Fic: Average Love Story Part 1-3 (Buffy/Gunn, Adult)
Title: Average Love Story (Parts 1-3 of 5)
Author: Maren
Pairing: Buffy/Gunn
Rating: Adult
Summary: They meet, they hang out, they date, they…you know, and they live reasonably happy ever after—it’s just your average love story.
Author Note: Written for![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
leni_ba’s CYA ficathon (round 3). Request was for Buffy/Gunn with a side of Dawn, post-NFA, and flirty fun banter. Thanks to southernbangel and cornerofmadness for beta-duty.
They Meet
The sharp wooden object sailed through the air, unfailingly finding its target and sinking deep inside. Without pausing, Buffy threw the next one with a quick flick of her wrist and watched as the point penetrated the target with a satisfying crunch. She felt around on the surface in front of her, blindly hunting for another pencil as she kept her eye firmly planted on the ceiling above, but the search came up empty. Out of weapons for the moment, Buffy’s attention returned to the enemy in front of her.
Paperwork. Mounds of it, piled in heaps on her new desk. Some of it was haphazardly stuck in colorful hanging files that hadn’t quite made their way to the filing cabinet, but most of it was stuffed together in no real discernable order, waiting for her attention. Buffy wasn’t sure how it got like this. Not exactly. Sure, she’d gotten frustrated on several occasions when she was trying to read through the rules and mandates and clauses and maybe once or twice she’d thrown handfuls of documents and forms across the surface of her desk. And okay, maybe a few times on the floor as well and there was that one incident that Dawn called the “papercide tragedy” in a mocking tone.
Buffy sighed and started shuffling the stray forms into a semi-straight pile, trying to clean up the mess of her desk a little before the new attorney made his appearance. She had to get things together, and soon, if she wanted to turn this place into any kind of headquarters for the new LA branch of . . . the Scooby Guild? Slayers Inc.? The Chosen Corporation? They hadn’t completely agreed on a name yet, but everyone did agree that after Angel’s questionable actions with the Black Thorn and the vacuum of power left behind, they were needed in L.A. to maintain some kind of stability. So here Buffy was, in her new office behind her new desk waiting for the new lawyer who would hopefully understand the little black words on the reams of white paper that loomed in front of her.
The bell over the front door jingled, signaling that someone had entered the reception space of the offices. It sounded like the one that used to hang over the door of The Magic Box and a lump formed in Buffy’s throat at the reminder of the not-so-distant past. She hadn’t wanted to put the bell there, arguing that they weren’t a shop and it sounded ridiculous, but Dawn had insisted that the neighborhood was rough even without the marauding demon bands and a little advance notice of attack wouldn’t be totally unappreciated for the non-Slayers of the staff.
Buffy shuffled more frantically, suddenly embarrassed by the state of her office. What had she been thinking? The attorney Angel had recommended was going to run away screaming after one look. She just hoped he didn’t notice the big pile of rubber bands that had been sling-shotted one by one into the corner—condemning evidence of how she’d spent most of her morning.
She sensed the presence of someone in the doorframe of her inner office just before she heard the deep voice call out a greeting.
“Hi. I’m looking for Miss Summers.”
Buffy looked up from the sea of white in front of her and found her eyes settling on one of the most attractive men she’d seen in her life. She had no idea until that moment how hot the bald head/goatee combo could be. A crisp white button-down, casually open at the neck, was draped over broad shoulders and his narrow hips and long legs were covered by a pair of dark blue jeans with faded creases in the lap. Buffy stared at him for one long moment before it occurred to her that she was ogling what was very likely her new lawyer. Heat flooded her face, and she stood up, reaching a hand across the desk to introduce herself before he turned right around and slapped her with a sexual harassment lawsuit.
Just as she opened her mouth to try to say something intelligent, or at least businesslike, something dropped from the ceiling and landed point down on her scalp.
“Ow!”
Not what she’d been intending to say, and she hadn’t really meant to snatch back her hand to rub her wounded head just as he was reaching forward to shake it either.
Buffy followed his gaze to the ceiling and she felt the flush move down from her face to include her neck as he took in the sight of 24—no, make that 23—sharpened pencils stuck lead first into the ceiling tile above her desk. God! He was going to think she was completely mentally challenged.
He looked back at her and grinned, wide and white and Buffy felt something in her stomach twist at the sight.
“I’ve got enough ammo here for one hell of a spitball fight, if you’re interested,” he said, cocking his head to indicate the stack of files he had under one arm.
Buffy’s embarrassment receded a little at his teasing tone and she smiled back. “Tempting. Especially if it’s half as boring as what I’ve got,” she replied, removing her hand from where it was massaging her scalp to point at the mess on her desk.
He laughed at that and nodded, then set the stack of files he was carrying on the desk and reached out his freed hand. For the first time, Buffy noticed that his other hand was occupied by a cane.
“I’m Charles Gunn. You Buffy?”
Buffy nodded and grabbed his offered hand. “Sorry. I think my social skills must have regressed to junior high level right along with my work ethic. Buffy Summers, head of the new Scooby Guild.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Interesting choice of names.”
Buffy shrugged. “Yeah, well, it’s not set in stone yet but Slayers, Inc has a certain deadly ring to it that might attract the wrong kind of attention.”
The broad smile turned into a smirk that had Buffy staring at his lips again. “Instead you’ll get the kiddie crowd dragging mom and pops in to see if Scooby and the gang are in.”
“And an amazing number of 20-somethings with the munchies,” Buffy mused with a wry smile of her own. “We really didn’t think it through.”
They stood there, smiling at each other for several long moments before they realized their hands were still clasped together. Buffy pulled her hand away and reached up to brush a strand of her hair away from her rapidly re-flushing face, suddenly filled with a whole lot of nervous energy in the wake of the awkward pause in conversation.
“So Angel said you needed some help with setting yourselves up as a non-profit.”
Thank God Buffy thought, breathing out a small sigh of relief as she sat back down in her chair and gestured to one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, inviting the lawyer to have a seat as well. As he slid slowly down into the chair, using his cane for support, Buffy spared a quick glance up at the dangling missiles hanging from the ceiling. She sent out a quick prayer that the rest of them would stay put, and then pointed to the stacks sitting on the desk between them.
“Again, I refer you to my personal spitball arsenal.” As often happened when she was nervous and feeling out of her element, Buffy started to ramble, shuffling through the stacks as she spoke and only managing to make different piles that were no more neat or organized than before. “ Seriously, I’m so in over my head with this stuff. I’m more of the kick ass now, fill out the paperwork never kinda girl. We really appreciate that you’re willing to help as out at a severely reduced rate, Mr. Gunn.” The thought that he might not be aware of the promises that were made on his behalf occurred to Buffy and her head whipped up, her hands stilling as she voiced her worry. “Angel did make it clear that we can’t pay you what you’re worth, right?”
The lawyer shook his head, and Buffy felt her hope sink until he spoke. “Don’t need to worry about that. From what I hear, you’ve saved the world several times over for way less than minimum wage. Way I figure it, you’ve more than paid for all the corporate law you need. And my friends call me Gunn.” The last was said with another slow smile and Buffy felt that funny little flip in her stomach again.
“My friends call me… well, a variety of really annoying nicknames so let’s just stick with Buffy.” She wondered if a bad guy managed to slip a mind altering drug in her Starbucks earlier that morning. The wondering quickly turned to active hoping as Buffy reflected on her sum contribution to her first meeting with Gunn. Any explanation for her bumbling idiot-like behavior other than that she was, in fact, a bumbling idiot was more than welcome right then.
“Buffy it is, then,” he laughed. Pointing to the desk, he raised an eyebrow. “I think if you want to be in business by Christmas, we better get started.”
Buffy’s face fell as she looked at the surface of her desk, but she couldn’t keep the smile from returning when she glanced back up at Gunn. Pulling out a pen and notebook, she prepared to take notes on what she needed to do.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
They Hang Out
Buffy grabbed the cordless phone from her sister and held it over her head.
“No. Uh-ugh. I agreed to Mexican pizza with extra jalapeno’s, not Mexican pizza with extra jalapeno’s and pineapple and anchovies.”
Dawn arched an eyebrow and reached over, easily plucking the phone out of Buffy’s fingers.
Damn. She always forgot that Dawn was like, two feet taller than her. Still, Buffy was stronger and she was hungry and there was no way in hell she was picking little pickled fish off her pizza.
She made a quick move toward her sister, intending to wrestle the phone out of her hand but Dawn was expecting it and she darted away, running to put the dining room table between them. Buffy ran after her, her scowl quickly turning to a smile as she chased a squealing Dawn around the round table. Realizing she was never going to catch her long-limbed sister if she didn’t change up her moves a little, Buffy quickly switched directions.
Big mistake. She lost control of her momentum, her socks slipping on the hardwood floors of her apartment, and she found herself flying straight toward where Gunn was casually leaning against the arched doorway that separated her living area and dining room. The smirk he’d been wearing as he watched them disappeared, replaced by a wide-eyed look of surprise as she barreled toward him. He threw out his hands, catching her in his arms as she slid into him, laughing and completely out of breath from the chase.
Buffy wasn’t sure how many seconds passed before she became aware that she had a full-body press on Gunn. Well, of course she knew where she was and she couldn’t exactly have missed that she’d rammed into his body, what with it being all solid and just. . . big. But she was pretty sure that she’d brayed like a donkey for at least three whole seconds before she suddenly couldn’t ignore the fact that his arms were wrapped around her waist and his muscular thigh was wedged between hers.
He smelled good, musky with the slight tang of sweat leftover from their day helping Anne at the shelter and Buffy was suddenly aware of how not good she must smell.
She gulped in air and shifted her weight to her own feet, standing up and stepping back a little.
“God Buffy, we all know you’re going through a dry spell lately but try not to molest the dinner guest.” Dawn teased, her slightly breathless voice coming from right behind Buffy.
Buffy felt the blood rush to her face, hot and fast and her eyes narrowed. She was going to kill Dawn for bringing up her complete lack of a sex life in front of Gunn, who, sure, already had to know about the fact that she’d been the dateless wonder ever since she moved to L.A. considering she’d spent almost every day of the last five months with him, working on the non-profit stuff and training and patrolling and volunteering at the shelter and just hanging out like they were supposed to be doing tonight and. . .
She took a deep breath to still her racing thoughts and concentrated on the problem at hand—Dawn’s big fat mouth. Buffy spun around, quickly, too quickly, forgetting the unfortunate mixture of cotton socks on wood floors and she would have slid to her ass if Gunn hadn’t caught her around the waist, again and hauled her into his body.
This time she was immediately aware of the way his arm was touching the bare skin of her stomach where her t-shirt had bunched up and the way his rock-hard chest was pressing against her back and shoulders.
And he still smelled good.
Dawn was doubled over with laughter, the giggles coming out right on top of each other so fast that Buffy thought she might choke on them and that wasn’t a completely bad thought. She tried to ignore the way her stomach was kind of twisting and the way the skin on her belly was getting hot where Gunn’s forearm was resting on it, redirecting all the energy she could muster into glaring at Dawn instead. Somehow this was all Dawn’s fault.
Gunn reached out with his free hand and claimed the phone from Dawn.
She stopped laughing and pouted at him. “Hey!”
“I’ll take that, or we’ll never get the pizza,” he said, letting go of Buffy and stepping away. Buffy grabbed the wall and turned around, intending to apologize for using his body as a human cushion not once but twice in the midst of her spectacular display of grace, but when she saw the wide grin he was directing at her all she could do was smile back.
“Sorry man, you know how women get about their food,” he said into the phone and rolled his eyes when Buffy and Dawn made twin sounds of outrage. He laughed, deep and loud at something the pizza guy said and nodded. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
Buffy took a few deep breaths, pulling the hem of her shirt down over the waist of her jeans as she watched Gunn joke easily with the guy trying to take their order. She reached up and pulled out the elastic holding her hair in a messy ponytail, smoothed out her hair before twisting the band around it again. Simple movements, designed to distract, and she found that they were less and less effective the more time she spent around Gunn.
Get a grip, Summers, she thought, pushing away from the wall and skirting around Dawn’s pouting form to get a glass of water from the kitchen. Her mouth felt dry, and sort of sticky; also not an uncommon reaction to being around Gunn, especially when they were training together and he took off his shirt after he got really sweaty. He had a great chest and a very nice stomach, even where the skin was raised in a shiny, jagged scar that spanned from his side almost to his belly button.
Gunn didn’t talk about it much—the way he got his scar, and Buffy had enough things in her past that she didn’t want to talk about that she wasn’t even all that tempted to push him. Instead, she offered him access to the training room that took up the back half of the office space she rented. He did most of his rehab right there, with Buffy spotting him and later, after he was cane-free and mostly healed, with Buffy sparring him.
He was damn good with an axe, for a human.
She told him it was the least she could do, what with all of his legal work on the Scooby Guild being almost pro-bono. The fact that she also liked to be around him, with his easy humor and the way he just seemed to get her, went completely unmentioned.
Gunn was her friend, and she didn’t want to go and screw that up by having tingly thoughts about him but what her head wanted and what her body did were very often at odds. Kinda just a fact of her life, like being a slayer when she just wanted to be normal, or falling in love (and, well, in bed) with vampires when she knew very well that that couldn’t end well.
Still, this time could be different, couldn’t it? She could definitely get a handle on her hormones and enjoy just being with Gunn. As a friend. As a friend with a very nice smile, but definitely just a friend.
Right.
Buffy grabbed a cup and filled it with tap water, gulping it down quickly to wash away the taste of cotton in her mouth before returning the cup to the counter. She padded back through the dining area into the living room and heard Gunn giving the pizza place her address.
“Don’t forget the bleu cheese dressing on the side,” Dawn called plaintively from her perch on the couch, with the smile of someone who thinks she’s just cute enough to push her luck. That look stopped working on Buffy long ago but Gunn was still susceptible and she saw his face convulse into a grimace even as he repeated the request into the phone.
He clicked the phone off and leaned over to put it back in its cradle before turning to Buffy.
“Your sis has some nasty taste buds,” he announced, then picked up a pillow from one of the armchairs and threw it at Dawn, who squealed and ducked.
Buffy scoffed and began shuffling through their movie collection. “Please, you didn’t have to live through her homemade dill-pickle and mango ice cream stage. She was inspired by an Oprah show on pregnancy cravings and you do not want me to go into details, I promise.” She shuddered at the memory, and then her eyes flew back to Gunn. “Tell me you didn’t order that pineapple-fish-taco monstrosity she wanted.”
Gunn laughed and stalked toward her. For a split second Buffy thought he was going to grab her again and her heart sped up, but his fingers only brushed against hers as he plucked Bring It On off the rack and opened the case. She raised her eyebrows at the choice and he shrugged.
“What? Gabrielle Union is hot. And actually, I did order Dawn’s pizza.”
Buffy groaned and pouted as he kneeled down in front of the TV to slip the DVD into the player. His shoulders shook a little and when he turned around, she saw that he was laughing at her.
“I also ordered you and me a large pepperoni and green pepper, extra cheese.”
Buffy’s pout turned into a smile and she grabbed the other pillow from the chair and chucked it at his head.
He was the perfect guy. The perfect guy friend. The perfect guy friend who she did not at all want to jump.
She sighed and sunk down into the pillow-less chair. Who the hell was she trying to kid?
They Date
Buffy stood in front of the mirror and smoothed her hair, twisting a fly-away back into a loose curl and fluffing it so it fell over her shoulders just so. She opened her small evening bag and took out her tinted gloss, applying another coat to her already shining lips before dropping it back into the bag and using her pinky to wipe away an excess dab below her lower lip. Just as she reached up a hand to smooth against her hair again she caught the eye of the woman standing behind her, an unmistakable look of haughty annoyance managing to shine through her small, polite smile. Buffy dropped her hand and stepped aside with a smile of apology, making way for the group of women behind her who wanted a turn in front of the full-length mirror.
She was stalling-- basically hiding out in the lady’s restroom and as nice as it was, what with the soft lighting and the plush couches in the outer lounge area, it was a completely ridiculous place to be and Buffy knew it. It was three days before Christmas and she was at a beautiful hotel at a posh charity benefit for the shelter and the hottest guy there was her date. Gunn looked all. . . yum in his tux and he was an excellent dancer and her back still felt all warm and tingly where his hand had rested against her, guiding her as they moved smoothly over the marble floor. Definitely much more fun to be had out there, in the ballroom with the orchestra playing Christmas music and the white lights casting a twinkling glow over the room and the bubbly champagne and her gorgeous date. Buffy didn’t know what her problem was.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Actually not at all true. The problem was that she hadn’t figured out yet whether Gunn was just her date for the night or whether this was a date date.
They’d been at the shelter last week, helping hand out gifts to the homeless kids when Anne pulled them aside and handed them each an engraved invitation to the benefit as a thanks for all the work they’d been doing for her. Later, after all the kids were gone and they were cleaning up Gunn had approached her. He was still in the Santa suit Anne had coerced him into wearing, although he’d taken off the hat and beard, and she’d thought he looked a little ridiculous and a lot adorable. He’d waved the envelope holding the invitation at her.
“Wanna go together?”
Of course she said yes. Well, ok, she kind of nodded dumbly and mumbled something he must have interpreted as a yes because he’d smiled at her and went back to stacking chairs. She’d turned around and resumed swiping at the floor until one of the other volunteers had snatched the broom out of her hands and told her she looked as white as a ghost and maybe she should go outside and get some air?
It didn’t occur to her until later, after she was at home and had settled into her bathtub for a leisurely round of daydreaming about a romantic date with Gunn, that maybe he’d just meant they should go together as friends. Because that’s what they were—friends—and ‘wanna go together?’ wasn’t exactly a clear-cut invitation for hand-holding and sexual debauchery (her fantasies were broad in scope). Buffy had no idea what his intentions were and over the past week she hadn’t come any closer to figuring them out. Gunn hadn’t acted any differently around her, hadn’t even mentioned the “date” except to ask what time he should swing by her apartment to pick her up so she’d gotten no clear-cut clues either way.
And it wasn’t like she could just come right out and ask.
How was it that she was so much better at this in high school? Wasn’t she supposed to be over the awkward dating stage and well into her confident, sexy twenty-something stage?
She’d almost convinced herself that he must have meant that they should go together because it was too short notice to get a real date but then yesterday she’d taken her trusty black cocktail dress out of her closet and had a minor panic attack. No way could she wear something that. . . blah, that. . . boring. . .if there was even the slightest possibility that Gunn had meant to ask her out in the datey way. So she’d grabbed Dawn and rushed to The Grove for some emergency shopping.
“I hope you already got my present because I don’t think we’re going to have any money left after this. It’s a good thing I love mac ‘n cheese,” Dawn had said, eyeing the strapless chocolate brown dress and bronze colored heels that Buffy had finally settled on as being flattering but not too flashy-- just in case Gunn wasn’t really interested in looking at her goodies.
Buffy mentally tallied the price of the dress and the shoes and accessories and felt her stomach drop to somewhere in the vicinity of her feet. Was she crazy?
“Buffy, I am so kidding. You’re gonna look great,” Dawn said with a knowing look as she plucked the credit card out of Buffy’s tightly clenched fingers and handed it to the sales woman.
The purchase had paid off when Gunn picked her up earlier, flashing her an appreciative look as she opened the door to her apartment.
“You look amazing,” he said, leaning forward to brush his lips across her cheekbone, high, near the sensitive shell of her ear and she’d shivered as the light pressure sent a riot of sensation all the way to her toes.
That definitely seemed romantic-datey but since then he hadn’t really touched her, except when they were dancing, and everything else was perfectly normal between them. Gunn acted the way he always acted, except he was doing it looking mouth watering in his tux, and Buffy was back to being confused. A state which could not be being helped by her lengthy sojourn in the lady’s restroom.
Straightening her shoulders, Buffy wove her way between the traffic coming in and out of the restroom lounge, and back down the short hallway to the ballroom where the benefit was being held. She plucked a flute of champagne off the tray of a waiter who was passing through the crowd and took a sip, scanning the room for her date . . . companion . . . friend . . . the guy she came with. She spotted him on the dance floor with Anne, guiding her around with the same grace he’d been displaying all night. It was nice, to watch him like that, his movements powerful and graceful yet unlike the power and grace she normally associated with him when they sparred or fought demons, side-by-side. This was more measured than raw, silky smooth, and she wondered if Wolfram & Hart had implanted this knowledge into his brain too or whether he’d learned to dance like this the old-fashioned way.
Maybe it would be better if they just stayed friends, fighting partners, after all. The thought of losing his companionship someday because of her horrible luck in the love department made her heart ache. He was so important to her life now. Maybe she shouldn’t jeopardize what they already had for something she wasn’t even sure she was capable of having with anyone.
The song ended and Buffy watched as Gunn leaned in and laughed at something that Anne had said, then lifted his head to scan the crowd. When his eyes met Buffy’s his smile widened and she grinned back over the rim of her champagne flute, then took another sip and watched him weave through the elegantly attired crowd to the relatively quiet corner in which she’d taken up residence.
“Everything ok? I lost you there for a while,” he said when he reached her, his eyes flicking from somewhere over her head to her, his gaze subtly traveling over her frame in a way that made her shiver with something more about need than temperature.
“I’m good,” she replied, absently rubbing her arm where goosebumps had popped up after the full-body Gunn-quake, as she’d come to think of that particular sensation.
Gunn frowned and shrugged out of his tux jacket. “Not good. Cold,” he said, swinging his jacket over her shoulders and suddenly she was enveloped in his warmth, in the smell of him. “You’ve got bumps on your arms the size of a Klundavian demon’s.” He adjusted the lapels and smoothed his hands down over her arms, grabbing her emptied flute and setting it down. Buffy was torn between feeling ecstatic that he was touching her again in a very date-like way and mortified that she reminded him one of the ugliest demons she’d ever come across in her tenure as slayer.
She decided to go with the mortification. It was much less confusing and all the back and forth in her mind over the past week had pretty much worn her out on the other front.
“Gee, thanks Gunn. You really know how to make a girl feel attractive.” She raised an eyebrow and twisted her lips into a mock scowl.
His eyes lingered on her lips for a second before scanning something over her head again. Before she could ask what was so fascinating about the fabric swagged ceiling (though beautiful, with its swooping twinkle lights and twisted garlands of greenery, she had to admit), Gunn was stepping even closer to her and grabbing her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilted her face until she was looking up at him and there was something in his eyes that she’d never seen before, something dark and shining and lush. Buffy’s mouth suddenly felt dry again and her tongue darted out to wet her lips before she realized what she was doing, and how it must look like an invitation.
“Thought I already told you how great you look,” he murmured. Then he slipped his hand over her cheek and around the back of her neck, slipped his other hand under his jacket and around to the small of her back, and slipped his lips over hers.
Buffy held still for a split-second, her mind taking a moment to catch up with what was going on with her body and then she leaned into him, letting him hold her with his arms and angle her just right with his hands. Gunn’s lips pressed gently against hers, softness giving way to more pressure as he coaxed her mouth open and slipped his tongue inside. Buffy moaned quietly into the kiss, losing herself in the liquid heat of his mouth, the slightly minty taste of his tongue, like he’d been preparing for this moment all night without her even noticing. She felt hot all over, the burning pressure of his hands at her back and her neck making her want even more and when his mouth retreated from hers she wanted to make some sound of protest but she didn’t have any air left in her lungs. She breathed in a shaky breath of air and concentrated on staying on her feet as he pulled slightly away from her.
Okaaaay. Definitely a date date.
“Mistletoe,” Gunn whispered, breaking the silence and glancing over her head with a smile that looked a little drugged. Buffy was glad, because she felt a little drugged.
Yep. Date date.
“I don’t want to ruin our friendship.” It was out before she even knew she’d formed the thought. His smile faded a little.
Stupid blurty Buffy!
“Course not. Why would we want to go and do that?” There was a forced lightness to his voice and his grip on her neck loosened a little.
Buffy shook her head and tried again.
“I mean, you’re like this really great friend . . . actually you’re the best friend I have here and I just wouldn’t want to lose that because it means a lot to me, to have you to talk to and do stuff with and. . .”
Gunn dropped his hands and took a step back as a shuttered look settled over his face and Buffy realized she was just making things worse. She’d always been bad with speeches; action had always been more her thing, so she decided to sum things up and get back to what she was good at.
“So promise me that doing this kind of stuff. . .” She stepped into him and wrapped her arms around his neck, ignoring his jacket as it slid off her shoulders and dropped to the floor, concentrating instead on pulling his head back down to hers and pressing her lips to his. This time it was her tongue that traced against his lips until he moaned into her mouth and opened for her. Gunn wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her into his body, and Buffy moved against him, noting somewhere in the back of her mind how perfectly she fit against him. She didn’t retreat until they were both breathless, and she was panting a little when she finished her thought. “. . . won’t make all that other stuff go away.”
He was silent . . . dazed almost . . . for several seconds and then he laughed and squeezed her before loosening his grip. He stepped away from her a little, keeping his left arm around her waist as he raised the other hand and made a motion over his chest.
“Cross my heart,” Gunn replied, with a sexy little grin that Buffy couldn’t help returning.
He was her best friend, sure, but this new “with benefits” arrangement was going to suit her very well.
**
Author: Maren
Pairing: Buffy/Gunn
Rating: Adult
Summary: They meet, they hang out, they date, they…you know, and they live reasonably happy ever after—it’s just your average love story.
Author Note: Written for
leni_ba’s CYA ficathon (round 3). Request was for Buffy/Gunn with a side of Dawn, post-NFA, and flirty fun banter. Thanks to southernbangel and cornerofmadness for beta-duty.They Meet
The sharp wooden object sailed through the air, unfailingly finding its target and sinking deep inside. Without pausing, Buffy threw the next one with a quick flick of her wrist and watched as the point penetrated the target with a satisfying crunch. She felt around on the surface in front of her, blindly hunting for another pencil as she kept her eye firmly planted on the ceiling above, but the search came up empty. Out of weapons for the moment, Buffy’s attention returned to the enemy in front of her.
Paperwork. Mounds of it, piled in heaps on her new desk. Some of it was haphazardly stuck in colorful hanging files that hadn’t quite made their way to the filing cabinet, but most of it was stuffed together in no real discernable order, waiting for her attention. Buffy wasn’t sure how it got like this. Not exactly. Sure, she’d gotten frustrated on several occasions when she was trying to read through the rules and mandates and clauses and maybe once or twice she’d thrown handfuls of documents and forms across the surface of her desk. And okay, maybe a few times on the floor as well and there was that one incident that Dawn called the “papercide tragedy” in a mocking tone.
Buffy sighed and started shuffling the stray forms into a semi-straight pile, trying to clean up the mess of her desk a little before the new attorney made his appearance. She had to get things together, and soon, if she wanted to turn this place into any kind of headquarters for the new LA branch of . . . the Scooby Guild? Slayers Inc.? The Chosen Corporation? They hadn’t completely agreed on a name yet, but everyone did agree that after Angel’s questionable actions with the Black Thorn and the vacuum of power left behind, they were needed in L.A. to maintain some kind of stability. So here Buffy was, in her new office behind her new desk waiting for the new lawyer who would hopefully understand the little black words on the reams of white paper that loomed in front of her.
The bell over the front door jingled, signaling that someone had entered the reception space of the offices. It sounded like the one that used to hang over the door of The Magic Box and a lump formed in Buffy’s throat at the reminder of the not-so-distant past. She hadn’t wanted to put the bell there, arguing that they weren’t a shop and it sounded ridiculous, but Dawn had insisted that the neighborhood was rough even without the marauding demon bands and a little advance notice of attack wouldn’t be totally unappreciated for the non-Slayers of the staff.
Buffy shuffled more frantically, suddenly embarrassed by the state of her office. What had she been thinking? The attorney Angel had recommended was going to run away screaming after one look. She just hoped he didn’t notice the big pile of rubber bands that had been sling-shotted one by one into the corner—condemning evidence of how she’d spent most of her morning.
She sensed the presence of someone in the doorframe of her inner office just before she heard the deep voice call out a greeting.
“Hi. I’m looking for Miss Summers.”
Buffy looked up from the sea of white in front of her and found her eyes settling on one of the most attractive men she’d seen in her life. She had no idea until that moment how hot the bald head/goatee combo could be. A crisp white button-down, casually open at the neck, was draped over broad shoulders and his narrow hips and long legs were covered by a pair of dark blue jeans with faded creases in the lap. Buffy stared at him for one long moment before it occurred to her that she was ogling what was very likely her new lawyer. Heat flooded her face, and she stood up, reaching a hand across the desk to introduce herself before he turned right around and slapped her with a sexual harassment lawsuit.
Just as she opened her mouth to try to say something intelligent, or at least businesslike, something dropped from the ceiling and landed point down on her scalp.
“Ow!”
Not what she’d been intending to say, and she hadn’t really meant to snatch back her hand to rub her wounded head just as he was reaching forward to shake it either.
Buffy followed his gaze to the ceiling and she felt the flush move down from her face to include her neck as he took in the sight of 24—no, make that 23—sharpened pencils stuck lead first into the ceiling tile above her desk. God! He was going to think she was completely mentally challenged.
He looked back at her and grinned, wide and white and Buffy felt something in her stomach twist at the sight.
“I’ve got enough ammo here for one hell of a spitball fight, if you’re interested,” he said, cocking his head to indicate the stack of files he had under one arm.
Buffy’s embarrassment receded a little at his teasing tone and she smiled back. “Tempting. Especially if it’s half as boring as what I’ve got,” she replied, removing her hand from where it was massaging her scalp to point at the mess on her desk.
He laughed at that and nodded, then set the stack of files he was carrying on the desk and reached out his freed hand. For the first time, Buffy noticed that his other hand was occupied by a cane.
“I’m Charles Gunn. You Buffy?”
Buffy nodded and grabbed his offered hand. “Sorry. I think my social skills must have regressed to junior high level right along with my work ethic. Buffy Summers, head of the new Scooby Guild.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Interesting choice of names.”
Buffy shrugged. “Yeah, well, it’s not set in stone yet but Slayers, Inc has a certain deadly ring to it that might attract the wrong kind of attention.”
The broad smile turned into a smirk that had Buffy staring at his lips again. “Instead you’ll get the kiddie crowd dragging mom and pops in to see if Scooby and the gang are in.”
“And an amazing number of 20-somethings with the munchies,” Buffy mused with a wry smile of her own. “We really didn’t think it through.”
They stood there, smiling at each other for several long moments before they realized their hands were still clasped together. Buffy pulled her hand away and reached up to brush a strand of her hair away from her rapidly re-flushing face, suddenly filled with a whole lot of nervous energy in the wake of the awkward pause in conversation.
“So Angel said you needed some help with setting yourselves up as a non-profit.”
Thank God Buffy thought, breathing out a small sigh of relief as she sat back down in her chair and gestured to one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, inviting the lawyer to have a seat as well. As he slid slowly down into the chair, using his cane for support, Buffy spared a quick glance up at the dangling missiles hanging from the ceiling. She sent out a quick prayer that the rest of them would stay put, and then pointed to the stacks sitting on the desk between them.
“Again, I refer you to my personal spitball arsenal.” As often happened when she was nervous and feeling out of her element, Buffy started to ramble, shuffling through the stacks as she spoke and only managing to make different piles that were no more neat or organized than before. “ Seriously, I’m so in over my head with this stuff. I’m more of the kick ass now, fill out the paperwork never kinda girl. We really appreciate that you’re willing to help as out at a severely reduced rate, Mr. Gunn.” The thought that he might not be aware of the promises that were made on his behalf occurred to Buffy and her head whipped up, her hands stilling as she voiced her worry. “Angel did make it clear that we can’t pay you what you’re worth, right?”
The lawyer shook his head, and Buffy felt her hope sink until he spoke. “Don’t need to worry about that. From what I hear, you’ve saved the world several times over for way less than minimum wage. Way I figure it, you’ve more than paid for all the corporate law you need. And my friends call me Gunn.” The last was said with another slow smile and Buffy felt that funny little flip in her stomach again.
“My friends call me… well, a variety of really annoying nicknames so let’s just stick with Buffy.” She wondered if a bad guy managed to slip a mind altering drug in her Starbucks earlier that morning. The wondering quickly turned to active hoping as Buffy reflected on her sum contribution to her first meeting with Gunn. Any explanation for her bumbling idiot-like behavior other than that she was, in fact, a bumbling idiot was more than welcome right then.
“Buffy it is, then,” he laughed. Pointing to the desk, he raised an eyebrow. “I think if you want to be in business by Christmas, we better get started.”
Buffy’s face fell as she looked at the surface of her desk, but she couldn’t keep the smile from returning when she glanced back up at Gunn. Pulling out a pen and notebook, she prepared to take notes on what she needed to do.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
They Hang Out
Buffy grabbed the cordless phone from her sister and held it over her head.
“No. Uh-ugh. I agreed to Mexican pizza with extra jalapeno’s, not Mexican pizza with extra jalapeno’s and pineapple and anchovies.”
Dawn arched an eyebrow and reached over, easily plucking the phone out of Buffy’s fingers.
Damn. She always forgot that Dawn was like, two feet taller than her. Still, Buffy was stronger and she was hungry and there was no way in hell she was picking little pickled fish off her pizza.
She made a quick move toward her sister, intending to wrestle the phone out of her hand but Dawn was expecting it and she darted away, running to put the dining room table between them. Buffy ran after her, her scowl quickly turning to a smile as she chased a squealing Dawn around the round table. Realizing she was never going to catch her long-limbed sister if she didn’t change up her moves a little, Buffy quickly switched directions.
Big mistake. She lost control of her momentum, her socks slipping on the hardwood floors of her apartment, and she found herself flying straight toward where Gunn was casually leaning against the arched doorway that separated her living area and dining room. The smirk he’d been wearing as he watched them disappeared, replaced by a wide-eyed look of surprise as she barreled toward him. He threw out his hands, catching her in his arms as she slid into him, laughing and completely out of breath from the chase.
Buffy wasn’t sure how many seconds passed before she became aware that she had a full-body press on Gunn. Well, of course she knew where she was and she couldn’t exactly have missed that she’d rammed into his body, what with it being all solid and just. . . big. But she was pretty sure that she’d brayed like a donkey for at least three whole seconds before she suddenly couldn’t ignore the fact that his arms were wrapped around her waist and his muscular thigh was wedged between hers.
He smelled good, musky with the slight tang of sweat leftover from their day helping Anne at the shelter and Buffy was suddenly aware of how not good she must smell.
She gulped in air and shifted her weight to her own feet, standing up and stepping back a little.
“God Buffy, we all know you’re going through a dry spell lately but try not to molest the dinner guest.” Dawn teased, her slightly breathless voice coming from right behind Buffy.
Buffy felt the blood rush to her face, hot and fast and her eyes narrowed. She was going to kill Dawn for bringing up her complete lack of a sex life in front of Gunn, who, sure, already had to know about the fact that she’d been the dateless wonder ever since she moved to L.A. considering she’d spent almost every day of the last five months with him, working on the non-profit stuff and training and patrolling and volunteering at the shelter and just hanging out like they were supposed to be doing tonight and. . .
She took a deep breath to still her racing thoughts and concentrated on the problem at hand—Dawn’s big fat mouth. Buffy spun around, quickly, too quickly, forgetting the unfortunate mixture of cotton socks on wood floors and she would have slid to her ass if Gunn hadn’t caught her around the waist, again and hauled her into his body.
This time she was immediately aware of the way his arm was touching the bare skin of her stomach where her t-shirt had bunched up and the way his rock-hard chest was pressing against her back and shoulders.
And he still smelled good.
Dawn was doubled over with laughter, the giggles coming out right on top of each other so fast that Buffy thought she might choke on them and that wasn’t a completely bad thought. She tried to ignore the way her stomach was kind of twisting and the way the skin on her belly was getting hot where Gunn’s forearm was resting on it, redirecting all the energy she could muster into glaring at Dawn instead. Somehow this was all Dawn’s fault.
Gunn reached out with his free hand and claimed the phone from Dawn.
She stopped laughing and pouted at him. “Hey!”
“I’ll take that, or we’ll never get the pizza,” he said, letting go of Buffy and stepping away. Buffy grabbed the wall and turned around, intending to apologize for using his body as a human cushion not once but twice in the midst of her spectacular display of grace, but when she saw the wide grin he was directing at her all she could do was smile back.
“Sorry man, you know how women get about their food,” he said into the phone and rolled his eyes when Buffy and Dawn made twin sounds of outrage. He laughed, deep and loud at something the pizza guy said and nodded. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
Buffy took a few deep breaths, pulling the hem of her shirt down over the waist of her jeans as she watched Gunn joke easily with the guy trying to take their order. She reached up and pulled out the elastic holding her hair in a messy ponytail, smoothed out her hair before twisting the band around it again. Simple movements, designed to distract, and she found that they were less and less effective the more time she spent around Gunn.
Get a grip, Summers, she thought, pushing away from the wall and skirting around Dawn’s pouting form to get a glass of water from the kitchen. Her mouth felt dry, and sort of sticky; also not an uncommon reaction to being around Gunn, especially when they were training together and he took off his shirt after he got really sweaty. He had a great chest and a very nice stomach, even where the skin was raised in a shiny, jagged scar that spanned from his side almost to his belly button.
Gunn didn’t talk about it much—the way he got his scar, and Buffy had enough things in her past that she didn’t want to talk about that she wasn’t even all that tempted to push him. Instead, she offered him access to the training room that took up the back half of the office space she rented. He did most of his rehab right there, with Buffy spotting him and later, after he was cane-free and mostly healed, with Buffy sparring him.
He was damn good with an axe, for a human.
She told him it was the least she could do, what with all of his legal work on the Scooby Guild being almost pro-bono. The fact that she also liked to be around him, with his easy humor and the way he just seemed to get her, went completely unmentioned.
Gunn was her friend, and she didn’t want to go and screw that up by having tingly thoughts about him but what her head wanted and what her body did were very often at odds. Kinda just a fact of her life, like being a slayer when she just wanted to be normal, or falling in love (and, well, in bed) with vampires when she knew very well that that couldn’t end well.
Still, this time could be different, couldn’t it? She could definitely get a handle on her hormones and enjoy just being with Gunn. As a friend. As a friend with a very nice smile, but definitely just a friend.
Right.
Buffy grabbed a cup and filled it with tap water, gulping it down quickly to wash away the taste of cotton in her mouth before returning the cup to the counter. She padded back through the dining area into the living room and heard Gunn giving the pizza place her address.
“Don’t forget the bleu cheese dressing on the side,” Dawn called plaintively from her perch on the couch, with the smile of someone who thinks she’s just cute enough to push her luck. That look stopped working on Buffy long ago but Gunn was still susceptible and she saw his face convulse into a grimace even as he repeated the request into the phone.
He clicked the phone off and leaned over to put it back in its cradle before turning to Buffy.
“Your sis has some nasty taste buds,” he announced, then picked up a pillow from one of the armchairs and threw it at Dawn, who squealed and ducked.
Buffy scoffed and began shuffling through their movie collection. “Please, you didn’t have to live through her homemade dill-pickle and mango ice cream stage. She was inspired by an Oprah show on pregnancy cravings and you do not want me to go into details, I promise.” She shuddered at the memory, and then her eyes flew back to Gunn. “Tell me you didn’t order that pineapple-fish-taco monstrosity she wanted.”
Gunn laughed and stalked toward her. For a split second Buffy thought he was going to grab her again and her heart sped up, but his fingers only brushed against hers as he plucked Bring It On off the rack and opened the case. She raised her eyebrows at the choice and he shrugged.
“What? Gabrielle Union is hot. And actually, I did order Dawn’s pizza.”
Buffy groaned and pouted as he kneeled down in front of the TV to slip the DVD into the player. His shoulders shook a little and when he turned around, she saw that he was laughing at her.
“I also ordered you and me a large pepperoni and green pepper, extra cheese.”
Buffy’s pout turned into a smile and she grabbed the other pillow from the chair and chucked it at his head.
He was the perfect guy. The perfect guy friend. The perfect guy friend who she did not at all want to jump.
She sighed and sunk down into the pillow-less chair. Who the hell was she trying to kid?
They Date
Buffy stood in front of the mirror and smoothed her hair, twisting a fly-away back into a loose curl and fluffing it so it fell over her shoulders just so. She opened her small evening bag and took out her tinted gloss, applying another coat to her already shining lips before dropping it back into the bag and using her pinky to wipe away an excess dab below her lower lip. Just as she reached up a hand to smooth against her hair again she caught the eye of the woman standing behind her, an unmistakable look of haughty annoyance managing to shine through her small, polite smile. Buffy dropped her hand and stepped aside with a smile of apology, making way for the group of women behind her who wanted a turn in front of the full-length mirror.
She was stalling-- basically hiding out in the lady’s restroom and as nice as it was, what with the soft lighting and the plush couches in the outer lounge area, it was a completely ridiculous place to be and Buffy knew it. It was three days before Christmas and she was at a beautiful hotel at a posh charity benefit for the shelter and the hottest guy there was her date. Gunn looked all. . . yum in his tux and he was an excellent dancer and her back still felt all warm and tingly where his hand had rested against her, guiding her as they moved smoothly over the marble floor. Definitely much more fun to be had out there, in the ballroom with the orchestra playing Christmas music and the white lights casting a twinkling glow over the room and the bubbly champagne and her gorgeous date. Buffy didn’t know what her problem was.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Actually not at all true. The problem was that she hadn’t figured out yet whether Gunn was just her date for the night or whether this was a date date.
They’d been at the shelter last week, helping hand out gifts to the homeless kids when Anne pulled them aside and handed them each an engraved invitation to the benefit as a thanks for all the work they’d been doing for her. Later, after all the kids were gone and they were cleaning up Gunn had approached her. He was still in the Santa suit Anne had coerced him into wearing, although he’d taken off the hat and beard, and she’d thought he looked a little ridiculous and a lot adorable. He’d waved the envelope holding the invitation at her.
“Wanna go together?”
Of course she said yes. Well, ok, she kind of nodded dumbly and mumbled something he must have interpreted as a yes because he’d smiled at her and went back to stacking chairs. She’d turned around and resumed swiping at the floor until one of the other volunteers had snatched the broom out of her hands and told her she looked as white as a ghost and maybe she should go outside and get some air?
It didn’t occur to her until later, after she was at home and had settled into her bathtub for a leisurely round of daydreaming about a romantic date with Gunn, that maybe he’d just meant they should go together as friends. Because that’s what they were—friends—and ‘wanna go together?’ wasn’t exactly a clear-cut invitation for hand-holding and sexual debauchery (her fantasies were broad in scope). Buffy had no idea what his intentions were and over the past week she hadn’t come any closer to figuring them out. Gunn hadn’t acted any differently around her, hadn’t even mentioned the “date” except to ask what time he should swing by her apartment to pick her up so she’d gotten no clear-cut clues either way.
And it wasn’t like she could just come right out and ask.
How was it that she was so much better at this in high school? Wasn’t she supposed to be over the awkward dating stage and well into her confident, sexy twenty-something stage?
She’d almost convinced herself that he must have meant that they should go together because it was too short notice to get a real date but then yesterday she’d taken her trusty black cocktail dress out of her closet and had a minor panic attack. No way could she wear something that. . . blah, that. . . boring. . .if there was even the slightest possibility that Gunn had meant to ask her out in the datey way. So she’d grabbed Dawn and rushed to The Grove for some emergency shopping.
“I hope you already got my present because I don’t think we’re going to have any money left after this. It’s a good thing I love mac ‘n cheese,” Dawn had said, eyeing the strapless chocolate brown dress and bronze colored heels that Buffy had finally settled on as being flattering but not too flashy-- just in case Gunn wasn’t really interested in looking at her goodies.
Buffy mentally tallied the price of the dress and the shoes and accessories and felt her stomach drop to somewhere in the vicinity of her feet. Was she crazy?
“Buffy, I am so kidding. You’re gonna look great,” Dawn said with a knowing look as she plucked the credit card out of Buffy’s tightly clenched fingers and handed it to the sales woman.
The purchase had paid off when Gunn picked her up earlier, flashing her an appreciative look as she opened the door to her apartment.
“You look amazing,” he said, leaning forward to brush his lips across her cheekbone, high, near the sensitive shell of her ear and she’d shivered as the light pressure sent a riot of sensation all the way to her toes.
That definitely seemed romantic-datey but since then he hadn’t really touched her, except when they were dancing, and everything else was perfectly normal between them. Gunn acted the way he always acted, except he was doing it looking mouth watering in his tux, and Buffy was back to being confused. A state which could not be being helped by her lengthy sojourn in the lady’s restroom.
Straightening her shoulders, Buffy wove her way between the traffic coming in and out of the restroom lounge, and back down the short hallway to the ballroom where the benefit was being held. She plucked a flute of champagne off the tray of a waiter who was passing through the crowd and took a sip, scanning the room for her date . . . companion . . . friend . . . the guy she came with. She spotted him on the dance floor with Anne, guiding her around with the same grace he’d been displaying all night. It was nice, to watch him like that, his movements powerful and graceful yet unlike the power and grace she normally associated with him when they sparred or fought demons, side-by-side. This was more measured than raw, silky smooth, and she wondered if Wolfram & Hart had implanted this knowledge into his brain too or whether he’d learned to dance like this the old-fashioned way.
Maybe it would be better if they just stayed friends, fighting partners, after all. The thought of losing his companionship someday because of her horrible luck in the love department made her heart ache. He was so important to her life now. Maybe she shouldn’t jeopardize what they already had for something she wasn’t even sure she was capable of having with anyone.
The song ended and Buffy watched as Gunn leaned in and laughed at something that Anne had said, then lifted his head to scan the crowd. When his eyes met Buffy’s his smile widened and she grinned back over the rim of her champagne flute, then took another sip and watched him weave through the elegantly attired crowd to the relatively quiet corner in which she’d taken up residence.
“Everything ok? I lost you there for a while,” he said when he reached her, his eyes flicking from somewhere over her head to her, his gaze subtly traveling over her frame in a way that made her shiver with something more about need than temperature.
“I’m good,” she replied, absently rubbing her arm where goosebumps had popped up after the full-body Gunn-quake, as she’d come to think of that particular sensation.
Gunn frowned and shrugged out of his tux jacket. “Not good. Cold,” he said, swinging his jacket over her shoulders and suddenly she was enveloped in his warmth, in the smell of him. “You’ve got bumps on your arms the size of a Klundavian demon’s.” He adjusted the lapels and smoothed his hands down over her arms, grabbing her emptied flute and setting it down. Buffy was torn between feeling ecstatic that he was touching her again in a very date-like way and mortified that she reminded him one of the ugliest demons she’d ever come across in her tenure as slayer.
She decided to go with the mortification. It was much less confusing and all the back and forth in her mind over the past week had pretty much worn her out on the other front.
“Gee, thanks Gunn. You really know how to make a girl feel attractive.” She raised an eyebrow and twisted her lips into a mock scowl.
His eyes lingered on her lips for a second before scanning something over her head again. Before she could ask what was so fascinating about the fabric swagged ceiling (though beautiful, with its swooping twinkle lights and twisted garlands of greenery, she had to admit), Gunn was stepping even closer to her and grabbing her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilted her face until she was looking up at him and there was something in his eyes that she’d never seen before, something dark and shining and lush. Buffy’s mouth suddenly felt dry again and her tongue darted out to wet her lips before she realized what she was doing, and how it must look like an invitation.
“Thought I already told you how great you look,” he murmured. Then he slipped his hand over her cheek and around the back of her neck, slipped his other hand under his jacket and around to the small of her back, and slipped his lips over hers.
Buffy held still for a split-second, her mind taking a moment to catch up with what was going on with her body and then she leaned into him, letting him hold her with his arms and angle her just right with his hands. Gunn’s lips pressed gently against hers, softness giving way to more pressure as he coaxed her mouth open and slipped his tongue inside. Buffy moaned quietly into the kiss, losing herself in the liquid heat of his mouth, the slightly minty taste of his tongue, like he’d been preparing for this moment all night without her even noticing. She felt hot all over, the burning pressure of his hands at her back and her neck making her want even more and when his mouth retreated from hers she wanted to make some sound of protest but she didn’t have any air left in her lungs. She breathed in a shaky breath of air and concentrated on staying on her feet as he pulled slightly away from her.
Okaaaay. Definitely a date date.
“Mistletoe,” Gunn whispered, breaking the silence and glancing over her head with a smile that looked a little drugged. Buffy was glad, because she felt a little drugged.
Yep. Date date.
“I don’t want to ruin our friendship.” It was out before she even knew she’d formed the thought. His smile faded a little.
Stupid blurty Buffy!
“Course not. Why would we want to go and do that?” There was a forced lightness to his voice and his grip on her neck loosened a little.
Buffy shook her head and tried again.
“I mean, you’re like this really great friend . . . actually you’re the best friend I have here and I just wouldn’t want to lose that because it means a lot to me, to have you to talk to and do stuff with and. . .”
Gunn dropped his hands and took a step back as a shuttered look settled over his face and Buffy realized she was just making things worse. She’d always been bad with speeches; action had always been more her thing, so she decided to sum things up and get back to what she was good at.
“So promise me that doing this kind of stuff. . .” She stepped into him and wrapped her arms around his neck, ignoring his jacket as it slid off her shoulders and dropped to the floor, concentrating instead on pulling his head back down to hers and pressing her lips to his. This time it was her tongue that traced against his lips until he moaned into her mouth and opened for her. Gunn wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her into his body, and Buffy moved against him, noting somewhere in the back of her mind how perfectly she fit against him. She didn’t retreat until they were both breathless, and she was panting a little when she finished her thought. “. . . won’t make all that other stuff go away.”
He was silent . . . dazed almost . . . for several seconds and then he laughed and squeezed her before loosening his grip. He stepped away from her a little, keeping his left arm around her waist as he raised the other hand and made a motion over his chest.
“Cross my heart,” Gunn replied, with a sexy little grin that Buffy couldn’t help returning.
He was her best friend, sure, but this new “with benefits” arrangement was going to suit her very well.
**
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