Wins the Race
This wasn’t exactly turning out the way Percy had expected.
Wooing Xander Harris was a lot of work, far more than any previous expended effort chasing down those in his stereotypical black book. For one thing, Xander was adamant about keeping private whatever it was they had which, as far as Percy was concerned, was moving slower than a glacier. He didn’t resent Xander’s choice, as Percy certainly wasn’t eager to confront either Summers or Rosenberg over the fact he wanted to screw their best friend into the mattress – or any other horizontal or vertical surface, for that matter. It was just that he was used to getting laid on a regular basis by whomever he wanted, but Xander was having none of it. It was frustrating and exhilarating all at once.
It was worth it, though.
One Xander Harris smile, slipped to him in secret while in the hall, could fuel him for several hours. Who knew the kid was so adorable? There was this innocence which hung about him, one which Percy was loath to defile.
In many ways, Xander seemed both so much younger and older than him. There was a naïveté buoyed by a world weariness which was endlessly intriguing. The more time he spent with Xander, which was regrettably not nearly enough, the more he came to like him as a person, not just a piece of meat.
Of course, that didn’t mean his interest in Xander’s meat had flagged. If anything, he wanted it more now than ever. But he was also willing to take it slow, let things develop. Almost as if they were in a relationship.
Which they weren’t, of course. No way.