Partner
"I feel kind of sorry for the mechanical bull. I mean, he never gets to roam in a field, eating grass."
Willow lit up. "Yeah, or running in Pamploma. He never gets do do that."
"He lives a sad life."
"Maybe we could get him a mechanical cow."
Xander walked up to them, forearms slick with what looked suspiciously like overflow from the thirty-two-ounce margarita cups he was carrying. "I just got my ass grabbed by this Harpo Marx-looking guy who said that I looked like a lump of sugar. And then he asked me if I wanted to 'feed his pony.' Remind me whose idea this was again?"
"I dunno. Faith's?" Buffy took a swig of Pabst.
"Right. Because Faith always had the good ideas. Try to kill us all, go to prison ... oh! Try to kill us all, and gay cowboy bars."
Riley looked uncomfortable. He hoped no one remembered that this was his idea. "It wasn't my idea."
A brief but uncomfortable silence followed.
Anya broke it.
"Well, regardless of whether a murderer or a closeted, ex-military homosexual thought it up, gay cowboy night is fun. And festive! See, I purchased this traditional western outfit."
Buffy looked skeptical. "Dawn sold it to you?"
"For ten dollars and one of Willow's stuffed animals. How did you tell?"
"The pink hat cowboy hat that says 'Knott's Berry Farm' on it? Kind of a giveaway. Also, those are my boots."
"Oh. A giveaway. So I can keep the boots then?"
The first notes of "Don't Tell Me" played over the speakers. "Hey! I really like this song." A grinning Riley tipped his hat to Buffy. "Dance with me, pardner?"
Buffy's face broke into a bemused smile as she slid off her stool. "I think Anya was on to something."
"Hey, Madonna is a major cultural figure ... " The pair of them were lost in the crowd, and the chance of eavesdropping went with them.
"That is so sad." Willow shook her head. Tara looked sympathetic.
Anya rounded on Xander. "Well?"
"Well what? Oh. Am I going to ask you to dance well what."
"Well what ask me to dance yes. We are at a bar, and there is music playing, and I thought--"
"Excuse me." A solidly built blonde with wide blue eyes and a leonine face was blushing before them. "I never do this, well, I never come to--w--anyway, would you like to dance?"
"Um, actually, she's really not--"
"Sure!" A delighted Anya glided forward. "It's always flattering when other people acknowledge your attractiveness!"
The blonde laughed. "I'm Kate. It's nice to meet you ... " The two girls drifted off towards the dance floor.
"That is so sad." Tara shook her head. Willow looked sympathetic.
"I hate you both, and I have to pee." Xander set off towards the restroom.
How in the hell does this work, anyway? Peeing at a gay bar? Can I have a privacy screen or something? Xander was relieved to find the bathroom empty save for the couples in the stalls, who sounded like they were enjoying themselves very much. Too much to be concerned with Xander, he hoped.
We're halfway there, he thought, unzipping his jeans. Just finish this up and I can get on out--"
The bathroom door swung open. Xander felt his back tensing up as someone took the urinal next to his.
Another brief yet uncomfortable silence ensued.
Someone broke it.
"Hey there."
Oh, shit.
"Um ... hey." Xander refused to look away from the flush handle of the urinal, staring straight ahead and trying very hard not to freak out before he fell over and cut his head on the porcelain and God only knows what would happen then.
"Havin' fun?"
"Actually, I'm peeing. And, heh, I don't know how you guys do things in these parts, but we don't pee when we talk over in my world." He could feel the stranger's eyes burning into his cheek.
"Well, you're at a gay bar with your dick in your hand, so I've got to wonder if peeing was the only thing on your mind."
"Number one," said Xander, buttoning up, "if you had been looking, which I really hope you weren't, you would have noticed that said dick was limp. Number two, the only reason I'm out here is because I was ... worried that the stalls might have holes. In ... places."
"Changes nuthin'. You're still in a gay bar. And you still had your dick in your hand. Beer running through you? It does me." The stranger closed his eyes and leaned his head back.
"Tequila, actually, and, um--thank you, this conversation was lovely, but I--"
"I'm Lindsey." The stranger turned to face Xander. Xander looked away as the stranger fiddled with his zipper. "I'm not going to shake that hand."
"I wouldn't expect any less of you." Lindsey smiled, moving towards the sink taps. "And I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name, sir."
"Uh, it's Xander. Xander Harris. Uh, the very--"
"And what do you do, Xander Harris the Very?"
Xander's voice rose a couple of octaves. He heard what sounded like a nervous fourteen-year-old boy say "I work construction?"
Lindsey half-laughed. "Well, that's good. You ever line-danced before?" He was smiling now. Smiling the way I smile when I see boobies.
"Um, well, see, I--"
"It's real easy. Just stand behind me." Lindsey made his way to the door.
Xander, somewhat numbly, followed Lindsey onto the dance floor. Anya was right, he thought. It is always flattering when other people acknowledge your attractiveness. By the time the next song started, however, that thought was replaced with Oh God, I am standing behind a gay man in a gay bar, getting ready to line-dance, and this has to be the weirdest thing I've ever done. Not counting all those--Oh shit-- Lindsey's feet were already moving.
Xander tried to follow Lindsey's steps without pissing off the other dancers too much. By, say, bumping into them and then freaking out about the fact that he'd just bumped into a sweaty, hairy, muscular gay man in smelly, sticky leather. Not that he'd already done that a few hundred times or anything. Xander was somewhere around left foot goes here, right foot goes there, ohh-kay, I think I'm gettin' it when Lindsey's ass gave a little twitch, and a browned hand with a silver fleur-de-lis bracelet slapped against it. Xander's eyes widened to see Lindsey twisting over his shoulder to grin at Xander, elbow cocked out over his hip. Oh, my God. The ass slap.
Xander didn't have time to worry about the fact that he'd noticed the ass twitch well before the slap of Lindsey's palm, because he had another worry quickly growing somewhere below his big TEXAS belt buckle.
"How ya doin', Xander Harris the Very?" Lindsey called.
"Could you please not say my name that loud?" Xander crashed into the bear-man next to him, attempting to recover by throwing two index fingers' worth of lean-back disco boogie into his dance step. Lindsey laughed.
"You really suck at this!"
"Yes! That and many other things. Oh God. But I didn't mean that--"
Lindsey pulled Xander out of the line, Xander fumbling apologetic hand gestures to the men he'd just spent three long minutes stumbling over. They seemed to recover fast enough without him. Good for them. It took a moment for Xander to realize that Lindsey had just said "Let's slow-dance this one."
"What?"
"C'mon." Xander felt Lindsay's arms around his waist before he he was able to say, "This--this isn't a slow song. And I--"
"You're dancin' kinda far." The bar lights played over Lindsey's mouth and cheekbones, and Xander felt Lindsey's hands on his ass, pulling him in closer. Lindsey's hard-on nudged Xander's leg, and, despite Xander's resistance, he was pretty sure Lindsey felt something against his leg, too. Unless he's on, like, assloads of Vicodin or something. That'll kill anything. Xander looked over his shoulder for any sign of his friends. He couldn't see anyone he knew. The bar is crowded. So crowded. They'll have a hard time finding me. I'm behind the lines. In a crowd of couples. This is not okay. This is--
This was Lindsey's mouth on his cheek. A soft, sweet kiss. A hint of razor stubble, a shadow no later than one o'clock. A slightly dazed Xander lifted his head to feel Lindsay's tongue rolling over his lips. He blushed.
"Lindsey, I--I think you may have gotten the wrong idea here."
"Really? Cause your dick doesn't seem to think I do." Lindsey pressed his leg against Xander's cock, pulling their chests together.
Xander closed his eyes.
"Not so straight now, are you, boy?" Lindsey asked.
Xander swayed there, his hips beginning to rock, and let the hot toddy voice with the slow Oklahoma accent soothe him into the moment. We're on the floor. We're dancing. Slow dancing. "Not right now."
Lindsey moved in to kiss him. "I think I like you, Xander Harris the Very."
"That's--flattering--" was all he was able to get out, and then Lindsey's tongue was in his mouth. Xander could not object. They stood there, pressed against each other, passing sweetness and salt and heat back and forth, for what seemed like a very long moment. Xander felt the tip of his cock beginning to dampen and his stomach straining towards his dance partner. His hips, with a will of their own, began to quicken. Lindsey ground back. Slower. Harder. I'm harder. I'm getting harder just smelling his hair. It's gotta be the alcohol. Lindsey's tongue was dancing over Xander's earlobe. Bees drunk with the smoke of an Oklahoma wildfire hummed in his brain. "Let me get you off," Lindsey whispered. His tongue insinuated itself around Xander's ear. "Come on. It'll be just like this. Only lower." Lindsey's lips brushed Xander's jugular. "It's crowded here. No one will know."
Xander's protest was feeble. "She doesn't need to--I--she--"
"A girlfriend, huh? Girlfriend? And that's why I found you," Lindsey whispered, "in a gay bar with your dick in your hand?" Lindsey was waltzing them closer to the bathroom, through the crowds and sweat, murmuring whiskey and honey up at his dance partner. Xander tasted the tequila he'd had, and Lindsey's Corona. The shot of sweet acid lime between them sliced through the foam and salt and drew his mouth downwards, downwards, towards Lindsey's salt-soaked neck. "What the hell are you," Xander muttered, "a lawyer?"
Lindsey laughed. Xander felt it against his mouth. "Actually, I am a lawyer."
"That explains your evil seductive powers."
"You don't know the half of it."
"Hey," Xander whispered, "That's a lot more than a half there, counselor."
"I'd like to find that out for myself, if you don't mind." Lindsey's hand reached around the outline of Xander's cock. Xander felt his back stiffen up. That's not my back. "If we're going to get this over with, one way or another, do you think we could do it soon?"
"I been waiting for you to ask that, Xander Harris. I'm taking it we both prefer to end this the same way?"
The bathroom was fuller this time, men chatting and peeing and lingering at the taps. Lindsey pulled Xander through them, cutting a one-man swath of real West through the California cowboy crowd. Xander just wanted to have his cock pushing against Lindsey's leg or hand. Or mouth. Or whatever and was slightly confused when Lindsey swung a stall door open and smiled, "See? No holes." By the time he had that idea sorted out, Lindsey's arms were wrapped around him again, and their rocking hips had picked right back up where they'd left off.
Xander reached between the pearl snaps on Lindsey's shirt, wanting to feel Lindsey's skin beneath his fingers. Hard. Warm. He pulled his hand up, freeing the snaps, and lowered his mouth to Lindsey's chest. He could feel Lindsey's heart through his mouth, beneath the sweat and skin. He felt Lindsey's stomach deflating before he heard Lindsey's groan. Lindsey moved against him, slower and more forcefully, always slower and harder, and Xander felt any last reservations he held give. He unzipped Lindsey's pants, forgoing yanking them down for stroking Lindsey's cock through the thin layer of Calvin Klein cotton covering it. Lindsey inhaled deeply.
"So am I going to blow you or what, boy?"
Xander surprised himself. "Me first."
He knelt on the tile, the first cold thing he'd felt that night, and tugged on the black Calvin Klein waistband until he was face to face with Lindsey's hard, bare cock. He followed the thick blue vein along the back from the base up to the tip, where he took Lindsey's dick in his mouth the way he'd always wished Anya would, slowly, using his tongue like the muscle it actually was, rolling Lindsey's dick against the roof of his mouth.
"For a straight boy," Lindsey breathed, "you sure give pretty good head."
Xander's answer was delayed; he was currently swallowing Lindsey's cock whole. And when the answer came, it was not a word, but a bit of air drawn into his nose, Lindsey's scent hot in his nostrils, brought up from his belly in a low unidentifiable note, hummed with his whole mouth. Lindsey tried to hold back for all of half a minute, arms tensed and hands shaking on Xander's head, before he was fucking Xander's throat with all the self-control of a sixteen-year-old country boy seeing Playboy for the first time.
Lindsey leaned back against the stall door, panting, weary eyes turned towards the figure crouched before him. "And now," he sighed, "if you give me a moment to recuperate, I will be happy to return that favor, Xander Harris the Very Good Man."
"Sounds good." Xander wanted to use that moment to think a few things out through the fuzz in his brain, but the moment was shorter than he'd expected. He felt Lindsey pulling him up and closer, until Xander was leaning on Lindsey's chest and the both of them leaning against the door. A lazy hand drifted through Xander's sweaty hair, and Xander felt the now-familiar hint of stubble against his cheek. He breathed into the warmth of Lindsey's face, Lindsey's belly gently rising against his own. Lindsey closed his eyes and kissed Xander, a slow, lingering kiss that made Xander's knees even weaker. Lindsey was unbuttoning Xander's shirt and kissing his way down Xander's stomach, unbuttoning Xander's pants and all Xander could say was, "Hurry up with those--those buttons, because I don't know how much longer I can stay vertical."
Lindsey went even slower after that.
Xander's Target bargain bin undershorts were not Calvin Klein cotton. Not even close. But like every weird thing about Xander, Lindsey seemed to find them charming. "Snoopy, huh?" he smiled. "It's not even Christmas."
"But it's in July," Xander murmured. A sudden rush of cool air told him that Lindsey had finished undressing him, at least the parts that mattered, and he could fall back now, and he did, knees giving way and his head leaned against the cool porcelain of the toilet tank.
Lindsey's hands and mouth were as slow as his dance. Xander didn't even have the will to try to speed things up. Eyes closed, he drifted in and out of the idle chatter, tilting his cock up to meet Lindsey only as much as his shallow breathing would allow. His hands drifted towards Lindsey's head, holding him closer. Lindsey's mouth pulled in slow, teasing strokes, and Xander thought, idly, through the haze of bathroom talk and nerves exploding in his dick, It's not fun for him unless he has to work for it. He's a chaser. Not a catcher. Not a-- He began to rock his hips a little more quickly, thoughts tumbling through his slippery brain, his head too tired to catch them. Lindsey answered by setting a rhythm like an oil pump, slow, then fast, then slow. Xander tightened his gut, quietly fighting his cock for control, trying hard to slow his movements, and Lindsey became a steel train, a sledgehammer, raining his mouth down on Xander's cock like the god of thunder and Xander was trying so hard not to move he thought his lungs would collapse, while Lindsey was attacking his dick like a starving dog attacks a bone. Xander's hands tensed and flexed in Lindsey's hair, and finally he pushed himself forwards, deep into Lindsey's throat, and the honeyed whiskey throat contracted around him a he finally, finally came.
A brief, merciful darkness was broken by a word Xander didn't recognize at first. "Cigarette?" Xander pulled his head up to see a Marlboro Light dangling in front of him. "I don't--Oh, I--don--sure."
"Good boy." Lindsey smiled, holding out a Zippo.
Xander inhaled. "I don't think I can walk."
"Well, pulling your pants up might help." Lindsey's lips curved around the cigarette, blowing smoke into the air already thick with sweat and chatter. "It does me."
Xander smiled. "I like this," he said. "No 'When can I see you agains,' no worrying about whether she'll hate your car." He looked up at Lindsey. "You're not going to kill me, are you? Cause the last person I did this with tried to kill me."
"No. But if I was, I'd give you a head start."
"That's comforting."
Lindsey smiled around his drag.
Xander leaned his head back again. "What in the hell am I gonna tell my girlfriend?"
"That you fucked a cocksuckin' lawyer in the men's room?"
"Sadly, I think that might work."
"That's my job," Lindsey smiled. "Workable solutions."
"And I'm sure you are very good at it, too. Where do you work again?"
"Big downtown firm in L.A."
"Hollywood clientele?"
"I'm actually part of our Special Projects division."
"What's that, like, arts-and-crafts?"
"Craft, yeah. And I guess it's art." Lindsey reached between Xander's legs, dropping his cigarette in the toilet and brushing Xander's cock one more time. Xander closed his eyes and took a final drag, sending the smoke to its watery grave.
"Well, I'll be seeing you," said Lindsey. "Or not. It was certainly a pleasure, Xander Harris the Very. Your girlfriend is one lucky lady if you're half this good to her."
"She'll hand me my balls on a plate if she ever finds out."
"You'll just have to make sure she don't, then." Lindsey unlocked the stall door and turned to go, leaving Xander with his pants down in the men's toilet of a gay bar.
It was a few moments before Xander finally pushed out of the men's room and back to his table, sweaty and too relaxed to get strung up over his worries. He was met by Riley and Anya, both sloshed out of their minds and looking rather the worse for wear. Riley, for one, was wearing Dawn's pink cowboy hat. Anya was wearing Riley's. Sideways.
"Hey, there's my Xander!" Anya nearly fell off the stool getting up. Xander noticed that there were two extra Big Tex margarita cups littering the ground and shook his head.
"Where were you, honey? Me and Riley were getting bored."
"Anya said this hat would look good on me!" Riley grinned.
"And she was right." Xander turned to Anya. "I was fucking a cocksucking lawyer in the bathroom, honey."
Anya nodded sagely. "Terrible people, all of them."
Buffy strolled up with Willow and Tara, credit card receipts in hand. "We're all closed out," Buffy announced. She turned to Anya. "You owe me twenty bucks, and I want my boots back. Preferably before you throw up on them." Anya responded by hiding her face in Xander's shirt, clinging to his sleeve with one hand and the dregs of a margarita in the other. Riley's cowboy hat was knocked to the floor. Xander could not pick it up without sending Anya ass over teakettle and sending margarita all over his shirt. He stumbled backwards instead.
"This is why I always volunteer to be the designated driver," Tara whispered.
"And all this time, I thought it was because you're so good and nice and stuff." Willow smiled.
"That, too. But look at them."
"Drunks, all three."
"You'd think they'd be able to hold it by now."
"But they can't."
Buffy shook her head. "That is so sad."
Willow and Tara looked sympathetic.