Author: Kay Tee
Feedback: 'Course, much appreciated, send to maybeshedoes@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17, think this is my first blow-job. Mama would be so proud.
Spoilers: Tomorrow and Grave, takes place *right now*. Today. Wednesday, July 31, 2002.
Improv: Ryan Adams Song Title Challenge
Pairing: Angel/Xander
Summary: Not a good night to be Xander or Angel.
Distribution: Take it, but tell me where so I can visit.
Disclaimer: In my dreams I'm Joss, but during the day I have to face the cold hard truth-- I'm a hack who steals characters. But I'm not giving them back! Or I am, just don't sue me, all I have are speeding tickets and student loans.
Author's Note: Thanks to Rubywisp for the insta-beta, you are wonderful and I send virtual Lindseys and Xanders to kiss your feet.
Some days it's just too much. Too alive and too dead and God, Xander wants to escape, feels the day rolling over him, preparing to crush, and like a deer in the headlights, like an idiot or a suicide or a (zeppo), he just stands there, lets it all crash over him and blinks in amazement when he discovers he hasn't been knocked down yet. It happens so often that Xander's ready to give up-- get down on his knees, lie on his back, spread himself thin across the pavement, just beg to finally be destroyed. Finally be done. Finally be free.
Walking to Buffy and Willow's, and it's already one of those days, and then Angel stands up from where he was sitting, brooding, on the front porch. Angel's looking incredibly guilty, so Xander knows he doesn't have to be afraid, and isn't that just great. Something else that won't knock him down to where he needs to be, something else he'll just survive.
"Angel." It's not exactly a greeting, but Xander's had all the goodwill and love sapped out of him these past months and doesn't particularly give a shit about greetings.
"Xander." Also not a greeting, and are they gonna have to play enemies? Because Xander doesn't have the patience for that either, has learned to know better than to hate Angel. Not when there are so many others more deserving of Xander's hate. All those hundreds of faces in the mirror with him every morning. All those Xanders.
"What are you doing here?" Xander tries to get Angel out of his way so he can go inside and help. Though really, he helps nothing at all, just sits there under the guise of 'moral support,' waiting for everything to fall apart again.
"Actually, I came to talk to Buffy..." Angel trails off in embarrassment, but Xander doesn't care.
He sighs. Offers, "Come inside, then."
But Angel won't move, won't even stop blocking the door. "I haven't rung the bell yet. Xander-"
"Look, *I'm* going inside. You can sit out here some more, if you want." He sees Angel hesitate and says, "I won't tell them you're here." Walks dispassionately past Angel and into the house.
***
Xander walks back out a few hours later, bowled over by weariness but still on his feet. Exhausted and dry. He can't come here anymore, can't *do* this, doesn't know why they seem to think he's so strong... their 'rock' -- Dawn's word, not his. Suddenly he's the most necessary part of the group, and all he wants to do is run away until they forget about him completely-- or until he forgets about them.
He almost trips over Angel, still on the front steps.
The vampire is just sitting there, listening to the soft murmurs from inside the house, knowing Buffy can feel his presence. Angel doesn't know why he came back, doesn't know why he thought she could understand him now. He thinks maybe she never knew him, loved a ghost, and now the two people who did know him and who loved him anyway are gone, his son wants him dead, and all Angel wants is to crawl into Buffy's arms and stay forever. He can't go inside.
When Xander bumps into Angel, they both grumble, and then Xander, who apparently has grown up a little bit in the three years since he stopped being a teenager, invites Angel over to his place. Buffy's about to leave on patrol with Dawn, and if Angel doesn't want to be seen, he'd better be gone. Angel accepts the invitation and they head to Xander's apartment complex in separate cars.
After they arrive, there's a lot of drinking, but not a lot of words exchanged in between flavorless American beers. Mostly:
"How you been?"
"Not bad, just escaped from my prison on the bottom of the ocean."
"Yeah? How long were you down there?"
"Couple months."
"Oh."
"How have you been?"
"All right. Willow tried to end the world, but she's better now."
"Yeah? That's good."
"How's Cordy?"
"Oh, she ascended to a higher plane a few months ago."
"Good for her."
And much more drinking.
Angel watches manXander consume alcohol at an alarming rate. Watches Xander disappear into nothingness or air or who-knows-where for minutes at a time before returning for another drink.
Xander's left cheek has three deep scars, going from his hairline to his mouth, and Angel can't stop staring. Finally, Xander notices and explains, "Witch."
Angel nods, doesn't ask, doesn't really care.
But the next time Xander's eyes unfocus, Angel reaches across the kitchen counter, brushes the pads of his fingers across the scars. He can feel how deep they must have been, and also how perfect the incisions were-- quick, hot, thin-- magical. Xander doesn't flinch, his eyes continue staring into space. Angel thinks something may be wrong with the man, but when he pulls away, Xander frowns, asks, "Satisfied?"
Angel shrugs. "Just checking." Takes another long drink of Xander's beer, wishes they would stop drinking, but doesn't know what they'll do without their bottles to hide behind. "Where do you go?" Angel asks at last.
Long blink from Xander. "Go?"
"When you... drift. You look far away. I was just wondering." Conversation. Probably.
Xander drifts a little, pulls himself back. "I'm not going anywhere. Staying right here." Pained look on his face quickly blocked as he finishes off the bottle in his hand. Turns to the well-stocked fridge to get another one.
Angel doesn't know about Xander's pain, can't really understand any pain besides what he has suffered and what he inflicts. Still, it's nice to see someone hurt who isn't him, who isn't somebody he loves. It makes Angel feel magnanimous. He rises unhurriedly, goes to where Xander's standing in front of the fridge, and takes the bottle out of Xander's hand when the man straightens and turns.
Xander practically growls, reaching for the bottle, but Angel holds it behind his back, playing keep-away as he used to when he was a child. First Xander's left arm, then his right chase Angel's hands behind his back. Angel grabs both of Xander's hands, holds them so the two men are trapped in a mock embrace. Xander's pissed, baring his teeth, and Angel smiles, infuriating the human further.
"Angel, what are you doing?" Xander doesn't care if Angel wants to keep the damn beer, there's more in the fridge, but he'd really like his hands back, doesn't want to be this close to Angel.
"Xander." Angel says his name like it's the answer to all questions, the solution to all problems. "Xander." Again. "Xander."
"Why the fuck do you keep saying my name?"
"Xander," is Angel's response. "Xander." And he's said it so many times that the word has become twisted in Xander's mind, meaningless and obscene.
Angel opens his mouth to say it again, his lips parted but his teeth still clenched over the 'zzz.'
It's just a move for self-preservation, which is silly, because Xander doesn't want to be preserved. It's not a kiss, unless you're a vampire, maybe. But Xander's a human being, and when he bites Angel's lip, he means to hurt his guest, suddenly unwelcome-- always unwelcome. But Angel's not hurt at all. Pleasantly surprised maybe, but not hurt. "Xander," he rumbles.
"Fucking stop that!" Xander pulls, struggling, but it seems like Angel's grip just gets stronger. Suddenly Xander realizes that he's squirming up against a body, hard muscles, bones, hard... hardness everywhere, and Xander smirks at that. "Not getting any lately, huh?" He teases.
Just like that, Angel's own smirk falls away, but Xander's triumph is short lived. Angel drops his hands, turning away from the kitchen, but keeping the beer for himself.
All Angel remembers of this man is a bitter child, impotently shaking his fists at life and the world and Angel especially. He really doesn't need to try to help Xander, to give him something to pound those fists against. In fact, Angel feels about ready to leave now, because he can't explain why having Xander wriggling against him is so arousing. He has enough self-control-- or should, anyway-- to not jump the nearest warm body. But there haven't been any warm bodies recently. Just water and water and cold cold fish and darkness and hunger and loss like Angel couldn't believe, could still recall.
He's so gone already-- has been since he went into the water, since he dragged himself out-- he doesn't ever want to touch another human again. Oh, but he will. He always does. He tried to help them at the Hyperion, and they killed him for it-- or thought they did. He ran away, climbed into the streets, tried to never come back out, but Whistler drew him to Sunnydale. Angel ran away again after that-- after Buffy and her blood, dark and beautiful on his hands. He ran away, but Cordelia and Doyle found him and needed him. Angel just wants to escape all this life, all this warm flesh and hunger and desperation. People die years before their bodies give out, and they are so desperate during their short lives, clinging to anything that they touch, everything. It will always remind Angel of his infant son, tiny fists wrapped around whatever they can reach... and that's the wrong thought to be having right now.
Xander, half dead already, watches Angel casually open the beer they had struggled over, grab his coat, and prepare to leave. It's not like Xander's totally alone-- he has Buffy and Dawn and Willow and Willow to watch over all the time. But this needless, desireless company has been so perfect, so necessary, and Xander hadn't even realized. Angel's almost out the door, so Xander just grabs him, fists clutching the vampire's beaten leather jacket, and refuses to let go.
Angel looks down at Xander's hands, quirks his head at them curiously, and then back up at Xander's face, at Xander's eyes, suddenly alive and wanting. And isn't that beautiful, that life that Xander conjured out of nowhere, soul beating out a rhythm in Xander's flesh, visible and wanting, needing, craving...
Angel doesn't know what he's doing here, just tries out his first impulse to see how it goes. He knows Xander's desperate for something, can't guess what, can't guess whether it's anything Angel can give.
So he leans forward and bites Xander's lower lip-- a hard bite, but with blunt teeth that bruise more than they tear. Either way, Xander's good with it; he leans in, kisses the cruel mouth in front of him, and after a long, startled moment, Angel kisses back. Wraps one arm around Xander's waist and holds the man flush up against him. Their tongues flicker and scrape against each other, teeth kneading sore lips, and Xander tries to press his whole self into Angel without ever releasing his hold on the vampire's coat.
Finally, Angel manages to bite Xander hard enough to break the wet flesh on the very inside of the human's lip. Angel doesn't even realize he did it until he finds himself gnawing on the wound, pulling at the few drops of blood he finds. Abruptly, the vampire swings away, leaning into the wall behind him, staring at Xander in horror. "What are you trying to do?" He demands, not at all surprised by the mad laughter that answers him.
"I have no idea," Xander admits when he can control the painful laughter, the tears welling up and over onto his cheeks. "I have no idea." Xander walks into Angel then, melting against the vampire's cool skin, sinking his face into Angel's neck, mouthing the words over and over on the soft skin.
Angel won't fight, won't move. He's needed again, and this human touch is inevitable. So warm, so cruel, so horrifying and glorious and good.
Xander's fingers work the buttons on Angel's shirt, pull harshly at the undershirt until Angel's hands join his and they rip the clothes open so Xander's mouth can crawl over Angel's pale skin, smooth and cool like the fractured insides of the broken porcelain plates Xander used to sweep up after his parents' arguments. Angel doesn't breathe at all, doesn't have to; he's a dead thing, and Xander can't possibly forget that. He also can't possibly miss the way Angel's cock strains against the front of his trousers, and Xander drops to his knees. He licks and bites across the thin path of skin Angel has exposed for him, tongue scrawling nonsense over Angel's belly, bloated after months of starvation were undone in a single binge before the vampire headed to Sunnydale.
Angel reaches under Xander's chin, unbuckling, unfastening, unzipping, and when Xander's head dips down further, when his lips brush coarse hairs, he finds his way clear. Rewards Angel's thoughtfulness with a few long, flat licks to the white cock reaching up to him, begging to be inside Xander's mouth. But not yet. He gets it wet before moving down to the soft sac below, mouthing Angel's balls ungently, forcibly pulling a slow moan from the vampire. And isn't it nice to know that this body has consciousness and life (of some sort)?
Xander finds he can't move any lower, and leans back on his haunches, staring up at Angel in innocent desperation.
Xander's just a human. Just one more human, and Angel has taken so much from so many. He can imagine how Xander will hate him later, but he doesn't care. Xander has hated him before. Angel wraps one large hand around Xander's face, which is child-like with need and awe, his thumb caressing Xander's scars. Xander leans into the touch, nuzzling Angel's hand until Angel draws Xander's head back to his cock and places the man's lips against the delicate skin at the head of his erection.
Xander glances up at Angel, sees the vampire watching him with longing and expectation. He closes his eyes, leans his forehead against Angel's belly so the vampire can't see, and licks harshly at the flesh pressing against his lips. Opens his mouth just enough to suck Angel's erection into him, brushing his teeth over skin as he feeds himself cock.
Angel can see only the dark, bobbing head at his crotch, but he feels one damp hand grasp what Xander can't take in, feels wet tongue thrash against him and hard, punishing suction as Xander tries to mark him, keep him. Angel wants to see this, wants a picture he can have whenever he's alone again, a picture to go with Darla, her modern-day hair a tangled mess on the pillow, neck bared, head thrown back in wanton ecstasy; Buffy, eyes scrunched closed in slight pain, lips parted in slight pleasure; Cordelia, gaze full of love and worship as she helps him peel her dress off her body. When he was evil, he never thought to try and remember these things, never thought he'd see a night when he couldn't have whoever he wanted. But now he is desperate for every memory, and he tilts Xander's head back with his hand still on the human's cheek. Xander tries to resist, but can't get enough leverage to fight Angel without releasing his cock, so Xander moves his head back, and Angel watches his dick slide easily past red, swollen lips. He strokes Xander's hair, fruitlessly trying to sooth him.
The human grips Angel's waist harshly, tries to dig hands into skin stretched over pelvic bone. He lets his fingers curve toward Angel's hole, clenching the vampire through soft, expensive, ruined trousers. Xander's barely moving, just sucking as hard as he can, pushing and pulling the pliant vampire. Angel's cock rides so far out of Xander's mouth that his hot lips barely manage to still grasp the head, then back in until it grazes the man's angry throat muscles.
Angel is silent, lips parted, though no breath passes through them. He watches Xander suck him off, one hand gripping the man's face, thumb wiping at scars now wet with tears, the other hand patting his head. Xander is not silent. He is mumbling something unintelligible; the vibrations flow into Angel's cock, and the vampire watches through slitted eyes as Xander swallows when Angel comes, still silent.
Xander doesn't want to let go, tries to lick Angel's softened cock dry, but the vampire gently pushes him away, re-zippering, refastening, and re-buckling. Mostly unrumpled, Angel turns to go, stops when Xander's hoarse voice pleads, "Don't go. You don't have to go."
And really, where was Angel planning on staying today anyway? With Buffy? So he follows Xander into the clean bedroom, both men stripping down and climbing into bed.
Xander stares at the darkness long after Angel has stopped moving. The vampire is just another kick in the gut, but Xander is still intact, unbroken, and he needs to weep in frustration, needs to sleep, needs to turn over. Because he's got another body in his bed for the first time in months, and that's so good. Granted, it's a cold, dead body, but Xander's in no shape to be picky at the moment. Xander thinks he could curl into Angel and take some meager comfort, but the vampire's so far away. He closes his eyes, concentrates on getting past today, tomorrow, all of the future knock-you-down-days. Concentrates on ending, on nothing, and overness. Concentrates so hard, he knows he'll never sleep, and just when he can't bear it anymore, Angel reaches for him.
Xander almost jumps when Angel's hand-- which had held his face so gently, so cruelly only an hour ago-- sneaks over Xander's thigh to rub insistently along Xander's soft dick. "Angel? What-"
"Shh," the vampire chides. So Xander lies still and quiet while Angel coaxes his penis into hardness. Angel's fist is brutal and patient and kind and demanding and Xander finds himself arching, gasping while Angel jerks him off. Angel lying on his stomach, head turned, gameface on so he can watch Xander in the dark.
Eyes tightly shut, mouth open in a scream that never comes, Xander lets Angel pump him, dry hand against damp human flesh, and everything pushing pulling pressing until, with nothing more than a whimper, Xander finds his orgasm.
Empty, hollow, still, he turns to Angel, but can only see two glowing eyes in the dark. "Thanks," Xander whispers. Angel nods, though Xander can't see it. The human waits for a reply until Angel rolls onto his back, closing his eyes, and Xander doesn't even have that indiglo proof of Angel's presence. Xander sighs, alone, but relieved by the emptiness he feels, not quite knocked down, but certainly off his feet, and this is the lowest he's ever been. Satisfied, he wraps himself around the vampire, uncaring of whether or not his body is welcome.
And that's a bit of a surprise. Angel had been able to feel Xander's frustration and humiliation, so he'd done the only thing he could think of to relieve the other man a little bit. But when Xander relaxed, settled and satiated, into the bed, Angel thought that was the end of the night. And then Xander had casually sprawled over Angel, wrapping his arms around the vampire and snuggling into his chest. Unconsciously, Angel strokes Xander's hair. All this humanity on top of him is uncomfortably nice-- awkward and frightening as hell, but maybe better than anything Angel could have tried to get for himself. Maybe scarier than anything Angel might have wanted when he headed for Sunnydale tonight. The vampire takes one calming breath, finds himself surprisingly at peace already, and goes to sleep.