Fic: The Hollow - Part 8 (Gunn/Lindsey) R
Title: The Hollow Part 8
Rating: R
Pairing: Gunn/Lindsey
A/N: This is the series in which Lindsey is a hustler. It is so totally AU that it shouldn't be called fanfic.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
A Fyarl demon jumps Gunn one night on his way home from the Hyperion and manages to beat the ever-loving-crap out of him. Things get a little blurry after that and he categorizes sounds and hazy bits of vision to try to figure out what's going on but then he passes the fuck out.
He wakes up in the hospital and that makes sense because he remembers wailing sirens and shouting doctors and a white tiled ceiling overhead. Wes is there, looking too relieved for Gunn's liking.
"You were in surgery for several hours," Wes says, "and you've been unconscious for a few days. Our client set us up, but it's been taken care of."
"Oh," Gunn says and then passes out again. He comes to and passes out again a bunch more times before he wakes up for good and finds himself in a whole lot of pain, most of it around his torso, right where the Fyarl demon wrapped its arms around him and squeezed.
The gang all comes by that afternoon and Gunn finally thinks to ask, "What day is it?"
"It's Thursday," Wes tells him from the foot of the bed.
Gunn winces and groans. Last he remembers it was Friday, which means he's lost a whole bunch of days. Also, more importantly, he and Lindsey meet up every Monday and Wednesday. Gunn doesn't even want to know what's going on in Lindsey's head, what he's making of the fact that Gunn's missed two nights and hasn't made any contact. Shit, and isn't that the last thing the pair of them need, a mess like this?
"Yeah, you've been out of it for a while," Cordy says. "We had to deal with that whackjob and his hired demon-muscle ourselves while you just laid around."
"Cordelia," Wes sighs. "He was not lying around."
Gunn manages to paste a smile on his face for the next hour, but he's getting increasingly antsy, and he wishes that he could just send them all away so that he could figure out what the hell to do. He can't call Lindsey because the boy doesn't have a phone, and it'll be another two days until he's released. Maybe he can get Angel alone, ask him to take a trip to Lindsey's corner.
He's looking at Angel as he thinks about it, and that's why he notices it when Angel whips his head around to look at the door. Gunn looks to find out what's caught his attention and he sees Lindsey through the glass panel in the door, face expressionless and those eyes of his hidden by sun glasses. Gunn almost calls out to him before he remembers that would be a bad idea. Turns out it would have been a waste of breath, because Lindsey disappears out of sight almost immediately.
"You look exhausted," Angel says abruptly. "We should let you rest."
"Yeah," Gunn says after a pause. "I could do with resting up."
It takes them five minutes to get the hell out, and Gunn feels bad that he's so impatient for them to be gone, considering how worried they were about him, but not bad enough to tell them to stay.
Angel is the last one out of the door and he pauses before he's out of the room and turns his head to give Gunn a look.
"Thanks," Gunn says quietly.
"Be careful, Gunn," Angel says just as quietly, and then he leaves.
It's another five minutes before Lindsey slips into the room and Gunn is twitching by then.
"Hey," he says carefully. "How'd you know I was here?"
"That Angel guy," Lindsey replies. "He showed up at the motel on Monday, told me you were here."
Which makes sense, because Angel really hadn't seemed surprised to see Lindsey here, and Gunn's always figured that Angel keeps an eye on them outside of work, too. Gunn owes him another thank you for tracking Lindsey down and saving him the headache of trying to explain everything.
"Sit down," Gunn tells Lindsey when he just hovers by the doorway. Lindsey does, and Gunn looks him over but can't get a good read on him without seeing his eyes. "Lose the sunglasses, Lindsey."
Lindsey tugs them off and hangs them on the collar of his shirt, which is black and long-sleeved, and makes Gunn a little nervous because it's not what Lindsey usually wears. It's covering his arms, and it's long enough to go down past the waistband of his jeans, and Gunn's used black clothing over the years to hide blood seepage, and--
He's overreacting. Lindsey was moving fine, moving smoothly, but Gunn can't help it because he's stuck in this bed and he can't strip Lindsey down, look him over, leave marks on him that are Gunn's and no one else's, that will be there when other people use Lindsey like he's nothing, and fuck, that burns and grates and makes him seethe.
"What?" Lindsey hisses and his hands are clenched into fists on his thighs and his eyes are fucking sparking at Gunn like a live wire, and Gunn has to get a hold of himself because Lindsey only looks like that when Gunn feeds it.
But he doesn't want to, he just doesn't. Gunn's life is bloody and brutal and sometimes it's like he's fighting a fight that can't be won, and the only thing in his life that isn't tied up in that is Lindsey.
Lindsey, who isn't even Gunn's alone.
"Damn it, Gunn," Lindsey hisses and his eyes are flat and opaque in the hospital lighting, and Gunn isn't sure if Lindsey's back is bent like that because of the weight of everything between them, or because of some injury that Gunn can't see, and Gunn starts grinding his teeth.
"Strip down," Gunn bites out and Lindsey stares at him without blinking before looking meaningfully at the door behind him, with its large glass panel. "In the bathroom. Stand in the doorway and strip down."
And Gunn knows that part of this is about how damn weak and useless he is at the moment, laid up and just out of surgery, ordered to bed rest for the next bunch of weeks. He knows that the other part of it is what Lindsey does for a living, the way it makes him less Gunn's, makes what's between them less.
Lindsey knows both of these things, too, because he's not stupid. Boy wouldn't be alive doing what he does if he was stupid. It's more than street smart, even. Past two months they've done a lot more talking than maybe either of them counted on and there's a brain under that lank hair that amazes, and surpasses, Gunn.
"Don't make me ask again," Gunn snaps when Lindsey doesn't move. It's an empty threat, because Gunn isn't capable of sitting up at the moment, and that should make a difference because Lindsey likes to be broken, forcibly, and he likes to fight every step of the way.
To Gunn's surprise, Lindsey gets to his feet with a shudder, his head falling forward so that his chin touches his chest, and Gunn's breath catches, because--Jesus. This is probably the most...submissive he's seen Lindsey, and it's at a time when Lindsey has the upper hand, and Gunn thinks they've probably blown past another boundary that he doesn't recognize and that Lindsey has watched speed by with resigned acceptance.
Except it looks more like gratitude on Lindsey's face, and that's something Gunn's going to have to think about later, when he doesn't have this wild boy of his walking to the bathroom doorway, neck bared, movements subdued and precise.
Lindsey doesn't lift his head or eyes when he turns around and if Gunn wasn't being pumped full of so much medication he's sure his dick would get hard in about half a second. But it's not all about sex, even though sex is a part of it, and the pleasure he gets from seeing Lindsey so deferential goes beyond what his dick can demonstrate. It goes all the way down deep, to the dark and churning center of himself, and he doesn't need to get hard to feel the thrill of it, the rightness of it, and he sucks in a much needed lungful of air, and everything around him clicks into place.
When Lindsey crosses his arms at his waist and takes hold of handfuls of his shirt, Gunn holds his breath and waits for it. It isn't a long time coming because, despite the fact that Lindsey can tease like the best cocktease on the planet, he's not doing that now. A quick flick of his arms and that damn black shirt is lifted up his torso and chest, and then he's pulling it over his head and shaking his arms to get rid of it.
And Gunn's not sure when it happened but somewhere along the way Lindsey lost the gauntness around his ribs. It's startling, seeing him filled out, and Gunn wonders how many times he's missed noticing it because it can't have happened just since the last time he saw Lindsey.
It's...nice--more than that, really--to see Lindsey looking healthy. And there aren't any marks on his upper body, nothing that Gunn can see even after he makes a gesture and has Lindsey turn in a slow circle for him. Lindsey is dark skin and muscles, compact and still lean, even now that he's filled out, and it's probably the sweetest sight Gunn's seen in a long while.
"Shit, Lindsey," Gunn chokes, and Lindsey's head lifts, just enough so that Gunn can see his eyes. "Shit," he says again, because Lindsey looks gone, just...gone and usually Gunn can only get him to look like that after an hour of working him hard.
"All the way?" Lindsey asks, voice pitched low and soft, and Gunn swallows thickly and then nods.
The buckle on Lindsey's threadbare jeans is huge and when he unhooks it there's an echoing jangling sound that steals Gunn's attention and focus until Lindsey starts lowering his zipper.
He's not wearing underwear. He never wears it but for some reason it stands out more here, in this hospital room, with the glass panel in the door and with Gunn beached on a bed half a room away.
There aren't any marks on Lindsey's lower body, either, and even though Gunn was mostly worried about signs of Lindsey having been abused, it still stands out that there's nothing at all to be seen. It's not usual. There's always at least one mark, fading and faint as it may be, every time Gunn sees Lindsey naked and stripped down. It comes with the territory and it's unavoidable.
Gunn puts that aside for later thought, too, because he honestly doesn't have the energy to contemplate anything but Lindsey, bareassed naked and--holy shit--sinking to his knees.
"Lindsey," Gunn gasps, his hands flailing, and Lindsey leans forward, like the word is a caress. And every single thing between them is different, Gunn realizes. He doesn't know how it happened, doesn't know what it means, but he knows it's all changed again. "Thought it was my job, upping the ante."
Lindsey doesn't say anything but he lowers his head again, hides his entire face from Gunn, and at least this, right here, Gunn knows.
"It's okay, Lindsey. Really. Look at me."
Slowly, so slowly, Lindsey lifts his head again, and his face is raw, bare, exposed, and Gunn realizes that Lindsey has given in to him, has broken apart, without Gunn having done anything more than want it.
"Get dressed again."
Lindsey lets out a breath of what seems like relief and Gunn realizes he probably felt vulnerable and exposed, being that way in a place anyone can walk in. It's humbling that he did it anyway for Gunn, and in the space between one breath and the next--in the amount of time it takes for Lindsey to get to his feet--Gunn knows he's come to the end of a rope.
"I can't do it no more," Gunn rasps. Lindsey freezes, goes perfectly still, and Gunn closes his eyes. "I can't ignore it. Shit. I just can't."
Time passes and Gunn lets his hearing be overwhelmed by the sound of blood rushing in his ears because he doesn't want to hear Lindsey leaving, walking away, going back to something simpler and easier.
The touch of a hand on his thigh shocks him so much that he jumps and his eyes fly open. Lindsey is standing next to the bed, fully clothed again, and avoiding Gunn's gaze as best he can.
"You don't--it's not an issue. Not anymore."
Gunn stares at him, mouth falling open a little, and Lindsey's fingers dig into his thigh so he doesn't say or ask anything, just covers Lindsey's hand with his own, clenching and holding on tight.
"Okay," Gunn says faintly. "Okay."
*
Gunn is released two days later and he's in pain and pissed off because of it. Wes drives him home, helps him into and out of his car and then up the steps to Gunn's apartment.
Getting undressed down to his boxers leaves Gunn sweating and swearing and shaking, and maybe even some other S words he's hurting too badly to think of. Wes stays with him through it all and Gunn would probably be more grateful for that if he wasn't wishing Wes was someone else.
"You could probably due with a bath of some sort," Wes comments when he helps Gunn into bed.
Gunn's saved from thinking of an answer to that by the sound of the doorbell. "I swear if that's Angel or Cordy I am going to lose my shit," Gunn snaps, and he will. He'd told them, in no uncertain terms, to stay the hell away from him until he wasn't in such a foul mood from the loss of the pain meds. Only reason Wes is here is that the doctors insisted someone be with him, and Wes is the least intrusive.
"I'll take care of it," Wes promises and when he pats Gunn's shoulder in reassurance his hand lingers just that much longer than it should and Gunn is seized by a wave of guilt that he knows is unfounded, unwarranted.
"Thanks," he says uncomfortably and is relieved when Wes leaves the room. He'd thought this wasn't any issue anymore, but he might have been reading it wrong, or looking at him from his own Lindsey-filled view.
When Wes comes back into the bedroom he looks off-kilter and confused. "There's a gentleman here."
Something about the way Wes says gentleman is what tips Gunn off and he knows it's Lindsey.
"He said he's a...friend."
Gunn meets Wes' eyes, doesn't look away, because Lindsey isn't someone he's ashamed of, and because Wes deserves to have Gunn be straight with him. Once upon a time there was something there, between him and Wes, and it was something that never got acted on, yeah, but that doesn't mean it didn't exist. Gunn owes Wes something real and true, and he'll give it to him.
"He's more than that," Gunn admits quietly and Wes blinks at him. For a moment Wes shows him everything, and then it's all gone as Wes gathers it back up and puts it away. For good this time.
"Ah, I see," Wes murmurs, and Gunn doesn't apologize because he didn't do anything wrong, but he maybe sorta almost wants to. Wes is Wes, though, and it was largely because he was so oblivious for a while that nothing happened between them, and Gunn sees that rueful realization pass across his face.
"We've been seeing each other for a couple of months," Gunn adds and Wes nods, just once, and then picks up his coat from the chair in the corner.
"I should make myself scarce, then," he says dryly, and Gunn winces, opens his mouth, but Wes shakes his head. "No, it's okay. I'm glad that you've apparently found someone. It's...not easy, given what we do."
"Yeah," Gunn whispers and then Wes smiles at him, small and quiet, and leaves with a, "Call if you need anything."
Lindsey comes in a few moments later, looking more relaxed than Gunn's used to seeing him. "Hey."
"Hey," Gunn says back, smiling a little. "Wasn't expecting you to come by. Glad you did, though."
Lindsey gives him a quick grin and then, while Gunn's still in the exchanging pleasantries stage, starts pulling his clothes off.
"Um," Gunn says. "I'm not really--"
"Shut up," Lindsey says firmly and Gunn does because, well, he doesn't know what the hell is going on and silence is always a good plan in those situations. Lindsey keeps going with the clothes until he's naked, unabashed and unashamed, and Gunn swallows dryly and shakes with the need to touch him.
"You look like hell," Lindsey says and Gunn splutters out a laugh. Then he stares as Lindsey just climbs onto the bed like it's something he does all the time, every day.
"Let's leave it until you don't look so much like a corpse," Lindsey says awkwardly when he notices Gunn gaping at him.
And, no, that's not going to work because no way in Hell will Gunn be able to do anything, much less get the sleep he needs to meet Lindsey's requirement, without knowing something about what's happening.
"Did you really give it up?" He means the hustling and Lindsey seems to realize that, because he doesn't have to ask for clarification. When he nods in answer Gunn's chest gets tight and he takes a shaky breath. "What does that mean?"
Lindsey snorts. "You know what it means," he says and reaches out to slide Gunn's boxers over his hips, down his thighs.
Gunn's about to argue that he doesn't, but then he realizes that's not true. If there's anything he's learned about this thing between him and Lindsey it's that it's up to them what it is and isn't and could be and will be and should be.
He doesn't know what's going to happen after this, what Lindsey wants to happen, but it's a sure bet none of it will be easy. A simple cash transaction between them ended up being the most complicated thing in Gunn's life, and this is a lot more than that.
But for right now Gunn is not much longer for this world, exhaustion and pain and being horizontal are dragging him under, pulling him away, and he yawns and feels his lids getting heavy. Lindsey's fingers, warm and dry and calloused, tangle with his own, and bare legs, hairy and strong, brush against his own.
It's good, nice, and unlike any other time they've shared a bed, it's for an entire night, maybe even more if Gunn has his way, and Gunn tightens his fingers around Lindsey's, drags his heel against Lindsey's calf, and falls asleep.
.End
Part 9
Series Listing in Memories here.
Rating: R
Pairing: Gunn/Lindsey
A/N: This is the series in which Lindsey is a hustler. It is so totally AU that it shouldn't be called fanfic.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
A Fyarl demon jumps Gunn one night on his way home from the Hyperion and manages to beat the ever-loving-crap out of him. Things get a little blurry after that and he categorizes sounds and hazy bits of vision to try to figure out what's going on but then he passes the fuck out.
He wakes up in the hospital and that makes sense because he remembers wailing sirens and shouting doctors and a white tiled ceiling overhead. Wes is there, looking too relieved for Gunn's liking.
"You were in surgery for several hours," Wes says, "and you've been unconscious for a few days. Our client set us up, but it's been taken care of."
"Oh," Gunn says and then passes out again. He comes to and passes out again a bunch more times before he wakes up for good and finds himself in a whole lot of pain, most of it around his torso, right where the Fyarl demon wrapped its arms around him and squeezed.
The gang all comes by that afternoon and Gunn finally thinks to ask, "What day is it?"
"It's Thursday," Wes tells him from the foot of the bed.
Gunn winces and groans. Last he remembers it was Friday, which means he's lost a whole bunch of days. Also, more importantly, he and Lindsey meet up every Monday and Wednesday. Gunn doesn't even want to know what's going on in Lindsey's head, what he's making of the fact that Gunn's missed two nights and hasn't made any contact. Shit, and isn't that the last thing the pair of them need, a mess like this?
"Yeah, you've been out of it for a while," Cordy says. "We had to deal with that whackjob and his hired demon-muscle ourselves while you just laid around."
"Cordelia," Wes sighs. "He was not lying around."
Gunn manages to paste a smile on his face for the next hour, but he's getting increasingly antsy, and he wishes that he could just send them all away so that he could figure out what the hell to do. He can't call Lindsey because the boy doesn't have a phone, and it'll be another two days until he's released. Maybe he can get Angel alone, ask him to take a trip to Lindsey's corner.
He's looking at Angel as he thinks about it, and that's why he notices it when Angel whips his head around to look at the door. Gunn looks to find out what's caught his attention and he sees Lindsey through the glass panel in the door, face expressionless and those eyes of his hidden by sun glasses. Gunn almost calls out to him before he remembers that would be a bad idea. Turns out it would have been a waste of breath, because Lindsey disappears out of sight almost immediately.
"You look exhausted," Angel says abruptly. "We should let you rest."
"Yeah," Gunn says after a pause. "I could do with resting up."
It takes them five minutes to get the hell out, and Gunn feels bad that he's so impatient for them to be gone, considering how worried they were about him, but not bad enough to tell them to stay.
Angel is the last one out of the door and he pauses before he's out of the room and turns his head to give Gunn a look.
"Thanks," Gunn says quietly.
"Be careful, Gunn," Angel says just as quietly, and then he leaves.
It's another five minutes before Lindsey slips into the room and Gunn is twitching by then.
"Hey," he says carefully. "How'd you know I was here?"
"That Angel guy," Lindsey replies. "He showed up at the motel on Monday, told me you were here."
Which makes sense, because Angel really hadn't seemed surprised to see Lindsey here, and Gunn's always figured that Angel keeps an eye on them outside of work, too. Gunn owes him another thank you for tracking Lindsey down and saving him the headache of trying to explain everything.
"Sit down," Gunn tells Lindsey when he just hovers by the doorway. Lindsey does, and Gunn looks him over but can't get a good read on him without seeing his eyes. "Lose the sunglasses, Lindsey."
Lindsey tugs them off and hangs them on the collar of his shirt, which is black and long-sleeved, and makes Gunn a little nervous because it's not what Lindsey usually wears. It's covering his arms, and it's long enough to go down past the waistband of his jeans, and Gunn's used black clothing over the years to hide blood seepage, and--
He's overreacting. Lindsey was moving fine, moving smoothly, but Gunn can't help it because he's stuck in this bed and he can't strip Lindsey down, look him over, leave marks on him that are Gunn's and no one else's, that will be there when other people use Lindsey like he's nothing, and fuck, that burns and grates and makes him seethe.
"What?" Lindsey hisses and his hands are clenched into fists on his thighs and his eyes are fucking sparking at Gunn like a live wire, and Gunn has to get a hold of himself because Lindsey only looks like that when Gunn feeds it.
But he doesn't want to, he just doesn't. Gunn's life is bloody and brutal and sometimes it's like he's fighting a fight that can't be won, and the only thing in his life that isn't tied up in that is Lindsey.
Lindsey, who isn't even Gunn's alone.
"Damn it, Gunn," Lindsey hisses and his eyes are flat and opaque in the hospital lighting, and Gunn isn't sure if Lindsey's back is bent like that because of the weight of everything between them, or because of some injury that Gunn can't see, and Gunn starts grinding his teeth.
"Strip down," Gunn bites out and Lindsey stares at him without blinking before looking meaningfully at the door behind him, with its large glass panel. "In the bathroom. Stand in the doorway and strip down."
And Gunn knows that part of this is about how damn weak and useless he is at the moment, laid up and just out of surgery, ordered to bed rest for the next bunch of weeks. He knows that the other part of it is what Lindsey does for a living, the way it makes him less Gunn's, makes what's between them less.
Lindsey knows both of these things, too, because he's not stupid. Boy wouldn't be alive doing what he does if he was stupid. It's more than street smart, even. Past two months they've done a lot more talking than maybe either of them counted on and there's a brain under that lank hair that amazes, and surpasses, Gunn.
"Don't make me ask again," Gunn snaps when Lindsey doesn't move. It's an empty threat, because Gunn isn't capable of sitting up at the moment, and that should make a difference because Lindsey likes to be broken, forcibly, and he likes to fight every step of the way.
To Gunn's surprise, Lindsey gets to his feet with a shudder, his head falling forward so that his chin touches his chest, and Gunn's breath catches, because--Jesus. This is probably the most...submissive he's seen Lindsey, and it's at a time when Lindsey has the upper hand, and Gunn thinks they've probably blown past another boundary that he doesn't recognize and that Lindsey has watched speed by with resigned acceptance.
Except it looks more like gratitude on Lindsey's face, and that's something Gunn's going to have to think about later, when he doesn't have this wild boy of his walking to the bathroom doorway, neck bared, movements subdued and precise.
Lindsey doesn't lift his head or eyes when he turns around and if Gunn wasn't being pumped full of so much medication he's sure his dick would get hard in about half a second. But it's not all about sex, even though sex is a part of it, and the pleasure he gets from seeing Lindsey so deferential goes beyond what his dick can demonstrate. It goes all the way down deep, to the dark and churning center of himself, and he doesn't need to get hard to feel the thrill of it, the rightness of it, and he sucks in a much needed lungful of air, and everything around him clicks into place.
When Lindsey crosses his arms at his waist and takes hold of handfuls of his shirt, Gunn holds his breath and waits for it. It isn't a long time coming because, despite the fact that Lindsey can tease like the best cocktease on the planet, he's not doing that now. A quick flick of his arms and that damn black shirt is lifted up his torso and chest, and then he's pulling it over his head and shaking his arms to get rid of it.
And Gunn's not sure when it happened but somewhere along the way Lindsey lost the gauntness around his ribs. It's startling, seeing him filled out, and Gunn wonders how many times he's missed noticing it because it can't have happened just since the last time he saw Lindsey.
It's...nice--more than that, really--to see Lindsey looking healthy. And there aren't any marks on his upper body, nothing that Gunn can see even after he makes a gesture and has Lindsey turn in a slow circle for him. Lindsey is dark skin and muscles, compact and still lean, even now that he's filled out, and it's probably the sweetest sight Gunn's seen in a long while.
"Shit, Lindsey," Gunn chokes, and Lindsey's head lifts, just enough so that Gunn can see his eyes. "Shit," he says again, because Lindsey looks gone, just...gone and usually Gunn can only get him to look like that after an hour of working him hard.
"All the way?" Lindsey asks, voice pitched low and soft, and Gunn swallows thickly and then nods.
The buckle on Lindsey's threadbare jeans is huge and when he unhooks it there's an echoing jangling sound that steals Gunn's attention and focus until Lindsey starts lowering his zipper.
He's not wearing underwear. He never wears it but for some reason it stands out more here, in this hospital room, with the glass panel in the door and with Gunn beached on a bed half a room away.
There aren't any marks on Lindsey's lower body, either, and even though Gunn was mostly worried about signs of Lindsey having been abused, it still stands out that there's nothing at all to be seen. It's not usual. There's always at least one mark, fading and faint as it may be, every time Gunn sees Lindsey naked and stripped down. It comes with the territory and it's unavoidable.
Gunn puts that aside for later thought, too, because he honestly doesn't have the energy to contemplate anything but Lindsey, bareassed naked and--holy shit--sinking to his knees.
"Lindsey," Gunn gasps, his hands flailing, and Lindsey leans forward, like the word is a caress. And every single thing between them is different, Gunn realizes. He doesn't know how it happened, doesn't know what it means, but he knows it's all changed again. "Thought it was my job, upping the ante."
Lindsey doesn't say anything but he lowers his head again, hides his entire face from Gunn, and at least this, right here, Gunn knows.
"It's okay, Lindsey. Really. Look at me."
Slowly, so slowly, Lindsey lifts his head again, and his face is raw, bare, exposed, and Gunn realizes that Lindsey has given in to him, has broken apart, without Gunn having done anything more than want it.
"Get dressed again."
Lindsey lets out a breath of what seems like relief and Gunn realizes he probably felt vulnerable and exposed, being that way in a place anyone can walk in. It's humbling that he did it anyway for Gunn, and in the space between one breath and the next--in the amount of time it takes for Lindsey to get to his feet--Gunn knows he's come to the end of a rope.
"I can't do it no more," Gunn rasps. Lindsey freezes, goes perfectly still, and Gunn closes his eyes. "I can't ignore it. Shit. I just can't."
Time passes and Gunn lets his hearing be overwhelmed by the sound of blood rushing in his ears because he doesn't want to hear Lindsey leaving, walking away, going back to something simpler and easier.
The touch of a hand on his thigh shocks him so much that he jumps and his eyes fly open. Lindsey is standing next to the bed, fully clothed again, and avoiding Gunn's gaze as best he can.
"You don't--it's not an issue. Not anymore."
Gunn stares at him, mouth falling open a little, and Lindsey's fingers dig into his thigh so he doesn't say or ask anything, just covers Lindsey's hand with his own, clenching and holding on tight.
"Okay," Gunn says faintly. "Okay."
*
Gunn is released two days later and he's in pain and pissed off because of it. Wes drives him home, helps him into and out of his car and then up the steps to Gunn's apartment.
Getting undressed down to his boxers leaves Gunn sweating and swearing and shaking, and maybe even some other S words he's hurting too badly to think of. Wes stays with him through it all and Gunn would probably be more grateful for that if he wasn't wishing Wes was someone else.
"You could probably due with a bath of some sort," Wes comments when he helps Gunn into bed.
Gunn's saved from thinking of an answer to that by the sound of the doorbell. "I swear if that's Angel or Cordy I am going to lose my shit," Gunn snaps, and he will. He'd told them, in no uncertain terms, to stay the hell away from him until he wasn't in such a foul mood from the loss of the pain meds. Only reason Wes is here is that the doctors insisted someone be with him, and Wes is the least intrusive.
"I'll take care of it," Wes promises and when he pats Gunn's shoulder in reassurance his hand lingers just that much longer than it should and Gunn is seized by a wave of guilt that he knows is unfounded, unwarranted.
"Thanks," he says uncomfortably and is relieved when Wes leaves the room. He'd thought this wasn't any issue anymore, but he might have been reading it wrong, or looking at him from his own Lindsey-filled view.
When Wes comes back into the bedroom he looks off-kilter and confused. "There's a gentleman here."
Something about the way Wes says gentleman is what tips Gunn off and he knows it's Lindsey.
"He said he's a...friend."
Gunn meets Wes' eyes, doesn't look away, because Lindsey isn't someone he's ashamed of, and because Wes deserves to have Gunn be straight with him. Once upon a time there was something there, between him and Wes, and it was something that never got acted on, yeah, but that doesn't mean it didn't exist. Gunn owes Wes something real and true, and he'll give it to him.
"He's more than that," Gunn admits quietly and Wes blinks at him. For a moment Wes shows him everything, and then it's all gone as Wes gathers it back up and puts it away. For good this time.
"Ah, I see," Wes murmurs, and Gunn doesn't apologize because he didn't do anything wrong, but he maybe sorta almost wants to. Wes is Wes, though, and it was largely because he was so oblivious for a while that nothing happened between them, and Gunn sees that rueful realization pass across his face.
"We've been seeing each other for a couple of months," Gunn adds and Wes nods, just once, and then picks up his coat from the chair in the corner.
"I should make myself scarce, then," he says dryly, and Gunn winces, opens his mouth, but Wes shakes his head. "No, it's okay. I'm glad that you've apparently found someone. It's...not easy, given what we do."
"Yeah," Gunn whispers and then Wes smiles at him, small and quiet, and leaves with a, "Call if you need anything."
Lindsey comes in a few moments later, looking more relaxed than Gunn's used to seeing him. "Hey."
"Hey," Gunn says back, smiling a little. "Wasn't expecting you to come by. Glad you did, though."
Lindsey gives him a quick grin and then, while Gunn's still in the exchanging pleasantries stage, starts pulling his clothes off.
"Um," Gunn says. "I'm not really--"
"Shut up," Lindsey says firmly and Gunn does because, well, he doesn't know what the hell is going on and silence is always a good plan in those situations. Lindsey keeps going with the clothes until he's naked, unabashed and unashamed, and Gunn swallows dryly and shakes with the need to touch him.
"You look like hell," Lindsey says and Gunn splutters out a laugh. Then he stares as Lindsey just climbs onto the bed like it's something he does all the time, every day.
"Let's leave it until you don't look so much like a corpse," Lindsey says awkwardly when he notices Gunn gaping at him.
And, no, that's not going to work because no way in Hell will Gunn be able to do anything, much less get the sleep he needs to meet Lindsey's requirement, without knowing something about what's happening.
"Did you really give it up?" He means the hustling and Lindsey seems to realize that, because he doesn't have to ask for clarification. When he nods in answer Gunn's chest gets tight and he takes a shaky breath. "What does that mean?"
Lindsey snorts. "You know what it means," he says and reaches out to slide Gunn's boxers over his hips, down his thighs.
Gunn's about to argue that he doesn't, but then he realizes that's not true. If there's anything he's learned about this thing between him and Lindsey it's that it's up to them what it is and isn't and could be and will be and should be.
He doesn't know what's going to happen after this, what Lindsey wants to happen, but it's a sure bet none of it will be easy. A simple cash transaction between them ended up being the most complicated thing in Gunn's life, and this is a lot more than that.
But for right now Gunn is not much longer for this world, exhaustion and pain and being horizontal are dragging him under, pulling him away, and he yawns and feels his lids getting heavy. Lindsey's fingers, warm and dry and calloused, tangle with his own, and bare legs, hairy and strong, brush against his own.
It's good, nice, and unlike any other time they've shared a bed, it's for an entire night, maybe even more if Gunn has his way, and Gunn tightens his fingers around Lindsey's, drags his heel against Lindsey's calf, and falls asleep.
.End
Part 9
Series Listing in Memories here.