Notes 'n Thanks:  Te, always Te... and also for Angela who said posting for H.Nonny Nonny didn't count (hi, Angela!).  And manymanythanks to Laura for excellent beta.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"DMZ"
by Spike
6/99

Hot, wet night in Sunnydale.  Wierd summer weather for SoCal, but hey... welcome to the Hellmouth.

Xander's out... prowling.  The usual Harris family bullshit whatever -- he just wanted out.  No biggie, happens all the time and he gets fed up.  He's not even mad this time, no trauma, just bored. Restless. Sweaty.  Supremely horny.

It's late enough that the Bronze is closed but that's where he heads anyway.

Really quiet, echoing of his own footsteps.  The air's so thick it catches all the sound like jelly.  Smells burnt.  Maybe going to be a storm.

And even though he knew it was going to be closed, when he gets to the Bronze and feels the dead and the quiet rolled out around the place like a tarp, he's... disappointed.  //Fuck...should just go home...// but he doesn't.  Instead he prowls more, does a cautious circuit of the building scowling nervously into the darkness.  He stops at the alley mouth, hands in his pockets (right hand wrapping reflexively around the stake that's been bouncing against his thigh) tapping one foot impatiently.  The alley's empty.

//Well... good. // Sort of.

The fire escape's down, though.  Impulsively Xander goes for it, gets his hands on the rusty rungs, gets a couple of rungs up, then the loudness of his climb gets to him, he stops.  Listens.  Nothing.  He climbs more.  Rust grinding under his hands, gritting his bare knees.  T-shirt flapping a little against his back.

Stops again.  Listens hard. More nothing. It's like Sunnydale's gone dead.  It's like he's all alone, the whole rest of the planet empty.  End of the world shit.  The sky is more like a black iron skillet than an open thing.

Bad bad bad.  But tonight he wants it to be that way.

He's up at the ridge of the Bronze roof then and over.  Drops to a crouch on the flat tar and gravel roof.  Then stands.  Nice view... not.  Industrial Sunnydale and then some street lights, city lights -- flat and far away and few.

Feels good to be up here somehow, though.  Feels just like he's completely in his own skin. Just him, Xander Harris -- nobody to watch or make judgments or... whatever.

He mulls that over, finds himself a brick pillar thing to lean on, watch Sunnydale do absolutely nothing below.  Scratches his belly for a long, slow, gentle time and then lets his hand wander.

Nice warm glow thing happening where his hand goes.  Different from the heat outside.  Is he going to do this? he wonders.  Grins a little.  He's already doing it.

Leans back, gets himself more comfortable in a gritty, sweaty kind of way, braces his back against the bricks.

Takes long slow breaths.  Moving gently.  No real plan, not even using his own expertise, just stroking, cupping... fondling himself a little.  Letting it feel good where it feels good.

And after a while it starts to feel good pretty much everywhere and more often than not.  He's really hard.  The shorts were tight -- last year's shorts and he's still growing apparently -- to begin with.  He wonders if he's going to be able to get them off.  Wonders briefly how far he's planning to take this.  Imagines how good it'll feel to be naked in all that silky air... and that's enough to make him say 'ohhh' when he sighs...

The sound of his own voice is flat and loud and it makes him want to make himself groan really loud, just for the thrill of it.

And this is getting away from him just a little faster than he wants.  So he stops, reaches back and grabs the collar of his T-shirt, pulls it over his head.  Sweat makes it stick to him and for a minute he's trapped inside, breathing in his own hot, wet scent.  Liking it, but it's too much.  He has to reach back with the other hand, grab the hem and peel...

When he finally gets it off the contrast of cool air on his face is like a caress.  He feels like he's making love to the night itself and he 'mmm's again and his eyes come up.

Angel is standing about a foot in front of him.  Watching him.

Angel in his black leather coat, black silk, not a shimmer of sweat on him.  If there was a moon he would be pale.  As it is he's just in black and white.

What surprises Xander is that he's not particularly scared.  Just...

On the razor edge of mortified maybe, cheeks heating, feeling a witless joke rising.  But underneath...

Something like anger: //so fucking *what* -- I bet *you* do it...// Wonders if it's true.  Wonders if it shows on his face.  Angel hasn't moved.  Xander's heart kicks a little, but it's... not a bad kicking.  The in-his-own-skin thing is very solid apparently.  And the way Angel is looking at him...

Hungry, but not *hungry*.  And not really *at* him, not like 'Angel' looking at 'Xander' -- Buffy's friend, slayerette whatever.  There's an emptiness in Angel's face.  They could be strangers up there.

But on the other hand Angel *is* looking at him.  Taking him in.  Xander feels the shiver -- the coolness coming off Angel getting between him and the night's heat.  His mouth is so dry his tongue catches against his lips.  He's going to say something, any second now.  Can feel the mystery phrase building up in his chest and only hopes it's something that won't break this fragile thing.

Angel maybe sees that too, maybe has a premonition.  Or maybe just... And Xander's thought derails as Angel's hand comes up, as the side of Angel's middle finger touches him just below the hollow of his collarbone.  As Angel draws a thin cool line through the sweat on his chest.

The finger stops at his navel and Xander stares at it, partly stunned by the shock factor of the touch itself, partly because he finds himself willing the finger to keep on going.  It seems impervious, but then he can see it's shaking a little like a taut bowstring so he follows the line of Angel's arm to his face.  Angel's face is... He's never really thought about kissing a guy but Angel's face... Angel's mouth is a little open now,  Xander can see the ridge of Angel's bottom teeth, small and white and even.

Looking at Xander from underneath the ridge of his brows, eyes glittering in shadow, maybe it's Angel who looks a little scared.  Or... something.

And Xander doesn't know what to do to make it happen, this unnameable *it* he suddenly wants so much.  Too much.  He's stuck, glued inside his skin, throat crammed full with words that can't come out.  So he tilts his head a little, closes his eyes.

Sudden push of cool air and for a second he thinks Angel's done a bunk but when he opens his eyes it's just in time to see Angel close the distance between them.  He thinks Angel is going to kiss him -- Christ, *bite* him -- gasps in anticipation but Angel doesn't.  Barely touches him, has just *moved in*.  Arms bracketing Xander's shoulders, one on either side of him against the brick.

Angel pinning him to the wall without touching him.  Just... what?  Smelling him?  Feeling his heartbeat?  What...?  It's a visceral thrill to have Angel's open coat brushing the naked flesh of his shoulders, chest.  Angel exuding cool and... heat too, down by his groin.  Visceral.  It makes his knees want to buckle.

And Angel is *definitely*... 'scared' is the wrong word but... something.  Skittish.  Which makes Xander want to... He presses his cheek against Angel's cheek, reaches up under the coat and runs his hands down Angel's body -- ribs under heavy muscle; cool, cool silk, cool flesh.

Angel gasps... //thought you didn't *breathe* deadboy...// and his hands stop at Angel's belt just long enough to fist there, jerk the leather.  Angel's head falls lightly on his shoulder.  Xander can smell him for the first time, under the bite of leather, the sweetness of shampoo, something definitely earthy and the tang of very human smelling sweat.

It sends a pulse through him, sudden lust so intense Xander has to bear down on it.  He presses his face into the bared crook of Angel's neck.  Lips to the cool flesh and Xander makes a sound in his throat that isn't quite a growl and opens his mouth.  Feels the shudder that runs through Angel from crown to heels.

And then Angel has him pinned for real against the bricks, chest pressed to his chest, groin to his groin.  Angel's hardness is hotter than Xander's through the layers of cloth.  He feels like iron under there and... big.  Xander's hips go of their own volition, thrusting against the available friction.  The bricks are scraping the hell out of his back and he can't get enough leverage to really get the burn he wants.

And Angel's moving a lot slower than he is.

But moving for damn sure.

For a while, this is all there is.  Angel's too slow, too careful humping; Xander getting too damn close anyway, everything in his body threatening to melt down into some bright, hot, golden slurry, keeping him from any kind of rhythm.

Oh yeah, he could come like this.  Come for Angel, come all over Angel's leather pants.  And Angel would stop then, stop and pull away.  And walk away.  Disappear into the night and get away unscathed.

So easy.  And Xander knows absolutely that it isn't what either of them wants.

He bucks harder, gets a little too-good of a shot from his own efforts but at least he gets Angel's attention too.  Tugs on the belt until Angel pulls away.

Definitely dazed.  Not meeting Xander's eyes and what is this all about? Xander wonders with the tiny part of his mind still capable of wondering anything besides how does this belt undo...

And then he figures out how the belt undoes and he has to watch Angel's face as he undoes it.

Which nearly undoes him.  //you *in* there Angel?// but even as he thinks it Angel's gaze is flickering back from wherever he's been to focus on Xander's face.

Angel's looking at him, and it's like Angel hasn't really been very far away at all.  Like Xander's pulled him from some deep erotic dream only it was a deep erotic dream about here and now and... him.  Not a romantic dream but... just this.  Just them here now on the roof, Xander half-naked, half under him, unbuttoning his shirt, his fly, unzipping him, stripping him under his coat.

Long white column of Angel's body in the shadows and Xander has to run his hands over it, feel the solid dolphin curves of muscle, too-smooth hairless skin.  Nipples -- Angel's nipples, tiny and hard.  Xander has to feel them, finger them.  Is so lost in his own sensations that Angel's whimper is a surprise.  Shock.  Sends a shiver through him and he does it again and again until Angel's grip on his arms gets painful.

So he leans in and takes one in his teeth.

Xander can hear himself breathing against Angel's chest...//Yeah...// and sucking, trying to get suction on that hard, tiny nub of flesh.  Just wracking Angel everytime he does.

Everytime he misses.

Meanwhile his hands are still roaming. Angel's back, down and down to the faint curve of Angel's naked ass.  Sketching the shape of it with his hands, his palms.  His fingers trace the cleft and then move down to cup the cheeks.  And back again.  Moving restlessly.  Angel, with effort, *not* moving but that perfect flesh trembles and twitches under his caress.

Xander's own hips aren't anywhere as controlled.  Rocking whether he tells them to or not and his cock keeps brushing wetly against the cool, slightly rougher flesh of Angel's thigh.  Weird position.  He's in this sort of crouch, feeling small and hidden under Angel's coat but when he raises his head from Angel's nipple...

Their faces are so close.  Nearly eye to eye.  Chin to chin.  Angel's lower lip is wet.  Xander leans in -- no, there is no breath -- and licks.  Sucks it in, pulling their mouths together.  Angel tastes like earth again -- not strong but definite.  And.... and no salt.  And for some reason this turns Xander on way beyond anything rational and he groans into Angel's mouth.

And Angel is suddenly kissing him hard and slippery and wet.  Angel's hands tight on his arms again and Xander feels Angel's diaphragm hitch under his hand and Angel is making hard little sounds with every lunge of lips and tongue.

So goddamn strong.  Xander had forgotten.  But he's still not scared.  It's exciting as hell to be kissed like this, to be held like this.  Angel's arms sliding around his arms now, trapping him, lifting him off his feet a little, bending him back and Xander can only thrust into the storm, hips and mouth -- all that amazing golden happening and...  //oh Jesus Buffy gave this *up*...?//

And oh oh oh he's getting close again.  Too close and this time -- holy Jesus -- Angel's hands on *his* ass, lifting him to rub hardness to hardness... Angel's *naked* hardness and Xander's not but oh he has to be he wants to be...

Struggling a little and either Angel gets it or just has the same thought running through his head -- get Xander naked *now* but he feels the yank, the tug, harder tug, verging into pain before the fabric rips.

Shorts fall away, the stake clattering dully in the gravel and Angel loosens his grip enough that Xander can get an arm free.  Help with the briefs.  Leaving him naked in his sockless running shoes //and how'm I going to get home like this... don't *care*...// and just a second to feel the night air on his skin and then Angel is all over him -- kissing, wet and fierce; biting -- each scrape of teeth a tiny shot of fear, the shots accumulating like charge in Xander's skin.  Strong hands cupping, caressing, pulling him close, moving them together.  Xander swaying.  Almost like being drunk...

Xander holding on -- gasping like a drowning swimmer each time his cock comes in contact with Angel's -- all that heat!  And wanting... God!  Wanting so badly to have the strength to just turn Angel around...

Slam him up against that wall...

Not even realizing until Angel says: "What--?" that he's been chanting it like a mantra whenever he can get a breath in: "...fuck you want to fuck you let me..."

Angel pulls away.  Moment of stunned silence which they both take in on the verge of wariness.  Looking each other up and down and Xander finally gets a look at what's been slicking and poking him.  Not as big as the baby's arm he'd been envisioning but, Jesus...and, Jesus, that must be a foreskin.  He's never seen one before.  The urge to drop to his knees and take it in his mouth is surprising and a little overwhelming.  Xander's mouth suddenly watering enough that he has to wipe a thread of drool away with the back of his hand.  And Angel wrapping his fist around the base of it while he watches does nothing to help.

Xander has to *lift* his eyes up to Angel's.

Angel still looks dazed but Xander wouldn't think to call it scared anymore.  A little smile is hovering around the corners of Angel's mouth.  Not necessarily a nice smile, but it's definitely for him.

"Turn around," Xander says.  His voice surprises both of them.  Low and rough.  A man's voice -- what he's going to sound like when he's thirty.  And when Angel just looks at him he adds:  "Against the wall."

And it's not entirely clear that Angel's heard him, the expression, the smile doesn't change.  And saying it again doesn't seem to be an option, so it's kind of a miracle when Angel does it.  Surreal as hell and Xander can only watch numbly as Angel turns, leans -- braces himself, legs spread, palms pressed flat against the bricks.  Still wearing the long coat which is -- thank God -- the kind with a split up the back to the waist.

'Wow' is the only thing in Xander's mind that sounds like a word but it seems important to hang onto that.  He runs his hand through his sweat-soaked hair.  Lets the hand take the natural curve down his throat, to chest, belly, to settle on his cock.  He's been so hard for so long.  Angel shifts a little and the sound brings him right back home to now.  Here.  Now.

He steps in.  Presses himself to Angel's back.  Molds himself to the still cool leather, runs his hands up Angel's arms, mirroring his position.  Letting himself feel the shape of himself pressed to Angel.  Feeling his heart pounding against Angel's back, the breath moving in and out of his lungs //not Angel's//  Just for a minute.  Pressing his cock into the cleft in the leather, into the firm flesh beneath.

Cool leather, cool ass cheeks and, when he presses in hard -- a fucking *furnace* between them.  He rocks like that, just the leverage of his hips, into the heat.  Angel pushes back into him and Xander can feel small tremors in the motion.  //Yes...//

He's way too close for this.  Tries to turn his mind to sports, to TV shows, to what he had for dinner -- can't think of a fucking thing except *going to fuck Angel now.  Have my cock in Angel's ass*... which doesn't help.  So, fuck it then.  He pulls back, spits liberally into his hand, strokes himself.  Slick with spit and pre-come and ohhhh...

Angel still as a statue until Xander slips in between his cheeks, runs the head of his cock along inside the cleft, looking for the center... bumps over the bud...

And Angel's knees do buckle a little this time.  Xander feels him go.  Tries to catch him even as he catches himself.  Thinks:

//Christ I could really *hurt* him... // flashes on the stake that rattled away when his shorts gave way and moans helplessly at the shiver that sends through him.

And thrusts.

Just a little.  Just...oh, but it's enough and he is *in* that heat.  Inside just a little but... holy Jesus... inside Angel and all that *heat*...  He can't stop his hips.  Trying to be gentle.  Needs to be slicker than this but Angel is opening up with every thrust and thrusting back, wanting more and more.  And he can *feel* it when Angel starts to breathe, to suck in air to make the sounds deep in his throat and that takes him to the place that is just on the edge of over...

Biting his lips, rolling his head across Angel's back and he's hammering the peg *home* for Christ sake, all the way home and into all that heat.  His dick melting in it.  Gold slurry spreading out like waves.  Arms coming down to grab Angel around the waist, pull him up, make him shout like that.  Finding Angel's cock with his other hand, the two of them, hips rolling together as Xander feels the mysterious foreskin slip and roll inside his fist.  Oh jeez jeez -- the edge is endless.  His head is going to burst, he's going to shoot the top of Angel's head off.  Angel's muscles bunch and roll against his chest and then there is one terrible moment of tension and Xander *feels* the change whip through Angel's body like a wave and Angel *roars*....

For a second terror hits Xander so hard it makes him blind, deaf, numb and then -- ecstasy follows like a thunderclap on lightning and oh god he's *coming* way harder than he ever has in his own hand and so so sweet...

He clings to Angel, helpless while it wracks him, dimly aware of the handful of come that feels hot as molten gold dripping through the fingers grasping Angel's cock.  It goes on for an amazingly long time, taking everything, and when he's finally down he hangs on anyway just to stay upright..

He waits for Angel to push him off, maybe push him down and tear his throat out -- nothing he could do about it, barely enough energy to *care*...

But Angel does nothing to dislodge him and after a while he gets enough breath back to dislodge himself, pull out, wet and messy.  Angel makes a tiny sound -- not a whimper, maybe just sucking air.  Xander staggers a little and Angel does grab him then -- by the arm, but only pushes him against the wall, holds him there.  Angel's face is human.

Still impossible to read.

Xander wants another kiss.  Maybe Angel reads his mind -- maybe he's just obvious -- but that doesn't really explain why Angel leans in then, kisses him.  So gently.  Xander kisses back, feels a stirring, just the faint echo of his arousal.  Almost painful on the sensitized parts of his flesh -- cock and lips and nipples aching like bruises.  Give it a little while though, he knows, he'll be hard and ready again.

Angel gives him just a second less than long enough, then pulls away.  Which aches, but is okay.  He looks -- Xander can't name it, doesn't have words for it in his vocabulary maybe -- but he knows the look.  Recognizes it from the inside, maybe.  Kind of a combination of "oops" and "oh fuck *yeah*..." and "how much is this gonna hurt when the bill comes due?".  A look Xander knows passing well.  He can feel it on his own face even as he shrugs it off for both of them.

What he wants to say is: forget it, it didn't happen  or something like that.  Only not like that because he doesn't want to make it *not* have happened only make it not a marker somehow.  Like, what is that place in a war where the soldiers from each side put down their guns and play soccer in the rain one day?  And they all know that it doesn't mean shit in the war and that there's going to be a whistle or a dog barking and they'll be picking up their guns again, but while it's happening...

Way too jumbled to put into words and he's not sure if that's even *it*...  Just...  And a big yawn catches him hard and his jaw cracks with the stretch, eyes screw shut.  And even before he opens them again, he knows Angel's done the disappearing thing.

And Xander's alone again and naked in his own skin on the roof of the Bronze in big, dead SunnyHell, grinning with the afterbuzz of sex and the air still charged, but cooler now.  Tasting of earth.

And then there's lightning.  And then there's thunder.  And then, finally, there's rain.

END