Plastic by Te February 2000 Disclaimers: If they were mine, they'd play with dolls. Spoilers: None for BtVS, spoils the basic premise of Angel: The Series. Ratings Note: R for m/m silliness. Summary: Xander's having a slow day. Author's Note: Um... I stayed up all night reading the Harry Potter books. I signed on to demand Sirius/Remus from Chelle, she made a counterdemand for A/X. Here ya go, babe. Acknowledgments: To Chelle, for audiencing. ** Sometimes Xander was convinced that he was slow. Sure, that whole booksmart thing had passed him by years ago, but most of the time he felt he could rely on his ability to self-deprecate beyond the truth. He may have been stupid, but he wasn't nearly as stupid as he made himself out to be. And then there were the other times. Like today, for an example. Anya had been buried in her books along with everybody else for the past several days -- finals coming -- Giles was still being weird and disturbingly needy, and yet it had taken him until now, just now, to realize that it was a Saturday afternoon, he was unemployed, and Rory was sleeping off a drunk upstairs. All the crucial elements had been there all along: boredom, free time, car. Road trip. So he beat up on himself extra viciously while throwing a few things that still smelled respectable in a bag, quietly slipped the keys out from under the nose of his vigilantly snoring uncle, and was on his way. Well, after getting the radio station tuned far, far away from the scary dance pop station Rory was currently obsessed with. He found some Creedence instead and mumbled and howled along as best he could. L.A., here he came. Or goes. Went. Anyhow. Xander didn't remember how much he hated L.A. until the sight of all the shamelessly fake breasts made him flash back to that recurring dream he had about Willow's old Barbie dolls. He shuddered a bit as he drove, helplessly checking every few blocks to make sure he was still groinal-lump free. Of course, that only made him horny, which was sick because he was still thinking about anonymous pink mounds of plastic, so he tried thinking determinedly of Anya instead, which stopped working almost instantly as Anya would surely demand to explore Xander's plastic taboo and that was just wrong wrong WRONG. And so, all things considered, it was a relief to find himself parked illegally in front of Angel Investigations. There was absolutely no good that could come of this visit, but he knew with great assurance that Cordelia's breasts were real. And he never intended to find out if Angel had a groinal lump. Which was why he was very surprised later on to find himself stroking Angel's most un-lumplike groinal region. It had all seemed very simple: walk in, say hi, let your past history of randomness explain your presence, steal a bottle of Cordy's mineral water, mock and be mocked, leave. The perfect crime. But it hadn't worked. As a matter of fact, it was one of the more spectacular examples of not-working that Xander had ever been involved in, right up there with his attempt to explain just why he'd had to disappear into the bathroom for ten minutes that time when Buffy accidentally knocked over an old carton filled with Barbie accessories. All those little shoes! Oh, that had been a fine moment, a *de*fining moment, even. Just like the moment when he'd walked into Angel Investigations to find the vampire himself bent over to get something from the floor -- naked except for a towel. Obviously naked. No Kenlump in sight. Other things in sight. Xander knew almost immediately -- well, reasonably quickly -- that he needed to announce his presence, thus averting a potentially embarassing situation. So he said, "ah... guh." Which had the intended effect of making Angel stand up and whirl around, as well as the unintended affect of making Angel's towel relinquish its tight, suggestive hold on his hips. "Xander, what are you doing here? Is everything all right?" "Naked." "Dammit, Xander, talk to me! Is Buffy in trouble?" "No, but you're definitely naked." Angel looked down at himself and nodded soberly. "Apparently so." "Quite possibly one of the most naked men on the face of the earth." "Not true, I'm wearing a hat." "You are?" "You could always look up to check." Pause. "Or not." The grin in Angel's voice was clearly audible. Xander swore he'd come up with the perfect putdown. Just a bit later... "Xander?" "Hmm...?" "You seem a little uncomfortable." "Well, it's just that you're naked and all. Things are kind of... ah... swinging when you move." "An object in motion tends to stay in motion, Xander." It was true. Even as they spoke, the object was proceeding in what could only be considered a very *determined* motion. "Uh huh." "You know..." "Hmmm...?" "You'd probably be a lot more comfortable if you were naked, too." "That doesn't sound quite right..." "Of course not, it's like the word suspicious." "OK... what?" "It looks strange when you write it down. Wrong. Doesn't look like it should be spelled that way, but it is." "So I should get naked." "Definitely. Here, I'll help." And after that it really hadn't taken long for Xander to get really sweaty and start sticking to the big, leather couch, making unintentional fart-like noises every time Angel made him buck, writhe, jitter, and/or jive. And the sounds made Angel chuckle, which Xander's engulfed cock heartily appreciated, which made Xander start to shuck as well as jive, which produced more intensely fart-like noises, which made Angel laugh harder, which made Xander come so hard that fantasy Ken exploded into a million billion plasticky little pieces. "Thank you, *GOD*!" Xander ignored the blatantly self-satisfied snicker from between his legs. Angel knew nothing of the Lump and its many horrors. Xander finally shut him up by sliding from the couch and landing as heavily as he could manage on top of the man. And by saying shut up. And by grabbing his not-quite-warm-enough cock and starting to pump. And then he just gave up and kissed the sonofabitch. Kissed him thoroughly, too. *Focused* on the kiss, on all the little tricks he'd learned over the course of his painfully interesting dating career. ADD his narrow white ass. The result was a long, low moan and the weirdly compelling sensation of having his fist vigorously fucked. Friction and slickness combined, helplessness and power, probably nowhere near enough pre-come, but Angel didn't stop -- not the kissing or the fucking. It went on long enough for Xander to remember he wasn't gay, but by then the point really was moot. Xander was just going to steal the next 'Caution: Slow Children' sign he found and staple it to his forehead. It would clearly be for the best. Which was the last coherent thought in his head before Angel came into his fist. Xander swallowed the other man's cry and felt his happy, happy dick start getting interested again. Xander wondered briefly if he was still heterosexual enough that it would be wrong to jump Angel again within the next ten minutes, but in the end decided he should probably come again before trying for any deep thought. It didn't really sound right, but he decided to go with it. End.