truly_tazi (truly_tazi) wrote in ats_btvs_fanfic, @ 2007-08-10 14:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | author: truly_tazi, xander/? |
Fic: Touch Felt, Touch Imagined (Xander/?, NC17)
Title: Touch Felt, Touch Imagined
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: MaleSlash
Pairing: Xander/?
Rating: NC-17
Summary: PWP written for the Batpack Hands On Challenge - 2004
Warnings: Angst, Sexual Content, MaleSlash
Beta'd by Spikedluv
Disclaimer: Characters of Btvs belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
A/N: Takes place post Chosen — Btvs. Vague reference to Ats S5x11 — Damage, but no real spoilers.
Tired, road weary, Xander haphazardly tossed his keys in the direction of the coffee table and his jacket in the direction of a nearby chair while toeing off his shoes and kicking them unceremoniously off to the side somewhere.
Trudging slowly forward, moving on sheer will alone, Xander, not for the first time, felt like a man twice his age. He quickly slammed shut the inner door in his mind that, once opened, would result in hours of self-pity, bitterness, and anger, all of which he could handle. Really. No, it was the other one. The loneliness. That’s the one that threatened to drag him under, consume him. It was also the one that lead to guilt. Because he had no right to feel lonely. Not when he wasn’t alone. Not really. Just because he wasn’t with a certain someone. A certain someone who died when...
Xander shook his head, trying to derail that whole train of thought. He just didn’t want to travel down that track right now. He focused on his goal and pushed his body forward. He entered the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the lights, and headed straight for the refrigerator. He opened the door and stood there bathed in artificial light contemplating his options - iced tea, cola, or beer. Hmm, hard decision. Yeah, right.
Snagging a long neck he quickly twisted off the top, tilted his head back, and swallowed a third of the bottle before coming up for air. Sighing happily, he leaned on the refrigerator door and lifted the bottle to his forehead, holding it there, enjoying the feel of the cold glass against his skin.
He was so intent on decompressing and not thinking, he never noticed the other presence enter the room until it leaned in behind him, encircled his waist, and nuzzled the back of his neck. He closed his eye, rested his head back on the other man’s shoulder, and relaxed into the embrace.
Turning his head he inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of leather and cigarette smoke. The combination caused a not so inexplicable sense of contentment to filter through him. After all, these were the smells of ‘home’, ‘safe’, and ‘still alive’.
“Missed y--”
“Shhh,” Xander interrupted, silencing him. “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think. I just...” He swallowed hard, fighting to loosen the muscles that were tightening and threatening to close his throat. “I just want to feel. Please. Just feel,” he entreated the other man, hoping he’d hear the desperation in his voice and give him what he needed.
There was a momentary pause where Xander held his breath as he yet again wondered if he were asking too much of his companion. Xander knew he was using the other man — filling a void that had consumed his heart, his soul, since the closing of the hellmouth and the destruction of Sunnydale.
He breathed a mental sigh of relief when he felt the arms around his waist shift, the hands moving to the button of his jeans, and prayed to whatever deity was listening, and witnessing this travesty that he was not damning himself or the other man.
He bit his bottom lip to keep from moaning with need as cool fingers made their way inside his zipper, sliding over his cock. As the hand in his pants wrapped itself around his swelling shaft and began to stroke him, he allowed his mind to drift off, to another time, another place, another lover. Images of stolen moments, hungry kisses, desperate groping, and frenzied coupling flooded his mind, feeding the fire being stoked in his groin.
He grunted and began to thrust his hips, hissing in pleasure as the grip on his cock tightened, and started to move faster, picking up the rhythm he was dictating. With his free hand he tugged his jeans down off his waist and spread his legs as far apart as possible. He mewled with pleasure as he felt another hand caress his ass, fingers slipping into his crack and grazing his fuck hole. Panting now, he thrust back with need, and keened as he felt himself breached.
He wrapped his larger hand over the smaller one and began to help jack himself as the fire in his groin grew and he became desperate for release. Xander thrust his hips at an almost inhuman speed, fucking himself onto the finger in his ass and into the hands on his cock.
He could feel the pressure building, his cock and balls throbbing, and he teetered on the brink of orgasm, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. “Please,” he whimpered. “Please, baby. Please... I need... Please...”
And then Xander felt it. Blunt teeth on the sensitive skin below his ear seconds before the world exploded in a haze of pain and pleasure so exquisite he thought he had died and gone to Heaven.
He howled and came hard, his body arching and twitching as it was wracked with spasm after spasm, the only thing holding him up was the arm that was once again wrapped securely around his waist.
As the shockwaves ebbed, Xander rested limply against the body behind him, panting to catch his breath. They stayed there for a few long minutes basking in their closeness, trying to hold on to this moment in time.
But like all the times before, the reality of what he had done — to himself and to his friend — hit him in the gut like a sledgehammer, shattering the false picture he had painted for himself. How could he keep doing this? How could he keep using the other man like this? Right on cue he felt the self-loathing start to kick in.
“Don’t.” He heard the whispered command and felt the arms tighten protectively around his waist.
“But...,” he started to ask but was cut off.
“Was it good? It was good, right? I did better this time?”
Xander heard the longing in the other man’s voice and something inside him ached. Knowing he could never give what the other man wanted from him. Knowing the other man could never be who he wanted, who he so desperately needed him to be. He knew it was wrong. Knew he should never have allowed it to start. Knew that he should end it now, before it was too late. Before there was nothing left of the two of them to save. But Xander also knew that he was weak. Too weak to do what was right. Not when this was all that he had left.
Xander swallowed the lump of guilt in his throat like a bitter pill, one he was all to aware he deserved, and turned to face the other man. He forced a smile onto his face, hoping it didn’t look as phoney as it felt, and reached out to caress a pale cheek. “Yeah, baby, it was good. It was real good. Thank you.”
He pulled his hand back, set the all but forgotten beer on the counter — amazed he hadn’t dropped it onto the floor during any of this — and pulled his jeans back up into place, fastening them. He looked up and caught the other man’s intense gaze. He saw the well of emotion churning there and tried not to let it touch him. “So, um, I didn’t know you were back. How was your trip? Did you get what you went for?” He stopped himself there, years of experience having taught him he was on the verge of a full out babble if he didn’t.
Xander started to feel anxious when the other man didn’t answer him right away, but continued to stare at him, studying him. Just when he thought he couldn’t take the scrutiny anymore the silence was broken.
“Xander? You know... You know that I love you, don’t you?”
And there it was. That which they never spoke of. The thing Xander couldn’t allow himself to think of without being gripped so tight with guilt he thought he would suffocate.
“Andrew...,” he started but was cut off by two fingers being placed over his lips.
“No. I know. I do.”
And when Xander looked in the other man’s eyes he saw the truth. He did know. Had always known. And if Xander were being honest with himself he would have to admit that he knew too. He didn’t know what to say. What to do. His gaze shot all over the kitchen, looking everywhere but into the face of the man standing in front of him. This was it. He could feel it. This was the end. He was going to be alone now. Really alone. And he wouldn’t even have this farce of a relationship to help him forget just how alone he felt inside.
“Xander, look at me.”
But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He was a coward and he didn’t want to see it coming.
“Xander! Look. At. Me.”
The tone of the voice, so uncharacteristic of the always timid man in front of him, snapped his attention forward, and he was trapped, caught in those eyes. Those eyes that held nothing but love and understanding and... something else. Something he couldn’t recognize. He held his breath and waited.
Andrew reached up and gently stroked his stubbled cheek, calming, soothing him. “It’s going to be okay.” Again the intense scrutiny as he stared into Xander’s eye, searching. A slight nod as if he’d found what he was looking for, or came to some internal agreement with himself, and then Andrew took his hand and started to back into the living room. “Come. It’s going to be okay. It is. Come sit on the couch with me. I need to tell you about my trip to LA.”
The End