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Xanderficathon
Feb. 11th, 2004 11:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
essene_backupI'm tired. It's done. I don't want my recipient to worry if I don't get around to posting it until late tomorrow (which is how it would be otherwise). It's Feb. 12 in 14 minutes here and already is somewhere else. Are those enough reasons to post it now? Don't care, here it is:
Title: Tutoring
Written for: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
janedavitt
Pairing: Xander/Wesley
Requests: School library
Rating: NC-17, why do you ask?
Author’s Note: GIGANTIC thanks to willshenillshe and moosesal for their generous and fabulous and oh so appreciated beta work.
Never should’ve mentioned his failing grade out loud. At least not where Willow and Giles, the overachievers, could hear. Within seconds arrangements were being made for tutoring sessions to fix his history woes. Between their fierce discussion about what to do and that new Watcher’s volunteering he was now stuck with remediation.
He arrived for his tutoring session 30 minutes late, give or take 10 minutes. He wasn’t enthused about the whole thing anyway. School was just…a stopping point on the way to jobsville. It was nice that Buffy and Wills were around, but really? He didn’t fit very well. He wasn’t a jock, he wasn’t a brain, he wasn’t artistically inclined, he had no clique. Well, there was them. Giles, Buffy, Willow, Oz, and to all of their despair—Cordelia. They’d broken up awhile ago, so why was she still around? And then there was that new Watcher. Cordy kept making goo-goo eyes at him. What was the big deal? Xander pushed open the library doors. Sure, he was tall, wore nice suits had a British accent, used big words…
His train of disgruntle stopped as he saw Wesley sitting behind the table, elbows on it, fingers tented, and tapping. He looked…pissed. Xander sighed. Oh well, best the new Watcher get used to his faults early on, that way he wasn’t shocked later.
“Hey Wesley.” Xander dropped his backpack on the floor and slumped into a chair down the table from the Watcher.
“You will refer to me as Mr. Wyndham-Pryce.” Wesley’s voice was stern and delivered the statement in no uncertain terms.
Xander looked at him with surprise. “Sure. Okay.”
“Why are you late? You were to be here precisely at 3 o’clock. It is now,” Wesley looked at his watch even though Xander was pretty sure he knew exactly what time it was, probably had an internal clock that he wound every day at the same time he stuck that stick up his ass, “…3:35. That makes you 35 minutes late Mr. Harris. We will come to the consequence momentarily.”
Consequence? Xander sat up at that. What consequence? No one said there were going to be consequences! “What are you talking about?” His voice cracked briefly, damn hormones.
“As I said, we will come to that.” Wesley stood and picked up a book and a wooden pointer. “I trust you have at least brought your books?” He nodded towards Xander’s backpack as he made his way around the table.
“Yes, I…”
“Good. Open your history book to page 193.” Wesley said it in a way that brooked no argument.
Xander fished out his book and opened it to the indicated page. The reign of Henry VIII. He groaned.
There was a sharp crack as the pointer Wesley was holding flicked down onto the page in front of Xander. His eyes widened and he moved back, startled. Then he looked up with wide eyes at Wesley.
He stood with the light from the library’s chandelier (what high school had a chandelier in the library?) making a halo around his head. His eyes seemed to bore through Xander as he spoke slowly and enunciated each word.
“You will place your hands on either side of the book. You will not raise your head. You will only move your right hand in order to turn the page. Do you understand, Alexander?”
Xander didn’t think his eyebrows could stretch any farther. Who was this tall, lean, powerful man, and what had he done with the overly officious Watcher that they all loved to snicker at? His hair gleamed in the light, showing it to be struck through with strands of gold, his mouth was stern yet little could be done to conceal full lips and a strong jaw.
Xander let his eyes drop down the fluid drape of Wesley’s suit to his hands. Hands with strong bones, tendons and veins visible just under the smooth skin held the crop casually, yet tightly between long, slim fingers.
“Do you understand, Mr. Harris?”
Swallowing heavily, Xander managed to nod. What would that slim instrument feel like? Where would Wesley use it? Would he use it at all? Xander felt a spiral of heat make it’s way through his groin. Cripes! Who ordered up this train of thought? And why was it making him…hot? Then again, linoleum made him hot, so…
“Begin.”
Tearing his eyes away from the dark form that towered over him, he moved them to the page and tried to focus on the words in front of him, “Henry VIII was born at Greenwich on 28 June 1491, the second son of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York. He became heir…”
He made it through the first paragraph before his eyes started to glaze. He lifted up his arm to rest his head in it so he could slog through the rest without his head bobbing from boredom. SNAP! There was a swift flash of pain through his forearm. He looked at it, and then bewilderedly looked to see where it came from.
“Hands on the table, Mr. Harris.”
Another spiral of heat traveled through his gut, this time bringing blood with it, swelling his cock slightly. He was so…commanding. Imperious. In control. Woah! Back up there Xander! Stop having kinky wrong thoughts about Mr. Stuffy! Not gay! Not into pain! Except according to the penis rubbing against the cotton of his boxers, he sorta was.
He mumbled, “Sorry, “ and quickly replaced his hand and returned to his reading.
“deposed” Xander tried all the tricks he knew, context, prefix, suffix, “pose” like in Vogue? “Strike a pose.” He suddenly imagined all those stuffy court people freezing in different positions all around the throne room to the beat of Madonna, he snickered. The wood came down on the top of his palm and he had to stifle a moan as his prick lengthened.
“Did you find something amusing in your reading, Mr. Harris?”
“No, Wesley.”
Another swift crack, this time on the broad of his back.
“We already discussed this, Alexander. You will refer to me as Mr. Wyndham-Pryce.”
“I’m sorry.” Wesley didn’t say anything, just looked at him expectantly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.”
“Continue.”
He struggled to find his place again as the strain of his cock against his pants and the oh so good pressure it was causing was blotting out most of his coherent thought. There it was, stupid word. And then he was lost again, as the most unexpected thing happened.
There was a hand on his cock, feeling him through the thick denim. Not his, nope, his were on the table. He looked, just to make sure, yep, there they were. He looked up, wild eyed, Oh my god. Mr. Stuffy has his hands on my…and then he closed his eyes and let out a harsh breath as the hand started to rub and squeeze. He started to fall back against the chair, lost in sensation when there was a voice in his ear, “Hands on the table Mr. Harris.”
He hurridly made sure his hands were where they were supposed to be, and noticed that next to his fingertips were a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and the slim pointer--almost close enough to touch, but he’d have to move his hand to do it. He moaned, as much as another quick flash from the pointer would feel so bright and hot right now, he didn’t want the hand that was moving fast and heavy on his pulsing cock to stop. He raised his hips slightly, pressing up into the hand. The squeezing increased as did the pace until Xander couldn’t see straight anymore, there was panting and moaning and the world seemed to be tilting crazily and then he was coming, shooting hot into his jeans, soaking his underwear.
He felt his spunk drip down over his sensitive prick as the hand was removed and he slumped forward on to his book.
“Your full concentration now, if you please, Mr. Harris.”
Dazedly Xander let the rest of the chapter run through the surface of his brain, keeping the palms of his hands firmly on the table. He could almost swear they were tethered there now. He let his head float up and focused on the Watcher standing coolly in front of him.
There were questions. Amazingly, he answered them. He couldn’t stand another flash of the thin, flexible rod. Although, the thought of it was making dirty wrong thoughts flash through his mind again. That was the part that was making him slightly queasy. That he’d just been jerked off by this rigid, proper, tedious man. And that he’d found it anything BUT tedious. Rigid, certainly; proper, damn right, but not tedious.
“Next Tuesday. 3 o’clock sharp, Alexander.” Wesley pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose while carefully scrutinizing the young man.
Xander glances at him, not trusting himself to speak, merely nods.
“I trust you won’t be late next time Mr. Harris.”
Somewhere in the back of his mind a jester turned cartwheels and chanted, “Be late, be late, be oh, so late.” “No sir.” Xander made his way to the swinging door, eyes wide.
**************
Xander lived the next two days walking a fine wire between turmoil and thick lust. He liked girls. He did. There was kissing/groping proof with Cordy and Willow, and the near constant erections from the mere thought Buffy or nearly any other girl. He’d never looked twice at a guy. Well, he had, but that was locker-room curiosity, and not THAT kind of looking. But he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the Watcher. The lean fingers, the dark penetrating gaze, the slim figure. And his hand. Good gravy, his hand.
Xander’s groin was beating a soft gong as he stood outside the library doors. His body wanted to go in so badly. His brain was screaming at him to run away, be a good boy and run, Forrest, run far far away. In the end it was the maniacal jester who had the last word: “Go, you know you want to see what happens today. Go.”
He laid a hand on the door and pushed.
Wesley was standing behind the checkout desk, thumbing through a big, dusty, ancient looking book. Sometimes Xander wondered about that…how do you explain two British, male high school librarians in a tiny southern California town? Sunnydale was such a migratory hot spot…
“Congratulations, Mr. Harris. You seem to have found your watch and learned to use it this week.” The dry voice said.
Sheepishly, Xander ducked into a chair at the long cherry table. Oh man, he's still got the pointer. He inhaled sharply, and tried not to let his mind wander...there.
“Open your book to..”
Xander took a deep breath and swallowed nervously, then decided to go for it, “Actually Wes...Mr. Wyndham-Pryce, I have a paper due next week, that I could really use some help with.”
Brows raised in shock, Wesley swiftly reached out and cracked the pointer across Xander’s knuckles. “That’s for interrupting me.” The pointer whistled through the air once more, connecting briefly with Xander’s forearm--oh, Christ, the wood’s back-- sending a flash of blinding desire shooting straight to his dick. “And that was for failing to tell me about your composition sooner.”
Xander barely managed to exhale, “Yes, sir.”
“I’m sorry? What was that?” Wesley tapped the pointer against the palm of his other hand expectantly.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“What is your assigned topic?”
Xander reached into his backpack and pulled out a sheaf of unorganized papers, loosely held in a dilapidated notebook. He shuffled through and pulled out a creased piece of pink paper and held it out to Wesley. “Mrs. Sternbuffle copies the important assignments on pink paper.” He looked embarrassed to even be holding the thing.
Wesley took it, remarking, “Quite sensible really, you were able to lay hands on it, even in that abominable excuse for a portfolio.”
Xander studied him while he glanced at the page. Blue eyes scanning the sheet, a tounge darting out to unconsciously moisten full lips, a proper clipped accent as he said, “Sir Thomas More. An excellent fellow, admirable in light of the circumstances he faced.”
Xander jerked himself out of his reverie. “What circumstances?”
“Go to the stacks, search in the 300‘s and the 800‘s, paying particular attention to 321 and the early 800’s. You may also want to lay your hands on a copy of the Catholic Encyclopedia in the Reference section.”
Blinking, Xander rose and headed in the general direction of the books. All this time spent in the library, and he didn’t actually have any clue what the lithe, gray clad man spoke of. Numbers? He was supposed to look for numbers? He quickly looked back over his shoulder to see if Wesley was observing his befuddlement, perhaps watching for another opportunity to use his slim wooden instrument. A shudder ran through Xander’s body at the thought. GUH. He shook it off. No. Must work. Must pass. Must graduate. Can’t under any circumstances spend another year in Sunnydale High.
He made his way up the stairs and turned the corner around the nearest bookshelf. Crap. Numbers? What the hell? What do numbers have to do with history and this dude More? When he helped Giles put away all his giant musty books, all he ever had to do was look at the color. He’d stick all the blues together, and then all the greens and reds…’course Giles would curse at him later, usually in some ugly demon language, and he wouldn’t have to help for another six months or so…
He turned down an aisle and looked at the books. Hey! Look! There’s numbers on the books! Whaddya know…The books here said 571, so he looked to be right in the middle of where he needed to be; he could go either up or down to find 800 or 300, so he started weaving his way in and out of the aisles…
He bent down, looking for the next sequence of numbers, when suddenly he felt something running up and down the length of his back, making large soothing circles. He jumped slightly and started to stand. “Ummm…”
“Shhhh, no words. Stay still.”
The hands, ‘cause that’s what they were, smoothed over the muscles in his back, leaving them pricking with sensation as they wandered down from shoulders to waist. Then those hands--with strong fingers—his mind so nicely noted, were wrapping around his waist and moving to the front of him, sliding under his shirt which had pulled away from him, teasing his stomach, gently descending through the sparse hairs they found there. And then Xander felt his pants being unzipped.
“Woah! Hey! I….” A mouth was suddenly whispering low and soft into his ear; a hot solid form molded to his back and ass, cutting off his protests, and what exactly was that pressing solidly into his ass? “Stay still Xander, this won’t take long, just a bit of an…experiment, if you will.”
He acquiesced when the warm breath became a hot, suckling mouth that latched onto his earlobe. Xander’s eyes rolled up and he gave into sensation.
Nimble fingers shucked him of his jeans and underwear, and he inhaled sharply when a strong sure fist encased his half-hard dick. Pulling, ah gods, there was pulling and twisting and rubbing.
Xander fell slightly forward and placed his hands on the nearest shelf for support. He was bent more than a little at the waist and watched with building lust as Wesley’s slim fingers worked over his dick. It looked so good being pulled by the Watcher’s hand, long pale fingers wrapped around his rapidly purpling prick. Two hands flicked through his mind. Where’s the other?
He didn’t have to wait long to find out. He felt it making its way across his ass, feeling, squeezing, and slipping a finger gingerly into the crevice of his cheeks. Xander tensed slightly, and then relaxed as the warm mouth told him to, and then moved down to lick the side of his neck.
Xander focused on the hand on his dick: so good, so, so good. It was as good as when he brought himself off in the shower, or in bed, or in the boys’ bathroom (what?), only better because he wasn’t actually doing it, someone else was touching him, and doing it fantastically.
Xander felt a slight shift behind him and the voice ordered him to step out of his pants and spread his legs. Within moments Xander had complied and found himself rewarded with warm moisture on an ass cheek and then he moaned uncontrollably as there was swift cold air blowing over the spot that had just been warm. And then the warmth moved down, down, down.
“Oh, god!” Xander started breathing heavily as he felt Wesley’s tongue sweep between his ass cheeks, barely touching his hole. He’d dared let a finger slip there a time or two and found himself so turned on by it, he was nearly afraid of the sensation and backed off. Not now though. Watching that insistent fist coupled with that wet, knowing tongue sent Xander up two, or twelve, more notches on the intensity scale.
He closed his eyes, and backed himself into the tongue, begging silently for more. To his shaking delight, Wes rasped over his asshole, circled it, prodded it, licked it, all while keeping up a methodical rhythm on his dick. It was when the slick, fervent tounge breached his tight ring that Xander shouted his release. He was positive that he was no longer connected to the ground, that his spine had shot out his dick and that his head was somewhere near the ceiling.
The warm mouth was back near his ear again, “Clean that up, Alexander. And find the proper text.” With a bare whisper of clothing, Wesley moved away.
Minutes passed, or it could’ve been hours for all he knew, and Xander found his feet were still connected to the floor and that his groin was getting kind of chilly. He dazedly pulled up his pants and tried to refocus on what he’d been doing before Wesley had come and blown his mind via his ass.
More minutes passed and Xander finally stumbled down the stairs with an armful of books. Wesley looked unruffled, and as composed as when Xander walked into the library. Xander wasn’t completely sure that he’d even done up his own pants.
Wesley waved Xander towards the table and they spent the next hour sifting through the texts, making notes and getting Xander headed in the right direction for a concise, yet well-written essay.
Finally, Wesley allowed Xander up from the table and as he reached down to pick up his backpack, there was a hand on his jaw, blue eyes boring into his own from behind steel rims and glass, then a swift brush of lips across his.
“3 pm sharp on Thursday. Do not be late, Mr. Harris.”
“No sir.” This time Xander left with a hint of a smile.
**************
I don’t mean this to tease you, but there’s supposed to be a third part. Unfortunately, I was not able to complete it by the deadline. I will finish it soon. Hope that’s all right.
no subject
Date: 2004-02-12 12:56 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-02-12 07:55 pm (UTC)Blissed out that you enjoyed!
no subject
Date: 2004-02-12 02:46 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-02-12 07:56 pm (UTC)Glad you liked!
no subject
Date: 2004-02-12 06:14 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-02-12 07:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-12 06:21 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-02-12 08:05 pm (UTC)There was one last scene that flickered through my mind as I jotted down the outline. So that'll be coming soon. ;-)
no subject
Date: 2004-02-12 11:30 am (UTC)Also, hotness. Lucky Jane...
:o)
Re:
Date: 2004-02-12 08:20 pm (UTC)Thank you for always letting me know I'm on the right path!--or the really really dirrrty wrong one. ;-)
Re:
Date: 2004-02-13 12:42 pm (UTC)before Wesley had come and blown his mind via his ass
Tee hee!
Ahem. Anyway, right path, really dirrrrty wrong path, one and the same.
:o)
Re:
Date: 2004-02-12 08:23 pm (UTC)Glad you liked. Also, I haven't had a chance to tell you, but thank you for making my day by mentioning me on
no subject
Date: 2004-02-12 06:59 pm (UTC)Erm, sorry for the TMI. But it's your fault. Get over here and clean this mess up.
Eep. Sorry again.
Re:
Date: 2004-02-12 08:33 pm (UTC)We're in the middle of the shaving Xander fic. And did I mention that I'm hot? I'm really, really quite hot.
whoooooooooo
Re:
Date: 2004-02-12 09:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-22 08:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-22 09:54 am (UTC)I'm working on it. I am.
no subject
Date: 2004-02-29 11:56 am (UTC)::eyes tear up::
Three habernero pepper rating for that one, missy!
no subject
Date: 2004-03-06 06:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-08 02:54 pm (UTC)But I had to say something, because not only is this fic absolutely awesome, it is also exactly what I've been lusting after. Not for long, I only realized how sexy Wesley is a few days ago, but since then I've been dying for some Wesley/Xander kink fic! :D
So I had to comment to say thank you, and that you're amazing, and I am now going to go to your website to read more. (sorry if lurkers popping out of nowhere is annoying--the LJ community for the Jossverse fandom seems really friendly but it's still a bit scary)
no subject
Date: 2004-04-08 04:19 pm (UTC)I don't usually write W/X, but it was what the girl wanted, so it's what I did. Thanks so much for your feed back.
I'll friend you (it doesn't mean comments aren't welcome--just that I like to know who's reading my stuff, and that I'm paranoid), then you can come in!
Jossverse is a wonderful place, hope you like it.
If you like Wesley, you're gonna want to check out:
no subject
Date: 2004-04-08 06:57 pm (UTC)Am happy to be friended! ::bounces:: Have friended you back--doubly awesome, because I'll get to read your journal, and there'll be Puppet Angel mood icons on my friends page! I loooove Puppet Angel, and the mood icons rock my socks :D They crack me up!
by the way, I may or may not be a heavy commenter--it depends on if I feel like I'm being annoying. So, uh, tell me if lots of random comments that might not always have much in the way of redeeming value are a problem. (can you tell I'm a little insecure? I'm working on it, but it's difficult!)
Yes, the Jossverse is way cool! Not only are there great characters and shows and excellent fics, but the online community, particularly on LJ, seems really nice and pleasant, for the most part. Is good.
Xander is my favorite character--I tend to latch onto one character in a fandom. So he's the main one that I follow. . . which is why I was a little startled to realize that I thought Wesley was incredibly sexy! Especially Man-Wes. So thank you for the links, they will help me in my expansion out of Xander-fics :)
no subject
Date: 2004-04-08 08:44 pm (UTC)Spander's what I write the most of. But I started with Spuffy.
Basically? I love me some Spike.
Fear not the commenting. Commenting is of the good.
no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 07:37 am (UTC)But my first exposure to Xander was through
At first, early in the fandom or before i got into it, I'd see Spike, and his cheekbones would scare me, and I didn't like him. And then, I don't know if it was seeing him on the show or hearing his voice, or what, but all of a sudden, I realized how incredibly sexy James Marsters is. ::swoons:: Even though Xander & Wesley are my favorites, probably, I don't think anyone can compete with Spike in the pure "sex on legs" front.
I have a hard time with het, though. My theory is that it's because I mainly read smut with some type of power difference, whether it's full out BDSM or something really mild and practically vanilla. And I think my feminist side doesn't let me read fic where the man dominates the woman--I have a much lower squick tolerance with girls, it's strange. I've read and enjoyed at least one story with a female Domme (ok, that's a bit redundant), but it was just a fic, not a fanfic. ::blinks:: I'm not sure if any of that made sense.
I'm glad commenting is good with you, because, as you may have noticed. . . I'm incredibly long-winded. Or communicative. That'd be a nice way of putting it :) (look at how long these comments are! I just start sharing. lol.)