Distribution: Narcoleptic, List Archives, Usual suspects anyone else, just
Disclaimer: Numfar! Do the dance of rightful ownership!
Summary: Sometimes you do crazy things.
Notes: Odd little Wes/Gunn snippet that came about from IM-ing with Shelia
and grew to slightly more than the original half a paragraph.
Feedback: Screw Diamonds. Feedback is a girl's best friend.
Dedication: Evil Siblings. Soulstarsinger for the beta.
They're all back in the lobby, trailing weapons and demon slime behind them.
A few more bruises and a few more scars and a couple less demons lurking in
LA. Cordelia vanishes to one of the bathrooms, bitching half heartedly about
what exactly demon slime does to her skin, and Angel wanders off to his
rooms to change out of the tattered rag that used to be a shirt. Which
leaves Wesley and Gunn standing alone with the weapons. And Wes mutters
loudly as he pulls out the first aid kit and starts bandaging the various
cuts and bruises, still grumbling out loud.
"What you muttering 'bout, English?" Gunn is quizzical, maybe wondering if
just maybe Wes had stepped just that little bit too far over the bounds of
sanity. And if he had, what exactly was going to happen.
Silence as they stare at each other. Gunn's back is against the wall, shirt
crumpled, smudge of oil or maybe blood on his right cheek and Wesley's sure
he looks similar, shirt covered in stains, another one he'll have to burn
because dark green demon blood has soaked into it, marking his skin.
Wes steps forward and bruised muscles protest as he lifts his arm, fingers
brushing against Gunn's warm, dark skin. Opens his mouth to say something,
stutters and just leans forwards and kisses him. Gently. Because he's oh so
afraid that Gunn might say no and push him away, leaving Wesley shattered
inside, as if someone had hit a spun glass figurine with a hammer, leaving
sharp little shards sticking where you least expect them.
But all there is a muffled intake of breath and a tightening of the hands
and Wes kisses him a little harder, a little deeper and Gunn's hands are on
his shoulders and his tongue is in his mouth and all Wes can feel is
*warmth* and strong, hard muscles stretched over bones under layers of skin
and sweaty, demon blood stained cloth.
And later there are muffled whispers, slow heartbeats and the taste of skin,
salt and something else. Something that leaves Wes with a mouth that
*sparks*, bittersweet but not. Courage he thinks or bravery. Both essential
parts of a warrior.
And they sleep, spooned together in rumpled sheets, dark skin against white
with chests that rise and fall.
Because tonight they are alive.
- End -