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Rising to Blueby WesleysGirlRating: NC-17 Wesley/Xander Written for Justhuman. Many thanks to Herself_nyc for the beta. It's dark, and quiet, and Xander's eye or where it used to be aches less than it did the day before. He was surprised to discover that he could get through the loss without any hard drugs. He would have guessed that he'd need something heavy, something that would carry the danger of addiction with it, but apparently the days under the rubble of the building without even an aspirin toughened him up. Or something. "Did you have enough to eat?" Wesley asks. "Yeah. Thanks." The first few days after Wes got him out, Xander hadn't been able to eat anything, but that had quickly changed, to the point where he'd done pretty much nothing but eat all day, sitting in the passenger seat while Wes drove. He's not hungry now, just cold. Wesley sits down on the coffee table in front of him, one hand on Xander's knee. It doesn't seem weird that they touch so much, even though Xander's never been a touchy-feely kind of guy. It's like all they've got is each other, and somehow it's reassuring to know that the other person's there. He tries not to think about what would have happened to him if Wesley hadn't shown up when he did. He knows he'd have been dead in another day or two, but he focuses on what they're doing, instead, so that he doesn't have to think about it. They're going to find Dawn. She's with Spike, they think, so that means that she has a better chance of still being okay than if she wasn't, little as Xander wants to admit it. Xander realizes that Wesley just asked him something. "Sorry," he says. "What?" "I asked if you needed anything," Wesley says, stroking Xander's knee gently. "No, I'm okay," Xander says. But he doesn't think he really is. Now that his eye hurts so much less, it's like he has nothing to distract him from the fact that everyone's gone. Willow, Giles, Anya, Tara... and of course Buffy, but she's been dead for months. He looks up at Wesley. "I just..." "What?" Wesley asks. "I don't know." Xander can hardly say the words. "I..." Wesley moves, sitting down next to him. "You should get some sleep," he says, patting Xander's shoulder. "Healing can take a great deal out of you." His arm settles around Xander's shoulders hesitantly, like he's waiting for Xander to straighten up and say he's okay. But Xander's not okay. Everyone he loves is dead, except maybe Dawn, and they might never find her. He turns, hiding his face against Wes' upper arm, clutching at him. He won't cry, because that would hurt too much, but he clings to Wesley, trembling. He keeps his good eye closed. Wes' arms are around him, awkwardly, and he can hear Wesley murmuring things like, "Shh, I know. It's all right, Xander. I'm here." Xander lifts his face to say something he'll never know what and they kind of crash into each other, his mouth into the side of Wesley's, like a kiss. It feels kind of good, kind of familiar, and Wes' lips taste like salt. Xander doesn't open his eye, just catches Wes' mouth again, deliberately this time, eager to have something else to concentrate on. "Xander..." Wesley pulls away, stroking the side of Xander's face, looking at him a little bit sadly. "You don't want this." "Shh," Xander says, echoing Wes' earlier sound instead of disagreeing, because he can't do that. He's too confused to know what he wants. He looks at Wesley, then reaches up and takes off Wes' glasses, setting them down on the coffee table where they won't get damaged. Wes' eyes are really blue, and all Xander can think is that Wes saved him, and Wes shouldn't look sad like that. They kiss again, for a long time. It's not really different from kissing a girl, except for the stubble, and after a little while Xander realizes that he's hard. That being aroused is just that, and that he cares about Wes, and who are they really hurting? Wesley reaches for Xander's hand and moves it to rest on Wes' thigh, then groans softly, shifting his position on the couch. Xander's hand slides a little bit higher, brushing against the hardness under Wes' jeans. Wesley groans again, kissing him more fiercely, and Xander doesn't protest. Curiously runs his fingertips over Wes' cock, tracing it. "Do you want to stop?" Wesley whispers, setting his own hand down on Xander's aching cock and squeezing it expertly through the denim. Xander whimpers and shakes his head. At this point, he thinks he'd agree to anything, and knows that he probably will. Whatever Wesley wants from him, because there's no one else. "Don't stop." After a while, their clothes are gone, and Wesley is half on top of him, rubbing against him, and it feels so good that Xander thinks he might come. Wesley definitely knows what he's doing knows just how to touch Xander to make him whimper in a way he no longer cares is undignified. Wesley swipes two fingers through the precome that's been leaking all over Xander's stomach and teases the skin behind Xander's balls. Xander would be glad that Anya used to like to play with dildos if he ever thought about her anymore, but he doesn't. He doesn't think about anything at all as Wesley pushes those fingers inside him, murmuring reassuring words in his British accent. "There. Good. Tell me if you want to stop." But instead Xander reaches for Wes' erection, because if he's going to do this, he's going to do it, not just let himself be done to. He strokes, feeling Wesley's breath hot against his throat as Wes groans, then making pretty much the same sound himself when Wes' fingers press deeper. He feels a rush of heat through his body and his cock throbs. "God," he says. "I want to be inside you, here," Wesley says, curling his fingers, and the pressure increases, like Xander's some kind of hot air balloon that's getting ready to explode. The thought of it of having an actual cock, Wesley's cock, in his ass should be disturbing, but Xander is confused and desperate enough that it's not. He nods against Wes' mouth, shifting his position the way Wes guides him, so that he's on his back on the couch, his legs spread wide, the fabric rough against his bare skin. Wes' dick, large and blunt, is pressing into him, but not really in, and Wesley's lips are warm and damp on his. "I'll be gentle," Wesley murmurs, pushing. "God, Xander. Yes." Xander's body opens up it doesn't have much choice around Wes' insistent cock, stretched painfully tight, and Xander makes a small sound. His mouth is open, too, opened wide, his eye squeezed shut as Wes moves deeper. It feels like his insides are being rearranged, moving out of the way, like Wesley's cock is way bigger than he knows it is. It hurts, but it's Wesley. Wesley's voice telling him to relax. Wesley's hand stroking his hip soothingly. "Tell me if it's too much. If you need me to stop." "No." That's all Xander can say, and for a second he thinks Wesley misunderstood because Wes pulls back out. The relief is almost overwhelming, even though it isn't what Xander was asking for. "Shh," Wesley says. "Let's go a bit more slowly." And he does, sliding back into Xander again, but at a quarter speed this time, slow enough that it starts to feel good by the time he's eased himself all the way in. Xander trembles and moans, feeling his body respond to how Wes' cock is rubbing against him, inside. His hands are gripping the couch cushion hard, his knuckles pale and bloodless, and his own dick starts to get hard again when Wes' hand tightens on his hip and Wes moves, not thrusting but circling his hips, forcing a whimper from somewhere deep in Xander's chest. Then there's no more thinking, because Wes' fingers are wrapped around Xander's cock, stroking it quickly back to full hardness, and Xander is moaning, his balls tightening as Wes' other hand tugs at them gently. Wes knows just how to touch him. Within seconds, Xander is coming, pulsing around the constant that's Wesley's cock, shivering and crying out. As the last jolts course through him, Wes starts to fuck him, thrusting hard and fast into Xander's now-willing or at least not-caring body. It doesn't hurt anymore, and Xander feels limp and exhausted, perfectly happy to let Wesley do whatever he wants. He watches Wesley's face when Wes comes, sees the way Wes' eyes shut, his head thrown back, his body taut with pleasure. He can feel it, inside, the throbbing and wetness. It's weird, but not bad. Wes runs his hands along Xander's thighs, back and forth, his expression guarded now. It's a pretty extreme contrast to the one he was wearing a minute ago, Xander thinks. He reaches up and curls his hand around the back of Wes' neck, not pulling him down for a kiss because that part's over, but rubbing his fingertips soothingly over warm skin, trying to say without actual words that it's okay. Wes relaxes and gently eases himself out of Xander. They rearrange themselves and clean up as best they can, pulling clothes back on and not realizing that they've put on each other's shirts until it's already done. "Do you want to...?" Wesley asks, holding the hem of Xander's shirt away from his body. With his glasses back on, he's familiar again. Xander shakes his head. "No, it's okay. Unless you do?" It's not like their clothes are really theirs as much as just random ones they've collected along the way, but there's something about wearing the shirt that Wes was wearing earlier that's... comforting. "Not particularly." Wesley turns and picks up the two sleeping bags that are part of their most recent acquisition. They're a heck of a lot easier to cart around than the piles of blankets they were using before, and you can never count on finding bedding you'd want to look at, let alone sleep in. "The bedroom seems safe enough," he says. "Yeah," Xander says. He already knows that they checked it out when they first chose the house, just like they always do. They walk down the hallway and into the room. They've been sharing a bed whenever they need to, and Xander's been grateful for it. He doesn't want to sleep alone. But they've never shared a bed after, well, doing what they just did. Because they've never done what they just did. Wesley unrolls one sleeping bag and spreads it out on the bed, then starts to unroll the other. Xander watches. He can still do that, even with one eye. "Here," he says, moving over to help. "Put them this way." He unzips the first sleeping bag and spread it out flat, so that the inside becomes the top surface, then flips the second one the opposite way, making a kind of sleeping bag sandwich. He looks at it, then up at Wesley. "How's that?" he asks, suddenly uncertain. Wesley blinks at him, and the smile that spreads slowly across his face is worth a lot. "It's perfect," he says. End.
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