Thinking of You
Xander pulls the covers up around him, stretching out his legs and rolling onto his back to make himself more comfortable in his single bed. Tomorrow is Saturday -- a Saturday he's been looking forward to all week, and he wants to get a good night's sleep.
Because tomorrow, he's spending the day with Oz. No special occasion, no planned activity, no presiding over his friend's lupine incarceration... just some quality, straightforward, no-fuss, guy time.
Their friendship might have been on shaky ground after... what happened, but it has remained remarkably intact, considering. Xander is more relieved about that than he really knows how to put into words -- for some reason the thought of losing his only male friend -- specifically Oz- leaves him colder that he would expect. Clearly he had underestimated how much he values the other boy's stoic dependability and dry wit.
He's actually really looking forward to some male bonding. Just him, Oz, maybe a pool table, maybe a war movie... who knows. Not that it's anything to complain about, but most of Xander's close friends are (unfeasibly hot and) female, and he worries sometimes that he's becoming too feminised. Occasionally he finds himself buying toiletries he doesn't need "just because they smell nice", or feeling the need to call one of his friends to gossip about the subtext between two characters on TV. He loves hanging out with the girls but he doesn't want to turn into one of them. He's spent most of the day talking to Buffy about the outfits she spent her birthday money on, and he has actually started to gain an appreciation for concept of "cute" when it comes to skirts -- whereas normally their value is assessed on a scale that is strictly inversely proportional to their length. Especially when it comes to Buffy.
Xander is unsurprised to find that his hand has delved into his pyjama pants almost of its own accord. One of the other perils of spending time with so many gorgeous women, of course, is that he can get turned on just by a passing thought about who he had lunch with today. That said, Xander muses, he could probably get turned on by a passing thought of bulgur wheat, so all in all it's probably better to focus on his friends -- inappropriate as it may be.
Regardless -- what they don't know can't hurt them, so Xander lets himself fall into a familiar fantasy he's been indulging in recently -- one that revolves around Buffy. He normally defaults to Buffy. She's always been the one of the gang that he was the most drawn to, and despite his physical dalliances with, well, the majority of the others -- she's still the one that most piques his interest. She has just the right blend of authority, compassion and vulnerability -- and, oh yes, a stunning body. He's long since put aside his compunctions about Buffy-centric self abuse -- he's all but admitted it to her on several occasions anyway, and he takes her skilled avoidance of giving a direct response as tacit consent.
In this particular fantasy scenario, Buffy shows up at school wearing just that coat, drags him into a an empty classroom and pushes him down onto a desk, climbing atop him with the languid ease of a predator that's trapped its prey and is toying with it until finally ready to go in for the kill...
The Buffy fantasies come in many shapes and sizes, but this one is his current favourite; though normally he doesn't get very far into exploring it before it has fulfilled its purpose. He relaxes and falls into a familiar rhythm.
On this occasion, however, after dwelling on increasingly well defined details for a little under 10 minutes, Xander finds that the Buffy-and-him-alone-in-a-classroom scenario doesn't seem to be doing the trick. He is no closer to orgasm than when he started, and to speed things along (he doesn't want to end up sore), he might actually need to bring in extra players.
At first he tries Faith -- ok so they're not that close friends but they don't really need to be - she undeniably oozes sex and the prospect of her trying to one-up Buffy over pleasing him is irresistible. Besides, he has absolutely no emotional attachment to her, which makes objectifying her that much easier to do completely shame-free, unlike the niggling guilt he pushes aside when he does so with Buffy.
In the fantasy she practically tears the smaller slayer off him, ripping open his shirt and kissing him forcefully until Buffy pushes her aside, moving down to unbuckle his belt... Xander moves his hand faster as the images of the two young women tussling over him play out in his brain, but it still doesn't seem to be bringing him to the edge he desires.
Elaborating on the scenario, his attentions then switch instead to Cordelia, who has come striding into the classroom in hold-up stockings and is threatening to punish Buffy and Faith for taking advantage of "her man".
He pauses momentarily. Things didn't end too long ago with Cordelia -- is he sure he wants to do this? He weighs it up. OK, she's a recent ex, she won't even speak to him at the moment except to show disdain, and he's quite sure that she couldn't really care less who is doing what to him on a table. But then... he's always gotten off a little bit on the way she masks her lust for him behind contempt. And he's not going to deny himself the satisfaction of beating off to the image of those killer legs just because things have gone sour between the two of them. OK, Cordelia is granted access to the fantasy. Xander starts up again.
The distraction of Cordelia's grand entrance means that the vying slayers attentions are temporarily diverted, allowing Xander to sit up. Cordelia pulls him to his feet, instructing him to remove the rest of his clothing. Having done so, she allows him to kiss her -- not on the lips, but along the length of her perfect jaw line and down her neck.
Meanwhile Buffy and Faith have given up on their mission to win him, and he can hear them creating their own fun now on the desk behind him. Reluctant to turn around under the instruction of his ex girlfriend, Xander instead keeps his gaze focused firmly ahead over Cordelia's should. Where, standing coolly in the doorway, carrying an intense look of lust and concentration, is Oz.
Wait, no not Oz. Where did that come from?
Obviously, he meant Willow.
Hmm. Willow, the girl he's known practically his whole life; Willow, the cause of his first transgression of fidelity; Willow, who cost him Cordelia; Willow, over whom he could have permanently jeopardised his friendship with Oz... ok no, he can't think about her. He can push those concerns aside with the others, but with Willow it's too much -- she's still too sensitive on the subject, even for him it's too confusing and too recent, and besides, she's still with Oz.
Their relationship, of course, survived that particular error of judgement - whilst his was left in tatters.
He can feel his erection waning in his bitterness, and he makes a conscious effort to forcibly pull his thoughts back to less emotive topics.
The fantasy classroom scenario isn't really working for him anymore, so he entertains himself with more abstract generic sexual thoughts about his chosen selection of women -- Faith bending over a bed and looking back at him over her shoulder with hooded eyes; Cordelia sucking erotically on a popsicle; Buffy slowly and tantalizingly removing her coat to reveal that she is completely naked; Oz, sweat soaked on stage at the end of a gig...
Argh, stop with the Oz! Seriously, what is this about?
Xander regains his focus and tries again with more earnest.
Cordelia, kitted out like a Victoria's Secret model, straddling him and running her nails down his chest; Buffy, eyes boring into his as she pulls down his zipper using only her teeth; Faith, covered in dirt after a recent slay, getting herself off against a wall; Oz, naked and rattling the bars of his cage upon returning to human form...
And still all thoughts lead back to Oz. And oddly it's not killing his hard-on -- if anything it's getting stronger; his strokes becoming faster...
...No, he can't be starting to consider Oz in that way, he won't allow it -- not just because he's a guy, but because they've been friends a really long time and Oz is the one member of his social circle he's just never felt like that about before. He's meant to be the uncomplicated one, the port in the storm, the camaraderie without the confusion.
Sure, Xander's really looking forward to spending time just the two of them tomorrow. And sure, sometimes he finds himself hoping to catch Oz between classes to trade witticisms. And, ok, he often wishes there was less of a stigma about guys hugging other guys because there's something about the idea of wrapping his friend up in a huge bear hug that he finds oddly compelling... but that doesn't mean he's attracted to Oz... does it?
No, no, no. He won't let it. Xander knows he has a history of treating the Scooby gang as a dating pool -- he falls for his friends far too easily, and now he's exhausted all of the realistic options and he's just defaulting to the one person he hasn't tried.
That's all this is. Not a real crush.
Besides, Oz and Willow. Gotta respect their relationship. It's this new thing he's trying.
He tries to force his mind back to corsets, high heels, breasts -- anything girly, but the time gaps between the flashing images he's trying to suppress just get shorter and shorter, and the images becoming more and more comprehensive and compelling -- Oz playing guitar, Oz's face, Oz's hands, Oz's smile, Oz's eyes, Oz's chest, Oz...
Oz, Oz, Oz, Oz... Xander allows himself to beat out the rhythm of his friend's name on repeat until he climaxes forcefully into his other hand.
As he reaches for a tissue, he worries that he ought to feel ashamed, or dirty, or at least confused about what he's done, but he doesn't. He just feels... satisfied.
In the morning he'll tell himself... no, in the morning he won't tell himself anything at all.
He'll just enjoy his day with Oz.