Just Around Midnight
by Kate Bolin
TITLE: Just Around Midnight
AUTHOR: Kate Bolin
SUMMARY: Gunn, Wesley, a few beers, and the parking lot of Caritas. RATING: NC-17, for men doing things that are actually illegal. FEEDBACK: Privately, please. It saves annoyance, and you're more likely to get a reply. ARCHIVE: My site, list sites, standing orders, otherwise ask. DISCLAIMER: The characters and universe herein are the property of Joss Whedon, 20th Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar, and Kuzui Productions. This piece of fan-written fiction means no infringement. AUTHOR'S NOTE: To Gunbunny, because when I wrote part of this, she went mad for it. Song mentioned is by the Rolling Stones, and you've more than likely heard it.
I'm no schoolboy but I know what I like You shoulda heard me just around midnight
At least once a week, they all go to Caritas. They know that Lorne isn't about to start carding, and they also know the beer's cheap.
Also at least once a week, Wesley cracks a joke about Gunn singing "Brown Sugar."
He's usually about five beers in by this time, and barreling towards drunk. Cordelia, who would be on her third strawberry margarita, licks the sugar off of the rim of her glass, and glares at him over her drink. She's always slightly more sober at this moment.
Gunn, on the other hand, needs only three beers to reach the level that Wesley is at five and Cordelia is at after half a bottle of tequila. He sloppily stands, gripping the back of his chair for balance, and confronts Wesley, repeating himself every week. "That song is about slave owners having their way with their slaves," he says extremely slowly, making certain he does not slur over his words. "It's about rape and oppression and it's wrong and I don't know why you keep telling me to sing it!"
On every other week, Wesley would slap his back, grin, and buy Gunn another beer. But this week, for reasons none of them can quite figure out, things are different.
Wesley also stands, his lanky frame supported by the back of the chair, and looks directly at Gunn. "What, pray tell, is wrong is misce..." He pauses. "Miscege..." He pauses again. "Miscegenation?"
Gunn goes through the motions of opening and closing his mouth several times, unable to say anything more than a "A--". When he finally does speak, he's shaking his head while he does it. "You so don't want me goin' there, English."
"Going where?" Wesley asks, leaning in just a little closer. His voice lowers and Cordelia has to lean in, attempting to be as unobtrusive as possible, to catch what he's saying. "Two races mingling together sexually? Two...people enjoying themselves despite any super--superficial differences?"
And he gives Gunn a look, and Cordelia stands, grabbing her bag. Wesley's not as drunk as he seems, and Cordelia makes some half-hearted comment about the time, because she can just tell where this night is heading, and it doesn't involve her. Again.
Neither of the men notice, far too busy looking in each other's eyes to see Cordelia mumble bitterly about being left out. Gunn's frowning, trying to read the expression on Wesley's face, and denying what he sees in there. Finally, he swallows, and asks the vaguest question possible.
"What're you gettin' at, Wes?"
And Wesley just grins. Wide, nearly-menacing, self-satisfied grin, and he leans forward and whispers into Gunn's ear. "You. Me. Miscegenation."
Gunn steps back, staring at Wesley. There's still that hint of denial, but it slips away under the shock. Luckily, the shock quickly fades, and that wise-ass smirk of his appears on Gunn's face again and all he says is "Sure."
That throws Wesley just a little, like it's meant to, but he recovers quickly and pulls Gunn in for a kiss. Rough and drunken and Gunn can taste Wesley's fancy Belgian beer just as he knows Wesley can taste his cheap American.
It lasts for about a minute, both of them trying to prove their alpha maleness by how rough the kiss is, their tongues fighting it out like some really disgusting gladiator movie. When they finally break apart, they quickly look around, seeing if anyone noticed.
No one noticed.
This breaks up the tension between them and they crack up, falling into each other's arms like the drunken friends they are. They stand, slowly, waveringly, and stumble their way out of the club.
Gunn's truck is still where he parked it. "Shit..." Gunn says. "Cordelia's still in there..."
"Well," Wesley says, adjusting his glasses as he speaks. "This means that we only have a few minutes before she comes out looking for us. We must use the time effi--efficiently."
Gunn looks at him and is about to ask him what in the hell he's talking about when Wesley pushes him against the side of the truck and starts kissing him again.
Long hard manly kisses -- the kind Gunn thinks cowboys or soldiers or cops or any of those strong masculine images (not that he spends time thinking about them, of course) would give. Wesley's pressing his body against Gunn's and that's when Gunn realizes that things are totally different than with girls.
And, damn, he's drunk, because, normally...
Finally, he breaks the kiss and looks right at Wes. "What're you gettin' at?" he says again. "What's this leading to?"
Wesley frowns, taking off his glasses. "Well, in any other situation, I would take you to my flat and spend a few hours in bed just getting to know every inch of your body. However, I am surprisingly drunk and would possibly end up just falling asleep while you laid there waiting for me to do something to you, and Cordelia will more than likely come walking out here looking for us within the next few minutes, so I think it will just have to be a blowjob."
It takes a few seconds for all of that to sink into Gunn's head, and by the time he's going "Wait, what?" Wesley's already unzipped his pants and sliding down his boxers.
He's momentarily shocked by how cold the air is, but then it's shock by how hot Wesley's mouth is. Hot and wet and Jesus -- he can feel the stubble on Wesley's chin on his balls.
And he thinks he likes it.
Feels Wesley's fingers gripping his ass as he thrusts and thrusts into his mouth. Feels Wesley's nose pressing against his pubes. Feels Wesley's tongue on his cock and jesus christ, where'd he get this talent?
His knees are sagging, his back is arching, and he's grabbing onto the truck door mirror because he needs some sort of support. Wesley's sucking him in, going to eat him whole, and it just feels good don't ever stop don't ever stop oh..
Slamming back against the truck door as he comes, feeling the cold steel against thighs as he jerks back and forth before finally slumping against the truck, the only thing keeping him from the ground being Wesley's strong arms.
Wesley gives his cock one final gentle kiss, then rests his head against Gunn's thigh. Gunn reaches down and strokes Wesley's hair, orgasm-drunkenly amazed at how short and stiff it is, then pulls Wesley up for a kiss.
Long and sweet and Gunn can taste himself in Wesley's mouth and did come always make your tongue kind of go numb because it's just turning him on a bit even though his ass is cold and his knees are weak and Wesley's grinning into the kiss.
They break apart just long enough to let Gunn pull up his pants. They're standing next to the truck, breathing heavily, and the door to Caritas opens.
A demon stumbles his way out and, from the brief escape of heat and noise, they hear something.
"How come you taste so good? I said, yeah, yeah, yeaah...just like a young girl should..."
Lorne's voice echoes through the parking lot and Gunn gives Wesley a look.
Wesley returns the look innocently.
They start laughing.
"Don't say that word, Tim. | Kate Bolin That's a word that hates women." | ICQ: 3326944"What, twat?" | AIM: DymphnaNet "No, jumpsuit." | email@example.com Daisy & Tim, "Spaced" | http://www.dymphna.net
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