ethrosdemon ||| Buffy & Angel

Impromptu 1: Keys
by ethrosdemon

EMAIL: naturallycalm@yahoo.com
Distribution: You don’t want this
Disclaimer: Joss made it up, too bad he is an incompetent ninny. Mutant Enemy and others own the rights. No suing please.
Rating: R for dark themes
Pairing: Xander/Anya; Xander/Angelus
Dedication: Lar and Donna for hand-holding and sweet-nothings whispered to me in my time of need. To Spyke for saving this fic from the garbage.
Note: This is one part of a little, evolving universe. You want to read “Variation in the Theme of Wrong” first. You might want to read “My Dark Life take 1” too. You might want to run screaming. All my fics live at eterniata.com
Note II: Angelus has a diabolical plan to hurt/kill all of the people Buffy loves. He hits Joyce, Giles, Willow, but what about Xander? Why would he have left him alone? That is the Darkplace this came from. Xander wishes I had watched Coronation Street instead.
Spoilers: General season 5

.. .. ..

Tring. Tring. Tring.

Is that the phone? Naturally. The shower being on is a secret code transmitted across time and space to anyone even considering calling * now, it’s time, pick up the phone, hurry, hurry! Shampoo on the head! *

ALL the towels are dirty? All of the two. Is this carpet scotch-guarded? Water doesn’t NORMALLY stain.

“What?”

“Xander, you told me that’s not how you answer the phone. I know you told me that. At least once this week.”

“I’m in the shower, An. What’s the big?”

“You’re naked? And wet? Stop doing that when I’m not there!”

“I’m about to be naked, wet and pneumonia-filled. Do you have a reason for calling or are you just checking on my clothing status?”

“Yes, I have an important reason to call. I can’t come over tonight. There are movies for women on television and Tara and Willow have invited me to view them. You can’t come.”

“And I’m supposed to want to? Would this involve the Lifetime Network in any way?”

“How did you know about that? It’s television for women, you aren’t supposed to look!”

“An, I know about periods too, and I don’t have them”

“Ok, just as long as you’re not trying to come along, I don’t really care”

“Are you gonna come over after the fem-fest?”

“No, I think I will stay at home tonight. Will you be lonely and needful if I do that?”

“I think I might * just* manage to not run in front of a truck. There are some extra-appealing knives rattling around in the drawer though…hm. Have a good time. Don’t do any naked spells.”

“Ha ha. I know you’re tugging my extremities. You didn’t trick me. I love you. Don’t die.”

“Pulling your leg, sweetheart, and I love you too. Also, regarding dying, I will try not to. B…*click* ye.” One day the way of the phone will be made clear to her.

Freezing. Air conditioning not the greatest invention of all time after all. Ahh. Blissful steam. What am I going to do with free time? Anya-less time. In the evening too. No work, no Anya, no impending world-doom. Oh god. Think. No, not gonna do that. Uh, uh, oh dear what can the matter be, three old ladies got stuck in the lavatory, they were there from…why were three old ladies in the bathroom together? Wonder if Giles knows the rest of the words. Ah, robe, you are a thing of wonder, and I am humbled in your presence. I could order a pizza and have anchovies and ham on it. Oh yes, the makings of a plan are unfolding. And the phone book would be…in the drawer with the spare keys. Guess I should get those to people. Any moment now an anal-probing demon is going to break-in and no one will be able to get in to find my body. Break the door down. Fantastic. The keys aren’t in here with the phonebook. Anya must’ve moved them. Where would she have put them? Not in the freezer. Not on top of the fridge. If I were keys, where would I…shit.

· *flashback *

Someone’s burning leaves. Sniff. Illegal. Hm, maybe it will burn out of control and set the school on fire. Then no more classes. No more Snyder. Secret key hiding place…where would it be?? Not between the bricks. Not in the mailbox. Not under the mat. Getting dark. Shit, mom. I told you I lost mine. Don’t have forgotten. Estimated time of sprinting to Willow’s? 15 minutes. Chances someone is home? 1 in 5. If I were a spare key… Would the shed be vamp-proof? Not like it matters, no roaming gangs of bloodsuckers in my neighborhood. Mr Anderson never goes out in the daytime, though. Not since he lost his job. Alcoholic, not vamp. Roving gangs o’vamps aren’t really the problem though. Right. Time to break for Willow’s.

*pant, pant * You’d think I would be in better shape by now. Always running from something. *grumble * Wonder what they have in the fridge. Kugel, left-over meatloaf, Klausen kosher-dills…manna. Porch light is on.

Rustling. Definite rustling.

“Pup, you should know better by now.” And there is my worst nightmare on two legs. About to wet myself, shoulda peed in the bushes in my yard. Knew it. New moon. All I can see is the outline of his body and his belt-buckle glinting from the Rosenberg’s porch light.

“Where do you park your car when you stalk me?” The laugh is coming for me now, working up from my toes and zeroing in on every hair from there to my scalp. Porcupine laugh, one of his many. My least favorite.

“Why would I need to stalk you? You’re always where I look. Then again, maybe I can fly.” That I believe since he is now within striking distance. Stupid expression whose meaning springs to clarity when I see Angelus’ fists balled up at his sides and his eyes on my stomach.

“I don’t care anymore.” Abrupt, unhuman rush and the right fist is now dragging me by my collar down the sidewalk, past Rosenberg Haven, through the Courtney’s bushes, and into the passenger seat of the fabled, secret stalking vehicle.

Smell of burnt oil; minions must not be good at auto-repair. Little breeze starting to eddy around, floating hair into my eyes. Good. Don’t wanna see anything. Click, snap into place of the knowing: this is the Last Night. Last night of everything, last night of being Xander, of being alive. And that is not really * so * bad, or unwanted, or scary…because it is also the last night of Angelus’s hand squeezing five even fingermarks into my thigh, the last night of Angelus’s tongue licking at my eyelid, the last night of Angelus’s voice prying into my mind. “You should know by now how to address me, Alexander. But we both like the pain, don’t we?” Eyes closed, didn’t see the fist, didn’t register the loss of consciousness.

Waking to the smell of damp, of earth and mildew and decay; night sounds, crickets, and stillness. Don’t have to open my eyes to know, this is a grave. This is the grave of his minion. The grave of his minion that Buffy already slayed sometime tonight. Vamps have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Angelus does anyway.

One more torment in the litany, loving me, the parody of loving me. My head pillowed against creased, bruised leather that was black once but is now also grey and white and some other colors whose names I don’t know. His shoulder moving just that perceptible amount, and his arm is cradling me against him, flush against him with my hip and leg on top of his and his voice smothering me—like always.

“…childe, not minion. That would be a gift. A gift you think you don’t want, and I KNOW you don’t deserve, but, and I am just thinking out loud here, the anger would set you apart. What a coup in my little game. Maybe let Spike do it. Another childe is not really what I need. Cramp my style just that much more…”

“Could you shut up? I have a headache, oh yeah, you gave it to me, so you don’t care a whole lot about the cracked-skull thing.” Pulling me up by my hair with one hand and yanking my torso over his with the other.

“You really think I won’t kill you, don’t you? Or you don’t care anymore. So you say. You think you’re broken already? Child, I haven’t even started with you. When your death-wish fully manifests, you will beg me on your knees.” And I know now this is not the last night after all, only the middle or the beginning or some other part I can’t know until I AM at the end.

“I’m going to tell them. I can’t do this anymore.” World tilting and twirling, shifting me without weight and maybe I’m dead… then solidness beneath my feet, one of the two hands to ever exist digging into the small of my back half-in half-out of my pants thrusting me forward into the belly of the beast.

“Is that so? Too late, my lark, far too late for that.” The danse-macabre commences, his right leg nudges my left knocking me just enough off balance so all that holds me up is his right hand on my upper-arm and the left clutching me to him.

“Your too late started when you felt my mouth around your cock and your come burned the back of my throat and you kept that locked up for future masturbatory material instead of running to tattle on yourself. “ Whisper of his lips at *that * place behind my ear that seems to be a direct line to my primal center. Sex-response engaged even though what I want is fight-response.

“We both know I own you, and in the owning I possess you too. You won’t tell anyone about this. You’ll try not to even think about it too loud when people are around. Because you know they’d hate you. They would hate you for shattering something inside of them. For taking away that last veil of not knowing, of not facing what can really happen in the dark. Do you want to be the one, boy? The one who shows them that? Because even if you are the victim, it is still your face the words come out of, isn’t it? It is just as sweet for me either way, if they hate you for my touches or if you hate yourself for liking them.” His words notching themselves in all the hollows and dimples of my body, finding purchase to ride along with me when I leave here. They belong to me now, and I need them.

His hand is slithering up from my arm into my hair, forcing my head to the side, suspending me so that every breathe drags a bit more pain to the surface. My eyes drop closed like every time before and every time after. Don’t wanna ever see the Demon-face when he has me in hand.

“You seem so quiet tonight. No more spark for your lover. Maybe we could change the game to suit your new needs. We could bring your heart back into it. The redhead. Alexander, how would you like a sister in your new life?”

*flash forward *

And they were pissed at me when I let him go to hell.

Maybe I should eat something. Bile is not the best flavor around. Maybe the girls will let me come over and watch Lifetime after all. My head is not the place to be right now. Wonder if Giles would sing me the rest of that song if I dropped by.



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