Warning: Alcohol used as a coping method, mentions of canon character deaths, rated NC-17™© for adult activities.
Categories: Ship, Het, Angst, PWP, Romance, Episode Tag
Characters: Buffy Summers (primary), Xander Harris
Summary: Post-Chosen, Buffy feels numb.
A/N: Written for the Porn Battle. The prompt: Buffy/Xander, cute. If you haven't seen the seventh season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, then why are you reading this fic? Get over to amazon and make with the unboxing, stat!
Disclaimer: The Buffyverse, where vampire slayers stand against the forces of darkness, belongs to the great and powerful Joss.
It's wrong. She knows it's wrong, but Spike's dead -- well, deader, actually, dust, gone, really dead -- and Anya's dead too, and she doesn't even know the names of some of the dead girls, and she'd rather blame the numbness on something other than her own cold apathy, something other than that slayer part of her that got the job done, and is glad, even if it cost lives. She feels hard. And Buffy doesn't want to feel hard. Total assets -- that's what she'd called her emotions once.
Another tiny bottle from the honor bar, and she hopes that Kennedy's family really has money, because this is going to be one heck of a hotel bill.
"Buffy?" Xander's there, looking down at her. This fight cost him so much, but he's still standing there caring, asking if she's okay. Xander's not numb. He's been mourning Anya, and he probably knows the names of the dead girls. Probably cares, too. Xander's a caring-about-people person, not cold like a slayer.
She giggles. That's wrong too. People are dead and giggling is not okay.
Xander slides down beside her, on the floor beside the bed. "So we've made friends with the honor bar?"
"Good friends." Buffy pats the little mini fridge. It's kind of cute. Little things are cute. Cold hard soldier-people don't notice when things are cute, so maybe she's still okay after all.
Her bottle is empty. Time for another.
"Buffy." Xander's hands land on her shoulders, holding her back from the fridge. Warm hands. Strong hands. Gentle hands.
Hands are good. Hands rubbing her shoulders are really good. Hands taking away the knots, the tension, the cold, the numbness.
She remembers Spike telling her that she didn't love him, not really, and she feels a lump rise in her throat, because she should have, and now she never can. Or if she does, what will it matter, now that he's dust. You should love people when they're still alive. Like maybe when they're alive and rubbing your shoulders. That would be a good time to love them.
She turns with slayer reflexes to implement that plan, pinning Xander against the side of the bed as she straddles his legs. She's not sure if her plan had been this; it might have been just a tackle-hug, but now she's staring into his face, his hot breath feathering against her jaw as he gasps, his thigh tensing beneath her, and she's not numb at all.
"Oh God." Her words or his, she doesn't know, but she's moving with purpose over that tense thigh, and pressing her tongue into Xander's mouth.
Xander's mouth is warm. Hot even, and Buffy explores it with demanding purpose. She's used to cold kisses. A side effect of dating vampires. But Xander's mouth is hot, exotic, and yielding beneath her assault.
Her fingers find his shirt, fumbling to reach the hot skin beneath, to warm the cold from her hands and drive away the numb.
"Buffy, you're drunk."
"Good." She kisses him again, hard and deep, and her fingers seek more skin, but the angle is wrong. If they move, if they stop to think, this will end, so she works with what she has, leaving his clothes alone, and pressing herself against him.
He groans into her mouth, and his hands find her waist.
She clutches his shoulders and falls backward, pulling him with her, wrapping her legs around his waist, and flipping him onto his back, all in one practiced slayer move that leaves Xander gasping, and Buffy grinning. She bends to kiss him again, softer this time, and shuffles backwards.
His eyes roll back in his head and he makes an incoherent sound. Time to lose the clothes, or at least get certain important bits of them out of her way. Time to feel warm hands against her skin, and answer that aching need.
She moves slowly, closing her eyes to focus on the slow slide, then opening them to watch his face contort. Never in a million years had she thought she'd ever see Xander's sex-face. The thought makes her laugh, and she shifts her hips just to watch what it does to his face, then does it again because of what it probably does to her own.
It feels good, damned fantastic in fact, and sends her over the edge. She laughs as they lay catching their breath, and that's fantastic too. And so is knowing that even if this totally screws up their friendship, they both care enough to fix it.
For the first time in forever, Buffy feels warm.
This transformative work constitutes a fair use of any copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law. Buffy the Vampire Slayer™©, Angel™© the Series and related properties exist as Registered Trademarks of Mutant Enemy. No copyright infringement intended. No profits made here. © Spiletta42, January 2008.