Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

Bar

For sanj, who asked for the pairing, and got...um, the rest along with it.




"Oh, I don't think so," Riley said, shoving Xander against the wall of the bar.

Xander staggered back into the plaster and for a moment his head hung, a lick of mussed hair obscuring his face. He wiped blood from his lip with the back of one hand, examined it, then looked up at Riley with a cracked half-smile. Even from several feet away, Riley could hear the breathlessness behind that smile. He was not the type of man to be unnerved by Xander Harris, even if that smile...okay, that was a bit disturbing.

He was a soldier though, trained and disciplined and ready to slap down any further shit from this puppy. Sure, he liked the kid, but damn it, this was ridiculous. "Xander, you really don't want--"

The other man launched himself at Riley and drove him back across a table, knocking glasses aside, sending a bowl of peanuts spinning madly before it fell to the floor. The table itself tipped over under their combined weight and sent them sliding and rolling together across a sticky mess of things Riley didn't want to think about. It was that kind of bar. He was damn glad they had it to themselves as he tried to subdue Xander's ferocious struggle, because things were getting embarrassing. Riley felt his face redden as Xander twisted under him, half fighting, half working his hips up with groans of pleasure.

"Christ, Xander," he managed to say when the other man's thigh slid between his own. A move like that shouldn't make a man's eyes cross because damn it, he had a...a Buffy. Not here, but waiting for him somewhere.

"Ooh, Farm Hand," Xander said with a nasty glint. "Trying to get religion on me? Then again," he licked blood from his lip, "On me is where you're most likely to get it."

Disgusted and exasperated, Riley slammed Xander's shoulders against the floor and shoved all his weight into it. "Boy, you need to get a grip." He could hear his accent surfacing, hated it, and hated how Xander laughed at him, in a way that made him self-conscious of what he'd said. He'd thought his face couldn't get any more heated, but it flushed again. "You're under a spell, Xander."

"Uh huh." But then Xander suddenly went limp, eyes widening. "A spell?"

"I've been trying to tell you." Jaw set grimly, Riley hesitated a moment, then relaxed his arms and helped Xander to his feet. Panic and confusion were written on the other man's face. "That girl with the car, the one you--"

A left-hook sent Riley flying onto his ass, and drove a chair skidding to one side as it half broke his fall. Fuck, he thought in outrage as he landed on something that didn't give quite so well--a beer bottle, maybe. You'd think that would break, but it rolled under his thigh and he had to wrench himself off to get leverage.

"Son of a bitch," Riley said, making it back to his feet. The little fucker was strong as his old C.O. and twice as ornery. Had to be the spell. He began to circle warily, not liking the casual way Xander circled back, the field-dog tilt to his head as if he scented something he wanted to drag out and chew on.

Imagination. Right. Put that on hold.

Holding up both hands, Riley carefully kept his distance and said, "Look, I don't want to hurt you."

"Oh, I know."

The innuendo was working Riley's last nerve. "When this spell wears off, you and I are gonna have a little talk," he warned.

Xander picked up a pool cue from a table as he passed and ran it back and forth through his hands. Not liking the look of that, Riley darted a glance around to see if there was anything else weaponlike that he should throw out of range--or use himself if it came to that. When he looked back again, Xander had paused and was holding the cue like one long slash against his body. At Riley's glance he bent his head and ran his tongue slowly up along the wood.

It should have been laughable, but Riley's mouth went dry as he lost speech. He was really going to have to knock the kid's head against something hard if he wanted to get out of here with his ass intact, and he did, thanks.

"I'll tell you what," Xander said, stroking the pool cue with both hands in a strangely familiar and mesmerizing way. Jesus, Riley thought again, dragging his gaze up. "You want to take me in? I'll go." Reasonable tone. Too reasonable. "One thing. You have to..."

"What?" he managed to ask, flexing his hands a bit and waiting for a chance to move in.

"Give us a kiss, Iowa."

He sounded almost like Spike. Or like Xander Harris trying to sound like Spike. Except he didn't seem to be trying that hard, and you really had to wonder, thought Riley, where that nasty streak came from. He'd sure never noticed it before. Always been a nice guy, Xander; hanging around, ready to help out when things were shaping up to be a bitch in that special Sunnydale way. And, okay, that could get on Riley's nerves a little bit, the hanging and the helping both, because he'd obviously had a thing for Buffy, and the helping wasn't always so helpful. But if this had been lurking beneath Xander's placid surface, he obviously hadn't been paying close enough attention to the boy.

"Xander, you're really *not* my type, and I know I'm not yours."

A bashful head duck caught Riley off guard. "Yeah, but...you know. I've been wondering." His tongue flicked out again, tasting something real or imaginary, while his hands continued to work the wood in that distracting way that Riley wished he could interrupt. "What it's like. A guy, you know. Hell, I've always wondered."

"This isn't the best time to experiment."

"One kiss," Xander assured him, in an almost normal tone of voice. "And I'll go with you, no argument."

Riley didn't trust him for a minute. To the power of ten, he didn't trust him. But then again, he wasn't getting very far with current tactics, and if he lured Xander in close enough he could--subdue him. Had a better chance of it, anyway.

"All right," he said gamely, gaze steady. Under his wholesome surface, Riley Finn was a man who'd learned what not to freak out about, a man who got the job done. He smiled and didn't move, but let himself be an open invitation. Xander could come to him.

A step forward, then Xander raised the pool cue. Riley's gut tensed, but the tip merely stretched out and stroked down his chest, bisecting his body as it headed toward his groin. Riley knocked the wood away. "Enough. Come on."

"You're muy macho," Xander said, smacking the words around on his tongue. He tossed the pool cue aside and strolled closer. From mere inches away, he smelled rough and sharp, as if he'd been running a marathon. It made Riley think of basic training again, of forced proximity and male bodies and a certain kind of tension he'd left behind him, when it became no longer necessary to bunk and shower with other guys.

"Let's get this over with," Riley snapped impatiently, holding himself ready for an opening to take Xander out. He had to be careful--he didn't want to hurt him, after all.

"Mmm." Xander considered his mouth, then unexpectedly punched him hard in the gut. As Riley sagged and tried to recover, Xander looped an arm around his neck and tongued his way inside for a nasty, thorough kiss.

And that was when things must have gone funny.

He didn't intend to throw Xander into the wall again, or slam his shoulder blades back against the plaster and pin him in place, or force his mouth open roughly. This was some other, stranger Riley gripping Xander's upper arms and kicking his legs apart, someone who saw things--saw things differently--

Fuck, he'd never realized what a mouthful Xander was.

Xander was pushing against Riley with force, as if he wanted to launch himself off the wall, but Riley slammed him into its surface again hard enough to snap the other man's head back, then yanked him forward into the sleaziest kiss he'd ever laid on anyone, fingers splaying around the other man's neck to hold him in place, thumb digging under his jaw, forcing his mouth wide for a rude tongue-fucking, hard and wet and sloppy, the kind of kiss you laid on bar trash you knew you'd never have to see again.

He felt hands working his belt open, his jeans undone, and he let it happen as if he'd paid for it, accepting what was due. Xander made small whining sounds against Riley's mouth and writhed in his grip, eager and difficult to hold, and finally Riley had to knock those busy hands loose and spin him around to face the wall. He handled Xander roughly, positioning him. This was going to be good.

"Get 'em down," he said, and slapped the side of Xander's head when he didn't hop to it. To encourage obedience, he snaked his hand around, up under Xander's shirt, found a small, flat nipple and twisted it. Xander yelped and began undoing his jeans with hasty, frantic movements. "Atta boy," Riley muttered, pulling Xander's entire body back and rubbing it against his own, broad back and thighs and ass, using one thigh as a grip. Xander's jeans, just loose enough, slid to puddle around his ankles, and Riley hadn't done exactly this before, but it didn't take a rocket scientist. You guided your dick to target, spit a few times, and worked yourself in, letting those little cries and breathy sounds tell you if you were doing it right. And you were, and the rest you already knew.

"Oh god," Xander said, and the world blacked out for Riley, leaving nothing but that low voice and a squeeze of heat around his own dick. "Oh, man."

Riley pumped hard into his new home and reached around to find Xander's own erection. It jumped in his hand and Xander pushed back against him, made more incoherent noises. After a minute of practice handling the goods, Riley discovered how to make that sweet ass snug itself tightly around him and match a demanding rhythm. He was driving, he was in charge, and fuck, it was perfect. He held Xander's hip in his other hand and began banging in hard, forcing Xander to grab the wall to hold them both up. It was the way fucking used to be, when he was younger and wilder, but he'd never taken another man and now he knew he could, Xander had bent over for him and couldn't have stopped him, and wasn't stopping him now, dancing back against him, quivering as Riley used him.

Groaning, Riley began to lose his groove, felt his balls lift and tighten and fill, his strokes lengthen into erratic lust. And then it was there, seizing him and carrying him up as he broke, releasing hot spunk, making Xander buck and sob and ride him, and finally spill over Riley's hand.

And weirdly enough that was when things went not so funny, and Riley noticed the beer mirror on the wall in front of him. He focused to see his face there, wearing a shocked expression he knew all too well. Xander's head tumbling back against Riley's shoulder should not have been in the picture, but...fuck. Yeah. There it was.

Sunnydale. They really needed to issue better warnings.




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