Gunn nearly shot his hand into the air before he realized he didn't have to wait to be called on even though he *knew* the right answer to this one. It was the one making Wes' eyes go crossed and his knees tremble.

"Gunn?" Angel asked, like his whole grade and whether or not he got sent to the principal's office and had to miss recess all depended on whether he'd studied or not.

"Carrot?" He pointed to the newtspelled fridge. "Um. Buttered carrot?"

Angel raised both eyebrows at him, and Gunn suddenly felt like he'd remembered to turn in that extra credit project after all. Or, since he was supposed to be the maitre 'd, like he'd just told his customer that the filet mignon came free tonight.

Then Gunn realized that Angel was *waiting*, and he jumped. His job to bring his patrons whatever they required, of course. Gunn hurried to the fridge and grabbed the butter. When he brought it back to Angel, he found Wes had somehow got back on the table, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Gunn pried the lid off the tub of butter -- butter substitute, but who cared -- and held it out for Angel.

"Wes, legs up," Angel said calmly, and Gunn shivered. His own cock was screaming at him to at *least* undo the top button and give him some room to... er... breathe, but he couldn't take his eyes off Wes long enough to make his hands work.

Wesley brought his legs up without a word -- and *damn* but he was well-trained when he had to be. Gunn almost broke his concentration on staring at Wes' ass, to look over at Angel and remark on it. He told himself Angel probably knew, and kept staring.

"Gunn, would you hold this?" Angel asked, politely, and Gunn moved to do so before he even registered that Angel was pointing at Wesley's right leg. Gunn took hold of it, but gave Angel a confused look. Angel didn't answer, but he grabbed Wes' other leg with one hand, and Gunn realized that Wes wouldn't be able to move his legs at *all*. Gunn wanted very badly to know why this was a good thing. But he couldn't loosen his tongue to ask.

He could at least figure out why Angel needed a free hand -- he was using that extra hand to bring a happy new meaning to the term 'butterfingers' -- and somehow that huge paw of his managed to slather itself in margarine without dropping the carrot, or the tub, which he held back out for Gunn to take again.

Butterfingers on the curve of Wesley's ass -- which was nice and slick and pretty to look at, but the point of that, when that wasn't where butterfingers should be sliding? Oh. That was the point. To make Wes shudder at the cold -- and to make hot skin melt fingerfuls of refrigerated coldness into warm slick softness. Granted, the point mighta been to make Wes shudder and moan and strain his legs a bit, hoping to entice Angel into slipping those fingers inside. Gunn could have told him it wasn't going to work. Angel had that set look to his face that said if he had to, he could keep up the teasing for three days.

Why was it Gunn never remembered that in time to avoid *earning* being teased for three days? He and Wes should have invited Angel into the shower first thing and let him fuck them. Right? Then Angel would already be finger fucking Wesley and making him arch his back and make those fucking good groans and whimpers, and Gunn would have *his* pants down already instead of just standing here and holding onto Wes' leg.

He felt Wes press his leg against his grip; Gunn held him steady and concentrated on watching Angel's fingers slip slide away. Gunn had to count to ten to get rid of the song he'd just started running through his head, and think hard about the way Wesley's cock looked, so erect it was nearly flat against his stomach -- lying on top of the cummerbund he'd left on.

It helped a little to look at Wesley's fingers, gripping the edges of the table, knuckles so white and shiny you could almost see the overhead lights reflecting off them. Tightening and shifting, flexing with the need not to touch himself. Not to touch *anything*. Gunn felt his own fingers tighten on Wesley's leg, and had to stop himself from grasping *too* firmly. If he held as tight as Wes was holding to the table, somebody somewhere was gonna get injured.

It *didn't* help to glance back at Butterfingers and see them slowly tracing tiny circles closer and closer to Wesley's hole. A touch here, little circle, then away. To the other thigh, the other side, another tiny curve. It didn't help him to calm down himself, when he could feel the tremors going through Wesley's body, and it seemed like he might shake himself right off the table. Gunn had to stand there and think real clear about breathing. And holding Wes' leg and not grabbing Angel's hand and shoving it in where it belonged.

He managed to watch without saying a word or even moaning, until Angel finally slipped one finger in -- for about a nano-second, then it was out again. Gunn nearly shouted what the fuck was he doing -- but then he saw Wes' face and he figured Angel knew exactly what the fuck he was doing. Wesley's face was strained, red with effort and eyes wide and not seeing a damn thing, and he was breathing hard through his nose and the rest of his body was shaking, tiny tremors that sometimes meant he was trying not to let you know he was crying. In this case it meant he was trying too hard to hold himself still and his muscles weren't having it, anymore.

If it were half an hour into things, Gunn would have said Wes was three seconds from coming. As it was.... He was damn impressed with his stamina. Angel butterfingered his way back again, that same finger, that same speed, that same quick dip, maybe a second longer. Gunn thought maybe he should be impressed with Angel's balls, actually -- not that he wasn't usually -- because he might just be cruising near that point where Wes snapped, and the guy in the cage with the horny wild vampire jumped up and bit *him*. Which -- it occurred to Gunn that this was pretty much a can't-lose situation for him.

Not that picturing Wes biting Angel was doing much for the problem of Gunn wanting desperately to play 'Where's my fly and how do I make this zipper thing work again?' Either way, though, it was gonna be pretty to watch. *He* didn't care if he came in his pants, anyhow, because he was just wearing jeans and it wasn't like they'd never had slime, mud, or semen on them before.

Wesley seemed to be nearly incoherent and unaware of everything except the finger that wasn't fucking him, and Angel was concentrating on Wesley. Gunn wondered if he could risk a little taking off of the pants and jerking off. As soon as he thought it, though, Angel shifted his stance and suddenly without warning there was a carrot, buttered up, stuck halfway into Wesley's ass.

Wesley shouted.

"Fuck me," Gunn breathed.

"Not now," Angel said calmly.

"Bloody hell, yes, now," came out in the closest thing Gunn had ever heard to an order from Wes while he was naked -- not counting that time they were all stuck in the tunnel with the boggarty things that kept stealing their clothes.

"No, now I'm fucking *you*," Angel informed him. Like Wes wasn't aware of that? Especially with the carrot sliding out just a little, then back in, quick, on the word *you*. The only reply was something that didn't sound like an order anymore. More like a desperately polite request.

Gunn didn't actually mind, either way, because he was getting to the point where it didn't matter which of them was doing *what*. But Angel seemed to take special note of the noises Wes was making, and Gunn watched, wide-eyed, as he slid the carrot about two-thirds the way in. It wasn't as big around as, say, Angel's fully erect cock -- or his fist, both of which had been where the carrot was now -- but Wes hadn't exactly been prepared much, this time.

The noises Wes was making now seemed to be pretty good ones, though, so Gunn didn't worry about it. Nor did he worry when Angel reached behind him and grabbed an iron skillet from the counter. There was probably no chance Angel was gonna brain anybody with it, but if he expected to use it in a *good* way.... Gunn blinked as Angel set it on the table, right between Wesley's legs, right at the base of the carrot -- where it held the vegetable in place. Angel let go of everything except Wes' leg.

"Hey Gunn," he said, so conversationally that Gunn had a sudden weird certainty that they were all under a spell, or possibly stoned. Some shorter than Angel vampire who would remain nameless had dusted the carrots with happy powder, in revenge for all the newt spells. Except the carrots had been in the spelled fridge. Which meant Angel was waiting for him to answer and Gunn was the only one who seemed to not be with the program here.

"Uh, yeah?"

"Wesley here said he was hungry. Isn't it your job to make sure he gets something to eat?"

Gunn stared at Angel for a minute, thinking that *someone* was stoned. Maybe it was him -- except then he'd already be hungry, and looking for something to munch on while Angel did his thing. Or Wesley's thing. Somehow his mouth engaged, though, and he said without stammering, "Yeah. What do you want?"

Angel looked thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe...Chinese?"

Gunn shook his head.

"Yeah, you're right. We had Chinese two nights ago. Thai?"

"Food cooked in coconut? Yuck. Might as well ask for sushi." Gunn had no idea how he was managing to talk, because he and Angel were both staring at Wesley, who was apparently either trying not to move, or was trying to fuck himself without actually using his arms, legs, or torso.

"There's the Mexican place," Angel began.

"Man, why are you even voting? You barely eat. I'm gonna get pizza." There was a whimper from Wesley, as though he wanted to remind them that he was still there. Gunn asked Angel, "Pepperoni?"

"Why are you asking me? I barely eat."

"I'm the maitre'd, remember? Somebody's gotta make an order and it ain't gonna be him." Gunn jerked his free thumb at Wes, who just made another incoherent noise.

Angel looked at Wes for a second, a slow, evil smile spreading across his face. If Gunn didn't know for sure that there wasn't any chance of him losing his soul... "Okay. Half pepperoni and half Canadian bacon. Onions on the pepperoni half but not the bacon half, and mushrooms on the bacon half but not the pepperoni half -- but green peppers on half of the bacon half and half the pepperoni half. And an order of breadsticks, with cheese sauce but no garlic butter."

Gunn glared at Angel, but he didn't ask him to repeat the order. He knew it by heart, at this point -- but the poor person on the other end of the phone, when he called the pizza place, was going to hate him. If it weren't for the fact that he kinda liked the pizza the way Angel had just described -- and the fact that he knew why Angel had ordered it -- he would have suggested a cheese pizza. But the longer it took Gunn to place the order, the longer it would take for anyone to get back to doing anything to Wesley.

Besides which, Wes would have to make *no* *noise* while Gunn was on the phone.

From the look of things, that was going to be the best part. Though maybe not from Wes' point of view. From Gunn's point of view, though, Wesley was still lying there, legs in the air, eyes staring up at nothing, and mouth clamped tight over the whimpers that were escaping anyway. Gunn traced one finger down the backside of Wesley's thigh and watched the muscles quiver.

"Hey--" Angel's voice was like smoke -- or like he'd just snuck off and smoked a carton of those authentic 19th century cigarettes they weren't supposed to know Spike had brought back from his honeymoon for Angel. "Garcon. I believe the man is hungry, here?"

Gunn reluctantly released his hold on Wesley's leg -- and really watched the muscles quiver, as Wes tried to hold it in place by himself. Had to hand it to him; the guy had better control than anybody Gunn ever met. Definitely better than him in a similar pose, and Angel... Self-restraint was *not* in Angel's vocabulary, except when he was asking somebody else for it. There was a reason half their sex toy budget got spent on ropes and chains, since Cordy wouldn't let them just borrow from the armory. What Angel lacked in control of himself, though, he more than made up for in dishing it out. "Wes. Hold still."

Even the tremor stopped, as Wesley held absolutely, positively still. Not a shiver. Not a twitch. Not a breath. Angel held one leg, and the other remained frozen in mid lift, without even Wesley's hand -- still gripping the table like he could crush polished steel with his fingers -- to hold it up.

Gunn watched -- couldn't help watching, though he knew he was supposed to be doing something else. Something Angel had asked him to do, and there was a good enough reason right there, because he liked following those kind of orders just as much as the next guy, but -- he stopped because he had to watch.

"You're doing such a good job, Wesley. So...perfectly in control," Angel said, soft. Quiet. Rock hard and dangerous.

Gunn wasn't sure Wes was breathing. He wasn't sure *he* was breathing. He wasn't moving, either, because he couldn't tear his eyes away. He corrected himself -- one part of him was moving, and he realized he needed to do something about that. Otherwise he was going to do himself an injury, and the last time he'd bruised his cock Angel and Wes hadn't stopped having sex for the time it took Gunn to heal.

Angel was just standing there, looking down at Wesley like he was a sculpture Angel'd created. Maybe he was -- as Gunn thought it, Angel even let go his grip on Wesley's leg and now there was nothing but Angel's command holding him still. Gunn was pretty sure he'd have come twice, by now, if it were him lying there. If only because he'd have had to grab that carrot in his ass and fuck himself with it instead of leaving it there holding him open.

Angel glanced up, and Gunn realized he'd groaned out loud. "Shouldn't you be making a phone call?" Angel asked, calmly.

Oh, yeah; that was what he was supposed to be doing. Gunn tried to remember where the phone was. Tried to remember *what* the phone was. Thing you talked into. Thing on a wall around here somewhere, but he didn't dare take his eyes off Wes to go look for it; they might fall out or something. He could, if he shifted just a little to the left, look at Wes and Angel at the same time, though, and give Angel what he hoped was his best pleading, cute, help, my brain has fallen and it can't get up, unlike some other parts of me, look.

Angel watched him sternly for a second, then sighed dramatically. "You realize your tip is gonna suck." Then he walked over to the east wall next to the microwave, pulled the cordless phone off its base, and handed it to Gunn.

Huh? Tip? Suck? Someone was going to suck his... Gunn shook his head, as Angel pointed to the keypad. "Star three, Gunn. Don't hit star one like last time -- the fire department's still pissed at us."

"Anyone who'd put 911 on speed dial," Gunn muttered, not sure where the brain power for the comment or the glare came from, and not really caring. Because Wes was *still* lying there, legs up, not moving a damn inch. Gunn stabbed the buttons on the phone -- holing it up so he could see where the '3' was without actually looking away from Wes. He held the phone up and tried desperately to remember the order.

Angel was still standing next to him -- both of them now just standing there, staring at Wes like they'd walked in to find the room all arranged and Wes prepared and waiting. Which, damn, sounded like a great idea and maybe he should suggest it. Next time, or maybe tomorrow.

"Dashell's Pizza, can you hold please?" came over the phone.

"Uh, yeah, whatever," Gunn babbled. He saw Wesley's left leg shaking, a little, before Wes held it still again.

"On hold?" Angel asked, conversationally.

"Uh-huh." Gunn just about managed to sound conversational. If he was having a conversation at gunpoint, maybe.

"Good music?"

There was music? Gunn listened, but the only thing he could really focus on was the controlled hiss of Wesley's breathing. "Uh..." He listened closer, and yeah, there were sounds coming from the phone. Something about fresh tomatoes and home grown garlic. "Commercial."

"How rude. You call for food, they know you're gonna buy something. Least they could do is entertain you."

Gunn almost blinked, except then he'd have to stop looking at Wesley's ass. And the carrot. And the deep red cock, against the black silk cummerbund. Like he needed Dashell's Pizza to entertain him?

Wesley made a noise, then, and it sounded like he'd suddenly remembered he had to breathe. Or maybe he was trying to say something, because he made the noise again and it almost sounded like he was saying Angel's name. Or maybe he was just screaming, way back down in his skull. Gunn caught his own breath, wondering if Angel was gonna reprimand Wes for talking -- and if so what would he do and Gunn damn sure didn't want to miss it.

But Angel was feeling perverse, go figure, and he called over, "What was that, Wes?"

Gunn could hear Wes trying to speak, and thought about glancing up to watch his mouth, see if he was able to at least form words without noise. But that meant looking away from Wes' ass.

"Angel," came a soft plea, and even though his name wasn't Angel, apparently Gunn's cock didn't care because it twitched in response.

"You want something?" Angel asked, still in that casual tone that made you wonder if he *was* a eunuch.

Nothing for a second except the careful intake of breath. Exhale. Inhale again -- like Wes was *practicing*, before trying for another word. Finally, tight and small and choked, "Please."

Angel nodded. "Anything you want, Wes. It's your date. All you gotta do is ask."

An evil eunuch, Gunn corrected. After all, he doubted if *he* could manage to ask for what he wanted Angel to do to Wes, and nobody had a carrot stuck in *his* ass. Hell, right now he was pretty sure he couldn't even manage to tell the pizza guy what they wanted for dinner. Thank god for hold.

"Angel. Please." Each word was clear and distinct, and sounded like it was ripping Wesley's throat out on the way up from his lungs.

"Yeah?"

"Fu--"

"Thank you for holding; how can we help you tonight?" The voice was so loud Gunn almost dropped the phone, and Angel looked away from Wes, holding up a hand to stop him speaking at the same time.

"Shhh..."

"I...uh..."

"Can I help you?"

Gunn tried not to say any of the things he wanted help with. Pizza, he told himself. Not carrots. "Order...for delivery," he blurted suddenly, and got a smug look from Angel in return.

"Phone number please?"

That was easier; he was able to rattle it off from memory, not thinking about it, which was a good thing, because Wes was apparently working too hard at not making noise, so his legs were shaking again.

"The Hyperion?" asked the voice on the phone. Gunn made an 'uh-huh' noise. Wesley was making tiny, barely audible noises that sounded like he was gonna hyperventilate. Angel just kept standing there and staring, using his vampiric superiority of not having to breathe and thus not having to make any noise to piss Gunn off. "What can we bring you?" asked the all-too-helpful voice, and Gunn had to try to think.

'Carrots' was out. So was 'fire department' -- he'd managed to remember that, at least. "Pizza?" he offered.

"Yes..." The voice was leading, expectant. Then there was a cough in the background, and a loud, "Ohhh. Hotel *Hyperion*" spoken slightly away from the phone. Then, gently, "What kind of pizza would you like, sir?"

"Uh..." Something with carrots. No. Not carrots. Garlic. No, vampire. No garlic. Gunn scraped the corners of his brain for the pizza order. It was the *same* pizza order it always was; why couldn't he remember? "Large." He stared at Wesley's cock, straining upwards, and resisted the impulse to add, 'Erect' because he was pretty sure that wasn't one of the ways they made pizza.

"Yes, sir. A large what?"

"Um, pizza?" There was a pause, then the voice asked in a tone that would have made Gunn resent being treated like a moron -- if he'd had enough working brain cells to not be sounding like a moron, "Would that be a half pepperoni and half Canadian bacon, onions on the pepperoni half but not the bacon half, and mushrooms on the bacon half but not the pepperoni half -- but green peppers on half of the bacon half and half the pepperoni half, and an order of breadsticks, with cheese sauce but no garlic butter?"

Gunn blinked. "Uh-huh." He thought about concentrating on the pizza guy and finding out how he knew something that sounded a lot like what Angel had told Gunn to order. But that meant not looking at Wes, who was starting to pant, silently.

The guy on the phone sounded smug when he said, "The manager hired us a new pizza chef. He's a little psychic -- helps a lot when we get people calling in with thick accents." There was a pause. "Now he's saying something about carrots. We don't have salad, you know."

"We don't need any salad," Angel told him, his voice calm and level.

"We don't need any salad," Gunn repeated. Some sane part of him was tempted to add, 'These aren't the droids you're looking for. We can go about our business.'

There was a pause, then the pizza guy said, "Droids?" Gunn blinked. "Oh, *droids*. You want the new Episode 7 glasses? You have to buy a two-liter to get those," the voice said cheerfully.

Gunn saw Angel's mouth quirk up at one side, just a little. "Get a two-liter of cherry coke," Angel instructed. "And make sure the glasses are droids -- or Yoda's ghost -- and not the stupid one with the spaceship on 'em."

He glared at Angel. Or would have, if he'd been able to turn his head enough to face Angel, and not Wesley's ass. There was something not right about the fact that Angel could think, much less talk, much less eavesdrop on the other side of a phone conversation, when the humans in the room were having trouble breathing, thinking, or remembering whose date this was supposed to be.

Wesley was shifting, ever so slightly, like his back was sticking to the table. Gunn could see that if he kept doing it, he'd be pushing against the heavy skillet Angel had set down to hold the carrot in place. "Can he do that?" Gunn pointed.

"Sure, he can get droids glasses," the voice in his ear said.

"Was I talking to you?" Gunn snapped. "Bring us pizza." He slammed the phone down and went back to standing right where he was, without anything distracting him.

"Everything okay?" Angel asked.

"No, everything's not okay. If the damn chef can read our minds and tell what we want, why'd I have to call? The pizza should be here already." Gunn pointed to Wesley. "And he's tryin' to fuck himself."

Wes groaned, and part of it was a 'Someone said fuck, what was the question?' groan, and part of it was a 'You told, and trust me, I'm gonna get you when you least expect it' groan. Gunn crossed his arms and pretended not to be affected by either.

But Angel -- who seemed to be changing sides every damn second and don't think Gunn wasn't gonna get *him* back sometime later, much later -- turned back to Wes and said in a deceptively encouraging tone, "Wesley? S'there something you want?"

Wes groaned again, and he looked like he was trying to move again, and not move at all. Somehow he managed to actually say, coherently, "Fuck me."

Gunn was half a step towards him, ready and willing to do just that -- when he realized the directive hadn't been aimed at him. Had it? Angel wasn't moving towards him, so maybe it was all right?

Then a hand closed on his arm to hold him back, and Gunn added a 'get him later, twice' to his mental tally, and waited. In that same encouraging tone, Angel asked, "You wanna be fucked, Wes? You want one of us to walk over there and fuck you?"

Wesley was groaning, now, and his legs were straining to stay up. He was mouthing the word 'please'. Was there a point beyond which Wes lost control, when he was told not to? It occurred to Gunn that after however many years it had been, he still didn't know. Had never seen Wes break that way, never figured out if he *had* a 'too far' point, when it was just about how long can you wait, how good a boy can you be?

"Yesss..." he hissed, and it sounded like it had taken all the breath left in Wesley's lungs to do it.

"You want one of us to come over there and fuck you? Fuck you hard, hold you just like you are, legs in the air and waiting for us? We can see you, you know. See you being fucked." Angel's tone was even, like he wasn't saying the 'f' word or the 'f. W.' words. Gunn wanted to go over there and F W. He wanted to slip his cock inside Wes and let them both scream, finally.

But Wes was trembling, and Gunn knew what kind of trembling that was. He stared, transfixed and unable to believe he was seeing what he was seeing. Angel was still talking, low and lilting ghost-of-Irish cadence like he was wrapped up around you and fucking you himself and telling you to come for him, that's good, that's just what he wants. Only he was half a room away and there was nobody touching Wesley except the carrot, and the cold metal table and Angel's and Gunn's gazes.

When Wesley started shouting, Gunn grabbed for his zipper and to hell with what Angel might want to keep him for, later.

"That's it, Wes," Angel was saying, and damn if Wesley wasn't coming, right there, right in front of them with nothing more than Angel telling him to.

"Ang..." Somewhere in the groan was some part of Angel's name, which reminded Gunn whose date this was, after all. Though so did Angel's hand on his fly, stopping him from doing anything except watch Wesley.

So he did watch -- Gunn watched Wesley strain and shake and watched that visibly aching cock find its release with nothing touching it at all. Watched the black silk get spattered with white, and two legs finally slam down, two feet plant themselves on either side of the frying pan, and send it clattering off the table.

*****

Angel kept them standing there for one moment longer, until Wesley looked completely wrung. Then Angel moved forward -- dragging Gunn along, as though just saying 'hey, let's go play with Wes now' wouldn't have been good enough.

They fetched up against the table, and Gunn looked down to see a huge, delighted, and smug grin on Wesley's face. Gunn looked up at Angel. "Now what?"

He was hoping 'Wes, do you want Gunn to fuck you next' was the next thing he heard. Instead he got, "Wes? You want me to fuck you now?"

"Oh, god yes," Wesley said in that exhausted, breathy, turned-on-as-hell voice.

Gunn whimpered. He had to still watch? Worse - they were gonna make him go meet the pizza delivery guy with a hard-on sticking out of his pants and knowing what Angel was doing in the kitchen?

"You wanna suck off Gunn while I fuck you?"

Yes, yes, yes, the answer was yes. Gunn didn't care what the question was, the answer was yes.

"Sure," Wesley said agreeably.

Sure was good too. Sure was like yes. Sure was just fine. Gunn took a step forward, but Angel's hand on his hand -- on his fly -- stopped him.

"Or..."

Or? No, no. There was no or. Or was not an option. Options were not an option. Yes was good, and sure was fine, but or was not on the menu.

"Or?" Damn, how did Wes manage to sound *interested* in what or might be?

"Or I could fuck Gunn and you could watch, I guess..."

"Hmm." Wesley looked like he was thinking it over. What was there to think about, Gunn wanted to know. Anything that involved Gunn getting to finally do something with the erection he had trapped in his pants, was good.

"What about...." Wesley trailed off, and Gunn thought about strangling him. He still had a carrot in his ass -- how could he think? How could he *talk*? How could *Gunn* think? He didn't know, but he *was* thinking. He was thinking somebody better decide something, or he was gonna wait for the pizza delivery person and give him or her a tip they'd never forget. "I was hoping to be fucked again," Wesley finally said.

"I could do that," Angel said helpfully.

Gunn was pretty sure the pathetic noise *hadn't* just come out of his mouth. He didn't remember torturing Angel nearly this bad. Ever. Not since last April and Angel had *gotten* him back for that. Hadn't he? Fuck it. "What about me?" Gunn asked.

Angel looked not at him, but at Wes. "Don't we need him free to pay for the pizza when it shows up?"

"I..." Wes took a deep breath, then continued less weakly. "Yes. I suppose we do."

"Hey, you just got through saying he could suck me off," Gunn objected.

Angel continued to watch Wes. "I forgot about the pizza."

"It's all right," Wesley told him.

It was mind-blowing to watch them talking as though Wes didn't still have his bare ass there on the table waiting for someone to fuck him again. Gunn wanted to know how everyone but him seemed to be able to speak English when *Wes* was the only one who'd got to come, and he was still looking forward to more. Maybe it was a spell.

A 'let's provide extra blood for our brains, but not Gunn's, because we want him unable to do anything but stand there and think with his cock' spell. Only trouble was, that spell was generally unnecessary once either of his lovers started getting naked and saying the word 'fuck me'.

"Well, what about--" Wesley began, and Gunn snapped.

"Please...come on you guys...not funny anymore...damn..." He was *not* whining. Begging, yes, but there was absolutely nothing wrong with begging. In fact, he knew a certain vampire who thought it was pretty cool, even after he'd stopped eating people when the begging got less amusing. And this was manly begging. Masculine begging.

Well, it better have been, considering that it was his very unsatisfied, very masculine dick that was doing the begging; his mouth was just a convenient megaphone. At least they were both looking at him now. Or Angel was looking, and Wes seemed to have his head tilted this way.

Gunn stared back resolutely. "What? Damn, there's a limit, you know."

But they both just kept looking at him, Angel with this sort of expectant expression on his face. What? Did Angel expect him to get on his *knees* or something? He had some pride, and since Angel wasn't saying 'down on your knees so you can suck me off' Gunn had no intention of...damn. He was on his knees. To hell with pride -- this was begging for sex. he didn't need pride. He needed somebody to say it was time for Gunn to get a little. Or a lot. He'd take a lot. Or a medium amount, he wasn't picky.

He saw Wes raise his head, a little, and look at him. Gunn tried to look back with as good a begging, pleading, don't I look scrumptious expression as he could dredge up while thinking about how hard the floor was in here. He suddenly understood why Spike and Xander had been after Angel to put carpet down in here for the last two years.

Slowly, almost as if he didn't care about the answer, Wesley asked, "Angel, why is Charles on the floor?"

Angel continued to stare at Gunn, and Gunn continued to look desperate, because he *was* desperate, so it was pretty damn easy. "I'm...not sure. Do you think I should ask him?"

"Because I want sex! What, you think the tile needs polishing?"

"Did you hear something?" Angel asked Wes, propping one hand on the table. "Because I didn't ask yet, so it couldn't have been Gunn."

Shit. They were *not* gonna play it that way, were they? If he couldn't even *beg* ...

"I think you should ask him," Wesley said. "He looks rather uncomfortable down there. And it would be very difficult for him to fuck me from that angle, too."

He got to fuck Wes? Wes wanted him to -- or was this more of the 'let's string Gunn along until his cock explodes and makes a big mess and not in a good way' game? Gunn didn't know if he was whimpering out loud, or just inside his head, but he tried to think as loudly as he could that Angel should say yes, that was a fine idea, why doesn't Gunn get over here and fuck you.

Oddly enough, the pain in his knees was making it easier to think. Maybe that was Angel's secret? Pins in his shoes?

"Gunn?" Angel was asking, and Gunn looked up at him. "Did you want to fuck Wesley?"

He opened his mouth to say that was the stupidest assed question he'd heard in his life -- and stopped. This was a trick question. Had to be. "Please? Please, please, please let me fuck Wesley," was coming out of his mouth, and he decided his dick must still have the remote control to his lips.

"Whaddya think, Wes? It's your date, after all. You want Gunn to fuck you? Or there's always jello"

At least Gunn had the satisfaction of seeing Wes blink just as fast as he was blinking. "Jello?"

"There's always roo--"

"Don't, please. It's *our* date, not mine, but it certainly isn't Spike's."

"So, you're saying no jello." Angel sounded almost disappointed.

"I'm saying perhaps you should help Gunn off the floor; he looks like his knees might be rusted into that position."

Angel nodded, and stepped over, holding out a hand. Gunn took it, though he gave Angel another suspicious look, and stood up. His knees creaked as he straightened them. "Ow. Damn, we need to put carpeting down. Or warn me so I can wear knee pads."

"Warn you that you're going to be begging, in the kitchen, to fuck Wesley?" Angel asked.

Fuck Wesley. Oh, yeah. He was *so* there. Gunn ignored whatever Angel was prattling about and walked over to stand in between Wes' legs. "I really get to--?"

"If that's what Wes wants," Angel purred in his ear, and Gunn's cock jumped.

Wesley lifted his legs, by way of an answer. His eyes were going unfocused and dark, again, and it was all Gunn could do to get his own jeans open. Fortunately Angel was helping him -- unzipping and pushing Gunn's jeans down to his knees, then there was a big, room-temperature hand on his cock. Gunn groaned before he realized the hand was also slippery with butter.

Wasn't gonna turn it down. Wasn't gonna turn down all the help he could get, considering that he'd be lucky if he managed to find his way to Wesley's ass at this point. He was damn tempted to just fuck Angel's hand, in fact. But the other hand was on his hip, holding him steady, and oh yeah, there it was. Wesley's ass, that is.

And look - his cock didn't need any help figuring out what to do after all. Totally trained, when push came to shove. Except --

"Ahem?" from Wes.

From Angel, "What kind of waiter are you? Can't even remember to take away the last course."

Gunn looked down. Oh. Yeah. Orange thing. Salad thing. Carrot. "I thought I was the maitre-d?" his mouth answered for him while his brain stayed on hold because it never really hung up from the pizza guy, and his hand reached to slide the carrot out of Wesley's ass, rewarded with a small soft sigh.

"Family restaurant; everybody pitches in," Angel quipped immediately, and Gunn decided next date, *he* was gonna reserve the brain. He tossed the carrot somewhere that wasn't Wesley's ass, batted Angel's hand away, and slid in.

It made waiting worth it, to be here, now. Inside Wes this way, ass tight, but ready for him, and Wes moaning softly as Gunn brought himself in all the way and stopped. Gunn didn't even try to think of what he wanted to do -- if he wanted to fuck Wes slow and easy, or hard and fast, or some combination of both. Gunn just wanted to stand still for a moment and be in him.

He squeaked when he felt a slick finger slide inside his *own* ass. "What are you--" He cut himself off, because it wasn't like he had any objections. He was just confused.

Angel was purring in his ear again, and if he hadn't been hard as stone already, he would have been after that. "I'm fucking you, Charles. Because Wesley wants me to."

Gunn shivered as the impact of Angel's statement hit him -- first his brain, then it hit him right in the cock and he was surprised he didn't start fucking Wes hard, right then. But he didn't -- he held still, surrounded by heat that felt like it was gonna just bake him alive, and let slippery butterfingers do their thing. And whoever made that up as a nickname for clumsy guys obviously never met Angel, or Angel's fingers, Gunn decided.

After a while, he wondered if he was being tortured again. If so, it wasn't working. It was too good right where he was, cock still but almost pulsing, fingers in him, stroking and stretching, and *there* -- he came close to thrusting, but didn't. Not even when long wide fingers reached in and slid over the place that made his knees start to wobble.

Gunn was too far gone for torture to work, and Angel was an expert at it; he'd have to know that. So this was all for the good, all for his enjoyment, and he was perfectly happy to stand there and enjoy.

"Angel."

Gunn looked at Wesley, the voice pulling him just enough out of his body to meet that gaze -- it didn't lessen the sensation of what he was feeling, though. Instead it made him want to tell Wes -- say something about what he was doing, where he was. Tell him he was *inside* Wes and make that connection through their bodies and through their eyes and through his voice as well.

"Yeah?" Angel's voice came from right over his shoulder, and despite the fact he had Angel's fingers in his ass and he knew Angel was right *there*, it made him shiver again at how close his lover was.

"Fuck him," Wesley instructed, not glancing away from Gunn's face.

Somebody moaned, and it might have been Angel, or it might have been Gunn, or it might have been all three because Angel obeyed immediately, slipping his hand out and pushing himself in. Gunn wasn't quite ready for him but it didn't matter because Angel *always* filled him up and made him think he was going to break, in that first second before the tip of his cock brushed the knee-wobbling spot.

"Bibble." He *knew* he didn't say *that*, but he didn't care who had. It was that, it was Angel in him - it was just a second and even that second was good, even too much was good, was great, was perfect. And then the second was over and his knees were wobbling and it was ever perfecter. More perfect. Just more. More driving him forward so even fully encased inside Wesley, he was still pushing. Hitting Wesley's knee-wobble-spot.

*Those* wobbling knees didn't belong to Gunn, for sure. He could tell the difference because his own were under him, and being helped out by Angel's hand around his waist, which was good. Because otherwise he'd be wobbling on the floor.

It was good because Gunn didn't think he could move, even as Angel started to pull out. Gunn wanted to yell at him where the hell did he think he was going -- but to turned out he was only doing what Wesley had told him. What *Gunn* was supposed to be doing, which he wasn't, because he couldn't think enough to make his body move. But he didn't have to, because Angel was sliding partway out, and then he was sliding in again -- fucking Gunn. And his moving, hanging onto Gunn's waist the way he was and maybe it was something else that Gunn couldn't think of because he couldn't think anything other than 'fuck me, fuck Wes', Angel moving out and back in pulled Gunn out a little, then back in, and Gunn was suddenly fucking Wes.

Angel did it again -- out, in -- and Gunn was being pulled back, and pushed forward. Wesley moaned, and pulled his legs up higher and Gunn tried to think of *something* he could do to help, besides be there. Between them. Fucking, being fucked. Being filled, filling Wes, sandwiched between them and it was like he was never gonna get free, and he didn't want to be anything even remotely *like* free, because that would mean not being here, Angel inside him and him inside Wes and all three of them moving and moaning together.

Gunn tried to breathe, so he wouldn't pass out and miss any of this. He heard himself making a noise that he hoped Angel took to mean 'fuck me harder.' Guess Wesley wasn't the only one good with languages, because Angel pulled back and without a warning, a breath or a finger tightening on his hipbone or anything, just *slammed* in, and Gunn slammed forward, and Wesley cried out, but Gunn could barely hear it over his own voice.

His head dropped forward. No matter how much he wanted to keep seeing glassy blue Wesley eyes wide with lust, with pleasure, with the pleasure *he* was giving and getting at the same time, he couldn't. Didn't have the strength to hold up his head, only had the strength to hold up his body because it was really Angel doing it. Angel doing everything and the rest of them along for the ride.

It was okay. He could still *hear* -- could still hear Wes panting and whispering something that was probably really dirty in some language that Gunn wouldn't be able to learn if Wes sat down and tried to teach it to him for a year. Could still hear Angel whispering things in his ear that didn't need any kind of translation, like, "So good," and "yeah," and "grrrrrr..." which was vampire for bibble.

All *he* could do was listen and take everything in -- everything, from the moans and growls to Angel's cock to Wesley's ass, and suddenly it wasn't him just waiting, anymore. He felt himself jerk, once, and he tried to inhale to tell Angel that *now* would be the time to slam into him again. But he didn't have to, because Angel had felt it too and was, hands gripping Gunn's hips so tight that he'd be bruised, and Angel was slamming into him and slamming Gunn into Wes, and Gunn was pretty sure he was gonna pass out after this, because his toes were starting to curl. If his cock needed *that* much, he was gonna come until his brain shot out with everything else.

Angel suddenly had an arm around Gunn's chest, and it was a good thing because Gunn was already losing control of what little of his body he'd still had any control of. Angel holding him tight, and fucking him, and Gunn screamed as he shook with the force of it. Gunn was being shoved, hard, over and over into Wesley, even as he was coming. Angel didn't seem interested in slowing down, either, and Gunn wondered if he was going to survive the experience long enough to say thank you.

Wesley's legs tightened around his waist, and Angel's arm around his chest, so at least if he died, he'd die standing up, and happy -- which really, you couldn't ask much more, right? Well, maybe in bed, snuggled up between your two lovers, but they could do that later. The snuggling, not the... He wasn't making any sense, because his brains had long ago been fucked out, and now there was only him and Angel pounding and him coming and Wes shouting. And Angel pushing him forward and freezing, finally, finally letting Gunn collapse and finish.

Someone else was shouting, and he knew it wasn't him, because he was dead. Draped forward, and he would have been happy to stay that way, plastered all over Wes, except he was only bent at the waist and not really lying on him. That and Angel was still in Gunn's ass, still pounding away, and would it be rude to crawl up and cuddle Wes while Angel finished?

Wes had his hands on Gunn's face, caressing him, saying something that sounded good, and sounded nearly as exhausted as Gunn felt. It was directed at Angel, though, he realized, as he heard Wesley say "I can feel you fucking him."

It was not possible for him to come again. It wasn't even possible for a *vampire* to come again, though he'd be almighty happy if Angel would get around to doing it the first time. But damn. Damn. Okay, maybe he'd stay where he was -- like he had any other choice -- and let Angel just do what Angel was going to do, because damn. If he coulda got hard again just by wanting to, he would. Because the way Angel was fucking him and the way Wesley was urging him on, made every blood cell in his body want to run down to his dick and make him hard enough to fuck again -- if they weren't all floating around half-conscious and wanting a cigarette.

As it was, he just let Angel fuck him -- as though he'd have said no -- and let Wesley hold him, awkwardly as they were pressed together, and felt when Angel finally lost control. Angel was screaming, now, and Gunn wondered if he was gonna get that bite on the shoulder that *would* make him hard again, no matter what his body said about it.

But no, though Angel bent forward and fell against him and there *was* a mouth on his shoulder, were fangs pressing hard against his skin. All they did was press, though, and all that mouth did was growl and scream into his body and through his skin and probably all the way down into Wesley, too. No bite, no blood, just sound and fury and the feel of Angel letting go into him like he wasn't planning on stopping *that* either.

Gunn had no intention of stopping him. It was hard to breathe, but he didn't need air. He could pass out, no problem, as soon as he was done letting Angel have him. There were hands on his body, moving and gripping, and he didn't even bother trying to tell who was who. He felt Angel suddenly freeze, and for a heart-stopping second they were motionless -- still entwined, still inside each other, each other them holding one to one another.

He felt like somebody should say something -- commemorate the occasion, let them all know that this was the best part about loving each other, except for being able to make someone else get out of bed and answer the phone or the knock at the door. Then Wesley kissed the side of his head, and Angel was groaning like he'd been shot, and the hands on Gunn's body were loosening.

"Love you," Wesley said, and it didn't matter who he was saying it to.

"Love you," Gunn answered him. Echoed him.

"Bibble," Angel sighed. Wesley kicked him.

Not very hard, just on the arm, or maybe the hip; Gunn couldn't really tell, squashed between them as he was. But Angel sighed again, the really put upon kind, like *he'd* been the one ordered to get up and answer the door, and then he bit Gunn's shoulder lightly, with not-sharp teeth, and said, "Love you too." Or maybe, "Love you two."

"Love us enough to pull us off the table and let us lay on you?" Gunn asked, and where the hell had his brain just come from?

"Excuse me?" Angel sounded confused.

"The table is cold, and I'm growing quite uncomfortable, all squashed in half like this," Wesley explained.

"And this is my problem, how?" Angel asked, and Gunn was impressed by his audacity. And his brain had *definitely* come back from its vacation in the warm south, because how else did he know words like audacity?

"You do seem to be the one squashing me against it," Wesley said, patient on the surface, but that note of warning in his voice that if somebody didn't get with the program, there would be revenge. Later. When it was least expected.

"I think technically that would be Gunn," Angel corrected.

"I think technically if someone isn't pulling me off this table and performing some deep-muscle cuddling in about ten seconds, someone is going to regret it, and that someone isn't going to be Gunn. Technically or otherwise."

Gunn didn't have much of a chance to inhale so he could laugh, before he was completely unfucked, pulled backwards, and lying on top of Angel with a Wesley in his arms. Or maybe Wes was in Angel's arms, and Gunn was being cuddled. It was hard to tell.

There was a second where they all settled into the multi-headed cuddle blob, then Angel asked, "Nine?"

Gunn saw Wes give him an amused, very indulgent look that said nobody was getting his ass staked. In the bad way. Gunn decided he didn't really care. Wes and Angel could have it out if they wanted, or not. Gunn was cuddling.

*******

There was a shoulder under his nose, and a doorbell in his ear. Angel was pretty sure some part of that was off somewhere, but he wasn't quite awake enough to figure out which. If he wasn't awake, it was probably a dream, so it'd be fine if he just nuzzled the shoulder and ignored the doorbell, right?

Apparently so, because the doorbell went away and the shoulder stayed where it was. Angel nuzzled, and recognized it as Wes' shoulder. That probably meant the body on the other side was Gunn, but he couldn't be sure without opening his eyes. Not that Angel thought it would be somebody *else* -- but there were a lot of body parts pressed up against his, and figuring out who belonged to which part was more than his asleep-self wanted to worry about.

He heard Gunn mutter something, and some body parts moved, but they didn't go anywhere. Angel smiled, and settled in to resume cuddling and sleeping without thinking of doorbells.

He heard a door open, and someone walked into the room.

"What the--"

Cordelia.

"Guys? Are you in-- Oh, eww!" He heard something being slammed down on one of the tables near the kitchen door, then nothing, for a second. Then, "What is that -- a carrot? Of course it's a carrot. Why do I even ask these things."

The telltale tap of an expensive paid-for-with-his-money shoe against the tile floor.

"Did I not tell you to -- did you not *promise* me would -- put a *sign* on the door next time you decided to have a party in here? I know I wasn't gonna to be here, but geez. You could have a little respect for the other guys. What if Angel and Wes get back from their date and want a snack, huh?"

It occurred to Angel that from where she was, Cordelia couldn't see them -- about the same time it occurred to him who she *thought* she was talking to. Angel poked whom he hoped was Wes. By rights, if the shoulder he was nuzzling was Wes', then the ribs he'd got his fingers on were Wes' as well.

"Go 'way!" Wesley called out sleepily -- in a passable imitation of Spike's accent.

Angel had to wonder for a second how Wes had managed to sound like Spike and still be that asleep -- when he woke up enough to realize Wes had probably faked the 'sleepily' part. He decided he'd still growl at Spike, later, for being around Wes enough for Wes to have picked up his accent -- and on general principles.

"Fine. I'm keeping the pizza, then." Cordelia turned around and walked out, kitchen door swinging shut behind her.

Wes growled softly. "Bugger. I'm hungry."

Angel decided he needed to get an alarm clock with the sound of Wes growling, because it was damn sure waking him up. Parts of him, anyway. "She didn't take the pizza," he whispered.

"What do-- she didn't?" That was Gunn, whispering too. "Why are we whispering?"

"I can smell it. And we're whispering because--"

"Someone who thinks he's a maitre-d might want to get that pizza," Wes whispered pointedly. "And why *are* we whispering?"

"No, don't." Angel put a hand back to hang on to the body parts that thought they were a maitre-d. "We're whispering because--"

The door swung open. "Oh, fine, you can keep your pizza; but only because I hate pepperoni. You guys owe me twenty-five fifty -- you're lucky I left my purse here in the first place, or the guy probably would've left while you were doing things with carrots. And... ParKay? Oh, eww, again. This place had *better* be clean in the morning."

The door slammed again, and Angel heard the paid-for-with-his-money heels clack down the hall and away.

"It's safe, now," he said, no longer whispering.

"Only until she comes back," Gunn pointed out.

Wesley cleared his throat, and Angel looked at him, relieved to see Wes was directing his imperial gaze on *Gunn*.

"Um..? Oh! Pizza!" Gunn scrambled to his knees and elbows, then fell over as he tried to extract his hand from somewhere.

"At this rate I'm going to starve," Wesley observed.

"Nah, you won't," Angel reassured him. When Wesley raised an eyebrow at him, Angel pulled at the edge of the other table they hadn't been using, earlier. A bag fell off it, after some finessing. "We have carrots."

Now the Look was firmly fixed on him. "They're stale. And..." Wesley's eyes drifted to the carrots. "Er. Carrots."

"Yeah?"

"Er..." This time Wesley's eyes stayed -- a little glassily -- on the bag of carrots. "But I'm hungry..."

"But it's more important to just be here with us, right?" Angel teased, since he was fairly sure he was going to Hell someday anyway, for the things he was thinking about how Wes looked right now.

There was a pause, and a shaky intake of breath, then Wes muttered, suddenly, dangerously awake, "Yes, of course you're right. How could I ever think of choosing food over you, my dearest Mort--"

"Gunn, go get the pizza."

the end