Spanglish - PG - Wes/Gunn, Angel/Spike
Wow :p I don't seem to know how to do things in moderation lately. I began this ficlet for the slashthedrabble food challenge. 100, 200, 300, 400, 500 words... And I wrote 167?+, thus disqualifying myself :p Once I got going with this, I just couldn't quite cut it off sooner. Let me know what you think of it. And if you have a suggestion for a shorter, drabble-type version of the same, I'd be glad to hear it :)
Spanglish
by nev
Disclaimer: these are Joss Whedon's children. I simply come round now and then to corrupt their upbringing :p
Rating:PG
Summary: Early Season 5. Wes/Gunn, Angel/Spike
~~~
He'd had some notion of heading home when he'd left his department.
He made it just down the hall, into the seating area outside Angel's office, before he decided that here was as good a place as any to catch a few winks.
He woke to find Gunn sitting in the chair beside him. He was, of all things, eating popcorn, and staring through one of Angel's office windows into the office itself.
"Gunn?"
Gunn didn't turn. "Wes," he said. "You come to watch the show, too?"
Wesley blinked. It was entirely possible he hadn't woken to find Gunn sitting in the chair beside him... Wesley dreams had been a bit odd as of late.
"Excuse me?"
Then Wesley realized that the "show" Gunn was referring to - was Angel and Spike. Who were arguing over who-knew-what inside Angel's office.
And when Gunn looked at him he did so with a pointed glare.
"Or did you work your skinny ass to exhaustion again? Instead of going home at a decent hour like I told you to."
Wesley de-slouched in his seat.
In fact, Gunn had suggested he have an early night tonight - or even take the next day off altogether. Their respective departments had been recently swamped... Which was exactly why Wesley had had to work through a graveyard shift instead.
Gunn had left at six. For a date with Marcy - Macy? - in Accounting.
"I might have lost track of the time," Wes admitted, sheepishly, to which Gunn snorted. Wesley had been working graveyard shifts more and more often lately. He knew Gunn was getting fed up with them - as evidenced by his previous comment. Gunn only ever talked like that now - like he used to, his pronunciations gone soft around the edges and "street" - when he was fed up with Wesley's sleeping habits. Or his tendency to skip meals. Gunn had taken Wesley out to lunch on three different occasions that week - vowing to make certain that Wesley didn't starve himself, somehow, by talking him into meals that were probably less healthy than fasting would have been.
"And you? Did you enjoy the show, I mean?"
The theatre, not the performance Angel and Spike were giving them. Circling one another on the other side of the glass of Angel's office windows. And carrying on their verbal spar as they did.
Again there came a snort. Wesley vaguely remembered the name of the play Gunn had planned on taking Marcy/Macy to that evening.
"You mean the show I didn't go to? Because Mary had a last-minute meeting with what's-his-face in Finance, and couldn't get away til half-past eight?"
Ah, that was it. Mary. Wesley winced. The tickets to that play had not been cheap, or easy to procure. Although Gunn seemed to be taking their uselessness in stride. He was sitting with Wesley, munching on popcorn, after all - not working off any frustrations down in the gym.
Wesley dipped his hand into Gunn's paper bag, and pulled out a handful of popcorn to munch on himself. He hadn't listened to Gunn's suggestion of an early dinner, either.
"One of the many, many priveleges of working for an evil lawfirm," Wesley mused. "Whenever you aren't working ungodly hours, anyone who might wish to date you undoubtedly is."
Wes returned his gaze to Angel and Spike. Angel was sitting at his desk now - head thrown back in that 'Why me?' way of his - as Spike paced in front.
"Yeah. Well. We made it to dinner - which didn't suck. But I don't think Mary was too impressed with the late night show we caught afterward."
Wesley looked back at him. "Jackie Chan?"
It was a Thursday. If there was a Jackie Chan movie showing, and it was a Thursday, then Gunn - on his own - would have gone to see Jackie Chan. Of course, seeing as he'd had a companion along with him-
Gunn raised his hands. "What's wrong with Jackie Chan?"
Wesley grinned. The implant had only broadened Gunn's appreciation of music, theatre, fine cuisine - not inversed it.
"Absolutely nothing."
"That's what I said."
Angel initiated one quick, angry spin in his desk chair - never a good sign. Wesley finished off his popcorn then, unthinking, licked the butter and salt from his fingertips.
He caught Gunn watching him from the corner of his eye. Before he could become self-conscious about it, Gunn tilted his paper bag.
Wesley smiled softly, then took another handful of popcorn with his other hand.
"So the evening was a bust, then?" he asked.
"Wouldn't say that." Gunn's eyes were on Angel's office door. "Popcorn's not half-bad. Movie wasn't bad, either. Though I gotta say the post-show is getting a little predictable."
Gunn said this as Angel came storming out of his office. He didn't notice Gunn or Wes - or, if he did, he obviously didn't want to risk stopping to talk to them. Spike was right on his heels. Storming out in the opposite direction.
Angel took an elevator up to his floor. Spike disappeared around a turn in the hall.
Wesley and Gunn looked at one another.
"I give it ten minutes," Gunn said.
Wesley blinked. "Fifteen."
They rose and moved to stand where they could see Angel's elevator.
At ten minutes, the floor indicator above began to descend in number, rather than go up.
Gunn grinned.
But the elevator did not return. The numbers began to rise again.
After fifteen minutes, Spike reappeared around that turn in the hall. He stomped past Wesley and Gunn on his way to the elevators, muttering to himself. Then stabbed the "up" button and got on.
"If that had been a bet, I do believe I would have won."
"And that's why we don't bet on things anymore," Gunn confirmed.
Wesley grinned at him. "I wonder what they were arguing about, though."
Gunn shrugged. "Beats me. I don't speak Spanglish."
Wesley looked at him. "Spike-Angel-ish," Gunn clarified. "It's a language all it's own."
Wesley chuckled, following Gunn back down the hall. When he was at Gunn's side he said, "And one that's difficult to translate."
They were back at the seating area, where Gunn had left his suit jacket and the popcorn. He turned.
"Unless you assume anything one of them says that doesn't cause the other to draw blood means 'I love you'," Gunn told him. Wesley stilled. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with the relationship that had been initiated (or, more likely, resurrected) by their two soulled vampires. It was just talking about the specifics of the relationship with Gunn that felt awkward.
"Yes, well-"
"Not that I'm all that interested in assuming. Me, I'm still trying to translate Gunn into Wes well enough for you to understand me."
Wesley replied, startled, "What?"
Gunn took a step closer. And then, deliberately, another.
Wesley blinked.
"Wes. I tell you to leave the office with me, you think I'm fussing at you to get more sleep. Which you should, but..."
Wesley raised a brow. What?
"I ask you out to eat, you think I'm force-feeding you," Gunn continued.
Wesley frowned. "Well, I-"
Gunn wasn't finished. Talking or moving. He stepped one step closer to Wesley. So that they were standing entirely too close for two friends having a casual conversation.
Gunn was staring straight at him and Wesley stared back, uncertain, wondering.
"I ask you what kind of show you'd like to see, you tell me where to get tickets. In front of Mary Brewen in Accounting. Who's been giving me signals all week, and thought my asking you about the tickets was a signal for her."
Gunn leaned forward, slightly. There was an intense, unreadable expression on his face.
"I've done everything to let you know where I'm coming from but tell you straight out. And that's not working. So I'm just gonna ask you this now, and take it from there."
Wesley was listening. "Yes?" he asked.
"How is it that you, with all that Watcher training of yours, know all my favorite foods, my favorite movies; what I like to do for fun, where I go when I'm angry or I'm upset... How come you notice all that...and you can't name a single person I've gone out with this month. Or not gone out with, actually, in the last three. Selective hearing, Wes? Selective sight? What am I working against here?"
Wesley fought the urge to look away. Gunn's eyes had softened, and his words - in another tone - might have sounded harsh. They were quiet and coaxing.
"How come you notice all that, and you haven't noticed yet that I'm crazy about you?"
Even with that build up, when the actual words were said they hit Wesley like an electrical charge. He felt them. Warm, exciting, like nothing had been for him in some time. Charged with promise. Of something better than lonely meals and an empty bed to go home to at night.
"Did you hear that?" Gunn asked, and behind his challenging words Wes could sense his anxiety. Wes did know a lot about Gunn. He knew what Gunn looked like when he was nervous. When he was determined. When he felt scared.
And when he felt hope.
"No," Wesley replied, softly.
He saw the emotions on Gunn's face shift into brief and terrible disappointment.
But by then Wes was closing the tiny distance between them, slipping one hand around the back of Gunn's neck, leaning in ever closer towards Gunn's lips - clarifying his answer and stopping the disappointment cold.
"I believe what I heard was 'Kiss me.' But you can correct me if I'm wrong."
Gunn slowly grinned, and his eyes lit with Wes's smile.
"Now you're talking," he said into their kiss, as his hands went to Wesley's waist.
[ end. ]
A/N: this was kind of written in the same vain as "Belated". A clueless Wes, a frustrated suitor... :) Not too repetitive, am I?
Spanglish
by nev
Disclaimer: these are Joss Whedon's children. I simply come round now and then to corrupt their upbringing :p
Rating:PG
Summary: Early Season 5. Wes/Gunn, Angel/Spike
~~~
He'd had some notion of heading home when he'd left his department.
He made it just down the hall, into the seating area outside Angel's office, before he decided that here was as good a place as any to catch a few winks.
He woke to find Gunn sitting in the chair beside him. He was, of all things, eating popcorn, and staring through one of Angel's office windows into the office itself.
"Gunn?"
Gunn didn't turn. "Wes," he said. "You come to watch the show, too?"
Wesley blinked. It was entirely possible he hadn't woken to find Gunn sitting in the chair beside him... Wesley dreams had been a bit odd as of late.
"Excuse me?"
Then Wesley realized that the "show" Gunn was referring to - was Angel and Spike. Who were arguing over who-knew-what inside Angel's office.
And when Gunn looked at him he did so with a pointed glare.
"Or did you work your skinny ass to exhaustion again? Instead of going home at a decent hour like I told you to."
Wesley de-slouched in his seat.
In fact, Gunn had suggested he have an early night tonight - or even take the next day off altogether. Their respective departments had been recently swamped... Which was exactly why Wesley had had to work through a graveyard shift instead.
Gunn had left at six. For a date with Marcy - Macy? - in Accounting.
"I might have lost track of the time," Wes admitted, sheepishly, to which Gunn snorted. Wesley had been working graveyard shifts more and more often lately. He knew Gunn was getting fed up with them - as evidenced by his previous comment. Gunn only ever talked like that now - like he used to, his pronunciations gone soft around the edges and "street" - when he was fed up with Wesley's sleeping habits. Or his tendency to skip meals. Gunn had taken Wesley out to lunch on three different occasions that week - vowing to make certain that Wesley didn't starve himself, somehow, by talking him into meals that were probably less healthy than fasting would have been.
"And you? Did you enjoy the show, I mean?"
The theatre, not the performance Angel and Spike were giving them. Circling one another on the other side of the glass of Angel's office windows. And carrying on their verbal spar as they did.
Again there came a snort. Wesley vaguely remembered the name of the play Gunn had planned on taking Marcy/Macy to that evening.
"You mean the show I didn't go to? Because Mary had a last-minute meeting with what's-his-face in Finance, and couldn't get away til half-past eight?"
Ah, that was it. Mary. Wesley winced. The tickets to that play had not been cheap, or easy to procure. Although Gunn seemed to be taking their uselessness in stride. He was sitting with Wesley, munching on popcorn, after all - not working off any frustrations down in the gym.
Wesley dipped his hand into Gunn's paper bag, and pulled out a handful of popcorn to munch on himself. He hadn't listened to Gunn's suggestion of an early dinner, either.
"One of the many, many priveleges of working for an evil lawfirm," Wesley mused. "Whenever you aren't working ungodly hours, anyone who might wish to date you undoubtedly is."
Wes returned his gaze to Angel and Spike. Angel was sitting at his desk now - head thrown back in that 'Why me?' way of his - as Spike paced in front.
"Yeah. Well. We made it to dinner - which didn't suck. But I don't think Mary was too impressed with the late night show we caught afterward."
Wesley looked back at him. "Jackie Chan?"
It was a Thursday. If there was a Jackie Chan movie showing, and it was a Thursday, then Gunn - on his own - would have gone to see Jackie Chan. Of course, seeing as he'd had a companion along with him-
Gunn raised his hands. "What's wrong with Jackie Chan?"
Wesley grinned. The implant had only broadened Gunn's appreciation of music, theatre, fine cuisine - not inversed it.
"Absolutely nothing."
"That's what I said."
Angel initiated one quick, angry spin in his desk chair - never a good sign. Wesley finished off his popcorn then, unthinking, licked the butter and salt from his fingertips.
He caught Gunn watching him from the corner of his eye. Before he could become self-conscious about it, Gunn tilted his paper bag.
Wesley smiled softly, then took another handful of popcorn with his other hand.
"So the evening was a bust, then?" he asked.
"Wouldn't say that." Gunn's eyes were on Angel's office door. "Popcorn's not half-bad. Movie wasn't bad, either. Though I gotta say the post-show is getting a little predictable."
Gunn said this as Angel came storming out of his office. He didn't notice Gunn or Wes - or, if he did, he obviously didn't want to risk stopping to talk to them. Spike was right on his heels. Storming out in the opposite direction.
Angel took an elevator up to his floor. Spike disappeared around a turn in the hall.
Wesley and Gunn looked at one another.
"I give it ten minutes," Gunn said.
Wesley blinked. "Fifteen."
They rose and moved to stand where they could see Angel's elevator.
At ten minutes, the floor indicator above began to descend in number, rather than go up.
Gunn grinned.
But the elevator did not return. The numbers began to rise again.
After fifteen minutes, Spike reappeared around that turn in the hall. He stomped past Wesley and Gunn on his way to the elevators, muttering to himself. Then stabbed the "up" button and got on.
"If that had been a bet, I do believe I would have won."
"And that's why we don't bet on things anymore," Gunn confirmed.
Wesley grinned at him. "I wonder what they were arguing about, though."
Gunn shrugged. "Beats me. I don't speak Spanglish."
Wesley looked at him. "Spike-Angel-ish," Gunn clarified. "It's a language all it's own."
Wesley chuckled, following Gunn back down the hall. When he was at Gunn's side he said, "And one that's difficult to translate."
They were back at the seating area, where Gunn had left his suit jacket and the popcorn. He turned.
"Unless you assume anything one of them says that doesn't cause the other to draw blood means 'I love you'," Gunn told him. Wesley stilled. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with the relationship that had been initiated (or, more likely, resurrected) by their two soulled vampires. It was just talking about the specifics of the relationship with Gunn that felt awkward.
"Yes, well-"
"Not that I'm all that interested in assuming. Me, I'm still trying to translate Gunn into Wes well enough for you to understand me."
Wesley replied, startled, "What?"
Gunn took a step closer. And then, deliberately, another.
Wesley blinked.
"Wes. I tell you to leave the office with me, you think I'm fussing at you to get more sleep. Which you should, but..."
Wesley raised a brow. What?
"I ask you out to eat, you think I'm force-feeding you," Gunn continued.
Wesley frowned. "Well, I-"
Gunn wasn't finished. Talking or moving. He stepped one step closer to Wesley. So that they were standing entirely too close for two friends having a casual conversation.
Gunn was staring straight at him and Wesley stared back, uncertain, wondering.
"I ask you what kind of show you'd like to see, you tell me where to get tickets. In front of Mary Brewen in Accounting. Who's been giving me signals all week, and thought my asking you about the tickets was a signal for her."
Gunn leaned forward, slightly. There was an intense, unreadable expression on his face.
"I've done everything to let you know where I'm coming from but tell you straight out. And that's not working. So I'm just gonna ask you this now, and take it from there."
Wesley was listening. "Yes?" he asked.
"How is it that you, with all that Watcher training of yours, know all my favorite foods, my favorite movies; what I like to do for fun, where I go when I'm angry or I'm upset... How come you notice all that...and you can't name a single person I've gone out with this month. Or not gone out with, actually, in the last three. Selective hearing, Wes? Selective sight? What am I working against here?"
Wesley fought the urge to look away. Gunn's eyes had softened, and his words - in another tone - might have sounded harsh. They were quiet and coaxing.
"How come you notice all that, and you haven't noticed yet that I'm crazy about you?"
Even with that build up, when the actual words were said they hit Wesley like an electrical charge. He felt them. Warm, exciting, like nothing had been for him in some time. Charged with promise. Of something better than lonely meals and an empty bed to go home to at night.
"Did you hear that?" Gunn asked, and behind his challenging words Wes could sense his anxiety. Wes did know a lot about Gunn. He knew what Gunn looked like when he was nervous. When he was determined. When he felt scared.
And when he felt hope.
"No," Wesley replied, softly.
He saw the emotions on Gunn's face shift into brief and terrible disappointment.
But by then Wes was closing the tiny distance between them, slipping one hand around the back of Gunn's neck, leaning in ever closer towards Gunn's lips - clarifying his answer and stopping the disappointment cold.
"I believe what I heard was 'Kiss me.' But you can correct me if I'm wrong."
Gunn slowly grinned, and his eyes lit with Wes's smile.
"Now you're talking," he said into their kiss, as his hands went to Wesley's waist.
[ end. ]
A/N: this was kind of written in the same vain as "Belated". A clueless Wes, a frustrated suitor... :) Not too repetitive, am I?