Rating: FRM for sexual situations
Notes: 1300 words. Immediately follows "Apples, Oranges, and Pears".
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership and am making no money.
Xander lugged the bag of laundry through the front door. Fetching it from the cleaners without a car hadn't been his brightest idea ever. But hey, over with, and Giles would be happy to have a fresh supply of socks and shirts and towels.
Giles was off seeing some shaman about a demon. They'd just had their meeting with Buffy at the library, and she'd been a total wreck about this de-souling Angel threat. Angel had been calmer, and Giles the calmest yet. He had a plan already, it turned out. He explained it all to the four of them. Xander's job was to play dumb and act scared. Okay, he could handle that. This acting thing was easy when all you had to do was remember what you felt when Angel'd been de-souled for real.
Xander started sorting out the laundry. His stuff was easily put away: shirts in that drawer, pants there, underwear stuffed there, socks crammed in there. Giles's stuff was more complicated, because a bunch of it was on hangers. What the heck. Xander decided to learn how to put it away.
He figured it was okay to look through the sock drawers of a guy who'd just given you the first two blowjobs of your young life. Two blowjobs, the second of which had been that morning in the shower. Sweet mother of Zeus, that had felt good, with the hot water and the hot mouth and the soapy fingers touching him in places nobody had touched him before. Xander had thought he was going to pass out. He got sprung just remembering it. Very very very instantly majorly sprung in a cargo-pants fly-stressing kind of way.
Xander walked up the last few steps to the loft awkwardly, trying to hold the clothes away from his crotch. Fortunately the task of figuring out where Giles kept his clothes was not going to be erotic at all. Or so Xander hoped. You never knew when you were going to discover weird fetishes for things like socks. Or older men. He'd never have predicted that guys with crinkle lines at the corners of their eyes were going to turn out to be so damn hot.
But mostly putting Giles' clothes away turned out to be de-bonering. Giles apparently carried over the librarian approach to his clothing storage. Everything was organized. His t-shirts were roughly sorted by color in the t-shirt drawer. The top drawer of his dresser had three compartments. The one on the left held socks. The one on the right held underwear. The one in the middle had underwear, too. Blessedly unorganized, as far as Xander could tell. He would put Giles' socks away because he was head over heels for him, but drew the line at keeping his jockeys sorted into a rainbow.
Giles had a lot of socks. More than Xander did, though to be fair Xander had absconded from his house with what he could carry in a single duffle, and he had left some clothes behind. But even so, his sock collection was not going to compete with this one. Just on sheer variety, Giles had him beat. Xander's socks were mostly in the "tube socks, white, gym, teenagers, for the use of" category. Giles had those, but he also had dress socks. In black, brown, blue, and gray. Xander had exactly one pair of black dress socks, to go with the suit he'd worn exactly once to the Willow-kissing dance of doom. Giles also had wool socks, cotton socks, a pair of soft silky socks that Xander suspected might be real silk. Striped socks, which Xander was damn sure he'd never seen Giles wear. Argyle socks, which he had seen.
It was difficult to reconcile argyle socks with toe-curling knee-jellifying blowjobs, but there they were, all tagged with the Giles label in Xander's brain.
Xander added one week's worth of neatly-paired clean socks to the drawer. Now the underwear, which he grinned over, because he'd seen that on its owner. Giles was mostly into boxers these days, though he also had a healthy supply of colorful briefs. Xander figured out the underwear drawer, too, because that also was organized. The everyday stuff was on the right. The middle stuff was Date Underwear. Silk. Satin. Stuff with little red hearts on it.
Okay, little red hearts on Giles-boxers was weird, though not argyle brain-melty weird.
Xander slid the scary underwear drawer shut again and starting hanging up shirts. He'd just done the last one when he heard the front door open. He hung himself way out over the loft banister so he could watch Giles walk into view, look up, see him, and grin. Giles tossed his attache case on his desk and ran up the stairs. He had a plastic drugstore bag in his hand.
Xander met him at the top of the steps and wrapped his arms around Giles' waist. Giles pitched the bag at the bed and pulled him close for one of those demanding, hot, ferocious kisses. Then he ripped Xander's collar open to expose his neck. He got to work on the spot he'd sucked at last night. Xander let his head fall back.
"Fuck," he said. "Fuck, yeah."
Yeah, he was the king of the sweet talk, yeah, but how was a guy supposed to think well enough to talk when Giles was biting at his neck and grinding against his hips?
Giles eventually eased off and nuzzled Xander's ear. "Hello to you, too," he said.
"So so so not an argyle socks guy."
"Oh, nothing. How'd it go?"
Giles let him go and stepped over to the closet. He took off his tie, then hung it up. "Arrangements are made. We need only wait. I, er, did some shopping for necessities as well. In the bag."
Xander pounced on the bag and unpacked it onto the nightstand. A couple of boxes of condoms. Woah. And a big bottle of hand lotion with a pump on top. Hand lotion? Probe Extra Rich. What?
"A pump bottle? You bought a pump bottle of lube?"
Giles ran a hand through his hair until it stood on end. "Er, yes. I'm sorry, I didn't ask what sorts of things you wanted to do. I just assumed we'd be, um. If you don't want to, it's fine. There are many other, uh, enjoyable um--"
"Hey, big guy. Not a problem. I just didn't realize it came in that size. It comes in jumbo with a pump. Um. Yeah. Did I really just say that?"
Giles grinned at him, one of those big grins that transformed his face. "You did."
"So that bottle, unless I'm crazy, represents an awful lot of sex."
Xander watched Giles take off his jacket and hang that up too. "Mmm. I suppose it does," he said, from inside the closet.
Giles emerged and shut the closet door. "I like sex," he said.
A wave of joy broke over Xander, and it was all he could do to keep standing up he was so happy. "I approve of that. I think that's good. Gonna take a stand here. Because I am eighteen years old, and I like sex too. And I've only had it--" Xander counted on his fingers. "Four times. Five if we count last night and this morning separately and I'm not sure what the rules are but anyway I am thinking that every time I do it again it gets better. So I like it too. Let's do it as often as possible."
Giles laughed, in that quiet way he had when he was truly deeply all the way down happy. "All right, then. Let's."
"Now?" That came out squeakier than he'd wanted.
The grin turned a little dangerous. "If you'd like."
"Yeah. I'd like."
A moment later Xander's back hit the bed, and Giles was on top of him, and things got even better from there.