^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

When We Last Met

Xander wasn't exactly sure why he was standing here.
A bunch of guys,
older, wiser, far more got-their-act-together than he
could ever hope to be,
milling around, glancing his way and pretending not to
be curious.  Some
didn't bother to pretend -- some simply weren't
curious.

Xander shifted uneasily from one foot to the next,
feeling more than ever
that back-of-the-mind sensation that he was an
outsider, had no part of this
world.  Even if it was just a frat house, even if it
was an errand for
Buffy.  He couldn't say 'no' to her -- unless the
question was "Xander, will
you carry this heavy box?"  A silly errand, pick up a
book or paper or
something, he wasn't really sure.  Buffy had had
things to do and would
Xander-since-you-don't-have-to-be-anywhere-anyway stop
by and get it for
her?  She'd rattled off a titled which he'd dutifully
memorised, but for all
he knew it was a code for 'I couldn't go one more hour
without saying I love
you'.

Xander really kinda hoped it was just a book.

He'd argued, just for appearances' sake, trying not to
reinforce the fact
that he didn't have anything more important to do than
stop by campus to get
a book from a house full of guys who had futures so
bright they had to wear
shades.  The matching crew cuts were probably just an
initiation thing.

Riley had disappeared upstairs after Xander had
explained why he was here,
fetching the whatever Buffy had sent him here for and
leaving Xander
waiting, downstairs.  Waiting, watching guys wander
by, trying to pretend he
didn't feel like turning around and walking out and
telling Buffy that Riley
hadn't been home.

Xander managed a nod at a friendly hello from one of
the frat boys passing
by; he didn't miss the glance that had accompanied the
greeting.  Didn't
mind being checked out, even if it felt more
impersonal than flirtatious.
If he hadn't been severely outnumbered by 10-to-1 odds
they're straight, he
might have indulged in a little checking out, himself.
Every last one of
these guys was *buff*.

He wished Riley would hurry up, nice as the scenery
was.  He tried to stop
himself from fidgeting, failed, and looked around
again.  There was another
one, sauntering into the main room like he owned the
place.  Tall as the
rest, buff as the rest, crew-cut as the rest.  Nothing
remarkable about
him -- until Xander caught a better look at his face.

Graham.  Xander blinked.  What was Graham doing here?
He shook his head --
asked himself why he was surprised.  Graham lived
here.  He must -- he acted
like it, looked like everyone else here, and...why
else would Xander know
his name, if he hadn't met him through Riley?

He watched Graham cross the room, find something on a
bookshelf, and walk
towards the opposite doorway.  Xander didn't try to be
subtle about watching
him go.  He couldn't exactly remember when Riley had
introduced them, but
that would explain why he knew the guy's name.  Why
his face looked so
familiar.

Didn't explain at *all* why Xander knew what he looked
like, naked.  Or how
he sounded when he was about to come.

Xander didn't suppose he cared if it was rude to grab
the book Riley handed
over and bolt from the frat house.  Significantly less
rude than answering
the "why are you turning red, Xander?" question.  Much
better than the
"Graham, come back in here for a second" which
wouldn't, couldn't possibly
happen next, since there was no way Xander would have
answered that
question, but this *was* the Hellmouth and you learned
fast not to risk
things like that.  Tempt Fate and you end up dating
insects.

Xander opted for the much safer running like hell for
his car, jumping in,
and thinking up excuses which involved angry
girlfriends or gonna be late
for work or Buffy really, really wants this book.  Two
of which he didn't
have, and the third...well, it *might* be true.  He
jammed the car into
gear, peeled away from the curb, and hoped a demon
would find him to give
him something normal and familiar to do.  Scream, and
go find Giles or
Buffy.  Possibly hit it over the head, if it weren't
bigger than him.

He did glance in the rearview mirror, once, before the
frat house got out of
sight.  'Huh.  So that's where Graham lives.'
 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
 

Xander woke up in the middle of the morning to find
his sheets soaked.

Again.

He sighed and pulled them away, making the requisite
'ick' face, even if it
*was* kinda nice to know his dreams could get vivid
enough to get him off.
Would be nicer if he could be awake for it, but then
he'd probably be too
nervous about the fact he was fantasizing about
Graham, to relax and
fantasize.  Wet dreams were the perfect solution --
except that this was
four nights in a row, and it was beginning to get bad
enough that Xander was
thinking of doing something totally stupid and
sophomoric.

Like ask Buffy to ask Riley to ask Graham to come the
Bronze, or over to
Giles' for one of their
not-really-talking-about-real-demons evenings.
Xander shook his head at himself as he got out of bed,
dragging the soiled
sheets off, behind him.  Maybe he should ask Buffy to
pass a note to Riley
to pass along?  Ask her to ask him to find out if
Graham likes Xander?  'Why
not just go up and hit the guy, and see if he follows
when I run away?'

Mature solutions aside, Xander knew he was going to
have to do *something*.
Other than the laundry, which he was doing again now
for the fourth time,
and thank god his mother didn't notice that sort of
thing.  It had been more
of a blessing when he'd been thirteen and learning how
to wash his sheets
for the first time, it was still nice to know she
wasn't going to be asking
embarrassing questions over morning coffee.

He threw in a few stray articles of clothing,
including the boxers and shirt
he stripped out of standing there by the washer.  He
set it to go, then
headed towards the shower -- and realized for the
fourth morning in a row
that he was a moron.  He was going to have to wait
until the washer was
done, before he could take his shower.

Xander dropped his head and shuffled towards the
"kitchenette" area of the
basement.  Fine.  So he'd make some breakfast and
watch cartoons for half an
hour.  In the buff -- since his robe was one of the
articles he'd so
casually tossed in the wash.

He detoured long enough to lock both doors to the
basement.  Just in case.

Because sometimes mid-morning cartoons were boring,
and it was more fun to
think about the dreams he'd had, when he was sitting
naked in the chair and
finished with his cereal and still sticky anyway so
why not get more so.
The dreams were fairly basic -- naked Graham lying
beneath him, naked Xander
lying on top, both of them moving back and forth,
moaning and holding onto
whatever was handy.  In his dreams they were already
sweaty, already beyond
saying anything beyond moaning and loud, energetic
panting.

He could close his eyes and remember how it felt, that
body beneath his,
hard muscles and thick, strong limbs -- thick, hard
cock against his own
slickened cock, sliding against each other as they
moved back and forth.  He
could remember a hand on his arm, hanging on, remember
Graham's head thrown
back and his eyes closed, the tendons in his neck
standing out as he
strained, pushing harder, groaning louder, and
dreaming so vividly he could
have leaned down and tasted the skin even *now*,
sitting naked in the chair
and remembering it.  Vivid enough that his hand
wrapped around a fully
engorged cock without any teasing, without any first
few swipes of a hand to
get ready.

Xander let his head fall back onto the back of the
chair, spread his legs
and pumped, remembering how his dream pushed him so
fully against Graham,
how his lover had wrapped a leg around his and pushed,
how one hand had
snaked in between their bodies and touched them both
right before a tongue
pressed against his neck and they came.  He came,
biting back his scream by
sheer reflex, pumping himself as he kept his eyes
closed, kept staring at
the pictures in his mind of Graham, lying beneath him.

As his body shook and he began to relax, he tried to
reconstruct the next
bit of the dream.  The part when he and Graham lay
limp on the bed, where he
watched Graham lying there for a while before Graham
opened his eyes and
looked at him.

Did he dream that Graham smiled?  Xander could never
recall.  He ran a hand
up his chest, seriously in need of a shower, and found
himself looking
forward to going to bed, tonight.

Maybe he'd just ask Buffy to ask Riley where Graham
hung out....
 
 

end chapter one