These Dreams
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Slash - Male/Male › Andrew/Xander
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,047
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Slash - Male/Male › Andrew/Xander
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,047
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
These Dreams
Title: These Dreams
Author's Name: Scarlet
Author's Email and URL: scarletsfiction@yahoo.com www.geocities.com/karenmnick
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and UPN own Buffy the Vampire Slayer in totality. No profit is made from this piece of fiction and no copyright infringement is intended.
Distribution: Anywhere, just let me know.
Rating: R
Pairing: Andrew/Xander
dbacdback: Yes, please!
Dedication: To Kaz. Thanks!
Author's Notes: Takes place post-Chosen. Xander and Andrew seek solace from their nightmares.
____________________________________________________
~*~
He came to his bed the first night because of the dream.
His teeth were falling out but he couldn't put them back. Then his tongue had dropped out but he couldn’t replace it and couldn’t call for help without it. His remaining eye and fingers had followed and then his nose, his dick and toes. And Anya laughed. Always, she laughed.
He woke, sweat-soaked, crying and trembling with a loss deeper than an appendage. He came to his bed because he knew their dreams were the same. No, maybe not exactly the same, but dreams of death and her. He still smells her on his shirts, his hair, even though he knows that’s impossible. But Andrew doesn’t think it’s impossible. Doesn’t laugh when Xander stands over his small form in that large hotel bed and whispers, “Are you awake?” knowing that if he weren’t awake, he would be now. Andrew doesn’t ask why, when Xander says he needs a place to sleep tonight. He doesn’t pre-cordon off the bed to zones, doesn’t mind if Xander’s arm or foot or a stray elbow find their way to his body and stay.
He doesn’t mind because he dreams, too.
Anya is falling. She’s always falling, like Alice down the rabbit hole. Andrew falls with her but he knows he isn’t going to die, not this time. He is unafraid, dispassionate. But Anya is afraid and her terror burns his skin. “Don’t let me fall!” she pleads and Andrew makes notes on a pad of paper. “She’s asked for mercy again,” he clinically notes, then tucks the pen and paper into his pocket and lets her fall, her screams shattering his sleep and leaving him weeping dry tears into his pillow.
When Xander stands at his bed and asks, “Are you awake?” he says, “Yes.” What else would he say? And when Xander asks if he can slip between the sheets and hold off the dreams for a few hours, Andrew can’t spread back the bedspread fast enough. The older man draws the sheets and blankets close around him. He sighs heavily and they stare at the ceiling and listen to the night noises and don’t think about her.
~*~
He came to his bed the second night because of the dream.
Now, her nose, her teeth, her breasts and toes and he laughed. And this was worse. Worse because he was the monster in the dream just as he knew he was the monster in real life. “You betrayed me!” she screams as her lips fall and her tongue drops and he sits up with a thundering in his chest.
“Are you awake?” he asks and Andrew says, “Yes.” He says yes because he’s had another dream.
She’s falling still and he’s dancing on the walls. She cries for help and he notes on his pad, “The patient appears upset. Perhaps a good rest is in order.” Then the skin on her hands begins to peel back and her wails bring him to consciousness.
Andrew pulls back the covers and Xander gives a sad smile of relief. He slips into the bed and pulls the blankets tight around him. Then they stare at the ceiling and listen to night noises and don’t think about her.
~*~
He came to his bed the third night because of the dream.
Her lips are gone, her teeth are gone, her skin is gone but he knows it’s her. “Kiss me,” she asks and he steps back in revulsion. “Monster!” she accuses, and he knows that it’s true.
“Are you awake?” he asks and the covers pull back. Andrew lets him in because he’s had a dream, too.
“Patient has an unusual preoccupation with death,” he notes, laughing as she’s flayed and falling.
Xander slips into the big bed, then they stare at the ceiling and listen to the night noises and don’t think about her.
~*~
He came to his bed on the forth night because of the dream.
“I want you,” she moans, skin melting across muscle and bone. He chokes bitterly into his hands and wakes, wet with sweat.
“Are you awake?” he asks as the covers pull back. He slips between them and crosses his arms, listening to Andrew’s breath.
“Will it always be like this?” Andrew asks. Xander doesn’t know. Giles has called it Survivor’s Guilt and Willow’s words are Broken Heart but they know their own truth. They know Punishment and Justice. Big words that haunt their dreams and leave them wakeful and wanting.
“Not always,” Xander lies, because he doesn’t know. Then they stare at the ceiling and listen to the night noises and eventually they sleep.
“You never loved me,” she accuses and Xander cries his denial.
“I died for you!” she says and Andrew weeps with the truth.
Then they sleep deep and dream little waiting for the endless night to pass.
~*~
He came to his bed on the fifth night because of the dream.
“You never loved me?” she asks. “I’ll always love you,” he answers emphatically, and she smiles. Her smile brings feelings of such bitter loss that he moans on his pillow and wakes in the cold, late hours.
There are night noises here that make him fear. He misses Sunnydale. Misses the warm, sun-kissed buildings and swaying trees and kids on bikes. Los Angeles is darker and stranger and full of sharp, brittle sounds. Tonight, though, the sounds are muffled; there is rain beating on his window and loose boards creak and sway outside. The Hyperion needs work and he would volunteer to help if it he cared even a little, but there’s not so very much room for caring right about now.
Xander steps from his bed and huddles in the damp night air. He wraps his arms around his chest and pads down the hall barefoot, past rooms full of witches and humans and slayers of all sorts. Xander comes to his bed because there is no other place to go. His own bed is cold, but only as cold as his heart.
He stands at the bed and asks, “Are you awake?” but there is no reply. Andrew is not awake. But the covers are turned down and the invitation is real and Xander slips between the sheets. He stares at the ceiling and listens to the night noises and watches the running rain cast shadows on the walls. He stares and he listens and he thinks of her. He thinks of her hair and her fingers, her breasts and her toes and how she was loved and for a while he’s warm.
Hours or minutes later, he’s not sure when time stopped having meaning, he feels the tentative touch of a hand on his chest. It rests on his heart and he covers it with his own.
Later, there's soft, dry kisses on his cheeks and arms and he trembles but does not move.
When delicate kisses stray to his mouth, he turns finally and accepts their warmth. His hands clasp foreign skin and stroke unfamiliar places, hard where she was soft; submissive where she was unyielding. He pulls Andrew on top of him and claims his mouth. The blond boy spreads his body wide like a bird and covers every inch of Xander with his own pale skin.
They steal precious moments between kisses to watch and explore, to taste and to feel. Strong hands built from employment and necessity pull at Andrew’s thin clothes while the fair-haired boy gasps sweet, soft breaths and tries to do the same. Xander helps him and soon they are skin to skin and heart to heart. The boy squirms with pleasure and rubs his body into Xander’s and he moans his thanks. Then he rolls the boy to his back and kisses him fiercly until he cannot remember a time when he didn’t feel warm.
Their bodies writhe under the shadows of the streaming rain. When Andrew comes, his back arches to Xander’s body. Work-worn hands hold him there, curved for an endless moment while he comes himself. Xander holds Andrew’s body, shuddering and completed while Andrew weeps clean tears of pleasure and accomplishment.
Andrew is here. He is safe. He is alive and he is grateful.
Always grateful.
The wind thrashes harder at the windows while the rain continues to paint pictures on naked canvas. Andrew pushes hair from Xander’s eyes and Xander lowers his lover to the bed, crushing him pleasantly with his body. Sweet kisses, gentle murmuring, and a soft whisper in his ear. “I love you,” Andrew confesses and Xander cries, too.
He is lucky. He is blessed. He is loved.
Always loved.
The two men wrap damp arms around each other. They press heads together and close their eyes and dream.
~*~
He stayed in his bed the fifth night because of the dream.
“You loved me,” she smiles at last.
“You saved me,” he says thankfully.
Then they neither listen to the night noises, nor stare at the ceiling. They sleep without dreaming and rest until dawn.
~*~The end~*~
Author's Name: Scarlet
Author's Email and URL: scarletsfiction@yahoo.com www.geocities.com/karenmnick
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and UPN own Buffy the Vampire Slayer in totality. No profit is made from this piece of fiction and no copyright infringement is intended.
Distribution: Anywhere, just let me know.
Rating: R
Pairing: Andrew/Xander
dbacdback: Yes, please!
Dedication: To Kaz. Thanks!
Author's Notes: Takes place post-Chosen. Xander and Andrew seek solace from their nightmares.
____________________________________________________
~*~
He came to his bed the first night because of the dream.
His teeth were falling out but he couldn't put them back. Then his tongue had dropped out but he couldn’t replace it and couldn’t call for help without it. His remaining eye and fingers had followed and then his nose, his dick and toes. And Anya laughed. Always, she laughed.
He woke, sweat-soaked, crying and trembling with a loss deeper than an appendage. He came to his bed because he knew their dreams were the same. No, maybe not exactly the same, but dreams of death and her. He still smells her on his shirts, his hair, even though he knows that’s impossible. But Andrew doesn’t think it’s impossible. Doesn’t laugh when Xander stands over his small form in that large hotel bed and whispers, “Are you awake?” knowing that if he weren’t awake, he would be now. Andrew doesn’t ask why, when Xander says he needs a place to sleep tonight. He doesn’t pre-cordon off the bed to zones, doesn’t mind if Xander’s arm or foot or a stray elbow find their way to his body and stay.
He doesn’t mind because he dreams, too.
Anya is falling. She’s always falling, like Alice down the rabbit hole. Andrew falls with her but he knows he isn’t going to die, not this time. He is unafraid, dispassionate. But Anya is afraid and her terror burns his skin. “Don’t let me fall!” she pleads and Andrew makes notes on a pad of paper. “She’s asked for mercy again,” he clinically notes, then tucks the pen and paper into his pocket and lets her fall, her screams shattering his sleep and leaving him weeping dry tears into his pillow.
When Xander stands at his bed and asks, “Are you awake?” he says, “Yes.” What else would he say? And when Xander asks if he can slip between the sheets and hold off the dreams for a few hours, Andrew can’t spread back the bedspread fast enough. The older man draws the sheets and blankets close around him. He sighs heavily and they stare at the ceiling and listen to the night noises and don’t think about her.
~*~
He came to his bed the second night because of the dream.
Now, her nose, her teeth, her breasts and toes and he laughed. And this was worse. Worse because he was the monster in the dream just as he knew he was the monster in real life. “You betrayed me!” she screams as her lips fall and her tongue drops and he sits up with a thundering in his chest.
“Are you awake?” he asks and Andrew says, “Yes.” He says yes because he’s had another dream.
She’s falling still and he’s dancing on the walls. She cries for help and he notes on his pad, “The patient appears upset. Perhaps a good rest is in order.” Then the skin on her hands begins to peel back and her wails bring him to consciousness.
Andrew pulls back the covers and Xander gives a sad smile of relief. He slips into the bed and pulls the blankets tight around him. Then they stare at the ceiling and listen to night noises and don’t think about her.
~*~
He came to his bed the third night because of the dream.
Her lips are gone, her teeth are gone, her skin is gone but he knows it’s her. “Kiss me,” she asks and he steps back in revulsion. “Monster!” she accuses, and he knows that it’s true.
“Are you awake?” he asks and the covers pull back. Andrew lets him in because he’s had a dream, too.
“Patient has an unusual preoccupation with death,” he notes, laughing as she’s flayed and falling.
Xander slips into the big bed, then they stare at the ceiling and listen to the night noises and don’t think about her.
~*~
He came to his bed on the forth night because of the dream.
“I want you,” she moans, skin melting across muscle and bone. He chokes bitterly into his hands and wakes, wet with sweat.
“Are you awake?” he asks as the covers pull back. He slips between them and crosses his arms, listening to Andrew’s breath.
“Will it always be like this?” Andrew asks. Xander doesn’t know. Giles has called it Survivor’s Guilt and Willow’s words are Broken Heart but they know their own truth. They know Punishment and Justice. Big words that haunt their dreams and leave them wakeful and wanting.
“Not always,” Xander lies, because he doesn’t know. Then they stare at the ceiling and listen to the night noises and eventually they sleep.
“You never loved me,” she accuses and Xander cries his denial.
“I died for you!” she says and Andrew weeps with the truth.
Then they sleep deep and dream little waiting for the endless night to pass.
~*~
He came to his bed on the fifth night because of the dream.
“You never loved me?” she asks. “I’ll always love you,” he answers emphatically, and she smiles. Her smile brings feelings of such bitter loss that he moans on his pillow and wakes in the cold, late hours.
There are night noises here that make him fear. He misses Sunnydale. Misses the warm, sun-kissed buildings and swaying trees and kids on bikes. Los Angeles is darker and stranger and full of sharp, brittle sounds. Tonight, though, the sounds are muffled; there is rain beating on his window and loose boards creak and sway outside. The Hyperion needs work and he would volunteer to help if it he cared even a little, but there’s not so very much room for caring right about now.
Xander steps from his bed and huddles in the damp night air. He wraps his arms around his chest and pads down the hall barefoot, past rooms full of witches and humans and slayers of all sorts. Xander comes to his bed because there is no other place to go. His own bed is cold, but only as cold as his heart.
He stands at the bed and asks, “Are you awake?” but there is no reply. Andrew is not awake. But the covers are turned down and the invitation is real and Xander slips between the sheets. He stares at the ceiling and listens to the night noises and watches the running rain cast shadows on the walls. He stares and he listens and he thinks of her. He thinks of her hair and her fingers, her breasts and her toes and how she was loved and for a while he’s warm.
Hours or minutes later, he’s not sure when time stopped having meaning, he feels the tentative touch of a hand on his chest. It rests on his heart and he covers it with his own.
Later, there's soft, dry kisses on his cheeks and arms and he trembles but does not move.
When delicate kisses stray to his mouth, he turns finally and accepts their warmth. His hands clasp foreign skin and stroke unfamiliar places, hard where she was soft; submissive where she was unyielding. He pulls Andrew on top of him and claims his mouth. The blond boy spreads his body wide like a bird and covers every inch of Xander with his own pale skin.
They steal precious moments between kisses to watch and explore, to taste and to feel. Strong hands built from employment and necessity pull at Andrew’s thin clothes while the fair-haired boy gasps sweet, soft breaths and tries to do the same. Xander helps him and soon they are skin to skin and heart to heart. The boy squirms with pleasure and rubs his body into Xander’s and he moans his thanks. Then he rolls the boy to his back and kisses him fiercly until he cannot remember a time when he didn’t feel warm.
Their bodies writhe under the shadows of the streaming rain. When Andrew comes, his back arches to Xander’s body. Work-worn hands hold him there, curved for an endless moment while he comes himself. Xander holds Andrew’s body, shuddering and completed while Andrew weeps clean tears of pleasure and accomplishment.
Andrew is here. He is safe. He is alive and he is grateful.
Always grateful.
The wind thrashes harder at the windows while the rain continues to paint pictures on naked canvas. Andrew pushes hair from Xander’s eyes and Xander lowers his lover to the bed, crushing him pleasantly with his body. Sweet kisses, gentle murmuring, and a soft whisper in his ear. “I love you,” Andrew confesses and Xander cries, too.
He is lucky. He is blessed. He is loved.
Always loved.
The two men wrap damp arms around each other. They press heads together and close their eyes and dream.
~*~
He stayed in his bed the fifth night because of the dream.
“You loved me,” she smiles at last.
“You saved me,” he says thankfully.
Then they neither listen to the night noises, nor stare at the ceiling. They sleep without dreaming and rest until dawn.
~*~The end~*~