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British Men

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Summary: SLASH. Response to Challenge 309: Pick from a Hat. Xander has a thing for British men.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Harry Potter > Xander-Centered > Pairing: OthershimaspawnFR1818251135,30421 Jun 0421 Jun 04Yes
AN: I wrote this as a response to challenge 309: Pick from a hat. My main character was Xander, and the characters that I pulled to pair him up with were, in order, Wesley, Anya, Spike Draco Malfoy, and a tentacle monster. I threw the last on in there as a joke, never expecting to draw it, but it worked well with the rest of the story. Please respond and tell me what you think. I want other people’s opinions on how this turned out.

WARNING: This is SLASH

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except maybe the tentacle monster and I don't WANT to own it.



British Men

I’ve always had this weakness for British men. The accents are what really get to me, so crisp, so proper, but underneath all that they promise unimaginable delights. Everyone has their kinks, but British accents are mine. I didn’t realize this until about midway through my senior year when a new watcher was sent to town. His name was Wesley, and he was just out of the Watcher Academy. He was also absolutely gorgeous.

Wesley was completely out of his league in Sunnydale. He had no idea what actually how to actually fight demons or deal with Slayers, but there was something about his nervous stutter and the way he ruffled his hair as he talked that just made me want to kiss him. I often woke from dreams of him with an aching hard-on and in desperate need of new sheets.

I never did get the courage to tell him before he got chased out of town. It probably would have been far better in the long run if I had, but I was still plying the part of heterosexual male at that point, and was still unwilling to shed that title. So instead of admitting that I was madly in love with Wesley, I ended up throwing myself into the arms of the first available female I could find, a former vengeance demon named Anya.

We had a good run Anya and I. I even managed to convince myself that I might love her. Anya was everything Wesley was not. She was loud, perverted, and completely without shame. She was ravenous and insatiable, in bed and I was left with no energy for fantasies. It was enough that I could forget the quiet stuttering Englishman and surround myself in a blissful blanket of denial.

And it worked, for a time. Until Deadboy Junior came back chipped and ended up living with me. I tried to resist him, but he I couldn’t escape him. Those blue eyes, that smoky British voice, it ceased to matter that he was an undead bloodsucker. It ceased to matter that I had often warned Buffy against a relation ship with Angel. It ceased to matter that I had Anya warm and living in my bed. I wanted him.

I think Anya had an inkling of what was going on even before she caught me with him in my bed. There had been signs for a long time before that things weren’t quite right between us. My careful constructed faced was crumbling. Finding me in bed with Spike was just the last straw.

I should have known better that to upset a vengeance demon, former or otherwise, but I let my hormones get the best of me. Anya was upset, more that I didn’t share than that I slept with Spike I think, but she convinced D’hofryn give her her old job back. Then she banished me to another dimension.

It wasn’t that bad actually, there was no Hellmouth, far fewer vampires, and no demons to speak of. I managed to find a construction job and started to rebuild my life. I missed my friends, but was still holding out hope that they would eventually find me. That hope has long since died.

I think the beginning of the end was when I met one Draco Malfoy. He was a beautiful British wizard only a few years younger than me. He was blond and perfect and reminded me amazingly of my lost Spike. I spent two blissful years in his arms, before Anyanka found out that the punishment she gave me was turning out not to be a punishment at all.

She stormed into our apartment one day out of the blue. The memory of her flinging my Draco into the wall with a sickening crack is still burned in my retinas. I still don’t know if she killed him, but the bloody smear he left as he slid down the wall doesn’t give me much hope. After dispatching my lover, she turned to me and started to berate me. She had sent me there as a second chance it turns out. She thought it had been Spike who had seduced me, so she gave me a lesser punishment. When she found me with Draco she learned differently.

Anyanka was furious, and in her wrath she banished me to a hell dimension to be raped forever by tentacle monsters. I’ve managed to escape them for the moment, and I’m writing this now in the hope that someone finds it and reads it. If you’re the one to discover this missive, tell Buffy I miss her and Draco, if he’s alive, that I still love him. I’m in one of the lower hell dimensions, ruled by a demon prince name T’th’ns’gs. Please get me out of here. I won’t sleep with any more British men. I promise. Oh my, god. They’ve found me.

The End

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