The phone rang just as he was matching the blade of his razor to a stubborn patch of dark stubble tucked under his chin. He knew that the stubble was there, because he could feel it with his fingertips and see it in the mirror, but his shaking hand and his imperfect vision combined to make it tricky to shave it smooth.

And now he was bleeding, bright red blood staining and spreading and stinging, because the imperious, unexpected ring of the old-fashioned phone always made him jump as it echoed around the empty house.

"Hello?"

"Xander?" Giles sounded startled, which wasn't surprising given the irritated snap in Xander's greeting.

"Giles! Sorry, just wasn't expecting --" He took a quick look at his watch. Seven. Giles usually called around now; after they'd both eaten and before they went out. Not that either of them went out very often, but even so... "I mean -- look, can we start over?"

Giles chuckled, the sound managing to make it from London to Iona without losing any of its familiar warmth. "I suppose we can. Hello, Xander. How are you?"

Xander felt the towel slip from around his waist and grabbed at it hastily. He couldn't talk to Giles when he was naked; it just didn't seem right, somehow. Even if Giles didn't know that he was.

"Fine. Just had a shower and I'm going -- fine."

Xander heard a faint creak as if Giles was settling back in the leather chair in his front room, but the abrupt ending of his sentence passed without comment, even though Xander was miming banging his head against the wall and gritting his teeth with frustration. Why the hell didn't he just tell him, for God's sake?

"I hope I didn't get you out of the shower," Giles said, sounding a bit odd somehow. Distant.

"No. I'm only wearing a towel and I'm a bit damp around the edges, but I was already out." Wasn't going to mention the practically naked. Why did I --? Oh, shit. I'm over-compensating... babbling in ten, nine, eight.... Did I just tell Giles I was out? I did, didn't I? Now, why would I say that? Come on, Xander, you can tell me, I'm you, you total, complete --

"So what's new on your end, Giles? Heard from Buffy? Or Willow? How's Dawn? Been a while since I spoke to her. And didn't you say Andrew's working for you now? How's -"

"Xander!" Giles' laughing expostulation halted him mid-flow. "What on earth is it? You're just -- not yourself at all. Would you like me to call you back? When you're less, uh, naked, perhaps?"

He was about to say 'yes' when he realised that he wouldn't have time. Giles and he usually chatted for half an hour, or longer, and he liked that. He liked it a lot. Looked forward to it, even.

But not tonight.

"Giles, look, I'm in a bit of a rush here. Can we do this tomorrow, maybe?"

"Oh." Giles sounded hurt. Did he? Did he sound hurt? Why would he --? "Of course we can, Xander." No, he was just Giles. Normal, comforting, reliable Giles. "I wasn't calling for anything important. Just to say hello, and I think we've covered that." Saying hello is important, Xander wanted to say. I'm on an island, thousands of miles from home, which isn't there anyway, hundreds of miles from anyone I know -- well, almost -- and I get lonely, damn it, which might be why --

"Yeah. Guess we did."

"Goodbye, then."

Giles had barely finished speaking when Xander hung up and sank to the floor, resting his head on his knees and groaning. God, what the hell was he doing? Somehow, it was turning out to be even harder than he'd expected to tell Giles that he was, well... gay.

Or at the very least bi, although it had been a while since he'd been interested in a woman. It could probably be blamed on the fact that he was in the middle of nowhere and there weren't all that many people around, let alone people that were interested in hanging out with him, what with the whole outsider, missing eye thing. Or it could be blamed on the fact that John McIntyre hadn't at all tried to hide the fact that he was interested. Or it could even be blamed on the fact that he was young and horny and sometimes the thought of anyone else touching his dick -- even another guy -- was enough to make him hard.

On the other hand -- and that was an awful lot of hands, now that he thought about it -- it could just be that he was gay. And John was really, really attractive, and studied Xander's face when he talked, like Xander was the most interesting person he'd ever met. 



It was hard not to be flattered.

Xander got up and went back to the bathroom to finish getting ready. He kept telling himself that it wasn't a date, but it was. He'd met up at the hotel bar with John before, lots of times, but there'd always been someone else with them; usually some of the men working on the renovations to Traighshee House, most of whom seemed to be related to John in one way or another; all of whom had known him for years by the sound of it.

Tonight, it was just going to be the two of them. John couldn't have made it any plainer that he'd wanted it that way and Xander, after a moment of wondering what the hell he was doing, had stared back into John's blue eyes, expectant and hopeful, and nodded agreement because he hadn't trusted himself to speak.

Which could've had something to do with the fact that John's hand was warm against his leg under the table and he was dealing with a sudden surge of arousal that had kept him sitting there for a good five minutes after John had left.

He changed shirts twice before settling on what he was going to wear.

Oh, yeah. Definitely a date.

By the time Xander walked to the bar, his hands were sweaty with nervousness, but as soon as he saw John sitting at one of the tables, his smile open and friendly, he relaxed. It was fine. He liked John. A lot, actually. And talking to him was the easiest thing in the world, like talking to Giles. Most of the time, anyway. When he wasn't trying to figure out how to tell Giles that he was going on a date with another man.

"Hi," Xander said, sitting down and noting for future reference that guys didn't stand up when another guy joined them, even if they were on a date. "Am I late?"

"I don't know," John said. "I was too busy staring at the door and hoping you'd be coming through it soon to waste time looking at my watch." He was halfway down a pint of bitter which, assuming it was his first, meant -- well, nothing, since John could spend an hour sipping at a beer or down it in a series of smooth, unhurried swallows in less than thirty seconds.

"I'll just get a drink," Xander said, starting to stand up again.

John shook his head, reaching out and catching Xander's wrist to keep him in place. "No need. Shona's bringing one over for you and another for me." He nodded towards the bar and Xander twisted around and saw Shona walking towards them with a tray, deftly snagging empties off the tables as she passed by, and then depositing the two brimming glasses in front of them with a smile.

"There you go, lads," she said, moving on before Xander had time to do more than smile and murmur 'thank you'.

Xander took a sip and then grinned at John. "Are you trying to get me drunk?" he asked, moving onto teasing him, just a little, with a small quiver of anticipation uncurling in his stomach because, damn, it'd been a long time since he'd... flirted? Was this what this was?

"Depends," John said slowly. "Do you want me to try to get you drunk?"

It was weird how John always seemed to know what to say to make everything okay again. Just a few words and he made it clear that the ball was in Xander's court, that nothing was going to happen unless Xander was okay with it. "I don't think I'd mind," he said, shifting his chair a little bit and letting his leg slide forward under the table until it was touching John's.

John smiled. "Maybe I don't want you too drunk," he said thoughtfully. "Or me, for that matter." His knee was definitely pressing against Xander's, but again, there was no feeling of being rushed, nothing to make Xander feel panicky. John raised his glass to his lips and took a small sip. "It's been a busy week for you, hasn't it?" he asked, changing the subject. "I'm not surprised you're feeling a bit rushed."

"Yeah," Xander said, thinking a little bitterly about deliveries that didn't show up and workmen who did only to disappear when the lumber finally arrived. "It has, but I was late because, well, a friend called and I was -- I didn't want to just tell him to go, and --" He ran out of words and then met John's eyes and let out a long sigh. "He -- Giles -- he's known me for a long time. Years. We've been through a lot. It's just -- he doesn't know I'm -- I couldn't tell him where I was going, and it felt weird lying to him. Not that I lied, I just didn't say why I couldn't talk like normal, and --" He gave John a beseeching look. "You know, people who know me, friends, I mean, they usually kick me around now and say, 'Xander, stop talking.'"

"I like listening to you talk," John said. "And if I told you to stop, then I think we'd both be sitting here staring at each other. Not that I mind the view."

God, the way John looked at him made Xander hard. He didn't want it to -- not here, this wasn't the time or the place -- well, maybe it was the time but it definitely wasn't the place -- but it did. The front of his jeans, jeans that had been getting looser in the time he'd been here, felt pleasantly tight as his cock swelled. "I feel stupid," he admitted. "I should have just told him."

"I don't think you're stupid," John said. "Maybe not too sure about yourself?"

Xander thought about that and then shook his head. "No... I know how I feel right now about being here with you and I'm sure enough about that." John's face relaxed into a smile, and for some reason that made Xander panic more than the brush of John's hand against his as they both reached for their drinks, because they were moving, moment by moment, word by word, to a time when they wouldn't be talking, and for someone who'd been blessed with an uninhibited, practical and lusty girlfriend, he really shouldn't be this nervous about the thought of kissing and maybe touching -- Oh God. Touching John. Dry-mouthed with longing and terror, Xander took a long swallow of his beer and drained it just as Shona walked by.

"Another, lads?" she murmured, not waiting for a reply.

"So did you go to school with this Giles, then?" John asked when they'd both got fresh drinks in front of them.

Xander almost choked on his beer. "Um... sort of," he said. "It's kind of hard to explain." He felt strangely protective of Giles, and he knew it would seem weird to someone who hadn't been there. Well, you see, he was the librarian. Yeah, like a teacher. But yes, we're friends. It just sounded... wrong. Like Giles was some kind of pedophile, or maybe like Xander hadn't been able to make friends his own age.

"You don't have to," John said.

"No, it's just..." Xander frowned and drank some more, trying to find the right words. "We've known each other a long time," he said finally. "But it's one of those things where first it was just that we were kind of thrown together, you know? But then we started to be friends. And since I've been here -- he's kind of in charge of the company that's doing the renovations on the house, did I tell you that? -- we've been talking a lot. At first I thought it was just because he felt kind of sorry for me, being out here alone, but then it started to feel like we really were friends. We talk about everything. It's good." It was. He hadn't realized it until he'd just said it, but it was true -- it was like he and Giles could talk about anything. Which was maybe why their conversation earlier had been so weird.

There was a slightly perplexed look on John's face now. "I'm not quite seeing why you mind him knowing that you're gay. He's not likely to sack you, is he?"

"No, no," Xander said. "It's not that."

"So he'll be a fair bit older than you, then?" John was clearly groping for an explanation that made sense. Xander wished him luck. "Maybe a bit narrow-minded? Set in his ways?"

A vision of Giles brandishing a sword encrusted with demon-blood, green eyes blazing with determination and exhilaration rose up in front of Xander, and he shook his head. "No, not at all. And when my friend Willow came out, he was fine about it. I'm not even -- well, I think he might have -- years ago, there was this man -- oh, I don't know! It's just -- I can't --"

"Stop talking," John said, and kicked him gently.