AN: Don't own The OC or BTVS (or Charmed, since I do mention it).
Another big thank you for everyone clicking on the story. Almost at a thousand hits :)
I've already started writing the third story in the series, so expect more. I'm trying to get my head into writing Seth. Ugh, why do these characters have to babble? I have enough trouble as it is with Xander's dialogue. Monday morning
Ryan had experienced different kinds of morning afters, but this one was unique. He was sore in all the right places, and some wrong places too. He had bruises all over and his knuckles were swollen and red.
But as he stood in Xander’s kitchen, both of them only in their underwear, he felt more peaceful and relaxed than he had in years. The tension that came from never getting to express his love for Seth had eased. The love, without a doubt, was still there. He could feel it, burning in his heart still. It was easier now, though, and didn’t feel like such a burden.
He thought about Xander’s vaguely disgusting visage, since he still hadn’t put his eye patch back on, and felt a brief stirring of some unnamable emotion. It wasn’t like anything he had ever felt before. Whatever it was, he was grateful for the peace Xander had given him. He was even more grateful that Xander didn’t seem to have any problems he wanted Ryan to solve.
“I’m going to take a shower, then I should probably get going. Don’t want to be late for work,” Ryan smiled briefly before heading towards Xander’s shower.
Xander watched him go. He saw the ease in Ryan’s movements and smiled. This all finally made sense to Xander. He hadn’t been sure why someone as hot as Ryan would be sleeping with him, but this he could understand. Yesterday had been an incredible experience and Xander was sure he had given something to Ryan no one else had. What, exactly, that was, he couldn’t say and didn’t want to think too much about. Not thinking was easy for Xander.
Thinking meant remembering his friends who, quite reasonably, had pushed him out of slaying but wouldn’t completely let him go. It also meant remembering the people he had loved and who had died. It was remembering that he used to matter, but now made little difference. He looked down with one eye at his misshapen foot and didn’t think about anything. Except the sharp pain of Ryan’s fist and the exact shade of blue of his eyes as pushed into Xander.