Unscathed by Te December 1999 Disclaimers: Nothing here belongs to me, and so I mourn. Spoilers: The Pack -- this takes place 1st season, folks. Pairing: G/X Rating: NC-17 Summary: Xander feels a trifle unfinished. Thanks: To the lovely Dawn Sharon, for audiencing and encouragement and general wuv. * Daddy793: I wanna write something... some nice pleasant Giles fic with a ripe naked peach of a Xander... Aurorarowa: I'm imagining his hands trembling just a tiny bit. Don't stand so close to me... Daddy793: ohohohohohohohhhhhhhhh Aurorarowa: Uh-huh... Daddy793: "'I only want 'em if they want me... I only know they want me...'" -- "Jane Says" by Jane's Addiction Contrast. Something on the edge of meaning something. Something hard to reach, or even exist here... Xander is in his epically cluttered bedroom. The piles of clothes, books, and debris make interesting safe monsters in the moonlight. Xander is on his bed, on his belly and struggling to reach... anything at all, really. It had crept up on him slowly, this. It had let him get through the first school day after... after. It had let him get home with just an itch under his skin before whispering: Don't you miss the taste of blood in your mouth? Yes. Oh, yes... He remembered every moment, of course. From the strange blast of energy, to the pure, *right* fawning of his pack. Hands on him, whispers and grunts. Promises... They'd been all his, and nothing else had mattered. The words had all been there, and easy. The movement... God, the power had coursed through his veins. Fire and hunger... A fleeting image of Jesse, after, with no remorse. Was that what it had felt like? Xander shudders first deep within himself, but can't stop it from wracking his whole body for a moment. For a moment... it had been so easy to see himself offering his throat to Jesse, to ask to see. They'd shared everything, after all... But he doesn't really want to be prey, not tonight. A few days, a window opened on a life less pointless. Endless body and spirit in the blood, in the rending of flesh. There would come a time when it was less fresh, less painful, and everything would look normal again, he knows that. Xander checks the alarm clock -- 1:17 in the morning. No reason to waste this time... * Warm night, sweet air. Xander wonders how much is absent from his perception again, wonders what's lurking in the dark places he doesn't belong in anymore. He has to laugh at himself a little -- he's always assumed the profound moments of young adulthood were the ones you *didn't* feel keenly at the time. Some old saying, cliche about that. There went that conventional wisdom, failing him *again*. Welcome to Sunnyhell. Xander is aware of his anger, and mostly aware of its irrationality. It feels like the residue of the hyena, though, and he doesn't particularly want to let go. Old knowledge, this: Anger feels better than anything when there's nothing else. Giles' door is as imposing and out of place as ever, a great huge *thing* inside a walled whatever-the-hell you called it. Xander often feels that knocking on a door like that would alert neighbors for blocks, some sort of constant boom settling over the landscape everytime someone tried to deliver a package of tea or something. The word he's looking for is probably 'portentous.' Tonight he simply knocks, and waits. Faster than he'd expected: "Who's there?" Hard voice, deeply suspicious... it makes something chill pleasantly at the back of his neck. "It's me, Giles.... Xander." A pause, perhaps to check the time, or look out the peephole. Necessary precautions... "What are you doing out this late?" "I really needed to talk." Does he? All right... The door comes open then, a vague disappointment until he sees the large wooden cross Giles' holds in his right hand, and the holy water in his left. "So difficult to find a stake when you need one. Would you just..." Xander obediently holds still while Giles first mists him with holy water then taps him with the cross. "All right, you can come in, Xander. Here..." A towel waiting on a rack just inside the door, especially for necessarily damp night visitors... Sometimes Giles' practical class is a bit overwhelming. It's almost comforting to feel the familiar urge to check under his nails for dirt, tame his hair a bit. He follows the other man further into his living room, takes in the buttery light of the only lit lamp, lets himself be gestured onto the firm couch. "Can I get you anything?" It's a warm, drowsy weight pressing in on him all of a sudden, the ozone of his mood being smothered in all the simple human sanity... Not what he wants at all. Xander is up and pressed to Giles in three heartbeats -- too slow, but still fast enough -- breathes in his surprised exhale. Not *all* of the instincts belonged to the hyena, right? "Not quite all the way back, are we?" A gentle hand at the center of his chest, pushing him back. "Do try to avoid ripping my throat out, would you? I've grown attached over the years." Easy, casual half-smile. Giles lacks a stammer on his own turf... "That's not what I want to do." Xander doesn't meet the other man's eyes at all, simply pushes against the palm still on him, pure suggestion. Noticeable inhale. "Xander, let me fix you something to help you sleep. You'll wake up far less feral, and I promise not to remind you of any of this unless you really make an ass of yourself some time in the future, all right?" Xander looksd up, then. Despite the words, the man is a lot less easy in himself all of a sudden. Color in his cheeks, blood close to the surface. Giles. Giles is his school *librarian* for Christ's sake of *course* he's gonna blush when... Xander quiets himself and refocuses. Glasses off, buttoned down shirt open at the throat. No jacket. Still holding the Plant Mister of Doom. And scrutinizing Xander very, very carefully. Harrises have a long history of not graduating >from high school... this could very well be the way he earns his name. Fear, shame eating away at the edges of his anger. He keeps pushing. "Giles?" "You must tell me how you feel right now, so we can figure out where it went wrong." His voice has softened, it's obvious he can sense Xander's change in mood. "It worked, Giles, I swear it did. It's just... It's more than just a spirit." "You think something else needs to be expelled?" Wonderful choice of words... he has goosebumps. He watches Giles notice them on his arms, still resting at his sides. God. "No, I just... I remember all of it." The hand finally moves, settling itself on his shoulder instead. Squeezing. His chest is cold where the hand is absent. "I know you do, and I'm sorry --" "I'm not." Giles stiffens then, and there is silence between them. Xander focuses on trying to just breathe, ride out whatever would come. But then there's a hand under his chin, lifting his head up. Eye contact again, fierce and steady. More goosebumps, waves of heat and cold... "You know what I mean, don't you, Giles? You know what it's like..." "You... what precisely did you come here for, Xander?" It should sting, perhaps it would later, but oh it feels so good to hear the strain in the man's voice. "I was restless... I wasn't sure where I could go, but... you understand." Humorless bark of laughter and Giles breaks contact altogether, walks away, giving Xander his back for a moment before turning again, not quite all the way. "It really was too much to hope you'd get through this unscathed, wasn't it?" Xander waited. "No, you're right, there's no way or reason for you to answer that question... Let me guess: you tried to go to sleep only to find yourself feeling... a bit lost. You looked out the window, into the night and *yes*, that was just the thing. You'd go out, and you'd... do something." Xander nods, it's close enough. "But then you remembered it wasn't the place for you anymore, and so you tried to get back to the old you, but... it wasn't enough." "I'm *hungry*." A half-hearted sense he should regret saying the words, gone in his need to get a response. The other man shudders, turns to face him fully once again. Makes as if to reach out, but lets the gesture end unfinished. Maybe his hand had shook... "And that's nothing but the simple truth, right, Xander?" Anger now, three quick strides to close the distance. Xander breathes. The shadows fall slightly differently on the other man's trousers. "Well, what are you hungry for? Do you know?" Low voice, quick and harsh. "Or did you want me to tell you?" Xander dives in for a kiss but finds himself flat on his back on Giles' couch before he even contacts flesh. Tingling lack at his shoulder where the blow must have landed. While he positions himself to spring Giles comes down on him, straddling his hips, pressing down on his wounded shoulder. Xander thrusts up fast and groans at the friction. Does it again and again when Giles makes no move to stop him. "Oh..." A broken sound, not his own and then Giles is at his throat, using the flat of his tongue and his teeth to scrape, pushing down in counterpoint to Xander's thrusts. When Xander tries to reach between them to undo their pants Giles stops long enough to grab his wrists and pin them. "This *is* what you wanted, isn't it?" Warmth to heat, drowsy to dazed... "Yes, please..." "Christ..." And then Giles is driving against him again, hips grinding in tight hard little circles, making him gasp with each downstroke. Giles twines his fingers in Xander's own and squeezes in rhythm. Giles never closes his eyes, staring down with a frightening, exhilarating blend of rage, desperation, and pain. Xander shuts his own eyes against it, bares his throat, and lets Giles take him over the edge. And then slips off the couch and between the his legs, splayed now, ready... Xander undresses him, and licks him clean. The taste is gamier than his own, appropriately wild and strong. Stronger still when Giles tangles his fingers in Xander's hair and pulls. Guided. When, eventually, the sunlight falls on Xander's face he wakes immediately, knowing exactly where he is, and what he's done. And he smiles as he quietly steps outside, as he feels the gaze settle heavily between his shoulderblades. He feels... much better. End.