Title: For the Mind is Hollow and I Have Touched This Guy
        Author: James Walkswithwind
        Pairing: Gunn/Wesley
        Rating: NC-17 Feedback: giladajames@highstream.net
        Archive: list archives only
        Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit
        Website: http://perian.slashcity.org/gila
        Summary: Wesley goes about his day, with the help of his friends.
        Warnings: See part 0 for spoiler warnings.
        Notes: See part 0 for spoiler warnings.

        Did you notice that you should see part 0 for if you want spoiler 
        warnings?
        :-) Don't yell at me if you don't look, and regret it later! If you 
        don't regret it, go ahead and yell!



        %%%%%%%%%%

        For the Mind is Hollow And I Have Touched This Guy


        Long, wet fingers inched down his body. Head thrown back and shoulders, 
        head, feet braced against the tile, Wesley stood in the spray of the 
        shower and just let Charles touch him. Here, there, everywhere the water 
        hit. As though tracing the path of the water down Wesley's body, an 
        impossible but worthy task in the shower, hot water turned up as strong 
        as the ancient plumbing could handle.

        Wesley tried to gasp for air, trying to remember that breathing water 
        wasn't conducive to breathing, conducive to standing here where his 
        lover had surprised him, and letting him have his wicked way -- if he 
        choked, Charles might stop doing what he was doing, and *that* was a 
        wicked thing indeed. He tried to turn his head so the water could glide 
        down his face -- or were those fingers, now? reaching up and caressing, 
        fingers hot as the water, burning and making him turn his face anyhow, 
        searching for those fingers to bite, and suck.

        They eluded him, so Wesley let his head fall, eyes closed against the 
        rivulets of water that now ran down the sides of his head and across his 
        face, across his eyelids and dropping in the center. Water, just hot, 
        clean water, dripping from his eyes and onto Charles' head, no doubt, 
        but the other man wasn't complaining.

        At least not aloud. His mouth was still too busy for that, wrapped 
        around Wesley's cock, giving a hot wet sensation that could never be 
        mistaken for the shower water.

        Unless one tried really, really hard.

        Wesley gasped, then opened his eyes to see his own hand grasped around 
        his erection. Jerking faster now, even as the fantasy faded. He reminded 
        himself that his lover would be home, soon, and this would be for real. 
        This would be Charles and not his imagination, kneeling before him and 
        holding him -- Wesley came in ferocious spurts, biting back and outcry 
        which would echo throughout the bathroom and through the thin walls into 
        the neighbor's bathrooms. There were some things they needn't know. Even 
        if they did it, themselves.

        Wesley took a deep breath and stood still to let the water rinse him 
        clean. Tightening his shoulders, he pushed then stretched his arms 
        against the wall and felt the delicious exhaustion that always crept in 
        afterwards. If he hadn't had to go to work, he might think about 
        crawling back into bed and lying there until Charles did come home. Then 
        another shower, and back to bed again.

        He'd already put in for a day's vacation. Intended to use it by not 
        leaving the bedroom -- and the pizza delivery person could bloody well 
        bring it in *here*. Wesley finished his shower and shut off the water, 
        feeling a stab of guilt at using so much, heating it so high. Perhaps 
        next time he got his utility bills, he'd figure out just how short his 
        shower ought be. As he stepped out and grabbed the towel, he looked 
        around at the steam-covered surfaces. Yes, perhaps a bit cooler, and a 
        bit shorter.

        Next time. He inhaled deeply, and smiled. Today he simply felt too good 
        to really mind. He dried himself off, then wrapped the towel around his 
        waist -- then laughed at himself for bothering. How long had he lived 
        alone, or lived only with a lover?

        He shrugged as he stepped out of the bathroom, towel still in place. It 
        did make it easier for certain parties to whip the towel away.

        %%%%%%%%%%%%

        Wesley sat down at his desk in the hotel office, which he'd *finally* 
        convinced Cordelia should be his, and not hers. Remodeling the lobby had 
        segued into restoring the offices, and they'd found that the three small 
        offices had once been two much larger ones. The first, rear office went 
        to Angel, of course. The second Wesley had claimed, explaining over and 
        over that as the *receptionist*, Cordelia should be at the front desk 
        where she could greet the new clients.

        When she'd protested, he'd argued that did she really want him being the 
        one to greet new customers, convince them to stay, and give them money?

        She'd actually argued back at that, which had been rather nice. But in 
        the end he'd convinced her, though sometimes he didn't wonder if she'd 
        been after the front desk all along, for when had Cordelia ever done 
        anything but what she'd wanted? When Wesley or Angel were involved, at 
        any rate. He couldn't recall Charles ever managing to win over Cordelia, 
        either, though it was difficult now to remember the last time they'd 
        gone at it over anything. Arguing over where to park the truck, he 
        thought, which honestly didn't matter to anyone. Except Cordelia, who 
        wanted to not be seen getting out of the aging junk heap, and to 
        Charles, who didn't want to be told where to park. And to Angel, who had 
        just wanted to get out of the truck before the sun rose.

        Grinning at the memory, he shuffled through the notes he'd left 
        yesterday. He was working on cataloging the Precian prophecies which he 
        thought might become useful in the first dozen years of the new 
        millennium. They were all more or less translated, but they'd never been 
        properly indexed. He was doing that, now, so he could look them up by 
        title, line, and author when needed. Perhaps not precisely something 
        required, since there were only fifty or so prophecies, but indexing 
        them allowed him to study them, and become better acquainted with them. 
        Once the index was completed, he might never need to refer to it. But it 
        would be there for others, and if he didn't create the index, he *would* 
        need one. All in all, a worthwhile endeavour.

        Wesley found the spot he'd left off, and began searching for the book 
        he'd been in the midst of. Ten minutes later he was shouting for 
        Cordelia.

        She popped her head into the office, looking only slightly concerned. 
        "What?"

        Frowning, he continued looking through the stacks of books. "Have you 
        seen the Compendium Du Roches?"

        "Uh.. the what?"

        "Compendium Du Roches. I had it right *here*, yesterday. Have you 
        borrowed it?"

        She stepped into the office and began halfheartedly looking around. "Why 
        would I borrow a book on roaches? I don't have enough evil in my life?"

        He gave her a flat look. "Very funny. You know perfectly well it is 
        *not* about roaches. I said 'Roches', and you yourself have *read* the 
        book before. At least once, I saw you."

        "Oh, sorry." Cordelia held her hands up in a gesture of ill-acted 
        apology. "Like I *remember* any of that stuff afterwards? Um, what does 
        it look like?"

        "It's about this big," he held up his own hands, indicating the book's 
        size. "Brown cover, and on the cover is written 'Compendium Du Roches'. 
        It's only an inch or so thick, so it might have slipped under the 
        papers, only I can't *find* it."

        "All right, all right, calm down. I'll help you look, OK?" Cordelia 
        began searching more earnestly, then, actually picking up stacks of 
        papers and books, and looking through them. Wesley searched as well, 
        first the desk, then the filing cabinets, then finally the floor.

        "Would Angel have taken it? It isn't *anywhere*. It must be here 
        somewhere." He tried to think if he'd taken it from the office last 
        night. Had he? He couldn't recall.

        "Maybe. We can go check his office, first. He'll be down soon, and we 
        can ask him."

        Wesley stood up from where he'd been looking under his desk. Still 
        frowning, because he *knew* he'd had the book. Right here, next to his 
        notes. He nodded, though, at Cordelia's suggestion. She led him out of 
        his office and into Angel's, where they split up and began searching.

        %%%%%%%%%%%%%%

        Angel came downstairs later that afternoon. Cordelia was standing at the 
        bottom of the stairs, waiting. Her expression worried him.

        "What's going on?"

        She looked up at him, then shook her head. "Not much. He's in his 
        office, working on his index."

        "Then why are you so worried?" He asked quietly, as he came down to 
        stand beside her.

        She glanced at him. "He was looking for some book; we couldn't find it. 
        I got him distracted with one of his other books, but...do you know a 
        'Compendium Du Roches'?"

        Angel shook his head. "Never heard of it."

        "Well, he was pretty convinced he had it here yesterday. I can't 
        tell...but we turned his office and yours upside-down, looking for it. 
        We went up to his room and looked, but nothing. I told him maybe you'd 
        borrowed it....?" She looked at him hopefully, despite his just-made 
        claim of ignorance to the book's existence.

        "Sorry. I don't have it."

        Cordelia glanced up at him. "Do you think it might have been one he lost 
        in the....?" Her voice dropped the last word, her mouth barely began it.

        "Maybe," Angel said. "Did you call any of the bookstores, to see if 
        there's another copy around?"

        "Yeah. No copies, most of the rare book shops haven't even heard of it." 
        Cordelia sighed. "I left a message with Anya, to see if Giles has a copy 
        we can have. I don't know if Wes will *need* it." She looked up at 
        Angel, again, words in her eyes that she didn't speak. She didn't have 
        to, not anymore.

        "But there's no reason we shouldn't get it for him," Angel finished the 
        thought. "Anything else?" He hated asking.

        Cordelia stared towards the office. "He asked when Gunn was getting 
        back."

        "What'd you tell him?"

        That got her to glance his way with a slightly incredulous expression. 
        "Told him I wasn't sure. What did you *think* I'd say?"

        "I'm sorry. I just meant...if you'd said anything I should repeat."

        She shook her head, and the expression faded to a sadness that was 
        always there, anymore. Angel couldn't remember the last time he'd seen 
        her look really happy. Sure, she smiled, and laughed -- with Wesley, 
        when he needed to. It never touched her eyes, though. "I hate lying to 
        him."

        Angel wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "I know. But telling him is 
        worse."

        She nodded, then turned around, suddenly, opening her arms for the hug 
        she needed. Cordelia pressed her face against Angel's chest, and he just 
        held her tightly. They'd tried telling him, before.  Telling Wesley what 
        he didn't remember, explaining about the explosion and the fire, the 
        lost books and the deaths.

        Wesley had screamed for the rest of the day, and, when he'd woken, had 
        forgotten it all once more.


        The End