Fast Times at Sunnydale High

*







Two weeks had passed, and Wesley’s plan to seduce Lindsey was coming along well, if slowly. He hadn’t wanted to rush things, hadn’t wanted to push, but the desire he had been feeling for months now was building, exponentially, each time they were together, and Wesley didn’t think he’d be able to hold out much longer.



And luckily, he didn’t think he’d have to.



They had both been a little nervous around each other at first, following Lindsey’s revelation, but Wesley had done his best to be comforting, to keep things light, and the next time they saw each other, no mention whatsoever had been made about what had been said, implied, that last Thursday.



The time after, they’d sat just a bit closer to each other than they normally did while watching television, looks lasted a little longer, smiles had a little more meaning, and when Wesley left, he held Lindsey’s face in one palm for a split second, and gently stroked his thumb over the other boy’s cheekbone.



The time after that, they’d drunk their beers in the kitchen, and talked about inconsequential things, and Wesley made excuses to touch, as bottles exchanged hands, or one or the other of them stood, or just when he felt like it, an arm or leg brushing against the other boy’s, once or twice letting his knuckles very purposely slide along Lindsey’s as their hands sat otherwise idly on the table.



Wesley hadn’t done anything overt, nothing to scare Lindsey off, hadn’t even considered kissing him, thought he’d wanted to, so many times. He could feel Lindsey’s acquiescence – no, more than that, his genuine desire – grow. He knew what Lindsey was ready for, what he wasn’t, and he respected that, and Lindsey was responding to that respect, that space, to the point that Wesley was beginning to feel bolder.



That Thursday, after Wesley showed up at Lindsey’s house, smiling warmly and standing just a little too close to Lindsey as he stripped his jacket and slipped out of his shoes, to be considered strictly ‘friendly’, but not nearly too close for either of their likings, Lindsey invited Wesley into the living room and slid a movie into the DVD player.



It didn’t matter what they were watching, as neither of them was really paying attention to it anyway.



Wesley had been taking things a little bit too slowly for Lindsey, and the boy’s proximity to him on the couch was incredibly disturbing in an incredibly good way. He wanted to touch him, reach his hand out, grab Wesley’s leg, or hand or put his arm around his shoulders. Something. Wished he was brave enough to make that leap, but even though he had no delusions that he didn’t want this, he just couldn’t bring himself to make the first move.



It was pathetic.



Wesley nudged him ever so slightly with his elbow, and when Lindsey turned he smiled, and slid the smallest bit closer to him, knees just touching on the edge of the cushion, and they both sat still, tense, and turned back to the television.



Lindsey’s heart was racing, fear and excitement pulsing through him as he fought simultaneous urges to grab Wesley and pull the smaller boy to him and probably crush the life out of him as he stuck his tongue down his throat, and run, as fast as he could and far as he could, from the temptation.



Was he ready for this? Really? For... whatever Wesley would do? He had to be, or risk coming across like a cock-teasing girl, and he held his breath for several seconds, wondering what Wesley was going to do next.



But Wesley surprised him, and he relaxed almost instantly, when all Wesley did was take his hand in his own, entwining their fingers and resting them on Lindsey’s knee. He sighed in a combination of relief and frustration, and Wesley looked up him, briefly, and the smile Wesley offered was so falsely innocent that he must have known exactly how Lindsey felt, and was playing with him, teasing him.



Lindsey resisted the urge to smack him, because really, his face was too pretty to mark up like that, and when Wesley leaned his head against Lindsey’s shoulder he did put his arm around Wesley, and tilted his head so that it was resting on top of Wesley’s head, as they pretended to watch the movie.



Okay, this was good. Lindsey could do this. But fuck, he wanted to do more.



***



Over the past couple of weeks, Connor and Wesley had been doing their best not to avoid each other. When they passed each other in the halls they would mumble a greeting, but quickly turn away. When they ate lunch together with their friends they would be sure to sit on opposite sides of the table, and never speak directly to each other, but they made a conscious effort to always show up, to not make excuses so they didn’t have to spend time together.



Wesley had gone to see Hellmouth play at some club in Los Angeles last week, and he and Connor had managed not to really look at each other for the entire two hour car ride, each way, while they were stuck in the back seat together, but they had made a point of exchanging forced goodbyes when they dropped Connor off at home afterward.



Connor had had a party at his house on the weekend, and Wesley hadn’t wanted to go, but Spike told him that it would be alright and the two of them had to get over this thing at some point, since they were all still going to be hanging out together. Actually, his exact words had been, “Get your head out of your arse and go to the fucking party. He’s not going anywhere, so you might as well try to pretend that you haven’t completely fucked him over, yeah?”



And so Wesley had gone, and had actually had fun, but had been certain not to have anything to drink, and not to be alone with Connor at any time. They didn’t even speak that night.



And all that time, Connor had still been under his spell. Even though Wesley was studiously avoiding looking directly at Connor for very long at a stretch, or at all if he could help it, he couldn’t help but notice that Connor had been letting his gaze drift, at lunch, in the car, at the party, any time they had seen each other, staring at Wesley with a sort of dreamy longing. Wesley was caught between wanting to apologise, yet again, for everything, and wanting to smack Connor, repeatedly, until he got the hell over it.



Both of those options were probably bad ideas, so instead he did nothing.



Connor had been looking at Wesley, when he didn’t think anyone else would see, knowing that it was hopeless, but unable to help himself. He had to let go, he understood that, but it was a hell of a lot harder when it was him, than it had looked when some of his friends had gone through it.



He loved Wesley. Really loved him, and yes, it was a selfish, immature kind of love that was prone to tantrums and scheming, but it wasn’t fickle. He still wanted Wesley to be his boyfriend. More than almost anything. But if that wasn’t possible, then at the very least, he wanted to be his friend. And that sure as hell wasn’t going to happen if they couldn’t even talk to each other.



He figured Wesley was probably still feeling guilty, and he should, the fucking asshole, for using him, for making a fool of him, for not loving him, and until he could forgive Wesley, until Wesley could forgive himself, and until Connor could tell him that he’d moved on, and the whole thing was behind them, they would probably continue not speaking to each other. And Connor didn’t want that.



So he decided to lie.



***



It was five minutes before classes let out for lunch on Monday, and Connor wanted to make sure he caught Wesley before they were surrounded by their friends, so he snuck out of class early and waited by Wesley’s locker. He could talk to him for a few minutes, try to smooth some things over, and then walk away pretending he was incredibly cool and well adjusted. And then run to the cafeteria and wait for Wesley to show up at their usual table.



He saw Wesley round the corner and was a little surprised to see him before the bell rang, but he pushed himself up from where he was leaning against the wall, and started walking to meet him. They got to Wesley’s locker at about the same time, probably because Connor had been walking exceptionally slowly, and he tried not to look down when Wesley noticed him, looking at him curiously.



“Hey,” he said, attempting a smile and trying to stay relaxed.



“Connor,” Wesley answered. “What are you... I mean, hi. What’s up?” He had been about to ask Connor why he was there, but that would have been rude, considering they had almost been friends at one point, and it wasn’t as if they both didn’t want to get back there.



“I just wanted... I...” He knew he should have practiced this. He had no idea what he actually wanted to say, just that he wanted things to be alright.



Wesley opened his locker and put his books away, but he turned immediately back to Connor, concerned. “Is there something wrong?” Connor had always been a little awkward, but he’d come out of his shell so very much with Wesley over the past months. It wasn’t like him to stumble over his words like this, not with him, not usually.



“No,” Connor answered, and managed a real smile. “No, I just... I forgive you.”



Wesley’s eyebrows knit and he opened his mouth, as if to ask what it was that Connor forgave him for, but snapped his face back into a more suitable expression half a second later when he remembered that there were a great many things that he’d done wrong.



“You apologised to me,” Connor clarified, and then huffed out a small laugh. “Several times, actually. And yeah, you did some shitty things, but I practically begged you for half of them.”



Wesley thought it would be in poor taste to point out that Connor did indeed beg, and had also helped himself a number of times, without asking what Wesley thought about it. He just nodded.



“It... hurt,” Connor continued. “You hurt me, and I hurt myself, and I know you feel bad about it, and you should, but... I forgive you.”



Wesley eyed him speculatively for a moment before letting out a long breath. “Thank you Connor,” he finally said. “I do feel bad. Actually, ‘bad’ doesn’t quite do justice to how I feel about it, but it means a lot that you’re willing to forgive me.”



The lunch bell sounded, but they both ignored it.



Connor shrugged. “It’s alright. I’ve had some time to get over it, and I just wanted you to know. And I think we can be okay, be, you know, friends. If you want.” But it wasn’t alright and he hadn’t gotten over it. He would, he thought, probably, in time. But he was still angry, at himself and Wesley, and he was still in love and his heart was still broken.



“I’d like that very much, Connor,” Wesley told him, and smiled as brightly as he could manage. He certainly didn’t think that everything was fixed now, but this had been a huge start, and it was definitely something to build upon. Perhaps they could take things slowly. He started to move his hand, stopped, felt like an idiot and moved it again, toward Connor, and gave his arm an awkward, if meaningful, squeeze, before letting his own fall.



“Well, I’d better...” Conner started to make his excuse to leave, but trailed off when he saw several students heading down the hallway toward them, including Lindsey, who was staring very intently at him.



Lindsey had left his economics class and headed for his locker to drop his stuff off. He was hoping to catch Wesley there, maybe talk for a minute, indulge in that warm smile and those arresting eyes, give himself something to get through the rest of the day, but his quick pace slowed, and contended expression turned hard when he got close enough to see that Wesley was already at his locker, and speaking very closely with Connor.



He was pretty sure Wesley had told them that they were over, and they didn’t appear to be doing anything apart from talking, but their body language and facial expressions implied that they were talking about something serious, intimate.



He tamped down his irrational jealousy and anger and pasted on his happy face, picking up his pace again and walking over to them.



“Hey Wes,” he said, overtly low and intimate, and winked at him before opening up his locker.



“Lindsey, hello,” Wesley answered, and couldn’t help the goofy grin form lighting up his face.



Lindsey took a step to stand beside him and smiled back, then looked at Connor, smile transitioning from genuine to noticeably forced. “Hey... ummm...”



“Connor,” the boy ground out through clenched teeth. He knew that Lindsey knew his name, that he was just being an asshole, but he didn’t want to look stupid in front of Wesley by making a big deal out of it.



“Right, Connor,” Lindsey said, nodding, like he should have remembered that. Arms free of his books, he let the fingers of his right hand drift until they were brushing against Wesley’s, and when he felt the other boy jerk slightly in surprise, he slipped his hand into Wes’s and held on.



“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, but his face was turned so that he was speaking into Wesley’s shoulder, breath drifting across and onto his neck, and the words came out gentle and seductive.



Wesley remained still, letting Lindsey do what he wanted, nearly ecstatic that he wanted to hold his hand in public, but also slightly freaked out because he really shouldn’t be rubbing Connor’s nose in this. And that fact that he knew that was the only reason Lindsey was behaving like this at the moment sort of took some of the pleasure out.



God, he’d been so close to making things right with the boy, and this was certain to put them back in that department.



Wesley and Lindsey both noticed Connor’s jaw twitch and his eyes turn to steel before he said, “Yes you did.”



Lindsey looked triumphant, but Wesley immediately dropped his hand and shot him a brief but intense scowl before turning back to Connor. “Connor...”



“No, I was leaving anyway,” he said, as if he was accusing Wesley of something, and probably was, and took off down the hall. Well, there went his cool exit.



“So,” Lindsey said after Connor had left them. “Wanna have lunch?”



Wesley turned to face him, looking at him as if he’d grown a second head, and completely ignored the invitation. “What the hell was that?” he spat.



“What?” Lindsey asked, playing innocent. He knew exactly what he’d just done. Wesley was his. Or would be, anyway, and Wesley’s ex needed to understand that. “Didn’t you want him to know?”



“Didn’t I...” Wesley started, flabbergasted. “Know what, Lindsey?! There’s nothing to know. You and I aren’t...” He saw Lindsey face fall for the briefest of moments before he was able to cover it up and felt horrible. Of course they were. They hadn’t actually expressed their relationship in physical terms yet, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have one.



He sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry. Of course we are,” he said, and looked hopefully at Lindsey. “It’s just... You don’t know...” You don’t know what I did to him, how badly I treated him, how I used him. “It’s not right to rub his nose in it like that. I suspect he still... cares for me, and the last thing I want to do is hurt him any more than I already have.”



Lindsey nodded. “Sorry. I only meant...”



“I know exactly what you meant,” Wesley said, cutting him off with a knowing look that quickly turned into one of delight that Lindsey had actually felt the need to mark his territory.



“Lunch?” Lindsey suggested again, and Wesley laughed, grabbing the brown paper sac from his locker.



***



Lunch was mostly filled with idle chit-chat and comfortable laughter, and it felt very much like every other time they had spent time together, only this time, the entire school could see them. There was nothing to see, for the most part, just two friends, eating and talking, but the signs were there, for people who knew what to look for.



Spike noticed their knees bump under the table more often than would probably be appropriate for two people who were in a platonic relationship, and for the first time, he thought that Wesley might have been right about Lindsey all along. He might actually owe his friend an apology. Not that he’d get it.



Oz noticed the way they smiled a little too much, and leant a little too close every once in a while, and he smiled to himself, and gave in to the urge to call Doyle and say ‘hey’.



Angel noticed the way they were sharing their food, much too familiar in his opinion, and frowned. He’d only been kidding when he suggest that Lindsey should tap Wes’s ass, really, but what the hell did he care if he did it or not. As long as Lindsey was happy. And hey, if Lindsey wasn’t batting for the home team anymore, it just meant for chicks for himself. If Buffy wasn’t in the picture.



Fred noticed the way that Wesley’s hand covered Lindsey’s on the table when she saw them and came over to say hello, the way his thumb seemed to rub not quite two circles over Lindsey’s finger before he looked pointedly at their hands and then back at Fred to make sure she’d seen, before yanking his hand back as though it had been burned when he realised what he’d just done.



Lindsey noticed that too, and supposed it was fair.



Wesley noticed the way that neither Lindsey nor Fred seemed bothered by it, and felt foolish for doing it in the first place. He knew that Lindsey and Fred had cared deeply for each other, still did, but he oddly didn’t consider her a threat. Probably because he liked her a great deal, and very much hoped they could all remain friends.



He realised, for the first time, probably because he hadn’t actually given it any serious thought before, that he would have been happy to keep things between he and Lindsey a secret, would have been happy to do anything if it meant he could be with him, but he was glad that he didn’t have to.



Connor noticed everything, and tried desperately to be okay with it as he stared at them over his untouched lunch.



***



That night Lindsey came over to Wesley’s house to ‘study’. Lindsey’s father was entertaining a client and he wanted him out of the house, and Wesley had been more than happy to have Lindsey over. It was the first time he’d been there, and now that their relationship was progressing, it seemed long overdue. And besides, his father was out of town, and Spike said he’d be gone most of the night, so that would give them plenty of time to be alone.



And after how well Lindsey had been responding to his tentative advances lately, and after his little stunt with Connor at lunch time, Wesley was fairly certain that Lindsey would be alright with taking full advantage of that time.



“Beer?” Wesley asked, stepping from the kitchen into the living room and offering one of the bottles.



Lindsey had been sitting on the black leather couch by the window and stood to accept it. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow as the bottle exchanged hands. “From your daddy’s fridge? I’m impressed, Wes.” Wesley, though he had indulged in the occasional drink at Lindsey’s place, wasn’t the kind of person that Lindsey thought would steal booze from his father. Especially on a Monday night.



A mild flush crept across Wesley face and he let his eyes dart down to the floor before he looked at Lindsey and smiled. “No, from Spike’s fridge, downstairs. Sorry. I’m afraid I’m yet to impress you.” Spike wouldn’t miss a couple of bottles. In fact, Wesley may well have paid for the case that he took them from, but his father would most definitely notice, and most definitely not be pleased.



Lindsey made a face after he’d taken a swallow, the knowledge that he was drinking Spike’s beer making it taste a whole lot worse than it usually did. But then his eyes turned soft when it sunk in what Wesley had said, and he just barely managed not to tell Wesley that he impressed him in a shitload of other ways. ‘Cause that would just be gay.



“Uh... so...” Lindsey said, after he’d taken another drink, and looked around nervously. He wasn’t stupid. The two of them, alone in a house, for hours, after the past several months and particularly the past several hours, and he knew what he was expected to do. The question was, could he do it? Could he really let Wesley... Fuck, he wanted to, but, it was new, and scary, and it was probably going to hurt.



Wesley stepped closer and put a hand on Lindsey’s shoulder, letting his thumb trace out a commanding pattern along Lindsey’s collar bone and neck. “I understand that you’re nervous,” he said, in a reassuring manner, and stepped even closer. “But you’re going to have to get over that. And I think that tonight is as good a time as any.”



Lindsey, with one part of himself, thought that tonight was a long time past the good time, but when Wesley’s hand slid around to the back of his neck, and pulled him closer, looking into his eyes with so much intensity that Lindsey was sure that look alone was more meaningful than any other sexual or romantic encounter in his life, Lindsey became unsure.



He was glad that he didn’t have to dwell on that feeling for long though, before Wesley pressed on and covered Lindsey’s lips with his, commanding and sure and forceful, and really not like anything Lindsey had been expecting at all. And God damn, was it a turn-on.



He responded before he even knew what he was doing, lips parting, mouth opening, to let Wesley’s tongue inside, soft and warm and pushing it’s way through, and Oh, God, Lindsey had never gotten so hard so fast and it was all he could do not to tear his pants off and spread his legs, offering himself to Wesley. And that was after just a kiss. Who the hell knew what he’d be willing to give up after Wesley really got started.



Wesley closed his eyes and moaned, hand gripping tighter around Lindsey’s neck lest he try to escape. He knew that wasn’t likely, but this was his wet dream come true, finally, and he wasn’t taking any chances.



He brought to mind everything he had ever liked about Lindsey, most of those things on the superficial level, before Lindsey had said two words to him, and all those feelings of lust, all those feelings of not being good enough for Lindsey, pooled together and pushed Wesley on, making him demand of Lindsey what he’d been denied: need, desire, respect, admiration, acceptance.



And feeling all that made him more forceful than he was prone to be, demanding of Lindsey that he give him what he want, through his touch, his kiss, the push of his hips against Lindsey’s quivering ones, and most importantly that look of calculated hopeful longing in his eyes after he pulled back, and licked his lips and batted his eyelashes.



“I’m sorry,” Wesley started, eyes cast to Lindsey’s feet, even though he had to fight to keep them from meeting the other boy’s eyes, from crinkling and glowing and shouting out his imminent victory. “Perhaps that was out of line?”



“What?” Lindsey blurted, and fumblingly stepped forward to fill the space that Wesley’s step backward had left. “No! I mean... It was okay.”



“I’m very glad about that,” Wesley smiled. “And by ‘okay’ I hope you mean ‘toe-curlingly phenomenal’, because by the end of the night I plan to have you singing my praises to a much heartier tune that that.”



Lindsey swallowed, audibly, but couldn’t deny that he wanted that too, but it had only been ten minutes since he’d walked in the door, and this was all moving a little fast. Even for him.



Wesley noticed. He would have to have been a special kind of stupid not to, but he was incredibly empathetic toward Lindsey, so it wasn’t even close to a surprise. “Why don’t we just... Sit for a while,” Wesley suggested, and gave a warm grin as he took one of Lindsey’s hands in his own and sat them both down on the couch, slightly frustrated but sure that he’d soon be getting what he wanted, what they both wanted.



TBC