Title: Green Card
Author: Katta ( firstname.lastname@example.org )
Archive: list sites, all others ask first (I'll say yes)
Summary: ...and what to do when you lose yours.
Rating: mild PG13? Some slash, a bit of violence, that's all.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and others own the main characters and
Sequel: Seventh in my Birthdayverse series after "Out in the Open". Look for
the others in list archives or on my website.
Going to Wesley's house was way too awkward for Gunn's liking. He'd have
preferred it if he could see the guy on his own ground, or on neutral
territory like the shelter. At least this was more private, which he
supposed was a good thing if he was going to kiss Wes again. On the other
hand, if he *wasn't* going to kiss Wes again...
Shit. He didn't even know what to say to the guy, whether to start with the
embarrassing stuff or with the shooting and that could turn out pretty
embarrassing too. As he walked up the stairs to Wesley's apartment he tried
to come up with a good opening line. He hadn't expected Wesley to be on the
landing outside his door talking on the phone.
"No, I don't know what's wrong. It's not supposed to
"Hey, Wesley. Haven't seen you around for a while." That would have been a
good enough greeting if they'd met on the street, but for showing up at a
guy's apartment it was a bit lame.
Wesley didn't object to it, though, just nodded over his shoulder. "Could
you get my keys out and let yourself in? I'm in the middle of something."
Gunn fished the key chain from Wesley's pocket, trying not to think too hard
of what parts of Wesley that made him touch. He opened the door and inside.
Wesley entered after him, still on the phone.
"I told you, I don't know. It's supposed to last another three months...
Anything is *possible*, Anne, but green cards aren't usually revoked for no
Gunn looked up. Wesley's green card had been revoked? Would that mean he had
to leave the country? Normally, the answer would have been a definite no.
Half of the people Gunn knew didn't even exist by government standards. But
Wes was upper class it didn't show as much anymore, but he was and might
not want to join the ever growing group of illegal immigrants.
"Calm down. Who's Lilah?" A brief pause, and Wesley's face changed in a
subtle way. "Ah."
His voice had gone so cold it was startling, and Gunn watched him sharply,
trying to figure out what was going on in his mind.
"Anne, I have the feeling this may take some time and effort. I suggest you
find someone to take over my job for a while."
"What!?" Gunn had to protest at that, but found himself on the receiving end
of a stern scowl.
"I'm sorry. I'll try to figure something out. All right? Goodbye, then."
Wesley turned off the cell phone and put it down on the hall table. "Sorry
about that. To what do I owe the honour?"
Was that sarcasm? Gunn chose to ignore the possibility, wanting to stay on
track. "What did you do that for?"
"Do what?" Wesley asked, heading into the living room. "Lose my green card?
It wasn't entirely on purpose, I'm afraid."
"Give up your job like that."
"Give up!?" Wesley's voice rose to a level Gunn had never heard before. "Do
you have any idea how hard I've worked *not* to give up? How much effort it
takes? Or do you think rebuilding one's life is something done in a coffee
break?" He slammed his fist hard into the wall. "I've done *everything* to
stay head above water, and before I know it something like this happens and
it's ripped away from me all over again."
Gunn was dumbfounded, although he mentally scoffed at himself for it. This
wasn't unexpected shouldn't be, anyway. It would have been stranger if
Wesley *didn't* think like that. So why had he assumed everything was fine?
"You still got me," he said, trying to bring at least some comfort.
It sounded weak even to his own ears, and Wesley apparently agreed, giving a
sound that was halfway between sigh and laughter. "Yes, that's so helpful,
Gunn. Especially if you intend to run off every time you make an advance at
That hurt, and it was probably meant to. "I'm not running now, am I?"
"You're not making an advance at me now."
There was really just one way to respond that would be the least bit
effective. Right now, getting them both a little calmer was a whole lot more
important than any fears of where things may be headed, and so Gunn took a
few determined strides forward, captured Wesley's head in his hands and
It was done more to prove a point than anything else, but he proved it even
to himself as the kiss deepened and he stopped thinking of what might come,
because just having Wes right *here* right *now* was pretty great in itself.
When he finally broke loose, he was grinning. This wasn't so scary.
"Not running," he said.
Wesley's face softened slightly, and he reached out for a chair, sitting
down without taking his eyes off Gunn. "I'm sorry. That was way out of line.
I have no business demanding that you..."
"Save the excuses. You're freaked. I get it."
Wesley looked down, and after a moment's pause started speaking in a very
low voice. "Tell me if I'm paranoid, Gunn. Wolfram and Hart the lawyers
who have been helping the shelter have an interest in the fight club,
forcing clients to sponsor it. The first time I came to the fight club, I
found that they also had an interest in *Angel*, of a rather negative kind.
From what I understand, they wanted him to stay in the fight club until he
died or went completely insane."
Well, that was a perspective Gunn had some understanding for, but
nevertheless he wasn't sure he liked what he was hearing. He'd never met any
of those lawyers in person, but he knew how highly Anne thought of them, and
what kind of big shots they were.
"So I take down the fight club," Wesley continued, "get Angel out of there,
and a few days later I get a phone call from Anne, saying my green card has
been revoked, and that she has spoken to her *lawyers* who don't think they
can do anything about it. Now, what I want to know is, is all this
"Son of a bitch," Gunn said, feeling a sudden need to find a chair himself.
He pulled one close the way Wesley had and sat down without looking. "You
"I don't know *what* I think." Wesley rubbed his brow with the back of his
hand. "I may be paranoid. I hope I am."
"Cause if you're not..."
"I just made myself some rather powerful enemies."
Not good. *So* not good, if it was true. "But wouldn't they try to convince
you first? Talk to you?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"What about" Gunn couldn't bring himself to use the word "Angel" about a
bloodsucker "the vampire? Have you talked to him?"
"Not yet." Wesley raised his head and looked pensively at the door the
door to the apartment, not the bedroom one. "He went home last night, and at
that point the issue wasn't... quite as pressing. I had other things on my
That reminded Gunn of the reason he'd come. One of the reasons. "Wes... did
you shoot someone that night at the fight club?"
He'd have expected some sort of reaction to that question, but Wesley just
nodded. "Yes. I take it you, too, read the coroner's report in the papers."
"Yeah. I should have known." Three bodies, two of them ripped into
unrecognisable pieces, and the third unmarred except for the wound in his
"I can't regret it, Gunn. I wish I could, but I can't. He made a profit and
a sport of the death of living creatures. Evil creatures, perhaps, but they
didn't die because they were evil. They died because it was fun to *watch*.
And in any case, I had to get Angel out."
"So you chose the demon over the man?"
"And I'd do it again."
The tension in the room was so thick it was practically touchable, and Gunn
knew this was the defining moment. He could bolt over a kiss, but if he
bolted over this, he wouldn't have to bother with coming back. Wesley wasn't
going to budge. If Gunn wanted to, he could refuse to accept it, maintain
that a vampire was a vampire no matter how many souls you threw into the
bargain, and that killing a human especially to save a demon was simply
He could do that, and Wesley would let him leave without protest.
"You gotta talk to him, though," he said. "Find out what he knows about
Wesley nodded, and the relief was so clear on his face he must've had known
exactly what Gunn had been thinking. "Will you come with me?"
And that son of a bitch just had to keep *pushing* it. "Yeah. Sure."
The vampire's apartment reminded Gunn of Wesley's first one. Not quite as
bad a dump, perhaps, but unlike Wesley, the vamp did nothing to better the
appearance. Hell, even *his* place looked more lived-in than this. There
were clothes, books and other random objects strewn over the floor and
furniture, and most of it was covered in dust.
He half wished it was proof of the vampire dusting itself, but knew it
wasn't so. The dust was too spread out for that. It was just lack of
cleaning, and not of the slobby kind. This was a "I'm so low I can't see my
surroundings" kind of mess. It hit a little too close to home to be
comfortable no vampire should *ever* be able to have those feelings. It
was a human thing. Had to be.
"Angel? Are you in there?"
"Where *is* he?" asked Gunn, freaked out by the silence.
"If I knew that, I wouldn't be calling for him."
That patient superiority in Wesley's voice was damn near insufferable, and
Gunn mouthed a "bastard" behind his back. He'd promised not to leave. That
didn't mean he was anybody's whipping boy. He could finally make sense of
what Anne had said about Wesley's tendencies to get into school teacher mode
*bad* schoolteacher mode, as she'd put it.
Of course, she'd also said that from what she could tell, he did it when he
was nervous. It didn't make it any less annoying, but at least a bit easier
Wesley froze, whispering, "Do you hear something?"
Gunn started shaking his head, but in the sudden silence he heard sounds
from the next room and changed it into a nod. Very slowly, he proceeded to
the door and opened it, revealing the vampire lying on the floor inside,
clutching his head in obvious agony.
"I think he's sick."
Wesley pushed past Gunn and leaned down next to the vampire. "Angel? Are you
The vampire raised his head, and Gunn got a very bad feeling in the pit of
"Wes, don't do that. You don't know..."
Before he'd finished speaking, the vampire was on its feet, grabbing Wesley
by the throat and shoving him up against the wall. Gunn cursed himself for
letting Wesley get so close. He'd been stupid enough to trust Wesley's
assurance that this vampire was different, even though he should have known
better. He lunged for the vamp with a stake in his hand and was met with a
backhand strike and, bizarrely enough the warning, "Stay away from her!
Gunn prepared to hit again, but in order to fight him, the vampire had been
forced to shift its grip on Wesley's body, moving down to the shoulders.
Clearly the touch set off some memory, because it blinked a couple of times,
an incredulous look on its face.
"Hello, Angel," Wesley said in a hoarse voice, steadier than Gunn would have
anticipated. "We were hoping you could give us some information about a
The vampire let go of him and turned for the door. "I don't have time."
"You have time to strangle him but not to talk to him?" Gunn blocked the
door, holding up the stake.
The vamp scrutinised him, but more like a gang leader eyeing the new kid
around than a demon checking out its lunch. "Can you fight with more than
that?" It sounded way too sane for someone who'd been raving half a minute
earlier, and although Gunn would never have openly admitted it, it made his
"You bet I can."
"Good. Grab a sword, then, and we'll talk on the way."
Gunn stared, which caused the vampire to sigh. "You came here to talk, not
to fight me. If you fight *with* me, we can talk on the way. And I really
don't have time for this. There's a demon about to attack a girl ten blocks
"How do you know that?" But the vampire had already lost interest in him,
brushing him aside and heading for something in the next room. "How does he
know that? *Does* he even know that?"
Wesley shrugged. "I think we'd better follow him."
There was a loud clatter of metal from the next room, and then the vamp
re-emerged, carrying the hugest goddamned sword Gunn had ever seen.
"It's not dark outside yet. We'd better take the sewers."
Gunn glared at Wesley. "Sewers!?"
"Sewers," he repeated later, stumbling through said sewers holding a large
axe in one hand while he pressed the other over his mouth and nose. "I know
I said I'd stay, but you're really pushing it, English."
"You can leave if you want." Wesley's voice was slightly choked, since his
one hand was occupied by the short sword he was carrying. "I wouldn't hold
it against you."
"I *said* I'd stay, didn't I? I just don't want to take orders from you. And
I *definitely* don't want to take orders from some crazy vampire running off
on a whim to fight monsters."
"I wouldn't call a supernatural vision a 'whim', Gunn. Besides, the worst
thing that can happen is that we get a bit dirty and there's nothing there
"No, the *worst* thing that can happen is that he decides there *is*
something to fight, and we're it."
The vampire had been ignoring them so far, but now it said over its
shoulder, "I didn't mean to hurt him."
"And that's supposed to put me at ease?"
It stopped and turned to look at him. "I promise not to start fighting until
you two say so." Its eyes drifted over to Wesley. "Are you sure you'll be
"Angel," Wesley said, and despite everything it was pretty funny to hear
that reasonable tone of voice used against a bloodsucker. "I picked a
gladius *precisely* because it's meant to be used with one hand. If I were
the one with the over-dimensioned claymore you would have reason to worry.
And I can assure you I don't intend to rush into a fight if I believe you or
Gunn better equipped to handle it without me."
The vamp looked like it was about to protest, but closed its mouth,
shrugged, and started to walk again, so fast they had to half-run to keep
up. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"
"What do you know of a law firm called Wolfram and Hart?"
"They're bad." It didn't seem very surprised by the question, Gunn noticed.
"How bad is that?" It was clear from Wesley's voice that he still hoped to
be able to reason his way out of this green card situation.
"Worse than whatever you're thinking. There are demons causing more mayhem,
but half of the time Wolfram and Hart are the people *paying* those demons.
If there's some sort of dirty business in this town they're not involved in,
I sure don't know what it is. Does that answer your question?"
Wesley, who had turned pale, nodded mutely. So much for a chance of getting
that green card back, Gunn thought, and that thought was enough to make him
forget the stench and the stupidity of all this, because he might not get
the chance to spend much more time with Wesley.
So he didn't say anything more until they climbed up to the surface and he
found there was actually a demon up there. Big, grey, ugly demon.
"Is that a permission to fight?" the vamp asked, ready with the sword.
"Yes! Fuck! Fight it *now*!"
He followed his own advice, lunging in with the axe. Wesley, he saw, had
gone to pull the girl out of the demon's reach. Good thinking if he got
close enough to get any proper use of his short sword he'd be in deep
trouble anyway. That massive "claymore" the vampire sported suddenly didn't
seem like overkill.
For about fifteen minutes after that he shut off his thoughts of anything
that didn't have to do with the fight, until the vampire finally cut off the
creature's head, which bounced across the ground to the girl. At least she
didn't scream or faint or something stupid like that, just took a step back
and started sobbing.
"You're good," the vampire said as if *that* was the surprising bit about
"Yeah? Well, so are you."
There was a small patch of grass nearby, not deserving the name of a lawn,
and Gunn went over there to clean his axe. While he was trying to wipe of
the sticky demon blood he was interrupted by the vampire moaning, "Oh God,
now she's feeding on it!
Gunn spun around, not sure what he'd be seeing, but the girl was still
standing as far away from the demon as she could come without backing
through the wall, trying to stop her tears. A shiver ran up his spine. If
seeing the vampire go from crazy to normal in a manner of seconds had been
spooky, seeing the process reversed was a lot worse. But there was no rage
in the vampire's face now, only pain and disgust, and strangely enough, it
made him look more human.
Gunn didn't want to think about that, so he finished cleaning up his axe and
headed back to Wesley, surprised to see that his sword was stained as well.
"You got some shots in after all?"
"Better for me if I hadn't," Wesley said wryly. "Have you noticed how this
blood is barely even liquid?"
"Yeah, and that's the best part of it." Gunn sighed and threw another glance
at the confused vampire on the other side of the dead demon. This day was
just getting worse by the minute. "Can we go now?"
Wesley stuck his keys back in his pocket and went to make some coffee. Right
now, he very much needed it.
Gunn was leaning against the doorframe, watching as Wesley got the
percolator ready. "You're making it too strong."
"I like it strong. I've got milk and sugar for you if you don't."
"Will you go back to England?"
That wasn't the response he had expected, and he very nearly made the coffee
too strong for himself as well. "No."
He forced his hand not to shake as he put the measure and the coffee bag
back in the cupboard. "Mainly because I hate it there. Although we do have
Gunn laughed at this, but the sound was more concerned than anything else.
So, what will you do? Just hang with us, or..."
'Hang with us', obviously, meant the demon fighting or at the very least
helping out with the demon fighting, with the support, research or anything
else a Slayer might need. And that was what he was meant for, after all. He
still had that purpose, more than ever before, and he was grateful for it.
It just didn't pay the bills anymore.
Although if Angel had described the city correctly, perhaps it could. There
were supernatural fight clubs, brothels, lawyers... somewhere in all this,
there had to be someone needing a Watcher.
"Wolfram and Hart get paid to represent evil," he thought out loud. The
percolator beeped, but he didn't have time for it. "Perhaps I could
"You're gonna be a *lawyer*?"
Gunn sounded incredulous, and Wesley quite agreed with him. "Don't be
ridiculous. I couldn't go anywhere near a courtroom."
"So what do you plan to do?"
He wasn't *planning* anything at all, and just let his mind wander, trying
to find the stray thought lingering there. "What I do now, I suppose.
Research things. Perform simple spells. Kill demons, if you'll help me.
Whatever people need me to do."
Gunn was beginning to look interested, if still very doubtful. "You mean
like an investigations agency or something?"
Wesley's mind indicated that it believed this to be the word it had been
looking for by stopping all thoughts for a second. When it started to move
again, he said, "I think I do, yes. Although I suspect one should really
have a license for that sort of thing..."
"For investigating demons?" Gunn pulled up a chair and sat down. "Not
hardly. But how the hell are you going to get clients?"
"There are plenty of places I could put up ads," he said slowly, realising
the consequences of what was coming out of his mouth. Placing his name and
phone number all over town might not be the best course of action if the
lawyers really had been tampering with his green card.
"Saying what?" Gunn asked with a grin. "'Wesley Wyndham-Pryce Magical
Investigations, If It Haunts You We Hunt It'?"
"I can't have my name on it." Though anonymous ads weren't exactly designed
to induce trust and comfort. "If you're in on this... but then, you probably
shouldn't risk it either."
Gunn was shaking his head before Wesley had even stopped talking. "Forget
it. This is your gig."
Wesley's heart sank, and he went to get the coffee so as to avoid looking at
Gunn. "Of course. I shouldn't have assumed..."
"Wes, don't be an idiot. I want to work with you. I'm just not going to take
the credit for what's yours."
"Oh. Well." He poured the coffee and went to sit down, trying not to smile.
"Gunn Investigations has a certain ring to it, though."
"Or a compromise: Gunn Investigations of Magic and the Paranormal."
Gunn frowned hard, and Wesley found that not smiling was quite an impossible
task. "How is that a *compromise*?"
"I'll be the acronym."
After a brief, puzzled silence, Gunn burst into laughter. "You sick
bastard." The laughter died as fast as it had started, and instead Gunn
sported a far too familiar guilty expression. "Sorry."
"I made a joke," Wesley said, rather annoyed. "You are permitted to laugh.
In fact, it might even be considered polite to do so."
"Yeah." But the guilty expression didn't disappear.
Wesley sipped his coffee, waiting for Gunn to get over his imagined faux
"So you're really serious about this?"
"I don't know. I think so. What do you say?"
Gunn's eyes were starting to glitter. "I say we go for it."
If the guy behind the counter was Old Al himself, he sure deserved the
nickname. Even from where Gunn was standing, trying to outstare an ancient
mask of some sort, the guy looked downright mouldy. He appeared to be human,
but only in the loosest sense of the word. Gunn seriously suspected that the
blue girl over at the demon brothel and God did he ever want to forget
seeing *that* place had been on something. He should've known the opininon
of a girl who spelled Marie with two Es had to be out of whack.
"How is this meant to be read?" the old man asked, turning over in his hand
the flyer Wesley had given him. "Private Eye or just Private?"
"Either way would work," Wesley explained for the fifth time that day. "You
could also read it Private Watcher."
"Is that so?" Old Al said, and from the tone of his voice maybe that Maree
girl hadn't been so dumb after all. None of the others had shown any
reaction to the word 'Watcher'. He turned the flyer over a few more times,
as if that would cause it to reveal hidden text. "Where else are you putting
"Well, we've been to Madame Dorian's, Sleipner Store, Hecate..."
"Hecate stinks," the old man said sharply. "The other places aren't too bad,
but the people over at Hecate are the kind who'll tell you to walk backwards
around a churchyard at midnight on Maundy Thursday when you can walk
backwards around your own kitchen on any Thursday night at all and get the
same effect. *And* they'll charge you an a... a fortune."
Gunn recognized the half-take, and it made him both more and less
sympathetic towards the old man at the same time. So he was human enough to
make a fool of himself. That would have made him a lot more relieved if
Wesley hadn't been in the middle.
Not that Wesley seemed bothered by it. He only gave a polite half-smile and
headed into a discussion about spells that was definitely beyond Gunn's
territory. It seemed amiable enough, and Gunn turned his attention back to
the mask. The creepy thing was still staring at him.
"*Four* flowers for a midsummer night's spell? All my sources have seven or
"Of course they do. They have no idea what works, so they throw in what
worked last time magical numbers, silence, nudity... All you need is the
right four flowers, mark my word."
From the corner of his eye, Gunn could see that Old Al was leaning forward,
waving a finger in front of Wesley's face like some parody of a school
"Rites are all very well when they're needed, my boy, but they're not a
replacement for knowledge."
Gunn stifled a laugh, but Wesley showed no sign of appreciating the joke of
the situation. On the contrary, he looked ready to start taking notes. Gunn
rolled his eyes at the ancient mask.
It winked at him.
Gunn did a double-take. Both its eyes were open now, but he could have sworn
one of them had been closed for a moment there. And its grin was looking
even cheekier than before. Creepy. Still, kind of cool at the same time. At
least someone here had a sense of humour.
"Hey, how much for the mask?" he asked, walking up to the counter. Up close,
he could see that Old Al really was mouldy or if it wasn't mould, it was
something very like it. Ew.
"Robert?" Old Al said, knitting his eyebrows so close together they might
never part. "Robert's not for sale. He gives me a prophecy every full moon,
steady as a clockwork. An accurate one, too. You wouldn't want him." He
waved his hands dismissively. "I'll get you that book now."
As Old Al hobbled into the back room for whatever book he was getting, Gunn
turned to Wesley. "So, you two are getting along, huh?"
Wesley's grin was much too boyish. "He's letting me borrow his copy of the
Book of Verdandi. *Borrow* it! If he'd offered to *sell* it... but I could
never afford it anyway. Do you have any idea what this means?"
"No," Gunn admitted, daring to run his hand through Wesley's hair now that
they were alone. "But as long as you're happy, that's okay."
"Happy? Gunn, if this works, if it really works, then it's the best thing
I've ever done in my life. And I think it will work. I think I'm getting a
"Because some mouldy old guy is letting you borrow a book?"
The grin wouldn't go away. "He may be mouldy, but he's good."
"So how long until we know?"
Wesley put down his magazine, even though he'd just found a small notice
about Cordelia Chase from "One Life to Live" negotiating for her own series.
After fifteen minutes of browsing through trash about soap stars getting
into near-fatal accidents or even worse marriages, he thought he deserved to
read that one. Particularly since he'd been reading all that to *avoid*
thinking of Gunn's question.
"I don't know. Certainly not yet. People will have to actually notice the
flyers first, read them, write down our phone number..." He tried to smile.
"Not to mention get a demon problem."
"Yeah, well, that last shouldn't take more than ten minutes in this town."
Wesley smiled politely and returned to his magazine. It really did seem like
Cordelia was getting somewhere in life. Hardly surprising, really.
The phone rang. Oh, dear. Wesley looked at Gunn, who shrugged and gestured
at the phone. *You take it.* Right. And he wouldn't be the least bit
disappointed if it wasn't a client.
"Oh, hello, Wesley. This is Lindsey MacDonald. I'm sorry it's taken me so
long to call. I've been a bit busy."
So, not a client, and like he had promised himself, he wasn't disappointed.
He was much too occupied by the cold fury he was feeling. That calm,
pleasant voice with its nearly unnoticable accent was nearly unbearable now
that he'd heard what Angel had to say about its owner.
"This business with your green card must have been very disturbing, of
course, but you'll be pleased to know that I think we can fix it."
"Really?" His voice was cold, but his palm was getting sweaty, and he could
see Gunn's face taking on an expression of increasing concern.
"Sure. From what I can tell it's just an administration problem you know
what that's like. We'll have you back at the shelter in no time.
Here it was. "Yes?"
"I've been hearing some rather alarming things about you lately.
Particularly that you seem to have spent some time around a vampire named
"That's true, I have."
"Well, as your lawyer, I feel I have to warn you about him. He's pretty bad
news, even for a vampire. The kind who gets people into trouble, you know
what I mean? I'd hate to see you get hurt or killed. Plus, as a lawyer, I
have some responsibility towards the shelter. Making sure the employees
have the kids' best interest at heart and don't keep the wrong company. Or
try to fake a green card, if that should prove to be the case."
"Mr. MacDonald," Wesley said, gripping the phone hard. "What's that
expression again? Ah, yes. Fuck you. This *is* worth losing my job over."
He turned off the phone and lay it on the table, shivering with rage. Gunn
stepped up to him and lay a calming hand on his upper arm.
"The point of no return, huh?"
"I may be standing on a ticking bomb here," Wesley said, closing his eyes in
order to think better.
"Yeah? Well, you're not standing there alone. We're partners now, remember?"
Wesley smiled and opened his eyes just in time to see Gunn blush harder than
should have been possible for someone so dark.
"Uh, when I said 'partner', I meant that in a strictly... purely..."
Wesley wasn't quite as good as Gunn at the grab and kiss routine, but he
gave it his best shot. When they were done, he leaned back a bit and watched
Gunn expectantly. If his mouth was curling into a smirk, it wasn't entirely
his own fault.
Gunn licked his lips. "Maybe not all that strictly."
"Maybe not," Wesley said, and kissed him again.