Fast Times at Sunnydale High

Lindsey sighed and tossed his guitar down, not at all gently, on the couch in Angel’s garage, grabbing a bottle of beer out of the fridge and twisting the top off. It really came in handy that Angel’s older brother, Liam, didn’t think twice about buying beer for him and his friends.



“Fuck!” he swore and flicked the beer cap across the room, kicking the base of the beaten up old sofa with heel of his foot. He was being pretty dramatic, sure, but shit, he was frustrated!



“So, you’re feeling pretty good about that set, then.” Oz said, sardonically, and took a sip from his own bottle.



“Yeah, Linds,” Angel said, putting his drumsticks down on the end table and flopping down onto the couch gracelessly. “What the hell is wrong with you today?”



His mood had been for shit all afternoon and he hadn’t been able to play a single song without screwing up somehow. His concentration was shot, he was screwing up his guitar fingering and he’d forgotten enough lyrics that Angel had volunteered to sing lead for the day just so that they could get some better practice in.



And you knew you were fucking up pretty bad when Angel singing was looking like a better alternative.



“Shit, sorry guys,” he said, tilting back his bottle and swallowing half of it down. “Just having an off day.”



“Yeah, way off,” Angel mumbled.



“Fuck you,” he sneered, sticking up his middle finger. Angel laughed.



“Hey man,” Oz said. “If you’re not feeling well, it’s cool. Taking the day off isn’t exactly going to affect how great we’re not.” It really wasn’t. They were alright, as far as high school bands went, and they had fun together. Lindsey happened to be pretty talented though, and if he ditched his friends he might be able to make a few bucks, but it wouldn’t have been anything substantial, compared to what his family already had, so he was content to play just for how much he loved it, and not worry about success.



“No, I’m…” He wanted to say ‘I’m fine’, but while that was physically true, it was mentally way off the mark. There were two things bothering him today and he decided to start at the beginning. He sat down next to Angel, placing his beer bottle in between his knees and holding the neck between his thumb and fingers.



“I was at Fred’s place last night,” he began, and paused for another sip of beer.



“Ohhhh” his friends chorused, like that answered everything. Oz looked down and started to tune his guitar and Angel rolled his eyes and stretched his legs out on the floor in front of him, getting comfortable.



“What the fuck does that mean?” Lindsey asked, defensive. He knew he had a tendency to bitch a lot about how little action he was getting, but it had never put him in this bad a mood before.



Then again, he’d never been in the situation where he was the only one out his best friends that wasn’t getting any and they probably thought it hurt his pride more than his cock. Angel and Oz were both in steady relationships, and even though it had taken Buffy a while to come around, Angel couldn’t shut the hell up about her most days, going on and on about how wild and dirty she was.



Lindsey was pretty sure he was full of shit, but at least he was getting his dick wet.



Doyle, on the other hand, couldn’t bend over fast enough when he’d met Oz, but Oz had never been the type to brag about that kind of thing. Or any kind of thing, really.



“It means, either fuck her, dump her or shut up about it,” Angel said, suppressing a sigh. “It’s not like you’d be hard up if you weren’t waiting for her skinny little ass.”



“I like her, alright?” Lindsey shot back. “Fuck, you’re an asshole.”



Angel snickered at Lindsey and Oz couldn’t help but crack the tiniest of smiles. “Relax,” Angel said, playfully elbowing his friend in the ribs. Shit, Lindsey was edgy. And honestly, Angel sort of got the feeling that despite all his bravado, Lindsey wasn’t all that broken up about his girl not putting out.



It was possible he had his eye on someone else, but Angel didn’t think so. He really was the loyal type when he got into a relationship. Maybe Fred just didn’t do it for him like that. Either way, Angel couldn’t see the relationship lasting much longer than another month. Two tops.



A part of him felt bad for being so pessimistic. Lindsey was his best friend, and he really liked Fred, too. They were cute together, and Lindsey always seemed happier when she was around, but beyond a normal teenaged boy’s desire to fuck anything that moves, Angel never noticed any real heat between them. And they were only seventeen. It would be a fuckin’ miracle if things did work out.



“I know you like her.” Angel’s tone was softer now. “But if you’re getting this upset just ‘cause you haven’t had sex in three months, you might want to take another look at how important she is.”



Angel was completely wrong. Probably.



“It’s not even that, man,” he said, shaking his head. Yes, he was frustrated about not scoring, like he always was, but he’d kind of gotten used to that by this point. He didn’t really expect to get laid, and he was getting pretty comfortable with what they did do.



“When I got home, from, you know, not getting any, my dad was waiting up for me. With my first term grade report.”



Oz whistled. “I’m guessing that went about as well as practice today.”



“To put it fuckin’ mildly,” Lindsey grumbled.



“I told you you probably should have handed in an assignment or two,” Angel said, trying to hold back his laughter.



“Fuck off, man,” Lindsey told him. “It ain’t funny.’



Angel kind of thought it was funny, and Oz, though he’d never say it, agreed with him. Lindsey was by far the smarted guy they knew, and it was as amusing as it was irritating that he put so little effort into his school work. Son of a bitch was lucky his daddy was a big shot lawyer and could buy his way into a good college, before he followed in his footsteps and became a big shot himself.



But then, that was probably why he played and pissed his time away now, while he could.



“Right,” Angel said, stealing Lindsey’s beer and finishing it in one swallow. “So, how bad was it?”



“Seven B’s,” he said.



“Well, I can see how you’d be upset,” Oz agreed, dryly, and Lindsey narrowed his eyes before calling him a “smartass.”



“Seven B’s,” Angel repeated, a bit flabbergasted. “Without doing any work. At all. You’re lucky I don’t kick your ass, you know.”



“Yeah, well, my daddy’s gonna,” Lindsey told them. “Because of my D in history.”



Angel and Oz broke out laughing.



“Shut the fuck up! I told you it wasn’t funny!”



“Oh, God!” Angel almost wheezed. “You! You’re actually failing a course!”



“Welcome to the land of the slackers, man,” Oz smiled as he said. It really wasn’t so bad to fail something, as long as you had fun while you did it. That’s what summer school was for, anyway.



“Would you two shut the hell up? I’m not gonna fail anything,” Lindsey insisted. “And the only reason my mark in history is so low is because we haven’t had any tests yet.” Tests were where Lindsey excelled. He never did any homework, and he was doing well if he spent more than five minutes in the morning working on any assignments that had to handed in, but he knew his shit. And he always counted on tests and exams to bring his grades up.



“But, fuck,” he sighed and got up to get another beer. “My daddy’s making me get a tutor.”



Angel and Oz started laughing again, and Lindsey couldn’t help but chuckle, himself. Just a very, very small chuckle, though. They were right; it was kind of funny. Lindsey could easily tutor just about anyone in their school, in just about any subject, but his father thought that his low grade meant that he didn’t get it, and insisted that Lindsey find himself another student to tutor him in history until his grade went up to the same level as the rest.



So really, it was a good thing he hadn’t put any effort into any of his other classes, because there was no way his history mark was coming up from a D to an A+. A B he could handle, and would, easily, after he wrote the final exam. So all he had to do was find someone to pretend to study with until Christmas.



It really shouldn’t have been such a big deal, but for anyone, especially his dad, to imply that he couldn’t figure that shit out on his own, was really goddamned insulting!



“So get over it,” Angel snorted. “Find some cute little thing to ‘study’ with a couple of times a week, and make your dad happy.”



“Yeah, you’re right,” Lindsey sighed. He knew Angel was right, but he couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of looking like a dumbass in front of the entire school. And he would, when he posted a ‘Tutor Wanted’ add up on the school bulletin for everyone to see.



Fuck, if he’d only written one of those essays…



“Fuck it,” he said, standing up and downing the rest of his second beer. It was already past supper time on Saturday. He was just getting a bit of a head start. “Let’s play.”



He grabbed his guitar and waited for Angel and Oz to take their places, and they managed to get in a few more songs before hunger overwhelmed them and they called for pizza, and spent the rest of the night ignoring text messages from their significant others, drinking, and playing ‘Rock Band’ on Angel’s X-Box.



Which Oz couldn’t help thinking was entirely redundant.



***



“Wes?” Spike groaned, head pounding and mouth fuzzy, and not opening his eyes because he was pretty sure it just wouldn’t be worth it. He was pretty sure he was in his room, and he was pretty sure he was naked, and he was completely sure he wasn’t alone.



He let his hand drift down from over his face to meet up with a shaggy mop of hair resting on his chest. And no, it didn’t belong to Wesley. Not that he’d thought it might, but Wesley being around the morning after a party like they’d had last night was pretty much the only constant.



“No, I’m not Wes, stud,” came Faith’s gravelly voice, as her hands squeezed his bare sides and her fingernails traced random patterns over his skin. “But hey, if that’s what you’re into, I sure as hell wouldn’t mind giving it a go. Boy is too fuckin’ cute!”



“Ugh.” Spike tried to sit up, but the vague nausea and the weight of his keyboardist and lead singer on top of him prevented it. “Funny, luv.” Spike and Faith weren’t serious. They didn’t even date, really, but every once in a while they got together to let off a little steam. It seemed to work for them.



He turned his head to the side and cracked one eye open, cautiously. Yeah, it was as bad as he’d thought. At least he was in his own bed, if you could call the twin-sized cot pushed up against the far wall of the massive basement room a bed.



The room was a mess. Food and empty bottles were scattered everywhere, the television screen was that shade of bright blue that indicated it was waiting for you to stop being retarded and hit that tv/video button until you got a picture, there were a half dozen or so leftover bodies from the previous night, all in various undignified poses on the snack-and-stain covered carpet, including one poor sod draped wholly uncomfortably looking over Connor’s drums.



And Speaking of Connor…



“Hey, Wesley!” he said again, louder.



***



“Five more minutes,” Wesley mumbled and rolled over, pulling the covers up over his head. His bed was feeling a little lumpy this morning, and colder on the one side, but much warmer on the other, and now that he thought about it, it didn’t feel like he had any pants on, and his father sounded a hell of a lot like Spike…



“Spike?” he ventured, and pulled the blanket down to reveal his face. He slowly blinked open his eyes and the first thing he saw was… brown.



Kind of an ash-brown with the smallest of blond flecks if he was paying attention, which he wasn’t, and if he had been he’d have noticed that the two colours complimented each other very well, and Wesley didn’t at all experience the urge to turn that head over to see the face on the other side.



He closed his eyes and fought back the enormous headache he knew was on the way, and when he opened them again he wasn’t as tempted as he’d thought, to find out who he’d apparently spent the night with. It wasn’t Lindsey, and even though he knew he was only torturing himself with the notion, he couldn’t help but think that anyone else just wouldn’t be good enough.



The body turned over anyway, the face smiled at him, the arms wrapped around him and pulled him closer on the mound of blankets they’d used to create their make-shift bed, and he barely managed to keep his tears from falling when Connor smiled at him and kissed him, lovingly, possessively, on the lips, and closed his eyes again, rubbing their foreheads together.



Well, shit. He must have been a lot drunker than he’d thought the night before. It wasn’t that he particularly disliked Connor – quite the opposite. He’d always gotten along well with the boy whenever they’d gotten together, but they were really only friends by association. He was two years younger than most of their friends, only just a sophomore at Sunnydale High this September, but he was an excellent drummer, and Spike liked picking on him almost as much as he liked picking on Wesley.



He was nice, and cute and funny in an odd sort of way, but there were definitely two huge problems with the current situation.



The first was that he knew Connor had a bit of a thing for him, and since he knew he could never return those feelings, leading him on in any way was entirely unfair. Wesley was all too familiar with unrequited affection, and the last thing he wanted to do what hurt anyone.



And the second problem was that Wesley didn’t sleep around. Ever. In fact, he’d only ever slept with one person, before whatever happened last night, and now not only had he apparently gone and turned into a slut, but there were at least a half dozen direct witnesses to his slutiness!



He wanted to throw up, and he suspected that only half of that was a result of all the beer he’d drunk.



“I… I’ve got to go,” he said, pulling out of Connor’s reach and sitting up, thankfully finding his pants in a rumpled heap next to where he’d been sleeping. He didn’t see his underwear with them, but this wasn’t exactly the time to go searching. He’d find them later. Or not. Whatever.



He tried to keep the blanket over his hips as he shimmied his pants on, and tried to pretend that Connor wasn’t staring at him with a silly looking grin, and he tried not to scream like a woman when Connor reached out and ran two fingers over his jeans-covered hip as he stood.



“I’ll, um, see you later,” Wesley mumbled.



Connor smiled up at him, dreamily. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice perfectly matching his face, and Wesley turned around, crossing the room and climbing the stairs as quickly as was polite to do so.



He didn’t notice Spike and Faith snickering from their position tangled up in each other on Spike’s bed, but Connor did.



“What are you laughing at?” he snapped his head around and asked, defensively, when Wesley had gone upstairs.



“Oh, nothing,” Spike drawled, lifting Faith out of the way so he could get up, slipping on a pair of sweats before walking over to the fridge in the kitchen area. He pulled out a jug of orange juice and set it on the table, grabbed several cups down from the cupboard and set them next to the juice. He thought for a minute and grabbed a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter as well, putting them on the counter beside the toaster.



His other friends were beginning to shift and sit up and make various piteous noises and Spike figured they’d probably want something easy to digest.



Connor came over to sit with Spike at the table and they were soon joined by the rest of the gang. They passed around breakfast and chatted about how much fun they’d had the previous night and about the gig Hellmouth had at the Bronze on Thursday and Connor remained quiet, face easy and relaxed with a ghost of a smile on his lips, until Spike spoke to him.



“So, kid,” he said, taking a bite of his toast. “Did our Wesley finally make a man out of you, or what?”



Everyone at the table started chuckling and making comments, and Gunn, who was sitting next to him, gave him a friendly noogie, laughing when Connor turned a very deep shade of red and pushed him away.



“Stop it!” he laughed, clearly embarrassed, but not wanting to take the teasing any more seriously than it was intended.



“If by ‘make a man out of him’,” Anya interjected, “you mean ‘have anal intercourse’, then yes, he did. I heard them. They weren’t very quiet.”



There were sniggers and hoots of congratulations and Connor tried to hide his growing embarrassment by taking a sip of his juice and clearing his throat. “So,” he said, trying to come up with something else to talk about. He was excited about what had happened with Wesley, excited at the prospect of seeing again and he could barely keep a huge grin from throwing up all over his face, but he was a fairly private person, and this wasn’t really any of anyone else’s business.



“Anyone seen the new ‘Batman’ movie?”



There was more laughter, and a few eye rolls, but the subject of Connor’s love life was mercifully dropped, as the group began to talk about random things before everyone eventually headed home. Spike hadn’t forgotten about it, though, and made a mental note to have a talk with Wes.



***



“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Spike teased when Wesley made his way down the basement stairs and into Spike’s apartment later that afternoon. He’d eaten and showered and slept a little bit more, and he didn’t feel quite so much like a zombie now. He was still anxious though, as one would expect if one were to have gotten so drunk that they couldn’t remember what happened, and then woke up bottomless next to another bottomless boy.



“Hi Spike,” he said, sitting down next to his friend on the couch and watching a little bit of the football game that was on.



“So you hooked up with Connor, eh?” Spike asked, raising his eyebrow. “You’ve had better ideas, Wes.”



“Trust me, I know,” Wesley agreed. “But I don’t remember a thing, Spike! There was music and dancing and quite a lot of alcohol, and then... Then I woke up.”



“You don’t remember anything that happened between you?”



“Not really,” Wesley answered. There were flashes that were coming back, of the two of them together, kissing, touching, falling into a pile of blankets in a dark corner once everyone else was either sleeping or gone. But he had no idea how it had started, or what would have convinced him that it was something he should be participating in at all.



“So you don’t remember telling me you were sick of pining after Lindsey and you were going to get him out of your system? Don’t remember dragging Connor off behind his drum set and sticking your tongue in his mouth?”



“Why didn’t you stop me?!” Wesley squealed, mortified that it had been his idea in the first place. If he had been drunk and his resistance lowered, and Connor had pushed… well, okay, it wouldn’t really make the situation any better, but the fact that he’d been the one pushing…



Spike shrugged. “I tried. But you were going on and on about how you didn’t need Lindsey, and how he wasn’t really all that good looking anyway, and how there’s tonnes of blokes that would be lucky to have you, because even though you’re a tad on the nerdy side, you give fantastic head.”



“Oh, dear lord,” Wesley said, voice pained, and he covered his face with his hands, hoping that when he removed them a few seconds later, that it would have all been a dream. Nightmare would probably be a better description.



“And then you asked Connor if he wanted a demonstration.”



Wesley’s jaw dropped and his eyes bugged out, a sense of utter mortification gripping him. “Oh, please, Spike,” he begged. “Please tell me I didn’t.”



Spike laughed and picked up the television remote, flicking the channel over to auto racing. “Get a few beers in you, you’re worse than a bloody girl, you are.”



Wesley groaned and tossed his head back, the soft cushion of the backrest of the couch not providing nearly enough of a jolt on his skull to shake out of the recently acquired knowledge.



“Your secret crush on short dark and Texas isn’t exactly a secret anymore, mate, so you’d better be ready for that at school tomorrow.”



Wesley knocked his head back against the couch three more times without any greater success than the first time. “Oh, God. Oh, fuck.”



Spike snickered. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll get real popular just as soon as everyone starts hearing about the great blow jobs.”



“You’re enjoying this far too much, you know,” Wesley said to Spike, eyes narrowed and accusing.



“Yeah,” Spike agreed, completely without guilt. “But Wes, pet, you just make it so easy!”



“You know, sooner or later,” Wesley warned, “I’m going to get sick of you being such a jerk, and dump you on your ass.”



Spike smiled knowingly and relaxed further the couch, fluffy cushions enveloping him as he cracked his neck and let his hands rest in his lap. “You never would.”



Wesley didn’t bother arguing. Spike would have seen right through it anyway



“You’ve gotta talk to Connor,” Spike said, breaking the silence that had reigned for the last 10 minutes, as they mindlessly watched cars race around a track. His tone was no longer teasing or playful. He liked to give Connor a hard time, but he really did like him, and the boy was even more delicate than Wesley. “Kid probably thinks you’re betrothed now, or something.”



“What am I going to tell him?” Wesley asked, horrified at the thought of having to tell him anything at all. God, he’d been such a complete prat.



“The truth. That you’re self-centered enough to have completely ignored his feelings in some crazy attempt to stop thinking about some guy who doesn’t think about you back, and now that you’ve had your wicked way with him and taken away his innocence you’d appreciate it if he took a hike. But for Christ’s sake, be gentle about it.”



Okay, that was it. Wesley was never drinking again.





TBC