Giles has told him to watch the new kid, his eyes thoughtful, a little puzzled, but Xander's not sure why. The accent's weird (Canadian? Could be…) the clothes are all wrong -- not different enough to be right, not even the hopeless failure Cordelia tells him hourly his are. No. Just… wrong.
Retro, maybe. Yeah.
And the kid never stops smiling. Small, secretive, amused smiles as if he's standing outside looking in.
Scary good at some stuff, though. Xander allows himself to dwell, lovingly, sweetly, adoringly, on the memory of O'Neill (yeah; guy has to be Canadian) taking out Larry on the football field with a move that has to be illegal in any rulebook and spreading his hands wide, blinking innocently, as Coach bawled out his scrawny ass, then signed him up as first reserve while Larry lay and bled at O'Neill's feet.
So he watches, already sure at some point Buffy's going to have to take this guy down, until the day he's alone in the library reading up on a ritual that's going to haunt his dreams, edging out sweaty, naked goodness, and the doors swing open.
O'Neill doesn't leave him bleeding and writhing on the floor like Larry.
O'Neill leaves him bleeding (top lip; the guy kisses with just a little too much enthusiasm and Xander zigged when he should've zagged) and writhing (hey; hand down inside his jeans and anyone would wriggle) against the desk deep in the stacks.
Leaves him panting, fingers scrabbling at a shirt that looks disturbingly like one his father owned as a kid, immortalized in family album number three, a.k.a the one with Xander naked, clutching a teddy by the ear, Willow's favourite. Leaves him gasping out warnings and pleas that contradict each other, then shuts him up by going to his knees, sweet heaven he can't be…oh God, he is…
And when he's gone, sauntering out with a swagger and muttering something incomprehensible about his knees still freaking aching, dammit, and it isn't fair, Xander leans back, panting, and zips himself up with trembling fingers that smell of spit and come, and decides, with a certain amount of regret, that Giles will have to take over surveillance of whatever the hell kind of demon O'Neill is, because the last thing O'Neill whispered in Xander's ear was a promise that the next time he caught Xander watching his ass, he'd nail Xander's, and Xander isn't quite ready for that.
Not on a school night, anyway.
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