Fast Times at Sunnydale High

*



Two weeks had gone by. And in that two weeks a funny thing started to happen to Wesley. He became less and less infatuated with Lindsey as the other boy started to become more and more of a person in his eyes, and not just a remarkably sexy, well-built, ridiculously perfect male specimen.



He still did fantasise, still wanted to have sex with him, still wanted to marry him and live happily ever after, but he no longer thought Lindsey was perfect. He sometimes said incredibly stupid things, and talked with his mouth full, and emitted various foul odours, and Wesley found himself starting to really like him. For the person he really was, and not the fantasy Wesley had built up.



Wesley had been over to Lindsey’s house four more times, and even though he was afraid to bring it up, because he thought Lindsey might take him up on it, he felt compelled to suggest that he didn’t really need to be there.



Lindsey’s parents had never been home when Wes was around, and they wouldn’t have known if he was there or not, as long as both he and Lindsey said that he was. Lindsey could have his Monday’s and Thursday’s to himself again and his father could go on thinking that he was getting some work done.



But Lindsey had told him no, said that his stepmom had an unpredictable schedule and he never knew when she was going to come home, so it was safer that Wesley was actually around, just in case. He hadn’t said that he was getting to enjoy the time they spent together, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true.



He was finding himself looking forward to the times that Wesley came over, to talking and listening to music and drinking beer on Monday’s. He’d caught himself, once or twice, when they’d accidentally bumped shoulders while sitting on the couch in the living room, or their hands had touched as Lindsey passed Wesley something to drink, imagining what other kinds of touches they could get up to, and if they would feel as electric and forbidden as the innocent ones they’d shared so far.



It wasn’t that Lindsey was attracted to Wesley. Okay, so it was exactly like that, but Lindsey was more than a little conflicted by the fucked up thoughts and flashes of desire, because he wasn’t gay. He’d always been with girls. Always been happy to be with girls, but the way Wes looked at him with such adoration and lust had more than once made his breath catch and his groin twitch.



And the way any signs of attraction seemed to disappear in a blink when Lindsey made some comment about the Democratic Party, or affirmative action or the fucking metric system that Wesley disagreed with, and Wesley would go off on him about why he was the stupidest person he’d ever met – Lindsey really liked that too.



But Lindsey had a girlfriend. So even if he was starting to entertain thoughts about doing horribly wrong things to Wes, which he wasn’t, because he wasn’t gay, he couldn’t anyway, because he was spoken for.



And in the past two weeks his relationship with Fred had gotten better. In a way.



He hadn’t been getting any more action, but he was getting increasingly content to stop when she said, and they were both getting less inclined to start anything in the first place. Oh, they still cared about each other, still kissed and touched and Lindsey still jerked off thinking about her, so it wasn’t like their relationship had dried up completely, just… slowed down.



And they both thought that was a good thing. They were far more comfortable together now, had a lot more fun together without so much sexual tension getting in the way, and they were happy.



Wesley was still no closer to having that talk with Connor, and settling things with him once and for all. In fact, that whole situation had gotten even worse.



Just over a week ago Connor had invited Wesley out to dinner, and Wesley had agreed to it, thinking it the perfect time to get the boy alone, in a public place where he couldn’t try anything that might distract Wesley, and let him know that nothing more was going to happen between them.



It sounded great, and Wesley was nervous of course, but he was resolved. By the end of Saturday night, he would be Connor-free, and hopefully the boy wouldn’t be too crushed.



Wesley had met him at the restaurant, one of those tragic American steak houses, only to discover that Connor’s parents were joining them. He’d introduced Wesley to them as his boyfriend, and Wesley had had to offer a forced smile, fake his way through a pleasant dinner, trying not to jump whenever Connor touched him, however casually, and go along with whatever the boy said.



It was either that, or make a fool of them both in front of Connor’s parents, and while he harboured no romantic feelings for the younger boy, he did care about him, and was hoping to at least salvage what there had ever been of a friendship between them.



It now appeared, that despite his mediocre efforts to the contrary, and feeble protests, that Wesley had a boyfriend.



***



“Spike, you’ve got to talk to him for me. Please,” Wesley begged over the supper table on Thursday evening. He’d just about given up on being able to do it himself, and he knew Spike would be so much better at it, say the right thing, and not hurt Connor half as much as Wesley probably would.



Spike raised and eyebrow and finished chewing his mouthful of chicken. “Not a chance in hell, Wes.”



“Oh, please!” Wesley wheedled, eyes drooping piteously and mouth turned down into a pout. “It’s been almost a month since… well… and no matter how hard I try I can’t seem to find the right time to talk to him about it.”



“That’s because you’re acting like a big sissy girl,” Spike pointed out, taking another bite of his dinner. “It’s not tough, Wes. Just tell him the truth. You fucked your way into this situation, you can get yourself out. And Soon.”



Wesley really was taking his sweet time, and the longer it went on, the worse Connor was going to feel when he learned the truth. Spike really wished he didn’t care.



Wesley sighed, pushing some carrots around on his plate and stabbing his mashed potatoes with his fork. Spike was actually a pretty good cook, but Wesley wasn’t hungry today.



“Fine,” he said, understanding and agreeing with what Spike said. “I’ll talk to him this weekend.”



Spike looked like he didn’t quite believe it, and opened his mouth to say as much, but Wesley cut him off.



“I promise. But in the mean time, maybe you could-”



“No.”



“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”



“I don’t care. The answer is no.”



“You used to be nice,” Wesley pouted, and dropped his fork onto his plate, signalling the end of his trying to eat anything.



Spike gave Wesley a cheeky smile and stood, picking up both of their discarded dinner plates and planning a kiss on Wesley’s cheek as he passed to drop them in the sink. “You still think I’m nice.”



Wesley rolled his eyes and stood. “I’ve gotta get to Lindsey’s. See you later. Jerk.” There was a fondness to his insult, like there always was, and Spike grinned at him.



“Probably not. I’m going to the Bronze tonight with Drusilla.”



“Well, that took a while. You must be losing your touch,” Wesley quipped. Spike had been asking Drusilla out for almost six months, but she’d always turned him down.



“If I’m lucky, she might wear the uniform for me,” he said, with a waggle of his eyebrows.



He was such a slut. Wesley really hoped that he would find someone that could keep his interest for more than a couple of hours, because he couldn’t possibly be happy with all of these tawdry flings for long. Even if he thought he would.



“Have fun,” Wesley suggested, and turned to go.



***



Lindsey didn’t bother ushering Wesley in to the kitchen when he showed up that night. It was Thursday, and over the past couple of weeks, just as Monday had become beer night, Thursday had become television night.



Fred had been visiting him earlier in the afternoon, but Lindsey had made sure she was gone long before Wesley showed up, and he’d already outfitted the living room with popcorn and nachos and two cans of Pepsi, tidied up, and changed into his favourite pair of jeans. The ones that Spike had told him that Wesley liked, what seemed like a lifetime ago.



He couldn’t help feeling stupid, like he was getting ready for a date or something, and chastised himself for being such an idiot. It was nothing like that. Wesley came over all the time. They hung out all the time. Nothing was going on, nothing ever would be going on, he didn’t want anything to be going on. Right.



“Popcorn?” Lindsey offered, holding out the bowl and flopping down on the couch.



“Oh, yes, please,” Wesley answered, sitting down next to him and helping himself to a handful. “So how’s that history paper that you were considering writing coming along?”



Lindsey just smirked at him and flicked on the television.



An hour passed. They argued over what station to watch, Lindsey wanting the sports channel and Wesley the National Geographic channel, and they eventually settled on music videos and didn’t pay much attention to them anyway.



They were too busy talking about how terrible their exes were, and how shitty it was to get your heart broken, and laughing at the other’s terrible taste in partners and throwing popcorn around.



“God, Andrew?” Lindsey said, sounding like he didn’t entirely believe it. “What were you thinking?” He thought he’d known the answer to that, thought that Wesley couldn’t get anyone better. But now that he knew Wesley, he knew how very wrong he’d been.



“He’s really not that bad,” Wesley tried to defend him. “He was… nice, and good to me, and we were happy.”



“Until he ran off after some other loser who he didn’t stand a chance with and left you high and dry. You deserve better than that, Wes.”



Wesley smiled a little at that, the same thing Spike had said to him about Lindsey, and felt incredibly amazed that Lindsey seemed to care enough to have an opinion on who he dated at all.



“Well at least he didn’t sleep with half the football team and give me crabs before dumping me because he’d gotten knocked up by some freak who lives in a basement and likes to be called Master!” What anybody could ever see in Darla, Wesley had no idea.



“Good point,” Lindsey conceded with a small snort and held up his can of soda to clink against Wesley’s. “To exes we’re glad to be rid of,” Lindsey toasted.



“Indeed,” Wesley said, and joined in the toast. He was hoping to be able to add Connor to that list of exes very soon, but he really didn’t want to tell Lindsey about that.



“Oh, cool, it’s almost 9:30,” Lindsey said, noticing the clock on the table behind Wesley, and he switched the station over to the Comedy Network.



“What’s so cool about 9:30?” Wesley asked, and turned to the television to find out.



“Oh,” Lindsey said, stuffing three nacho chips into his mouth and speaking around them. Wesley tried not to look disgusted. “Whose Line Is It Anyway. Funniest fuckin’ show I’ve ever seen.”



“Ooooh!” Wesley said, excited, and put his drink down on the table beside him. “I love that show!”



They waited for another 30 seconds for the advertisements to finish, and when the show started Wesley frowned and looked over at Lindsey. “I thought you meant the real Whose Line Is It Anyway was coming on,” he said, and Lindsey almost thought he was cute, the way he pouted like that.



“What’s wrong with this show?”



“Nothing, I suppose,” Wesley said, extremely put upon. “It’s just that the British one is so much funnier!”



Lindsey watched him for a minute, as he watched the show, cracking the odd smile despite saying that he didn’t like it as much, and couldn’t help but remember Fred, a couple of weeks ago, saying almost the exact same thing.



He thought it was a little odd that he felt the same sort of annoyed affection toward Wesley as he had toward Fred, and thought Wesley looked just as adorable when he scowled and pouted and claimed that he knew better.



He thought it was really odd that he was struck by a near overwhelming urge to wrestle Wesley into submission, right there on the couch, and hold him down, bodies pressed together, vibrating with tension and something else until Wesley agreed with whatever he said. Yeah, that was really odd.



Wesley hadn’t heard anything from Lindsey in a while, and there had been several pretty funny jokes that he’d expected the other boy to laugh at, so he turned back, wondering what was going on, and saw Lindsey staring at him, quite intently.



“Er…” Wesley hedged. “Is there something wrong?”



“Huh? Oh, no,” Lindsey said, sitting back and turning his head to the television. He was thankful they were just starting up a new imporv and he had an excuse to change the subject. “Oh, I love this game!”



Wesley wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he could tell that there had been something on Lindsey’s mind. He only hoped he hadn’t done anything to ruin the tentative friendship they’d recently developed.



But Lindsey seemed fine for the rest of the night, and was friendly as Wesley left, and told him he’d see him on Monday, so Wesley had to consider that it had been in his head. He wasn’t known for his logic where Lindsey was concerned, after all.



***



Damn, but Spike loved catholic school girls. Not as much as that freak Angel did, but he just couldn’t get enough of those short, plaid skirts, riding up thighs as tight little bodies ground against him on the dance floor. He loved the way they looked in those uniforms, forbidden, like a present that you had to wait until Christmas morning to unwrap, and it drove Spike crazy in such a good, good way to not unwrap them on the spot.



And Drusilla, it seemed, was trying just as hard as her red plaid skirt and her neatly buttoned white blouse and her navy blue tie, to drive him all the crazier.



He groaned into her ear as she danced against him, thigh rubbing along his crotch, and he shivered, hands gliding over her back and ass.



“Fuck, luv, you’re driving me inane,” he whispered, and pulled her closer to him. “I want you so bad.”



“Silly, silly, Spike,” she said, chuckling in his ear. “It’s not me you want tonight.”



Spike rolled his eyes. Great, he thought. Here we go again. Dru was hot, and Spike had been trying to get up her skirt for about six months now, but she had her crazy moments. Seemed like this was one of them.



“Don’t be ridiculous, Dru,” he told her, twirling them around and kissing her on the neck. “Course I want you.”



“Not like you want her,” she pouted. “It’s always her, her, her.”



“Who the bloody hell are you talking about?”



“You know who. She’s stolen your heart, and your mind. I can see it in you, all pink and swirly.”



“Dru, stop this nonsense. Let’s get out of here. Go someplace quiet.”



“Sorry, my sweet,” she said, shaking her head, and dropped his hand, taking several slow steps backward. “You must stay here.”



Spike watched, bewildered, as she walked away from him, leaving him standing in the middle of the dance floor all by himself.



***



“Hey, check it out,” Cordelia said, taking a sip of her diet soda and elbowing Fred in the side. “The tramp is leaving.”



Fred didn’t have to check it out; she’d been watching Spike dance with the girl from St Mary’s for almost half an hour, so she was already staring at them when she left. She felt bad for Spike, standing there all alone and trying to pretend he hadn’t just been dumped, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t glad the girl was gone.



She wasn’t very good for him. Or, she didn’t look it anyway, not that Fred had ever met her.



Spike walked over to the bar, almost next to where Fred and Cordy were standing, but he didn’t notice them as he ordered himself a bottle of water downed it in one swallow.



“Hey, Spike,” Fred said, taking a few steps closer to him and leaning into his ear.



He turned, startled, but smiled. “Fred. You out all by your lonesome tonight?” He knew Lindsey was studying with Wes, and if that tosser wasn’t tagging along, maybe he’d get to spend a little time with her. Not that he’d try anything. They were just friends.



“I’m here with Cordy,” she said, nodding her head behind her to where Cordelia was watching them. “But Lindsey’s home tonight.



“Got the night off then, have you? Good for you, pet.”



She blushed and shifted feet, moving a little closer to him. “So, do you, um, want to dance?”



He smiled and took her hand and led her out onto the dance floor without a second thought.



***



“I don’t know what she’s doing with that loser,” Cordy spat after she’d invited herself to sit down next to Charles Gunn at his table.



“Spike’s a nice guy,” he said, and snagged back his hot chocolate. “Get your own damn drink, skinny.”



“Whatever,” she said, and flagged down a passing waiter, or possibly just a passing high school boy, and gave him her order. “She’s already got a boyfriend. A cool boyfriend. And being seen with Spike cannot be good for her reputation, and since she’s my friend, it can’t be good for mine.”



“They’re just dancin’, Cordy. Leave ‘em alone.”



She made an irritated kind of huffing noise and folded her arms across her chest, clearly not ready to let it go.



“Or better yet…” Gunn said, smiling, and he got up, grabbing Cordelia by the arm and dragged her out onto the dance floor to join their friends.



She objected at first, not wanting to be manhandled by anyone, and not wanting to have to dance with anybody that she thought might make her look bad in any way, but she warmed up to it after a while, and the four of them spent the better part of the next two hours tearing the place up.



“Oh my goodness!” Fred exclaimed, sometime after Gunn had driven Cordelia home and her and Spike were at the bar getting another drink of water. “It’s almost midnight! I can’t believe it got so late and I didn’t even notice.”



“That’s what happens when you’ve got the right company,” Spike told her, smiling and putting a few dollars down on the bar to cover the drinks. “But you’re right, it is getting late. How ‘bout I walk you home?”



The walk was nice. Fred lived pretty close to Wesley’s house, and both were about a twenty minute walk from the Bronze, and the spent the majority of that time in comfortable silence.



It was starting to get a little chilly during the nights, and when Spike saw Fred shiver at a light gust of wind he took off his duster and draped it over her shoulders. The weight and smell of the leather had felt like his arms around her, and she thought she should feel guilty that she liked the feeling so much.



Spike walked on the outside of the sidewalk, and took her arm when they crossed the street, and when he left her, at the foot of the walkway to her front door, he smiled and bowed and kissed her hand and told her what a fantastic time he’d had with her.



Spike walked the five minutes home from Fred’s, wondering where the hell all that politeness had come from. It wasn’t that he couldn’t turn on the charm when he wanted to, but he wasn’t even trying to get into her pants, for fuck’s sake!



He really had had fun. Even though Dru had run off hours ago, and he’d lost his best shot at scoring that night, he’d had a better time just dancing and talking and hanging out with Fred than he would have if everything had gone as he’d planned.



Fred watched Spike head off down the street until he turned the corner two blocks down, and then went inside, well aware that she was wearing what must have been a really stupid looking grin. She didn’t care.



Her last thought before she fell asleep that night, was that she wished Spike had kissed her, properly, before he’d walked away.



TBC