hand is doing things to me that are
probably illegal in at least 35 states, and - Oh. My. God. - I gotta have *something* in this
damned truck we can use. Reach over and pop open the glove compartment, and he's
watching me, curious. Napkins, ketchup packets, wooden stake -- all on the floor now.
Ah Ha! Finally my hand comes out with a bottle of Cordy's hand creme, really flowery
smelling stuff. She musta left it behind once, and I just threw it in there and forgot.
Thank God, because I really didn't want to have to use the ketchup. Squeeze some out in
my hand, and suck in my breath, because, oh yeah, it's cold.
"Are you sure, Wes? We don't have to do this, if ya don't want to." He grabs me by the
ears and pulls me to him, kissing me hard, his tongue invading my mouth. Not that I'm
complaining, but he's alot more aggressive than I figured he'd be. Now it's his turn to
gasp, as I stick my slick, fragrant fingers inside him, to loosen him up. A few minutes and
he's ready...and I *know* I'm ready. I've been ready for this for weeks.
I take it slow, giving him a chance to catch his breath, and for his muscles to relax. It's a
tight fit, in more ways than one, but I like the way his body feels, pinned underneath me
like that. Slowly, he takes all of me inside of him, and I can't ever remember feeling this
complete. There's not alot of room for movement, but we got this little rocking thing
going. He's moaning louder now, though that could be because I'm ramming his back
into the window crank. Poor guy is never gonna walk again, after this. I can just hear
Cordy, when I try explaining this one: 'I can't even let you guys go to the movies by
yourselves without you getting into trouble.' Wonder if she'd buy the 'male bonding'
"Charles, ohhhhh, Charles!" And he's gone. I'm thisclose myself, and with a few more
deep thrusts I let go. Wanna collapse on top of him, but don't think his back can take it.
He's looking up at me, all sated and sleepy eyes, and *no way* is he gonna fall asleep on
me...not here. "That was amazing." I think he's purring.
Normally, I'd take a minute or two to savor the moment, but right now we're sticky, and
twisted up like pretzels, and stuck. No way around it. I'm gonna hafta open the door and
slide out. Lift my head to make sure we ain't got no audience, and when I'm sure no
one's around, I pop the latch, climb out, do a quick clean up with some of those glove
compartment napkins, and fasten up my jeans. He's let his legs flop out, and they're
dangling out of the car - long, white chicken legs. How'd I fall in love with a white guy
with chicken legs? He's not making any attempt at moving either. He just looks
so...happy...forcing me to climb back in and kiss him again.
"You okay, English? Nothing broken, I hope."
"Er, no....I appear to be...fully functioning." Damn, he's gotta know I can 't resist that
"Good, then get your bony ass up outta my seat so we can get the hell outta here." Which
he finally does. Clean up the seat a bit and we're good to go. I'm about to turn the key,
when he stops me with a hand on my shoulder.
"Gunn, did you mean what you said earlier?"
"About your bony ass?"
"No." He's almost too easy to tease. "About....caring about me?"
Draw him towards me and kiss him on the forehead. "Of course I meant it."
"Massive men lead lives of quiet desperation."
"Sorry...Thoreau. Henry David Thor..."
"Yeah, I heard of him. The 'Walden' guy. What's that got to do with us?"
"It's just..." and I can see he's wrestling for words, which worries me, because Wesley
*never* has trouble talking. "I'd understand if...I mean, alot has happened recently. You
felt sorry for me..." Now I understand, and I'm angry. I take hold of his face, so I can
make sure he understands me.
"Wesley, I want you to hear me. There's two things I don't do: lie, and go around
fucking people I don't care about. You're smart, charming, and good looking, and you're
a terrific friend. I said I loved you, and I meant it. You got a problem with that?"
"No, I don't suppose I do." I can feel the tension leaving him, and he's smiling shyly at
me. How did I ever get this lucky? "Good, now let's go home."