*****
Now let your mind do the walking
And let my body do the talking
Let me show you the world in my eyes
-- World in my Eyes, Depeche Mode
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. His heartbeat thunders in my ears but it's slowing now and his breathing is no longer the ragged gasping from a few minutes ago. His eyes are closed and every few minutes he trembles, his brow wrinkling as he screws his eyes shut tighter. I watch him carefully, resisting the urge to brush the hair back from his forehead as it falls over his eyes. He seems so frightened lying there, as though some kind of horrible movie is playing itself out behind his eyelids and he's helpless to do anything but watch it.
After a few minutes he calms and lies still, his eyes still closed. I stare down at him, trying to replace the image that's burned into the fabric of my mind with something more pleasant. But the picture stubbornly refuses to give way and all I can see is her looming over him, her hands wrapped tightly around his throat as he struggles under her. I can feel once again the anger and brief flash of fear and then the bat is swinging and I can hear it hit her head with a sickening thump.
My gaze flicks to the corner where she lays unconscious as the scene in my mind stops playing. I know that we should get moving, that I should get her back to the mansion where Buffy is going to meet us. But I can't manage to pull myself away from him as he sleeps almost peacefully on the bed beside me. I wonder for a moment how long it will take her to wake up and what she'll do when she sees that her arms are chained but then my attention is drawn back to him as he whimpers softly.
When I look back to him, his eyelids are beginning to flutter open and I stare at those eyelashes, transfixed by the shadows they cast over his pale cheeks in the dim light of the dingy motel room. He stares at me a moment and then realization lights in his eyes and he says something, his voice a raspy croak that I can't quite understand. He clears his throat, a painful expression passing over his features, and then tries again. "Angel," he manages this time.
"Xander," I say gently and I realize suddenly that I've never heard my voice sound so gentle with him before.
He looks at me with a strange expression on his face and I know he senses something strange going on as well. But he makes no comment about it, simply shaking his head and sitting up to look around the room. "Where's Faith?" he asks. His voice holds just a bit of fear and perhaps a little regret.
I motion to the corner where she lies unconscious, half propped against the wall. His eyes widen as he takes in the scene. He stares at her for a moment and then his gaze meets mine again. I can see horror shining in his eyes; he doesn't want it to be this way. "She was trying to kill you," I explain, trying to make it all make sense to him as well as to myself. I don't go around hitting young women on the head with baseball bats. And yet, here I am and that's exactly what I did just a few minutes ago.
//But she was trying to kill him.//
//But why should that matter?//
//You know why that matters.//
//I love Buffy.//
And there's no answer to that argument. Because I *do* love Buffy. And I'm only here now because she asked me to help her. And never mind that moment of blind panic at seeing him struggling for his life. It's sympathy and nothing more.
I wonder how long I can keep telling myself that before I stop believing it. It's almost as though there are two parts of my mind, the part that refuses to believe that the demon is part of us and the part that *knows* we are forever intertwined. And the part that understands Angelus keeps reminding me that once Xander was much more than just another friend of Buffy's.
If Buffy is my addiction, my drug of choice, then Xander was Angelus'. Xander was a fly, a pest, a temporary obstacle on Angelus' path to Buffy at first. But then he saw something in Xander that I don't think anyone else has ever seen, a spark that intrigued him. He saw that the boy who seemed to practically be Buffy's shadow was braver than most people his age. He saw that Xander would rather die than let him hurt Buffy. This loyalty, this goodness of spirit, entranced Angelus. There was no greater joy for Angelus than could be found in crushing a noble spirit. It was better than great sex for him. And if he could get some great sex on the way, all the better.
So after this discovery, Angelus' mind was constantly occupied with thoughts of how he could break Xander. He still terrorized Buffy whenever he had the chance, but his thoughts were on Xander. And then he came up with the great idea of destroying the world. I still haven't quite understood how he planned to save Xander from the destruction, but he was certain that he would. And then, of course, Buffy crashed the party and then Angelus was gone and I was back and she was sending me to Hell.
I can still feel Angelus' thoughts in my mind, though, and that old obsession with Xander just sits there way in the back of my mind. So perhaps that's why I felt the strange surge of fear when I saw Faith with her hands wrapped around his throat.
Xander nods at me and I realize suddenly that I've been lost in thought while he stared at me with those wide brown eyes. "Thanks," he says quietly.
"Buffy asked me to help her with Faith," I answer and immediately regret it when I see the crestfallen expression on his face. "When I saw her hurting you, I had to do something." That's true and I don't have to tell him how sure I was that I was too late and what that did to me, not unless he *really* needs to hear it.
But apparently he doesn't because the look is gone from his face now and he nods slightly. "Anyway, thanks," he says. "I don't really know what to say. I mean, I'm used to Buffy being the one to save my life," he continues with a wry note in his voice. "She's so used to it by now that I don't really have to say anything."
"Xander," I begin but then I stop, unsure of exactly what I want to say, just knowing that I don't like the tone of his voice.
"Yes?" he asks, one eyebrow raised slightly as he regards me. "Wait, no let me guess. I'm not completely useless. I do more for the group than get in the way and make them save me. I'm a valuable member of our little society. Because I get donuts. Cordelia was right," he says with a shake of his head. "They don't need me."
"We need you, Xander," I answer quickly.
//You mean *they* need him.//
//Right. They need him. It's too late to take it back now, though.//
Because now Xander's already heard it. And he's looking at me with this confused expression on his face, as though he's not quite sure what to make of me. But once again he makes no comment and stares past me at Faith, who still lies unconscious hunched against the wall. After a few minutes he shakes his head, seeming to come back to himself, and says in a hollow voice, "Nobody needs me." He's still staring at Faith with this regretful expression on his face that tugs at my heart. Nobody should look the way he does now.
"Xander," I say softly. "People need you." And against my better judgment, I reach out to brush the hair away from his forehead. I'm not sure why I'm doing it; it just seems like he really needs a connection to someone right now. The tips of my fingers barely brush his forehead and his eyes widen slightly as he feels the coolness of them. His skin feels like it's on fire beneath my fingertips and for a brief moment I feel as though I'll melt in the heat. But then it passes and he's staring at me again.
"Why did you do that?" he whispers, still staring at me with those wide brown eyes.
"I'm sorry," I answer quickly, turning slightly away from him.
//What in the hell are you doing?//
//I don't know.//
//You love Buffy, remember?//
//Right. I love Buffy. But god, he's beautiful.//
"No, don't be," Xander says with a shake of his head. "I just. I don't know why you did it."
"Neither do I," I admit and then an uneasy silence settles between us. We just lie here staring at each other and then suddenly I'm doing something I never expected to do. I'm leaning towards Xander and I'm pressing my lips to his forehead and then pulling back and moving down to cover his mouth with my own as he gasps in shock.
I slip my tongue between his parted lips and stroke it against his gently. His eyes flutter closed and he moans low in his throat. His arms reach out and I'm sure that he's going to push me away. Something deep inside me rebels against that idea and I move my hands to the back of his head, holding him there. But then he's hooking an arm around me and pulling me *closer*. This heady rush hits me as I lift up off the bed enough for him to slip the other arm around to my back.
We kiss until he pulls away to pull in a shaky breath and I move down to place a trail of kisses down his neck and along his collarbone, trying to soothe the painful looking bruises on his neck. Each time my mouth comes in contact with his skin, he moans softly. His hands are roaming over my back and then he's tugging at the hem of my shirt, pulling it up so he can slip his hands under it to touch my bare skin. "Cold," he murmurs as his hands continue to stroke up and down my back.
Pulling away from him, I tug my shirt over my head impatiently then fasten my mouth once again to his neck, darting my tongue out to taste the salt of his skin. It's a taste I haven't experienced in a long time, not since *he* was in control. The thought of Angelus stirs some memories in the back of my mind and I can't stop a feeling of pure triumph from seizing me. But then I close down all thoughts and move on instinct, feeling desire coil inside me.
I pull away again to unbutton Xander's flannel shirt, tugging it off him then pulling off his gray tee-shirt as well. Then I'm tasting his skin again, trailing cool kisses down his chest. I pause on my path to flick my tongue against his right nipple and he moans again. God, but that's a beautiful sound. And then I continue on my way, kissing and licking a path down his stomach, pausing again to flick my tongue into his navel. He shivers this time as his hands move to my hair and I smile, a full-out grin unlike any I've had in a long long time.
I stop when I reach the waistband of his pants, contemplating a moment. This is it, the point of no return. If I stop this now, I'll never have another chance. And if I don't, I know neither of us will stop ourselves before it's finished. Moving my gaze to Xander's face, I can see that his eyes are already glazed with lust. And god, I want him.
So I fumble with the button for a moment until it's undone and then pull down the zipper. Hooking my thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, I pull down his underwear and pants in one motion, tossing them onto the floor beside the bed. His erection is standing at attention and a feeling of triumph once again washes over me. I blow on the tip of his cock and smile as he shivers. Then I trail my tongue in lazy circles around the tip.
His hands are curled up into fists, clutching the top sheet now. I start to pull away to check on him, but one of his hands lets go of the sheet and is suddenly tangled in my hair. "No. Please Angel," he says in a tight voice. Glancing up, I see that his face is drawn with emotion. Whatever is going on in that head, however, I don't know about. But his message seemed clear enough so I turn my attention back to his cock.
Xander settles back slightly but keeps one hand in my hair as I begin to lick and suck my way along his cock. He moans and whimpers, every once in a while bucking into my mouth. "Sorry," he mumbles after the third time in between short, panting breaths. I say nothing in response, just holding his hips down with my hands as I slip his cock all the way into my mouth and begin sucking in earnest. Moving one hand from his hip to his balls, I finger them lightly and hum around his cock. A few seconds later, Xander stiffens and comes, my name pulled from him in a long, drawn-out yell as he does so.
I swallow the semen quickly and lick his softening cock, cleaning away the evidence of his orgasm. Finally, I pull away and scoot back up the bed. Lying once again on my side, I pull Xander towards me and kiss him. I slip my tongue into his mouth, letting him taste himself, and hold him tightly against me. He has this dazed look in his eyes that's accompanied by a half-smile when I loosen my grip and pull back slightly. "Nice," he whispers, drawing out the word. He shifts to rest his head against my shoulder and his thigh brushes against my cock, which is now straining against the confines of my pants.
His eyes widen slightly and he stares at me for a moment before kissing me gently on the lips and slipping down my body. He doesn't bother with any kind of teasing, just quickly unbuttoning and unzipping my pants and slipping them and my boxers off. He tosses them towards the pile of his clothes and then his warm mouth is around my cock and I gasp, clenching the sheet in my fists to avoid holding his head to my erection. He moves his mouth along my cock until he gags and pulls back, coughing.
"Not so far," I explain. "Just stop when it feels comfortable."
Nodding, he moves his mouth to my erection again, moving his lips along the length of it. He stops sooner this time and begins sucking and licking. He's inexperienced but what he lacks in technique, he makes up in this amazing willingness to pleasure me. And it helps that I've been hard for nearly half an hour and that his mouth is *so* warm and tight. So after just a few minutes, I can feel the tension building towards the breaking point.
//Oh god, what am I doing?//
The thought thunders in my mind as I feel the tightly coiled tension inside me prepare to snap. "Xander," I gasp, straining to stop myself from thrusting into his mouth. "Going. to. come." He lifts his gaze to me questioningly and then realizes what I mean, pulling away seconds before I come, splashing my cold seed onto my stomach and the bed.
//Ohgodohgodohgodohgod, what did I just do?//
//You had sex with Xander.//
//No. Oh god. I didn't. Buffy.//
//This has nothing to do with Buffy. Besides, your soul is still happily housed in your body. There's no reason she ever has to know.//
Xander leans over the side of the bed and grabs his tee-shirt. Returning to lie beside me, he wipes off my stomach then curls up next to me, resting his head on my chest. "Angel?" he asks, his voice quiet.
"Hmmmm?"
"Thank you." He wraps an arm tightly around my chest and sighs then, his breath eventually evening out.
I stare up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of his soft breathing and wondering how I let myself do this. I am supposed to be in control of myself. I don't just sleep with people I don't love. And I don't love Xander; I love Buffy. But as Xander stirs in his sleep, I feel my arms tighten around him protectively. Closing my eyes, I sigh. I don't even know what I feel any more.
Suddenly the phone rings, splitting the silence abruptly. "Hello?" I say into the receiver when I lift it to my ear. "Buffy, hi. Yeah, I got her. I'm just leaving now. We'll be back at the mansion in a few minutes. Yeah, I'll see you soon. I love you too. Bye."
Glancing at Xander, I hang up the phone and then lean over to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. "I'm sorry," I whisper quietly and then rise from the bed to quickly throw on my clothes. Once dressed, I pick up Faith's unconscious body and head for the door of the motel room, leaving Xander behind.
~end~