Sometimes Xander misses Anya's breasts. The warm smell that rose from her cleavage as they'd danced together. That sweet curve of the outside edge, just before her armpit. Mostly he thinks he misses the little high pitched mewling sounds she'd made whenever he suckled at their sweet rosy nipples.
He'd always figured it was a man's work, pleasing a woman. Keeping her and supporting her. Holding her in childbirth and raising her children up strong. He doesn't know where he got this impression. Damn sure his father was never a man, by that reckoning.
He misses the soft music of Anya's gasps and cries as she'd clenched and shuddered around him, around his tongue, his fingers, his cock. The feel of her, small boned and seemingly helpless, brought to pleasure because of his care and gentleness.
He misses all that, but, fuck, he loves this! Andrew's cock in his mouth. Heavy and heavy tasting on his tongue. The swell where lower back becomes buttock, where he can bite and suck without worrying that he's being too rough.
Andrew's small. Smaller than him, but still stronger than most women, Slayers excepted. He is quite capable of flipping Xander to the floor if he doesn't play nice. His skin is paper pale and flushes a hectic pink right before he comes. But it is still man-skin; tougher and harder to bruise. Xander's hands trace long muscle over heavy bone, finding hair where most women are at pains to remove it. He really likes to thrust his nose into the wiry blond hairs under Andrew's arm, smelling honest sweat from hard work.
Sometimes Andrew sounds a lot like a girl, all high pitched and breathy. He squeaked the first time Xander sucked his cock. The first time Xander thrust a finger up Andrew's ass, greatly daring, he'd all but screamed before coming almost immediately. But despite the porn-a-rific soundtrack, and the excited puppy-like wriggling, Andrew's still a guy. Xander's still having sticky, messy, hot, hot sex with another guy. Xander's still sucking cock and loving every second of it.
He thinks, maybe, he should speak to someone about it. This inexplicable passion for sucking cock, this zesty delight in messy guy sex. The itching and enormous urge to roll over and let Andrew fuck him into the mattress. The feeling that asking for it is weak, that needing it is weak.
Xander figures Giles might know something about it. Not that Xander thinks he'd at all relish being the big queer role model. He amuses himself sometimes, picturing the stuffed, choked look on Giles' face if he ever sat down and asked him. "Hey, G-man. I've been thinking. How do I get my boyfriend to fuck me without having to ask?"
No-one said anything when Andrew moved from the couch to the floor of Xander's room. They probably all know that he doesn't sleep on the floor any more. And that's okay. Xander isn't ashamed of what they're doing, really. He just doesn't know what it makes him.
A million years ago, before Anya, before Faith, he'd thought about it sometimes. Entertained ideas involving, just hypothetically, Giles' hands. Long and strong, the pinkie ring framing every movement, standing out against the pale skin of Xander's belly. Sometimes he'd linger a second, watching Spike walk away, his rolling gait proclaiming to the world that he had a set of brass ones the size of tennis balls. He caught Giles at it a time or two as well. That's how he figures Giles might know something.
Maybe he could call Riley. "Hey ex-boyfriend of my second bestest bud, how do I get my boyfriend to fuck me without losing that last lingering shred of my pride?" He can admit to a little (giant) man-crush on Riley. He was fun to be around and could pretend to be dumber than dirt, which made Xander feel right at home.
Riley'd probably know what he means. There was that one time in the dorm bathroom, cleaning off the encrusted gore of a recently exploded Skylar demon. Xander hadn't realised he was looking and all Riley had said was "Eyes front, soldier." He looked down and blushed hotly. Riley, stand-up guy, corn-fed Iowa farm-boy, had just shaken his head and squeezed his shoulder in a friendly man-hug. And patted his ass on the way out. Riley might know something about it.
He wishes that Tara were still here to talk to. She'd have the answer, for sure. Of course she would mostly ask questions. Awkward questions he really didn't want to know the answers to. The biggest one, the one that weighed over him like a two ton block, well, he bet she'd go straight for that one. "Do you think Andrew's any less of a man because you fuck him?" And, jeez, how can he answer that one really?
He remembers that afternoon that Buffy and Dawn had taken Willow out to get her drunk, after Kennedy left. He and Andrew had been doing yard-work around the house. When they'd stopped for a break Andrew had brought out icy cold lemonade. And cookies. Xander had drunk his glass down all at once, tilting his head way back to get the last drops from the glass. When he reached over to put the glass down he'd caught Andrew staring. At him. Like he was Giles' hands or Spike's ass.
He'd almost bolted. Then he'd almost said, "Eyes front, soldier." As Andrew continued to stare, naked hunger in his eyes, Xander felt as if the ground were tilting, as if his world was about to slip off the platter holding it up.
Finally, the world still there and Andrew still staring like a kid at a candy store window Xander had picked up the hose and started a water fight. Nothing like a little manly sport, some hetero groping, to defuse a situation.
Later, Xander had leaned against the frame of the bathroom door, still dripping wet, watching Andrew towel off. He was avoiding Xander's eyes but seemed perfectly happy being watched. Xander had cleared his throat.
"So, uh, you and Warren huh?"
He'd managed to keep his voice level, the tone light. It surprised him when Andrew had choked, sounding suspiciously like he was about to cry.
"Aw, jeez, Andrew! I didn't meanppffm..."
He'd never gotten to finish the sentence. Mouths didn't work so well when muffled by short, damp blond. Other things, however, worked just fine. Right after he managed to process the fact that there was someone else's hard-on digging into his thigh, all Xander's blood left his brain for parts south. After that there wasn't much room for more than his lizard-brain litany of gonnagetsome gonnagetsome!
That was when he discovered exactly how much he liked sucking cock.
Did he think Andrew was less of a man because he'd let Xander flip him and fuck him on the bathroom floor? Because he'd regularly begged Xander to do it again these last six months?
Maybe he was man enough to trust that Xander would stop whenever he told him to. Maybe he was man enough to take responsibility for not letting himself get hurt. Maybe he was far braver than Xander.
Maybe, tomorrow night, Xander would simply roll over and wave his ass in Andrew's face. He was a smart man, he'd get the idea. Maybe Xander would like getting fucked as much as he liked sucking cock.
Please post a comment on this story.
Author: Gulessable [email] [website]
Details: Standalone | R | *slash* | 7k | 10/12/04
Summary: Sometimes Xander misses Anya's breasts
Disclaimer/Other: Joss is god, all hail god. Suing me will get you student loans and an episiotomy kit.
[top of page]
|Home/QuickSearch + Random + Upload + Search + Contact + GO List|