Disclaimers: If they belonged to us, *Te shorts out*.

Spoilers: Vague 4th season refs.

Summary: Xander takes some angry time.

Ratings Note: NC-17 for m/m smut and poor language.

Acknowledgments: To and for our beloveds Spike and Dawn Sharon,
who wanted, and most assuredly deserved.

Feedback: Adored here.
 

*

It's hot tonight and the sullen heat still steaming up from the
sidewalks makes Xander's shirt cling and his lungs feel heavy and goes
perfectly with his rather foul mood. Walking the streets of Sunnydale at
night is stupid.  Xander knows this.  Does it anyway.

Not that he's suicidal or anything.  More like... looking for a fight.  And
that's stupid too and he *knows* this.  Gets even a little more angry at
the seemingly endless stream of various past stupid events that his
brain obligingly stirs up out of the muck of his memories.

Okay, he thinks.  I'm a fuck up.  I *know* and hey brain, aren't you
supposed to be on my side?

And okay, maybe he's not always a fuck up.  There are a few memories his
brain grudgingly tosses at him of the times he did manage to find his
ass with both hands.  Pulled the fat out of the fire and all that happy
shit.  But.  And here he feels the sullenly pissed mood come back even
stronger.  But.  He's alone.  Walking the streets, looking for a fight,
alone because....

They don't need him.

Not really.

Not the way, he, apparently, needs them.

And yes, this pisses him off.  It's either pissed or be hurt and Xander
hasn't quite descended that far into wussy land to sit around and wail
because he had a bad dream that showed him exactly how poorly he fit
into the scheme of things.  So yeah, anger works.  Sort of.  If you
conveniently forget about the part where he has the major fight with
Anya as a result of said mood and Anya stalked off.

So.  No make up sex either, which is both a good and a bad thing.  He
doesn't want sweet and tender and please forgive me because I'm an
asshole make up sex.  No.  He wants hard and angry and *dirty* and angry
sex /Faith sex/ and you just donÇt do that to the vengeance demon you're
supposed to be in love with.

Supposed to be.  Should be.  Maybe even *would* be if he had any feeling
whatsoever that Anya regarded him as anything but a penis attached to an
incidental body.

But again, not really needed.  Willow is living proof that the penis can
indeed be replaced.

Another weirdly angry thought.  There used to be a time when he would
have known everything about Willow.  He thinks of Oz, of telling him
there's no one in Willow's life and how wonderful that little experience
turned out.  At least now he knows Oz boogied out of town for reasons
other than the Initiative.  Jesus, if *Spike* could elude them, Oz
shouldn't have any trouble at all.  But it just shows, yet again, Xander
is indeed the last to know.

Because he's... something.  Not important.  He's the jelly donut guy and
always the last to know *anything* these days.

And so he knows why he's angry, why his stomach feels like one big ball
of ugly and why he really wants to run into, say, Spike and indulge in a
little ass kicking.

What he doesn't know, however, is why his feet have led him here.  Into
the little courtyard outside Giles' door.  The lights are out and Giles
is either gone or in bed and Xander really doesn't want to examine the
little pang of disappointment that thought brings.

Which is odd because he doesn't think he wants to fight Giles.  It's
just that he *always* ends up here, sooner or later, especially when
he's in this mood.  Like he's looking for something to replace the mad
and knows Giles can give it.  If Giles wants to.  Which he probably
doesn't.  But that's another train of thought he doesn't want to
examine, because it ends up taking away the pissed off aspect of this
particular mood and leaving only the pathetic and needy and wondering
why.

Xander has discovered that part of him *likes* to be pissed.  He just
doesn't get to enjoy for long because it usually fades.  Like right
about now.

And he's just about ready to start the long, bitter walk home when
there's a rustle in the bushes and who should stroll out but Ethan
Rayne.

Ethan Rayne, looking perfectly cool and comfortable despite the heat and
the fact that Xander has caught him snooping, or worse, right under
Giles' living room window.

Ethan fucking Rayne who looks at him, raises an eyebrow and then
blinks.  Dismissing him.

Xander feels the anger surge back, heavy and hot and strong.

And Ethan sort of... smirks at him and turns.  Is just going to walk away
like Xander is nothing of consequence and that does it.

More than does it, because he's in motion, cutting through the heavy air
and pinning Ethan against the wall before the smirk even has time to
fade.

"What's in the bushes, Ethan?"

Ethan struggles a little against him, but Xander has a the advantage of
youth and a really crappy mood, so he shoves Ethan's face a little
harder into the stucco and doesn't stop until Ethan exhales on a little
woof of pain and subsides.

"You wanna tell me what you were doing back there?  Or not?  Because, I
have to tell you, Ethan, I can do this all night."

"Yay for youth," Ethan pants out.  "Would you believe me if I said
'nothing'?"

It doesn't even take a second of reflection.  "I'm thinking no."  Xander
leans a little harder, knowing full well just how painful the little
swirls of stucco are against your cheek, the tender flesh of your
chest.  He leans in and breathes into Ethan's ear, "Because, and I'm
being really sincere here, Ethan, I don't think I'm going to believe
anything you tell me."

That gets him another struggle, Ethan straining back against him with
one hand worming between them and down.

But Xander knows this trick, thanks to watching Buffy train for this
very maneuver, so he plants one leg and *shoves*, feels the air being
driven from Ethan's lungs and grabs both his hands, pins them above his
head.

For a second Ethan is frozen, then tries to breathe with a rough,
shuddering gasp and weakly pulls at Xander's grip.

In retaliation, Xander shoves a leg between Ethan's and kicks them apart
and leans heavily against him and growls, "That's what you get for
fighting dirty."

With a wheeze, Ethan says, "Thank you.  Can I breathe now?"

"You can talk, you can breathe.  So, let's try this again.  Why are you
here?"  When Ethan doesn't answer, Xander pushes a little harder and
finds himself unexpectedly *loving* the little noise of pain Ethan
makes.

And everything about him focuses on the man he has pinned to the wall.
The sweat slick wrists in his hands, the smooth skin of Ethan's cheek
pressed to his own, the shocking heat rising from the slim back against
his chest and the fact that he's hard, has been hard from the moment he
grabbed Ethan.

It should be shocking, embarrassing, should make him pull back or at
least shift to one side. But it doesn't faze Xander.  Doesn't make him
do anything but press his erection even harder against Ethan's ass.
After all, Ethan's not the only one who can fight dirty.

"Well?"

Ethan makes a low sound in the back of throat that at first puzzles
Xander, then makes his grip around Ethan's wrists tighten.

Because it isn't a pain noise, or a disgusted 'get that thing away from
me' noise.  It's a pleased little noise, and that registers with Xander
just as Ethan grinds a little against him and makes the noise again.

More dirty tricks.  Xander mutters right into Ethan's ear, "That is so
fucking low.  Knock it off," and tightens his grip a little more.

Ethan doesn't stop, instead he laughs, a little gasping sound that takes
Xander's attention away from his cock and the way his hips wants to rock
forward a little bit more, brings back the anger.  And he finds himself
leaning down a little, pressing his mouth against the back of Ethan's
neck and biting.

Not hard enough to break the skin.  Just hard enough to feel Ethan's
spine between his teeth.  And he growls.

And Ethan--goes limp.  Utterly still and barely breathing.

Instinctively, Xander does it again and this time Ethan shivers against
him.

Not struggling now.  Not doing anything but breathing shakily and
holding very, very still.

Experimentally, Xander shakes his head a little, like a terrier with a
rat and Ethan groans.  Angles his head to one side.  Offering his
throat.  Not fighting.  Surrendering.

And Xander doesn't know quite what he did to bring about this change,
but can *feel* it's real and sincere with Ethan's every shuddery little
exhale.

On any other night he might step back, haul him by the scruff of the
neck to Giles' door and dump him there, let him be Giles' problem.

But tonight a nasty part of his mind reminds him of the acceptable
alternative to fighting and he realizes he's still biting and sucking at
Ethan's neck and his hips are rocking forward.  Not so much to hurt, but
because it feels good.  Right.

And Ethan feels utterly boneless against him, utterly pliant and each
gasping breath easily drowns out the whispering voice of Xander's
conscience.

Xander give one last biting suck to Ethan's neck and moves to his
throat, follows the taut cord of a tendon to right under Ethan's ear.
Bites right *there*, savors Ethan's low cry, and does it again and again
until Ethan is writhing against him and each wordless cry means
"please".

He knows.  Knows with the part of him that still remembers being part of
the pack, knows he *could* let Ethan go now and he won't run.  Won't do
anything but bare his throat again and whine.

His teeth want to draw blood and he trembles with the urge to do exactly
that.  Instead, he lets go of Ethan's wrists with a rough whisper of,
"Leave them there," then rewards him with another bite and a lick when
he obeys.  Pulls at Ethan's shirt until his hands slide over the hot,
slick skin of Ethan's abdomen and Xander flexes his fingers, lets his
nails press into the skin hard enough to leave marks.  Mouths at Ethan's
neck again when his head drops back onto Xander's shoulder.

And says, softly but clearly into Ethan's ear, "I'm going to fuck you
now."

Ethan groans, a low, harsh sound of need and surrender that vibrates
right through Xander and makes his jaw clench and he does draw blood
this time.

It occurs to Xander, just a for a second, that it's lucky for Ethan this
little encounter didn't happen a couple of years ago, because back then
it would have been a toss up between eating him and fucking him.

And this doesn't disgust him or terrify him, just makes his hips roll a
little faster and mouth suck a little harder and Xander feels like a
lion crouched over still bleating prey.  Hungry and victorious and
possessive.

Mine, he thinks.

His hands slide down over the points of Ethan's hips and hold him still
long enough for Xander to yank the belt out of the buckle, then pop the
button free and slide the zipper down.

The sibilant hiss of metal teeth is shockingly loud in the space between
Ethan's panting breaths and for just a second Xander wonder if this
really him doing this.  In the open, right under Giles' fucking *window*
and what if he's home and--but his hands are already pushing the silky
material past Ethan's hips and Ethan rolls his head toward Xander and
licks his neck and--

Yes.

This is him and Ethan is all lean, hard sinew pressing against him,
slick with sweat and smelling like prey and sex and yes.

Yes, this is him curling his fingers around Ethan's cock, cruelly
squeezing and pulling until his hand is slick with pre come, him
fumbling between them until his jeans are open and his cock is easily
riding against Ethan's sweat slippery ass.

And Xander is going to fuck him.  Now.

He gives Ethan one last rough caress, then runs his hand over his own
cock, coating it, then uses the same hand to rudely part Ethan's cheeks
and thrusts in.

In and he has to grab and hold Ethan's hips still because he's
struggling again and doesn't still until Xander bites the back of his
neck again.

Ethan shudders but his hands are still against the wall, bracing himself
and his breath is harsh and loud in the night air and he arches his neck
under Xander's teeth and undulates against him.  Pushes Xander a little
deeper inside.

And Xander pulls back, plunges in again and Ethan's hips are moving like
silk under his hands, sweet, liquid thrusts against him. Riding the pain
and everything else and suddenly Xander needs to know what it feels
like. Absurd urge to call nexties and fuck Ethan fast so he can hurry
up and have whatever it is...

Whatever it is that's making Ethan bend his knees just a little, change
the angle, the slick hot *grip* on his cock and whisper tiny dirty
things in an impenetrable British accent.

And that's...

Just so *hot* he's *fucking* Ethan, working in a rhythm of thrust
and counterthrust sweating and grunting and jerking his cock.

Bring you *off*, you fucker. Fuck you and make you --

Xander slips nearly all the way out and slams back in. Hungry
Anya special, something he wished he'd done with Faith, wanted to
do to Willow and oh God Buffy could take it and Ethan...

Buckled.

Just for a heartbeat, not enough to make Xander slip out but more
than enough justification to push him all the way down to his
hands and knees. Staining his pretty queeny clothes in good old
unconsecrated Sunnydale earth and Xander didn't wait.

Couldn't wait, just grabbed a half-struggling, half-writhing /*slut*/
Ethan around the waist, pulled him up by main force and.

All that muscle just beneath the thin clothes and Xander doesn't
think, doesn't question, just rips the shirt half-off Ethan's back
and rubs and roams over the skin. Presses Ethan closer and just
*feels*. Tracing all that old muscle while Ethan sat on his cock
and gasped, breathed out obscenities.

Scrapes his nails over all that sweat-slick skin. Hits a nipple and
Ethan starts fucking himself again. Faster this time, harder
and ragged. A begging fuck. A *needing* fuck and Xander's hips
feel oiled. Primed for this beyond all human imagining,
overwhelming Ethan's thrusts with pure speed and power, blessing
leverage and the fact that his life forced him to stay in shape.

And Ethan just takes it.

Falls back to his hands and knees, spread as wide as he could and
took it, shirt torn and hanging around his shoulders, long back
flushed and moving, moving, Waves of motion, so good, so easy
and Xander's orgasm hits him like a shot to the neck, shocking
and seeming deadly.

Buries himself to the hilt and just shoots and shoots, holding
Ethan down with a hand to his bruised neck until Xander can
breathe again.

When he pulls out, Ethan shudders and Xander pets him
instinctively before rolling him over to his back. Ethan's hard
and dark, drooling steadily from the slit and watching him so
*open*. Wide, dark eyes and want and Xander thinks:

I did this to him.

I did this and he's never going to forget it.

And the thought makes him smile. Maybe a little nasty by the flash
of... *something* in Ethan's eyes.

And it's risky, but Xander wants to try. *Has* to when he gets his
hand around Ethan's hard, hot cock and Ethan just moans, long
and low.

Before the note can end Xander whispers: "Come."

And Ethan squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head and pumps
once, twice into Xander's fist and coming with a yell that makes
Xander's cock try its damnedest to twitch.

Reality hits with a crash, returning from wherever the hell it
had gone before to send icewater directly down Xander's spine.
He had practically fucking raped a dangerous sorcerer outside of
*Giles' house* and he still has his dick out and said dangerous
sorcerer looks like the end of a porno without the cheesy music
and reality doesn't survive a *heartbeat* after Ethan begins
sucking and licking and mouthing his own come off Xander's
fingers.

His cock suggests they give the man some time to work his
magic and his brain jumps on the word magic and his body
responds by simultaneous jumping back and thrusting his fingers
deeper into Ethan's demon mouth.

Xander closes his own mouth with a click and finally pulls
away. Stands. And finds himself looming over an Ethan who just
eyes Xander's smudged and disreputable and grimly determined
cock with raw hunger.

Xander tucks himself away hurriedly and backs away a step,
utterly failing to reclaim that angry predator cool that brought
him here in the first place.

And Ethan is still on the ground, waiting.

"Get..." /back over here and suck me off/ "the hell outta here,
Ethan. Before I decide to throw you to Giles just like this,
and fuck the consequences."

"And what if I want to be thrown?"

It's almost a jolt that Ethan can still speak, still sound
cultured and smart and cool even after *this* and yeah,
the rage is back.

"Leave."

"Or you'll fuck me again? Forgive me for failing to see --"

"Or I'll tear your throat out with my teeth." Which  wasn't at
all what he expected to say, and the image is more than a little
ew but also oh. Oh. Like wanting Ethan to say no again.

But Ethan just studies him for a long, chilly moment before
standing.

Gives the remains of shirt a moue of distaste and rips it off the
rest of the way. Lets it fall at Xander's feet. Lets Xander see
every mark left behind, the smudges of blood and bruise that make
Xander want to apologize, kiss and treasure and do it all again.

And Ethan begins to walk away.

Pauses half-in/half-out a shadow: "Be seeing you, Xander."

And continues on into the night.

In the silence, Xander waits, and waits, but there's never a sound
or sign from within Giles' house, so he simply picks up the shirt,
balls it up under his arm, and heads toward home.

Another night.

End.

Continue to part 2.