FIC: Scar Tissue (G/X, Mature) (1/9)
Today is my day over at summer_of_giles. For the occasion, I wrote a sequel to my first G/X fic, "Why Do You Breathe?" Like the original, the sequel consists of nine short parts (something over 5,000 words in all), which will be posted throughout the day.
I believe this sequel can be read without reading the original, but of course you're always welcome to check it out if you haven't already.
Mature rating. No warnings. Thanks to reremouse, cordelianne, katekat1010, the community moderator, and snowdrifted, who created the icons I'll be using for her day at the community.
Xander rolls out of bed and looks for his sweatpants. They should be on the floor, but of course they’re in the hamper. Xander can picture the hands that put them there.
The same hands that scrawled the list that’s sitting on the kitchen counter downstairs. Giles’ scrawl is far too legible as far as Xander’s concerned, but then he has reason to appreciate the precision of those hands in other areas so he’s not complaining. He smiles and pads his way over to the fridge, takes out the orange juice and downs a few long swallows straight from the carton.
What Giles can’t see won’t give him a coronary.
Xander considers taking out a glass and putting it in the sink just to keep up appearances, but if the things they did in bed last night didn’t send Giles to the emergency room, Xander figures the man’s heart (like the rest of him) is in damn good shape.
Xander puts the carton back in the fridge and rubs at the front of his sweatpants. He’s got sex on the brain this morning. If Giles didn’t have a lunch meeting already, he has one now.
It’s a good day.
Back upstairs to shower and dress. Jeans, tee shirt, sweater. Sneakers. Socks and closed-toe shoes still feel strange on his feet. Back downstairs to the list.
It’s a good day.
He’s got two hours before anything that’ll pass for lunchtime. There’s coffee in the pot, but he flips the warmer off. There’s coffee and pastries down the street. He picks up the list and starts skimming as he grabs his jacket from the hook. Garlic, tomatoes (3), green peppers (4), scallions.
He stuffs his wallet into his back pocket. Shirts. He doesn’t see any dirty ones around, so that must mean pickup.
He scoops the keys off the table in the foyer, slipping his finger through the keyring and spinning them around. Birthday present for Buffy.
He catches the keys and freezes, his fingers of his other hand wrapped around the doorknob.
The teeth of the keys dig into his palm. He takes a deep breath.
And another.
He turns around and runs up the stairs, grabs the eye patch off the dresser and fits it over his fake eye without looking in the mirror. Pulls the hair out from under the elastic band and runs downstairs again, through the foyer and out the front door.
Continues here...
I believe this sequel can be read without reading the original, but of course you're always welcome to check it out if you haven't already.
Mature rating. No warnings. Thanks to reremouse, cordelianne, katekat1010, the community moderator, and snowdrifted, who created the icons I'll be using for her day at the community.
Xander rolls out of bed and looks for his sweatpants. They should be on the floor, but of course they’re in the hamper. Xander can picture the hands that put them there.
The same hands that scrawled the list that’s sitting on the kitchen counter downstairs. Giles’ scrawl is far too legible as far as Xander’s concerned, but then he has reason to appreciate the precision of those hands in other areas so he’s not complaining. He smiles and pads his way over to the fridge, takes out the orange juice and downs a few long swallows straight from the carton.
What Giles can’t see won’t give him a coronary.
Xander considers taking out a glass and putting it in the sink just to keep up appearances, but if the things they did in bed last night didn’t send Giles to the emergency room, Xander figures the man’s heart (like the rest of him) is in damn good shape.
Xander puts the carton back in the fridge and rubs at the front of his sweatpants. He’s got sex on the brain this morning. If Giles didn’t have a lunch meeting already, he has one now.
It’s a good day.
Back upstairs to shower and dress. Jeans, tee shirt, sweater. Sneakers. Socks and closed-toe shoes still feel strange on his feet. Back downstairs to the list.
It’s a good day.
He’s got two hours before anything that’ll pass for lunchtime. There’s coffee in the pot, but he flips the warmer off. There’s coffee and pastries down the street. He picks up the list and starts skimming as he grabs his jacket from the hook. Garlic, tomatoes (3), green peppers (4), scallions.
He stuffs his wallet into his back pocket. Shirts. He doesn’t see any dirty ones around, so that must mean pickup.
He scoops the keys off the table in the foyer, slipping his finger through the keyring and spinning them around. Birthday present for Buffy.
He catches the keys and freezes, his fingers of his other hand wrapped around the doorknob.
The teeth of the keys dig into his palm. He takes a deep breath.
And another.
He turns around and runs up the stairs, grabs the eye patch off the dresser and fits it over his fake eye without looking in the mirror. Pulls the hair out from under the elastic band and runs downstairs again, through the foyer and out the front door.
Continues here...