Xander/Wesley for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
maleslashminis
Oct. 21st, 2006 07:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lostakashaTitle: Precipitation
Author: Lostakasha
Pairing: Xander/Wesley
Rating: R
Word Count: 771
Disclaimer: Not for fun or profit
Summary: Post-Chosen, between AtS Seasons 4 and 5. Xander finds an answer in Wesley.
For the Xander round ofmaleslashminis.
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
txrabbit wanted W/X, Rain, Contentedness, Happy Ending, no character death.
I did my best with the prompt. Hope it works for you.
Precipitation
There's an odd relief to the commonality they share. While neither are so naive as to believe that having lived in Sunnydale serves as any true link, Xander and Wesley have tasted damnation and that's suitable common ground.
As light filters through the rain-streaked windows Xander wonders idly if he will ever find a connection to another being that doesn't involve otherworldly things; a connection where the only otherworldly thing is the release of orgasm and the agreement of two human souls who have known nothing other than their humanity.
It would be a blessing, but Xander knows he will never, ever be thusly blessed. That benign grace fled him the night Jesse was turned and has fled him a thousand times since on clouds of vampire dust and spurts of fluorescent demonic excretions. The grace that might have been his exists now only for vampires and slayers. He lives now in the secular space between.
Wesley sighs in the clutch of sleep, and Xander instinctively rolls closer, slips his arm beneath his shoulder and pulls him tight. This is the first morning they will awake in the same bed after sex, but Xander doubts they will think of each other as lovers. Comrades, certainly. Compadres, now. He'd seen it in Wesley's eyes before they reached for one another, seen it as they darkened to indigo at the mention of Angel's name, and he knew -- understood the need and desire and heartbreak compelling them to reach and touch was driven in no small part by his influence on their lives.
Xander leans close, angling himself deeper in, and watches Wesley's eyes narrow to slits as he draws a gut-deep breath. Leaning closer, he licks a wide trail up the side of Wesley's neck, savoring every inch of that pebbled skin salt lick, tasting him as if to search for familiarity in his sweat, and his tongue grazes a ridge of raised flesh.
Scarring is so easy to recognize, he thinks, don't need two eyes to see for that. He traces the reddened crescent along the width of Wesley's throat and imagines red-eyed, ravenous monsters, narrow escapes, wounds bandaged, terror eased with comfort and care. He kisses the hard line with soft lips, then pulls it hard as Wes curves up beneath him and tightens his body's grip on his cock. Wesley opens his eyes and rocks with ferocity that steals Xander's breath from his lungs, forcing him to thrust deeper and that distraction suits him just fine. Xander sees stars and loses his touch on the meridian that marks Wesley's descent into hell.
For Xander, Angel is only half of his lost heart's equation.
Too many long years seeking something to worship and defile in the archetype that is vampire/slayer and he can't get away from it now. The fuel for his engine has been what vampires and women have always sparked in him: wanton desire.
Buffy.
The love of his life sought succor in the other, loved them best and most and worst, and for her he was only a human man with human needs. He's borne that unwanted burden and it hasn't always been painful. As the years passed it brought him something approaching satisfaction and a feeling of family that he never would or could forsake.
The only chant of Willow's he knows without stumbling is the closest thing he has to a prayer. "Mother, daughter, sister, lover. Hear me. Heal me. I will never forget you, I will never forsake you."
It gets him through.
He wonders if that's what it really comes down to for him and Wesley. Xander doesn't know that Wesley loved Angel from the moment he saw him, that his love was for him expressed in every conceivable meaning of the word: agape, adoration, amor. Father, son, brother, lover. He has no way of knowing that Wesley gave Angel his soul without being asked, without it being wanted, and that for Wesley there can never be another.
All Xander knows at this moment is that Wesley's answer to him, spoken not with words but with the body's endless vocabulary, is yes. It's not a perfect connection, not even close. But it's a comfort that Xander has earned, and he'll take it.
Author: Lostakasha
Pairing: Xander/Wesley
Rating: R
Word Count: 771
Disclaimer: Not for fun or profit
Summary: Post-Chosen, between AtS Seasons 4 and 5. Xander finds an answer in Wesley.
For the Xander round of
maleslashminis. txrabbit wanted W/X, Rain, Contentedness, Happy Ending, no character death.I did my best with the prompt. Hope it works for you.
Precipitation
There's an odd relief to the commonality they share. While neither are so naive as to believe that having lived in Sunnydale serves as any true link, Xander and Wesley have tasted damnation and that's suitable common ground.
As light filters through the rain-streaked windows Xander wonders idly if he will ever find a connection to another being that doesn't involve otherworldly things; a connection where the only otherworldly thing is the release of orgasm and the agreement of two human souls who have known nothing other than their humanity.
It would be a blessing, but Xander knows he will never, ever be thusly blessed. That benign grace fled him the night Jesse was turned and has fled him a thousand times since on clouds of vampire dust and spurts of fluorescent demonic excretions. The grace that might have been his exists now only for vampires and slayers. He lives now in the secular space between.
Wesley sighs in the clutch of sleep, and Xander instinctively rolls closer, slips his arm beneath his shoulder and pulls him tight. This is the first morning they will awake in the same bed after sex, but Xander doubts they will think of each other as lovers. Comrades, certainly. Compadres, now. He'd seen it in Wesley's eyes before they reached for one another, seen it as they darkened to indigo at the mention of Angel's name, and he knew -- understood the need and desire and heartbreak compelling them to reach and touch was driven in no small part by his influence on their lives.
Xander leans close, angling himself deeper in, and watches Wesley's eyes narrow to slits as he draws a gut-deep breath. Leaning closer, he licks a wide trail up the side of Wesley's neck, savoring every inch of that pebbled skin salt lick, tasting him as if to search for familiarity in his sweat, and his tongue grazes a ridge of raised flesh.
Scarring is so easy to recognize, he thinks, don't need two eyes to see for that. He traces the reddened crescent along the width of Wesley's throat and imagines red-eyed, ravenous monsters, narrow escapes, wounds bandaged, terror eased with comfort and care. He kisses the hard line with soft lips, then pulls it hard as Wes curves up beneath him and tightens his body's grip on his cock. Wesley opens his eyes and rocks with ferocity that steals Xander's breath from his lungs, forcing him to thrust deeper and that distraction suits him just fine. Xander sees stars and loses his touch on the meridian that marks Wesley's descent into hell.
For Xander, Angel is only half of his lost heart's equation.
Too many long years seeking something to worship and defile in the archetype that is vampire/slayer and he can't get away from it now. The fuel for his engine has been what vampires and women have always sparked in him: wanton desire.
Buffy.
The love of his life sought succor in the other, loved them best and most and worst, and for her he was only a human man with human needs. He's borne that unwanted burden and it hasn't always been painful. As the years passed it brought him something approaching satisfaction and a feeling of family that he never would or could forsake.
The only chant of Willow's he knows without stumbling is the closest thing he has to a prayer. "Mother, daughter, sister, lover. Hear me. Heal me. I will never forget you, I will never forsake you."
It gets him through.
He wonders if that's what it really comes down to for him and Wesley. Xander doesn't know that Wesley loved Angel from the moment he saw him, that his love was for him expressed in every conceivable meaning of the word: agape, adoration, amor. Father, son, brother, lover. He has no way of knowing that Wesley gave Angel his soul without being asked, without it being wanted, and that for Wesley there can never be another.
All Xander knows at this moment is that Wesley's answer to him, spoken not with words but with the body's endless vocabulary, is yes. It's not a perfect connection, not even close. But it's a comfort that Xander has earned, and he'll take it.
