Ding, Dong Bell

Disclaimer: Yes, I am a sick, sick puppy. My son (at age 13) may understand the entendres here, but if you can't, then look away now. And, tsk, no, he hasn't read this. Sheesh, people!

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On the way to her desk via the kitchen, Cordelia noticed garbled sounds coming from downstairs.

"It's too tight a fit," she caught, regret obvious in the male voice despite the buffering provided by the heavy wooden door. "I could only get two fingers in."

"Tsk. I did better than that by myself!"

Cordelia's eyes widened and her hand shot up to her mouth.

"Well, why don't you guide me, then?"

No way! she thought. Wesley and Fred? Cordelia stopped and backtracked. She put her ear against the door, listening to the noises that erupted from behind its veneer.

"Go deeper, pleeeaase!" Okay, that was definitely a moan. Muffled sounds, mostly grunts. Things being moved. "Oh, sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"No," she heard him laugh, his voice strained with tension, "but any deeper and I'll come out the other end."

"I've no problem with that."

Another throaty laugh. "Well, I bloody well might."

"Please? I'll do anything you want." Pregnant pause. "Please … oh, pleeeease. Oh, oh! Almost!"

"Hey!" Gunn shouted. Cordelia jumped away from the door, blushing deeply at the exposure. "How come you're perched against the boiler room door? Demon down there?" Putting a finger to her lips, she ran across the lobby and dragged him with her.

"Hey," he whined. "What? How come you're shoving me in the office?"

"Okay," she said, slamming the door and leaning against it. "I have no beef with anyone bringing their affair out into the open."

"Affair?" he laughed. "Whoa, hang on. What exactly are you talking about?"

"Wesley and Fred. They were talking about, no, having sex!" Gunn arched his eyebrows and his jaw dropped involuntarily. "I mean, that's fine," she continued, oblivious to his shock, "But I sooo do not want to hear it!"

"You could hear them?"

"Uh, duh! They're downstairs."

"Downstairs? Wait. In the basement?" He paused and looked at Cordelia. "I thought, oh, anyway," he mumbled. "But with all the storage crates and the furnace, I'd think —"

"Ooooh! Yuk!"

Brows knitted together, he studied her, then with a sly grin added, "I'm just saying." He tucked his hands in his jeans' pockets and shrugged. "You know, it gets really warm down there. You get all sweaty, gotta take off your shirt, and then, the dirty floor."

Cordelia blanched and covered her ears with her hands. "SHUT UP!"

Angel cracked the door open, pushing her aside. "Have you heard them?" he asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Hellooo! Who hasn't?"

"So, like," Gunn began, looking down at his fingernails. "What were they saying when you went past?" Cordelia hit him on the arm. "What? Just asking. You know, to get a feel for –"

Angel stepped inside and closed the door. "She was telling him to move his hand in circles and hurry up." His face flushed, his eyes went glassy. "He was just moaning and grunting."

"I so do not need to hear that!"

"Cordy, you can't not hear it!" Angel grabbed her by the shoulders. "A vision. Anything. Just get me out of here! I don't need this. You can hear them upstairs!"

"All this eavesdropping make ya kinda horny, huh?"

"Gunn!" Cordelia screamed. "If I could order vision-delivery, Angel, I would! But helloooo. It's two in the afternoon!"

"So?" he asked, desperate to be away.

"So? SO? Do you want to burn up in the sun? The way to the sewers is occupied in case you haven't heard!"

"Okay, let's chill, folks," Gunn started. "You're taking this all wrong. Fred was in that place for five years. She needs companionsh–"

"Well, yeah, that's true, I guess," Angel interrupted, still very agitated by what he had overheard. "They have a lot in common, maybe. Something to talk about when they're, er, done. And Wesley is an intelligent, really good-looking guy. I mean, Cordelia–"

"Cordelia, what?" She spun around, hand on her hips, anger flashing in her eyes. "I kissed him. So? I was trying to get rid of the visions. I even kissed you! That should tell you something!"

"Oh, come on," Angel said defensively. He leaned against the desk. "Everybody in Sunnydale knew you had the hots for Wesley."

"Really?" Gunn asked, trying unsuccessfully to hide the snicker. "So, maybe that's your problem?"

"Is so not!" Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean 'Wesley is a really good-looking guy,' Angel?"

"I'm just stating the obvious. All you have to do is look–"

"And you looked? In between obsessing over Buffy and Darla, you looked at Wesley? After he strolled into the office with those really tight leather pants, the ones that outlined everything, the tight t-shirt and the scruffy road-warrior look? Is that why you hired him?"

"Wes in leather?" Gunn chuckled. "Sounds like Angel wasn't the only one checking out English's packaging."

"I was not looking!" they chorused.

"Yeah, right."

From the basement, they heard the crash of metal and the laughing-cry of "You damned bitch! That hurt!"

Angel whipped his head around to look at Cordelia, who in turn looked at Gunn.

"Go see what's going on, Gunn," Cordelia ordered.

He shrugged. "Sure, whatever. You know, if you two got yourselves a love life." He paused at the door and stared at Angel. "I take that back. No love life for you. But don't take matters into your own hands, either."

"GUNN!"

"Yep, going. But not in Japanese." He left, chuckling to himself.

"What did he mean by that?" Cordelia snapped at Angel.

"Uh," Angel said, shifting uncomfortably on the desk. "Well, in Japanese, uh, coming is going, so to speak."

"That's abhorrent. You're abhorrent. You're a big, dead blob of abhorrence."

"I get your point, Cordy."

"This is, I mean, I come to work and I have to –" She stopped as Gunn re-entered the room. "Well?"

He arched his eyebrows and grinned. "Sounds like they're almost finished. With the basement, anyway. I think they're bringing it upstairs."

Cordelia groaned in disgust. "What did they say?"

"Um, well. Hmmm," Gunn hesitated. "Something about – no, I can't."

"Gunn. For crying out loud," Angel complained.

"Well, not quite that far. She did say something about a sausage and 'it' being warm and moist. Didn't stick around after that."

"Oh, God," Cordelia moaned, looking slightly green. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Wait!" Angel said, his hand held up for silence. "I can hear them coming up the stairs. Maybe if we're quiet, they'll go do their thing somewhere else." Cordelia nodded in agreement; Gunn coughed into his hand, but said nothing.

"A bath," they heard Fred suggest.

"Yes," Wesley agreed. "I think it's a good idea after that ordeal. Go on ahead and I'll join you in a moment?"

"Sure," Fred said and they heard her walk away.

Wesley opened the office door and stared. "What are you doing in here?"

Gunn shrugged and moved behind the desk. Cordelia looked to Angel for support, but he just stared at his boots. She answered innocently, "Just having a chat."

Wesley walked into the office, then turned around and crossed his arms over his chest, suspicious at the impromptu meeting. Gunn remained behind the desk, chewing on his lower lip, face contorted in apparent pain.

"Right. What is going on?" His eyes narrowed as he looked at the three of them. "Cordelia?"

"Well, um, we," she started, then turned to Angel, who was still staring at the ground. "Angel?"

"Yes, ahem. Well, Wesley. Everyone is in here, because, well. Gunn?"

Gunn cleared his throat. "Angel and Cordelia overheard you and Fred. You apparently were down on all fours, hand up the shaft, moanin' and groanin' to beat the band. Or beating the drum, whatever. Fred said something about a sausage and well, they came to the conclusion –"

"You told us about the sausage being wet!" Cordelia screamed. "Angel heard– I heard –"

Wesley glared at Gunn. "You knew there was a puppy stuck in the ventilation shaft. You're the one who told Fred to rescue the damned bitch!"

"Yeah," Gunn said, finally bursting into laughter. "But I didn't know it would be a that kind of dog!"

"You people are bloody pigs," Wesley said.

The end