Title: Best. Christmas. Ever.
Author: Mireille (mireille719)
Fandom: Buffyverse
Pairing: Giles/Wesley/Xander
Rating: FRAO
Summary: Best. Christmas. Ever.
Word Count: 2,000
Spoilers: This universe went AU some time just before S5/S2, and has stayed that way to some degree. This piece is set during the middle of S6/S3.
Disclaimer: Still not Joss.
Feedback/Concrit: Both welcome, either here or at mireille719 {at} gmail {dot} com
Notes: Merry Christmas. And for those of you who don't celebrate--uh, there's porn and minimal holiday content, so you might like it anyway? This is a sequel (in a pointless-holiday-ficlet way) to Best. Game. Ever. and Once Is an Accident.


Best. Christmas. Ever.

"Ground rules," Xander said, dumping his suitcase on the nearest bed. "One, no guilt about being away." He looked mostly at Wes, there; he and Rupert were going to have to talk about "away" and how long it was going to last, but at least they were back in the same country now. "It's only a week, and people know how to reach us. They know not to call unless it's an emergency. They will call us if it's an emergency, and don't argue with me. Even if Angel or Buffy wouldn't call, Cordelia and Dawn will." He wasn't completely sure if he was reminding them, or himself. Either way, he was leaving his cell phone turned on, just in case.

He waited, and when there was no argument, he went on. "Two, don't even try to get me to go skiing, understood?"

Wes smiled at him. He'd already opened his suitcase and was starting to unpack. "A ski resort seems like an odd holiday destination if you don't intend to ski," he said.

"Snow, Wesley," Xander said. "We have snow, and a fireplace, and a hot tub in the room." And a credit card bill he was going to be paying off from now until next Christmas, but that was okay. They needed this. "And if either of you think you're going skiing, think again. I might let you leave here long enough to get food, but only because you need to keep your strength up." Okay, total exaggeration. Mostly. Xander didn't miss sex, as such--well. Not that much--he missed touching. Rupert had gone back to England for a little while earlier that autumn, and then, once he was finally home again, he'd come up with this crazy idea that Buffy would be better off without him there.

At least that had only meant that he'd gone to Los Angeles to stay with Wesley for a while. Xander could get to L.A. on the weekends some of the time. England, on the other hand, wasn't on the freeway. But he'd gotten spoiled when they were both in Sunnydale, and Xander had developed a lot of sympathy for what Wesley had gone through last year. It sucked to be the long-distance boyfriend.

"Promises, promises," Rupert said, grinning at Wesley. There hadn't been enough smiling lately, not from any of them; maybe this vacation was a good idea.

"What? I'm twenty-one years old. If I were you, I'd be worried about keeping up with me." Xander grinned back at both of them, kicking off his shoes and flopping down on the bed. "And that was totally a subtle hint that you should both get over here."

"I'd hate to see you when you were being blatantly obvious," Wesley said, but he was beginning to unbutton his shirt, so Xander didn't really see why he ought to change his strategy. It'd been working for more than a year now.

"Get over here," Xander repeated. "Both of you."

Wesley left his shirt on, hanging open to expose the white undershirt beneath it, and stretched out on the bed next to Xander. "Are you quite certain? If you want to take some time to enjoy the snow and the fireplace--"

Xander rolled over onto his side, grabbing Wesley's shirt and hauling him in for a kiss, and God, he had to get to L.A. more often, because he was starving for this. He licked his way into Wesley's mouth, coaxing out the needy sounds that were just that much hotter because he knew how hard Wesley struggled not to make them. Xander liked being able to make Wes let go; he didn't do it enough for his own good, but every little bit helped.

It wasn't until they pulled apart, flushed and breathless, that Xander realized Rupert had come over to stand beside the bed, his fingers working on the buttons to Xander's jeans. Button-fly jeans were a pain in the ass, really, but the frustration factor had been entertaining in the past; over Thanksgiving, Wesley had yanked at them so hard that Xander had never even found where one of the buttons had gone. It was there, somewhere, hiding under his bed, but he'd abandoned it to the dust-bunnies.

"You're a very demanding young man," Rupert said, and Xander bit his lip to keep from asking if that meant he was going to get spanked. Sounding too eager for it was never a good idea.

Besides, it looked like Rupert had something else in mind; he nudged Xander until he was on his back, then started working Xander's jeans down. Xander arched his back, lifting his hips off the bed until the jeans were down past mid-thigh. He wasn't wearing anything underneath; it had just seemed like a big waste of laundry since no one out of this room would have known he was wearing them, and everyone in the room would have wanted him to take them off.

"Get his shirt off for me, please, Wesley?" Oh. They were both up to something. Well, merry Christmas to him, then, Xander thought, helping Wesley to get his sweater off.

Then Xander felt the bed shift as Wes moved up closer to the headboard, and Rupert said, "I believe it would be good for you to learn some patience."

"What? I'm patient. I'm totally patient." He'd been patiently waiting for Rupert to get his head out of his ass--oh, sorry, his arse--where Buffy was concerned, hadn't he? ...and okay, maybe they really did need to have a serious talk about that one. But not right now. Right now, there was Rupert and Wesley and why the hell was he the only one naked? That wasn't right. It was against some of the fundamental rules of the universe. "I am the king of patience."

"We'll see about that, your Majesty," Rupert said, smirking at him. Rupert was surprisingly good at smug and sarcastic. Well. Not that surprising. It was just surprising that it was as hot as--no, that really wasn't a shock either. "Move back to sit between Wesley's legs."

The place at the back of Xander's brain that urged him to ask how high? whenever Rupert said, "jump," took control of things; it had him in place before Xander could even think it through. He leaned back against Wesley's chest, and Wes reached out and took Xander's hands, his fingers lacing through Xander's. Xander squeezed his fingers, but his attention was on Rupert, who was kneeling on the bed now, nudging Xander's legs apart.

Yeah, okay. He could go with this. He wasn't sure how a blowjob was supposed to teach him patience, but he could go along with it.

Except Rupert wasn't going anywhere near Xander's cock. He pulled off Xander's socks, then ran his hands over Xander's feet, rubbing the arches with his thumbs. Xander groaned, relaxing against Wesley. Then those hands moved up Xander's ankles and to his calves, still massaging and stroking the skin, and Rupert lowered his head, kissing his way up the inside of Xander's right leg. Not exactly what Xander would have expected from a lesson in patience, but again, he could go with this. Especially since there was a knot in his right calf, the leftover from a charley horse last night, and Rupert's fingers were diligently working it out.

"This is what I keep you around for," Xander sighed, and Rupert laughed, the vibrations tickling their way up Xander's leg. Well, this and the promise that Rupert's lips were still making as they skimmed up his calf, paused at his inner thigh to lick and bite and suck. Xander squirmed a little, hoping to draw Rupert's attention to his growing erection, but instead, Rupert began working his way back down Xander's leg, on the outside this time.

Xander's cock was definitely taking an interest in things, even if Rupert wasn't taking an interest in it; he reached Xander's ankle again after what felt like a lifetime, and then moved on to his left leg.

He wanted to reach for Rupert, to pass on at least a little of his growing frustration, but Wesley kept a tight grip on his hands, and Xander suddenly realized what Wesley's part was in all of this. "You planned this, didn't you," he said, not quite accusing.

"Not precisely," Wes said, which Xander knew meant yes. "We had discussed doing this to you, though." He didn't sound at all apologetic, even for keeping Xander's hands more or less immobile.

Bastard, Xander thought cheerfully. Wes and Rupert plotting things to do to him was always a good thing.

Even if it was starting to seem less like a good thing, right now, as Rupert was taking forever to get around to doing anything. This time, when he reached Xander's upper thigh, he followed a line defining Xander's hip, and then moved to Xander's stomach.

Forever. This was going to take forever, and Xander's cock was aching already, thick and heavy with need. He'd spent the whole drive up here thinking about this, about having them both to himself again, with an oversized bed and a whole week to take their time with, and now Rupert was making him wait. Damn him.

And now Wesley was getting into the act, his lips brushing against Xander's neck, then teeth nipping lightly at Xander's ear. "You're going to kill me," Xander wailed, and then, as if to prove his point, Rupert licked a slow, deliberate stripe along the length of Xander's cock. "Fuck," he gasped. "Keep doing that. God."

"What sort of a lesson would that be?" Rupert asked, nuzzling at Xander's thigh again.

Xander lost track of time after that. Everything seemed to melt into Rupert's hands on his skin and Rupert's mouth on him everywhere, everywhere but where Xander needed it most, and the occasional flick of a tongue against his cock; into Wesley's mouth on his neck and breath in his ear, the tight grip of Wesley's hands on his own, holding him still even when he wanted so desperately to touch himself.

He wasn't sure when he started begging, only that his cock was nearly flat against his stomach, hard and leaking, and he was beginning to think that if he didn't get to touch soon, he was going to lose his mind. "Please," he said; it sounded almost like a sob. "Oh, please, God, Rupert, let me--I need to come, please."

"Patience," Rupert said, but then his mouth finally, finally, closed over Xander's cock, swallowing him deep. Xander gripped Wesley's hands desperately as Rupert began to suck, and then Xander was arching off the bed again, Rupert's hands gripping his hips, trying to still him as he came, hard, into that wet heat.

For a second, Xander thought it wasn't going to stop, ever, but finally, he slumped back against Wesley, his eyes closing of their own volition.

"Yes," Wesley murmured, "I see your point about your stamina."

Words took way too much effort; Xander nudged Wesley's shoulder with his forehead, instead. "Two against one," he mumbled. "Not fair."

He could go to sleep right here, he thought, with Wesley's arms sliding around his waist and Rupert's hand tracing the lines of Xander's hip. Except that there was something important he had to do first. Now what was it?

Oh, yeah. The rules. "Ground rule three," he said, his face half-hidden in the pillow, "is, no baby pictures of Angel's kid. It's just too freaky."

Wesley chuckled at that, but Xander was pretty sure there was a whole wallet full of pictures in Wesley's pants. And he'd probably care about that, except that Rupert was shedding his clothes now, lying down again and wrapping himself around Xander.

He could definitely go to sleep right here. After all, they had this suite until the second.

Best. Christmas. Ever.