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Miss Finchley Bent Over It was all Miss Finchley's fault. Seventh period, American history, and in his mind Xander was already through for the day, out of the building and long gone, leaving dead presidents and constitutional reform behind him. Then Miss Finchley, pacing the rows between the desks as she always did, dropped her pointer next to him. And bent over to retrieve it. Leaving him staring squarely at her tweed-skirted buttocks, just inches away. And the sight - oh horror of horrors - gave him a hard-on. Miss Finchley was about 100 years old. Miss Finchley had grey frizzy hair and support hose and orthopedic shoes and teeth stained with years of English Breakfast Tea and a voice like a cartoon crow. And Xander still had a hard-on. He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. They'd told them all back in 7th-grade health class that stuff like this happened, their hormones acting independently of their brains. It didn't have to mean that he was a creepy loser with some kind of sicko support-hose-and-tweed-fetish. People should just know better than to bend over around him, at least until he was in his twenties. Bending over was an inherently sexual act to an adolescent boy. Just like walking up stairs in a short skirt in front of him, or leaning back languorously to drain the last drops from a coke bottle, or extending a leg into the aisle to stretch during class, or... well, just about any damn thing, really. He was not in control here. They should all know better. All of them with their legs and their necks and their skin and their breasteseses -- And then Miss Finchley was standing upright again and looking at Xander funny and he was sure he was red in the face, and he was trying desperately to beam thoughts in her direction that were all to do with history, American history and guys with long hair and tights and no thoughts at all about bending over and erections. Xander tried to imagine the least sexual thing he could, which turned out to be Giles handing him an enormous stack of dusty leather-bound books to read, only the image came to life in his mind and Giles had to bend over to put the books on the table in front of him and oh my god, maybe he did have a tweed fetish, because the thought of Giles bending over only made him harder. Not just a tweed fetish but a gay tweed fetish. And that inevitably made him think of Larry, big gay Larry bending over, big gay Larry bending him over, and all the blood was rapidly leaving his brain and yes, this was definitely a wiggins he was now having. A big gay wiggins. He had to get out of there. "MissIhavetogo" he blurted as he stood up abruptly, pulling his baggy sweater as low as it could go and keeping his body bent forward in a kind of caveman hunch, "Havetogoto-" and he was out the door, knocking someone's books to the ground with a tremendous crash, before he even finished the sentence, Miss Finchley staring after him in astonishment. Miss Finchley, who bent over and made him gay, and at some level he knew that thought wasn't logical, but the door to the bathroom was almost in sight and all he wanted to do was get there so he could at least have his big gay wiggins in private and not in front of the whole Sunnydale High world in three foot high flaming, yes,flaming gay letters. Only the bathroom door swung open just as he got to it and he was going too fast to stop himself before he crashed into the boy coming out, and he found himself gaping down into a familiar face with slightly mascara'd eyes. "Xand-man," said Oz, unperturbed, "What's - " and his eyes flickered momentarily to Xander's crotch, "up?" Xander turned even redder and before he could think he blurted out, "I think Miss Finchley made me gay." Oz appeared to ponder the thought for a moment, then nodded, and said, "Yeah, that can happen. You'd better come with me." There was such quiet certainty to his voice that Xander followed without question. Oz led him out the back door and through the parking lot to his van, where he opened the back doors and motioned Xander in ahead of him. "Dev?" he said to what looked like a pile of blankets in the corner, and the blankets stirred and revealed a sleepy Devon in tight red jeans and nothing else. "Xander thinks Miss Finchley may have made him gay," said Oz seriously, closing the door behind him. "Well," said Devon, stretching, "I guess we'd better check and see if he's right about that," and in one economical movement he undid his jeans and shucked them off. Xander gaped at him, standing there all naked, and tanned, and smooth, with a dense patch of hair around his cock and surprisingly large nipples and naked, his cock now lazily in his hand, and when he turned to look at Oz for an explanation he found Oz also in the process of shedding his vintage Husker Du T-shirt and jeans. "Do you find our masculine nudity intriguing or arousing?" asked Oz, and then Devon was right in front of him, his hands undoing Xander's pants and then reaching inside. "Are you fantasizing about women as I do this?" added Devon as his cool hand took hold of Xander's hard cock. Xander, speechless, could only shake his head because, well, he wasn't. And then they were both pulling him to the floor with them into a naked heap of boy, and when Oz said, "How do you think you'd react to the suggestion that you suck my cock?" he gaped at him some more but didn't resist when Oz gently guided his head down and. There was a penis there! A penis firmly attached to Oz and firm, definitely firm in its own right and it occurred to Xander that things were moving awfully quickly, and it also occurred to Xander that Devon's hands were still really, really busy in every last one of Xander's no-no-well, all right-yes-god-yes! places, and finally it occurred to Xander that thinking could only get him into further trouble. Open mouth, see what happened. Well, that happened, and oh, interesting and saltier than his own and complete with a beringed hand in his hair that felt just weird enough to blow all of Xander's remaining circuits. Sex now? Sex now. Sex now! "Mmm, Xander. Yeah. I definitely think this should help you make up your mind." "Mmmph." "Exactly." Snickering from somewhere behind him and Devon was doing... something to Xander's balls and also licking his spine and it was all Xander could do to focus on no-teeth and lots-of-tongue and every other porno hint he'd inadvertently picked up over the years of apparent of sexual confusion because, hey, it's just not every day you wind up cutting eighth period trigonometry to suck cock. Eyes suddenly wide with the fact of it, or maybe with the feel of Devon's hands on his ass, spreading him open and touching and teasing and -- "Oz, man, do you know anybody else we can send to Finchley for sudden sexuality problems? You know, with asses like this?" -- slipping in just the tip of a finger and Xander tensed all over -- "Dev, were I not getting such a spectacular amateur blowjob, I'd probably be disappointed in you for being so shallow." "Why do you think I waited 'til now to ask?" -- relaxed into it, suddenly way too hot and aware of his body as something... something that could be used -- "Helpful, Dev, helpful. Not evil." "Right, right... So I probably shouldn't tease him too badly." -- harder and harder to focus, do anything but hold on to the base of Oz's cock and fuck his mouth on it, numb and raw at the same time and -- "I think our focus should be on orgasms at the moment. For example, I myself am currently highly focused on the orgasm I'll have if Xander does that thing with his tongue again." "Mmmph-mmph?" "No, the other -- fffffuck." Just enough warning for Xander to pull back a little, catch it on his tongue, his cheek, his throat. Felt himself flushed bright red and hard enough to just ache and Oz was petting him, leaning in to lick him clean and share the taste. Impossibly sexual, like Xander had just aged about ten years in the last fifteen minutes without warning. Or the rest of the world had. Something. Who decided he was ready for this? Devon's hand on his cock more than enough answer for that. "Mmm. My turn, Xand-man..." Pushed down on his back, clothes pushed, pulled, tugged and nearly torn out of the way. Naked on the cluttered floor of the van, Devon over him and Oz off to the side, doing the inscrutable thing while Devon stared at him like dinner. "Um. Hello." "Hey Xand. This next exercise involves nudity. Have we got nudity, Oz?" "I'd say you've got it covered, Dev." "It also involves a lot of togetherness. Now if you just spread your legs a little... yeah, like that. And hmm. Yeah, Just sort of wrap that leg over mine and ohhhh fuck yeah." Xander managed a moan. "After that, you've pretty much got humping. You up for some humping, Xand?" "Mnuh." "Mmmm. Good." And Xander was being kissed, thoroughly, with only their tongues as a real reference point because God, all that skin and their cocks rubbing together like some awful boy scout joke and they had to be rocking the van and Oz watching it all, lighting up a joint and smiling with that fraction of amusement thing he did and Xander thrusting up and up with everything he was worth. Couldn't not. Couldn't stop. Orgasm this gorgeously well-defined thing just over the horizon. Tightens his leg around one long, leanly muscled thigh and kisses back. That he can do, and, hell, this he can do. Kicking ass at gay sex for beginners, rolling onto their sides and getting hold of Devon's ass and squeezing, pulling him closer, driving against him until Devon was just panting against his throat, hands all over Xander's back and moaning dirty impossible promises into his skin and faster. Harder. Oz's gaze like a weight. So fucking good. Xander came groaning and shuddering, holding on to Devon like the last solid thing in the universe, too dazed to do anything but be ridden through Devon's own orgasm before just collapsing among the discarded clothes and other debris. Life just one giant Wow. When he finally regained some semblance of rationality, Devon and Oz were both looking at him inquiringly. "Well?" He took stock. He was naked in the back of the van, sweaty and exhausted and clearly, yes, very, very gay. But there was one more question in his mind. "Um, I think so, but... do you guys have anything made of tweed?" |
