Who's Sexy
Tuesday, August 29, 2000
Xander woke up late the following day, which wasn't too unusual. He'd become
a night-owl more out of necessity than by choice, but the donuts were just as
fresh as a before bedtime snack as they had been as breakfast at five o'clock
a.m. Stripping was, by and large, a nighttime occupation, and his eyes hurt far
less once the sun had set. Even Spike, despite his glee at being able to go
outside during the day, preferred the night. Then again, Spike had that whole
sexy bad boy thing going for him that didn't have as great of an oomph when
standing in the sunshine.
Not that Xander thought Spike was sexy. Lucy Liu was sexy. Ben Kingsley was
sexy. Dick Grayson was sexy. He was also a comic book character, but that didn't
change Xander's opinion.
The Not Sexy Vampire was MIA from camp when Xander woke up. Which meant he'd
gotten laid. Again. Damned blond had better luck than a pretty whore whose
services were free.
"And you're as bitter as a hunk of unsweetened chocolate this afternoon,"
Xander muttered to himself as he stood and stretched. Pop, pop, creak, crack.
Sleeping on the ground was such fun.
Sunglasses found and put on, Xander headed away from camp to take care of
business. It still freaked him out every time he saw himself pissing black. In
Xander's eyes, the absence of any light meant death (or a very recently cleaned
inanimate object). The complete opposite was the blinding whiteness of his jism.
It hit the tree he was standing in front of with a splat, and he stared at the
bright wet spot for a moment before shaking his head. Jagging off while leaning
against a tree was high on the "Xander Is A Pathetic Loser" list. Right up there
with claiming Spike as a friend.
"Damn it, get out of my mind," Xander growled, zipping up his pants. For some
reason, he had Spike on the brain -- had ever since he'd seen Spike and Angel
doing the nasty -- and it was beyond annoying. Spike was his Gentleman's
Gentleman and that was it. Would Dick be obsessing this much over Alfred?
"I think not," Xander stated, stalking back to camp. He stripped of his tee,
wadded it up, and tossed it at his bedroll. The rest of his clothing shortly
followed.
The late summer sun heated his bare skin and he stood still for a couple of
minutes, soaking up the rays. Maybe what he needed to clear his head was a few
days on the beach. He knew of a spot where he could lounge around naked --
strippers could not afford tan lines -- without worry about being stumbled upon
by little kids. That was, if that stretch of beach hadn't been claimed by the
rugrats or a housing development. Things could've changed drastically in
Sunnydale, even in just a year. He should know.
Grabbing his shower kit, Xander went to wash in the stream. Before he could
play Beach Blanket Bingo, he had to meet with Giles and the others again. He
only hoped that they hadn't caught wind of his little childish tantrum the
previous night. He didn't want to worry that Buffy would try to stake him -- not
that it would do anything to him -- or that Willow would be afraid of him.
That was his biggest fear: Willow's reaction. After everything he'd been
through over the past year -- all the trials and discoveries, thhe pain, the
loneliness and isolation -- Xander wanted nothing more than to curl up with his
head in his oldest and dearest friend's lap and have her tell him it would be
okay. Now, he finally had his chance, he had control over his freaky condition,
and he didn't want anything to screw up his "return" to Sunnydale.
Somehow, Xander knew that was wishful thinking.
End
