Shacking Up, 22
By
EntreNous
****************
Twenty-two: “The Wrong Guy”
They walked into the apartment in silence, and Xander slumped unhappily on the couch. He wasn’t sure he was remembering everything correctly. Had Spike really said that --
“You deserve more. You deserve having someone who will treat you better.”
“Well, thanks,” Xander said doubtfully. Davy had eased onto the couch next to him. He was staring intently at Xander with, what -- sympathy? Reassurance? Something else?
Xander looked down, and realized how close Davy was. He cleared his throat and thought fuzzily about how he should probably be doing something about that. It occurred to him that that something probably was moving off the couch, but then he suddenly figured out that Davy was still speaking to him.
Xander squinted and tried to focus when he felt rather than saw something move towards him. When he looked up, his eyes were drawn to his right shoulder, and he saw Davy’s hand resting there. Startled, he looked up into Davy’s eyes.
“Hey, I just want you to be happy,” Davy murmured. His hand was still on Xander’s shoulder, except now his palm was rubbing small circles, brushing lower and forward past Xander’s collarbone then gaining intensity as it reached his chest. His other hand joined it for a moment, then both hands gathered Xander’s shirt and pulled him closer.
They kissed.
And it was fine, it was more than fine. Xander lost himself for a moment, everything focused on the softness and growing pressure. He reached a hand up tentatively, lightly touching at Davy’s hair rather than sliding his fingers through it. And Davy’s hands were both on his chest, and then one nimbly flitted over the shirt Xander was wearing, smoothly slipping the buttons out of their holes. Xander let his breath out in a shudder. He felt Davy lean in and start to trace a line on his neck with his tongue.
Before long, all of the buttons were undone, and Xander’s oxford was eased off, leaving him in his thin t-shirt. Davy returned his mouth to Xander’s, pressing his lips against his, parting them. Xander noticed that his hands had begun running through Davy’s hair, gently at first, then gripping tightly to draw Davy’s face closer to his.
Xander made a small surprised noise to find Davy’s tongue inside his mouth, but the fuzziness in his head just made everything seem dream-like, and he dropped his hands to Davy’s shoulders, gripped them tightly, and moaned into the kiss. And, hey, Davy could do some mean tricks with that tongue. And hands were holding him, easing down along his sides. Xander felt something ease inside him, some kind of resistance give way, and when had this seemed like a bad idea? When he felt a hand slide along his waist to his belt buckle, he thrust his hips up slightly without thinking.
“Oh, Xander,” he heard someone sigh, and he stiffened in confusion. Wait. He opened his eyes -- okay, light brown hair, green eyes under heavy lids, and this wasn’t the right picture, was it? Wait a second.
“Wait!” Xander panted. “No, I don’t want to -- “
Davy drew back a little and smiled at him, and Xander could see that the smile wasn’t entirely kind.
“You know,” Davy said softly, brushing his lips against the underside of Xander’s jawbone, “you’re going to have to get used to this sometime. I’m not trying to tell you who you are. But I can tell what you want. And you want this.”
Davy leaned forward again, and ran Xander’s earlobe lightly through his teeth, moving further back to nuzzle the side of Xander’s neck. “Hey,” he murmured gently to Xander, the patience of a man sure in the knowledge that he was going to get his way. His right hand dropped to Xander’s thigh, and began kneading it, starting to move in slow motion towards Xander’s cock. “Hey, Xand . . . It’s okay to say you want it.” Davy slid his hand firmly over Xander’s thigh, rubbing up to and over Xander’s cock, stroking its hardness through the fabric with a steady rhythm.
Xander felt a beat, two, three, as his heart started to speed up. His brain felt hazy and muddled, and he half closed his eyes waiting for . . . and his button fly was undone, and then . . . then he sat up sharply.
He pushed himself back, panting, and shook his head. He caught Davy’s wrist for a moment, then dropped it away a safe distance from his leg.
Whether he wanted this or not, whether he knew who he was or if he had no clue, whether it was okay or if it was wrong -- all of those questions dropped away in the face of one answer. He felt the absurd urge to raise his hand and wave it around like he’d seen Willow do in every class for thirteen grades -- because he knew the answer.
Whatever it was that was happening at this moment? Whatever it meant? The answer was clear. It wasn’t happening with the right guy.
“Davy, seriously, stop.” Xander moved to block another movement, and reached down with shaky hands to refasten his pants.
Davy shook his head incredulously. He drew himself up and walked a short distance away from the couch. “Xander,” he said thickly, “I can’t tell what it is you’re after. I sure as hell don’t want to call you a tease, but what the fuck? What’s going on?”
Xander opened his mouth and shut it again. Without realizing it, he glanced at the door.
“Is that what this is about?” Davy followed Xander’s gaze, and his voice dropped. “Is this about him? Here I am thinking you’re caught up in trying to get away from him -- from Spike -- are you trying to get with him? Is this some stupid bad-boy thing? Do you like that he’s probably going to screw you over, that he’s the kind of guy who lives to hurt people? Are you going to run away from a chance to have something with anyone else because you’re waiting for that prick to stop treating you like you’re shit?”
Sitting on the couch, Xander felt a weird buzz start to rise in him. “Shut up,” he said quietly, and then, louder. “Shut the fuck up.”
“God, Xander! He’s an asshole. He thinks he can have whatever he wants, whenever he wants.”
“No. You don’t know -- “
“Christ, Xander,” Davy yelled. “What are you going to say? I don’t know what I’m talking about? Because we both know that I do. Are you going to say that I don’t know him, that I can’t understand? Because I can tell you right now, I get him. Why are you holding back for him, for that fuck?”
“You know what?” Xander began, and rose to his feet as he spoke. “You’d better shut up. You don’t get to talk about him like that.”
Davy paled. “Fine. Fine. I’ve had it with this.” He started to turn away, but then stopped.
“I can’t do something like this again.” He turned and looked accusingly at Xander. “I won’t let myself. I’ve been through this kind of thing before, and -- “
“Look, I’m sorry. I think I misled you, and for that I’m sorry. But, hey, you’re not hearing me pleading for you to put yourself in this position.” Xander said it evenly. “I’m not the person who has to pay for what happened between you and Michael, and I’m not the person who has to make it up to you. Maybe I don’t know what I want, but it isn’t this. It isn’t you.”
Something twisted over Davy’s lips, an almost-smile, almost-grimace. “Okay. You sure aren’t pulling any punches tonight.”
Xander shrugged. “I don’t think it’d help either of us to be vague right now.”
“Yeah.” Davy sighed. “Listen, I can stay at my friend’s place for a couple of nights. That’ll give me time to get my stuff packed and out of here. I don’t think you want me living with you if . . . “
Davy trailed off and waited.
When Davy looked miserably at him, as though he were willing him to speak, Xander felt only slightly awkward.
“Okay,” Xander said carefully. “You’ll start packing tomorrow.”
“Um, okay,” Davy replied. And that was that.
****
Later, Xander lay still on his bed. He thought about his weird epiphany on the couch, and rolled his eyes at himself. Drama much? He pinched his arms a little, and then wriggled his toes experimentally.
“Well, damn,” he said quietly, then shoved his palm quickly into his mouth to stifle the case of giggles he felt bubbling up. Because he’d sort of gone to third with Davy. Because Davy was kind of an asshole. And because Xander was clearly insane. Because Xander liked Spike. He didn’t like Davy, he liked Spike. He liked liked Spike.
Well, he thought drowsily, if it had taken the whole month to figure it out, then at least he had something to check off on his accomplishments list. He stifled another giggle as he thought of scrawling the realization in the monthly notes section on the kitchen calendar.
What I Did This Fall:
Item 1. Figured out am gay.
Item 2. Realized want to get it on with undead British guy.
Item 3. Shacked up with vicious undead killer (see item 2).
Xander wrinkled up his nose, trying not to laugh, then finally turned over and snorted and gasped into his pillow. He didn’t think it’d be polite if Davy heard him howling with laughter in the next room. Not after he’d just told the guy that he didn’t want it from him.
Then his laughter dried up. Item 3. Shacked up . . . he couldn’t write the last item on the list yet. It hadn’t happened -- he hadn’t even discussed it with Spike.
And hey, it turned out there were two answers he’d figured out tonight. One, if whatever had happened tonight happened again, he wanted Spike to be the other guy on the couch. And two, he wanted Spike here again. He wanted Spike living with him.
***