Here And Now

BY : pixel
Category: AtS/BtVS Crossovers > Slash - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 1660
Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS or AtS. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Here And Now

Author :~ pixel
Rated: NC-17 
Ship: xander/graham xander/lindsay

Disclaimer: I own nothing, claim nothing, they all still belong to Joss et al and I’m just borrowing for a while.

Authors Notes 1: I don’t have a beta so all mistakes are mine ~ if you point them out I’ll try to fix them. 

Authors Notes 2: Please make an author happy and review ~ it stops me feeling like I’m talking to myself 


Authors Notes 3: everything in italics is a flashback/memory

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Sunnydale is just a hole in the ground, a piece of his past ~ buried there, with the old loves and possessions he no longer misses. Sometimes he thinks he died there too, or at least the old him, buried in the rubble with Spike and Anya. He doesn’t see them any more ~ his girls ~ his tether to the past he no longer wants, he knows they miss him, but they want the man he used to be, not the stranger whose reflection’s looking back at him from the moonlit lake.

He can hear his lover coming down the path from their camp, has to stifle his irritation, he’d needed some time alone but knows how much Graham hates it when he shuts him out. For so many years he’d talked, non-stop babble, everyone knowing everything on his mind and in his heart. A heart he’s no longer sure he has. Now he’s the silent one keeping what little he still feels inside.

“Xan. Are you ok? I woke up and you were gone again.”

“I’m fine, just felt like a walk. Thought I’d take a look at the stars, they’re so different here, so much clearer.” Just accept it Graham please, don’t push ~ not tonight.

“It’s the third night this week, you’re not sleeping at all. Damn it Xan, I love you, stop shutting me out.”

Crap, love. The one thing he never says himself, he won’t lie and he knows that (for him at least) this isn’t love. For him love is dirty blond straggly hair, blue eyes, weather beaten red pick-up, a battered guitar and a honeyed drawl of a voice.

Remembers the first night they met, six months after the First. Sitting in a bar in smalltown nowhere-ville, nursing a fifth scotch he really shouldn’t have ordered, hearing a guitar strike up the chords of an old blues number. He’d settled back, letting the music wash over him and then he’d heard the voice. It seemed to sink into his soul, kind of like it had a physical presence and was touching deep inside him. Eyes shut, he’d just sat back and revelled in the feelings the voice and music inspired. As the final chords faded away, he’d looked up and was lost. One brown eye locked with two steely blue and he figured maybe Willow really had ‘gayed him up’, because all he could think was how badly he wanted to touch this man.

The rest of that first night is a blur of images in his memory. Fragments of conversations sitting in a quiet corner of the bar, they’d not spoken of anything important, exchanged no more personal information than first names and neither of them cared. 

Standing in the parking lot exchanging hot open-mouthed kisses, un-heeding of the disapproving passers-by. That first heavenly sweep of Lindsey’s tongue into his mouth; savouring the taste of him, whisky, sandalwood and the slightly bitter tang of magic. He should have been scared, he’d never even thought of touching another man that way, but somehow; when Lindsay ground their bodies together and he felt the hard length of Lindsey’s cock pushing against his own through two layers of denim, he knew that this was where he belonged.

Driving through the deserted streets to Lindsey’s cabin, it was a miracle they hadn’t crashed as they’d been unable to stop touching for even a second. When they finally arrived, Xander had barely made it through the door, before he was spun around, pressed hard against the wood whilst Lindsey started to devour his mouth. Before he knew it Xander was naked on the bed, Lindsey staring down at him, searching his face for an answer to a question Xander still doesn’t understand; but he must have answered right because suddenly Lindsey’s movements have become frantic again. His mouth locked with Xander’s, his fingers twisting rock hard nipples; his cock (oozing pre-cum and harder than ever) had ground against Xander’s matching hardness. Then that wonderful mouth had moved, trailied wet kisses down Xander’s chest, stopped to nip and bite at over sensitive nipples and finally engulfed Xander’s cock. Nothing had ever felt like this; hot, wet mouth sucking and licking at his cock, tongue tracing the large vein on the underneath and then Lindsey swallowed and Xander came; his body twisting and writhing on the sheets. Xander was still revelling in the aftermath of his orgasm when he felt the first slick finger slide into his ass. Quickly followed by a second and third, twisting and stretching, touching him like no one ever had before.

His ass burned and the pain of this first breach swept through his body, but then those talented fingers twisted again and Xander arched off the bed, he still hurt but now it was pleasure/pain and with each sweep across his prostate he became more and more aroused. Then the fingers were gone, but as Xander whimpered at their loss and was about to plead for them back; he felt something larger pushing at his hole, and before he could take another breath, Lindsey’s cock was buried balls deep in his ass. This intrusion shot waves of pain up his body and, for a second, he almost begged Lindsey to stop. Lindsey began to move, slow at first, then harder and faster; each thrust stimulating Xander more and more until he was harder than he’d ever been in his life. Wrapping his legs around Lindsey’s back and locking his ankles he forgot about the pain in the face of over-whelming pleasure; his body twisting and arching on the bed, incoherent pleas and moans dripping from his lips before he pulled Linsey’s mouth back to his. He had know idea how long it had lasted but Lindsey was cumming in his ass, thick ribbons of cum spurting inside him and Lindsey’s hand was on his cock rubbing and pulling and Xander was begging and sobbing and screaming out his own release finally passing out from the pleasure with Lindsey’s softening length still inside him.

It had lasted three months, time spent fucking and laughing and swapping life histories. They’d argued over who got to be president of the ‘we hate Angel club’ and traded ‘Angel is an idiot’ stories. And every couple of days Lindsey would disappear off to see the shaman he’d moved to this town to consult and every time he came back he’d have new tattoos. They were intricate and beautiful and Xander had been around enough to know that they were magic, but at this point he didn’t care. He loved Lindsey, every part of him, and he knew Lindsey wasn’t a good guy, knew everything Lindsey had done in the service of Wolfram and Hart but it didn’t matter. Lindsey had walked away and maybe he wasn’t a hero, out fighting the good fight, but neither was Xander, not any more. He’d almost married a woman who’d spent a couple of millennia killing and maiming so what was a few years as an evil lawyer.

Then one day Lindsey asked Xander to go with him and that night they had matching tattoos, red runes carved across their hearts, (it’d been the last clear patch on Lindsey’s body.) The shaman had said the marks were a bond, a linking of their hearts and souls and there was just enough of the hyena left in Xander that he wanted to howl his satisfaction to the skies at the thought of taking a mate. That’s when Lindsey had blown it all apart, told Xander he was going back, going after Angel and Xander hadn’t tried to stop him. They’d made love that night with a desperate sweetness, each trying to bind the other tighter to them and in the morning, when Xander woke, Lindsey was gone, leaving just a note asking him to wait, promising to come back.

Xander knew that he should have called his friends, warned them about Lindsey and his plans, but Xander wasn’t that man anymore, all he wanted was his lover in his arms. So he waited, pottering around the cabin, doing odd repairs and working his body too hard because only when he was exhausted could he sleep without Lindsey’s body pressed to his. Then it was over, he’d woken one night screaming at the pain on his chest, watching in disbelief as his bond tattoo glowed and burned and then faded away. Knowing in his heart that Lindsey was lost, that somehow that wonderful brain had missed a vital component in his supposedly flawless plan, but Xander still clung to hope. Finally picking up the phone and calling Giles, pretending he was just checking in, catching up. Asking after his friends, casually bringing the conversation round to Angel and Wolfram and Hart. His own heart shattering and breaking and shutting down forever when Giles tells him what happened. Cordelia woke up; and shouldn’t that have been good news, but right at that second he hates her, she woke up and that’s what screwed Lindsey’s plan. Lindsey’s dead, nothing else matters. He tries to make the appropriate responses to Giles’ stories and he must be doing ok because Giles is still talking. Before he knows it he’s agreed to come back to the fold, tells Giles it’s ok, he’s had enough time off. Knows he can’t go to England, doesn’t want to see those who consider themselves his family, understands they’d be able to see beyond his masks. 

So he goes to Africa, finds slayers for the council and tries not to fall apart with grief. Eventually finds a method that works for him, just stop feeling anything. He knows he’s not the man he was; he’s grim-faced sometimes and harder than he’d ever thought possible. He exists but doesn’t live and that’s ok because if he doesn’t let anyone in he can never get hurt again. Then he runs into the Initiative, they’re still killing demons and, for a time, he accepts the company they offer. Graham’s always watching him and at first he doesn’t understand, but one night they get drunk and talk; turns out Riley told stories about Sunnydale, about him, told people he was a fucking hero and, when he looks into Graham’s eyes, he realises that he still appears to be that man; at least from the outside. Graham’s eyes are so like Lindsey’s it almost hurts, but Xander won’t allow himself to feel that pain, instead he shut out the sight and presses his lips against Graham’s, Losing himself in the touch of the other man’s body.

When Xander moves on, Graham goes with him, they work together now, moving from town to town, country to country, sleeping in one rough campsite after another. They do their job and find the council’s lost girls, gathering them up and sending them on their way, they don’t ever linger in the cities because Xander doesn’t want to be around people. Graham seems to accept anything Xander wants, seems happy just to be in his life. Xander knows that Graham has fallen in love with him, knows he doesn’t feel the same way, and knows that if he was the hero Graham still thought him to be, he’d give the man up, let him go and find his own life, find somebody worthy of his heart. But Xander can’t do that, because when the dreams of Lindsey come and he wakes up after re-living the searing pain of Lindsey’s loss, the only thing that keeps him sane is the feel of Graham’s body beneath him. Xander’s always the top, he’s never let Graham fuck him, that would be too much like betraying what he had and he’s lucky that the little he’s able to offer seems to be enough.


Back in the present, wrenching his mind from memories that threaten to overwhelm him, he knows Graham is waiting for response, an answer Xander can’t afford to give. Three days he’s been strange, three nights he’s spent staring at the stars instead of sleeping. Three days since he woke screaming to a different kind of pain. Three days since his bond tattoo glowed red again, three days he’s known Lindsey is back. But he’s never told Graham about Lindsey, when his lover had asked about the blackened mark on his chest, he’d made up a story about a drunken error of judgement and an embarrassing tattoo. So for three days he’s kept his chest covered trying to avoid questions he has no idea how to answer. You see he knows Lindsey is evil, knows the man he loves so much was willing to murder an entire building full of people just to get at Angel. He knows he should be grateful for this good man in his arms right now and that he should forget about his past. How can he tell Graham that almost every part of him wants to grab his stuff, head for the airport and leave his lover and his life behind; just so that he can track down Lindsey. He wants to find him, throw himself into Lindsey’s arms, feel Lindsey pounding into him once more; he doesn’t care that it’s wrong, that loving Lindsey is a betrayal of everything he’s ever fought for, he just wants him back any way he can get him. Doesn’t even know if Lindsey still wants him, but hopes and believes he does.

But there’s just enough of the white knight left in Xander to stop him, just enough of that forgotten man to keep him from completely embracing his fall. So he turns in Graham’s arms and tries to answer Graham’s doubts with actions instead of the words he can’t bring himself to speak. Pressing their bodies together, kissing and moaning at the exquisite feelings they can always bring to each other’s bodies. Hoping against hope that this will be enough, that if he can lose himself in Graham’s touch, in Graham’s love he can stop himself from running. It isn’t love, it’s need ~ but maybe, here and now, that’s enough. If not, the airport will still be there tomorrow.



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