Hook-Ups are Great for the Weekends (Xander/John)
Title: Hook-Ups Are Great For Weekends
Fandom: X-Men/Buffyverse
Pairing: John/Xander
Rating: PG-13ish I guess?
Prompt by gala_apples: "screw ups tend to gravitate towards each other"
They found each other at a bar, desolate and small, with cheap beer and the kind of liquor that stripped away layers of ones esophagus. Xander hadn't planned on taking the boy home. Hadn't planned on talking to him at all, actually. But he had and he did. The boy--John? Yeah, his named was John.--looked like the world had pissed him off and he needed only one more gesture, one more glance to set him off.
As Xander watched him play with his Zippo, he figured Jon was a pyromaniac in the making.
The motel was creepy looking from the outside and Xander shrugged apologetically when his key didn't want to unlock the door. John watched him, broody expression slowly yet surely becoming amused. The moment they were through the door, John had him shoved down onto the bed, straddling his hips while his tongue plundered Xander's mouth.
Okay, then.
"What, no small talk?" Xander asked, breathlessly. John met his eyes and Xander felt a twinge, something, in the way he could recognize that expression: desperation for anything resembling human comfort.
It was a weekend. Xander would have to go back to playing the happy Watcher to a new world of Slayers in a couple of days. Until then, he planned to drown in his sorrows, until he was nothing more than melted muscle and abused body.
Fandom: X-Men/Buffyverse
Pairing: John/Xander
Rating: PG-13ish I guess?
Prompt by gala_apples: "screw ups tend to gravitate towards each other"
They found each other at a bar, desolate and small, with cheap beer and the kind of liquor that stripped away layers of ones esophagus. Xander hadn't planned on taking the boy home. Hadn't planned on talking to him at all, actually. But he had and he did. The boy--John? Yeah, his named was John.--looked like the world had pissed him off and he needed only one more gesture, one more glance to set him off.
As Xander watched him play with his Zippo, he figured Jon was a pyromaniac in the making.
The motel was creepy looking from the outside and Xander shrugged apologetically when his key didn't want to unlock the door. John watched him, broody expression slowly yet surely becoming amused. The moment they were through the door, John had him shoved down onto the bed, straddling his hips while his tongue plundered Xander's mouth.
Okay, then.
"What, no small talk?" Xander asked, breathlessly. John met his eyes and Xander felt a twinge, something, in the way he could recognize that expression: desperation for anything resembling human comfort.
It was a weekend. Xander would have to go back to playing the happy Watcher to a new world of Slayers in a couple of days. Until then, he planned to drown in his sorrows, until he was nothing more than melted muscle and abused body.