*****

Xander started at Giles' neck and moved downward -- sinuous and oddly serious. Giles could feel him hesitate slightly at the top of the long knife scar that started two inches southeast of his left nipple, waited to see which way the other man would detour.

Predictably unpredictably, Xander planted his wet, swollen lips against the slightly curving tip of the raised flesh and dragged his way down. Giles arched up into the touch and felt the sheet slip a little further down his naked body. A ragged line of gooseflesh formed along Xander's path and Giles shifted.

"Stay still."

Muffled by the flesh of his abdomen, accompanied by a brief, sucking kiss. Giles was struck with the urge to ask Xander what precisely he was doing. It was one of those annoying questions that *did* have potentially non-stupid answers, but not many. He knew what Xander was doing, after all.

But then, it had only been a week since the first time, and this in itself was another first -- Xander, in his home, naked in his bed. Giles could still smell their sweat from the last time. It was a raw, shameless sound that a small (but loud) part of his mind insisted had no part in this new relationship.

There was so much they hadn't said, and Giles had never quite lost the sense that they *needed* to be said.

He knew that (moral?) stubborness had more to do with the lateness with which he acquired the sense, but that fact changed nothing.

Giles *wanted* to know what Xander was doing, *really* doing, here and now with his mouth finding every spot, every blemish, every sign Giles had collected in his lifetime. Was he supposed to offer the stories behind them?

Was he supposed to push Xander away, magnanimously offer the less... difficult areas of his flesh?

Was he supposed to push Xander away, period.

He couldn't even frame the thought as a proper question in his mind, and that was no surprise. Every smile from Xander brought the memory of a dozen, scores of others. Every touch raised the hairs on his body at the thought of those to come later, or perhaps even right then.

'Xander, don't leave,' he wanted to say, but this was neither the time nor the place, was it?

His hands found the other man's head without conscious thought, already shaping themselves to the unique curvature of it while his palms were still tickled by nothing but the tips of thick, damp hair. Xander moaned against Giles' belly, pressed his face into Giles like an animal seeking comfort.

He could feel the tiny prickles of Xander's coming beard and pushed him a little harder against him for a moment before easing the pressure, allowing Xander the room to continue his... exploration.

Exploration? Giles felt a rush of warmth at the thought of Xander committing his body to memory but then paused. Memory for what? The days without him?

Giles clamped down on the ideas as ruthlessly as possible, but could not keep Xander from feeling him stiffen.

There was a pause, then a rustle from beneath the thin top sheet, and then Xander slid himself out and upright, kneeling up just beside Giles and watching him curiously. A trick of the light left the top half of the other man silhouetted against the early evening sunlight, muted ineffectually by his thin beige curtains. The effect was a shameless glowing blur of sunlight against his lover.

Xander brushed some hair out of his eyes and Giles stole the moment for his own, watching this be gilded while that was bronzed and --

"What is it, Giles?"

"Hmmm...?" The question had caught him mid-way through a light caress over the other man's cheekbone. Xander caught his hand and held it to his mouth. Paused there.

Seemed terribly indecisive as to what he might have wanted to do next.

"Xander?"

"A minute, Giles. I was just thinking --"

And there was the minute pause Xander left for anyone with an original wisecrack for the space.

"I was thinking that you want to talk about something, and I'm also thinking that I'd like to make some... I don't know. I'd like to kiss you but I'm not sure how I should do it...."

A not-altogether stupid question for his very own. With his cock hard and getting harder, with the scent of them its own sharp tenor of the air, with the way Xander seemed helpless not to co-opt and then mangle Giles' methods of speech... Well, with all that Giles had to admit to himself that he was quite tempted to respond to Xander with as stupid an answer as he could come up with.

Instead, Giles leaned up, too. Settled himself into a more comfortable and permanent position, and then leaned in close, gratified by the way Xander moved to mirror his position.

"I'm not sure how you should kiss me, Xander, but..."

And then Giles did his best to throw every doubt in his kiss, less an attempt to communicate consciousness to concsiousness through touch than a simple, desperate attempt to make it possible, just slightly possible for Giles to never have to say any of these things out loud and oh.... Xander's mouth felt so good against... well, everything but to kiss like this...

Deep within each other's mouths, tasting and stabbing here and there, an attempt to forge something memorable and coherent about the pattern of lips to lips to teeth to sweet sharp tongue painting him in shades he couldn't quite see.

A good kiss.

A good kiss and a *true* kiss.

And suddenly Giles had even less idea about what was going on than he had before. Xander's eyes spoke of hope, though, and perhaps that could be enough for now.

Another few kisses, footnotes to whatever had been said and Giles was looking into a smile that was still much too uneasy. He sighed and felt Xander grip him lightly by the wrists.

He had been working on his darker impulses since the band candy incident -- Giles did not so much as flinch at the touch, much less twist Xander's arms behind his back and beat the boy into submission and *Christ* but the memories, the old, rabid self seemed to linger so much closer to the surface now.

Hellmouth as indifferent leech perhaps -- teasing the nastiest humors out to haunt the flesh behind his skin only to leave them there, close and dangerous.

So much thought, time wasted when all he'd wanted to do was stop himself from causing his lover pain. Too much.

"Xander, I... need to talk."

Brief squeeze on his wrists and then Xander was moving carefully back. "You don't, you know. I can --"

"No, *no*. Not talk about that. That is, I don't want to talk about that because I... I haven't... I don't want --"

Short laugh from Xander and then they were rightly close again. Knee to knee, sitting on their ankles, hands linking up as the atmosphere hovered on the edge of gaining an extra bit of charge and play.

'Yes, touch me,' was the thought that came to Giles, but there was so much *preying* at him...

"What *do* you want, Supertweed?" A curious blend of purr and snicker landing breathily on his right ear, followed hard and fast by the desire to crush Xander much too close. Giles did it anyway, and was squeezed and rubbed and kneaded back in return.

And when Xander's hands crept down to his ass and roamed Giles gave up on his thoughts and rolled them both to the bed, spooned lightly together, moving, moving.

Giles couldn't seem to unlink his hands from Xander's and wasn't entirely sure why he wanted to. He stopped trying and leaned in. Nuzzled the other man's face, licking and kissing, murmuring nothing at all.

He pressed himself harder, beginning to feel himself scrape up red from the stubble. A part of him was positive he'd need to speak to someone in an official capacity tonight, scraped and raw as he was. Perhaps still smelling of this young, young man...

Giles' hands found their way to Xander's cock, hard for him, not quite drooling at the tip. Xander arched into the touch and the crown of his head pressed and rubbed against Giles' collarbone.

"Don't... too fast --" Listening to Xander's voice break and roughen out of pleasure... the sound was similar to any number of unpleasant things but with the man himself nude and solid against him... Giles couldn't stop himself from indulging in the sound, reveling, trying a million tricks he'd learned or taught himself over the years alone just to find anything and everything that made Xander lose control.

"We can go again later, Xander."

Xander wound one hand with Giles' own but didn't try to speed or alter his stroke, just going along with the ride. "I'm not going to be able to move after much more of this --"

"Good," and Giles had spoken even before his mind had registered the slight tinge of warning in Xander's voice. Dizzying moment of doubt -- had he sounded convinced enough? And then Giles pushed closer, molding himself to Xander's form, not-quite-accidentally slipping his cock between Xander's cheeks.

The contact made him gasp, and not just because it was another first. But then Xander pushed up and back and Giles was being *slid*, nestled and held and chafed...

Giles tried to get closer still, tried to pull Xander closer despite several outstanding laws of physics, thrust in time with his pulls on Xander's cock, continuing to move the rest of himself in an attempt to achieve maximum contact, to repeat indefinitely the brush of shoulderblade against nipple, to bury his face in Xander's hair and breathe.

Breathe and listen to the steady moans, unlovely grunts as Xander worked himself in Giles' arms helplessly, if not shamelessly. Thrust in and rub, hint to himself carefully about the feel of that small, hot pucker of flesh against his cock. Feverish, he definitely felt feverish, but heat in heat, like this... there was nothing wrong with losing oneself in heat like this, in the cries and shifts and rhythms of so *many* encounters...

Though not nearly enough with this one, this man he'd first known as a boy and he was still unsure how much truth he'd *really* had about Xander... After all, it had taken so long to know his desire... Though it was possible his ignorance had merely been his mind's efforts to protect him from new hurts, that he simply was not allowed to know how good this would feel until some numinous hint in Xander's posture had been revealed.

"... please harder --"

And what words had he missed? What requests? God, it *hurt* to think he might have been ignoring Xander (again), even in this small way --

Giles tightened his grip and shifted and nosed in until his mouth was pressed against the touchingly flushed shell of Xander's ear. And then he felt himself being distracted again by the other man's breathing, by his grip on Giles' forearm and shook himself out of it, began to strip Xander's cock faster and harder.

"Like this?" And his own breathing was broken in sound, snapped out of rhythm by his own hips, perhaps, as they slid and rocked against the pale rounds (his body should always be nude in the sun) of Xander's ass. "Tell me, Xander... tell me if it's good --"

And Giles was cut off by the sudden and near- spastic jerk in his arms and the spill of hot semen across of his fingers, sliding over his knuckles. Xander shouting. Giles wished

suddenly, briefly, that he had no walls at all, that everyone could hear that sound and know... He bit down against the urge and images, but found his teeth latched into nothing more strange than the heated-salt flesh of Xander's shoulder.

"Oh... oh God..."

Another powerful twitch in his hands, and then Xander was slowly subsiding. Against him, around him... Soft and pliant flesh and Giles was still so hard.

Long minutes spent just that way and then Xander spoke.

"When are you going to fuck me, Giles?"

And Giles bit down again, knowing full well that his mark would bruise spectactularly now but unable to stop himself. The throb in his flesh was just too much --

He wrapped his arms around the other man and squeezed tightly, tried to use his body to tell him to *hold still*, since his mouth was still well and truly attached even though he *had* softened his tooth-grip.

"You want to... I can feel it."

"Wanted to wait." And the raw sound of his voice was a surprise, and he waited for Xander to ask "for what," or perhaps just mention something appropriately smart-assed about not being sure Giles' body agreed with his mind about the nature of his desires but all Xander said was:

"Don't."

And while his mind was still trying to decide what, precisely, to question about Xander's answer his body was in motion, collecting lube, condoms. Still in the bag from the drugstore, a trip made just a day before and Giles remembered berating himself for optimism that bordered on the obscene. Had Xander done this? Did he really want to? Is this am I rushing?

It was oddly comforting to have the questions there again. So much himself, that, even if his body had already pushed Xander over onto his belly and straddled his legs. Squeezed the lube over Xander's ass and the sudden dissociation of mind from body was just as suddenly lost as everything Giles was focused helplessly on the sight of slick curving and flowing here and here...

Hands to Xander's flesh then, less a prelude to preparation than a simple wallow in it. Where had he been just now? *Were* there questions that needed asking? Of course there were, but were they needed right then, right when his hands roved right up the lean expanse of golden back to catch at tangle in the handful of necklaces settled at Xander's nape?

Sudden urge to yank on them until Xander was upright, squatting on Giles' cock, moving, moaning. Giles dug his fingers firmly into the tensed muscles of Xander's shoulders instead, rubbed and massaged.

"You're too good at this..."

'Tricks of a lifetime,' he thinks to himself, but can't bring himself to be more vocal. It would be a shame to... drown out these wet sounds of flesh to flesh, Xander's moans and oh, he knows he keeps coming back to that but there really is no reason to stop, is there?

His hands slowly lose all pretense of comfort as they slide and knead their way back down to the other man's ass, Xander moves into the touch, pushing back against Giles. The more pressure he applies, the more he's met with and a part of him drifts off in contemplation of all the ways his theory should be tested, honed, and he's still moving lower, though.

Slipping between, seeking and finding what he wants. So much hotter than the rest of Xander, in mildly dirty motion. Did Xander ache for him? Giles poured more slick -- still warm from his night table drawer. He did his best to make a mental note to remember to leave the air conditioning off in this room as much as possible.

And then he was inside, one finger inside and seemingly out of the Hellmouth and Xander said "ohhh," and Giles had a moment to realize just how fragile the foundation of his sanity and control was.

Just before it disintegrated entirely.

Giles worked his hand with a blunt sort of professionalism, sacrificing the niceties of technique for speed. Dimly grateful that Xander was so ready for him but mostly just

*needing*. More of everything.

He slid in a second finger, thrusted firmly, pushed back the sounds Xander was making for as long as he could before finally giving up and twisting, crooking his fingers into a vicious little pleasure-hook (Ethan) that always, always worked. No exception here -- Xander twisted like a man hit with the torn end of a live wire once, shouted again.

Giles moved his other hand between Xander's spread thighs and felt nothing but hot and tightening flesh. Wondered fleetingly how long it had been since he'd been that young, stopped caring as Xander abruptly found *the* rhythm, and Giles was lost again. Later he wouldn't be sure if he'd ever *stopped* being lost, but at the moment all he could do was manhandle Xander into position, slick his cock and nudge-nudge-*push* in.

Fall over from the gloved-tight *feel* of it, drape himself over Xander until the other man was pushed flat to the mattress. Giles felt himself shift inside and moaned with Xander. Shifted again, more purposefully, and Xander shifted with him.

And that was all it took before Giles was moving, not-very-slow-at-all and hard, bracing himself for better leverage, breathing hard against the back of Xander's neck and praying for the other man's pleasure because he couldn't stop, couldn't even slow now. (Waited too long, don't hurt him don't)

Giles gripped the sheets tightly and worked, watching sweat fall from his forehead, from his chest. Salting the other man's back. He shifted position slightly and heard Xander almost wail. Ruthlessly maintained that angle for as long as he could before his own rhythm shattered into hard, ragged thrusts that just went on and on and --

Wash of darkness, a dark black wave of sky, spattered with stars, overwhelming and Giles felt *small* within the force of his own orgasm. Helpless and loud.

And then he was rolling, sliding over to Xander's side, disengaging with an even less- reputable wet sound.

Another pause, shorter this time. Giles couldn't *not* hear the low sound Xander's every breath caught on. Watched a long shudder rack the other man's form.

"Xander, what...?" Trailed off, feeling slow, clumsy.

"Want... oh God, Giles that was... please..."

Giles paused, tried to make sense of the other man's words, settled for turning Xander over. Found him hard.

The long, curvingly graceful arch of him flushed dark and weeping, asking for Giles' hand but demanding his mouth. No thought required, then, and he dove down and slipped the salt-slick head between his lips and sucked. Unsusbtle as everything else he'd done, so good against his tongue.

Xander speaking again, Giles being not quite able to hear again, but the *taste*... He slipped lower, gripped the base of Xander's cock in his greedy fist and pumped.

Felt Xander's fingers settle and flutter, settle and flutter away from his temples, his hair, his shoulders, his cheeks --

"Feel you sucking me... Christ, Giles don't stop please..."

And he didn't.

*

Giles knew he had recovered the moment he realized just what a foul state his sheets had descended to.

But he didn't try to move.

End.