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Just Call Me Angel . . .                                                                Chapter   1   3   4   5   6    Home 

 

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Chapter Two

I live with Angel, she's a roadhouse queen . . .

I want to love her but I don't know how.

Ain't living long like this

Can't live at all like this, can I baby?

                        ~Waylon Jennings~

Xander pulled into the construction site at a few minutes before seven. He grabbed his hard hat and tool belt and headed for the big industrial coffee pot. He was cutting it close, but hoped he'd have time for a cup before starting in on his day. Riley saw him arrive and was already fixing him a cup of coffee.

Xander took it gratefully and blew across it before taking a big gulp.

“Thanks, Ry.”

“Where you been all weekend? How come you didn't come over?” Riley sounded sort of hurt.

Xander took another drink of coffee. “Went to Rosie's a couple a' times an' went fishin' Sunday.”

“I woulda come along if I'da known you were goin'.”

“It was just spur of the moment, Ry. I just decided to pick up an' go.”

“Just 'cause you an' Ahn broke up doesn't mean we're not still friends. I never seen ya like this before, Xan. It's not good to spend all your time alone.”

“I haven't been spendin' all my time alone . . .”

Xander's voice trailed off. For some reason, he didn't want to tell Riley he'd spent most of the weekend with Angel. He and Riley went way back—they'd been best friends since grade school, and Ry wouldn't understand. Riley hadn't liked Angel from the get-go, and he wouldn't understand Xander's fascination with Angel—hell, Xander didn't understand it himself.

“I met a girl at Rosie's . . .”   It was the truth—in a red herring kind of way.

“Yeah?” Riley jammed his elbow into Xander's ribs. “What's she like?”

“Red hair, green eyes . . . we danced some.” The blast of the air horn saved Xander from having to say more. “Well, better get to work.”

“You wanna come over tonight?”

“I was thinkin' about seein' Kathy . . .”

“Bring her along.”

“Nah. Too soon for that.”

“Sam thinks you're pissed at her 'cause she's still friends with Anya.”

“Nah. I just . . . I need to work some stuff out for myself, Ry.”

Riley shrugged and began to climb the scaffolding.

Xander glanced around the site. He finally spotted Angel driving the forklift, and that weird little flutter in his stomach was back.

Angel dumped a load of 2x4s and nodded to Xander. Xander grinned and started to work.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

He was in the job johnny when he heard the voices just outside. Xander gripped himself to cut off the flow so he could hear what Ry was saying to Graham and Forrest.

“I dunno—he just really changed. He's been my best friend since grade school, and I never seen him like this before.”

“People change,” Graham said sagely.

“Not like this! Xan used to be funny—always made everybody laugh. Hell, he was even voted 'Class Clown' senior year. Now, he's all quiet an' he don't come over no more. I think there might be somethin' really wrong . . .”

“Pussy whipped is all. He been like this since his woman left, you said. He just needs to get laid.”

Thank you, Dr. Forrest. Shit, you should have your own TV show, like Dr. Phil!  Xander thought.  Asshole!

“People grow apart.”

Good God, Graham! If it weren't for clichés, you'd have nothin' to say at all!

“Not us!” Riley was staunch in his conviction.

Their voices trailed off as they moved out of range. Xander finished pissing and thought that Graham might be right. People do change. Maybe clichés are said so often because they're true. He had changed since Anya left. Things were all different and confusing now.

He'd been drifting along, figuring his life was settled. It wasn't a bad life. He and Ry worked together, played basketball and softball on the same teams and they'd socialized together, too. Sam and Anya got along fine. He figured the pattern for the rest of his life had already been set.

He and Anya would eventually get married and have kids, and their kids would play with Riley and Sam's kids. It was sort of comforting, in a boring way, to have everything worked out like that. His life would mosey along the same path as everybody else's—and then he'd get old and die. But something had changed for him—he no longer found that scenario comforting. Now, he found it terrifying . . . in a buried alive kind of way. He didn't want what he'd thought he wanted—what other people thought he should want—anymore. What did he want?

His house suited him fine. Small, cinder block one-story with a kitchen, living room and three bedrooms—although it was stretching things some to call the third room a bedroom. It was more the size of a walk-in closet, and was currently piled high with all Xander's junk. Still and all, it was his. He'd decided early on that it'd save him money in the long run if he bought a house instead of renting one. You could rent for years and have nothing to show for it. Not him! He paid out the same money every month as everybody else—but in 20 years, he'd own something! So, the house wasn't the problem.

It wasn't his job. Xander liked the variety of construction work. He liked working on different sites, in different conditions, performing different tasks. He liked manual labor—pushing his body to its limits out in the hot sun and fresh air. The sameness of factory work would have driven him bat-shit crazy. Oh sure, he bitched about the work like everybody else; but when it came right down to it, there was nothing he'd rather be doing. So, it wasn't the job.

Must be his personal life, then. He'd been in a holding pattern since Anya left. Well . . . if he was being honest with himself, it started long before Anya left. On some level, he'd known that—which is probably why he couldn't go through with the wedding. It wasn't Anya's fault . . . it was his. She was beautiful, funny, practical, and a siren in the sack. She was the perfect woman for him. They clicked. They fit. They'd have a good life together.

So why the hell had he thrown it all away? He did love and cherish her. Why hadn't he been able to say the words that proved that? What the fuck was wrong with him? What did he want? A little voice in the back of his mind popped up to answer the question. Angel, it said—and Xander fell off the ladder in shock.

~~~~~~~~~~

Thankfully, he was only about five feet off the ground when he fell, and he'd had the presence of mind to tuck and roll. He'd blamed it on a moment of dizziness due to the hot sun, but the foreman had sent him home anyway. Told him to go home, get out of the sun and drink plenty of fluids. Xander guessed Pete was trying to head off a workman's comp claim, but he was getting paid for the full shift, so he decided to take advantage. He'd grabbed his stuff and tore out of there like a bat out of hell, managing to avoid looking for Angel.

Jesus H. Christ on a cross! He didn't want to think about Angel—wouldn't think about Angel! Couldn't think about anything except Angel. Did this mean he was gay? No! He wasn't gay—definitely wasn't gay. He lived in west Texas, for Christ's sake! He couldn't be a queer!

You from Texas, boy? Yes, sir. I didn't hear you. Yes, sir! Only things come outta Texas is steers and queers. I don't see no horns, so that must mean you're a queer.

Oh, God! He was a queer—and he'd never watch An Officer and a Gentleman again! The fact that he even liked the movie shoulda told him something was up! Oh, God! Did this mean he'd have to give up The Fast and the Furious and start watching Priscilla, Queen of the Desert or Steel Magnolias?

Xander paced, running his hands through his hair. Calm down!  You're still 'you', he told himself. Don't panic.  I'm not panicking!  Oh, you're definitely panicking!  Shut up!  Was he going insane? Queer and insane? He'd be spending the rest of his life in the loony bin! The booby hatch. The nut house. Funny farm. Rubber room.

The sweat of fear was pouring off him and he wanted to take a shower, but he just didn't think he could stand to be naked right this second. Naked was vulnerable, and he was already feeling vulnerable enough, thank you very much!

He went to the fridge and chugged cold water right out of the jug. He felt a moment's relief, and then his stomach cramped and he threw up in the sink. He paced some more. What was he going to do?

What the fuck was he going to do? Angel couldn't find out! He'd die if Angel found out how he felt. Either that, or Angel'd beat him up. And Angel was big! Big strong hands . . . the better to beat you up, my dear. Big shoulders, big . . . not going there! La la la! Not thinking about Angel's big body and big hands and big—ohgodohgodohgod! What am I gonna do?

~~~~~~~~~~

Xander had finally managed to get enough control of himself to take a shower, and he felt marginally better. He dried off and hurriedly dressed in a white 'beater, a pair of cut-offs and flip flops. He glanced at himself in the mirror. This was the way he always dressed. Why did it suddenly look all . . . cabana boy? He plugged in his electric razor and quickly shaved. It wasn't as good a job as he could do with a safety razor, but in all honesty, he didn't think he could manage a blade right now. Good! He looked less . . . dissolute without the heavy stubble.

He opened the secret compartment behind the mirror. Well, probably not so secret—pretty much everybody had one, but he had always thought it was cool having a compartment with shelves built right into the wall, disguised by a mirror-door. Okay, rambling now. He looked over his collection of aftershaves, searching for the most manly one. Aramis. Named after a Musketeer—nope. High Chaparral. Suddenly, that sounded really fruity. Tommy. God, no. Stetson. Okay. A Stetson was a hat. Hats were damn manly. He splashed on the Stetson and closed the secret mirror.

Xander wandered out to the kitchen and got a beer. He popped open the can and was bringing it to his lips, when there was a knock on the door. Xander jumped, spilling beer all down his front. Fuck! He sidled up to the kitchen window and peeked out. There sat his truck, so whoever it was probably knew he was home. No sign of Riley's truck, though. Xander breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't think he could deal with Ry right now.

Maybe it was Mormons? If it was Mormons and he confessed that he was all gay now, maybe they would help him figure it out? Or, maybe not. Didn't they believe in having lots of wives or something? Hell, he couldn't even commit to one.

The knock was repeated. Xander sighed. They weren't going away. He might as well find out who it was.

He opened the door and an entire family of Hungarian acrobats took up residence on a trampoline in his stomach.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Angel.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“Good. Thought I'd drop by to check.”

They stood there staring at each other through the screen door, and finally Angel turned away.

“Okay. Glad you're all right.”

“Angel!”

“Yeah?”

“You . . . wanna come in?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“You want a beer?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. I'll be right back. Just gotta change a minute. Had a little accident.” Xander waved vaguely at his clothes and ran for the bedroom. I had a little accident? Holy fuck! He hoped Angel didn't think he'd peed his pants or anything, 'cause he hadn't done that in a long time. Not since he was about eight or so!

Xander pulled off his clothes. Ohmigod! He was standing here naked and Angel was like ten feet away! Xander glanced down at his hardening erection. Gay and naked! He was standing here gay and naked and Angel was only ten feet away.

“You okay?” Angel called.

Xander vocalized something that sounded suspiciously like “Eeep!” He cleared his throat, dropping his voice into a lower register. A damn manly lower register.

“Fine. Be out in a minute.”

He grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then pawed through his collection of novelty boxers. Why did he have such stupid underwear?  Spiderman and Rocky and Bullwinkle and Star Wars—with glow-in-the-dark lightsabers . . .  Shiny black with lipstick print kisses all over.   Kiss Me, I'm Irish (and he wasn't even Irish, to his knowledge).   SpongeBob Squarepants . . .   Xander put his head in his hands and moaned.

“Xander?”

“Be right out!”

He finally grabbed the Buffy the Vampire Slayer pair—printed all over with wooden stakes. Ohgod! Could you get any more phallic than that? He pulled them on before he could change his mind again, and still be standing here obsessing over his underwear for the next hour! He threw on the jeans and T-shirt and opened the door. Angel was still standing in the kitchen, leaning against the sink.

Xander gave him a sickly smile and moved past him to get to the fridge. His bare arm brushed against Angel's and his erection hardened. Ohgodohgodohgod! He wrenched open the refrigerator door and grabbed two beers, handing one to Angel.

“Thanks.”

Their fingers accidentally touched and Xander felt a jolt of electricity shoot through him. He gasped.

Angel frowned. “You don't look so good.”

“Just a touch of sun poisoning, I guess.”

He was shaking now, and he almost ran for the living room. He dropped onto the couch, just as his trembling legs gave out. Angel sat on the other end of the couch, and Xander briefly considered leaping up and moving to the recliner, but he knew he'd never make it. Xander broke out into a cold sweat, and Angel leaned closer to place his hand on Xander's forehead. His mom had always done that to check for fever, but his mom didn't have big, warm, calloused hands that made his heart beat faster at the touch.

Xander's skin was cold and clammy, and he was shaking as if he had the ague. Angel's hand brushed the hair back from his forehead and he shuddered. Xander opened his eyes to see a pair of warm brown eyes, fraught with worry, looking at him intensely from only about a foot away. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut again. The tip of his tongue crept out nervously and licked dry lips.

If Angel doesn't move Right. This. Second. I'm gonna do something I know I'll regret. I'm going to . . . I'm going . . .”

Angel moved.

He moved closer, and Xander could feel Angel's warm exhalations on his cold, clammy skin and it sent shivers down his spine. He thought he felt the brush of Angel's lips across his own dry ones . . . and then he was sure. Angel was kissing him! Was actually kissing him! Angel's tongue touched the corner of his mouth, which opened in surprise. Angel's tongue slid into his open mouth and his stomach lurched and his heart sped up until it was reverberating like a kettle drum in his chest.

Angel's hands cupped the sides of his head and his body pressed Xander back against the couch. Xander clutched Angel's shoulders and, with a groan, began kissing him back.

It was so different from kissing a woman.

He had thought Anya was an aggressive kisser, but that was nothing compared to Angel's kiss. Angel's lips were soft, but weather-worn, and kissing was so much better without all that waxy, slippery lip-gloss gunk. He could feel and savor each tiny crack and rough spot of Angel's lips without a ton of petroleum-based product intervening.

The kiss seemed to go on for hours, and Xander was feeling decidedly light-headed, when he finally pulled away to gasp for breath.

“Angel . . .”

“Yeah?”

“What does this mean?”

Angel smiled that rare, special smile and Xander felt faint. Or, the faintness may not have been due to the smile after all, but to the fact that Xander had been holding his breath, waiting for Angel's response. Or a combination of both.

“It means I like you, Xander. I wanted to kiss you and it didn't seem like you'd object.”

“And that's all?”

“Nope. Thought I'd fuck your brains out while I was at it.”

Ohgodohgodohgod! He'd just found out he was attracted to Angel, and he didn't think he was anywhere near ready for whatever 'fucking his brains out' would entail.

Angel laughed—Xander couldn't remember ever hearing Angel laugh before.

“You should see your face! I just scared the shit outta you, didn't I?”

Xander gulped. “I think . . . I guess . . . I've never . . . I've never been attracted to a guy before . . . I only just found out I was attracted to you a little bit ago, so, yeah, definitely shit scaring out of territory here.”

Angel's big hand cupped the side of his face and his thumb coaxed Xander's chin up until he was looking directly into Angel's eyes.

“We don't have to do anything you don't want to do.”

Xander felt a surge of relief, and then the nervousness returned.

“Angel?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you . . . are you . . .”

“Spit it out. You can ask me anything. Not sayin' I'll always answer, but you can ask.”

“Do you know what you're doing? I mean, have you been . . . gay . . . before?”

Angel laughed again, but not in a you-are-so-stupid, Xander! Kind of way. He never felt stupid with Angel.

“I've never been one for labels. Labels are just boxes other people want to put you in so's they don't have to put any effort into gettin' to know you. I've dated lots of women, had relationships with some more, spent a lotta time alone, but there's only been two people I've ever loved. One was a woman; one was a man. Don't know quite what that makes me, so if you feel the need for labels, maybe you can just make one up.”

“What were they like . . . the people you loved? You don't hafta answer, but you did say I could ask . . .”

“Well, they were both small, blond, and stubborn as mules . . .”

Xander's heart sank. Angel obviously had a 'type' and he wasn't it. Tall, dark and easy-going was the description that best fit him, and that wasn't even close to Angel's type.

“Otherwise, they were as different as night and day. But the one thing they had in common? Passion. And I don't just mean sex. They both had a real passion for life, and that's pretty rare in people. You have it—that's the first thing I noticed about you. And that makes you special.”

Xander's heart fluttered up from the pit of despair into which it had momentarily sunk, and began doing flip-flops again. Being with Angel was like an emotional cardio-vascular workout!

Angel stretched and then got to his feet.

“Well, guess I'll take off. Get some rest—you're still lookin' pretty peaked.”

Xander scrambled to his feet and followed Angel to the door.

“You don't have to go on my account. I mean . . . you could stay awhile if you want.”

“No . . . I can't.”

Angel pinned Xander against the door with the full length of his body and kissed him thoroughly. Xander felt his knees go weak. Angel finally stepped back, gripped Xander's shoulders and moved him away from the door. Xander leaned against the counter for support. Angel opened the door and stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine. With one hand on the screen door, he leaned back in to whisper in Xander's ear.

“If I stayed now, I really would be tempted to fuck your brains out.”

The screen door clicked shut, and he was gone.

 

The End?  Or. . . only the beginning?

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Author's Note:  Apparently, it was only the beginning.  A friend requested a continuation of this story as a birthday gift, so this fic has now added an additional four chapters.  The rating has changed from R to NC-17 beginning with Chapter 3.

 

Continued in  Chapter Three

 

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