Hemorrhage - Xander/Andrew (BtVS)
Title: Hemorrhage
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters: Xander/Andrew, mentions of Spike/Andrew
Word Count: 756
Rating: R
Notes: Written for the drabble meme - mine is here (friends locked), where stego requested H - Hemorrhage (Buffy - Xander/other).
After Spike dies, Andrew goes a little crazy. Everyone mourns Anya, mourns the slayers-in-training, even mourns Sunnydale, but besides Buffy, no one really even thinks twice about Spike’s death. And even she only grieves alone, at night, when everything else has been taken care of and she can spare a few moments.
But Andrew grieves openly, loudly. He sobs, he curls in on himself, he refuses to eat.
No one can figure it out, because, really, who was Spike to be mourned? He was just a vampire. Souled, yeah, but a vampire nonetheless. He’d caused more harm than good, and the basic consensus is that he’s better off gone.
It’s six months after Sunnydale imploded, and Buffy can’t stand having Andrew anywhere near her. Giles has no patience, Faith never liked the weak, and Willow starts mentioning that while she tries to help, his grief is tangible and it’s throwing off her mojo. Xander can hear the plea for help in her voice, read between the lines of her speech where it says that Andrew reminds her too much of herself after Tara.
So it’s Xander’s turn to take over, and he does so willingly, albeit snarkily. He doesn’t say it, but he knows why Andrew can’t come to terms with Spike’s absence.
Andrew was in love with him.
He supposes to Buffy, to Willow, to Faith, even to Giles, unrequited love is a new area. They don’t recognize it. But Xander does. Unrequited love is an old buddy of his, so when Andrew started gazing at Spike with hero worship in his eyes, Xander’s heart went out to him. He’s not even sure Andrew knew it was love, or love like that.
He takes Andrew aside one night and suggests going out for a drink, mentions he still misses Anya and reassures the little guy he doesn’t blame him when he looks up with such enormous guilt in his eyes that Xander can feel it in his gut.
Andrew orders girlie drinks with umbrellas and curvy straws in them and Xander orders JD straight up. He does his best not to think about the fact that that’s his father’s drink. A drink and a half later Andrew’s head is on the bar, his cheek smooshed against the wood and tears leaking out onto the peanut shells. Xander’s still sober, so it’s a conscious decision to mention Spike and watch as Andrew dissolves into sobs. He feels like a dick, like he’s got a magnifying glass over Andrew and he’s focusing the pain right onto him.
But Andrew’s drunk enough that whatever he’s been hiding, even from himself, starts working its way toward the surface and before long it’s spilling all over the counter along with his tears and his drink. He can’t stop talking, the words just hemorrhaging out of him, and then he’s practically in Xander’s lap, talking about love and sex and loss. And somewhere in the midst of his rambling, Xander understands that it wasn’t just a simple case of unrequited love. Andrew and Spike had spent a night together, and when daylight broke, the vampire was still in love with the slayer, and whether he knew it or not, he was leaving behind a smitten boy.
It’s not a surprise when Andrew’s tongue finds it’s way into Xander’s mouth, still moving like he’s talking, up and down and curling and rolling and his lips are pressed up so hard against Xander's it's like he thinks he can stop the flow of words with enough pressure and his tears are sliding down Xander’s cheeks.
They end up in the car, and god he’s going to one of the hells for taking advantage of this kid, but nothing has felt this good since he and Faith fucked, and he wonders briefly if it’s the forbidden quality he’s always chasing, if the lack of such a quality killed his interest in Anya, but then Andrew’s hand is on his zipper and his hand is in Xander’s pants and then there aren’t any thoughts at all, even brief ones.
In the morning, they’re both passed out in a cheap motel near the bar, the bed still completely untouched. Xander wakes up first, surveying the mess they made and the mess he made.
Andrew’s curled up near the foot of the bed, head on his arm, salty white tear tracks on his cheeks and red marks on his shoulders from where Xander had held on. Xander sits a while, looking at him, wondering what he’s going to do with this needy, desperate, beautiful boy.
And then Andrew wakes up and looks at him, and there’s hero worship in his eyes.
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters: Xander/Andrew, mentions of Spike/Andrew
Word Count: 756
Rating: R
Notes: Written for the drabble meme - mine is here (friends locked), where stego requested H - Hemorrhage (Buffy - Xander/other).
After Spike dies, Andrew goes a little crazy. Everyone mourns Anya, mourns the slayers-in-training, even mourns Sunnydale, but besides Buffy, no one really even thinks twice about Spike’s death. And even she only grieves alone, at night, when everything else has been taken care of and she can spare a few moments.
But Andrew grieves openly, loudly. He sobs, he curls in on himself, he refuses to eat.
No one can figure it out, because, really, who was Spike to be mourned? He was just a vampire. Souled, yeah, but a vampire nonetheless. He’d caused more harm than good, and the basic consensus is that he’s better off gone.
It’s six months after Sunnydale imploded, and Buffy can’t stand having Andrew anywhere near her. Giles has no patience, Faith never liked the weak, and Willow starts mentioning that while she tries to help, his grief is tangible and it’s throwing off her mojo. Xander can hear the plea for help in her voice, read between the lines of her speech where it says that Andrew reminds her too much of herself after Tara.
So it’s Xander’s turn to take over, and he does so willingly, albeit snarkily. He doesn’t say it, but he knows why Andrew can’t come to terms with Spike’s absence.
Andrew was in love with him.
He supposes to Buffy, to Willow, to Faith, even to Giles, unrequited love is a new area. They don’t recognize it. But Xander does. Unrequited love is an old buddy of his, so when Andrew started gazing at Spike with hero worship in his eyes, Xander’s heart went out to him. He’s not even sure Andrew knew it was love, or love like that.
He takes Andrew aside one night and suggests going out for a drink, mentions he still misses Anya and reassures the little guy he doesn’t blame him when he looks up with such enormous guilt in his eyes that Xander can feel it in his gut.
Andrew orders girlie drinks with umbrellas and curvy straws in them and Xander orders JD straight up. He does his best not to think about the fact that that’s his father’s drink. A drink and a half later Andrew’s head is on the bar, his cheek smooshed against the wood and tears leaking out onto the peanut shells. Xander’s still sober, so it’s a conscious decision to mention Spike and watch as Andrew dissolves into sobs. He feels like a dick, like he’s got a magnifying glass over Andrew and he’s focusing the pain right onto him.
But Andrew’s drunk enough that whatever he’s been hiding, even from himself, starts working its way toward the surface and before long it’s spilling all over the counter along with his tears and his drink. He can’t stop talking, the words just hemorrhaging out of him, and then he’s practically in Xander’s lap, talking about love and sex and loss. And somewhere in the midst of his rambling, Xander understands that it wasn’t just a simple case of unrequited love. Andrew and Spike had spent a night together, and when daylight broke, the vampire was still in love with the slayer, and whether he knew it or not, he was leaving behind a smitten boy.
It’s not a surprise when Andrew’s tongue finds it’s way into Xander’s mouth, still moving like he’s talking, up and down and curling and rolling and his lips are pressed up so hard against Xander's it's like he thinks he can stop the flow of words with enough pressure and his tears are sliding down Xander’s cheeks.
They end up in the car, and god he’s going to one of the hells for taking advantage of this kid, but nothing has felt this good since he and Faith fucked, and he wonders briefly if it’s the forbidden quality he’s always chasing, if the lack of such a quality killed his interest in Anya, but then Andrew’s hand is on his zipper and his hand is in Xander’s pants and then there aren’t any thoughts at all, even brief ones.
In the morning, they’re both passed out in a cheap motel near the bar, the bed still completely untouched. Xander wakes up first, surveying the mess they made and the mess he made.
Andrew’s curled up near the foot of the bed, head on his arm, salty white tear tracks on his cheeks and red marks on his shoulders from where Xander had held on. Xander sits a while, looking at him, wondering what he’s going to do with this needy, desperate, beautiful boy.
And then Andrew wakes up and looks at him, and there’s hero worship in his eyes.