Title : Elvis has left the Building
Author : Gunbunny
E-Mail : firstname.lastname@example.org
Fandom : Angel
Pairing : Gunn/Wes
Rating : :snerk: Well, there's the memory of *lots* of alcohol.
Summary : Gunn and Wes wake up with hangovers in Las Vegas. In response to stakebait's challenge to write gay marriage fic as a 'fuck you' to Marriage Protection Week.
Disclaimer : Joss owns 'em.
Feedback : I accept burnt offerings and alcohol.
Archive : http://kabukivice.com/underskin , anywhere else feel free.
Gunn prised open his eyes, gingerly, then shut them immediately to shut out the painful light. Okay, that's a definite on the hangover. Beside him a groan that he's fairly familiar with resounds. Too many trips to the ER get you familiarised to your workmates' pain-noises. Fortunately, this wasn't an 'oh shit, I'm bleeding like a stuck pig and there's no bandages'. This was the lesser grade. "Wes?"
"Do not talk. Ow." Wes groaned next to him. "Dear god. How drunk did we get?"
"Way too drunk."
"Do you remember anything from last night?"
"We're still in Vegas, right?"
"I believe so."
Gunn flings an arm over his eyes, opening them carefully to attempt to introduce them to the light without too much pain. If he moves the arm real gradual, it might work. He studies the flashes coming to him. "Okay. There was drinking. Lots of drinking. Lots of tequila shots."
"I'd never have guessed." Wes says dryly. The man can do snippy even when he's in pain. Especially when he's in pain. It adds a whole new level of sarcasm.
"I... an Elvis impersonator, I believe I recall that."
"Don't remember any shows or slot machines. You?"
"No, just a bar, an Elvis impersonator and a large amount of neon."
"With that to go on, we could be talking Lorne's bathroom." Gunn says.
"Lorne's more into Sinatra and Dean Martin. Though yes, the neon and bar fit right in." The bed shifts a bit, which means Wes has sat up. Another groan. "Oh, that was a mistake..." More fumbling, crashing into something, water running - okay, that's the sound of him pissing - more water running. A glass gets pressed into his hand. "Here. I thought you might need this."
Gunn removes the arm over his eyes, winces, then gradually sits up and takes a sip of the water. He glances at Wes. "You look like shit, English."
"Thankyou, I had noticed. You've seen me with a hangover before. Drink that, then see if we can remember anything else about last night."
"Do we need to? We got drunk, saw an Elvis impersonator, stumbled back here. End of story."
Wes pinches the bridge of his nose. "There's something else. It feels like it's important."
Gunn rubs his face, then realises it's kind of raw around the mouth. The wheels fall into place with the memories. "Shit. We were kissing. I have stubble burn, English. From you."
"Ah. I, ah, seem to remember that as well now. You mostly tasted of tequila, from what I can recall. So we snogged." Gunn's getting distinct flashes of Wes pushing him up against the back wall of the bar and kissing him. Snogging's probably a better word, as it tends to mean much messier. With tongues. He's pretty sure there was reciprocation, too. Wes frowns. "I'm trying to remember if there was anything else - we obviously didn't shag as our clothes are still on." He picks at his shirt in distaste, then undoes a few buttons and pulls it over his head. "I'm going for a shower. Yell if you recall anything else."
Gunn pulls his off while the shower starts running, then starts rummaging through the debris of last night - shoes, their bags with a couple of changes of clothing, a lei, though he's no idea where that came from, some loose change. He starts going through their pockets to see if there's anything they picked up that might give them a clue to what happened. Okay. Condom in Wes' pocket. Tissue. Chinese coin with runes cut into the edge. Piece of paper. Gunn unfolds it, reads it, then has to sit down.
That's when Wes comes out of the shower, towel round his waist, visibly upset. Gunn notices idly that he's got a lovebite on his collarbone. Doesn't remember putting it there, but it looks pretty fresh. "Oh dear god. Tell me we didn't."
Gunn waves the piece of paper helplessly. "This what you talking about?"
Wes snatches it from his grasp, scans it, then groans. "Fuck. We did." It's a marriage certificate, announcing that Charles Gunn and Wesley Wyndham Price are now husband and husband, in the eyes of Nevada state law and the representatives of The King. "We got married by a bloody Elvis impersonator."
That's when Gunn's phone goes. It's Lorne. "Hello?"
"Sweetie, you should have invited us! But what were you thinking? An Elvis impersonator? Couldn't you have gone for something a little less tacky?"
Wes snatches the phone from him. "Lorne, we were drunk off our trolleys, so we were in no fit state to be making any decisions made on taste, let alone sanity. Goodbye." He switches it off, letting it hang limply from his hand. "Oh dear god. Is there any way of reversing this?"
Gunn shakes his head. "It's legal, Wes. Even I can't push a divorce through so quick it goes backward through time."
Wes collapses on the bed, groaning again. Gunn gets up off the floor and decides to join him. "Well, it could be worse."
"Name one way it could've been worse."
"It could've been Spike." They both shudder in response to that mental image. Maybe Angel could do it, but they sure as hell couldn't.
"Don't think you can actually make marriage stick to someone who's legally dead." Gunn muses. "Still, you got a point. Least you're cute and I actually get on with you. I've seen worse reasons for getting married."
"You're suggesting we stay married?" Wes demands, turning over to loom over him. "Gunn, that is the most - " he stops, then glares at him. "Do you mind not poking that? I'm quite aware that you gave it to me."
Gunn pulls his finger away from the lovebite, shrugs. "Was just wondering. Don't remember giving it to you."
"I'm surprised I don't have one on my neck, the way you were attacking it. I do have bruises on my arse, though, thankyou so much."
"Do you remember why you decided to shove your tongue down my throat? I remember that, at least."
"You kept flirting with me. I decided to take you up on the offer. I can't imagine why, though. It was almost certainly the fifth shot of tequila that was responsible for that." Wes pauses, rubbing the side of his neck. "I do find it somewhat annoying that you don't have any souvenirs, though."
"Hey man, I have stubble burn. We're talking cheesegrater skin here. Just because you can't see it don't mean it's not there."
Wes starts running a finger over the skin on Gunn's face. "Ah. I sympathise. Totally."
Gunn glares at him. "No you don't."
"No, I don't." Wes says cheerfully, then gets up off the bed, heading for the shower. "I'm going to finish my shower. Have fun thinking of the alimony you'll have to pay."
"Remember who the lawyer is, English." Gunn retorts, glaring at his retreating ass. He's allowed. It's a cute ass and he's married to it's owner. Hmm. There's two more days to this Vegas trip, and he remembers Wes was a good kisser through the drunken haze surrounding the memory. A little voice is telling him he could definitely do worse. Wes + tequila equals Easy Wes. He might just have to experiment with that. Though he's definitely going to brush his teeth first.