Fast Times at Sunnydale High

*



“Have fun tonight, sweetie,” Fred said, and kissed her boyfriend quickly on the mouth before she hopped out of the truck.



“You too, babe,” he answered, smiling and patting her on the ass as she turned to open the door. “Try not to get into too much trouble.”



She stood on the sidewalk and closed the car door behind her. “Who me?” she asked. “I never get into trouble!”



“That’s why you’re my girl,” he said, leaning across the seats to kiss her once more through the open window. “See you tomorrow, hey babe?”



“Of course. Tell the guys ‘hi’ for me!” she said and kissed him on the nose.



“If you two are finished making me sick, can we get going?” Cordelia sighed impatiently and tapped her foot on the ground. “It’s already 9:30, and the club is over an hour from here.”



Fred blushed and pulled back from Lindsey’s truck, wiping her mouth with her thumb, and turned to look at her friend. “Sure, sorry,” she said with a shy smile. Then, “let’s go!” and hopped excitedly into the passenger seat of Cordelia’s car.



“Thank you!” Cordy said, exasperated, and got into the driver’s seat. And honked the horn. “If you could get your piece of crap truck out of my driveway so we could get going, that’d be swell,” she said to Lindsey, screwing up her nose as if she smelled something.



Lindsey rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything as he started up his truck and headed down the street, watching the girls pull away from Cordy’s house, tires squealing. At first he hadn’t known what Fred saw in Cordelia, why they were friends, and truthfully he still had a little trouble with it.



She was a bitch. But she had her moments, and if you could get past her self-centeredness she could be... well… not a complete bitch. In any case, she had sort of grown on Lindsey, and he’d gotten used to taking just about everything she said and did with a grain of salt.



He pulled up out front of Angel’s house and patted his truck on the hood a few times, gently, as he walked around it and to the driveway. He could hear muted music coming from behind the closed garage door, so he assumed Angel and Oz hadn’t bothered to wait for him before they started practising.



He grabbed hold of the handle at the bottom of the garage door and lifted it, the sounds of drums and guitar and what Lindsey used to think was a cat being tortured but had later come to learn was Angel, singing, spilled out over Lindsey and into the night.



He watched them for a moment until Angel realised that he was there, and stopped playing.



“Shut the door, idiot,” he said. “Neighbours are gonna bitch about the noise.”



Lindsey did, and walked straight over to the fridge, grabbing a beer out of it before he grabbed one of Angel’s drumsticks from his hand and smacked him in the arm with it.



“The fuck?” Angel asked, and made a face, and Lindsey chuckled.



Angel got up then to get himself a drink and sat down on the couch next to where Lindsey had just sat. “Cheers,” he said, happily and held up his bottle for Lindsey to clink his own against.



“To what?” Lindsey asked, as the necks of their bottle clashed happily.



“Guess it’s break time then,” Oz said almost to himself and put his guitar down before stretching out on the carpet-covered floor near the couch.



“To me,” Angel said, pompously. “I had a three-way last night with Buffy and her friend Kendra.”



“Fuck off,” Lindsey said, thinking he was probably bullshitting again, but with Angel you never really knew.



Angel just smiled a smug smile and shrugged, taking another sip of his drink.



“Good dinner?” Oz asked, trying to change the subject. He loved Angel, but if you let him, he would go on and on about his sex life, and really, Oz didn’t love him that much.



“It was alright,” Lindsey answered. “We went to this Italian place, and shit, if you think Fred can put back a lot of tacos, you haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen her with all-you-can-eat Spaghetti.” He smiled again, thinking about it. “Was good food.”



They had been dating for three months, and Fred and Lindsey had gone out to dinner to celebrate, before she went out with dancing with Cordy and he went to hang out with the guys.



“All-you-can-eat?” Angel asked. “Shit, Oz, I told you we should have gone with them.” And then to Lindsey: “We were stuck eating frozen meatloaf and carrots from a can. My new stopmom is the worst cook in the world.”



Lindsey couldn’t help but snicker at that, for a couple of reasons. His old stepmom hadn’t exactly been the best cook either.



“Yeah,” Oz said, voice devoid of sarcasm. “I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded us tagging along on their date.”



“Well we wouldn’t have had to sit with them,” Angel said, and then after a beat changed the subject. “Oh hey! How did ‘history for dummies’ go?”



Lindsey shrugged and took a drink. “All right. Guy knows I’m not actually planning on doing any work, and he’s cool with it. So we just gotta pretend to study, my dad shuts the fuck up about the importance of academic success, and he gets an extra-curricular activity to put on his college applications.”



“You know,” Oz pointed out. “Since you’re gonna have to spend all that time anyway pretending to study, it probably wouldn’t kill you to use the time to actually get some work done.”



Lindsey snorted. “Sure. I’ll keep that in mind.”



“Well, it was just a suggestion.”



“So,” Angel asked. “Who did Snyder stick you with?”



“Wesley,” Lindsey answered quickly and immediately filled his mouth with beer. He shouldn’t be embarrassed about that, but he was, and he knew his friends were going to find it funny.



He was right. Even Oz laughed, a little. “Wyndham-Pryce?!” Angel blurted between snickers. “They guy with the huge hard-on for you? Oh, shit, Lindsey, that’s… that’s awesome!”



“Thanks,” he mumbled.



“No, I mean, well, yeah, okay, it’s really funny, but, no,” Angel tried to clarify. “Guy likes you. Just, you know, tell him to do your work for you, and he’ll probably do it.”



“How do you have any friends?” Lindsey wondered out loud.



“Don’t worry about it man,” Oz said, trying to be supportive. “It’s only a few hours a week, and it’ll be over soon.”



“No, it’s cool,” Lindsey told them. They looked sceptical. “Well, okay, not cool, exactly, but it’s not gonna be so bad. He’s actually not as much of a total loser as I thought he was.”



Angel still looked sceptical. “Whatever,” he said, finishing off the last of his beer and standing up. “Let’s play.”



***



Wesley flipped the third page in a row that he hadn’t bothered reading and sighed, closing his book and tossing it down on the bed next to him. He loved reading. He loved getting lost in the characters and settings and stories, and the smell and the feel of the rough paper between his fingers.



But tonight it just wasn’t holding the same appeal it normally did. He’d gotten two emails from Connor in the last two days, asking him if they could get together, and of course he’d been too much of a coward to email back, telling him ‘no’. He knew he’d have to tell him, and soon, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it electronically.



And he was entirely preoccupied with thoughts of Lindsey. Of what he was going to wear next time he saw him and what he was going to say. Of how he’d act so incredibly suave and be funny and smart and Lindsey wouldn’t be able to help but fall in love with him.



He knew that was incredibly unlikely, but it didn’t stop the fantasies, and when reality poked its ugly nose into his happy land, Wesley felt illogically empty. It seemed that this opportunity to get closer to Lindsey was only serving to drive home the fact that he had no chance whatsoever.



He wasn’t upset about it, really, because he hadn’t been expecting anything else, but it didn’t stop the tiny little pain in his heart the bizarre sense of melancholy. And if he was ever feeling down about anything, the first thing he always did was go to Spike, and whatever it was that was bothering him would somehow miraculously disappear. Spike, on the few occasions that he wanted to let people see past the bravado, had an unparalleled ability to make people feel good about themselves.



But Spike wasn’t home tonight. He was out on a date with Kate, and probably wouldn’t be home until much later. Wesley liked Kate. She was a nice girl, and she had dated Angel for a while last year, and Wesley hoped that she’d have sense enough not to let Spike get too far, because the chances he would be calling her again after tonight weren’t very high.



But then, most girls had to know that by this point, and Wesley couldn’t really blame them for going out with him anyway. That boy was sex on legs, and he had a knack for charming even the most stubborn of girls and Wesley found himself yet again thankful he’d been able to get over that infatuation as easily as he had.



Well, he wasn’t going to get any reading done tonight, so laying around in his room wasn’t going to get him anywhere. No, laying around in Spike’s room was a much better idea.



He climbed down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen on the way to grab a soda from the refrigerator, and then continued on into the basement. Spike had a tiny little 13 inch television sitting on a metal folding table to the side of his well-used couch, and Wesley headed straight for the tiny pile of DVD’s on the table next to the television.



It wasn’t very large, as Spike only made a point of buying his favourite movies, and Wesley scanned through the pile quickly before pulling one out and shaking his head. ‘Sleepless in Seattle’. He stuck the disc into the player and smiled, thinking about what a closet sap Spike was, and plopped down on the couch to watch, and hopefully take his mind off everything.



He was asleep in less than 15 minutes.



***



At ten past two in the morning, Spike stumbled in through his private back entrance, half drunk on the mickey of vodka he’d snuck into movie theatre, and half high on the joint Kate had shared with him in the parking lot out back when the movie had ended. He wasn’t alone.



He tried to be as quite as he could, not that Wesley’s dad could really hear him upstairs, and if he could, he wouldn’t care how late he came in, or who he had with him, but he was thoughtful enough not to want to wake anybody up.



He and Kate stumbled over each other playfully, trading sloppy kisses and letting their hands wander, unwilling to let each other go as they tried to make their was across the floor and to somewhere they could sit down and get a bit more comfortable.



Spike was trying for his bed, and Kate was happy to go along with it, so excited to finally have Spike alone after nearly a month of flirting. She wasn’t kidding herself that this night was in any way going to end up in happily ever after, but her thought processes were impaired enough, and her sexual need ramped up enough that she didn’t care.



Spike had just managed to walk his date backwards enough that her legs had collided with the edge of his bed, and she had just moved her hands to the front of his pants, fingers fumbling over each other trying to unfasten the buttons, when a thought struck Spike.



It was lighter in his room tonight than it usually was. And louder. He frowned at turned around, Kate losing her balance and falling to the bed behind him, giggling.



Shit. Wesley was fast asleep on his couch, television flickering and playing the music that always played at the beginning of some DVD, while it asked you to highlight a selection. Shit.



His extremely hard cock was encouraging him to ignore Wes, get back to the ready and waiting girl on his bed and have a bit of fun, or maybe wake him up and send him upstairs, but if Wes was down here on his couch instead of upstairs in his own bed, it was probably because he’d needed a friend. Shit.



He reached out a hand to Kate and pulled her back up. “Sorry, sweet,” he said, truly apologetic. “We’re gonna have to do this another time.”



“What?” she asked, unbelieving. “Coming back here was your idea. What are you talking about?”



“I know pet,” he said, and kissed her hand. “Sorry. But it seems like I’ve already got company tonight.” He smiled crookedly and nodded his toward Wesley.



Kate laughed. Wesley looked so cute! “Fine,” she answered, disappointed, but it wasn’t as if she was going to do it with an audience, and she would just feel stupid if they woke Wesley up and asked him to leave so they could have sex. “Another time.”



He agreed and they shared one last incredibly long kiss before he called her a taxi and gave her ten bucks to pay for it.



When she was gone Spike went over to the couch and sat down on top of Wesley, stretching and wriggling, and smiling when Wesley started to move.



“No, red’s not my colour!” Wesley shouted, jerking awake and looking around, confused.



“Oh, but it looks so good on you,” Spike told him, pinching his cheek and moving off of his lap to sit beside him on the couch.



“Spike?” he asked, blinking and trying to get his bearings. “What are you doing here?”



“Uh, you’re in my room, sleeping beauty. I should be asking what you’re doing here.”



“I am? Oh, yes,” he said, shaking his head and seeming to gain a bit more alertness. “I’m sorry. I was bored upstairs, and I didn’t think you’d mind if I watched a bit of telly while you were out. And I just couldn’t resist your choice in movies,” he added with a smirk and a glance at the television, playing the opening sequence to one the girliest of all girly movies.



“Yeah, you’re one to talk,” Spike said. “Mr. Loves-The-English-Patient.”



“That’s a fantastic film!” Wesley argued.



“Whatever,” Spike said, and sighed, looking at Wesley. “What’s going on?”



“Nothing,” Wesley answered, but Spike knew better. “Fine. I was just feeling a bit… oh, I don’t know… lonely maybe? Being down here makes me feel a little less so.”



“Did Lindsey say something to you?” Spike asked, voice rising in volume. It was the only thing Spike could think of that would get to Wesley like this, and the Texan shithead probably would make Wes feel bad about, well, everything. “I’ll kick his arse!”



“No, no,” Wesley hastened to assure him. “He was actually quite nice about me showing up at his door unexpectedly. And thank you very much for that. Ponce.”



Spike snickered and elbowed Wes gently in the side. “You’re welcome. So, what’s with the woe is me act, then?”



“It’s nothing, really. Just… I guess I can’t pretend anymore that the reason we’re not together is that we haven’t had a chance to get to know each other. I have to face the fact that he really doesn’t want me.”



“Wes,” Spike breathed out, feeling defeated and impotent. He hated it when anything hurt Wesley, especially his own stupid feelings. He pulled his friend to him, wrapping his arms around the other boy and didn’t let go for several minutes. “Then he’s an idiot,” is all Spike could think of to say when he pulled back, but he knew it wasn’t the truth. If Lindsey wasn’t into guys, then it wouldn’t matter how amazing Wesley was; Lindsey was never going to feel that way about him, and it wasn’t anyone’s fault.



“Did I ever tell you how lucky I am that you’re my friend?” Wesley asked, smiling sadly. Spike was a shit liar, but at least he meant well.



“Oh, fuck off,” Spike groused, pushing Wesley away. “I’m certainly not gonna fuck you, so don’t go wasting all your poetry on me.”



“I love you too, Spike,” Wesley told him and kissed him on the cheek, laughing as he got up and Spike wiped his face with his hand.



“Goodnight sweetie!” he called from halfway up the stairs and laughed again when Spike answered by telling him to “shut it.”



Wesley really was better off this way. It was like he’d thought; Wes was having to face reality, and it was sure to be a bit painful at first, but ultimately a lot more healthy. Now if he could just get him to deal with Connor and his ridiculous, going nowhere infatuation... What the fuck was it with him and his gay friends whose hearts made the worst possible choices for them?



***



That Saturday afternoon Spike and Wesley and a few of their friends went out to a paintball field to let off a little steam and try to shoot one another in the most painful and insulting places they could manage. It was always a good time.



Connor was tagging along this time. He didn’t always, and it wasn’t as if he’d never been before, but the decision had more to do with him wanting to see Wesley again than the urge to have his ass painted blue.



So, naturally, Wesley did his best to avoid him at all costs. He’d smiled and looked away when they’d all gotten there, and purposefully gotten himself on whatever team Connor wasn’t on, and each time the boy tried to talk to him or touch him he found some sort of excuse or other not to be near him.



He knew he should talk to him. Today. And he planned on it. But a battlefield with paintballs flying through the air wasn’t the optimal place to have that particular conversation.



Perhaps after… “Oomph!” Wesley fell to the ground behind a large metal tube, hit squarely in the stomach by an unforgiving splotch of red paint, and tossed his head back dramatically. That’s what he got for letting himself get distracted.



“See?” Spike said, grinning at him and holding his own gun ready to jump up and shoot at whoever had just gotten Wesley. “I was right. Red does look good on you.”



Spike stood then, fast as Wesley had ever seen and started shooting as fast as his rifle would allow, screaming in glee and hooting into the air when he heard his victim fall to the ground on the other side of the open space.



“That’s what the fucker gets!” Spike said, adrenaline making him a little more vicious than he usually was. He looked at Wes then, puzzled that he was still even there. “Right, fuck off.”



Wesley rolled his eyes and got up, hands in the air as he made his way off the field and to the observation benches on the side. He wasn’t there for more than a few seconds when he saw Connor headed toward him.



He took a deep breath and prepared himself. Maybe if nobody else got shot for the next few minutes, they could have enough time to talk. But Wesley was sort of hoping they wouldn’t.



“How’s your stomach?” Connor asked, sitting down next to Wesley and putting his hand casually on Wesley’s thigh.



“What?!” Wesley barked, startled, and jerked his leg away.



Connor smiled at him, thinking his modesty was cute. “Your stomach? I shot you at pretty close range. It must smart a bit.”



“That was you?!” Wesley asked, not knowing why it bothered him so much that it was Connor that had removed him from the game.



“Yeah.” He smiled and looked down. “Sorry. But you’re the only one I’ve looked at since we got here, so I didn’t really have the chance to shoot anyone else.”



Wesley was oddly flattered, but knew he shouldn’t be. It wasn’t going to get him anywhere. “Well, that’s… shit,” he started, as he tried to sit up a little straighter and the bruise that was likely forming on his stomach made itself known.



Connor looked at him with concern, one hand going around his shoulders while the other went to his stomach. “Is it that bad? Shit, I’m sorry, Wes, I…”



“No, it’s fine, Connor, really,” Wesley told him. “It was just a bit of paint, and I’ve had worse.”



“Okay,” Connor responded, not sounding all that convinced. “But if you need anything… Ice, a bed, full body message…” He waggled his eyebrows at Wesley and moved a little closer.



“Thank you, I’m good for now,” he said, and took a breath, ready to launch into a speech about why Connor had to give up on him.



As he opened his mouth to talk he found Connor’s hand in his lap, deft fingers working over his flaccid cock and balls, and he gasped and spluttered and would have stopped him if it hadn’t felt so good.



“Connor, you really shouldn’t…” His weak protest was negated by the simple action of him grabbing Connors questing hand in one of his and pushing it harder into his groin, and he gasped and closed his eyes. Well, shit. That certainly wasn’t going to solve anything, but damn, did it feel fantastic.



“Fuck, Wes, I love your cock,” Connor whispered into his ear as his fingers squeezed and caressed, and Wesley couldn’t help but shiver. “It’s so big, and sweet and perfect and all I want to do right now is taste it. Get down on my knees and swallow it, or lay back and let you fuck me… Anything you want. Anything. I just want you.”



He was aware he was laying on a bit thick, but he was also aware that Wesley wasn’t really all that invested in him, and he needed to do whatever it took to make Wesley his. Oh, he was pretty sure Wesley liked him, they’d had sex hadn’t they? But Wesley had been incredibly drunk, and since then he’d seemed to want to slow things down.



Connor wanted to speed them up, and not only because he didn’t want Wesley to lose interest.



“Connor,” Wesley cried piteously, “Fuck, please stop!” The boy hadn’t done much, but Wes on the edge and it wouldn’t be long before he was losing it.



“I don’t want to stop, Wes,” he said. “Fuck, I just want to make you feel good. And nobody’s looking… Please. Please just let me make you feel good.”



Wesley gave up trying to fight and relaxed into Connor’s inexperienced hands. It did feel good. And it was going to feel even better. His eyes fluttered shut even though he tried to keep them open and before long he was panting and thrusting and mumbling praises to Connor and his inexplicable talent and shooting, long and hard and soaking the front of his jumpsuit.



Well, he thought, catching his breath and grabbing hold of Connor’s wrist, squeezing it in thanks. If I’m stuck with him for the rest of my life, at least he knows how to get things done.



He tilted his head toward Connor and caught the boy’s mouth in a fast kiss, before turning back around and placing Connor’s hand in his own lap. “Connor, I think…” he said, still trying to even out his breathing. “I think we need to-”



He was almost disappointed, but not quite, when Charles came to sit beside them, front covered in red paint and having no clue what they’d just been up to. “Damn, that Faith!” he said, shaking the excess paint off his suit and tossing his gun down beside him.



Connor shuffled back a little from Wesley, and Wesley crossed his hands over his lap to try to hide the evidence of their indiscretion, and they both smiled half smiles at Charles and waited until the battle was over and they could get changed and go home.



***



Lindsey let his hand move a little lower, from Fred’s ribs down to her taut belly, and let his lips and teeth absently work over the outside of her ear and down her neck.



“Mmmm,” she responded, and rubbed her own hand up and down Lindsey’s thigh, pressing back further into her boyfriend.



“Oh! This one is so funny!” she exclaimed, and sat up, attention straying to the television screen.



Lindsey was a little irritated that his groping session had been cut short, but couldn’t help agreeing with her, so he leaned back into the couch, pulling her with him, and moved his hand to her hip rubbing warm, non-sexual circles over it. This was good too.



“Colin Mochrie is the funniest person in the world,” Lindsey said, laughing as he did his classic dinosaur impression for the camera.



“In your dreams,” Fred countered. “Chip Esten is the funniest person!”



“Oh, sorry,” Lindsey snickered. “I was only counting people from the good Whose Line.”



“Oh, Lindsey!” she said, like she was talking to a particularly dense 4 year old. “The British one is the good Whose Line!”



“You’re high, aren’t you?” Lindsey asked her, trying to remain completely serious, but when he reached out his hand to pry open eye, pretending to check for the classic signs of intoxication they both collapsed into giggles, Lindsey landing on top of Fred on a messy pile on the living room sofa.



They sobered quickly as Lindsey leaned down to kiss her, but before he go that far the doorbell rang, interrupting them.



Lindsey bolted up as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing, but tried to calm himself down before he smiled at Fred, who sat up on the couch, and went to answer the door.



It was Wesley, like he knew it would be.



“Hey man,” he said, as he opened the door and stepped back to allow Wesley entrance. “What’s goin’ on?”



“Hm? Er, oh, nothing,” Wesley mumbled, toeing off his shoes and again handing Lindsey his jacket. “What’s, uh, going on with you?”



Lindsey shrugged and hung up Wesley’s coat before taking down Fred’s. “Same old shit.”



Fred appeared then from around the corner and accepted the jacket Lindsey held out. “Hey Wes!” she said, and smiled her bright, beaming smile at him. It had the same effect it always did, and almost instantly he felt more relaxed.



“Hello, Fred.”



“It’s so nice of you to help out Lindsey like this. His daddy can be a real pain in the butt sometimes.” She knew Wes had a thing for her boyfriend, hell everybody knew he did, but if the two of them were okay hanging out together, then she was okay with it. And it really was a nice thing for Wesley to do.



“Yeah, thanks again, man,” Lindsey agreed.



“Oh, it’s no bother. Really.”



“Well, I suppose I’ll get out of here and let you two get at it,” Fred said, slipping on her jacket.



“Bye babe,” Lindsey said, moving a hand to the back of her neck to pull her in for a quick, but passionate, kiss. By the time they were finished Wesley seemed to be finding the wood trim on the closet door very interesting and Lindsey couldn’t help but feel a little bit bad for flaunting his relationship, even though he really had no reason to.



Wesley knew he was with Fred, knew he wasn’t into guys, and he shouldn’t have to hide anything just because Wesley had feelings for him. Still, he thought it must not feel very good to see the person you like with someone else.



“Bye Wes!” Fred said, waving, as she left, and he smiled at her, watching her go.



Lindsey led Wesley in to the kitchen again and they sat down in the same seats they’d been in the previous Thursday. It was easier for both of them this time, sitting together, talking, even laughing once or twice, but still wasn’t what either of them would call comfortable.



“It’s actually not so bad, you know. American history,” Wesley said, at some point.



“Oh, come on Wes,” Lindsey argued. “It’s duller than fuck!”



“Not really. Every country has a story to tell, and when you start to get into it, get lost in all the details, it can actually be quite interesting.”



“Trust me. I know everything we’ve ever been taught about it in 12 years of school, and there’s nothing I’ve learned that makes me even the tiniest bit interested in learning more.”



“You know the facts, Lindsey,” Wesley told him. “That’s very different than understanding it, imagining what it was like, and I think if you ever tried that, you might feel a bit different.”



“You really like history, don’t you?” Lindsey asked him, sort of impressed that Wesley seemed to have such a passion, but mostly thinking he was crazy. Music, philosophy, even politics; these were things that Lindsey could really get into, but history? What the fuck was the point? Good thing he was damn near a genius or he’d have to do some of that ‘actually trying to learn something’ that Wes was talking about.



“Yes, I…” Wesley started and then blushed, looking down at the table top. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. As you said, you clearly don’t need my help, and I’m just sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong.”



“No, Wes, it’s fine,” Lindsey said, not wanting him to feel like he wasn’t allowed to voice an opinion. “You’re into it. That’s cool.”



“Yes, well. Again, I’m sorry.”



“I actually have been giving the war of 1812 a little bit of thought,” Lindsey admitted.



“Really?” Wesley sounded genuinely interested in what those thoughts were.



Lindsey let out a small chuckle. “Yeah. It was kinda cool how we kicked some British ass.”



“Oh, in your dreams!” Wesley countered. “The American’s spent that entire war running around, screaming for their mothers!”



“Oh, I think we got a few hard hits in,” Lindsey said, eyes and mouth crinkling in humour. Wesley was cute when he got worked up about something.



“Hmph,” Wesley snorted, like a petulant five year old. “That’s probably only because it wasn’t really Britain you were fighting.”



Lindsey just looked at him, on the verge of smiling, and waited.



“And not really being British didn’t stop them from running you lot back where you came from and burning your capital to the ground,” Wesley groused.



“True,” Lindsey said, nodding solemnly. “We better be careful not to piss off those Canadians again.”



“Oh, shut up,” Wesley grumbled, but couldn’t completely hide his smile.



“I think I have an alright idea for a term paper,” Lindsey told him, stopping their good-natured argument. “Who knows. I may even write one.” But probably not.



“Well, let’s not go overboard. You should start with the thoughts, and work your way up to actual homework very slowly. You wouldn’t want to sprain something.”



Lindsey laughed. Wesley acted shy, but he wasn’t afraid to be a smartass when it suited him.



“Want something to drink?” Lindsey asked, getting up and going over to the fridge.



“Er, sure,” Wesley answered. “What have you got?”



Lindsey came back to the table and put a bottle of beer down in front of Wesley, and kept another for himself.



Wesley looked at him quizzically, wondering if he was serious. “A beer?” he asked. “In your parent’s kitchen? On a Monday?”



Lindsey laughed again, but fully this time. “Live a little,” he suggested, twisting the top off his bottle and taking a large swig.



Wesley shrugged, and after several seconds of fighting with a cap that seemed particularly stubborn, he followed suit.



Lindsey looked… pretty, Wesley guessed would be the word, when he swallowed. He looked pretty all the time, really, but they way his hair fell back as he tilted his head, and his eyes closed in pleasure as the taste flowed across his tongue, and his throat worked, constricting and relaxing, pushing the drink through… Damn, alright, maybe pretty wasn’t the word.



Wesley was feeling much more at ease around Lindsey than he had been last time, and that was probably the reason that he found it so easy to drift off, dick pleasantly hard in his pants and mind pleasantly blank but for thoughts of how incredibly attractive Lindsey was, and all the attractive things he’d like to do to him.



He must have been so at ease, so lost in his musings, in fact, that he failed to hear Lindsey calling his name the first one or four times.



“Wes!” Lindsey called, waving his hand in front of Wesley’s face, and smiled when Wesley jumped and blinked.



“Hm? What? Sorry.”



“You just kind of zoned out for a minute. You okay?”



“Oh. Yes, of course. Sorry, I’m fine.” He desperately hoped that Lindsey hadn’t been able to pick up what he was thinking. Of course he hadn’t. He wasn’t psychic or anything, right?



But he didn’t need to be psychic.



It was obvious where Wesley’s mind had been, and Lindsey found it flattering and exciting. And he would never admit it to anyone, but while he’d watched Wesley, eyes glazed over and unconsciously licking his lips as his hands had moved back and forth over his bottle of beer, Lindsey had had a very brief flash of Wesley, on his knees, in front of him, mouth full and staring up at him in awe.



But again, he would never admit it.



“You uh…” Lindsey started and cleared his throat. Was it getting hot in there? “You want a sandwich?”



TBC