|
|
|
Xander Harris
- Undercover
by
BmblBee
Part Twenty-One
"You say you've never ridden before?"
Xander threw his leg over and settled into what was a surprisingly comfortable padded leather seat. He leaned forward and spoke in Spike's ear, hoping to be heard over the ear piercing shouts and girly screams of the fight that still raged around them. He knew any minute now the bouncers would show up and start tossing people around. He had been tossed a time or two. "Nope never."
He listened while Spike showed him where to put his feet, explained about leaning into the curves and told him to wrap his arms around Spike's waist and hang on.
Xander gripped the smaller man tightly and rested his cheek on Spike's back.
Spike smiled and kicked the bike to life. He noticed two of the drunks fighting had just slammed another one against
the side of some poor bloke's Chevy.
They sped out of the lot, the wind in their faces, leaving the noise and activity behind them. Once out on the highway Spike leaned back into the solid weight behind him. It felt great. He hadn't had anyone ride with him since Angel. Wes had always refused.
Xander watched the road below him and marveled at the fact that it was just inches away with no protection between. He was hooked. It was a feeling like flying. He felt absolutely no fear, willingly placing his very life in the very capable hands of the man on the bike with him.
The danger was erotic as hell and his cock was once again hard and leaking. He knew as tightly as he held on, Spike had to be aware of the erection pressing into the small of the driver's back.
"Which direction?"
It took Xander a minute to realize what Spike was asking before he yelled back. "Oh, left up ahead. About four miles. I live down on Crater Ave."
Spike snorted. He knew the town well enough to know that was the oldest and poorest part. Mostly rundown houses, the only thing flourishing down there were the dozen or so bars and massage parlors. Seemed Spike's assessment of Mrs. Harris and a house trailer had been a bit off. A house trailer would be a step up.
Spike frowned. He didn't like the idea of Xander living down there. Probably at the mercy of all sorts of predators, drunks and junkies. Made him wonder what the boy did all day. "Xander. Hey, just wondering, you got a job?"
Xander cringed. As much as he really liked Spike, or maybe because of it, he did NOT want to discuss his mother's alcoholism and how it had cost him more than one minimum wage experience. "I had one, but, ah, I kinda lost it. Boss fired me over a little misunderstanding. It wasn't my fault, but, you know. Shit happens. I'm lookin' for something else, but just haven't found it yet."
Xander hoped that was honest enough without being specific.
Spike's temper faired. 'Fuckin' arrogant prick most likely fired the boy over somethin' that wasn't even his fault. Would it kill people to be a little patient and understanding?' "No worry, Pet. I'm sure you'll find something that suites you."
Xander grinned and rested his face against Spike's back, drinking in the rich smell of leather from his bomber jacket.
Way too soon for either of them, Spike turned the corner and pulled onto Crater Ave. The bike slowed to a low rumble as he cruised, waiting for further instruction. Reluctantly, Xander pointed at a weather worn, badly in need of paint, two story frame house on the corner.
The tall pine tree on the side had grown there so long the top surrounded the power lines that ran to the house. Spike mentally added it to the list of things Mrs. Harris would hear about on Tuesday. By his calculation it was number twenty six. Twenty seven was the stack of empty beer bottles littering the front yard.
Xander hated that it was almost over. The best night of his life and he wanted it to last so he squeezed his eyes tightly shut refusing to watch as Spike pulled up to the curb in the front of the house.
Feeling the bike stop, Xander kept his arms locked around Spike's waist and his forehead rested between Spike's shoulder blades.
Laughing, Spike patted Xander's hands. "Come on, Pet. We're here. Did the ride scare you that much?"
Reluctantly Xander released his iron grip and, lifting his leg up and over, he climbed off as Spike leaned forward.
"No, I wasn't scared. It was fantastic. I love........your bike." Xander blushed. He couldn't believe what he had almost done.
Stepping back from the bike Xander fumbled for something to say. He wanted Spike to kiss him again. He wanted promises, phone numbers, arrangements, but he had no idea where to start.
This wasn't like a date with a girl. You took them home, got as much and as far as they let you before they slapped your hand or in the case of Anya Miller, your face, then you got their number, even though you had no intention of ever calling, and you drove away.
This was different. New, and he didn't know the rules. Were there rules? Yeah, there were always rules.
Spike watched the boy shuffle his feet and stammer. He wanted to jump off his bike and sweep him into his arms. He wanted to kiss him again and again.
Luckily, the cool night air had gone a long way to sobering him up and Spike was beginning to recognize the stupidity of his earlier actions. There was no way he could get involved or have any type of relationship with this boy. Hell, it was probably illegal depending on the boy's I.Q. O.k. this was California, so it was probably not against the law since nothing in California seemed to be against the law, but still, his life was already laid out, organized and ready to be filed. There was no room for anyone else. So, if not illegal, at least inadvisable.
He couldn't afford any distraction from his financial goal of owning his own shop. He could not afford any distraction. His heart had no room.
Kicking the bike back to life, Spike casually turned to Xander and gave him a wave of the hand. "Take care, boy. Mind your mum." And with that he roared off and disappeared down the street.
Xander was so caught off guard with the abruptness of it he continued to stand watching, a thousand witty responses dying on his lips, as Spike and the Harley sped off.
Even with the way it ended, Xander could not be upset. It had been everything a perfect date could be and he knew if he lived to be one hundred it was one he would play over in his mind each day of that hundred years.
Sighing, and with a huge grin on his face, Xander rammed his hands in the pocket of his jeans and, whistling, turned to walk back down the sidewalk, away from his house. The four mile trek back to get his car would give him time to remember.
Part Twenty-Two
The trip across town after dropping off Xander took less than a minute, or so it seemed. When he checked his watch he saw that it was actually closer to half an hour but he couldn't, for the life of him, recall any of it. Apparently his brain had switched to autopilot when he left Crater Ave. and the Harley, like a horse that knows it's own way back to the barn, had returned to Locust st. unassisted.
He wasn't surprised. His brain had been on overload. Filled to bursting with images, memories, and confused feelings. Each time he resolved to 'get a grip' and clear his mind, the picture of Xander's face, just inches from his own, would explode in full color and play out like an I-Max movie on a wrap a round screen.
One minute he would allow himself to be weak and replay every detail of the night, starting with the charged dance where the boy actually came in his pants, right up to the end of the evening, looking into the heated expression on Xander's face, knowing what he wanted.
Knowing he wanted Spike to kiss him again, touch him. Obviously the boy was not as straight as Spike had thought. He smiled and wondered if the boy even had a clue. He wondered if Xander understood what that meant. 'Ha!' Spike smirked. 'What would Xander's tarty little friends think of that?'
Then, turning another corner, Spike would resolve to be strong and block out the memories of everything that had happened, or worse, focus on the blowjob in the bathroom. Something he felt oddly guilty for.
The forced repression would last less than two minutes before the cycle would start all over again.
Picking and wading his way through it all, one image, more than any other, could not be ignored.
THE KISS
An event that deserved capital letters. Spike smile allowing his thoughts free reign as the wind blew in his face and the exhaust pipes warmed his legs 'If it was a drawing it would be posted on a refrigerator door. If it was a vacation it would be a round the world cruise. A car - a Lexus. A house - beachfront in Malibu. A person - Steven Hawkins. (brilliant) A food - caviar.' Spike frowned 'No. Not caviar.' His face lit up as he turned down another street.
'An oyster. Cool, wet, slippery. Nestled in a curved, smooth, hard shell'
Finally, with a hard on painfully squished in his tight jeans, Spike pulled the bike into the carport, somewhat surprised to find himself home, and shut her down.
After booting the kick stand down with his foot, he swung his leg over and stepped back from the heat that poured off the engine. Spike locked his fingers, reaching high over his head and bent as far backward as he could, stretching the kinks out of his back and giving his mind a chance to slow down before he faced Wes.
'No sense in giving anything away. Hell,' he thought, 'nothing to give away. Had a pleasant little evening, slight diversion from the blah blah of daily life, and nothing more. Not like I'm ever going to see him again' That last thought left him strangely depressed.
Spike took two more deep breaths, pulled the keys from the ignition of the bike, and headed for the back door to the small house they shared. Checking his watch, Spike was surprised to see how late it really was. Well after 1 am. He was stunned to realize that an evening that seemed no more than an hour or two had actually been five hours long.
Not wanting to wake his roommate, Spike slipped off his shoes on the back step and entered through the rear door that led into the kitchen. Quietly opening the door he slipped in.
"ACK!"
Spike dropped both shoes and jumped back. The sight that greeted him as he walked through the door was one that caught him totally off guard. Although all lights in the house appeared to be turned off, the refrigerator door stood open and the bare brown ass that stuck out of it glowed brightly in the blue light of the vegetable crisper.
"Oh, hi. Wes didn't know what time you would be back. Hope you don't mind I'm still here."
The owner of the full dark moon had straightened up, turned around, stark naked, and was happily munching on a left over turkey leg from yesterday's dinner.
"ACK!"
Spike stumbled back aginst the door, the palm of his right hand slapped over his chest to check the continued function of his heart.
"Impressive as fuck, isn't it?"
Forcing himself, Spike tore his eyes off the huge, black, hanging half way to his knees cock, and focused them on his obviously satisfied, equally naked roommate who was now leaning happily against the kitchen doorway.
Totally unconcerned, Gunn took his drumstick and headed back towards the small bedroom he and Wes now shared, the monster cock swaying cheerfully, slapping back and forth on his thighs as he walked.
Spike jumped back out of its way as he passed, his eyes glued, unashamedly, to the hypnotic pull of it.
When Gunn was finally out of earshot, Spike turned to Wes with a look of real respect and amusement in his eyes. "Well, well, kiddies. Can we say "Donkey dick?"
Wes trotted across the room, flinched slightly as he sat down on the stool at the breakfast bar, and poured himself a glass of orange juice. "I would say that was a fair understatement."
Both men burst into a rolling, tear wrenching, round of almost hysterical laughter. One that took several minutes and more than one try to get under control.
Finally, gasping for breath and wiping the tears from his face, Spike sat down across from his roommate and relaxed. With a pang of guilt he realized he had never seen Wes look so happy. Certainly nothing Spike had ever done had put that look of contentment in his eyes or that smile on his lips.
"It's more than the sex, innit?"
Wes nodded. "It's everything. His heart is apparently as big as his cock and suprisingly both fit like a glove."
Both men fell into another round of giggles and split the rest of the juice. Spike mentally resolving to give Wes's kitchen stool a good cleaning with Pinesol in the morning.
Part Twenty-Three
Xander walked quickly, his feet barely touching the pavement as he headed back towards the Bronze to pick up the Chevy he had left parked there.
As a way to pass the time, his brain, like a GPS had mapped out the trip from Xander's house to Spike's little cottage on Locust st. and he imagined each twist and turn in the road till he had mentally delivered the bike and it's rider safely into the reserved spot in the carport.
Xander desperately wished he was still on the back of the bike. He could clearly see himself standing by while Spike settled the bike in for the night. Xander would insist on taking the time to cover her with a tarp even though Spike was in a hurry to get his lover inside and naked. The dampness of the night was not good for the expensive stereo system Xander had had installed for Spike's birthday.
Spike would, of course, be grateful. He was always so amazed at Xander's ability to focus on detail. Even in the face of hot, promised sex. They would laugh and talk easily as they unlocked the door and headed inside, not stopping to bother with the lights as they steered each other towards their shared bedroom.
Xander wished he knew the layout of the room. He wondered if he could slip up to the house while Spike was at work and take a sneak peek in the windows. He mentally laid out and then rearranged furniture, tried different color schemes, and placed, then discarded, a treadmill in the corner.
But the bed.
Ah, the bed. It was always the center of attention. It was where they lounged on lazy Sunday mornings. It was where Spike would surprise him with breakfast in bed on special occasions.
And it was where they made love. Hot, passionate love. Slow, languid, blowjobs. Long loving kisses. Xander touched his fingertips to his lips and remembered the magic of THE KISS.
It was where Spike would introduce him to the mysterious world of lubricated butt holes and what gay guys wanted with them. It would be brightly colored, high, with a plush pillowtop mattress. It's king size, stacked with cushions, draped in a satin spread, and the center of their world.
Xander felt emboldened, fully ready to embrace his gayness.
Reaching down, Xander adjusted himself in his still slightly stiff jeans. He knew if he didn't check himself now the rest of the walk would be exceedingly more uncomfortable. Whipping out his little black notebook, he jotted as he walked, skirting quickly around a hissing possum defending his territory.
1. Note Spike's birthday.
2. Drive by tomorrow night. Check for lights on to determine location of Spike's bedroom.
3. Remind mother of Tuesday's appointment.
4. Look for a job.
'Scratch the last one.'
Gazing around, Xander was thrilled to see he had made great time and was now only a mile or so away. Another fifteen minutes and he would be on his way home, after, of course, swinging by Locust st. just to make sure his boyfriend had arrived safely.
Finally, before tucking it back away, Xander added one more thing to his to-do-tomorrow list.
5. Announce my gayness.
He had no doubts. No reservations. He had already shared with an also gay Willow and that went very well. How much harder could his parents be? The only question was timing. Which would be better. Drunk or sober?
Not that it would be easy to catch them sober, but it could be done. If he was early enough. Before his father left for work. Probably on a Wednesday. Right before payday. If none of the utilities had been shut off. And his Mother
remembered to buy cinnamon poptarts.
Actually drunk might be easier.
Rounding the corner, Xander was delighted to see he was there and off in the distance, in the deserted parking lot, sat the faithful Chevy, right where he had left it.
Almost two am and the Bronze had long ago closed down after another successful night of drinking, dancing, fighting, and general mayhem.
The parking lot was littered with broken bottles, upchucked drinks, and used, discarded condoms. It was a disgusting mess that a private cleaning service, hired by the management would have cleaned up, good as new, in no time.
Xander cringed. It was not one of the best jobs he had ever had. He was actually relieved when his Mother got him fired for repeatedly calling his boss to remind Xander to stop at the store for maxi pads on his way home. Apparently Big Jake was easily embarrassed. After nineteen years, Xander was not.
Strolling through the lot, sidestepping the puddles, Xander literally bounced. It had been a fucking incredible night! He made no effort to check the huge grin that covered his face as he stopped and stood on the very spot where it had happened.
THE KISS
It deserved capital letters. It should be spelled out and floating on a piece of flapping plastic behind one of those sky writers in the sputtering bi-planes. It should be carved in stone in a cave in France to be discovered thousands of years from now by future archaeologists. It should be photographed and wanked to.
Unable to avoid it any longer, Xander reached in his pocket and pulled out the car keys. He noted with some annoyance the new dents and scratches in the side of the car, but what the hell, there was hardly an inch or two of the surface that wasn't damaged. Still, if he had insurance, he would have called and filed a claim. As it was, Xander just shrugged and got in.
He turned the key, pumped the gas and waited.
BANG!!
The backfire shook the windows and he was off. Looking down he was dismayed to see the little arrow almost on "E". He would have to skip the trip across town and head back to his parents house. It was becoming harder and harder to think of that place as home.
His second trip from the Bronze that night was lonely. He would never be able to drive it again without wishing he was flying on the back of a huge black Harley. A powerful machine that vibrated between his legs as he leaned forward pressing his body into that of the man of his dreams.
Xander rushed in, taking the basement steps two at a time. He dashed to the cubby hole bathroom to snag the almost empty bottle of hand lotion and hurried back, tossing it on the rumpled, unmade bed. He stripped off his clothes, dove on to the mattress and gripped his eager, dribbling cock. 'Now, where was I?' He took a deep breath and let his mind
collect his thoughts.
'Oh, yes, "A powerful machine that vibrated between my legs as I lean forward, pressing my aching body against the man of my dreams."
And with that, his hand took over, knowing instinctively what to do.
Part Twenty-Four
Spike groaned and rolled over. He had no idea what the exact time was but Too Fuckin' Early was a pretty good guess.
The morning light had just started to brighten the window on the east side of the room and the fuckin' birds were already chirping.
It was Sunday morning and one of his few days off. He had hoped to sleep in, especially after getting home so late last night, but something had wakened him after what he knew had to have been less than four hours. Of course if he had just gone to sleep after getting in bed last night he might not be so tired this morning. He tried. He really did, but everything had conspired against him.
First the sight of that freakishly huge cock swaying in his kitchen, followed by the long chat with Wes at the kitchen table. Wes, who felt oddly compelled to go into great detail about what amazing things that gargantuan appendage could do.
It did give them a chance to come to an understanding and emphasise there were no hard feelings on either side. He was happy for Wes, he really was, he just didn't want to hear about it in the extreme lengths that Wes wanted to give.
Then as a sort of top off he was treated to the sounds of Wes enjoying one last ride on the merry-go-round of meat.
Who knew Wes would be such a talker? Who knew one man could carry enough blood in his body to fill a cock that size? Who knew the small bed in Wes's single room could contain and support such acrobatics?
At the sound of the first groan, Spike sat up in bed. His room and Wes's separated by only one small apparently badly constructed wall.
'Oh no, they wouldn't'
"Come on, Baby wrap those pink lips around it. Lets see how much of it you can get in there. Oh, hell, my little Wessy still has his tonsils."
Spike snorted and his lips twitched. Wes had his tonsils? Flipping onto his stomach, Spike held his pillow over his head and did his best to ignore the sounds of raw nature that were getting increasingly louder through the paper thin wall.
"Fuck! I ain't never had my balls sucked like that. My little Wessie is a nut slut. Is that what you are? A nut slut?"
Lifting his head slightly, Spike couldn't help but wait for the answer.
"Weffy a nuff sluff"
Spike dropped back down. He couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or cry. Still half hard at the memory of THE KISS, Spike did the only thing possible, short of joining the Cock monster and the Nut Slut.
He rolled over on his back, reached for the oil, and took himself in hand. Unbeknownst to Wes and Gunn, Spike had climbed aboard the carousel and decided to ride along.
Gunn: "Oh, fuck, Baby your skin feels so good. Spike pictured touching Xander's face. Running his hands over his cheeks and brushing the soft hair out of his eyes.
Gunn: "Come here. I just want to hold you. We don't have to do anything else. Did I wear you all out?" Gunn's deep voice rumbled with laughter. Spike remembered holding Xander in his arms. He felt real, solid and good.
Wes: "Just there, touch me there. Damn, your hands are so big, so hot." Wes's voice was quiet, whispery, breathless.
Spike imagined the larger, rougher hands gripping his hips and pulling him in close. He remembered the strength in Xander's fingers as he held Spike against him.
Gunn: "Lift up for me, Baby. Let me see it. Let me touch it. Ah, so sweet, so pink and sore. Did Daddy's big cock make that sweet little hole all sore?" Spike shuddered. Damn lucky Wes. That Fuckin' Gunn sure could talk a hell of a fuck.
Wes: (in a higher pitched pouty tone) "Yes, all sore. Can Daddy kiss it and make it all............SHIT!"
Spike's eyes shot open and he arched his back. He quickly poured on more oil and resumed his task, twisting his wrist on the upswipe and lightly scratching his thumb over the head. He pictured Xander's face so near his own. He remembered
the smell of the boy, the taste of his lips.
Gunn: "Please, Baby, roll over. Yeah, up on your knees, fuck. Jesus, Wes. Does that feel good? That's my good boy. Come on, you can take a little bit more. Ohhh. God."
Wes: "Fuck, it's so deep. Wait, wait, don't move yet. God, that's so good." Spike spread the oil on his fingers and jammed them into himself rocking with the delicious burn of it. Despite his resolve not to, he remembered the times Angel had done that. Pressed into him, filling him and making him feel complete. Christ he missed that.
The air in the small house got heavy as the three men sucked all the oxygen from the atmosphere. Conversation was reduced to one and two syllable words, grunts, groans, and moans containing what could possibly have been Latin, or German profanity.
Spike strained, listening to the metronome like regularity of Wes's bedsprings and praying to God that his own were not squeaking in time. Truth was even if he had known for sure they were, he was too far gone to stop or care.
Wes crossed the finish line first with a pained sounding grunt and a body part that slammed against the wall with a solid 'Thud!' All three chanting "Yes! Yes! Oh, fuck yes!"
Following nose to nose in a photo finish was the stallion Gunn and the riderless pony, Spike.
Gasping for breath, Spike's entire body went limper as each aftershock quivered through his body till there were no functioning bones left. He picked his dirty t-shirt off the floor and did a quick, half ass cleanup before tossing it back down.
Now, totally relaxed, Spike dozed off to thoughts of sending the men in the next room flowers and candy.
Considering his activities the night before, Spike had looked forward to sleeping till noon, yet here he was just four short hours later and he was again wide awake. Looking around the room, Spike tried to figure out what had intruded on his precious, much needed slumber, but he couldn't detect anything out of place. Laying back down, he had just rolled over when his sensitive ears picked up the sound of low whispered voices.
"Come on, Baby, just give it a little kiss. Right there on the head. Look how much it loves you. It's winking it's little eye at you. Go on, I promise we'll be quiet. Yeah, oh yeah, fuck! Damn Wes where the fuck did you learn to do that? I ain't never seen anybody do that with their tongue."
Spike flopped over on his back and scowled, wondering what the fuck Wes could do with his tongue that he never did for Spike? Regretfully, Spike realized he never gave Wes the opportunity to show off his true tongue talents.
"Roll over, Baby, let me see what that sweet little hole looks like in the morning."
Spike groaned and threw his hands over his ears, then after a few minutes consideration, did the only thing possible. He reached for the oil.
Part Twenty-Five
Xander woke slowly with a smile on his face and a song in his heart. Oddly, that song seemed to be Etta James singing At Last My Love Has Come Along.
Ordinarily, the strangeness of that would have bothered him but, remembering last night, it seemed more than appropriate, so he hummed along.
Rolling onto his back, Xander stretched out, straining every muscle in his body right down to the pointing of his toes till the burn started to skirt uncomfortable, then he went limp, slumping down into the lumpy mattress of his sofa bed. He sighed happily. It had been the most incredible, life changing night of his life. When he first embarked on this task of collecting ownership of the fabulous Mr. William he couldn't have imagined they would have gotten together this quickly and smoothly.
Yet, here they were. Totally committed and bonded together. Forsaking all others, cleaving only unto each other. Xander scratched his balls and wondered if it was too soon to suggest a commitment ceremony. After giving it some thought he decided that, yes it probably was. He knew that, to his new lover, Xander appeared cool and aloof and maybe for right
now he would maintain that mysterious facade. Just to keep him intrigued.
Xander shook his head and continued to grin like a loon. Spike! He had a lover named Spike. A lover that sported him around town on the back of a powerful, black Harley. A lover that kissed like the devil himself. Xander rolled over on his side, giggled and wiggled his toes. Immediately his mood went serious and he flopped back.
'GAY!' His brain stamped out the word. 'I'm gay now and need to tell the world. After all the world will want to know. Besides, Spike will expect it. We can't move forward till I announce myself. Where to start. Where to start.'
His contemplation of his gayness was interrupted by the sound, directly overhead, of crashing dishware and the cursing that always followed.
Xander shot straight up in bed. Those sounds from the kitchen meant only one thing. It was Sunday morning. The one day a week when his mother attempted to make breakfast.
Usually pancakes. Sometimes she remembered to buy flour. Sometimes she tried to make them without. Either way a little gin added to her orange juice convinced her that the Sunday morning ritual was a success and spurred her on for another week.
Made no difference to Xander. He was strictly a donut man. This Sunday morning, however, was about to be a whole lot different. He knew his Father would stay in bed in an attempt to avoid the whole pancake debacle, which was great. It gave Xander a chance to proclaim his preference, one parent at a time.
Kicking off his blankets, Xander sat up in bed, resting against the padded, stained sofa back. He tapped his fingers on his knees and thought. 'O.k. This must be done carefully. Worded just so. Poor woman will be devastated. The realization that the family name, such as it is, ends with me will no doubt crush her. She must accept it. Face the fact that Spike and I
are a couple. I don't want her upset next Mother's day when we give her a card that says "from the two of us".
Xander scratched his head then, catching a whiff of his fingers, remembered last nights manual manipulation and decided to wash up before confronting her with the exciting news of gay son Xander.
"Well, fuck!" Jessica Harris stared at the little puddle of gin that pooled up on the counter beside her glass. After looking around casually to make sure no one was about she quickly lapped it up and resumed her task of fixing breakfast for her boys.
She tightened the wrap on her housedress and stumbled to the fridge for a couple more eggs. Throwing her head back she bellowed out a tune that for some odd reason kept playing a loop through her brain.
"At laaaast my...something, something....has come aloooong."
She shuffled her feet in a little dance and cracked the eggs and, along with several chunks of shell, plopped them into the bowl. Jessica prided herself on her weekly ritual. It took a lot, but hey, being a good wife and mother was never easy.
Xander stood in the doorway and watched his Mother with compassionate, benevolent eyes. He knew, as an adult, he would have to take charge of this situation and help her to understand and accept. It was after all, his life.
Sweeping in he threw his arm around her shoulders and tugged her next to him. Placing his hand on the top of her head he pushed her face against his chest causing her to trip and fall into him. "Ah, my dear mother. How are you this fine Sunday morn?"
Struggling against suffocation, Jessica shoved back, prying her face from her son's tee covered chest, her first thought being 'Damn I need to do the laundry!'
Frowning and attempting to straighten her wild hair she snatched up her bowl and began furiously beating the crunchy egg mixture. "I'm fine. What the fuck got into you this morning?"
'Well.' Xander thought, 'If that isn't the perfect segue' "Actually, Mother dearest, we need to converse regarding an issue that has very recently come to my attention and concern. Something that, regretfully, may impact all our lives."
Jessica stopped stirring and waited. Part of her wishing she had not had that second orange juice and part of her wishing she had had a third. "O.k., I'll bite. What the fuck is this issue? Is it the pancakes? Are you saying you don't like my fuckin' pancakes?"
Xander chuckled at her childlike innocence. He took the bowl from her hands and set it down on the cluttered counter. He then took both her hands in his and looked her in the bloodshot eyes. "No, dear Mother. This is something that goes far beyond the pancakes."
"Coffee? Is it the coffee? Cause I only reused them grounds a couple times. They were still good."
Xander could feel himself losing control and began to wish he had one of those magic orange juices in his hand. "It has nothing to do with the fuckin' breakfast! I'm gay, Mother! I'm gay!"
Xander waited, stunned that he has just blurted it out that way. He stared into his Mother's blank face and knew that when the realization sank in and the shock wore off she may just possibly collapse. He planted his feet solidly preparing to catch her as she went down.
Jessica blinked. "Well, that's nice Dear. I'm feeling rather cheerful myself this morning. Goodness Xander, you sounded so serious. I was afraid for a minute there that you were going to say something crazy like......oh, I don't know.......maybe you had that sweet little Willow girl pregnant or that you were a homo. Isn't that silly of me?"
Jessica chuckled, turned and resumed her egg mutilation.
Xander left the room.
| Back | Index | Next |
| Feed the Author |
