Fast Times at Sunnydale High

*





Wesley scrambled over Connor and out of the bed, faltering a couple of times as he lost his balance, and fighting the alcohol-induced nausea and dizziness. He finally reached the floor and started across the room to his bedroom door placing his hand on the doorknob, and starting to turn it.



“Wes, what are you doing?” Connor asked, urgently, getting out of the bed himself to stop him.



“I’m going after Lindsey!” he shouted, nearly hysterical. “He thinks... Oh God!” Wesley let out a sob and pulled the door open, taking a step out into the hallway before he was yanked back into his room by Connor, door slammed shut behind him.



“Wes, listen,” Connor said, trying to sound steady and reasonable. “I know you’re upset, but think about how Lindsey feels right now. I’m pretty sure the last thing he wants is for you to follow him, and try to explain what you were doing in bed with me.”



Wesley did his best to glare at Connor, but his head was pounding and his stomach was roiling and he only managed a slightly pathetic narrowing of his eyebrows. He was wondering what the hell he had been doing in bed with Connor as well, because he was drunk off his ass, sure, but one thing he did remember was climbing into his bed alone. He was choosing to ignore the fact that that happened after Connor helped him out of his clothing.



“He’s probably going to need some time,” Connor continued. “If you go after him now, while you’re both worked up, you won’t get anything accomplished except yelling and accusing and making things worse.” Connor had to wonder why on Earth he was giving Wesley this kind of advice, when he should be suggesting that he follow Lindsey, because Connor was right; if they talked about it now it would probably be worse for them, and wasn’t that what Connor wanted?



“Besides,” he said, waving a hand up and down Wesley’s body. “You’re naked.”



Connor might be right, Wesley thought, though he wondered how things could possibly get any worse. And he was still drunk and could use some time to try to work out what exactly had been going on, so that he had something to tell Lindsey when they did speak, assuming that Lindsey would ever speak to him again, that was, and things would be easier tomorrow.



He walked back over to his bed, slowly and absently, thinking of nothing but what he was going to say, to do, to make up for this, how he was going to do anything, promise Lindsey anything if he would just forgive him for this.



He sat down on the mattress, unconcerned about his state of undress, even in front of Connor, and placed his elbows on his knees, head cradled in his hands and wondered how he could have let this happen.



But... what had happened? He remembered Connor helping him upstairs, undressing him. He remembered crawling into bed by himself. Okay, yes, he remembered being attracted to Connor and remembered that a certain part of him was interested in something sexual, but... No. There was absolutely no way that he would have... just no. He loved Lindsey, had wanted him for so long, and now that his dream had finally come true there was just no way that he would betray that, betray Lindsey and himself, for something he’d never really wanted in the first place.



He’d been sleeping. He’d been dreaming. He’d been with Lindsey, happy and warm and safe, and so very, very horny... and then he hadn’t. Then he’d woken up, and Lindsey had hated him, and Connor was in bed with him, and he hated himself for letting whatever had happened, happen, even though he was pretty sure that he hadn’t. Let anything happen.



Fuck, his head hurt.



Wesley snuck a glance at Connor, looking straight at him for perhaps the first time since Lindsey had walked in on them. The boy had his pants on, at least, so that lent credence to his ‘nothing happened’ theory.



Connor casually picked his t-shit up off the floor when he noticed Wesley looking at him, and slipped it on over his head. Shit. Wesley was feeling awful, and he wanted to help, and he wanted to tell Wesley to forget all about Lindsey because he wasn’t worth it, and hope that Wes eventually got over it and realised how great Connor was and decided to be with him, and they’d both be happy and together and he’d forget all about Lindsey.



But he couldn’t kid himself that that was actually going to happen, and as much as it killed him, he had to tell Wesley the truth.



“Nothing happened,” he said, quietly, and wrapped his arms around himself.



Wesley’s head shot up and his eyes locked on Connor’s. “When you say that,” Wesley started, managing to summon a great deal of his usual pomp and arrogance despite his feeble state. “I assume you mean that you weren’t, in fact, in my bed, with your hand on my dick, and it was all a very vivid figment of our collective imaginations.”



Connor sighed and sat down on the bed next to Wesley. “Nothing happened,” he said again. “Not really. You fell asleep, I fell asleep next to you, I guess you were dreaming about Lindsey, and you thought I was him... But nothing happened.”



“Nothing except you going along with it until my boyfriend walked in, and caught us?” Wesley asked, accusing.



“I wasn’t...” Connor started, and sighed. “I got in bed with you, but I didn’t try anything. You grabbed me, put my hand... anyway, I wouldn’t have done it, and when you said his name I stopped. And then he came in.” Connor wished it hadn’t gone that way, that Wesley had wanted to be with him, that he hadn’t cared if Lindsey was on Wes’s mind or in the room, but Wesley just looked so damned miserable.



“So you just thought it was a good idea to take advantage of me until someone else showed up? Great.” Wesley knew that he wasn’t being fair, that he was just as much to blame as Connor was for this most recent mess, if not more so. He was fuzzy on the details, and even though he was absolutely certain that he hadn’t intended for anything to happen between him and the younger boy, he should have known.



Okay, maybe not known, but… Over the past couple of months he hadn’t been able to get within three feet of the boy without something happening, and he should have been more careful, should never have put himself in a situation where something could happen.



“No. I didn’t... Shit, Wes. I wanted to, okay? And when I thought you did, I... but I stopped, when I realised that you thought it was Lindsey the whole time, and really, nothing ever happened.”



“Get out,” Wesley said into his palms as he cradled his face in his hands again.



“What?”



“Get. Out.” Wesley was trying this best not to get angry, but the idea that Connor had touched him, that Wesley had asked him to, that they’d both wanted it, even if Wesley had thought he was someone else – it hurt. It made Wesley feel terrible, made him hate himself and hate Connor, and he couldn’t stand to look at him at the moment, couldn’t stand to be near him.



“Alright,” Connor said, standing up and taking a step back. He knew Wes was upset, and it wouldn’t do any good to push. He would give him some time to cool off, then try again. “I’ll go. But I swear, Wes. Nothing happened, and I wouldn’t have let anything happen.”



“GO!” Wesley shouted, nearly crying into his hands when he thought that Connor might not have let anything happen, but he’d implied that Wesley might have. No, he couldn’t, wouldn’t, and Connor obviously didn’t know him very well if he thought that Wesley really wanted... No.



Wesley stared into his hands for a few more seconds and when he heard the snick of the door shutting, presumably behind Connor after he’d left, Wesley thought he was going to be sick.



***



Hi, this is Lindsey. Sorry I can’t take your call, but if you leave a message at the tone I’ll call you back. Probably. Beep!



“Lindsey? Hello. It’s Wesley. I know that you... or rather what you saw must have... shit, Lindsey I need to talk to you about what happened. Please call me back. I’m sorry.”



Beep.



“Lindsey? I don’t know if you got my last massage, but I really need to speak with you. I don’t know what you saw when you walked in, but it wasn’t what you thought, I promise, because I would never betray you like that. Ever. I just want to try to explain. Call me.”



Beep.



“Lindsey, I know you’re probably screening your calls, and I really wish you would answer, or call me back, because I swear, I can explain what you saw the other night, and it wasn’t what you were thinking. Honestly. I’m sorry.”



Beep.



“I’m not sure what good this’ll do, but I’m sorry, Lindsey. Honestly. Nothing happened, not really. I need you to know that. I fucked up, certainly, and terribly, and I was so drunk that I didn’t even realise that Connor was in my bed, not that that’s an excuse, but... Please.”



Beep.



“Lindsey, I’m so, so sorry. God, I know you must hate me right now, but... I feel like I’m dying, knowing I hurt you. Please call me back, Lindsey. I... please.”



Beep.



“Even if you can’t forgive me, Lindsey, even if it’s over, please, call me. I need to... well, I guess I need you to understand what happened, what didn’t happen, and I need... Sorry. No, I shouldn’t say that. What I need doesn’t matter, because I hurt you. I didn’t mean to, and I couldn’t be more sorry, but I did. If... if you want to, if you think we can still... or even if you don’t... I’m here.”



Beep. Beep.



Lindsey sighed and closed his eyes against the tears that were threatening to fall, and hit 7 on his cell phone to all delete all messages. There were more than just what he’d listened to, after turning it on for the first time in three days, but he’d heard enough. They were probably all from Wesley and he couldn’t stand to listen to any more, couldn’t stand to hear Wes’s voice begging him hear him out, give him a chance.



He’d spent the last three days moping, not going out, not answering his phone, ignoring his friends and his parents and holed up in his basement, with nothing but the television and his video games to distract him from his troubles. It was pathetic. And it was Wesley’s fault.



The stupid bastard had gone and done things to Lindsey, made him realise things that he’d tried to ignore, made him feel things that were new and scary and exciting, made him think he was falling in love, really falling in love, for the first time.



And then he... shit. It was the first time anybody had hurt Lindsey like this, and it was that much worse on him because it was Wesley. Wesley, who was so nice, and sweet and shy, who had adored him, or done a great job at pretending, and who had told him, told him, that there was nothing between him and Connor.



He’d lied.



And now he expected Lindsey to believe that there hadn’t been anything going on, when he’d walked in and saw them, naked, with Wes moaning like a whore and Connor’s hand on his crotch? Whatever. It looked pretty fuckin’ much exactly like Wesley had been getting fucked, and if that’s what he called ‘nothing’, Lindsey really didn’t want to know what ‘something’ was.



He wished he could hate Wesley, and he did, a little, but not the real kind of hate that would get him through the hurt and then fade into indifference. No, it was the defence mechanism kind of hate, where he still cared for Wesley just as much as he had, and he wished he hadn’t seen what he did, because he still wanted Wes, wanted to be with him, but he couldn’t, not right now, because Wesley’s betrayal had hurt, and he needed Wesley to hurt too.



He knew it was wrong, on a strictly intellectual level, to want to make someone you cared about miserable, but he was pissed off, and heartbroken, and if he wanted things to be alright between him and Wes again, and he did, then a distinctly unintelligent part of him needed to make Wesley feel as bad as he’d been feeling.



Ignoring his calls for a few days wasn’t even close to good enough, but he thought of something that might be. Tomorrow night the kids from school were getting together out in Miller’s Woods for the traditional Christmas blow-out, and just about everyone was going to be there, Wesley included probably, and Lindsey had an idea.



***



Wesley had been trying to talk to Lindsey since the party on Friday, apologising, trying to explain, begging Lindsey to forgive him, and Connor had been trying to call Wes for much the same reasons.



And just as Lindsey had been ignoring Wesley, deleting his massages, not answering his phone, not calling back, Wesley had been unwilling to talk to Connor about anything. It was unfair of him, he knew, and Connor must be finding this situation almost as difficult as he was, and it wasn’t entirely Connor’s fault, though if the boy hadn’t gotten into bed with him, they wouldn’t be in this situation.



The truth was, Wesley was just as much to blame, but it was a truth he’d rather not admit to, much happier to just put the whole thing on Connor and play the innocent, hoping that Lindsey would think that he hadn’t fucked up spectacularly. But he had. He’d gotten drunk, he’d went upstairs with Connor, he’d taken his clothes off, flirted, and even though he hadn’t intended for it to go any further than that, he’d ended up practically forcing Connor to jerk him off, and, he was pretty sure, begging to be fucked.



The fact that he’d thought it was Lindsey wasn’t an excuse. He never should have gotten himself into that position in the first place. And he never would again. No, he was going to cut Connor out of his life, completely.



He didn’t want to, and wished he didn’t have to, because despite all the craziness, he did truly like Connor. Not nearly as much as Lindsey, of course, and it seemed that when Connor was around the only result was trouble, and Wesley wasn’t willing to risk any more trouble. Not when he was hoping to get Lindsey back.



He refused to believe that things were over between them. Sure, they were extremely rocky, and Lindsey had every right to be pissed off, but Wesley loved him. And he knew that Lindsey cared for him too, and Wesley was sure that they would be able to work things out, given enough time and patience. And if he could just get Lindsey to sit down and listen to him.



Tomorrow night was the class Christmas party at Miller’s Woods, and he knew Lindsey had planned on going, hoped he still would, because that would be the perfect opportunity to get him alone for a few minutes and grovel. And whatever else he had to do to get Lindsey to forgive him, and get them back to where they’d been four days ago.



***



Wednesday night, Wesley tagged along with Spike and Fred, hitching a ride with them in Spike’s DeSotto. Spike had wisely not suggested they stop to pick up Connor, like they normally would have, and Wesley was silently grateful, even if he did feel like a third wheel stuck in the backseat by himself while Spike and Fred held hands and shot each other playful glances in the front.



Everyone else was planning on meeting them at the party, and when they showed up, a little after 10:30pm, they found Gunn’s and Xander’s cars parked side by side, with a dozen or so others, at the edge of the clearing where the party was set up.



Spike pulled up next to them and popped his trunk, opening up the cooler that was inside it and tossing a can of beer to everyone who wanted one. Anya grabbed the beer out of Xander’s hand and passed it to Faith instead.



“Okaaaaay,” Xander said, shrugging his entire body. “I didn’t want one anyway.”



“I don’t want you getting drunk and passing out on me tonight, Xander,” Anya told him, sternly, and poked him in the chest. “I haven’t seen you in months and tonight, we’re going leave early, go home, and have lots and lots of sex.”



Xander turned a fairly deep shade of red that went mostly unnoticed in the dim light, provided mostly by flashlights, headlights, camping lanterns, and a rather large bonfire, and everyone else snickered and shook their heads.



“It’s great to have you back, Xander,” Wesley said, and popped the top on his beer. “How’s your uncle?”



“Drunk,” he answered, succinctly, and grabbed his beer back from Faith, taking a large swallow. “Rehab went about as well is it ever does. Not very.”



“Yo dude, I’m not in rehab,” Faith grumbled, reaching after the can. “Give me that.”



“Don’t worry about it, baby,” Gunn murmured and smiled, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her against him. “You can share mine.”



Faith smiled back and blushed and took the can he offered her, hiding her embarrassed look behind taking a drink.



“Awwww,” Spike said. “Isn’t that sweet? Faith and Gunn,” he sing-songed, “sittin’ in a tree,” and shouted and jumped when Faith’s boot connected solidly with his shin.



“Shut the hell up, blondie,” Faith snarled, but her look softened when Gunn gently squeezed her shoulder and she relaxed back into him. Spike snickered and Faith narrowed her eyes at him. “Fuck off,” she warned, but there wasn’t much heat behind it.



They talked for almost an hour, shared a few more beers and eventually the group started to wander off, Xander and Anya heading home for all the sex they wanted to have, Faith and Gunn to go for a walk in the woods and spend some time alone, but not before Spike pulled Faith aside and whispered to her, seriously, that he was happy for her, and Wesley and Spike and Fred wandered over to the fire.



“What the hell is up with you?” Spike asked Wesley as they sat side by side on a blanket on the grass, with Fred between Spike’s legs, back resting against his chest.



“Hm?” Wesley said, whipping his head around to look at Spike. He’d been scanning the crowd pretty intently, looking for any sign of Lindsey. He’d seen his truck, parked a significant ways into the forest, and barely visible through the trees, and he’d seen Oz and Doyle and Buffy, and he figured that Lindsey probably had to be around somewhere.



“You’ve been acting all...squirrelly ever since we got here. What’s your problem?”



“You’re lookin’ for Lindsey, aren’t ya?” Fred asked, with an understanding smile.



“I’ve got to talk to him,” Wesley said, in agreement. “I thought maybe if he was here, I could get him to listen to me...”



“Wes,” Spike said, hands rubbing up and down Fred’s arms. “I know you’re anxious to get this worked out, but if he doesn’t want to see you, then ambushing him like this is only going to make things worse. Just give him time to come to you, if that’s what he wants to do.”



“And what if he doesn’t?” Wesley asked, voice breaking on the words.



Spike lowered his gaze, staring absently at the grass by Fred’s sneakered feet. That was a very real possibility, and certainly one that he thought Wesley might deserve. He’d heard about what had happened, and he’d had to seriously suppress the urge to tell Wesley ‘I told you so’ on the whole Connor front, but he’d kept his mouth shut.



Just like he would now. Wesley had fucked up. Not just the night of the party, but every time he’d been with Connor before that, leading him on, making him think he ever had a chance. And it had bit him in the ass.



But Wesley was his best friend, and he didn’t want to be that honest, that mean, not when he knew Wesley couldn’t handle it, so he said nothing, just tried to be there.



“I was gonna go hang out with those guys for a bit anyway,” Fred said. She and Lindsey had broken up, but they were still friends… sort of. And all his friends were her friends, too. Besides, it was a pretty safe bet they’d gotten over most of the weirdness. “I’ll talk to Lindsey, tell him you’re lookin’ for him.”



“Thanks, Fred,” Wesley smiled.



She turned her head back at Spike and kissed him, quickly, on the mouth. “You comin’?”



“Hmmm,” he pretended to think. “Coming to hang out with Lindsey and Angel and their parade of losers? No thanks, pet. You have fun.” The truth was, he really wouldn’t have minded. Not that he liked to hang around Lindsey by any stretch of the imagination, but he found he didn’t actively want to kick him in the nuts quite so much as he used to.



They’d managed to be in the same room for almost five hours last Saturday without killing each other, and he knew as long as they both mostly kept their mouths shut, they’d be mostly fine. But there was no way in hell he was leaving Wesley, sitting alone and miserable, at the biggest party of the year.



“You don’t have to be so nasty about it,” Fred frowned, and stood. “I wish you two would at least pretend to be nice to each other.”



“Yeah, yeah,” Spike said, and stood up after her. “I’ve heard it before. From the both of you,” he said, shooting looks at both Fred and Wesley. “I’ll play nice when he’s around but don’t expect me to like him. You go. Have fun,” he said, and kissed her, much more thoroughly than she’s just kissed him.



She stepped back, breathless and grinning and looked at Wesley, offering him a smile before turning back to Spike. “See you soon,” she said, and headed over to where she could see Angel and Buffy sitting on the hood of Angel’s car, with a few other friends nearby.



***



Lindsey hadn’t been paying attention to much of the conversation since he’d gotten to the party. His attention had been occupied with looking for someone. Two someone’s actually, and he’d spotted Wesley over an hour ago, saw him pull up with Spike and Fred, and had been watching him, on and off for much of that time.



The fact that Wesley looked miserable, drinking and talking with his friends, managing half smiles, and no-quite-laughs, that Lindsey could tell were forced, did nothing for his own mood. He thought he’d be glad to see proof that Wesley was feeling as terrible as he felt, but it just made it worse. He briefly entertained the idea of forgetting about it. He could just forget.



Forget that Wesley had cheated on him, had hurt him, forget about his stupid plan to get back at him, forget that anything was wrong between them, because for those few moments, all he wanted to do was go to him. Kiss him and hug him and make everything better. But this wasn’t some cheesy romance novel, this was his life, his heart, and he wasn’t going to be able to get over it that easily.



He didn’t see Connor with them, and he was slightly surprised by that, but the kid turned up half an hour later with some other people from his class, and Lindsey was keeping a careful eye on him too. He hadn’t even been over to talk to Wes or Spike or any of them, and Lindsey got the distinct impression that things were far from okay in that little part of Wesley’s world. Good.



“Lindsey... Lindsey!” he heard Angel shout and turned to him, staring blankly.



“Man, what the fuck is wrong with you? We haven’t seen you in days, and you show up here tonight, but you’re God knows where.” He hadn’t been talking about anything important, usually wasn’t, and he knew his friend was hurting, but he was trying to include him, trying to get his mind off Wesley, and what had happened with Connor, by talking about random, completely offensive things.



It wasn’t that he was pissed off at Lindsey, though he knew it came across that way, but he was pissed off. He wanted to fucking kill Wesley, wanted to do anything to make Lindsey feel better, and he couldn’t. He was helpless, impotent, and he hated it.



“Wouldn’t fucking kill you to actually talk to your friends, you know.”



“Yeah,” Lindsey said, still not really listening and taking the bottle of tequila out of Angel’s hand. He drained a good quarter of it in one go before handing it back. Angel looked incredulous and Buffy laughed, but Lindsey didn’t notice. “I gotta go,” he said, and pushed himself off Angel’s GTX and walked across the clearing to where Connor was sitting on a tree stump and sharing a cigarette with a young girl.



Fuck this was a stupid idea. He knew that, despite his anger and hurt at what Wesley had done, and he really didn’t want to cause a scene. No, their problems had already been made too public after the party at Wes’s place, and he didn’t want to give people anything else to talk about. This had nothing to do with anybody but himself, Wes, and that fucking pain in the ass little jerk, but Connor was relatively alone at the moment, so he could probably talk to him without many people noticing.



“What an ass!” Angel complained, looking at his significantly lighter bottle of liquor.



“Oh, leave him alone,” chided Buffy. “He’s having a hard time. He just got cheated on. By a geek. He’ll get over it, eventually, but he just needs some time to work it out.”



Angel scowled, knowing that Buffy was right, and again wishing there was something he could do about it, and Oz watched Lindsey cross the field and stop in front of Connor. “You’re probably right,” he agreed. “I’m just worried about how he’s going to work it out.”



TBC