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wiseacress who had Spike and Xander on a road trip at some point during a fic--although in an angsty way. Which spurred this at some point during a boring evening on my own.
A meeting in the desert during the summer before Season 5. Xander tries to see America again. NC-17
“Shit!” Xander kicked the ground and a flurry of mud sprayed up and onto his jeans.
“Perfect. Just perfect!” He spun and kicked the fender of Uncle Rory’s 57 Chevy. The car that had just dumped its transmission about a quarter mile back. In the rain.
Xander was soaked. Not because he’d been cursing and railing under the hood for the past 30 minutes and then for another 10 spewing vitriol at god and nature and Henry Ford and summer and Uncle Rory; but because yesterday when gray skies had only threatened and he had tried to raise the roof the switch refused to trip. And when he had attempted to raise it manually he’d botched the job and bent a support bar making the convertible—not.
Soaked. Pissed. Trapped. Oh, and broke. He’d spent his last 10 bucks on gas and cheesy curls. That was about 50 miles ago. Now he was stuck somewhere between Nevada and Utah—or possibly Arizona—with...nothing.
1 hour in.
This was supposed to be a desert wasn’t it? What was with all the fucking rain? Giant, saucer-like, HARD drops. He’d never seen anything like it. He tried turning on the radio, nothing but static. Even on AM.
2 hours in
He opened the trunk and bent in, wiping his face, “Fuck!” The lid came down hard on his shoulder blades form a sudden wind gust. Now he couldn’t even remember why he’d opened it. He stood and slammed it shut.
Scanned the road. Still nothing. Nothing coming towards him, nothing zooming away. The russet ridge just across for the car was beginning to break away at the top allowing the water to spill over in quite a spectacular mini-waterfall.
Sighing, he crawled into the backseat and tried to make himself comfortable as he watched the water.
3 hours in
The pace and strength of the rain had eased, but it was starting to get dark. And cold. Xander couldn’t remember ever being so miserable. And when you took into account life with a drunk/abusive father, lived on the hellmouth, that was saying a lot.
He closed his eyes and tried to think happy thoughts.
Kissing Anya...kissing Willow...kissing Cordy...sex with Faith...groping Cordy...fantasy groping Buffy...heavy petting with Anya...Tara and Willow in an ice-cream truck...
His pants were getting uncomfortably tight. He opened his eyes. Peered through the rain drenched windshield—nothing; over the back seat—nothing...some water rushing over the road sideways...was that normal? Secure in his solitude, he undid the button on his jeans, slid the zipper down and reached inside. It was tougher than usual, the rain soaked fabric was stiff and thick, resistant to being pushed. But he was determined. Bracing his feet and raising his ass slightly, he wriggled and pushed and pulled his jeans down, taking his boxers with them.
The rain on his cock was...interesting. Like being in the shower, but softer, less regular. Holding his hand palm-up Xander let the rain puddle there. Carefully he brought it down and grasped his shaft, smiling slightly at the cool, slick, wet feel of his hand and the water running through the thatch of hair and down between his balls.
Down, twist, up, thumb across the top and down, twist, up, thumb across the top. He found his familiar rhythm as he let images and sensations dance through his head:
The heavy weight of Faith’s soft breasts...his fingers in Cordy’s slick folds...the curve of Buffy’s cheek...Anya’s tongue licking the top of his mouth...the feel of Willow’s body pressed into his...
His pace quickened, hips lifting to meet his hand on the downstroke.
Faith’s head thrown back, breasts firm in his hands...the inside of Buffy’s thigh, Anya’s hand replacing his own...
“Uhhhnnnhhh!” Xander shouted out his release into the night, swallowed the rain that fell into his mouth.
Eyes still closed he rested.
“Nice pet. Very nice.”
Xander fell off the seat and bumped his head on the window crank in his desperate attempt to reclothe and face the voice.
“Don’t rush on my account.” Smoke found its way through the rain to tickle Xander’s nose.
When Xander finally dared to look out the confines of the car, he saw a shock of white atop an outline of black walking away from him and into a pair of headlights.
wiseacress who had Spike and Xander on a road trip at some point during a fic--although in an angsty way. Which spurred this at some point during a boring evening on my own.A meeting in the desert during the summer before Season 5. Xander tries to see America again. NC-17
“Shit!” Xander kicked the ground and a flurry of mud sprayed up and onto his jeans.
“Perfect. Just perfect!” He spun and kicked the fender of Uncle Rory’s 57 Chevy. The car that had just dumped its transmission about a quarter mile back. In the rain.
Xander was soaked. Not because he’d been cursing and railing under the hood for the past 30 minutes and then for another 10 spewing vitriol at god and nature and Henry Ford and summer and Uncle Rory; but because yesterday when gray skies had only threatened and he had tried to raise the roof the switch refused to trip. And when he had attempted to raise it manually he’d botched the job and bent a support bar making the convertible—not.
Soaked. Pissed. Trapped. Oh, and broke. He’d spent his last 10 bucks on gas and cheesy curls. That was about 50 miles ago. Now he was stuck somewhere between Nevada and Utah—or possibly Arizona—with...nothing.
1 hour in.
This was supposed to be a desert wasn’t it? What was with all the fucking rain? Giant, saucer-like, HARD drops. He’d never seen anything like it. He tried turning on the radio, nothing but static. Even on AM.
2 hours in
He opened the trunk and bent in, wiping his face, “Fuck!” The lid came down hard on his shoulder blades form a sudden wind gust. Now he couldn’t even remember why he’d opened it. He stood and slammed it shut.
Scanned the road. Still nothing. Nothing coming towards him, nothing zooming away. The russet ridge just across for the car was beginning to break away at the top allowing the water to spill over in quite a spectacular mini-waterfall.
Sighing, he crawled into the backseat and tried to make himself comfortable as he watched the water.
3 hours in
The pace and strength of the rain had eased, but it was starting to get dark. And cold. Xander couldn’t remember ever being so miserable. And when you took into account life with a drunk/abusive father, lived on the hellmouth, that was saying a lot.
He closed his eyes and tried to think happy thoughts.
Kissing Anya...kissing Willow...kissing Cordy...sex with Faith...groping Cordy...fantasy groping Buffy...heavy petting with Anya...Tara and Willow in an ice-cream truck...
His pants were getting uncomfortably tight. He opened his eyes. Peered through the rain drenched windshield—nothing; over the back seat—nothing...some water rushing over the road sideways...was that normal? Secure in his solitude, he undid the button on his jeans, slid the zipper down and reached inside. It was tougher than usual, the rain soaked fabric was stiff and thick, resistant to being pushed. But he was determined. Bracing his feet and raising his ass slightly, he wriggled and pushed and pulled his jeans down, taking his boxers with them.
The rain on his cock was...interesting. Like being in the shower, but softer, less regular. Holding his hand palm-up Xander let the rain puddle there. Carefully he brought it down and grasped his shaft, smiling slightly at the cool, slick, wet feel of his hand and the water running through the thatch of hair and down between his balls.
Down, twist, up, thumb across the top and down, twist, up, thumb across the top. He found his familiar rhythm as he let images and sensations dance through his head:
The heavy weight of Faith’s soft breasts...his fingers in Cordy’s slick folds...the curve of Buffy’s cheek...Anya’s tongue licking the top of his mouth...the feel of Willow’s body pressed into his...
His pace quickened, hips lifting to meet his hand on the downstroke.
Faith’s head thrown back, breasts firm in his hands...the inside of Buffy’s thigh, Anya’s hand replacing his own...
“Uhhhnnnhhh!” Xander shouted out his release into the night, swallowed the rain that fell into his mouth.
Eyes still closed he rested.
“Nice pet. Very nice.”
Xander fell off the seat and bumped his head on the window crank in his desperate attempt to reclothe and face the voice.
“Don’t rush on my account.” Smoke found its way through the rain to tickle Xander’s nose.
When Xander finally dared to look out the confines of the car, he saw a shock of white atop an outline of black walking away from him and into a pair of headlights.
no subject
Date: 2003-07-26 07:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-26 10:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-26 06:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-22 02:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-22 02:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-22 06:13 pm (UTC)::dies::
'Cause your stuff rocks. And I'm torn between being violently jealous that you are ESL and in awe. I can't even write well in 1 langugage half the time.
::kisses::
no subject
Date: 2003-10-22 11:43 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading!
no subject
Date: 2003-10-25 12:55 am (UTC)Love Spike's words to Xander and the fact that he was watching him. Very hot.
no subject
Date: 2003-12-28 05:35 pm (UTC)