So it's later now, and we're curled so tight against each other on the landing of
my stairs that I'm sure at any moment we're going to coalesce, become one in a
literal sense. Having never quite made it to the bedroom, I'm beginning to feel
addicted to the sensation of carpet against sweat-drenched skin.

It's astonishing how well he fits into my arms, how smooth the transition is as he
twists, rolls onto his back to gaze into my eyes. He looks so peaceful, so serene,
that something in me has to mar it, has to bring back that dreadful image of him
sobbing in my library.

He sees it in my face, reaches to caress the creases in my forehead. "What?"

"I was just wondering something." And the thought has come back, the need to
know, to understand how this all started. "Why were you crying?"

He turns his eyes away. "Was I crying? I don't remember that."

I cover his mouth with mine, invade his mouth with my tongue and try to choke
the lies from his throat. "Tell me?"

"No."

"Please?"

"I told you, I can't talk about it with you. Especially not now."

Again those words reach straight into my head to squeeze torrents of blinding
grief from my brain. "Not now? What the hell does that mean? Now, after all this,
no need to be honest?"

"Hey." He sits up, mad, and I can't stand it, can't let him draw away. < Why why
why all the anger in my voice why why why when all I really feel is this outrageous
need? >

"All I mean is...why can't you tell me?"

"Because you're too damn close!" he shouts, trembling. "I can't do this all at once,
okay? It's too much..."

I stop him, by reaching out and pulling him to me, his back to my chest, and
kissing his neck. "Fine. It's okay. Will you...maybe later?"

"I just don't know." His head falls back and I can feel the pounding pulse just
beneath the flesh. "Maybe...will you ask real nice?"

My tongue seems to be working on its own, swiping at him, lapping up every bit of
his taste that it possibly can. A lifetime of training in observation, in *watching*,
and I've never even come close to being as acutely aware of anything as I am of
his stomach muscles rippling under my forearm.

He's there, I can feel it. He shakes in my grasp, twists to find my lips and dive
desperately in. It could be described as a battle in its ferocity, but it's so gentle,
so loving, that any reference to violence does it wrong. We're lost in this tangle
again, so wound up in each other I wonder if we'll ever be able to disengage.

The thought is gone as quickly as it comes < why would I want to disengage from
*this* > and suddenly I realize I'm breathing again, sucking in rapid breaths
because he's done it, he's moved, slipped away from my mouth and down.

So deliciously down.

Good lord, he has strong lips.

Sucking, pulling, drawing, all the sensations melding into one so intense that
there's nothing I could possible do to escape the overwhelming *vim* of it. But I
don't want to. I don't need to, not now. Not ever.

His hands join the utter manipulation of my being, one delicately stroking that
tiny base fraction of my cock that isn't submerged in his mouth < where did he
learn to deepthroat > and the other arcing, curving into a hook of one finger,
then two, that slips in and < he's far too good at this > now I'm going to have to
call a carpenter because the banister rail has just snapped in my hand.

"Xander..."  This is not my voice, this strangled cry of unbearable *need* that
escapes my lips before I have a chance to clamp it down.

He moans in response, moving so artfully, so skillfully up and down on my cock
that I never want it to end. I'd rather stay in this pent-up state, needing release,
forever than have him stop.

His fingers slip out; his hands come up to clutch mine and we're moving together,
guiding each other through the movement. His tongue gives one last brutally
purposeful swipe and I can't hold back, but it's okay because he's swallowing
every bit and licking me clean.

I suddenly wonder who broke into my apartment and painted the ceiling this swirl
of colors.

He's moving back up, into my arms, into my mouth...so incredibly into my life
that I can't help the tears spilling over my eyelids and down, past my temples,
tickling my ears and moistening small streaks of hair. He licks a disruption in one
flowing stream, touches the cleft of my chin and smiles sadly. "So why are you
crying?"

I look straight into his gentle eyes < it's so hot in here even his eyes have melted
liquid pools of flowing brown lava deep swamps of heated chocolate > and move
to kiss him. "Because you're here."

He nods. "Me, too." I blink rapidly, both unsure of what he means and trying to
clear the hazy moisture from my eyes. "I was crying...sometimes I sort of don't
know how to reconcile the good with the bad...to look forward to the good so
much that I can get through the bad. I - I lost sight of you for awhile, Giles,
thought about, about killing myself...Stop." He quirks his lips in that
self-conscious twist and somehow manages to shrug without moving his
shoulders. He traces idle lines across my chest and rubs the hair delightfully
against the grain. "So I went to the library, and...it smelled like you, and I was just
thinking how I wouldn't have ever had that smell so close again."

I sigh, not quite sure how to express my despair at his devastating sadness. So I
say the one thing that is absolute and undeniable truth in my world. "Xander...I
love you."

He sits up, hugs his knees and I see the beautifully defined muscles of his back
tremor with some undefined emotion. "Giles, could you just - just hold me every
once in awhile, even if I can't say it? Yet?"
 
That 'yet', that tiny, simple word, gets me through the panic of not hearing the
words returned. As I take him back into my arms, flick my tongue behind the
crease of his ear, I shudder with something akin to ecstasy. "Your trouble may be
in getting me to let you go at all, my dear."

His hands settle on top of mine against his hard stomach, his fingers entangle
with mine. "I'm okay with staying right here for awhile. You?"

I don't answer, simply pull him back down to spoon together on the carpet. "Yes. I
do have a rather comfortable bed, though...I'll introduce you a bit later."

"'Kay." His murmur is sleepy, content. I'm overwhelmed by a sudden fear that I'm
going to lose him. "G-man?"

"Yes, Xander?"

"Thanks." I'm silent. Confused. "You know...for the loving me part?"

"My pleasure, love." I kiss his neck and close my eyes to sleep. "My immense
pleasure."