With my undying gratitude to Lisa, whose story Dark Alley inspired this. I think you deserve an honorary place among my muses, peaches.
I'm not even sure what I'm most upset about, that she called me a demon-magnet or the knowledge that I am. I mean, just look at my track record. A giant praying mantis. A thousand-year-old mummy girl. Cordelia, who's definitely earned her place in the demon-category. And now I'm dating, if you can call it that, an eleven-hundred-year-old vengeance demon. Ok, *ex* vengeance-demon, but someone of the demonic persuasion just the same.
Anya is the closest thing to a steady relationship I've had since Cordy and I can't help wondering just how different those two relationships are. The conclusion? They're not. Cordy and I had nothing in common, except our mutual lust. Do Anya and I have anything more than that? Not really. But like I told the guys, it's either Anya or the sock puppet of love for yours truly.
Maybe in some twisted way I feel I owe her. After all, isn't it really my fault that she's here? It was my unfaithfulness to Cordy that brought her here, taking on the form of a teenager so she could blend in and seduce my scorned girlfriend into taking her revenge on me. How she got stuck here I don't know. She's never told me and I've never asked. I got a sick feeling it's got something to do with Giles though. It didn't take me too long to figure out that she really can't stand him. I've seen her glare at him, snap at him and even ignore him to the point of surpassing rude.
Note to self : Ask Giles the next time I see him.
He doesn't approve either. It's clear in the looks I get from him whenever he sees the two of us together. So what? It's not up to him. Or Buffy. Or Willow. It's my life and it's nobody's business but my own how I screw it up. I'm Xander, everyone's favourite fuckup. Just leave me alone and let me get on with proving that reputation.
Yeah, I'm using Anya, but no more than she's using me. I don't love her. And she doesn't love me. Just what is so wrong with that? Love only brings pain, that's the only lesson I've learned.
Huh! What would they know about it anyway? What do they know about feeling so lonely you'll clutch at *anything* to stay afloat and not drown in it. No matter what happens, Buffy will always have her mom there, loving her, supporting her. I get sick and tired of listening to her moan about how her mom doesn't understand her, how she's being totally unfair and should let her get on with her life already. It takes everything in me not to grab her and shout in her face : "At least your mother cares enough to *try*, you silly child. She may not always get it right, but she *tries*. Because she loves you and only wants you to be happy." I don't, of course. Could you imagine their reaction if I did?
What's really unfair is that Buffy has her mom, but she has Giles too. He loves her so much, it's just too heartbreaking to watch. Three years of being her Watcher and now this. Purgatory. Why does that word spring to mind? Come to think of it, it's not even that far from the truth. A place between heaven and hell, but not really anything of either. Nothingness. No taste, no smell. No warmth, no cold. Nothing.
Maybe Giles understands.
"Xaaaan-deeeer."
Oh great. Just what I fucking need. They have a bloody nerve calling me a demon-magnet, just before they shove one down my throat. Figuratively speaking.
"I know you're not asleep."
Asleep? Oh, excuse me. If you can tell me how to go about it, I'll be only too happy to oblige. Just one thing though, in case it conveniently slipped your mind. There's a vampire, one of the most vicious we've ever encountered tied to a chair three feet away. Last time I was this close to him I suffered severe head trauma. Remember? You were the one on the imparting end of the impact.
He does a killer imitation of Anya though.
"Didn't I tell you to shut up?"
"I'm hungry," a voice replies in the darkness. I can almost picture the pout that accompanies it.
"Yeah? That's why you're tied up, pal."
A scornful snort follows. "Nature of the beast, pet. Can't change that."
Huh? What's that supposed to mean?
"Right. What I just said."
"I can't change it, but they bloody well did."
I sigh. Nobody told me that vampires love the sound of their own voices so much. Angel. Need I say more?
"Don't get me wrong," he continues unperturbed. "There's nothing I'd love more than to sink my teeth in a ripe young thing, yourself excluded of course, but I can't. They've taken away my whole raison d'être."
"Witness me crying my eyes out." The words come out, but a shiver runs through me. Something about sinking his teeth somewhere?
"I don't know why you're being so hostile to me." What the fuck?! "We have so much in common, after all."
"Yeah, we're fucking soulmates."
A chuckle. "I wouldn't go that far. But we both hate Angel."
"Trust me, my feelings for Angel are positively warm and fuzzy compared to my feelings for you."
"Ouch. Straight through the heart."
"If only."
The next few seconds there's nothing but silence, and just when I think he might actually shut up, waiting with baited breath, he doesn't. "I don't get you."
"What a relief." The reply is instantaneous and I gasp at the sudden shock that I'm glad he won't shut up. Trading insults means I don't have to lie there in the dark thinking. And not sleeping. Can't even knock myself out screwing Anya with him as a roommate.
"Don't you want to know what it is I don't get?"
"Not particularly."
"You're not much of a liar, Xander."
"Yes, I am." The words come out so quietly it's almost a whisper. If I were such a bad liar, my friends would have seen the pain I'm feeling a long time ago. They would see how their callous behaviour is killing me.
"Yeah, you're a bloody brilliant little actor, that's true. But then again, you've had plenty of practice, haven't you?"
Fuck! Now I do want to know what he means. "Meaning?"
"Oh come on. You might have Buffy and her little gang fooled, but I know better. You've got a brain somewhere there. You can figure it out yourself."
"That's what you think."
"Ah ah ah," he admonishes, and an image of him wagging a finger at me flashes before my eyes. "Do I look like a redheaded little witch? Or a blonde Slayer bitch? That trick won't work on me, mate."
"I thought you said you didn't get me? Now you're suddenly a fucking expert on me?"
"You don't need to be an expert to see you're hurting."
"So why don't they?"
Oh my god, did I just say that? I can see the smug smirk on his face despite the darkness. Or maybe it's my imagination.
"Too caught up in their own pain, pet."
The words are spoken so gently and the tone of his voice more than anything else makes me realise that he has a point. Willow has been going through hell since her break-up with Oz and although Buffy seems to have found something with this Riley guy, she's still carrying the scars of her tragic romance with Angel like a trophy.
But it hurts, goddammit. It hurts so much I want to scream. I thought they were my friends. What happened?
"It's called growing up."
Again such understanding in his voice, forcing my fist in my mouth to stop the sob from escaping. Just fucking brilliant. The sympathy I've been looking for in my friends, I find in a soulless bloodsucker.
"You don't know squat," I spit out defiantly, but my words just bring out a sigh. Not even mocking? Now I'm confused.
"Maybe I don't," he admits, and I'm immediately on my guard. No way is he going to accept defeat that easily. "Maybe I don't see the hurt in your eyes whenever they brush you aside as if you're an annoying little fly buzzing around them."
Oh god, don't do this to me.
"Maybe I don't hear the condescension in the witch's words every time she addresses you. Just why the bloody hell do you put up with that anyway?"
This is a zillion times worse than I imagined.
"Maybe I don't realise that you're shagging the little demon-girl like there's no tomorrow just so you won't have to face up to how fucking alone you really are."
Shut up, shut up, shut up.
Without any warning a short phrase bursts through my thoughts, one that Willow was fond of using when she turned on her computer and didn't find any new email. "Nobody loves me," she would sigh with a mock pout. It was meant as a joke, but one that has grown into a life-size monster in my eyes. Because to me it's the truth.
I don't reply. I can't. There are no words. I'm grateful that he can't see the horror in my expression at least. Only two words continue to race through my head in a continuous loop. Shut up shut up shut up shut up.
A sigh. Please shut up.
"Misery's a dangerous drug, Xander."
Fuck you! I told you to shut up!
"Sometimes it feels so good to feel so bad, you just want to wallow in it forever."
How the fuck does he know this?
"And you think, why should I bother? Would anybody really care if I weren't here? They don't know I exist anyway. Maybe I shouldn't."
Shutup shutup shutup, oh fuck, somebody shut him up.
"So one night you find yourself walking the shadowed streets, not caring where you're going or who might cross your path. A figure steps out of the darkness, but you're not afraid. Anybody's better than being alone. If he kills you, at least the pain will be over. If he doesn't, maybe you'll forget your pain for a few meaningless moments."
The words trail off and I'm even more confused. I hold my breath, convinced that my heart's stopped beating. There's something in the tone of his voice that makes me sit up and listen. Metaphorically sitting up that is, 'cause I'm still lying in bed, clutching the covers until my fingers hurt. I almost jump out of my skin when the narrative picks up again, but this time the words are whispered in my ear. If it had been anybody else, his breath would have been hot against my skin. For just a split second I marvel at how he got out of his restraints, but it doesn't even occur to me for a instant to panic. His words are lulling me into a strange kind of hypnosis. Must be that infamous vampire lure.
"He's tall, dark and handsome, a sparkle in his eyes and a self-assured grin on his lips. You're drawn to him and you go, unable to resist. 'I can make the pain go away,' he says. 'Please,' you plead, 'anything.' A hand reaches out, touches you."
As the words are spoken, I feel a soft touch under my shirt, resting on my belly. I shiver and it's not even because of the lack of warmth.
"You startle at the coldness of his touch, but the delicate shiver running along the edge of your flesh is just too delicious. You just want to feel *something*. Anything to replace the aching emptiness inside you."
His hand moves up, bunching up my shirt as it goes, the chilly sensation turning up the shivers to full power. The soft pad of one finger rubs against a nipple, drawing tiny circles in a unhurried lazy motion. I gasp, sucking in a shuddering breath. The finger moves, rubbing the other nipple until I'm panting, before the palm slowly strokes down again, my cock growing harder the closer it gets. And it's agonizingly slow, that gentle caress along my chest and before I can stop myself, my hips buck up to meet it.
"There's nothing but darkness around you." A finger curls underneath the waistband of my boxers and that simple feathery touch forces a groan from my lips. "Darkness and death. Death, the most powerful seductress. You want it. You need the sweet oblivion that it whispers to you like a prayer. A promise. No more pain. No more want. No more need."
The back of his fingers strokes through my pubic hair, just fleetingly touching the straining flesh of my cock and again I twist towards the touch. Sweat is starting to drip from my forehead into my eyes as I press my head deep into the pillow, short uneven pants being torn from my lungs.
"A powerful hand twists in your hair." On cue, my head is grasped in a tight hold, but instead of overpowering me, it's exactly what I need. "You are pulled towards him, his strength too great to resist. With a mighty tug, your head is wrenched sideways, exposing that exquisite curve of neck. Before you can pull away, he bites. It's sensuous beyond anything you've ever experienced. Long teeth slip underneath your skin and he sucks and sucks and sucks the very life from you. You feel it slip from you and into him and it's so painful you want to scream your lungs out and it's so wonderful you do and it's the most exhilarating feeling, death beckoning and calling as you fall and fall and fall."
Teeth bite down hard on my neck, while the hand that has been teasing underneath my boxers grasps my hardon in a tight grip and my body leaves the mattress all together. Oh god, the power of suggestion. On some level I know perfectly well that he's incapable of biting me and yet I can feel every inch of his fangs penetrating me and I scream, bucking feverishly now into his hand. It's just like he said, the most exhilarating, liberating sensation, like falling into the warm, welcoming arms of death. Take me, I'm yours.
And he sucks on my neck and I buck into his hand, over and over, panting, begging, screaming until everything turns black. I'm dead. Thank you.
"And you wake up, or so you think, and everything's lost it's colour."
The words slowly start to drizzle into my consciousness, my eyes feeling too heavy as I try to pry them open. Intense blue eyes are staring down at me, the sight somehow shocking in itself. For some strange reason I half expected to see his game face. There's not a smile, or even a smirk there, just that unsettling intensity.
"There is no colour," he finally speaks. "There's no taste. There's no smell. Just hunger. An all-overpowering, insatiable hunger. And the aching emptiness you'd sought to escape."
The sadness in his voice makes the realisation take form inside my mind. The tale he's just told me is the one of how he was turned by Angelus, recreating the event with me. I'm suddenly seized by such sympathy and compassion that I touch my hand just briefly to his face.
"I'm sorry," I mumble, unable to think of anything more appropriate and finally a slow smile finds it way into his expression.
"I love being a vampire," he says, with a snarl that makes me wonder just who he's trying to convince. "Just don't go seeking out death, pet. It's not everything it's cracked up to be."
"How did you know?" The question is out before I can stop it.
"That place you're in right now? I've been there. It led me to Angelus and I thought freedom. Don't go down that road, pet."
What can I say? There's nothing. For once in my life I'm completely speechless. My arm feels like it weighs a ton as I lift it and a frown appears on his face as he follows the movement. I can't make him a promise I'm not sure I can keep. I got the message he's trying to convey, but Death is still waving that seductive promise before my eyes. As long as it's still there, I can't promise him anything.
My arm curls around his waist, tugging him towards me
and with a sigh that I can only interpret as resignation he drapes that
bony frame around mine. Maybe I'll end up down the same road as he did.
Maybe I won't. Only time will tell. And my eyes close into sleep.