Giles/Xander 3

FICLET: Rough Boys (Giles/Xander, FRM)

Because I wanted to respond to all the drabble prompts this week, but haven't managed to find the time at all. Bleat.

Response to the gilesxander Octoberfest prompt #9: "BDSM" or "the dominance challenge".
Giles/Xander, FRM
"Rough Boys"
word count: 800-ish

Xander was in the tight leather pants and the boots, and trying not to feel ridiculous. He'd worn the boots many many times, enough that he knew they looked right. The pants, well, they were new. Soft leather, but form-fitting. No creases yet, no scuffs, none of the dings and worn places that would mean they were real and not just a pose, that Xander in fact knew what to do with the flogger hung in his belt.

Talk about another thing he was nervous about. He'd never taken that out in public before. But after the last hilarious-only-in-retrospect mistake, hooking up with that girl who'd thought he was into the handcuffs for the Goth thing not the watching-people-sweat-and-writhe thing, he was going for unambiguous. Unambiguous, serious, dominant, leathersex in motion. That was Xander. No doubts. Go.

And fucked if the pants didn't feel like the sexiest things he'd ever had clinging to his body. Xander ran his hands down his thighs. Yeah. Fuck, yeah.

Xander paid the cover and strode into the Bronze.

No band tonight, just a DJ. Guitar noise, blasting. Darkness, spotlights on the milling crowds. A lot of black, a lot of leather, a lot of flashing metal. College students, a couple of high school kids with anxious and eager faces, adults with more intent faces. Women in groups or paired with men, a few paired with other women. Scattered single men. Men dressed in extreme versions of the uniform, vests and knee-high boots. Giggling tourists. But mostly college kids in goth black and cheap bangles, grinding on the dancefloor.

Xander ignored them all. This had the makings of another bust. Nobody to meet, nobody serious to play with. Never mind any hope of a longer-term thing. He really needed to get a working car so he could drive to LA. He mounted the steps to the balcony. Sometimes he found people up there, people with the hungry look in their eyes that said they needed something deeper than the flash. Men, women, he didn't care.

Quick scan. Ten people, maybe, mixed. All of them older. Wait. Was that? Yes. Giles. Leaning on the railing, looking down at the dancing crowd. He held a beer bottle in his hand, but wasn't drinking it. Giles, here?

He looked out of place. One step to the left of everyone there, clothes not quite right, expression on his face not quite right. Xander took a step closer. It was the set of the jaw that did it. Giles was annoyed by something. The music, maybe. It annoyed Xander, if he were honest about it. Too-fast too-loud death metal was the price he paid for leather nights at the Bronze.

Giles was wearing harness boots, at least, boots Xander had never seen on him before, peeking out from under the paint-stained jeans. And a black shirt, though the signals there were left of center because it was long-sleeved and had three buttons at the neck. Boots and belt and jeans were the concessions Giles had made to the leather dresscode. But there was also no air of poser in him. He was deadly serious about whatever he was searching the crowd for.

A stream of idiotic lines rushed through Xander's head. Fancy meeting you here. Come here often? Or even, Buy me a drink, boy. Though maybe Giles would be trying that last line on him. Top or bottom? Xander studied him. No conventional signals. Which was fine with him. That was bullshit for tourists anyway. But he needed to know.

No, he didn't.

If he wanted Giles, he would take him. And oh yes, Xander did want. The idea of that man, sweating and writhing below him: oh yes. That glare melted, that control stripped, that body shuddering: oh yes.

Xander strode up to Giles, and stopped. He folded his arms. He kept his mouth shut. Giles turned, mouth open as if to speak. His eyes widened in recognition, and Xander thought he might say something for a moment. But then he closed his mouth. His eyebrows came together. Xander held himself poised and still, and waited. He watched that Giles mind work on the problem in front of him, watched emotion flash across the face as Giles took him in.

Giles's eyes were below Xander's waist. On the flogger, on the leather stretched tight across Xander's hips, across his obvious arousal. He looked up and met Xander's eyes. Xander saw his throat working as he swallowed. One breath, two, and Giles hadn't looked away. His pupils were huge, and he was breathing hard. That was fear and desire and utter longing Xander saw on his face. Exactly what he wanted.

Xander tilted his head.

Giles nodded, once, slowly. Then equally slowly, he put his hands behind his back.

Xander reached out, hooked his fingers into Giles' shirt collar, and pressed down. Giles swallowed again, cast his gaze to the floor at Xander's feet, and sank gracefully to his knees.
  • Current Mood: restless
  • Current Music: Rough Boys : Pete Townshend : Empty Glass
Oh, very nice. I like the assurance Xander has here.
Confident, competent!Xander is one of my kinks. The moment at the end of "The Zeppo" when he just smiles at Cordy, for instance.
Wow. I just read the title and slid off my chair.

I like Xander's slight discomfort, feeling like he looks a poser.

But after the last hilarious-only-in-retrospect mistake

It annoyed Xander, if he were honest about it. Too-fast too-loud death metal was the price he paid for leather nights at the Bronze.
I really like that. That Xander's protective of the scene, even if it sounds like he's not into the music, either.

Oh. My. God. *oh my god*. When Xander realises he wasn't going to ask, or use any cheap pick-up lines, when Giles turns and it's all just *looks* and recognition and watching Giles' brain work...

*oh my god*
That wordless bit was why I wrote it. I just had this vision of Xander deciding to shut up and be intent, and Giles just not knowing what to do in the face of it...
Oooh, very nice. I especially liked Xander's description and evaluation of how Giles was dressed. And that last line - very hot!
I give two thumbs up for Toppy!Xander and Coolly!Submissive!Giles!!
(My hunch is that Giles was there thinking to top, but he was inspired to change his mind. By pants.)
That was meant to be complimentary, but I'm not sure it came out that way. Urm. I'll try again.

Well done!
Dom Xander! You just made my night. I don't suppose you could be persuaded to continue it?

Pardon me while I swear.

Oh holy fucking hell! God DAMN that's hot. Give me a minute while I turn up the AC in here. Gah, you broke me in a completely good way. (I rarely ever think of Giles as the bottom/submissive/slave sort but whoa daddy!)

I keep reading the last couple of lines over and over again, everything from when Xander tilts his head on down to the "end" (because you clearly have to keep this going!) What gets me, every time, is Giles putting his hands behind his back. The only other ... action that gets me as much is baring the throat I think; you know, tilting the head back and slightly to one side to bare the jugular. Especially effective if the person's eyes are closed while they do it.

And Xander hooking his fingers into the shirt collar! Oh god, the image of these two is pretty normally but my head just keeps imagining that look of surrender and intensity on their respective faces and....

I'll be in my bunk.

By the bye, any chance Giles is a Switch? Huh, huh, pretty pretty please with Giles on top?
Giles/Ethan or Giles/Wesley make more sense to me, but this is a very promising story.

One small grammar thing: Talk about another thing he was nervous about. -- Does the repetition of "about" sound awkward to you here? I can't decide if this it is awkward enough to be annoying, or if it exactly the kind of awkward that Xander would say/think, and is therefore perfect. Writing Xander is often a bit like that.
It's awkward, and if I had been writing in less haste I would have smoothed it out. I will secretly revise the source file. Bleah. The horror is that I notice problems like this every time I read a story I've written. Even ones I've labored over in long editing cycles. Sigh.
There's no such thing as the perfect story or the perfect program. There's always something tweakable. That's the *sigh* of it. You can write and edit and code and debug and never be done!