: Untitled: A Xander/Riley StoryAuthor
: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
, Season Five, AU.Pairing
: M/M slash; spoilers for “The Replacement”; first-person POV (Riley); stream-of-consciousness.Distribution
: Please ask first. Please do not screencap this story, save it to hard drives, exchange with others, or translate into other languages without written consent.Feedback
: Con-crit is appreciated and valued. Flames not so much.Disclaimer
: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, lyrics, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Snippets of dialogue may be incorporated from the original canonical episode(s) and belong to their respective authors/creators. The original characters and plot are the property of the author(s). The author(s) is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended, nor should any be inferred. No profit is being made.Summary:
Suddenly there are two Xanders, and Riley is undone.Author's Note
: This story has proven to be one of my most popular and I'm rather proud of it, but as it's written in stream-of-consciousness form, it can be a very difficult read due to the lack of punctuation. It might help were you to read it aloud, or at the very least mouth the words as you read them. If you have the patience to attempt it, I'd be thrilled, and please let me know what you think. I'll let you know it advance that there will be no sequel, as this proved rather exhausting to write.* * * * *
I still don’t know how it happened.
There had been a demon, and then Buffy had appeared, and then there had been two Xanders.
Two Xanders were two too many.
There was too much laughter and too many loud clothes and too much floppy hair. There were too many pink tongues nervously licking too many pouty lips; there were too many flashes of collarbone pressing up against too much soft, pale skin; too many dark brown eyes staring soulfully at me and making me want to cuddle him. There were too many earnest looks and too many big feet and too much scent of Xander: ice cream and coconut and hero.
Why couldn’t there have been two Buffys? Buffi?
Because two Xanders raised too many possibilities, presented too many opportunities, offered too many fantasies.
So why had I agreed to let one of them come home with me and pass the night at the frat house and how did I get stuck with the randy one? The one who looked at me with knowing rather than without guile? The one who ogled me and leered? The one whose perpetual expression was a lusty smirk? The one whose shoulder bumped mine constantly and whose hand accidentally caressed my ass?
And how was an ass-caressing accidental? And why did my ass tingle where his hand had been? And how could I get Xander the Second to do it again?
“She doesn’t love you,” the other him told me.
“I know,” I whispered.
And then he was on me, and – god
– he was so strong, much stronger than I ever thought, and I liked it. I liked that there were no words, no halfhearted declarations or trite endearments. I liked that he pushed me over a headstone and ground his cock against my ass and whispered wetly into my ear after biting down on the lobe and drawing blood.
“I could love you.”
And he could and I wanted him to.
So I took him back to the dorm and he threw me on the bed and I loved that he was forceful because I looked into his eyes and saw that he saw only me. There was no memory of a souled vampire or a father who neglected him or a sick mother or a bratty kid sister. There was nothing looking back at me except naked hunger, and it was for me alone, and there was no need to go to vampires to make me feel something because he was making me feel everything
. He was making me feel like Riley Finn and not the Slayer’s minion.
And he fell on top of me and plundered my mouth and his lips were so soft but so unlike hers and he tasted like sawdust and sweat and chocolate. I didn’t taste Anya. I didn’t taste ashes or death or fear or obligation. I didn’t feel like the runner up or the second choice or the third wheel. I didn’t need to beg or plead or scream for notice. I didn’t need to cajole or whine or wonder.
He sat up and pulled his shirt off and it was so different but then he was on me again and my hands were on his back and he was so warm and alive and present. He hissed at my touch and burrowed against me as if he couldn’t get enough and yet I
was enough. His fingers dug into my waistband and his touch was like fire and there were far too many clothes and I couldn’t get them off fast enough.
He laughed and it wasn’t mocking and he unbuckled my pants and stared into my eyes and didn’t rush me or give me a schedule or make me feel like I was another responsibility to be penciled in. He pulled up my shirt and trailed kisses up my stomach and it was so strange to feel lips there because she never did that because it was too intimate. Then he rested his cheek on my breast and listened to my heartbeat and whispered my name and I was so hard that I ached.
I ran my fingers through his hair and it was so soft, softer than hers, and he moaned my name and shuddered. He took one of my nipples in his lush mouth and sucked and then bit and I howled. He moved up my body and our cocks twitched against each other and we groaned in unison. He put his face in my neck and sucked at the hollow and my whole body jerked as I screamed his name.
And then his eyes were glittering topazes staring down at me and I didn’t care what was going to happen or how it worked or who found out because he wanted me.
He reached into my shorts and took a hold of me and I squealed and he told me I was beautiful and no one had ever told me that before. I tried to take off my pants but he batted my hands away because he wanted to do it, because he wanted to see me, and suddenly I was shy. I must have blushed because he reached up and brushed my cheek with his fingers and told me again I was beautiful.
He carefully undressed me and murmured to himself and maybe I was beautiful because he made me feel that way.
He tore off his clothes as if they were offensive for more than just their style, and he collapsed on top of me and I was panting because he was tall and broad and strong and almost covered me completely. And we could have stayed this way and I would have been happy just holding him and having him hold me because I finally felt safe in another’s embrace.
“Let me love you,” he whispered.
And I nodded frantically and he moved down my body and took me into his mouth and I almost came right then because it had never been this good with anyone. I wanted to ask him how he knew how to do this and was I his first and had he thought about doing this with me before except I really didn’t want to know any of the answers. I just wanted to be with him.
So close, I was so close and he knew it and smiled around my cock and his fingers dug into my hips and the pain was so exquisite that I hoped he left bruises. And then he was doing something with his tongue that made me turn my head and scream into my pillow because all I saw were stars which twinkled like his eyes. And then he was on me again and I could taste myself on him and it was sexy and I wanted more because it was me and him mixed together.
I wanted to taste him but I was scared because I didn’t know what to do and he looked at me with such tenderness and his eyes said I didn’t have do anything. It was sweet, but I knew he wanted it and I wanted to give it to him, so I slithered down his body and I looked at it. It was big, not as big as mine, but thicker, and he gasped when I touched it and he sighed my name.
I kissed it and it was musky but the skin was so soft, like titanium encased in velvet, and it was Xander and Xander was my friend and Xander loved me, and I took my Xander in my mouth and I tried not to gag and to do everything he had done to me. He fisted my hair in his hands and babbled my name and I didn’t care if my jaw hurt or if it was a little difficult to breathe because I
was doing this to him, making his body react like this and making him whisper my name like it was a benediction.
He tried to warn me and I didn’t care because I wanted it, wanted him, and then he was spilling down my throat and it wasn’t bitter like I expected, but bittersweet. And then I released him and he leaned over and grabbed my shoulders and pulled me atop him and held me. He kissed my cheek and stroked my chest and kneaded my ass and told me I was beautiful and special and I almost believed him.
We kissed and kissed and he made my toes curl and my skin quiver because all of his attention was on me and making me feel good.
Then he held my face and his hands were like words and I nodded despite my fear and he rolled us over. His tongue swept down my spine and then he was doing something to me which I hadn’t even known was possible and I hoped it would never end. His fingers laced with mine and I could feel his heartbeat through his palm and I closed my eyes and prayed.
It was the first time in a long time that my prayers weren’t that someone wouldn’t die but that I might live.
And then there was a finger and I burned, but once stoked the fire blazed and I wanted more. He complied and there was another finger and then another and I felt like I had been split open in sacrifice and was waiting for my god.
He entered me and there was tantalizing agony before I was consumed and filled in a way I thought had been denied to me. He rocked inside me and against me and I clenched him and our heartbeats were one. He pressed a gentle kiss to my back and I was so touched I began to cry and he nuzzled my neck and licked my tears. Then the fire slowed, and my blood slowed, and there was just him. He roared and fell over the edge, taking me with him, and every cell in my body awoke and sang.
He collapsed on top of me and his pants were like feathers. He asked me if I was okay and I was. He asked me if he had hurt me and he had, but the pain wasn’t physical. And when I rolled over and cuddled beside him, I realized that tomorrow they would find a way to put him back, to make him whole, and I mourned.
He knew what I was thinking and he brought my hand to his mouth and kissed my fingers, and he told me that it didn’t matter because we would always have this, and that a part of him now belonged only to me. Not to Anya nor Willow nor Buffy nor Cordelia, but me alone, and it was enough.
He could love me.