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Just Call Me Angel . . .                                                               Chapter   1   2   4   5   6     Home

 

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Chapter Three
 

Xander stood, leaning against the kitchen counter as the sun tracked its way across the sky and the hard, bright light diffused into something softer. His thoughts ricocheted around in his head like a pinball in an arcade game, eventually coalescing into three definitive statements.

He was probably gay. At least, he was sexually attracted to another man. He'd been sexually attracted to Anya, too, so he wasn't sure if that meant he was bisexual, or if he'd suddenly turned gay or if he'd always been gay and didn't know it, but he didn't suppose it mattered.

“I think I'm kinda gay, and I'm okay with that.” Xander spoke aloud, and discovered it didn't freak him out as much as he thought it would. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“I'm gay now.” A smile twitched at the corners of his lips.

“I'm gay and I'm interested in Angel.”

Interested was such an inadequate word. He was interested in World War II—it wasn't like he wanted to study Angel! His smile grew wider. Well, yeah, he did. He wanted to study those brown eyes that sometimes showed glints of gold in their depths and at other times, darkened to almost black. He wanted to trace those thin lips that somehow felt hard and unbelievably soft—rough and incredibly smooth—all at once. He wanted to trace them with his fingertips and his mouth and his tongue and his ear and his nose . . . he wanted to experience the feel of those lips on every single inch of skin he possessed. Study Angel? Hell, he wanted to get a degree in Angel.

The smile morphed into a goofy grin. A Bachelor's degree? Well, they were both single, which made them bachelors which . . .  A Master's degree? That was drifting into sort of kinky territory there. A Doctor's degree? Oh yeah! He definitely wanted to 'play doctor' with Angel . . .

Xander's cock hardened as he thought of running his hands over the hard, smooth muscles of Angel's back and chest and legs and . . .

His eyes crossed as he was hit by a flood of sensations. He pushed away from the counter and opened the fridge. He took out a beer, grabbed the magnetic bottle opener stuck to the side of the refrigerator and popped off the cap. He lifted the beer, the last rays of the sun passing through the brown glass, turning it to liquid gold.

“These three things I know to be true . . .”

That sounded sort of familiar. Maybe it was a quote from somewhere?

“One. I've got the hots for a guy. If that makes me gay, I'm okay with that. Two. I want Angel—and that's more than okay. But not just his body. I want all of him . . . I think I want a relationship, and not a sneaking-around-pretending-we're-just-friends relationship. That's sort of scary, but I think that could be okay, too.”

Xander turned the bottle and the sun sent a shaft of gold from the glass directly into his eyes. He blinked and tipped the bottle toward the sun in salute.

“Three. Angel said he wants to fuck my brains out and that's . . . YEE HAW!!!”

Xander upended the bottle and chugged it.

~~~~~~~~~~

Xander opened a can of chicken noodle soup and dumped it into a pan to heat. He dug around in the freezer until he came up with a steak and jalapeño Hot Pocket. He poured a glass of milk, and when the microwave dinged, he carried his dinner into the living room to eat. He had just dipped his spoon into the pot of soup—why dirty a separate bowl when there was no one here to see him—when he heard the knock at the door. The spoon dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers and his heart sped up.

Angel!

He set the pan of soup on the table, brushed Hot Pocket crumbs from his T-shirt and hurried to the door.

“I knew you'd come—”

He flung open the door to see Riley with a very concerned look on his face, and Xander quickly substituted “—over” for the word 'back'.

“Well, sure I'd come over. I been worried about you, Xan.”

Xander swallowed his disappointment and fought to get his breathing under control.

“C'mon in, Ry. Want a beer?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Xander opened the fridge and handed Riley a beer, taking another out for himself. Riley turned the beer around and around in his hands without opening it, then squared his shoulders and looked at Xander with an expression comprised of equal parts embarrassment and determination.

“We have to talk, man.”

Xander bit his lip to keep from laughing. Ry looked like he'd rather be at the dentist's office waiting for a root canal than here at Xander's, preparing to have a 'talk'. Xander knew Ry meant well, so he refrained from laughing. He cleared his throat.

“Sure, Ry. Wha'da'ya wanna talk about?”

“Uh. Could we sit down?”

Uh-oh. This was serious. Did Riley know? No, that was stupid. How could Riley know anything when there hadn't been anything to know until a few hours ago?

“Sure. C'mon into the living room.”

Xander sat down on the couch in the same spot Angel had occupied earlier. It made him feel tingly, knowing he was sitting on the same fabric that had cradled Angel's ass—and he didn't want Ry sitting there, obliterating the . . . ohmigod! He was totally losing it! He was getting possessive about the goddamn furniture, now! Focus, Xander. You've still got to get through this 'talk' with Ry.

Riley sat in the recliner, as he frequently did, and didn't seem to notice anything strange. Xander breathed a sigh of relief. Riley opened his beer and took a swig, then leaned forward to put it on the table. He continued to lean toward Xander, resting his forearms on his knees. Riley's blue eyes were slate gray with concern.

“Xan, I'm worried about you, man. You been actin' weird ever since you broke up with Anya. It's not just me. Graham an' Forrest've noticed it, too.”

Xander opened his mouth to make a snide remark about Graham and Forrest, but then quickly closed it. He couldn't admit that he'd been eavesdropping from the portable toilet without coming across as really creepy. He raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was a look of polite interest and waited for Riley to continue.

“There's somethin' goin' on with you, Xan. I know you, and I know when things ain't right. There's somethin' eatin' at you. You been avoidin' me; you don't come over to the house no more. You peel outta work like you're . . . I don't know what. Tryin' to get gone 'cause you're afraid I'll ask you over for dinner or to go for a few beers like we always used to do an' you don't know how to deal with me. If I done somethin' to piss you off, I wish you'd tell me what, so I can try to make it right. You're my best friend, Xan, an' this is just tearin' me up inside.”

Xander flushed with guilt and felt like a shit. He stretched out a hand toward Riley, but stopped before actually touching him.

“Oh, Ry, no! It isn't you! It's nothin' you've done—don't even think that. I'm not mad at you an' this has nothin' to do with you at all. It's me, man. I've been goin' through some stuff I just had to work out for myself.”

Riley's gaze sharpened. “You said 'had'. You said you 'had to work it out'. So, does that mean you've got things squared away? 'Cause you know I'm here for you, man. There ain't nothin' you can tell me that'll change that. We been together too many years, bro.”

Xander opened his mouth to reassure Riley that he was fine—that he had things under control. That he appreciated the support, but it wasn't necessary. He was okay, and there wasn't anything Riley could do to help. At least, that was the plan. Instead, his mouth seemed to be forming words of its own volition, completely divorced from his intended speech.

“I think I'm gay.”

Riley's mouth dropped open in shock. He grabbed for his beer and drained it, sinking back into the recliner as if his muscles could no longer hold him upright.

Xander counted off the seconds of total silence, broken only by Riley's heavy breathing, waiting for the explosion that never came.

Riley swallowed hard, but still didn't reply.

Xander got up slowly and carefully and went to the kitchen, coming back with four beers that he placed on the table, nudging them into an absolutely straight line. He leaned back against the couch cushion and waited.

Riley reached for a beer, swishing the liquid in his mouth to moisten dry membranes before swallowing.

Here it comes, thought Xander.

“What makes you think you're gay?” Riley asked reasonably.

So not what I was expecting.

“Well . . . um . . . I . . . I'm attracted to a man . . . sexually.” Xander cleared his throat and took a drink of his own beer. When he continued, his voice was much stronger. “I'm sexually attracted to a man.”

He finally looked straight at Riley, who had turned an interesting shade of purplish-red, exactly the color of a beet. Huh. People really can turn beet red.

“It's not . . . me, is it? I mean, is that why you've been avoidin' me, 'cause you . . .”

Xander let out a bark of laughter that seemed to go a long way toward breaking the tension.

“God, no! It's not you, Ry! Holy fuck, no! That would just be . . .”

Riley's beet-red face now wore a sheepish expression and Xander started to giggle.

Riley's lips twitched. “Well . . . good. Glad we got that straight. I love ya, man, but I don't . . . ya know . . . love ya.”

They were both laughing now, and Xander felt the barriers he had erected between himself and Riley dissipating. The fears that Riley would reject him when he knew were totally gone. Xander felt relief wash over him like a healing balm. This was Riley—and he was still his best friend. Xander wanted to grab hold of Riley and hug him tight, but thought that might not be a good idea right at this moment. He thought again that it was a shame Ry had had to drop out of college after only one semester to go to work when Sam got pregnant. He would have made a damn good psychologist.

“You're . . . sure?” Riley asked.

Xander felt a goofy grin steal over his face as he thought of Angel.

“Oh, yeah. I'm sure.”

Riley nodded, then frowned. “Xan, this doesn't mean you're gonna start wearin' women's clothes or anything? Or actin' all . . .” Riley extended his arm and let his hand droop limply from his wrist while fluttering his eyelashes. “'Cause this is Texas, man, an' I don't . . . I don't want you to get hurt.”

Xander caught his breath. The depth of Riley's concern for him gave him goosebumps, even if he did have a clichéd way of expressing it.

“Don't worry, Ry. I won't embarrass you. I'm still damn manly.”

“Okay, then. Well, gotta say, I wasn't expectin' this when I came over, but I'm just real glad it wasn't somethin' serious. Y'know—I was afraid there was somethin' really wrong, like you had cancer or somethin' . . .” Riley's face took on a panicked expression. “You're not gonna get AIDS or somethin', are you?”

“I sure hope not!” Xander hadn't even thought that far himself. “I'll be real careful, Ry.”

“Well, I better go. This sorta came outta nowhere, man, and I'm feelin' kinda wiped.”

“Yeah. Me, too. But thanks for comin' over, Ry. Thanks for . . . caring. It means a lot.”

Riley nodded. “Are you gonna tell the guys at work?”

Xander shook his head. “Not right now. I mean, it's not somethin' I'm ashamed of or anything, but this is still real new to me an' all and I'd like to get things sorted before I make any big announcements.”

“That's prob'ly best. I won't say nothin' either. But what about Angel?”

“Angel?”

“It is Angel, isn't it?”

“Oh, yeah. It's definitely Angel.”

“Thought so. I still don't like him, but maybe that'll change if he makes you happy. I ain't seen you happy in a while.”

Riley put his hand on Xander's shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze, then opened the door and left.

Xander collapsed on the kitchen floor, stuck his arms and legs straight up in the air and waved them around, looking less like a break-dancer than a turtle stuck on its back. Xander didn't care. He was gay, Riley knew and still liked him anyway, and Angel wanted to fuck his brains out.

It didn't get any better than this.

~~~~~~~~~~

Xander somehow got through the next day at work without doing anything stupid, but frequent frissons of happiness zinged through him making him grin inappropriately throughout the course of the day. Nobody commented, and he figured the guys probably just thought he was stoned. Actually, he was feeling sort of stoned—and Angel was definitely his drug of choice. He'd specifically avoided talking to Angel directly, but he knew that if he showed up at Rosie's tonight Angel'd be there. He was practically counting off the minutes.

He was off like a shot at the blast of the air horn, hurrying home to grab a quick shower. He solved the weird underwear problem by not wearing any at all. A quick shave, jeans, boots, and a dark green flannel shirt completed his ensemble and he was ready to go. He grabbed his keys, but then turned back to the bathroom to splash on a little Stetson. After all, he'd gotten lucky the last time he'd worn it. Maybe it'd work again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Xander grinned as he made his way to their 'usual' table. Angel was already there—slouched in his seat, long legs thrust out, black boots crossed at the ankles. Xander had never seen Angel look so relaxed. His posture was usually . . . well, not stiff, exactly . . . more like 'controlled'. Angel was graceful, whether standing, sitting or moving, but it was the grace of a jungle cat before it pounced. Angel seemed to be always prepared for danger of some kind, like there was a coiled rattlesnake in his guts, just waitin' to strike, and okay, that thought was pretty hot, but it was nice to see him just relax. Xander's grin broadened as he thought that maybe some of his easy-goingness was rubbing off on Angel!

He came to a halt in front of their table and Angel looked up with a slow-building, purely happy smile. Xander caught his breath and clenched his hands into fists, nails biting into his palms, as he fought to keep from leaning closer and capturing those smiling lips with his own. He wanted that kiss so badly, he could taste it.

Angel's eyes held a glint of amber as they met Xander's and Xander felt his cock stiffen. Not good—not in the middle of Rosie's, for Christ's sake! He abruptly dragged out his usual chair and dropped into it, scooting up to the table, hiding his erection under cracked formica. A large, warm hand briefly brushed across his fly and he gasped, color flooding his face. It was getting harder to hide his attraction to Angel, especially when what he really wanted was to shove that big body up against the wall, kiss him until both their mouths were swollen and bruised . . .

Stop right there, Xander! Those kinds of thoughts in a public place lead to madness and badness and . . .

“Hey,” Angel said, lips curving into a wicked smile, as if he knew exactly what Xander was thinking.

“Hey, yourself.”

Angel got to his feet in one smooth motion—how did he do that?—and shot a glance at Xander's hands clasped tightly in his lap, attempting to hide his burgeoning erection.

“I'll get the beers,” he smirked.

Xander gave him an evil glare. “ 'Kay. I'll get the next round.”

Angel glanced at his lap again. “We'll see.”

And, of course, that just made it worse.

Xander slowly relaxed his clenched hands, his middle finger rising until it was sticking straight up.

Angel leaned close and breathed into his ear. “Later.”

Xander's eyes closed and he fought to control his breathing. Angel's hand brushed his hair with a feather-light touch, and then he was gone, heading toward the bar. Xander took a deep, shuddering breath.

He had to get himself under control, or the end result would be that he couldn't go out in public with his 'good buddy' Angel, and he didn't want that. He loved spending time alone with Angel, but he also loved these secret 'dates'. He loved watching the eyes of half the girls at Rosie's following every move Angel made, telegraphing their interest, knowing he'd be the one going home with Angel. It made him feel . . . powerful. And sexy.

A hand clasped Xander's shoulder and he jumped, his startled reaction leading to a chorus of raucous laughter.

“Where were you, Xan? Not on this planet!” Forrest crowed, delighted with the reaction he had elicited.

“Earth to Xander, Earth to Xander!” Graham and his clichés chimed in.

Riley gave him an apologetic glance and shrugged.

Xander nodded. “Hey, Ry. Graham. Forrest.”

Forrest was already grabbing extra chairs from the back wall and bringing them to the table. Xander sighed. There went his hot date!

Angel materialized, set the pitcher of beer and two glasses on the table and, without a word, turned back to the bar for additional glasses.

Xander was squished in between Graham and Forrest at the small table, which meant he'd be treated to elbows in both ribs whenever an attractive woman showed on the horizon. Oh, joy! Riley slid into Angel's seat and met Xander's eyes, telegraphing “Sorry, man, it's not my fault,” in the unspoken code they'd perfected as kids.

“I know. I don't blame you. Nothin' you could do. Forrest's an ass,” Xander telegraphed back.

Riley grinned.

Angel returned with the additional glasses and paused, shoulders tightening. Riley glanced at him, picking up on his discomfort. Xander tensed. What was wrong with Angel?

Riley suddenly got it and unobtrusively slid out of Angel's seat, taking the new chair pulled up to the table in such a way that the sitter's back was to the room.

Angel reclaimed his original seat with its back to the wall and leaned toward Riley. “Thanks. Old habit.”

Riley nodded. “Not a problem.”

Xander suddenly felt deliriously happy. Everything would be okay. He was finally convinced he could have it all—his old friend and his new love. Ry had seemed to be cool with Xander's bombshell announcement, but theoretically reassuring your best friend in private was different from being faced with public reality. Ry hadn't let him down! He'd come through with flying colors, even picking up on Angel's reluctance to have his back to the room—and what was up with that?—before Xander did.

Xander leaned across Forrest to silently telegraph to Ry. “I love you, man.”

Ry nodded. “What else are friends for?” his eyes responded.

Forrest and Graham were loudly debating the merits of a brunette in red leather versus a blonde in a cropped top and black spandex pants like Olivia Newton-John wore in the final scene of Grease.

Can you even buy pants like that anymore? Xander wondered. Maybe she has a whole closet full left over from the 80's? But she didn't look old enough to have experienced the 80's first hand. Maybe they were her mother's pants? Or, maybe the 80's look is coming back! Now there's a scary thought!

Xander came out of his little reverie when he noticed Angel getting to his feet. He'd stuck it out for a half-hour—Xander had to give him props for that. A half-hour with Graham and Forrest in a social setting was pretty much analogous to having a large cavity filled, and Xander was sure that, given the choice, Angel would have picked the dentistry.

Without meeting Xander's eyes, Angel said polite good-byes and turned to go. Xander gripped the edge of the table to keep from leaping up and following. He resolutely refused to watch Angel walk away, but couldn't keep his mind from picturing that smooth panther-like glide, black denim tightening, caressing his ass with each step, broad shoulders . . . he let out his breath with a whoosh and saw a hint of pity in Riley's eyes. Xander decided to interpret that as supportive regret that he couldn't let anyone know how he really felt about Angel. Yep. That's what it was—support. Not pity.

“Well, that's a relief!” Graham commented. “Don't know how you can stand to hang around with that wet blanket so much, Xan. He's got like zero personality.”

“Naw,” Riley retorted. “His personality's just too subtle for you yahoos to pick up on. Kinda like sittin' Clint Eastwood down with Chris Rock an' Owen Wilson.”

Forrest raised an eyebrow. “”Thought you didn't like him either, Ry?”

“He kinda grows on you.”

“Yeah. Like a fungus,” Graham interjected with a high-pitched giggle.

Xander rolled his eyes. It was gonna be a real long evening. But he'd tough it out. He owed Ry big time.

~~~~~~~~~~

Xander managed two hours. Two interminable hours of watching Graham's and Forrest's inept attempts to get laid. Two hours of pretending to join in a rousing round of Duck, Duck, Goose, which translated to Tramp, Tramp, Virgin the way Forrest and Graham played it. Had he ever actually enjoyed their antics outside of work? Xander thought back. He guessed he had, when he was young and stupid—before he started going with Anya. With Ry married to Sam and him involved with Ahn, they'd toned it down some. He'd thought they'd probably outgrown their more obnoxious behavior. But now that they considered him 'single' again, apparently he was expected to slip right back into adolescent patterns.

Xander decided two hours was enough. Even Ry couldn't expect more. Forrest had snagged an unsuspecting female on her way back from the ladies' room—where she had apparently just thrown up. Xander wrinkled his nose at the sour, yeasty smell coming off her in waves. She was still drunk, though. Her body seemed to sway in an invisible wind, even when she was attempting to stand still. It didn't seem to bother Forrest, and they sort of wobbled out to the dance floor where they latched on to each other, trying to stay upright.

Xander seized the moment. Carpe momento? He bid Ry and Graham good night and hightailed it out of there before Forrest noticed and made a scene. Xander intentionally hadn't drunk anything for the last hour, waiting to make his move.

He started up his truck and turned on the radio full blast. Leann Rhimes was channeling Patsy Cline with Blue. Xander felt his shoulders relax as he headed home.

As he made the left turn into his driveway, he saw the red glow of a cigarette arch from the wicker chair he kept on the concrete slab he euphemistically called a porch, to land in the gravel of his drive and his heart sped up. He threw open the door of the pick-up, twisted his hips and landed with both feet on the gravel, all in one smooth motion.

He took two steps toward the house, and suddenly Angel was in his arms, or he was in Angel's arms, but however it happened, they were pressed tightly against each other and Angel's fingers were threading through his hair and his hands were frantically moving up and down Angel's back, and then they were kissing. Xander tasted the salty, coppery tang of blood and realized he had cut the inside of his lip, but whether it was on his teeth or Angel's he didn't know and didn't care. And then Angel's tongue was in his mouth and he tasted cigarette smoke and desire in addition to the blood and beer, and his knees went weak from the heady combination.

His fingers clutched Angel's shirt, yanking it from his pants and then his hands were on the soft, smooth skin of Angel's back, just like he had been dreaming about all night, but even better, and he gasped for breath. Angel's hands tightened on his head and the frantic need of the kiss slowed into something more languid, but just as intense. Angel was taking his time exploring Xander's mouth and Xander's hands were making mindless circles on Angel's shoulder blades, and Xander thought it couldn't get any better than this.

He soon discovered that he was wrong. It could. It most certainly could. It did.

Xander felt Angel moving him backward until his back was pressed against the rough cinderblock of the house, which may have been the only thing holding him upright. Angel's mouth gently pressed one final kiss on his bruised lips and then found the side of his neck, kissing and licking down to his collar bone, teasingly nibbling the thin skin stretched tautly over his clavicle. Xander moaned and his hands slid lower to cup Angel's denim-clad ass like he had wanted to do for what seemed like forever. Angel's hard cock rubbed against his own, and he could feel the heat, even through two layers of denim. Angel ground their cocks together and Xander's fingers dug into Angel's hard, tight ass.

Angel's large hands dexterously unbuttoned his shirt, but Xander wished he would just grab the material and rip it off. This slow one-at-a-time unbuttoning was taking altogether too much time. Time that could be better spent—

Xander sucked in his breath with a hiss as Angel's tongue flicked across his nipple and he nearly came right then and there. His nipple hardened and Angel sucked it into his mouth, teeth scraping across the sensitive flesh. Xander's vision tunneled as a rim of sparkly lights closed in and he thought he just might pass out from the pleasure.

Angel's fingers brushed across his abdomen and he felt the muscles contract and knew he couldn't hold out much longer. The fingers slid the button through the buttonhole and Xander was glad he hadn't worn a belt. He heard a ziiiip, and then his cock sprang free, the cool night air sending shivers down his spine as it touched his heated flesh. There was a second ziiiip and then his cock was pressing against Angel's, both grasped in Angel's big hand. Angel's hand slid down both their cocks, pressing them together as one, and Xander had never thought anything could feel this good. He bit his lip, hands dragging Angel closer. As Angel's fingers brushed the head of his cock he couldn't hold back any longer and he came with a rush.

“I'm sorry—” Xander gasped.

“Shush . . .” Angel breathed into his open mouth and then Angel's lips captured his and his hand continued to stroke, more rapidly now, working Xander's ejaculate into his own cock. Then Angel pressed him harder against the wall of the house as he felt the warm stickiness of Angel's come on his stomach. Angel pulled back, freeing his mouth, and they were both gasping, lungs laboring to pull in air. Xander unclenched his hands with difficulty, feeling the tendons begin to uncramp.

Angel placed both hands on the wall for support and dipped his head, resting his forehead against Xander's as he fought for breath. Xander slowly ran his right hand over his abdomen, and then brought his fingers to his mouth with the sudden need to taste Angel. His tongue flicked out to lick his fingers and he heard the hitch in Angel's breathing. Xander stretched out a forefinger, painting Angel's lips with the sticky fluid, and then his hand grasped the back of Angel's neck, pulling him close as Xander's tongue followed the tracing of his finger.

“Damn, boy, when you finally make up your mind what you want, you don't hold back, do you?”

Xander grinned. “Nope.”

Angel's lips curved in an answering grin. “Good. I like that about you.”

Angel's hand gently smoothed Xander's hair and he looked deeply into Xander's dark eyes. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow's another day.”

Angel dropped a quick kiss on the tip of his nose as Xander's eyelids fluttered closed. He heard the ziiiip sound as Angel closed his jeans, the crunch of boots on gravel, and then the roar of the Indian Angel had parked around the side of the house out of sight.

Xander continued to lean against the cinderblock, the cool night air caressing his heated skin as his grin widened until he thought his face would split. He replayed every detail in his mind, not wanting to forget a single second. When the pleasant coolness morphed into the actual cold of a desert night, he buttoned his jeans and pushed away from the wall, anticipating the warmth of a hot shower.

The grin remained.

 

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Continued in  Chapter Four

 

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