*****

He should go.

It is, in fact, well past time for the going to have happened.

Xander's still here.

Here being, at the moment, Giles' shower. Giles' oddly big and lonely and echoey shower. Hot water not different enough from the sweat on his body. Early- summer early-morning late-wiggins hot, and.

He's pretty definitely still here.

Which would suggest that Giles is still out there. Somewhere. He'd been gone when Xander woke up -- woke up in Giles' big, rumpled bed -- which had been pretty horrifying in itself for all the stupid, girly reasons that Xander doesn't want to think about.

Horrifying even with the note explaining. Groceries. Right. Yeah.

They haven't been getting out of the house much. Heh.

Right. And there's a big, fat joke of major unfunniness right there.

How long has he been here? Three days? Four?

Funny how they've managed to take enough breaks to eat through Giles' food supplies.

Breaks from.

What they're doing.

Yeah.

What they're doing together, all over the apartment, like some. like some kind of something Xander hadn't even known he'd known the names for.

And it's all coming in flashes. On his knees in the library, in the kitchen, in front of the couch.

On his back and on all fours.

Just. fucked.

And all the things he's not thinking about are just about ready to drown him.

Wonders what would happen if Giles came back from the Shop and Save just in time to find him dead in the bathtub, another tragic victim of the Big Gay Wiggins. Feather boa clutched in stiffening hands.

Snorts and swallows water and chokes and just laughs harder. Bracing himself against the tile and just letting the water pound down on his head. Wash that man right out of his hair.

Right.

But see, if it was *just* the gay thing, he could probably deal. He's a nineties man. He's free, White, and eighteen. This is America. More than that, it's Southern California. This is about as normal as it gets, right? Maybe just a *little* too old for him to toss it off (heh) to teenaged experimentation, but it's not all *that* bad.

It's just. it's not.

The experimentation had pretty much been Jesse. And, okay, yeah, Willow, and Willow's pretty clearly the worst thing he's ever done.

Right? Right.

He's sorry. He's so damned sorry for all of that.

Right on back to the first time he'd ever decided not to see what was so clear on Willow's face.

And it's over, and he made what amends he could, and he took his punishment like a man, and Willow's happy and Cordy's. gone, and Oz doesn't look at him. the way he looked at him before.

Oz knows what he's got in Willow, and Oz knows he's *got* her, so that's. good.

(Breasts pressed against his arm and sweet-acid mouth and death so close and no, that's not the reason, it never was)

And this is his *summer*. The last one that's supposed to mean much of anything. He's got that road trip all planned. He's got a bag packed. Mostly packed.

Gathering dust on his bed back home.

He's going to see the country, figure out what to do with his life, get laid a few times by people who aren't actively psychotic and/or evil. the usual stuff.

Just. not quite yet.

Certainly not while he's standing in Giles' shower waiting for the water to get cold.

Grabs the soap half angrily and scrubs himself with it. He forgot to get a washcloth and he doesn't want to use Giles'.

Knows he'll just get it wet and suck on it. Try to taste something other than soap and water.

It's what he did the last time he was in here.

It's what he was doing when Giles came in to say dinner was ready. When Giles just. stood out in front of the curtain. Shadow of him making Xander's belly clench. Making his cock hard.

And then Giles had just tugged the curtain back. And he'd been wearing a robe and Xander had sucked and sucked on the cloth and Giles had said,

"Xander,"

in that soft, sad way of his.

And.

And.

Xander had reached out.

He knows, he *knows* that he'd just wanted to touch Giles' face, something. something innocent like that, but.

He couldn't.

Reached for his belt instead, for the bulge showing beneath it. That was what he knew from Giles. That was.

Safe.

Impossible not to get hard at the memory. Giles naked and stepping over the side of the tub, grabbing Xander's face in both hands and kissing him so *wildly*. Pushing him back against the far wall, tiles still cool back there. Feel of them had made Xander jump, made him push against Giles and even almost slipping and braining himself on all the damned porcelain had been hot.

Even that.

Wrapping his arms around Giles' waist and letting his head fall back and Giles had gone down on him right there.

Expert and so fucking *hot* and Xander's hands clench hard in memory of those faded blue eyes locked on his own.

Making him *see* it.

Sends the soap flying at the wall, at which point it (of course) rebounds and smacks him in the balls.

Xander wishes it was enough to calm him down, but *Jesus*.

Giles.

Who knew?

Turns off the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. He'd come very close to putting his clothes back on yesterday. Maybe the day before.

Stopped by the look in Giles' eyes, and the way it wasn't *that* look at all.

Like, maybe it could be. something.

And it's not like Xander *wants* that something, only maybe it would be. (safe) Nice.

And maybe he's just fooling himself about. all of it, really.

What he wants, what he's getting. Whatever is or is not in Giles' eyes. The things they may or may not be saying when it gets close, when Xander gets so close and Giles is just.

*Driving* into him.

Face to face.

So good to be face to face. So fucking scary when Giles buries his face in Xander's neck afterwards and whispers. Hot breath making him shiver.

Hot hands closed around his wrists.

Like Giles intends to keep him there no matter what.

Maybe easier that way.

Xander scrubs a hand through his hair. Looks around the apartment. Books scattered here and there. They haven't moved since he arrived, he doesn't think. Considers going through the bookshelves, maybe finding something to go along with that whole improve-his-mind theme he had going before. before.

Can't stop thinking about Giles' hands on the pages. (on his skin, in his hair, fingers inside him so strong and ruthless) Thinks maybe he can do. *something*. Straighten up a little.

He manages to wash the few dishes. Licks the rim of Giles' mug and pretends he can taste something other than porcelain and tea. Restless. Everything like an itch just beneath his skin, prickling and hot. Like at any minute he'll break out in some demonic rash and, you know, maybe have a *reason* for being basically naked in Giles' apartment.

Scratches his belly hard enough to raise welts.

No such luck.

And there's really nothing to do downstairs, so it's logical that he head up to the loft, right?

Right.

Smells like old sex and it should be pretty disgusting, considering. everything, but when Xander pulls the first pillowcase off he smells Giles. Pure and raw, straight to his cock.

Has to take the towel off.

Has to just be *naked* around that scent.

Rub his face against the cotton and, yeah, maybe the rest of him, too --

No.

Get something done. Not be Mr. ObsessedMuchPants.

Laughs to himself and does his best not to pay attention to the edge to it. No thinking, right. No rubbing himself off on the pillowcase, check.

Rips the sheets off as quickly as he can and shoves them in Giles' oddly girly wicker hamper. A little too much Martha Stewart for the G-Man. Maybe goes with that whole Big Gay Englishman thing.

Is he going to do the wicker thing when he grows up?

Wait, no, definitely a bad idea to put it that way. Because, hey, he *is* grown up. No kids here, no sir. Out all night and having the gay sex like a *pro*.

Yep, that's him. Xander the Adult. Mildly singed diploma and everything.

Xander the Adult who has no earthly idea where Giles might keep his clean linen.

Doesn't, really sincerely does *not* want to start opening drawers and cabinets to look for them, which is something he definitely should've considered before starting down this painful little road.

Desperately aware of his own nakedness as some sort of arcanely mathematic function of the naked mattress.

And Giles will probably be home soon, anyway, so it's not like he. Has to.

Doesn't *have* to do anything.

Starts with the big not-closet thing that's probably an armoire. All dark-stained wood and, yep, chock full of tweed.

Nothing remotely resembling bedsheets.

Shoes in neat little pairs, and Xander pauses to straighten out a loafer that somehow managed to be on an angle. Nothing doing *there*. No rebellious shoes on this ship, no sir.

Chest of drawers next, and God, all the clean Giles smell he could wish for. Or not wish for. Because this is not what his Giles smells like. Not anymore.

This is Buffy's Giles, and Willow's Giles, and the Giles that scowls at him and rubs his temples seemingly whenever Xander opens his *mouth*.

Heart in his throat and is he really this close to panic?

Slams the drawer shut and half-falls into a crouch.

Head in his hands and panting.

What is he *doing* here?

Just. throwing himself out there to be. Used.

Shudders once and hugs himself hard.

Is that. is that what this is?

What's *in* this for Giles?

Heh. So very much where he does not want to go. Here there be big fucking monsters that Xander is not equipped to deal with. So very much not the Slayer.

Shakes it off and yanks open drawer after drawer until he finds the one with the sheets. Picks a set at random and makes the bed as well as he can. Dad spent just enough time in the Army to learn how to be really fucking obsessive about how to make a bed, and Xander puts the knowledge to use.

Just about finished when the door opens downstairs, and Giles walks in clutching about five different bags of groceries. God. He probably hadn't had to shop like this in. ever.

Can't quite say anything. Even 'hello' sounds weird in his head.

Just staring down at him when Giles looks up and Xander realizes, *again*, that he's pretty much the nakedest guy alive, and also that he's plumping a damn pillow.

Feels himself blush hard and looks down.

"You didn't have to. I'll just." Giles trails off and Xander has to look up again just to figure out what Giles is talking about.

Meets his eyes and Giles gestures weakly toward the kitchen. "Oh. I. I can help?"

"No no, that's all right. Most of it doesn't need to put away. Ah. Right now." Smiles at Xander suddenly, this small, bright *flash* of happiness that just *hurts*.

Feels himself smiling automatically and knows he probably looks like a freak.

Naked, grinning freak, very much wishing that he'd been slower with making up the bed, because now he doesn't have anything to do but. wait.

Sits on the bed and wonders what kind of message that sends.

Almost gets right back up again, but really: Naked. Can't get any clearer than that without wearing a sign that says "available."

About ten years pass before he hears Giles on the stairs and Xander can't quite stop himself from crushing the absolutely unnecessary coverlet in his fists, over and over again.

Can't look up until Giles crouches in front of him, dapper-old-guy shirt undone at the collar. Hint of the greying hairs underneath and yeah, Xander's half-hard already.

Hand on his chin -- always the whole one first -- tilting his face up and Xander bites back a gasp. Giles is studying him openly, but not without. something. In his eyes. In the softness around his mouth.

Brushes his thumb over Xander's own mouth and Xander has to close his eyes again.

Lean forward into the touch and not think and not think because this is still. So good.

Warm in a way that has nothing to do with the weather.

"Oh, Xander."

And why the fuck does he always have to sound so *sad*? Xander jerks away and stands. Walks over to the railing and wonders if it's high enough to kill him if he just fucking goes over it head-first.

"Xander? Is something." Trails off again, but clears his throat. Very clearly trying again even if Xander has his back to him.

Raw *feeling* in his belly that he can't decide is pain or not.

"Is something the matter?"

Chokes out a laugh before he can control himself. Yeah, G-man, Giles-man, loverboy. Something is very *definitely* the matter. And I'll let you know just as soon as I figure out whether or not it's just me. "No. I." Turns to find Giles still crouched by the bed. "No. I just. I'm just a little wigged."

Rueful smile on that face like Giles understands exactly what Xander isn't saying, only.

He doesn't. At all.

And he won't.

And Xander. really likes that face. *That* one that's all soft around the edges and full of some kind of light that really does belong to him and *only* him.

No matter what he isn't saying.

So maybe.

Maybe it would be okay if he just lets himself walk right back to the bed with the perfect hospital corners.

Reach out.

And when he pulls Giles down on top of him, when he takes the kisses he's been waiting for since he woke up alone, Xander decides it *is* okay.

The bag on his bed, back home, is still packed.

Just waiting for Giles to leave him alone again.

End.