Xander and the Morning After
A/N: See chapter 1 for disclaimer, spoilers, notes on AU, and why Xander has his eye back.
Xander was awake.
He had to be awake. His head couldn’t possibly hurt this bad if he was asleep. Or dead. Or in a coma. Or whatever.
His head was throbbing. His mouth felt like someone had left old, unwashed gym socks in it – and when it came to unwashed gym socks, he was an expert. His stomach was queasy. There was a weight on his chest.
Definitely a hangover. Okay, most of the hangovers he’d had were either from magical attacks or from getting drugged and getting kidnapped. Or sometimes, all three at the same time, for that special hangover trifecta. Like that whole deal with those Wolfram and Hart idiots who thought that kidnapping him would be a good way to force a bunch of Slayers to do what they said; funny thing was it turned out it was really only a good way to get a whole bunch of Slayers and witches really, really pissed off at a building full of evil lawyers. If he hadn’t been painfully hung over that time and dangling by his wrists over a pit of hungry hellhounds, it would have been pretty funny. Okay, it was still pretty funny. The looks on those guys’ faces when they finally figured out that one really uber-powerful witch could open dozens of simultaneous portals into their supposedly-protected building, and about twelve full striketeams of Slayers were turning the building and every evil thing in it into scrap? Priceless.
So… magical hangovers and tranquilizer dart hangovers? Way too often. Alcohol hangovers? Not so much. That whole ‘son of two drunks’ thing. He’d only gotten really plastered a few times in his life. That night Giles got really drunk and told how Angelus had tortured him to make him tell how to bring Acathla to life. The night after Anya died. Okay, the whole week after Anya died. The…
The weight on his chest suddenly moved, and pressed soft curves against him.
Oh crap! His eyes flew open. The exploding pain in his head made him regret it as soon as he did it.
It wasn’t Anya. He looked at the head of hair nestled on his chest. He felt the lush curves pressed against him. And the beginning of the evening came back to him. Okay, a few parts of the night were still pretty much of a blur. But he remembered ‘picking up’ Anise to keep her from eating any innocent bystanders. He remembered buying her dinner and drinks. He remembered pumping her for information about that Stargate program the Air Force was running under their mountain. He remembered walking out of O’Malley’s with her. He remembered…
Oh crap! He vividly remembered her kissing him and then unbuttoning his shirt… And kissing him some more… And him kissing her… And…
Oh God, he hadn’t slayed her, or killed her. Unless you got to count le petit mort
as killing her. Oh no, Xander the Demon Magnet had done the stupidest thing he could imagine. He’d boinked her right there against the side of the building. And she hadn’t eaten him.
Oh, but wait, that wasn’t the most idiotic thing he could have done. No, he had kept up the idiot-age. He had let her lead him off down the street, and they had gone to another bar. And, at some point, another bar. And ice cream. Had he gotten into an argument with someone about Twinkie flavored ice cream? Oh man, at least he didn’t get into a drunken fistfight like his old man would have. And then…
He looked around. They were in a motel room. It definitely wasn’t his motel room. He was staying at the Summerfield Suites, and his room was a lot nicer than this one. Two years living in tents or in the back of old Land Rovers while Buffy lived it up in Rome and Willow treated Kennedy to the high life in Rio de Janeiro meant that Giles never
complained about Xander’s expense accounts. Not even the time he rescued four baby Slayers from that wizard who was auctioning off Slayer blood to the highest bidders, and he ended up with four naked teenaged Slayers in his hotel room and the girls ate everything in his honor bar, ordered five hundred bucks worth of room service, and then bought four hundred bucks of clothing from the hotel shops. All of it charged to him. Man, had Buffy and Faith and Rona given him grief about that for weeks.
He tried to look around without moving, since his head felt like it might explode if he turned it the least little bit. Queen bed, fully occupied. Small table over to his right, near the window – which thankfully had the curtains drawn – and a cheap but sturdy-looking door. Opposite him was a wide dresser, a big television bolted to the wall, and a video camera on a metal arm that was likewise secured to the wall. The camera still had a little red light on, and it was pointed right at the bed. Crap. The other side of the room had a small sink and mirror, with a rod for hanging clothes on one side and what was probably a small bathroom on the other side.
He wondered if all his clothes were in the room. He guessed they’d be on the floor, along with Anise’s stuff. He definitely remembered how soft and sexy her fake leather top and pants felt under his hands. He didn’t really remember taking her clothes off. Well, he didn’t remember it all that clearly. He definitely remembered bits and pieces afterward. A lot of really sexy bits and pieces. She certainly wasn’t shy or restrained. Maybe that was why he hadn’t stopped: she was so much like Anya in ways that had nothing to do with how she looked or what she was.
And he definitely remembered her eyes. That flaring white light from behind her irises, like she had a fifty watt lightbulb inside her head for half a second. She had shown him that before she made love to him against the wall outside O’Malley’s, and he was pretty sure she had done it several more times during the night, once they were here in the motel room. He didn’t know what it meant, but he wasn’t the demonology expert of the NSAWC. He knew she had done it at least once when she was flipping from Anise to Freya or back. And he was pretty sure she had done it a couple times when she climaxed.
So her name was Freya. Or Anise. Or Anise!Freya. Or something like that. Only Xander, Idiot King of the Demon Magnets, could find a schizo demon with multiple personalities. If she sat up and told him she wanted him to call her Sibyl from now on, he was going to…
But Anise didn’t give him time to finish whatever he was thinking. She slid up his naked body and kissed him sensuously. “Good morning, Xander.” He kissed her back, despite the throbbing agony in his head.
Was that a noise from just outside the door? The way his head was pounding, he was praying that it was going to be a really, really quiet noise, so his brain didn’t implode. Or else a really, really loud noise that would finish him off once and for all.
A/N2: I started with the idea of this chapter while reading one of the ‘when I woke up’ fics, but then my muse Agatha hit me with a half-brick in a sock and I realized what the framework of that event would be. Thus, the entire story was born.