Gunn stood in the doorway, being ignored -- which he was cool with. Wasn't like it was his date, or anything. Wasn't like they'd said there'd be no funky stuff going on without a chaperone. Didn't bother him; wasn't the same thing as when they thought Wes might not be coming home, and it just hadn't felt right without him. This was fine.

Except it was in their living room. Was he supposed to go away, not intrude? Stand and watch? He could deal with that one, for sure -- though he wasn't sure how long he could deal with it without...dealing with it. Especially with Angel doing that *sucking* thing. Gunn shifted where he stood, and rearranged his jeans without bothering to be subtle about it; nobody was watching him anyway.

"Ah, guys?"

He saw Wes trying to look over in his direction, but Angel's mouth still seemed to be doing something pretty damned distracting, if Wesley's moan was anything to go by. Gunn figured he'd better decide *fast* if he was leaving or staying, because two more moans like that and he was over the side of the couch and helping.

"Did you want me to help?" Gunn asked, knowing he probably didn't have their attention. But if he asked, and got no answer -- who was it had told him 'silence implies consent?' Probably Xander, talking about staff meetings, but if it worked, it worked. "I could hold the towel," he added.

Wesley moaned, and moved around a bit -- one hand going to Angel's head, digging fingers into his hair. Gunn grinned. The *only* time anyone got to mess with the 'do was when sex was involved. Or when waterguns were involved. Or when Cordy was -- Gunn realized he was distracting himself from the matter at hand.

"Did you want me to leave? 'Cause I'm down with that, if you do. No problem." Well, no problem that he couldn't take care of in the shower of the nearest unused room, anyway. Not his first choice, but he could always use his imagination and *pretend* he was getting his first choice.

There was no response, unless Wesley's next shuddery moan was supposed to be something he could translate as 'Go away and fuck off, please' or 'Come here and fuck off, please.' Of course, the only legitimate way to find out what Wes' moan meant was to go over there and see if he'd repeat it. Or see if someone threw a pillow at him.

Gunn walked towards the couch, watching as Angel moved his head about one inch and made Wesley moan even harder -- one of those long, low, drawn out moans that sounded like it could go on forever, or until somebody came and interrupted him. Wesley opened his eyes and looked right at him and Gunn found himself unable to ask. Caught in those wide, unfocused eyes, Gunn just wanted to lean over Angel and kiss Wesley.

So he did. Warm, soft mouth that tasted faintly of... butter and salt? Popcorn. Gunn felt himself smile into the kiss, felt Wesley breathing against him, didn't feel Angel shoving him off and scooping Wes up to carry him away somewhere more private. This was good.

Large hand on the back of his neck, that definitely wasn't Wesley's, and Gunn froze for a second, but Angel just traced his fingers up Gunn's spine, lightly over his skull. Like he was checking to make sure it was really somebody authorized to be kissing Wes. Like he couldn't smell that it was Gunn, anyway, like he hadn't heard Gunn's repeated questions with that supersharp hearing of his.

Then Angel's fingers moved softly across his skin, less exploring than caressing, and Gunn thought maybe Angel had known he was here all along, and was just being a dork. That wasn't anything new, so Gunn ignored it because -- really, what he was here to be doing was kissing Wesley, and that was taking up most of his attention. At least it ought to be, since Wesley was still kissing him back and still moaning into the kiss because of whatever Angel was still doing.

Then Wesley pulled his mouth away from his, and Gunn found himself blinking in confusion as Wesley gasped for air. His hand was on Angel's head, but it looked sorta like he was trying to push Angel's head *away*. That didn't make *any* sense, so Gunn figured it was just an oxygen break, and bent back down to go back to the kissing.

Wesley dodged his kiss, and pushed on Angel's head again. Gunn thumped Angel on the head to get his attention -- well, really because he could. And he realized he was doing the 'act like Spike and Xander' thing again and thought about joining a monastery. Okay, no -- about sending Spike and Xander away to join...something. Anything, so Gunn wouldn't find himself noticing he'd picked up stupid-boy habits.

"Please," Wesley gasped, and Angel's head shot up.

"Something wro--"

"I'm starving," Wesley interrupted.

Gunn looked down at Angel. "You didn't *feed* him?" he asked incredulously.

Angel looked guilty, like he'd forgotten to clean the bathroom or lock Spike out of the suite. "I tried. I had reservations at Maison Jacques and I took him there and everything. Then I tried to cook but we don't have any pasta and -- I made salad!" Angel pointed at the bowl sitting on the coffee table.

Gunn frowned. "How the--" Then he grinned at Wes. "Does this mean my date was better? Because *I* fed you."

Wesley frowned. "Wesley frowned. "You fed me tacos from the drive-thru at Ernie's Grille which we could barely eat, covered in red goo as we were. But -- Angel's correct, it isn't entirely his fault I haven't eaten." Then he turned a woeful, big-eyed look on Angel that made Gunn *damn* glad it wasn't him.

'Stricken' didn't begin to describe Angel's reaction. For about two seconds, at least, until a strange, suspicious look came over his face. "You're... playing me," he said slowly. "Mr. Just Be Here With Me, I Don't Care About Dinner."

"I never said I didn't care about dinner; just that I cared more about being with you than eating." Wesley sat up and arranged his clothes in a way that almost made him look like he hadn't just been getting some -- or would've, if he didn't have the hickey from hell at the base of his throat, a dark red circle framed by his open white collar, right where his bow tie used to be. "I do. But that doesn't *have* to be an either or situation, does it?"

He sounded almost pitifully hungry; it made *Gunn* want to swoop him up and carry him off somewhere, like he was this starving orphan holding up a bowl and asking for more gruel, instead of a fully grown man, even taller than Gunn, if not as big around. Damn, he was good. Fortunately Gunn knew damn well it wasn't his responsibility, this time, to jump and carry. As long as Angel stopped sitting there on the couch looking like the hamster in his skull was waking up from a sound sleep.

Wesley must have caught the look as well, because he gave Angel some more of the 'pitiful me, no one loves me enough to leap up and run as fast as he can to the nearest source of food and then proceed to feed it to me'. Gunn knew the look was that specific, because he'd had it aimed at him a few times, usually when Wesley was sick in bed and actually *needed* waiting on. Or the day after when he didn't need it but was still willing to expect it.

Gunn crossed his arms and looked at Angel, who was finally coming to some sort of decision. "You want anything in particular? I could send Gunn out for take-out."

"Excuse me?" Gunn demanded.

Angel spared him a quick glance. "You offered to help. What, feeding Wes is less important than holding towels?"

Oh, he could see where this was going; make *him* the bad guy if he didn't go out for food, and meanwhile Angel would have Wes all to himself... Gunn shook his head. Just like Angel would've had if their date had gone the way he'd planned, instead of whatever obviously fucked it up because nobody in this family could *ever* have a normal day. Angel's turn, you dork, he told himself. And just 'cause you get points for creative use of towel boy, doesn't mean he's obligated to return the favor. Fair's fair.

"Yeah, okay. What do you want, Wes?"

"Hmm." Wesley thought it over, and his eyes flicked from Angel to Gunn and back. Gunn didn't know if he should be worried or not, but then Wes said, "Why don't we go see what's in the main kitchen downstairs."

"Really?" Gunn was surprised -- pleased, of course, because he'd said 'we'. But then he realized what food in the kitchen usually meant and he scowled. "Something other than whatever Spike and Xander have down there, you mean?"

Wesley frowned. "Of *course*. I'm not touching anything those two have purchased, even with Angel to verify it hasn't been touched by either of them. Ever. But there should be something else, left from the last group brunch we held."

Gunn nodded. It was perfectly possible -- and if not, well, he'd still offer to go get them something. He'd just look cute and pitiful, himself, tomorrow. He walked to the door and held it open -- not that it *needed* to be held open; it wasn't that kind of door. But if he was gonna do the towel boy -- or was that maitre d? -- thing, he was damn well gonna do it just as well as Angel had. "After you, gentlemen."

The hotel was eerily quiet; he kept expecting to run into one of the newt twins, around every corner, but they seemed to be out somewhere. Either that, or they were holed up in their own soundproofed-as-a-wedding-present suite, having more and louder sex than any old married couple should be allowed to.

It occurred to Gunn as they headed for the old industrial kitchen that now Xander and Spike *were* married, maybe they should come up with a nickname for them that sounded a little less incestuous. Except with Angel's family... He shrugged. Why bother? It wasn't like anyone was going to argue with the nickname -- and it was damn sure they were gonna stop getting turned into newts on a regular basis. Not unless Wesley changed the spells to turn them into something else. He grinned -- it actually sounded like a good idea. They wouldn't be expecting it and it *might* make them a little more paranoid about *what* they might get turned into, next.

It wouldn't slow them down at all. But still, it might be fun. He decided to ask Wes about it, once he was sure he wasn't stepping outside his role as maitre'd. He didn't want to get sent back to the suite. Once they reached the kitchen, Gunn hurried ahead and held the door again.

As Wesley preceded Angel through, he glanced over his shoulder. "Should you tip the nice gentleman, Angel?"

"Oh! Sure." Angel grinned, and gave Gunn a long damn kiss that made Gunn want to vote against dinner.

"Angel? Perhaps you should wait until after the meal, to pay the *entire* gratuity?" Wesley said after a bit, sounding more amused than annoyed.

Angel broke away, slowly, looking back at Wes with a somewhat dopey smile. "Mmm?"

"I think that's British for 'dance with the one that brung you,'" Gunn translated.

"We're dancing?"

Wesley rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling, so Gunn didn't figure Angel was in trouble yet. Or again. Or something.

"So who's cooking, if we do find something?" Gunn looked at Angel as he asked, as though there was any question.

"I'll cook," Angel replied, for once not sounding like he wasn't sure it was the right answer. Then again -- Wes was the only other one of them who *could* do more than boil water and use a microwave, so the question hadn't been a difficult one. Angel headed towards the fridge which had the newt spell on it.

Gunn looked around the kitchen for someplace to actually eat whatever Angel managed to find; they usually all gathered in the dining room when more than the three of them got together, assuming they didn't just order pizza or all go out for something. There were preparation tables that would do to eat off, assuming they *didn't* want to tote it out to the dining room, but they'd have to sit on stools. Plates -- he could do plates, and silverware. Gunn headed for the cabinets, only to be stopped by a soft cough from Wesley.

"What?"

"Weren't you going to show us to our table?"

Gunn looked around. Angel had his head stuck in the large fridge, the only part of him visible being a nicely shaped pair of dress pants with some kind of grease smudge on the back. "Well, I could show *you* to your table," he allowed, grabbing a kitchen towel from a nearby counter and draping it over his arm. "I think your date went to have a word with the chef."

He glanced back to see Wesley distracted by said date -- or, more likely, said date's nicely shaped pair of dress pants. Gunn didn't mind -- he was happy to stand there and stare. He couldn't decide if he wanted to stare at Angel's ass, or at Wesley staring at Angel's ass, though. So for a while he looked from one to the other, trying to act as calm and maitre'd as he could while watching his lover get turned on by one *damn* fine looking ass.

Finally Wesley shook his head and looked at Gunn, obviously trying for an amused expression. Pretty much he was failing, because his eyes were really extra round.

"Your table, sir? Would you care for a seat with a view?" Gunn managed not to smirk, if only because he knew Wes would get him for it, later.

"A view of the seat, do you mean?" Wesley grinned.

"Yeah, well, whose fault is it for finding a pair of boyfriends with such elegant, handsome features?"

"Me!" Angel replied. "I mean mine. Um -- I do. Have. Uh, all we have is some vegetables starting to dry out, and cans of soup."

Wesley and Gunn stood there for a moment, looking at Angel holding an armful of carrots, and two cans. Finally Wesley shook his head and said quietly, in a tone that said all kinds of mushy stuff Gunn loved to hear even if it wasn't about *him* because yeah, he felt that way too, "He's a dork."

Angel's expression became very, very cute. "But I have food."

"You got carrots and baked bean soup, man. You'd better hope you're a really, really cute dork, 'cause that ain't gonna cut it."

Angel *was* a really cute dork, but he managed to somehow look cuter. Or possibly dorkier. He pouted. Gunn wasn't sure what number pout that was -- he supposed he'd have to ask Xander -- some time when he wasn't two seconds away from ripping Angel's nice pair of dress pants off.

Whichever number it was, it was working on Wesley, anyway. "I'm sure there was minestrone in the cupboard next to Xander and Spike's refrigerator."

Angel set the carrots and soup on a counter, and bent down to look in the cupboard Wesley pointed to. Gunn pulled out one of the kitchen stools, and tapped on Wesley's arm. "If you'll have a seat, sir." When Wes sat down, Gunn stopped and whispered in his ear, quite loud enough for somebody with superhuman hearing to pick up. "You just wanted to make him bend over again."

Wesley didn't bother with a shocked look -- since it would have meant looking away from the damned fine ass that was providing the evening's entertainment. Dinner theatre -- who knew? "You don't have to watch if you don't wish to," Wesley said quietly.

Gunn snorted. "Right." He pulled a stool over for himself, and sat down.

Angel glanced back, and gave them both a pained frown. "There's nothing in here that's edible. Not unless you want maple syrup and powdered cinnamon."

Gunn was about to sigh and heft himself off the stool, and go order a pizza, when he caught sight of Wesley's expression. Judging by the smug 'heh' from Angel's direction, he figured he wasn't the only one who noticed. "Wes? You want maple syrup and cinnamon?" Gunn asked, leadingly.

Was it *his* fault that the only thing they ever really did with cinnamon powder was dust various parts of each other's anatomy then let Angel lick it off? Well, besides bake cookies with it.

"I... yes, that might make a nice...dessert." Wes seemed to be having some trouble remembering that he was supposed to be hungry in the conventional way, not just in the eat you alive/eat me alive, somebody just please eat somebody, way. "But...it won't make much of an entree," he finally managed to get out.

"What about the other cupboard?" Gunn asked obligingly, pointing to the one between Spike and Xander's two fridges. "Wasn't there something in there? Vampire Helper or something?"

Angel looked at him funny. "Vampire Helper?"

"Comes in a box with a little animated hand on it? Fry you up some vampire in a pan and then throw this stuff in and you get your 11 herbs and spices?"

"Very funny."

"Oh, just look in the cupboard, Angel. Gotta be something in there."

Angel bent down, grumbling. "I thought you were the maitre'd, not the boss."

"I'm the guy who wants to see Wes seeing you stick your ass in the air," Gunn explained. And Wes was. Definitely preoccupied, though it was probably now a mix of the ass in pants being pulled tight as Angel bent over, and the thought of cinnamon powder. Maybe even some thinking about maple syrup, too.

Whatever he was thinking, it was making for a lovely bulge in the front of Wesley's pants.

"I'm not finding anything," Angel called back, after a minute or four of digging around. "Do you want me to stay like this or-- what am I saying?" He stood and up and turned around. "This is *my* date. I get to see Wesley see my ass."

Gunn snorted. "How, exactly? In a mirror?"

Angel stopped short for a second, then nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Actually, that'd be perfect. 'Cause all I'd see would be him. My ass wouldn't get in the way."

Gunn stared at him for a second. Not that staring at the front of his boyfriend was any worse than staring at the back of him. "Y'all are weird. You know that, right?"

Wesley and Angel both looked at him, with nearly identical expressions. Gunn just looked back, daring them to say *anything*. They both seemed willing to drop it, though, and turned their attention back to each other. Which was fine, given the way Wes was beginning to smolder, and Angel was just beginning to get the cave-vamp thing going.

"You hungry, Wes?" Angel was asking, and Gunn had to remind himself that his name wasn't Wes. Wesley nodded, and his jaw had dropped again. Gunn wondered if Angel was gonna kiss him, or if *he* could. "You want Vampire helper? You wanna eat vampire?" he asked, in that low, mesmerizing tone that made Gunn think it was *really* no damn fair that Angel got to be a vampire and all Gunn had going for him was a damn fine ass, himself, and the ability to go outside during the day.

Wes seemed to be losing any brains he might have had left after the Angel's Ass Show. He was ready to order the special of the day and damn whether it would actually fill him up or not. Though judging from Angel's expression, that wasn't going to be a problem.

"I... What?" Wes answered, and Gunn felt like answering the same thing, except that... what was the except again?

Angel moved closer to the table. Actually, he loomed closer. He'd obviously been practicing the looming on the side, when Gunn wasn't looking, because when had he gotten *that* good at it? Wesley seemed to think Angel was looming pretty well, also, if the way his eyes were dilating was any indication. Gunn thought Wesley looked like he wanted to be kissed, probably kissed until his toes were sucked into his legs, but he was having trouble remembering he could use his mouth to talk with. Gunn would have done it for him, anyway, if there hadn't been a big old looming vampire in his way.

Stupid vampire.

Angel just kept looming, though, not kissing Wesley and not letting anybody else kiss him, either. Gunn was having trouble reminding himself that this was *Angel* and Wes' date, and by rights Gunn should be satisfied to just watch -- except that they weren't *doing* anything. At least when he'd teased Angel, they'd been naked.

Wesley made a little noise in the back of his throat, finally, and it sounded too strangled and breathy to be English, but it seemed to be enough for Angel. He smiled, and loomed even more. "I think you need to take your pants off, Wes."

"I think..." But Wes was clearly doing nothing like thinking; he was just repeating after Angel. Not even doing that very well, since he ran out of words after two and a half a breath. He was still able to nod, though. He did it slowly, carefully, like he was approving the right choice of wine to go with the filet mignon.

Angel reached out and touched Wesley's left leg -- ran one finger slowly down the front crease of those black tux pants, ending on Wesley's knee. "Did you maybe need help with that?"

Gunn's hand was in the air before he could think twice. "I can do that. I can help. Maitre'd, here, supposed to give my diners whatever they need. I can help." He thought he might sound like a babbling moron -- but sex with Angel and Wesley did that a lot to him, and he'd gotten over it. Mostly. At least *during* sex, he didn't mind so much.

Angel looked at him, eyes smoldering, and Gunn almost took his own pants off. "I think Wesley can manage, can't you?" Angel asked, turning that gaze on Wes, once more.

Wesley nodded, but his hands didn't go anywhere near the fly of his trousers. If he'd forgot how to get undressed, Gunn couldn't blame him, but he was going to bitch about the cleaning bill tomorrow. Surely Angel knew that, and wouldn't let him come in his pants. Maybe.

"Wes?" Angel prompted in that 'Do you really want me to help you, because I will, but I'll make you *pay*' voice. Which was *so* likely to do anything besides make Wes sit there like his wasn't the biggest brain in the room but had in fact leaked out his ears and was puddled somewhere on the floor underneath his stool.

Wes nodded again; Gunn almost heard the sloshing of what was left of his brain. Long thin fingers moved down to Wesley's fly, apparently under their own guidance, because Wes was still nodding and looking at Angel. Whose finger, just the one, was still on Wesley's knee. He tapped it lightly, and trailed it an inch higher. Like Wesley's reward for finally figuring out where his fly was.

Gunn realized that he was going to have to stand here and just watch, and that this was probably his punishment for making *Angel* watch them through the shower curtain last week. Hell, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. It still seemed like a good idea. Angel was still holding his finger in place on Wesley's leg, and Wesley was fumbling near his zipper. Gunn thought he'd probably *have* to help, or watch Wes injure himself. But then Wes somehow got hold of the zipper and pulled -- forgetting of course to undo the button first.

"Want me to get that?" Gunn inquired, trying to sound very much like a disinterested maitre'd, and not like he just wanted to suck Wesley's cock out of his pants.

Angel gave him a Look. A 'You do realize you're only a top around here because I think you're cute and if I wanted it that way, you'd be writhing on the table begging me to fuck you til you scream -- right?' look. Gunn tried to growl back at him, but only managed something like a whimper.

"What was that?"

"I said, all you had to say was no." How he managed to get his voice that low, that fast, Gunn wasn't sure -- might've had something to do with Wes finally having figured out how to work the button himself.

Angel just grinned, like they'd been in on this together the whole time, and turned back to Wesley. Wesley, who had his pants open but not down yet. "Problem, Wes?" Angel asked in a voice that had gone back to all silky smooth.

Wesley actually smiled. "I was waiting for you two." His words were flippant -- flippant enough it might earn *somebody* a good hard fuck after he'd begged for it long enough. But his eyes were still unfocused and his tone was just as breathy as when he *was* being fucked.

"How polite," Angel said. Like polite was another word for 'stupid enough to tease a wild animal by dangling a steak in front of it and forgetting to lock the door to the cage.'

Wes stood up. Like he'd suddenly realized he *had* locked the cage door, with all of them inside. Those pants somehow found their way to his knees faster than Angel could move his finger up another inch, so Angel's hand was suddenly tangled in black tux pants and red silk boxers, and Gunn was wondering how showing the wild vampire anything bright red and made of silk was supposed to be a healthy idea.

Well, healthy enough -- Wes definitely looked healthy from where Gunn was standing. Safe, however -- whole 'nother issue. Angel seemed satisfied -- or at least willing to allow that this was a move in the right direction. He looked down, and said, "Your shoes are still on."

But by the time he'd finished saying it, Wes had slipped out of his dress shoes, and kicked off his pants as well. Angel smiled his approval. Gunn shivered and reminded himself he was *watching*. Or helping. Or whatever, but *he* wasn't the one being ordered around and told to strip and get fucked and... he'd forgot the question. But Angel glanced over at him with a look on his face that made Gunn ready to say 'yes!' He managed not to, until he actually heard the question.

"What do you think?" Angel asked. "Should we order pizza? Make the soup?" He held up the carrot in his hand. "Or use the carrot?"

*****