*****

I stop and I stare too much
Afraid that I care too much
And I hardly dare to touch
For fear that the spell may be broken
- "Sweetest Perfection", Depeche Mode

I'm still here in the morning. Waking before he does, I relax and just watch him sleep. His back rises and falls slowly with his even breathing and every once in a while he makes a small murmur. His hair is tousled and the smell of sex still clings to him, filling my nostrils with its heady scent. He's beautiful this way.

I don't want to wake him but finally I do, shaking his shoulder gently with one hand. When he looks up at me with bleary eyes, I smile at him softly. "You should probably go home before you go to school," I advise.

Xander stares at me for a minute and then realization dawns on his face. "Yeah," he mumbles, nodding. "They'll probably notice if I'm wearing the same thing I was last night."

"Yeah, probably," I answer, watching him as he stands and begins pulling on his clothes. The reality of what happened... again... hasn't yet hit him, I can tell. He isn't yet shooting me those uncomfortable glances that mean he's ashamed of something he's done. I'm glad for that. Because I'm not quite sure what's going on in my own head, let alone how to help him deal with his own jumbled emotions.

He slips his shirt over his head and sits to put on his socks and shoes. I watch the movements regretfully, feeling something not quite like fear start prickling at the base of my neck. I don't want him to leave. For a while there I felt almost human, sleeping through the night and waking with the sun rising in the sky and a warm body pressed against me. But as I watch him dress, the wrongness of the situation presses down on me.

I'm not human. And in just a few moments Xander is going to walk out into the morning sunlight. And although I want to follow him so badly it's almost a physical ache, I can't. So I watch him, burning images of him into my memory and wondering when this became necessary. I'm not sure why I feel this slightly desperate panic that's now seizing me. He's Xander. It's not like I love him or even like him much. But there's no denying that there's *something* that's making me want to tug him back down beside me.

But I don't know what that something is. I wonder if Xander feels anything happening. I open my mouth to ask him and then freeze, realizing I don't know what words to use. But it doesn't really matter anyway because he's staring at me now and that expression is on his face. His eyes are wide and he's remembering and the look on his face is like a kick in the gut. I bite down on my lower lip to keep from making a sound and just stare back at him. Vaguely I think about putting on some clothes but I can't pull myself away from the horrible look in Xander's eyes.

Finally he looks away and I'm not sure which is worse: the expression on his face or the fact that he can't even look at me any more. And I'm not supposed to care about this. I'm not supposed to be feeling any of this at all. And while I'm reminding myself of this important little fact he rises from where he's sitting and leaves the mansion. The door slams shut behind him and I come out of my reverie with a start.

"Fuck," I swear softly. And all the things I should have said, the apologies, words of comfort, and explanations bubble up in my mind. I should have done something to stop him. I should have kept him here and talked to him. I should have done anything but let him walk out that door.

But I didn't. And he's out there now... alone. I wonder briefly when exactly the idea of Xander being without me meant that he was alone. But I can't pinpoint that any more than I can figure out when exactly I started being afraid of losing him. So I give up trying as I feel sleepiness start to nag at me again. I pull on my pants and head for my bedroom. I'll sleep the day away and find Xander tonight. And until then I just hope that he's okay.

*****

Denny's at eight in the morning in Sunnydale is almost empty. As I enter the door, a small bell chimes overhead and the hostess looks up from where she's wiping down a counter. She raises an eyebrow as she glances at me and then at her watch, but then she just shrugs and grabs a menu. "Just one?" she asks and I nod with a thankful smile.

She guides me to a nearby table and I sit down and stare at the menu. "Your waitress will be here in a few minutes," the hostess says and I glance up at her quickly. There's just the faintest expression of concern on her face and I wonder briefly what she must see when she looks at me. Then she's gone and I look back at the menu.

But I'm not really reading it; my mind is going over and over last night's events like a film set to loop repeatedly. I had sex with Angel... again. I think that's the part that really bothers me, that I would let it happen more than once. There are a million reasons why it was completely wrong and I'm trying to remind myself of all of them. But the memory of Angel's touch is making me hard here in the middle of Denny's and when the waitress arrives I'm clutching the menu so hard my knuckles are white.

"What'll it be, hon?" the waitress, whose nametag says Debbie, asks in a slightly bored voice. She's somewhere past forty, heavyset, and scowling. She seems more like the kind of person you'd meet in some dinky roadside diner than a waitress in a huge chain like Denny's. But looking at her helps; the scenes have stopped playing in my mind and I'm not going to have to make a trip to the bathroom after all.

"Oh, ummm," I answer distractedly. Glancing back at the menu, I decide on the first thing I see. "I'll have a Denver omelette." The fact that I don't even know what's in a Denver omelette occurs to me as soon as I order it but Debbie is already taking my menu away. "Would you like anything to drink with that?" she asks briskly. She seems to be in a hurry, which is funny since there are only about five customers in the restaurant.

I shrug. "Water's fine." Water is also free, which is good since I only have ten dollars in my wallet.

"All right, hon," Debbie says with just a touch of warmth in her voice. "Your food'll be out soon. Are you sure you don't want a cup of coffee or something? It's cheap and it doesn't taste too bad."

I look up at her and her slightly concerned expression makes me sigh. It's pretty sad when total strangers care more about you than anyone else does. "Yeah, a cup of coffee would be great, thanks," I reply. "And I'm okay, really. You don't need to worry about me." I hope I sound more convinced of that than I feel.

She nods and walks off without another word and I sink back into the booth. Now with the menu gone I have nothing to even pretend to look at and soon I'm staring off into space, seeing nothing but the play of firelight on Angel's bare skin. I can hear the sound of his moans in my ears and my heart starts to beat faster, keeping time with them. "Angel." His name escapes on an exhaled breath and I'm not at Denny's any more; I'm there with him.

And I need him so badly I ache with it. When did that happen? *How* did that happen? I'm not sure. Maybe he knows. Next time I see him... And that one thought breaks the illusion and pulls me back to where I'm sitting in a booth in Denny's with my pulse racing. I blink rapidly, trying to get myself back under control, and then look around the nearly empty restaurant. Apparently nobody has noticed my little trip into dreamland.

Debbie's returning with my coffee and I focus on her, willing myself to just calm down. It's not really working this time, though, and for the second time this morning I'm hard in the middle of *Denny's* of all the insane places. And the really sad part of it is that I'm alone. So once she's poured my coffee, I clear my throat and say quietly, "I need to use the restroom. I'll be back."

She just nods and walks off again. I wait until she's out of sight and then look around carefully. Satisfied that nobody's even paying attention to me, I stand up and move quickly down the aisle towards the bathroom. I check in each of the stalls and then lean against the wall when I find them all empty. Glancing at the door, I see that there's no lock and I sigh.

This is going to have to be quick. And if I get caught... How embarrassing would that be? Yeah, I'd love to explain to Buffy and Willow about getting caught jacking off in the Denny's bathroom. And what exactly were you thinking about in there, Xander? Oh, just remembering what it felt like to fuck your boyfriend. That would go over well.

I close one of the stall doors behind me and unzip my pants. The functioning part of my brain is screaming at me that this is insane. I should just go to school, move on with my life, and forget all about Angel. There is no reason for me to get an erection just thinking about him. But, as usual, the functioning part of my brain loses to the hormones that have decided that I *will* be hard no matter what.

So my hand snakes down of its own accord as my eyelids flutter closed. And I'm back there with him again. The light from the fire flickers across his skin as he moves against me. His fingers are curled around my dick and he's pumping almost unbearably slowly. I open my mouth to complain but all that comes out is a strangled moan as his hand speeds up its pumping.

I'm so close now. The hand is pumping faster and faster and I let out another small moan, clutching at Angel with one arm. The whole world is centered on the two of us here, holding tightly to each other as he strokes me until I practically whimper with the need to just come for days. And I'm soclosesoclosesoclose and then I'm coming and I somehow have the presence of mind to remember to bite back a scream of pleasure. The only sound that escapes is his name, coming out in a half strangled whisper on an exhaled breath.

And then I open my eyes and the sight before me hits me like a slap in the face. He's not here; none of it was real. I'm bracing myself with one hand against the cold tile of the wall of the Denny's bathroom and the other wrapped around my now-softening dick. My shoulders are shaking with a horrible mixture of shame and anger and I'm struggling hard to get my breathing under control.

This is all just so *wrong*. I don't know why I'm feeling this desperate need every time I think about Angel. And I don't know how to stop it. But I have to figure it out because I can't keep doing this. And somehow thinking this makes me feel somewhat better, as if deciding that I need to stop feeling this way actually does something productive. So I tuck myself back into my pants and zip them up, then head out of the bathroom.

*****

The plan to sleep all day went out the window as soon as I crawled into bed. Closing my eyes, I tried to will the memory of that expression on Xander's face out of my mind. But it stubbornly refused to budge and I spent the next hour tossing and turning and punching my pillow in frustration, trying to get comfortable enough to sleep in spite of my traitorous mind. But nothing worked and finally I gave up and got out of bed.

So now I'm sitting in the living room staring at the picture I'm not supposed to have, tracing the lines of his face lazily with the tip of my finger and wondering if I'll ever be able to touch him again. Something inside me says that it will die if I can't. I know that I won't die; I'm not that melodramatic. But maybe that little piece of me will. And I want to touch him. No, I *need* to touch him. I'm burning with that need even now.

And I have no idea what to do about it. I can't sit here forever holding his picture as though it will somehow come to life. But I can't really go out and bring him back to keep him here either. He made it very clear this morning that he wants to get away from me. And I'm not *supposed* to want him at all. I love Buffy. I do. But somehow that reminder is having less and less of an impact on the rest of my emotions as time passes.

Three nights ago I was in her house. Her mother was gone and I dropped Buffy off at home before coming back here. She invited me in and we talked for a few minutes before she went upstairs. I was supposed to let myself out. And I had just turned to head for the door when I spotted the picture sitting on a table.

I picked it up and stared at it, feeling something deep inside beginning to stir. Xander's face smiled out at me from his place beside Willow. I had spent the past two weeks trying to forget him. But as I looked at the picture I knew that it was hopeless, that somehow the memory of him had taken root in my very soul. I couldn't get rid of it; and more importantly I didn't want to. I slipped the picture into my pocket, certain that Buffy wouldn't miss it. And then I left her house feeling guiltier than I had in a very long time.

I've been sitting here for hours trying to sort out the tangled mess my emotions have gotten into. But somehow every time I try to pin one down the rest get jumbled up even more until I'm left exactly where I was when I started. I love Buffy. But this insane need for Xander courses through me every time I so much as think his name. And as these two feelings war with each other, each trying to assert its dominance, I'm left feeling guilty and confused.

The one thing I do know is that I have to see him again, if just for a moment, to replace this image of him that is burned into my memory with something more bearable. I need to see something other than that horrible look of shame stamped into Xander's features. I need... I need to touch him, to kiss him, to make love to him for days. I need *him*, all of him. "Xander," I say shakily, feeling something inside me twist painfully.

There's no answer, of course, so I pass one hand over my face, trying to clear my thoughts. I need to sleep. I'm actually starting to feel tired, so maybe I'll be able to catch a few hours of rest before I go find Xander. And it has to be tonight. I know that with absolute certainty, although I'm not quite sure why. But I know that if I don't find him tonight he'll convince himself to never come near me again. So I'll sleep. And then I'll find him. And from there, I'll just have to see what happens, I suppose.

*****

When I left Denny's, I had no set plan for where I would go. I was just going to wander around until my head cleared enough to decide what to do. And that was basically what I did. I wandered. My feet carried me through Sunnydale as I thought, pondered, and did all those other things that meant my mind was constantly on Angel. And when I finally came back to myself enough to see where I was, I nearly laughed out loud. Life can be pretty damned funny sometimes.

Angel's mansion looks old and dirty in the glaring sunlight. It doesn't have that same sense of mystery that it has at night when a fire is lit in that big main room and the light from it flickers across naked flesh... Okay, I need to stop that. I've been sitting here for about an hour, staring up at that building and trying to tell myself that now would be a *really* great time to leave. Each time I do, though, something inside me resists and I just stay here, staring and waiting... For what, I don't know.

The afternoon sun is starting to slip down towards the horizon and I suddenly realize that I'm waiting for it. I'm waiting for Angel to be able to come out of that mansion so that he can see me. I've completely lost my mind. I need to leave now. I need to find my friends, make some excuse for not being at school today, and stay as far away from Angel as possible. But, even though I know that, I can't make myself move.

He's in there somewhere, probably asleep. He probably hasn't even given last night another thought. And I can't think about anything else. I've tried. While I walked around Sunnydale, I tried any number of other subjects but every time my thoughts strayed back to how it felt to be touched by my best friend's boyfriend.

It felt like flying.

And right now there is nothing more in the world that I want than to feel that again. I shouldn't want it and I know that tomorrow morning I'll regret what I'm about to do. But I need him; it's that simple. So I sit on my little patch of grass and wait for the sun to finish its descent and for Angel to emerge from his mansion.

It takes another hour before the front door finally opens and he walks out. He doesn't notice me for a few moments and I take the time to just stare at him in the dim light of late afternoon. It takes a couple seconds for me to realize that I'm looking for some evidence that he's feeling as mixed up as I am. When he turns and I get a good look at his face, I smile slightly. At least I'm not in this alone.

I stand and walk towards him slowly. Meeting his gaze, I stare into deep brown eyes as I approach. Step after step takes me towards him and when I reach the spot where most people would stop, that place just outside his personal space, I pause. And then I take first one step and then another and I'm standing inches from him, still looking into his eyes. The expression there has made me forget how to breathe and all I can do is stare for several long moments.

I stay that way for a while, reluctant to cross that final line. I know that if I reach for him now, I won't be able to turn back. I'll be completely lost to him. So I'm waiting, hoping that he'll cross it first. But he seems able to stand here for days. And I can't. I need to feel his skin under my hand. I need to feel his lips pressed to mine. I need a lot of things right now and they're all wrapped up in this person standing inches in front of me. So finally I take one more step forward and clutch him to me, kissing him with all the passion I'm not supposed to possess for him. And once again I feel like I'm flying.

*****
Part 2:

The warm pressure of Xander's lips on mine startles me at first. I was expecting to have to find him and argue with him for a while before he would even talk to me. But now here he is, holding me tighter than I've ever been held and kissing me with a ferocity that almost frightens me. Finally he pulls back and looks at me, his brown eyes wide, his lips slightly parted as he breathes in and out. I stare at him, transfixed by the sight of him, and reach forward to brush the tips of my fingers gently along his cheekbone. "Xander," I say softly, almost not believing that he's really here.

"Angel," he answers and the tone in his voice would make my heart beat faster if it beat at all. He reaches out his own hand and presses his palm against my cheek. We stand this way for a minute, the only physical connection between us coming from our hands touching each other's faces, as we stare into each other's eyes. And then finally it becomes just a bit too intense and we pull away, stepping back slightly from each other and breaking the gaze.

Without a word I turn and start walking up the path back to the house. When I reach the small porch at the end, I pause and turn back. Xander is still standing where I left him and for a moment I'm sure that he's not going to follow. A sick feeling starts gnawing at the pit of my stomach as I look back at him, but then he starts walking slowly up the path. Finally he reaches me and stops, staring at me unblinkingly for a moment. Then he reaches out and takes my hand, entwining his fingers with mine. I look down at our joined hands and then back up at Xander.

Every touch, every look burns like a brand on my skin. I could melt into him. I smile softly at that thought. It's overly dramatic and ridiculous, but it's honestly how I feel. This isn't the warm fuzzy feeling I have with Buffy. This is fire, burning through me, singeing every part of me until what's left in no way resembles what was there before. This Angel, the one who needs Xander's touch in order to survive, has completely replaced the other.

Finally I shake myself out of my reverie and tug him gently forward, opening the door and leading him into the house. There's really no reason for me to keep holding onto his hand, but I do so anyway. I like the way it feels in mine. I guide him through the mansion slowly to my bedroom, stopping just inside the door to turn on the lights.

He glances around the room quickly, taking much less time to study it than I thought he would, and then turns back to me. He just stares at me for a while and I'm not entirely sure how to break the silence that's fallen between us. There's too much to say and no way to say it. Finally he takes the decision out of my hands as he steps forward and presses his lips to mine again, obliterating thought.

The kiss is gentle at first, slow and teasing, as our lips meet and pull apart and meet again. The outside world has ceased to exist and all that matters is the sweet, slow pace of this kiss. His mouth tastes like salt and chocolate and warmth and it feels as though I'm noticing it for the first time. When his tongue slips between my lips to brush gently against mine, a jolt goes through me and I slip my arms around him, one hand moving up to cup against the base of his neck.

And suddenly there's nothing slow or gentle about this any more. He's kissing me fiercely, holding me to him just as firmly as I'm holding him to me and I'm falling into him. The world is spinning out of control around me and I'm standing here kissing Xander Harris. And it's the most perfect, exquisite kiss I've ever experienced. When we finally break apart, it's only so he can pull in shaky breaths as he stares at me with those wide brown eyes.

I'm trying to remember what I was going to say to him when I found him, but all I can think about is those lips that are half parted as he looks at me. "Xander," I say quietly. I can actually feel my voice rasping in my throat. "We need to talk."

"Later," he answers and I swear his voice is almost a growl. Another jolt goes through me at the sound and then warmth is spreading through me, making every nerve ending tingle. It seems strange to be dead and feel so *alive*. And then his body is pressed against mine again and his heat seeps through our clothes and sets little fires all over my body. And now it's my turn to growl, low and hungrily as he starts to fumble at the buttons of my shirt.

His fingers are shaking and it takes him a minute or so but finally he manages to get my shirt unbuttoned and I shrug out of it quickly. Once it's out of the way, he's in my arms again and he's kissing my shoulders, trailing his warm, wet mouth along my skin. I close my eyes and sink into the sensations of his lips traveling across my collarbone, pausing to concentrate on the hollow of my throat.

And then he's moving down, making a hot trail down my stomach. There's a slight rustle as he kneels on the floor in front of me and I think about opening my eyes to see him there looking up at me. But I like this darkness that makes each smell, sound, and touch that much more pronounced. His hands unbutton my pants and then I hear the distinctive snitch of the zipper being pulled down. And then my pants are being tugged down; I can feel the cool air slide over my exposed skin as they're pulled down. I step out of them and slide my boxers down after them.

Then his mouth attaches itself to me again, kissing and biting its way up my leg. And I think I could stay like this forever, with his hot mouth roaming over every inch of me. He bites down gently on the inside of my thigh and I growl again, thrusting forward blindly. He laughs, a low and throaty sound, and rubs his cheek briefly against my erection. Then he moves his attention to the other leg.

I thrust forward again, trying to bring his attention to my erection. He chuckles again and I finally open my eyes to look down at him. He's staring up at me with those beautiful brown eyes and there's this unbelievable grin on his face. He knows exactly what he's doing to me and he's enjoying the hell out of it. And as much as I want to be annoyed with him, I can't. Because that grin just somehow worms its way into me and manages to make me even harder than I already was. It doesn't make sense but I'm starting to realize that nothing about this whole thing with Xander makes sense.

"Xander," I moan, reaching one hand down to brush against his hair. "Please."

His expression changes at that and he looks up at me seriously for a long moment. Then he's moving slowly, rising and moving in to stand with his body pressed along the length of mine. The corduroy of his pants scratches against my overly sensitized skin and I step back involuntarily. I worry for a moment that Xander will be offended but he just follows me, pressing against me again and wrapping his arms around me. His lips hover a breath away from mine for a moment and then those are pressed against me as well, kissing me slowly and deliberately.

He's taking control of me. Every kiss seals the deal just a little bit more and soon I'll have no will left. Because all it takes is Xander's lips against mine to make me forget everything I've ever known outside this feeling of complete desperation. I need him. Every part of me is screaming at me that this kiss isn't enough, can never be enough again. It needs to be faster, harder, longer... More. I need more. But at the same time I want this to go on forever. This slow fire that burns within me is like nothing I've ever felt. And if I get more... How hot can it burn before there's nothing left?

The decision is taken out of my hands as Xander speeds up the kiss, holding me tighter against him and nearly attacking my lips with his. And before I even realize we're moving, the backs of my legs are against the bed. He pulls his lips from mine long enough to push me down gently onto the bed and then he's straddling me and kissing me again. And suddenly something inside that's been holding me back snaps and I regain just enough control so that I'm kissing back.

It's also enough to make me realize that I'm completely naked while he's still wearing every bit of clothing he had when he got here. So I start removing items, reaching between us to unbutton his shirt and remove it, then doing the same with his pants. It takes a little bit longer since he continues distracting me with kisses that are now roaming over my shoulders, face, and neck but finally he's as nude as I am.

There's a moment of awkward tension as we look at each other and then I feel his heat pressing into my thigh. Pulling back slightly, I wrap my fingers around it and he sighs, a tiny sound that escapes as his eyelids flutter closed. I start pumping slowly, watching his face. There's something about the way his mouth is open just slightly as he breathes and his cheeks are flushed that makes me want to keep him like this forever.

"Xander," I say softly. And I don't know why I'm talking. I just know that I like it when a tiny smile lights up Xander's face. Brushing his hair back from his forehead with my free hand, I murmur, "You're beautiful."

He opens his eyes at that and looks at me, still smiling gently. "Angel," he moans as my hand speeds up its pumping. And that sound is the most perfect thing I've ever heard. He's mine; the tone of his voice tells me that. And I'm his. And somehow that's all that matters any more. The world condenses down to this bed, Xander and me, his moans, my moans. There's nothing else. And when he comes, his long drawn-out moan is the only sound in the universe.

When he comes back down from whatever level of the atmosphere his mind is flung into, he's smiling at me. "Mmmm," is all he manages before I pull him down to kiss him again. And I'm in control now. I'm kissing *him* and he's making small sounds of pleasure every once in a while. And he's getting hard again; I can feel it pressing against my thigh. The sensation gives me a rush. I can make him hard. I can make these sounds come from Xander. I can put that look on his face that's there when I pull back. He wants me.

And I want him so badly I ache with it.

Flipping him over, I break the kiss and turn my attention to his neck. He makes no protest as I begin licking and sucking and I wonder if he realizes what he's doing. Glancing at his face, I see nothing resembling fear there. It's just that same expression of desire; his eyes are closed, his mouth half open. He trusts me. I could kill him right here. I won't, but I could. And he trusts me enough to let me near his neck with my mouth. It's an amazing thought, one to ponder more in the future.

But right now all I want to think about is how good this feels, how the slug of his pulse is sending jolts of desire through me. Moving my mouth back to his neck, I flick my tongue out to taste his skin. It's salty and sweet and I can feel his blood coursing under the surface. It would be so easy to just bite and take just a tiny taste...

Growling at myself, I pull my mouth from his neck and kiss him again. His eyes fly open and he looks at me with a mixture of alarm and confusion as I pull back again. "Angel?" he asks as he stares up at me. Reaching out a hand, he presses it against my cheek. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I bite out, trying to get some control over myself. At least the ridges on my face faded before Xander saw them. But he must have felt the fangs. I can see it in his eyes as he slowly rubs his hand against my cheek. And there's a little dot of blood on his lip where one of my teeth must have punctured the skin.

I stare at it for a moment and then lean down slowly. Flicking my tongue out, I lap up the small amount of blood, relishing the distinctly Xander taste of it. His eyes widen in shock and I kiss him again slowly. "I'm sorry," I whisper as I pull away.

"No," Xander answers shakily. "I-it's okay. It's just strange." He kisses me again and wraps his arms around me. Then he does something I never thought he would; he tilts his head just slightly, offering me access to his neck.

I stare down at him in shock and then move my mouth slowly to his neck. Listening to the sound of his heartbeat for a moment, I pause. Then I slowly kiss his neck, licking and then sucking gently. And then I pull away and move up to kiss his forehead, brushing my fingertips against his cheek. "Thank you," I say gently.

He doesn't say anything in response, instead pulling me down for another kiss. There's an urgency to this one that catches me off guard. And when his fingers wrap around my erection, I grunt in surprise. He begins pumping slowly as his mouth roams over my chest, neck, and face. And I'm thrusting in time with his pumping, wishing...

Then suddenly I realize that maybe I don't have to just wish. Pausing, I pull back slightly and look down into Xander's face. "I want to be in you," I say. There's no easier way to put it than that.

I half expect him to run away as fast as his feet will carry him. But he just stiffens slightly and looks up at me with an expression I can't quite define on his face. For a long time he says nothing. And when he finally does speak, his voice is low and hoarse. "Okay."

It's just one little word but it manages to take me completely by surprise. I never expected the simple assent in his voice. I hoped for it, thought that maybe he might agree, but never really expected it. "Are you sure?" I ask, hearing the surprise in my voice.

Xander chuckles and puts one hand on the back of my neck, tugging me down until my face is just inches from his. "I'm sure," he whispers. "Are you going to talk about it all night or are you going to do it?"

I look down at him for one more moment and then close the few inches of distance between our faces. I kiss him slowly, trying to regain that feeling of pure desire that held me just a few minutes ago. And when Xander's fingers curl around my erection, it returns full-force. He's all blood and heat and a jolt goes through me with every touch of his skin on mine.

Keeping the rest of my body as still as possible, I reach over to the nightstand next to the bed and pull open the drawer, retrieving the small tube of lube kept there. Feeling emptiness where Xander's hand was, I look down at him and watch him watching me as I open the tube. He doesn't seem frightened so much as intensely curious. "Are you really sure?" I ask one more time anyway, just in case.

He nods slowly, his gaze never breaking from mine. He seems about to say something but then his mouth closes and he just stares at me. Leaning down, I kiss him and then squeeze a generous amount of lube into my hand. And suddenly the insane impossibility of this situation hits me. Even a day ago, I would have said that we would never be in this position. But here we are.

And now I'm not sure if it's right. He wants me. I want him. But I feel guilty for some reason, like I somehow coerced Xander into agreeing. And I'm sure that at any moment he's going to change his mind. So I freeze, staring down at him. His head is back and I'm not sure what's going on in his mind at first. But then he looks at me, those brown eyes dark with something that I'm taking for passion. And he knows what's about to happen and he's not pulling away. So maybe I'm wrong after all.

I move slowly, nudging his legs apart and positioning myself between them. He stiffens slightly but not as much as I expected him to and when I glance at his face, he's smiling. "Ready?" I ask and he nods once. Slipping one lubed finger in slowly, I pause to let him adjust. His face is strained now and he's biting his lip to keep from crying out but he stays where he is. Gently I lube and stretch him, doing my best not to hurt him.

It's a slow process, but when it's done he's looking at me with glazed eyes, breathing shallowly as he pulls me down for a rough, hurried kiss. "Ready," he says, his voice hoarse, and pulls me closer.

And at this point I need no more encouragement than that. I slip inside him slowly, moaning as his heat surrounds me. This is what I've been wanting for the past two weeks. It wasn't really a conscious desire, but I realize now that it was there. Because this feels like I'm coming home.

Nothing has ever been so perfect or so simple as Xander under me with that beautiful dazed expression on his face as I thrust slowly into him. Everything outside us is complicated, but this... This is what I need. And when he starts moving with me, we set up a quickening rhythm. There's nothing awkward or uncomfortable about this. It's just the two of us moving together, fitting perfectly. It feels so *right*. And when I come, it's his name that escapes in a yell. He follows just a few seconds later, screaming my name, and that's right also. I like the sound of his voice saying my name.

He curls up beside me as I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. His head is on my chest and his arm is draped over my stomach. He's like a heavy blanket over me, warming me with his body heat. We stay that way for a while, lost in our separate thoughts. Finally I stir just a little, enough to wrap one arm loosely around his shoulders. "Xander?" I ask quietly. It seems wrong to speak at a normal volume right now.

"Mmm?" he mumbles, his voice muffled by the way he's talking into my chest.

"We should talk." I'm not sure why I'm saying this. Talking about this is going to make it complicated again, bringing Buffy and everyone else out there into this. I don't want to do that. But we do need to talk; we can't just leave this sitting between us. There's too much emotion wrapped up in this situation.

"Mmm-hmmm," he agrees, nodding his head slightly. "Later, though." His voice has that half awake quality that it always seems to get after sex and I smile.

Closing my own eyes, I nod. "Okay, later. Sleep well, Xander." And that's as close as I can get to giving voice to all the jumbled emotions I'm feeling.

"You too," he mumbles.

It only takes him a few minutes to drift off to sleep. I stare up at the ceiling for a while, listening to the soft sound of his breathing. I wonder if he knows what he's doing to me. I doubt he does. He can't know that thoughts of Buffy are coming fewer and farther between and that he's starting to fill that empty spot that I always thought was reserved for her. He can't possibly know all that but I think I want him to. But as Xander said... Later. For now, I think I'll join Xander in sleep.

~end~