"Are you sure they're open?" Wesley asked, peering at the front windows of Aunty Fanny's Homecooked Kitchen. From his vantage point in the passenger seat of Gunn's new truck, he could almost peer down the *chimney*, given the height of the tires.

He and Angel had both looked askance at Gunn when he'd driven the monster pickup into the hotel garage and stood proudly before it, waiting for... what, applause? It looked like something people in backwoods midwestern places would use to go slapdashing through the mud, leaning out the windows with a beer in one hand and a hunting rifle in the other. Not the sort of oddly subtle beat-up vampire-slaying rig the previous truck had been, and this one was so tall that even Wesley and Angel practically had to use a stepladder to climb in. Gunn had grinned, and pointed out that the taller it was, the less likely Spike was to be able to reach the door -- or the pedals -- and suddenly Wesley had developed a new respect for the machine.

"Aunty Fanny's *always* open," Gunn replied with a frown. He was peering as well, though, because the usually well-lit windows were dark, a faint glow from somewhere in the back of the building the only hint that anyone might be around.

"Even at four o'clock in the morning?" Wesley asked lightly, thinking of all the times they'd hunted for a decent place to eat after a full night of battling evil. The problem lay in 'decent' - there were plenty of places to hand over your money and receive something that looked rather a lot like the sort of things they hunted down.

Gunn just gave him a vaguely amused look, and opened his door. Wesley watched as he leapt down, landing so that practically only his head and shoulders were visible. He thought again about docking Gunn's paycheck so that he couldn't afford to go out and buy things like this truck. He supposed he should be grateful that Gunn wasn't as bad as Spike, who'd brought home a fully vampirically-customized Winnebago which he'd left parked out front of the hotel for three months.

Wesley waited in his seat as Gunn walked around the back of the truck. Gunn was heading towards the front door of Aunty Fanny's with a doubtful expression on his face. When he caught sight of Wesley still sitting in the truck, he shook his head.

"Come on, English. This isn't a honk n' holler."

"A what?"

"They're not gonna bring the food out to us if we honk at 'em. Come on."

Wesley tried hard not to laugh. Instead he forced a very proper expression onto his face - more difficult nowadays, where once it had been automatic. "I'm waiting for you to open my door and help me out."

The dumbfounded look on Gunn's face was brief -- not nearly as long as it would have lasted on Angel, and not nearly as long as Wesley would have liked to sit there enjoying it -- but extremely satisfying. It was soon replaced by a stubborn grin, of course.

"Look, just because I'm taking you on a date, doesn't mean you suddenly turned into a girl."

"I should hope not. If I were a girl, I'd never had managed to scramble into this juggernaut in the first place. And I'd be much less likely to put out on the first date." Wesley waited patiently for Gunn to come to the not necessarily correct conclusion that said putting out was contingent on him opening the door and handing Wesley down from the truck.

"*First* date?" Gunn said instead of doing so, resolutely clueless.

Wesley's mouth half-opened, words of explanation already forming, when he realized that what he'd been assuming might not be exactly what Gunn was thinking. Reasonable, of course, given that they'd been living together long enough for marriage proposals to be offered. Not that Gunn had-- Wesley set that thought aside.

Now Gunn was looking at him thoughtfully, and Wesley could feel his cheeks turning red. He started to brush his comment aside as a joke, but Gunn spoke first. "I guess it is. Now. Starting over, and all."

"I didn't mean it quite like that," Wesley said quickly, even though it was exactly what he had meant. Start anew and forget everything that had come before - everything that wasn't friendship and love. Not exactly a first date, but the first of something.

Gunn was looking at him, no more cluelessness or amusement in his expression. It made Wesley feel as though he'd written his thoughts on his forehead and Gunn was heading them off. And it gave him a sudden, warm feeling that he'd not felt in years. Since before Gunn and Angel had become friends, close friends, and Wesley had first begun feeling alone. Wesley said nothing, quite deliberately, for a moment, and watched Gunn's face.

Watched him understand what Wesley was saying.

Gunn walked back to the truck, and reached up to pull Wesley's door open from the outside. Then he held out his hand.

"You don't really have to--"

"Nuh-uh. You asked for the Cinderella service, you're gonna get it. And everybody can feel sorry for me 'cause I've got such a high-maintenance boyfriend." When Wesley blinked at him to make sure he really was just joking and wasn't feeling put-upon, Gunn winked, but still held his hand out.

Wesley shrugged, and allowed himself to be handed out of the truck, rather as if it were a pumpkin carriage. "You mean everyone will feel jealous of you, because you've got such a brilliant, stunning, debonair boyfriend, of course."

"That would come off a little more James Bond if you weren't wearing that Angel Investigations sweatshirt, you know."

"I'm not wearing formal clothes in the truck. The last time I did, I couldn't unkink my neck for a week, after what you and Angel did to me. And I *still* can't find my onyx cufflinks. Besides, you said casual dress. If I'd known there was to be Bondage, I would have insisted we take the GTX."

Gunn's eyes slowly grew wide. Wesley watched, amused and not a little flattered. He very carefully did not move to acknowledge the way Gunn's brain was busy thinking about bondage, or possibly about what he and Angel had done to Wesley when he'd been wearing a tuxedo. They did it *every* time he wore a tux, and sometimes he thought that Xander issued them invitations to formal events just because it would make them spend the entire day getting dressed -- and re-dressed. Much as he loved it, it was rather wearing on his attire.

"You...still want dinner?" Gunn asked, sounding slightly distracted.

Wesley gave him a look of surprise. "We're not eating?" He craned his neck, trying to see into the front window of the establishment. There was only the faint glowing, and no sign of movement. He conceded that the place might well be closed - but how could Gunn tell, with his back to the building?

"You made me think of you wearing formal gear, then you said 'bondage'. Now I'm thinking of tying you up and ripping open your dress shirt, leaving the silk cummerbund against your stomach...." Gunn was staring at where the non-existent cummerbund would be.

"I did say I was not putting out on the first date," Wesley reminded Gunn - though at the moment he'd be happy to go home and do just exactly what Gunn was describing.

That got him a sharp look. "No, you said you'd be less likely to, if you were a girl. Which implies you're *more* likely too, especially if I talk about just what I'm gonna do with you once I've got that dress shirt outta my way."

Weslet fingered his sweatshirt and gave Gunn his best, 'And you think the Newt Twins are insane?' look. "I'm not wearing a dress shirt, Charles."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm ripping it off you," Gunn agreed.

Wesley had every intention of pointing out that that wasn't what he'd meant. Then it occurred to him that he could very well go home and put on a dress shirt. Perhaps an older one, that he wouldn't mind allowing to be torn. Then he shook his head. "We're not supposed to be having sex. We're supposed to be going on a date." He tried saying it sternly.

Gunn kept giving him that 'ripping your shirt off you' look. Wesley felt himself shiver.

"I mean it," he said again, though even he could tell his stern tone needed bolstering.

Gunn looked him up and down. "You wanna wear tuxedo pants, or those shorts you had on at the wedding?"

Unfortunately, that ruined Wesley's mood. He tried hard not to let it, despite his protests that he wanted dinner instead. He didn't especially want food more than sex; he just felt obligated to protest enough that when Angel teased them, he could say he'd put forth every effort to abstain long enough to dine.

But wedding shorts led to thoughts of the morning after the wedding. Of Angel's sudden proposal, and the reasons, confusing as they had been, that Wesley had been so eager to hide away in England nursing a father who didn't need his help, in order to avoid having to answer. The thought of his own cowardice in running away from his lovers was hardly a turn-on, no matter how good the make-up sex had been, no matter how enjoyable it was now to watch Gunn and Angel fight over who got to take him on their first non-trio date.

Gunn looked at him questioningly, the lustful glint fading from his gaze, replaced by confusion. The edge, not quite there, of hurt. "What'd I say?"

"Nothing, Gunn. really." Wesley adjusted his glasses, and pretended to peer into the depths of the darkened restaurant again. "But do you really want...er... Aunty Fanny, seeing you ripping my nonexistent dress shirt off in front of her establishment? She'll think I'm a complete slut. That I can't even hold out for a decent dinner and preferably a chocolate-based dessert, first."

Gunn tilted his head, looking at him like he was trying to figure out if Wesley was speaking English, or an equivalent thereof. He held his hand out, and Wesley took it, then Gunn pull him forwards until Wesley was almost standing on top of him. "Wes--"

"It was nothing you said," he repeated. "Just...something I did. Can we forget about it, and go have dinner?"

"Followed by chocolate-based dessert, then I can take you home and tear clothes off you?"

Wesley smiled. "I should hope so." He didn't quite think that he was looking as forward to it as he ought, but he knew that in a couple of hours, after they'd had food and a chance to talk -- be together -- he would have changed his mind. It was a rare time he did *not* change his mind and decide he wanted to have sex with his lovers.

"You're not gonna brood?" Gunn asked, raising his eyebrows at him.

"I think you've confused me with Angel. I'm the handsome, smart one."

"I thought I was the handsome, smart one."

"And now you're confusing me with *you*? Charles, I really am worried about you. First that delusion that I'm high-maintenance, and now this... Perhaps we should take you to the emergency room after dinner, instead of the movies. We do have that free CAT scan deal, after all, because of all the business we bring in."

Wesley managed to keep a straight face through most of that. It helped that the CAT-scan thing was true. After the fifth concussion in a month among Angel Investigations staff, the head of emergency medicine at Wingate Hospital, an expatriate sidhe passing as human, had offered them a two for one arrangement. Possibly the removal of an enraged werewolf from his emergency room had contributed to the good doctor's generosity.

"Movie?" Gunn looked for all the world as if he really was experiencing some sort of head trauma. "But you said we could go home..."

"Well, I meant after the rest of our date, of course. I'm not *that* much of a slut."

Gunn frowned. "I was hoping you would be. I bought you a couple extra dress shirts, and everything." Then he laughed, and tugged on Wesley's hand. Wesley let himself be yanked forward into Gunn. Nose to nose and knee to knee, Wesley smiled, and accepted the kiss Gunn gave him.

"Dinner?" he finally asked.

"Dinner. And don't think I'm not tearing that shirt off you sooner or later," Gunn warned him. As though he *had* to.

"I should hope so," Wesley said in his best, proper British tone. The one that would have made his Headmaster proud -- if he hadn't been telling his male lover to have wild sex with him.

Letting his hand slip down into Gunn's, Wesley stepped away so they could walk the few feet to the door. As he turned towards the restaurant, he looked again at the dimmed windows, and apparent lack of activity. "Are you *sure*--"

There was a loud, low wail, and it was coming from the rear of the restaurant.

Gunn looked at him. "You don't think Aunty Fanny finally gave in and bought that expresso machine?"

"Not unless she's purchased one that sounds like a bull Khackdor Beast in full feeding frenzy mode."

They turned back to the truck and retrieved axe, crossbow, and Wesley's emergency spell casting bag, packed with random staple ingredients, then moved through the restaurant door in tandem, each scouting out one side of the darkened interior.

"I think I saw one of those advertised in the back of Xander's magazine," Gunn muttered nervously. "Makes your coffee and acts as a burglar alarm." He looked over at Wesley. "Seriously -- Khackdor Beast -- bad news?"

Wesley gave him a grave look. Then shook his head. "They're rarely found outside of Burbank."

"So we're facing what? A Khackdor Beast wannabe?"

Wesley glanced at him, and, though he needn't have, said, "We don't know what's back there. Be on your guard."

"No, really? Because I was gonna just walk in there and yell 'what's up!'"

Wesley gave him a dirty look. "Just because Spike and Xander aren't here, don't feel you have to provide the comic relief in their absence."

"My jokes are better."

"Of course they're better. But we -- what was that?" Wesley halted, aiming his crossbow towards the shift in the shadow he'd seen.

"Wanna-be Krackhead Beast?" Gunn asked, edging towards it.

"Khackdor Beast," Wesley corrected. There was a sudden loud, rumbly growl.

"That wasn't you, I'm guessing?" Gunn asked, looking pointedly at Wesley's stomach.

"I'm not *that* hungry. In fact, I'm suddenly not all that hungry at--"

Something large, greenish, and swarming with bright red sparks rushed out at them from the shadows.

"And here I thought this was going to be an *exciting* date," Wesley said, as he released his first crossbow bolt.

"I was hoping we could at least do something *different*," Gunn said, as he swung his ax towards the whatever it was, trying to force it back before it could touch either of them.

The creature stood still, reacting to the shot and the swing, sparks buzzing around it so thickly that all but its general size was obscured. Wesley paused long enough to raise an eyebrow at Gunn. "You wanted to take me home and have sex. How is *that* different?"

There was silence for a moment. They edged closer to the reddish haze of light, and Gunn finally said, "It'd be different because Angel wouldn't be there?"

"How were you planning on stopping him?" Wesley asked lightly, though he found he wanted to smile broadly. He'd known exactly what this was all about. Angel and Gunn had wasted no time in acting on their -- all three of their -- decision to spend time alone with Wesley. But something about that half-asked statement made him happier than the rest of the evening, so far.

Red sparkled and an arm-shaped bar of light reached forward for Gunn. Wesley loosed another bolt at it, and in the fizzing, popping static that resulted when it roared, the sparks cleared enough for Wesley to finally place the odd combination of colours, smells, and number of eyes he caught sight of as they dodged and circled it.

"It's not a Krackhead -- er -- Khackdor Beast." He darted over to the nearest table and grabbed the saltshaker from it, as Gunn fended the creature off with his axe.

Wesley unscrewed the top of the saltshaker, whispered something in High Urdish that he hoped was a cleansing spell for monsters, not a cleansing spell for laundry, and threw the entire container of salt at the beast.

"Yeah? Then what is it?" Gunn asked, scuttling backwards, axe still raised.

Wesley watched the red sparkling lights that orbited the thing grow brighter and brighter. "It's a -- " He loosed another bolt at it, just as the intensity reached neon sign level. "Duck!"

*********

"It was a *duck* ?"

"No, I *said* duck." Exasperated, Wesley gave Angel a look. "Honestly, Angel, if you're not going to let us go upstairs and shower until we've explained, you could at least let us explain."

Angel looked momentarily abashed. Then he pointed at Cordelia. "She's the one who won't let you go upstairs until you've explained. I'm happy to go into the shower with you and listen."

"Because they came home three hours early from their date, covered in red slime!" Cordelia protested, as though the fact would have escaped any of their attentions. Gunn and Wesley were still, in fact, standing in the lobby covered in goo, enduring a haphazard interrogation.

They'd barely made it halfway across the lobby when Angel had descended, his frantic cries drawing Cordelia out from the office. Somehow they'd managed to convince everyone that the thick, red goo was not blood -- you'd think Angel would have known that right off, if he weren't being an undead fussbudget -- but they'd only got part of the story out, otherwise. Angel, for one, kept interrupting both with questions, and with hands-on verification that neither was injured.

"So, it would've been okay if we'd come home later, but still covered in red slime?" Gunn asked her.

She rolled her eyes. "I would've just figured Spike finally convinced you to go to that jello wrestling place." She pointed at Angel. "I might've figured that anyway, if somebody hadn't started yelling like you'd showed up carrying your heads under your arms."

"What?" Angel rounded on her, looking shocked that anyone could accuse him of doing anything wrong. "They were covered in *goo*! Demon goo! They were supposed to be going to Aunty Fanny's for dinner, then the Riverton Cinema to see History of the World Part 2, then possibly to Ralph's Pub or Caritas then right back home!" He paused, then looked at Gunn and Wesley. "Um. Or so I'm guessing."

Wesley was torn between giving him a glower, and grinning. He settled for a deep sigh. "We found a Rusalor Slug Demon living in--"

"A what?" Cordelia interrupted.

"A Rusalor Slug Demon," Wesley repeated, knowing it would give her no more information that it had the first time, but if she was going to interrupt with silly questions, then she deserved it. "We fought it off, it exploded, we're covered in goo. And we would like to *not* be covered in goo." He looked towards the stairs, meaningfully.

"Is everybody at the restaurant okay?" Cordelia asked. As if he wouldn't have said something, if they weren't.

"They're fine. It had locked them all in the larder, thinking to use it as, well, a larder. Apparently Aunty Fanny managed to beat it away from them with a broom, every time it tried to pop its head in to pluck someone out for a snack."

"Aunty Fanny offered us a two for one deal on our dinners for the rest of the year," Gunn told them.

"So, the thing is dead now?" Angel asked.

Wesley sighed again. "Yes, it's dead. I sprinkled salt on it and it--"

"You what?"

"Salt," Gunn repeated. "Geez, didn't you ever go outside with a thing of salt and make the slugs...." He looked around at everyone who was staring at him. "What? So I started slaying icky things early."

"Yes," Wesley took up the explanation again, before they could go on for another twenty minutes. "The thing is dead, no one is hurt, especially and including us, though if I don't get a shower soon *someone* is going to be sleeping with his sons."

It actually took Angel a moment to work that out. "They're not my sons! They're my... um..." He looked helplessly around for a moment. "Somethings."

"Regardless of what you choose to call them, you're going to be sleeping on their sofa in about five minutes."

Gunn cracked a wide grin. "Unless they make him sleep with the grandkids!"

"I'm not sleeping with the fish," Angel said, then gave them all dirty looks as they broke up, laughing.

"Gonna put you in cement overshoes," Gunn said in a horrendous Italian accent.

"How about I scrub your backs?" Angel offered.

"I dunno," Gunn said, turning to Wesley. "We're still on our solo date." He looked Wesley up and down, the same way he had at the beginning of the evening.

Angel pouted. "But you're home. And I thought you'd been hurt and I need to make sure you're OK."

Both Angel and Gunn looked at Wesley.

Before he could answer, Cordelia put both hands on her hips. "If you leave me down here with a whiny, mopey, sexually frustrated Angel, I'll make sure you're *all* sleeping with the fishes. I don't need the post-traumatic flashbacks, thanks."

"I wasn't whiny," Angel protested. "Or mopey."

They all looked at Angel.

He glared back. For at least seven seconds. Then, sullenly, he amended, "Much."

"I think it was more fun when he was under that truth spell," Cordelia said. She gave Wesley a hopeful look.

"He did make an adorable newt," Welsey agreed.

"Why is everyone picking on me? Is this part of my redemption?"

Gunn laughed. "No, it's because you're being a dork. A cute dork, but a dork. Come on. You can hold the towels and get the soap all lathered up." Then Gunn looked at Wesley. "If that's OK?"

Wesley pretended to consider it deeply. "Hmm. Most people buy their dates flowers. Possibly wine. But I suppose a towel boy would be an acceptable substitute." Angel grinned far too quickly, too cockily, for Wesley's liking. "Presuming he's docile and well-trained," he added. "Otherwise we might have to send him back and order a new one."

Angel frowned, as if he were about to argue, then apparently remembered that 'argue' and 'docile' didn't really go hand in hand. He looked thoughtful, then offered, "I think you'll be pleased with my services. There's this thing I can do with my tongue, for instance..."

Cordelia put her hands over her ears. "Shut uh-up... Go awa-ay..." she sang loudly. "Don't want to *hear* it... la la la..."

They looked at her, with varying degrees of amusement. Wesley knew that in other circumstances, staying down here and continuing to talk about Angel's oral skills would be quite entertaining until she decided it was time to retaliate. However, those circumstances included not being covered in goo, and not being about to go upstairs and indulge in certain oral skills.

Spike and Xander could forego sex in order to tease Cordelia, if they liked, but Wesley had better priorities. Besides which, Cordelia kicked.

"We'll take you on approval. but I'm still reserving the option of returning you for a newer model." Wesley pointed in the direction of the staircase.

Angel stood there, as if he was waiting for Wesley and Gunn to join him. Wesley raised an eyebrow.

"I think part of the duties of a towel boy would include starting up the shower and getting the water hot, wouldn't you?" he asked Gunn. "He doesn't seem to be very well taught at all."

But Angel was heading for the stairs, after only a second's hesitation. Gunn gave Wesley a smirk. "Looks like he learns fast."

"He is trainable," Wesley agreed, and started after Angel. Gunn paced him, and they walked carefully to avoid dropping chunks of dried goo on the carpeting. As they reached the foot of the stairs he glanced up to see Angel disappearing on the landing, and grinned. "Very trainable. I suspect we may be in for a decadent shower."

"I can still hear you!" Cordelia shouted from behind them.

Wesley started to say something under his breath about Cordelia seriously needing to spend less time in the office -- or more time with Lorne -- but kept his mouth shut. She'd probably overhear that as well, and do something to interrupt his shower. Instead, he simply turned back to smile politely at her, indicated his closed mouth, and proceeded up the stairs.

*****