The Inglorious Fate Of The Last Pair Of High School Jeans

 

 

 

There's something more intense, more edgy, more hungry about sex after being blown wide open, even if it doesn't blow you apart, and me and Wes are gonna ride that high into the fucking sunset.

But that doesn't mean there's nothing
else we're gonna do for fun.

And honestly? I'm still getting a few jollies by yanking Wes's chain, but come on, if he's gonna make it in this wacky world, he's gotta learn to bend sooner rather than later, right?

Right now, I've got him trailing after me by the hand like a little red wagon. Okay, like a little red wagon with C-3PO in it. He's so cute when he's worried about not being proper enough.

"Don't you think we should go home and change first?"

"Nah. Why would I want to do that?" Yeah, yeah. Guilty of taking the piss. Like that Britishism? Spike taught it to me.

"Xander!" Aww. He's digging in his heels. Sweetheart, you're adorable when you're getting huffy cause I know you still love me, and I can see you trying not to laugh, too. Makes me think he's gonna stomp his foot pretty soon. "This is hardly proper attire for a bank!"

"There's proper attire for banks?" Got me there. But then, I grew up in Southern California. It's pretty much bikinis and cutoffs central. There's sand on the carpet for miles inland sometimes in the summer.

"Yes," and damned if he doesn't sound sure of himself with that.

"What is it? Suits and ties? Come on, baby. This is California."

Oh, oh, that's getting me the Skeptical Englishman's Arched Eyebrow look. "That's as may be, but I do not believe that this is appropriate for any financial institution." And he is
fast. I can't even catch his hand before he's got two fingers hooked into the hole in the back of my cutoffs and tugged, and Jesus, but it's drafty all of a sudden.

Because old High School denim? Not so sturdy when you pull on the rips.

"Oh. I. Good lord, Xander, I didn't intend to-"

"Have me moon the boardwalk?" Because it's a near thing back there as far as I can tell. It's okay. I'm cool. Got a decent ass, and again: California? They've seen it.

"Well you'll certainly have to agree it's not appropriate for you to wear into a bank now."

"Maybe. But if we don't hit the ATM at least and pick up some cash, we're gonna miss out on those tickets."

That gets a laugh out of him. "Xander! You don't have to be so fixated. It's only Shakespeare in the Park, love."

Oh yeah, love. Every time he calls me that, pieces of me melt. Okay, and pieces of me get pretty hard too, but you already guessed that. "And we've got a chance to go.
If we catch the guy who's gonna need to sell off his tickets in a hurry when his boss calls. Otherwise, we're in the nosebleed seats on the hill."

"May I point out that we're hardly dressed for a performance either?"

I love this man, but it's gonna take him a while to completely get what living in Southern California means. That England's a long way off, Dorothy. And we've got a couple of minutes for me to drag him over to the Hawaiian Ice stand and slip my arms around his waist. The metal of the stand's cold against my butt, but my bad for wearing the ripped cutoffs to the beach, right? "Sweetheart. It may be Shakespeare, but it's in the park. The park off the boardwalk. That park. The boardwalk where there are people wearing thongs who really should not be seen in public wearing thongs. Those people are going to go see Shakespeare in the park too, and probably get sunburns that are best never contemplated. Now c'mon. We've got a show to catch."




Xander upended the popcorn box against his mouth, tapping the last few sad kernels into his mouth before dumping it in the trash bin. "So how did you like it?"

"It was quite good," Wesley said somewhat hesitantly. "My complements to the director."

"But?"

"Oh, no but."

Xander raised his eyebrows. "Except the guy two rows in front of us?"

"Unfortunately. And more fortunately, perhaps this one," Wesley said, slipping his hand down into the indecent rent in the back of Xander's cut-offs, chuckling when he yipped. "Though it was rather distracting."

"Okay. First? This is in no way a request for you to stop grabbing my ass. But second? Jesus, Wes! Use the hand that hasn't been holding an icy drink for an hour!"

Wesley chuckled, dropping the last of the ice and cup into the trash barrel after the popcorn container. "It completely slipped my mind."

"Yeah, right." Xander snorted, catching Wesley by the back of the neck to share a popcorn and soda flavored kiss.

"Hm." Wesley's eyes remained closed as Xander pulled back from him, lower lip still tingling with the use of teeth. "I never associated those flavors with Shakespeare before."

"Think you can get used to it?"

"I think I'd like to try." Wesley glanced down at his hand, fingertips still disappearing under frayed denim. He watched tracing the curve of Xander's right buttock and marveled silently at the public audacity. And more at the fact that no one appeared to notice. Or care.

Except possibly for Xander, who was beginning to get that heavy-lidded look and rub against Wesley. "Okay. Either we distract me before I make another hole in these shorts that
will get us arrested for public indecency, or we find some place really private, really fast."

"Is there any place?" Wesley heard the faint note of wistfulness in his voice, and dropped his head to Xander's shoulder, laughing. "God. Listen to me. I sound as if I'm sixteen and perpetually horny."

"I'm just irresistible." Xander slid his arms around Wesley's waist, rubbing against him one last time before taking a deep breath and letting go, staring up into the sky to will himself calm. "All right. Distraction. Distraction." His head dropped, and he glanced to the stage, face lighting in a sudden grin. "C'mon. I've got it."

"Where are we going?" Wesley asked, though he didn't dig in his heels, simply laughing as he trailed after Xander once more through the dwindling crowd.

"You wanted to give your complements to the director, right?"

"Xander, it was a figure of speech. And besides, you can't just march backstage, and-"

"I can," Xander said, his grin growing as he jogged the last few paces and waved. "Hey! Will!"

A young man with gently curling hair the color of honey and silver-rimmed glasses turned, his face creasing in a smile of absolute delight, and he trotted over to them, catching Xander in a one armed embrace. "Xander! For god's sake man! I realize you're enjoying the benefits of a new relationship, but do at least leave your machine plugged in! Lindsey's been trying to reach you for-" Belatedly, he realized that Wesley was staring at him, and blinked, a comically large gesture. "Oh. Hello."

One that Wesley recognized from . . . Spike?

Xander chuckled, slinging one arm around the newcomer's shoulders, and the other around Wesley's waist. "Wes, this is William. Spike's big brother."

William snorted. "Please. Thirty minutes hardly qualifies me as a big brother. Simply because he was too stubborn to face the world, I've been doomed to a lifetime of 'Over the Hill' and 'you must be getting old when. . ." birthday cards from him. It's a pleasure to meet you, Wesley. I must say you ripple less in person than you do in Spike's stories."

"Ripple?" Wesley repeated slowly.

"In the muscles." William flexed unimpressively. "To listen to Spike, you're a living Tom of Finland man."

Xander groaned. "You've known him your whole life and you still believe his stories?"

William grinned then, a cheeky thing, and in that moment, Wesley could utterly believe the two of them were identical under Spike's bleach and William's glasses. "Only when it makes a charming man like this blush so prettily. Were you here for the show?"

"Oh yeah. Wes? William's also the director."

"I am," William admitted, gesturing to the crew now putting away the few props for transportation and storage. "Did you like the show?"

"It was wonderful, a rather novel experience, I'll admit, watching Shakespeare surrounded by people in beach clothing. May I ask you one question?"

It was William's turn to blush, but he waved Wesley on. "Please."

"Why did you decide to set Twelfth Night in Australia?"

"Well, I," William hesitated, "thought it might give it a more summery feeling. Because, you know, in Australia, it is in the summer. Twelfth Night is, that is."

"And the surf boards?"

William blushed. "The surf boards were most likely a bit of a mistake."

"But the skateboards were a good choice." Xander gave William's shoulder a squeeze. "Are you off now?"

"What? Oh, yes."

"Great. Then come on. I'll buy you a drink to celebrate innovative interpretations of Shakespeare, and you two can come be British at each other for a while."

"While you drink our beers without either of us noticing since we're so engrossed in being British?"

Xander flashed Wesley his biggest, brightest smile, then turned it on William. "See? I told you he was smart."




Sun went down.

William went home to Lindsey.

Wes and I get home and he's already laughing at the funny shape of the sunburn on my ass. He says it looks like the playboy bunny. I say it looks more like Idaho. We both agree it can probably use some aloe vera gel.

And that's what he's
supposed to be doing down there on his knees, but oh Jesus his tongue? Feels fucking fantastic on it. The mark can look like whatever the hell he wants it to if he keeps doing that.




Xander's groan echoed softly in the bathroom, and Wesley chuckled, blowing a stream of air over the border between pale and pink. "You like that, do you?"

"What was your first clue?" Xander swayed backwards, legs splaying on the thick weave of the bathroom rug.

Instead of answering, though, Wesley traced his fingers slowly over the edges of the sunburn. "Are you very attached to these shorts?"

"Well, they're kinda painted on, but other than that-"

"Do you need to wear them again?" Wesley's voice dipped, taking on a rougher edge, and he spoke close enough to Xander's skin that he could feel the dissipating heat in every breath.

"Need?"

Wesley's tongue painted a slow wet stripe over the sun burn. "Need," he repeated, sliding his hands up along Xander's thighs to grip his hips, thumbs sweeping slow arcs at the crease where buttock met thigh, making Xander shudder. "You've been taunting me with these all day, since the moment you got dressed this morning."

"You- uhh
fuck!" Xander dropped his head, gripping the counter more tightly as Wesley's thumbs refused to move further, refused to dip more than their tips beyond the edges of his cut-offs. "You don't like them?"

Wesley went utterly still, drawing an impatient hiss from Xander. "Yes or no, Xander. Do you need them?"

"Which answer will get you to fuck me?"

"No."

"Then
no, goddammit! I don't need the fucking shorts."

"Good," Wesley said, hooking his fingers into the frayed edges and ripping sharply, the rending of fabric loud in the enclosed space, baring Xander's ass to warm palms and white teeth that bit firmly into the sensitized burn, making Xander lurch forward into the counter. "Because I'm done waiting."

"Jesus!" Xander fumbled over the vanity as two thumbs, slick with the gel intended for his burn breached him, spread him, and left him shuddering against the counter in the tatters of his last pair of high school jeans.

Wesley blew a soft, cold stream of air into the exposed flesh within, chuckling. "Only Jesus?" He asked, standing behind Xander to whisper into his ear, thumbs teasing the stretch.

"God!" Xander gasped out as Wesley thrust in hard with just enough gel to keep the pain the good kind, driving the last of the breath from Xander's lungs, and leaving him with stars and spots dancing before his eye.

Wesley leaned forward, his grip tight on Xander's hips, holding his trembling body upright when Xander's knees weakened. When he spoke again, it was in a voice more like whiskey and leather than tea and books. "Now 'God' is more like it."




You know, we never did decide who was right last night, whether the sunburn looked like Idaho or the Playboy bunny.

And this morning? Let's just say that since it started with Wesley's lips around my dick about three hours ago, and that this is the first time either of us has been out of bed since last night, the subject hasn't been high priority in my mind.

"Xander? What do you want for breakfast?" Yeah, Wes is in the kitchen while I lay here like an expensive whore, 'cause it's just good relationship manners to fix a guy breakfast in bed when you've fucked him boneless the night before. Right?

I've earned it.

"What've we got?" Because hey, it's always worth a shot to ask. Maybe the food fairy's paid a visit.

"We have waffles." Wait for it. "Or waffles. Really, Xander, we do need to go grocery shopping some time soon."

Lazy golden days, waffles for breakfast, naked Wesley serving them to me in bed cause I ache in places that make me glad I'm a Twenty First century boy. . . .

A guy could get used to this.

 

 

 

 

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