skip the light fandango

Title: Catalyst
Author: Maren
Rating: Adult
Threesome: Buffy/Wes/Gunn
Summary: Alternate S7BtVS/S4AtS PWP
Author Note: Written for viciouswishes for the Sandwich Ficathon. Thanks to atrata, sweptawaybayou and cornerofmadness for the helpful beta work. They assure me that even though this is my first attempt at m/m, it doesn't quite cross over into badfic territory. Also, very special thanks and hugs to southernbangel for her beta work on the first draft and for her endless (though sort of mocking and mean) support as I bitched about how *hard* this fic was.

*****



It didn’t begin as a punishment for Angel or Gunn, but Wesley couldn’t help it if there was some not- small part of him that thrilled when they finally found out about Buffy.

The circumstances of their unveiling were less than ideal, mostly, but the look of rage on Angel’s face when they barged into Wesley’s apartment and saw Buffy handcuffed to his bed, her thighs spread open to admit Wes’s questing tongue, was worth the momentary mortification. Worse, and better, was Gunn’s shuttered gaze and the flash of hurt betrayal that flicked over his face when Wesley unabashedly stood up from the bed. His cock was hard, heavy, and weeping with his readiness to be inside Buffy and both intruders eyes flicked back and forth between Wesley and Buffy, who had quickly and efficiently snapped the handcuffs and was covering herself with the sheet. There were tears glistening in the corners of Buffy’s wide eyes as she looked at Angel with a slightly horrified expression, but she didn’t say a word. No one did.

Angel turned and stormed away with fists clenched at his sides, Gunn following more quietly but just as stiff. It wasn’t until later, after Buffy had left for Sunnydale, that he wondered why they had come in the first place. Wesley settled into his chair with a highball filled with single malt scotch that had cost him an exorbitant sum to have shipped from England and considered the visit. He was barely on speaking terms with his old… colleagues, no matter that he’d saved one from spending an eternity crushed under the weight of an ocean. The other, well, there was betrayal and there was betrayal and Wesley wasn’t sure who came out worse on that front, he or Gunn.

As he sat in his chair, body still humming from the incredible force of the release he’d achieved with Buffy after their former lovers had fled, Wesley considered how it had begun. Not as punishment for Angel or Gunn, to be sure, but there was certainly a level of self-flagellation involved when they’d run into each other at that seedy bar after years of disinterested silence between them.

Wes hadn’t recognized her at first. The Buffy of his memory was still so young and girlish, a child who dressed in short skirts and tight shirts in an attempt to appear a woman. This Buffy was different in a fundamental way not entirely explainable by her matured age. Leaner, harder, and Wes couldn’t determine if she looked more comfortable in her skin than ever or if she looked as though she might claw her way out of it at any moment. She was sitting alone at a small table, a glass of something clear in front of her. Her finger was skimming the rim of the glass, skipping absently over the wedge of lime perched on the edge as she stared at the scarred table top in front of her.

He might have turned around and left, found a different establishment for the evening, if she hadn’t glanced up from her glass and noticed him standing by the door. Wesley could see the wariness in her even from a distance but she raised a hand and waved. Reluctantly, he joined her at her table.

“Buffy. It’s been a long time.”

She nodded, a wry smile on her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yep, a whole lifetime ago if you want to split hairs.” The quip seemed stale to Wesley, as though it was an oft-repeated attempt at levity in a situation that was anything but amusing. He kept his eyes fixed on hers, not even bothering to fake a smile, watching as her eyes flickered with annoyance before she shrugged and stopped pretending to smile.

“You may look a lot different, Wesley, but still no sense of humor. Good to know things haven’t changed as much as I thought.” Buffy’s eyes raked over him in an almost predatory manner that served as a potent reminder to Wesley of exactly what she was. When her perusal reached his neck, her eyes widened slightly and she raised her eyebrows as she met his gaze. “Angry puppy?”

Wes flashed her a tight, humorless smile of his own. “You might say that.”

For whatever reason, and he could never be entirely sure, he stayed. And they drank too much and talked about things they would never say aloud to anyone whose opinion mattered to them, things like lust, death, betrayal and loss. When the bartender kicked them out it was Buffy who suggested they move things to Wesley’s apartment and as dawn broke over the horizon, Buffy was riding him slow and strong, head thrown back and breasts thrust up and out as he gripped her hips with a force less bruising than she had intimated she was used to.

Fucking her was deliciously wrong, another trespass against friend and sacred ancient duty but better than what had been occurring with Lilah. She never said, but Wesley suspected that Buffy was similarly intrigued by their union—the opportunity to indulge increasingly dark desires with someone who wasn’t an enemy and who didn’t expect or want emotional entanglement. No love to be betrayed, no promises to be broken.

Wesley had already traveled that road and it wasn’t a journey he ever wanted to make again. Better to keep things simple, or as simple as a former Watcher bedding a twice-resurrected Slayer could be.

Lifting the glass to his lips, Wes finished his drink and stood, making his way to the rumpled bed in the dim light provided by the streetlamps outside. He stripped off the sheets with a quick efficiency known only to military men and boarding school boys and remade the bed with clean cotton sheets. These rote actions were the effect of years of conditioning, force of habit that he’d only broken in those halcyon days when he’d been so preoccupied with the surprising evolution of his relationship with Gunn that he’d forgotten his mother’s horror when she found him sleeping on sheets stained with the night emissions of adolescence. In those days Wesley would fall into deep, sated sleep and wake up in the morning surrounded by the smell of their sex, comfortable and happy in a way that was strange to him in its unfamiliarity. As he lay down, he tried to force those memories from his mind—it would do no good to reminisce and he knew from bitter experience that if he didn’t clear his mind of thoughts of his former lover now, he wouldn’t sleep at all.

He focused his thoughts on Buffy instead, on the memory of her impossibly smooth skin, her tight wet heat that could grip a man so hard he thought he might not last past the pleasure of entering her, of the things her mouth would say that none of her friends or family would ever believe Buffy would say. Wesley’s groin tightened at the memory of what she’d said tonight, when she’d turned the tables on him after Gunn and Angel had made their exit and tied him to the bed, then upped the ante by blindfolding him. Normally he detested the blindfold, wanting to drink up the sight of his lover’s body and reactions to his touch. But tonight Buffy had taken away his sight and then painted a picture for him with her words, a vivid image of Angel and Gunn staying to watch them fuck. There was pain and bitterness buried in every word and touch, but the act was cleansing in a sense, two rejected lovers taking pleasure in turning the tables. Neither of them had ever come so hard before and Wesley was certain that he’d be coming again just from the memory before he drifted to sleep.

No, it hadn’t started as any sort of revenge but the fact that Gunn and Angel knew now had certain benefits.

**
Wesley wasn’t expecting Buffy to be able to get away again for several weeks, so he was a little surprised when he unlocked his door and found her sitting on the sofa in his apartment just ten days later. He was more than surprised, shocked really, to see who was sitting there with her in quiet conversation. Wesley felt his breath whoosh out of his body and he must have made an audible sound because Gunn’s dark eyes slanted up from where they had been resting on Buffy’s face to dance over his instead, his lips lifting in a tentative smile. For a moment Wesley let down his carefully constructed guard, the surprise of seeing him here again sitting so calmly beside his current lover unsettling him enough that he allowed himself to feel a spark of joy at the presence of Gunn rather than the safer coldness that he had nurtured over the last months.

As soon as it came he shut it down, his lips narrowing into a thin frown instead of the smile that had threatened to betray his continued feelings for the man. Raking a hand over the rough stubble of several days’ growth on his face, Wes ignored Gunn’s fading smile and glared at Buffy instead. It didn’t appear to bother her a bit.

“What’s going on?” His voice was low and rough, dangerous, his anger directed at the Slayer.

Gunn immediately leapt to her defense, always the gallant. It was a quality that Wesley had once cherished. “Hey man, I called her—wanted to meet the legendary Slayer who has Angel and Cordy bickering like two really goddamn annoying little kids. If you’re pissed, take it out on me.”

Wes let his eyes flick to Gunn, took in the way his body was tilted forward on the sofa as though he might at any moment spring to his feet to put himself bodily between Buffy and himself. He wanted to laugh at Gunn’s foolishness and he waited for Buffy to divulge to him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t need his knight in shining armor act, but it didn’t come. She simply sat there next to him, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes flicking back and forth between them, waiting for something.

“That doesn’t explain why the two of you are presently sitting in my living room. I would presume that there are a dozen more appropriate places for one to meet a Slayer, if one were so moved.”

Buffy turned to Gunn and placed her hand gently on his forearm.

“Tell him why you’re really here, Gunn,” she spoke in a near whisper, her pouty pink lips shiny with gloss and Wes suddenly had the urge to pull her to him and roughly nip off the shimmering color. Anything to distract himself from the tension of waiting for Gunn to comply with her demands. He didn’t want to care why Gunn was here, wanted to sneer his disdain and push them both out of his apartment, but Wesley learned long ago that he seldom got what he wanted in life and this occasion was no different. He most certainly did care why Gunn was here, in this space where they had shared so many intimacies, after such a long and bitter estrangement. It didn’t immediately occur to him to question Buffy’s presence as well, or her sudden familiarity with the man at her side.

With a sigh, he turned his attention to Gunn. “Yes, please do,” he said, his voice quiet and strained with repressed emotion.

Gunn remained silent, just stared at his hands for a moment before lifting one to smooth absently over his bare scalp. “We...,” he began, then stopped with a shake of his head and finally looked up, his brown eyes dark and intense in a familiar way that made Wesley ache with loss. “I miss you, Wes. I just wanted to see how you were doin’ and Buffy here said she’d hook us up so I could find out.”

Wesley felt a flare of hope that he quickly suppressed. “How kind of Buffy,” he drawled, raising an eyebrow at her before returning his attention to Gunn. “But as you can see, I’m fine. How’s Fred?” he countered.

If Wesley hadn’t been so attuned to Gunn’s every movement, he might have missed his slight flinch at the pointed question. He felt a surge of bitter satisfaction that was almost immediately erased when Gunn looked him straight in the eye as he answered the barb. “She’s alive. If you want more than that, you’re gonna have to ask her cause I don’t know. We’re not together.”

“Really,” Wesley stated, struggling to keep his voice even and measured in the midst of his body’s hyperarousal at the news, his heart pounding and his stomach twisting into tight knots. “Your decision or hers?” The question was out before he’d had the opportunity to censor it, straight from his heart to his mouth and now that it was out, he wanted to swallow it back. Wesley already knew that he wasn’t going to receive the reply he wanted, knew that Gunn wasn’t going to inform him that he’d left Fred to return to the lover he’d left for her nearly a year prior.

“Look man, if it’s okay with you, I don’t wanna talk about it right this minute,” Gunn said, his eyes briefly lighting on Buffy before settling back on Wesley. Wes got the message, understood Gunn well enough to know that he wouldn’t want to discuss the minutiae of their history and Wesley’s interest in Gunn’s relationship status in front of another set of eyes and ears.

“Of course you don’t. No need to bore Buffy with details of your love life,” he responded, not quite able to keep the bite out his voice. Wesley would keep Gunn’s secret—he imagined that it would mean as much to him as it always had.

“You can drop the cryptic, Wes. I know that you two were lovers.” Buffy looked at him, her gaze steady and piercing but not in the least condemning.

Wesley felt his stomach drop, not from fear of being discovered but from fear of how Gunn would respond. Gunn was the one who had balked at going public with their relationship. Gunn was the one who had ended things when Fred had appeared in their lives, afraid of what it would mean if anyone found out that Gunn lay in Wesley’s bed at night, whispering both expletives and endearments in his ear. Wesley would have been more than happy, ecstatic even, to sit their friends down and explain that he and Gunn were much more than “buddies” from work.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wesley bit out, his gaze never leaving Gunn’s face, gauging the other man’s reaction. He was astonished when Gunn’s only action was to stand up and begin to pace, his body moving in a graceful roll that belied the tightness in his muscular shoulders.

Buffy snorted lightly and raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying the act that Wes was only half-heartedly attempting to sell. She scooted forward until she was perched on the edge of the sofa, her hands balanced on her denim clad knees. “It sort of dawned on me after we gave our unscheduled peep show, with the way you…reacted to everything. All this time you’ve had me believing you were pining away for Fred and that you were pissed at Gunn for stealing her from you. Now I know you never wanted Fred, not really, you just wanted a piece of Gunn. And when Gunn came to Sunnydale to find me, I kinda figured out that he just wanted a piece of you.”

He didn’t know what hit him first, the knowledge that she knew or that Gunn didn’t utter a word to refute any of her accusations, didn’t even appear to be surprised at what she was accusing. Both of these facts were almost immediately overshadowed by another dawning realization, and he felt the habitual coldness begin to seep back into him, steeling his heart against another betrayal. Wes turned away, clenching his fists at his sides as he waited for the coldness to consume him. It was shattered in a second when a small hand landed on his shoulder and skimmed down his arm, a moment of tenderness that was so anathema to their encounters that he couldn’t hold onto his defenses.

“You fucked him,” he choked through the lump in his throat, so softly that he was certain neither of the room’s other occupants could possibly have heard. So he was surprised when he heard the response come from right behind him, even more surprised that the quiet voice that responded to the allegation didn’t belong to Buffy.

“No, she didn’t, Wes. I wanted to, but we didn’t.”

Wesley felt Gunn’s breath puff against the back of his neck and he shivered, sense memory taking over as he felt the thrill of anticipation run down his spine and settle heavily in his groin. He nearly jumped when he felt Buffy place her hands on his hips and apply pressure until he was turning to face them, turning to see Gunn pressed flush against Buffy’s back, one arm slung loosely around her waist so that his hand was spread across her stomach. They were both looking at him with an intensity that made it difficult for him to breathe but as much as his mind told him to step away from them and flee, his heart and body had him rooted in place.

Buffy’s face was flushed with color-- from desire, embarrassment, or anxiety Wes couldn’t determine. Her tongue pushed through her teeth to skim lightly over her top lip, wetting it, and then she pulled him toward her so close that he could feel the hand that rested on her belly graze his cock. Wesley swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, feeling himself harden at being touched by Gunn again even if it was inadvertent. When he opened them again, Buffy had her head tilted back and she was placing little nibbling kisses along Gunn’s jaw line. Wesley’s eyes narrowed and he started to pull away, but he was no match for her strength and she kept him in place as she returned her attention to him.

“Gunn’s spent the last week with me, helping me out, talking about you. But we haven’t fucked. Not yet,” Buffy murmured, eyes dark with lust and just a hint of uncertainty. Then she was reaching one hand up and looping it around his neck, drawing him down until her lips were just touching his as she whispered an invitation it had never even occurred to him to imagine in his wildest fantasies. “Not without you.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, wouldn’t believe it at all if they weren’t right here together, looking and feeling like another betrayal in a year generously peppered with them. Except this betrayal didn’t necessarily feel the same; Wesley certainly couldn’t remember feeling this pounding arousal during any of the other times, didn’t think that he’d ever wanted the betrayal as much as he wanted this one. This was a well-planned ambush and god he wanted to surrender.

A split second of uncertainty, and then Wesley was groaning his acquiescence, pressing his rapidly expanding cock more tightly into Gunn’s hand and Buffy’s belly, pushing his tongue between those lips and letting the sensations take over and thrust aside all rational thought. Like that rational thought that was telling him not to skim his hands up Buffy’s sides until he reached her breasts, or the one that told him not to cup one breast in his palm, his thumb rasping over the nipple until it was hard and jutting and she was moaning into his mouth. Wesley itched to touch Gunn with his other hand, but the old hurt stood as a barrier between them much thicker and much less appealing than Buffy.

She took the decision away from him, pulling away from his lips as she gasped for breath and turned her attention to unbuttoning his shirt. It left Wesley’s line of vision clear, the few inches that separated him from Gunn slowly closing as Gunn’s head tilted up from where he’d been kissing Buffy’s neck. Their eyes met, a year of frustrated longing and old anger coming to the fore, and Gunn moved his hand so that it was roughly cupping Wesley through his pants, his large palm pressing in firm circles against Wesley’s cock. He surged forward in response, hands moving around Buffy to grasp Gunn’s hip, mouth closing the distance between them until he was attacking Gunn’s lips with all of the pent up frustration and desire inside. The kiss was anything but gentle, lips and tongues battling for dominance as Gunn’s hand worked on Wesley’s cock and Wesley’s hand slipped around to cup Gunn’s ass.

Wesley was vaguely aware of Buffy squirming from between them and sliding around to his back, pulling his shirt off of his shoulders and baring his torso with a quick tug of her hands. Those same hands moved around his waist and began unbuckling his belt, jostling Gunn’s hand aside for a split second as his pants were unbuttoned and unzipped. The space that she had occupied was immediately closed, Gunn surging forward to claim the divide, his lips moving from Wesley’s mouth to slide down his jaw and then back to a spot on his neck that made Wes want to whimper. He bit it back, unwilling to show that kind of vulnerability and need, instead using his newly freed hand to snake under Gunn’s untucked shirt. Skimming the palm over the tightly defined muscles of Gunn’s abdomen, Wesley grazed a nipple with his thumb before pinching it. He felt a surge of satisfaction at Gunn’s answering groan, thrilling at drawing the first audible response as though this were some duel to be won. And he supposed it was, in some fucked up way, at least in his own mind.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed locked like that, his mouth attacking Gunn’s, Gunn’s hand firm on his cock, engaged in some sort of battle of wills and desire. It was long enough that Buffy stopped nibbling the skin just under his shoulder blade, long enough that he felt cool air on his back as she moved away. Wesley broke away from Gunn, stifling a groan of disappointment as he turned to catch sight of Buffy moving quietly toward the door. Perhaps he should have felt gratitude that she would give him this without asking anything in return but at the moment all he felt was a need for her that nearly matched that he felt for Gunn.

“Buffy.” The command to stop was clear, the well-practiced tone one he had adopted for use when he needed to be in control and she needed to pretend that she could be controlled. Buffy stilled, and he could see the tension in her shoulders ease slightly as she let out a deep breath. “Come here.”

As she slowly turned around and moved back toward them, Wesley glanced at Gunn, gauging his reaction to the shift that had taken place. In their time together they had sometimes played games, but they were innocent and limited compared to what he had shared with Buffy. Normally their urgency had gotten the better of them and Wesley had been so in love with Gunn that he didn’t ever feel the need to wrest control from the other man. With Buffy there was urgency, but often that urgency was wrapped in needs other than lust and they’d pushed their own limitations until they’d made new ones.

If they were going to do this, they were going to do it his way. The fact that they had planned this was almost more than Wesley could fathom and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to let them both know the price of their manipulation.

Steeling his gaze as much as possible, he looked at Buffy. “Remove your clothing and then undress him,” he commanded, his voice hard and thick with his lust.

“Wes. . .” Gunn began to protest, but Wesley could see the way his eyes were scanning over Buffy’s body, could hear the want and anticipation in his voice. He let go of Gunn and took a step back, then another, so that they were closer to each other than he was to either of them.

“It seems that the two of you have been meeting behind my back,” Wesley spoke, “that you went to meet her because you wanted to fuck her. That she brought you here so that she could have us both. I’m simply giving you what we all want.”

Gunn opened his mouth but whatever he had been about to say was cut off by the sight of Buffy pulling her modest long sleeved blouse over her head to reveal a black lace bra that was designed to accentuate rather than support. Wesley smiled at the sight, feeling his erection tighten a fraction more; she had come to his apartment prepared to entice and if the look on Gunn’s face was any indication, her preparation was not going to waste. Gunn’s eyes trailed Buffy’s fingers as they skimmed the waist of her long skirt, finding the closure on the side and unhooking it before unzipping it and shimmying it over her hips and down her lean legs. Wesley watched Gunn gasp in a breath, sucked in one of his own as the miniscule black lace that was passing for a thong was uncovered.

The telltale flush on Buffy’s cheeks and chest told her of her own arousal and Wesley moved behind her, skimming over her smooth bronze skin with a single finger until there was gooseflesh pimpling her arms. He continued to watch Gunn as he reached around Buffy’s waist and ran fingers over the elasticized band of her panties, dipping his fingers inside and cupping her sex. She mewled and moved against his hand, urging some further movement, a finger inside, a rub of his palm against her clit, but Wesley wasn’t quite ready to comply. A sound of censure low in his throat and she stopped squirming, held as still as she could.

Dipping his head, he traced the shell of her ear with the barest touch of his lips and felt her tremble against him, but she didn’t move. Gunn was watching them hungrily, eyes darting between them, hands clenched tightly at his sides.

“I believe Gunn wants to touch you, Buffy. Would you like for him to help you undress?”

Gunn’s eyes settled on Buffy as he waited for her to answer. At her stammered yes, he closed the distance between them and moved his hand to tentatively rest on her side. When she pressed into him with a low murmur, Gunn leaned down and sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, then flicked it with his tongue before deepening the kiss. There was a hint of familiarity in the slide of their lips that spoke of previous kisses, and the knowledge sent a spark of jealousy through Wesley. No amount of intellectualization could vanquish the primeval emotion, no rationalization that of course they’d kissed, of course they’d felt something other than cool indifference toward one another or they would have never been here together, waiting for him. Waiting to take him between them, devour him, leave him with no defense against love on one hand and lust on the other.

Wesley was surprised to discover, in the midst of his anger and lust, that he wanted nothing more in that moment than to be devoured, to let them nibble and nip away the pain of his life over the past year.

He lost himself then, in the strange mix of tentative familiarity in their kiss and the way their bodies moved together, skin to skin, slip slide glide until Buffy was divested of every scrap of black lace and Gunn was clad only in his boxers, Buffy on her knees in front of him as she prepared to draw them down. Wesley stilled her hand as he moved behind Gunn, pressing his erection into his backside as he licked a trail from Gunn’s shoulder to behind his ear. The taste of his skin was just as Wesley remembered it, a clean saltiness that brought a rush of sense memory to his tongue. Letting go of Buffy’s hand, he trailed his own over Gunn’s abs, reveling in the feel of his lover’s body trembling in anticipation as Buffy pulled off his boxers and moved back up, catching Wesley’s eye to seek his approval. Then she was closing her lips around Gunn’s jutting cock, Wesley’s groan joining Gunn’s as she took as much of him in as possible. Wesley wrapped his hand in Buffy’s hair, just holding on lightly, loving the feel of her head moving and knowing precisely what she was tasting. He knew how Gunn felt in her mouth, the sensation of tongue running along the ridge under the head of his cock, the hard heavy firmness of the shaft, and Wesley wanted it for himself.

Wanted it so much that he refused himself the bittersweet pleasure, appeased himself by wrapping his hand around the base instead, moving in tandem with Buffy’s mouth and concentrating on how Gunn’s rocking hips felt when they bucked back into his groin. Just a few short minutes and Gunn was groaning their names, telling them to stop. But Wesley wouldn’t even allow him that much control—they would both come when he determined and he wanted it now, to feel Gunn’s muscles tense, hear his strangled breath as he found his release with Wesley’s hand and Buffy’s mouth. He tried not to think about all the times he must have done this with Fred in the interim as he increased the pace of his hand and ordered Buffy not to stop with his eyes. Then Gunn was throbbing in his hand, a gutturalfuck spilling from his lips as he let go. Buffy’s eyes raised to meet his and Wesley could see the sudden impatience there, the beginning of a revolt as she reached her hand up between Gunn’s trembling legs to caress Wesley’s aching erection.

The bedroom seemed too far away; too difficult to reach without losing contact with each other but somehow they made it. It was then that they finally divested Wesley of what was left of his clothing, hands urgent and insistent and gripping him at the same time. He lost track of time, immersed as he was in the sight of Gunn licking his way up Buffy’s thigh, in the feel of Buffy’s nipple hard and insistent in his mouth, in the sound of her breathy moans that turned into a long strangled gasp as she climaxed against Gunn’s lips and around his fingers. The three of them slid together, tongue to skin, hands that alternated between soft caresses and bruising force and then Wesley was inside Buffy, watching her move above him with beautiful abandon as Gunn straddled his legs behind her and touched her as he watched the play of sensation wash over Wesley’s face. The sight of Gunn’s large hand covering one of her breasts, the fingers of the other rubbing at her clit and brushing his cock at the same time was directly out of some of his most secret fantasies. It took every ounce of control he had fostered in the past year for Wesley to suppress his release when Buffy clenched around him, mouth open in a silent scream.

The look on Gunn’s face didn’t help matters, the dark gaze promising him that it was his turn, and even as Wesley grit his teeth and waited for Buffy to collapse on his chest, their sweat mingling further as she panted softly next to his ear, Wes wondered if he could possibly survive this interlude. The want he felt in every bone, muscle, and vein of his body was tinged with the knowledge that whatever happened here between them couldn’t possibly change what had occurred in the past. This wasn’t about beginnings, only endings, and Wesley’s heart ached with the truth that he would lose both of them when this was over. But there was another truth that couldn’t possibly be ignored and that was the fact that his heart wasn’t the only thing aching and over the past year, he’d nurtured the needs of his body over those of his heart to such a degree that there was no stopping now.

Gunn gently lifted Buffy and settled her on the sheets next to Wesley, taking a moment to sweep back the strands of damp hair that stuck to her neck so that he could kiss it. Buffy sleepily opened her eyes and smiled at him, something unspoken passing between them. Wesley wasn’t especially surprised when she rolled to the edge of the bed and stood up on limbs that still shook, voice still a little breathless as she excused herself to the bath. He watched her move with effortless grace, the flawless skin of her back sloping into the surprisingly lush curve of her buttock, and he wanted her to come back. But then Gunn shifted beside him, stretched out on his side to occupy the space that had briefly contained Buffy, and for the first time since he’d walked into the apartment to find him sitting on the couch, they were alone. Wesley raked one hand over his face and through his hair, tucking it under his head before turning slightly toward Gunn and looking him straight in the eye. The look they shared was different from all the rest, not angry or jealous, unencumbered by the pain that was part and parcel of all their moments together and apart since Gunn chose Fred.

It was a look that spoke of the intimacy of their shared past in the midst of the struggle the present had become, but there was also something hesitant hidden in the depths and Wesley wasn’t entirely sure what that signified. They had been touching one another all night but suddenly Wesley felt uncertain, as though Gunn might suddenly push him away and reject him once again. He steeled himself against it, felt the miniscule part of his body that wasn’t already tightened beyond measure tense as he waited in silence for Gunn to leave him, heavy and wanting so much more than what he was being offered.

Gunn rolled over, half on top of Wesley as he supported his weight with an arm braced on the mattress, and kissed him instead. Wesley softened under the assault, his lips giving way to the insistent pressure of Gunn’s then parting to allow his tongue inside. They kissed for several long moments, smooth stroke of tongue, teeth that nibbled but never clashed. Wesley felt his arms move almost against the stubborn will that would have him deny them both as he placed one hand against the back of Gunn’s head and the other around his body so that it was splayed across the rolling muscles of Gunn’s upper back. He groaned at the feel of Gunn’s body above him and under him, but it wasn’t enough, not with the space that separated them. Wesley rolled to his side and pressed against Gunn, savoring his lover’s moan of pleasure when their cocks came into contact for the first time that night. Their movements became quick and erratic, tongues beginning to duel as need increased. Part of Wesley wanted to slow down, savor this reunion, but that part was outweighed by his need to devour and be devoured, by the foreplay of seeing him come against Buffy’s lips, by the urgency bestowed by holding back his own climax while inside Buffy. So they kissed, lips clashing, rough sounds of need that were guttural and musical in the same breath, hands roaming across taut muscle and tight buttock, granite abdomen and silken-steel cock.

There was danger in this, in the abandon Wesley felt here in his bed with Gunn. He might have slipped back into his old role, letting Gunn slip inside him as he closed his eyes and tried not to come at the first stroke of Gunn’s fist on his cock. But things were different now and Wesley wasn’t interested in losing himself in the old fantasies of Gunn, fantasies where he imagined that he’d be the sole focus of Gunn’s strenth and determination. Those fantasies died when Gunn turned to Fred, and later when he turned on Wes in the hospital room. So when Gunn’s hot mouth moved from his lips to his ear and his voice hoarsely whispered “I need to be inside you,” Wesley pulled away.

“Not this time,” he spoke with the same commanding tone he’d used with Buffy, only now his voice was directed at Gunn and he still wasn’t entirely sure that he would allow Wesley this final control, a barrier he had never before breached. Gunn hesitated, eyes flicking across Wesley’s face as he seemed to measure Wesley’s resolve, and just as Wes thought that everything was over, Gunn nodded and rolled to his stomach.

It took a moment for Wesley to understand his lover’s acquiescence, unexpected as it was. He knew that if Buffy were still in the bed with them, Gunn would never had allowed this and it occurred to him that perhaps there was good reason that Buffy was in the bath instead of in the bed, adding her mouth and hands and beautiful body to the mix. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Gunn was here, looking at him over his broad shoulder with lust-filled eyes that held only a hint of hesitancy, and Wesley had never seen anything more desirable in his life. He never thought to have this, not even when they were together. To be offered it now was nearly unbelievable and Wesley moved forward to caress Gunn’s back and thighs, to press open mouthed kisses along Gunn’s spine until he was pushing himself back against Wesley.

“Fuck Wes, please just do it,” he moaned, his eyes closed as he pressed backward against Wesley, Wesley’s cock nudging between Gunn’s cleft and jumping at the contact. The plea annihilated any residual hesitancy that Wesley felt and he moved away from the incredible feeling of Gunn’s skin against his cock only long enough to get the lubricant from his nightstand and apply it.

He entered Gunn gently, so much more gently than he wanted to, infinitely more gently than it would take to truly dominate Gunn the way that Wesley craved. As he began to push inside, the incredible tight heat just starting to envelop the head of his cock, Gunn groaned. Wesley stilled, gritting his teeth as he waited for the signal that he should stop, but Gunn’s guttural protest demanded that he do nothing of the sort. With a deep breath of his own, Wesley began to move again and when he was buried fully inside Gunn, he stilled once again as he struggled for control and waited for Gunn to adjust. When Gunn groaned and pressed back against him, Wesley began to move, slipping his hands over the expanse of Gunn’s lower back, caressing his sides, then sliding one hand around him to grasp Gunn’s straining erection. His other hand gripped Gunn’s hip and he matched his movements to his lover’s, the speed and depth of his thrusts increasing as Gunn alternately pushed back against him and thrust forward into his hand.

Wesley had no conception of how long he was inside Gunn, how many seconds or minutes passed with the sounds of their harsh breathing and deepening moans blending together. As he moved inside the man he loved, Wesley stopped thinking about anger and domination, about jealousy and control. He stopped thinking about anything but the intensity of the physical sensations and the euphoria of being with Gunn again after all of this time. Then he stopped thinking at all, stopped breathing, as Gunn began to contract around him with a long groan of release. It served as a catalyst, pushing Wesley over the edge as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over him. An instant and an eternity and then the pleasure faded into a near-quiet aftermath as he withdrew and fell to the bed beside Gunn.

“I love you.”

He didn’t know which of them said it. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t a declaration of commitment or the promise of a future. It was just the simple truth and it served for goodbye as well as anything else. And he knew without a doubt that it was goodbye. As they lay there together, side by side, it was clear that this had been an end to something that hadn’t ever fully begun. There was regret, to be sure, but Wesley couldn’t bring himself to wish that he’d never felt these things for Gunn or that he’d never run into Buffy in that bar. His life was what it was and no amount of second-guessing would take away any of the pain. The pleasure, well that was something he wasn’t willing to give up and so he closed his eyes and lived in the moment for what might be the first time since he’d read a prophecy saying that a father would kill his son.

Silence prevailed, as thought their bodies had said all there was to be said and nothing uttered could enhance what had occurred or change what would happen. When Buffy emerged from the bath, she kissed them both before leaving without a word. Before long, Gunn followed, sparing one last lingering glance at Wesley before he buttoned his jeans and moved out of Wesley’s line of sight. The latch on the front door clicked shut, and Wesley closed his eyes as he willed out any lingering regret.

He fell asleep alone close to dawn, on wrinkled, unchanged sheets.


**End**