This was written for School Hard Week over at nekid_spike, and is (predictably enough) set during the School Hard episode from early S2 of BtVS.

It's an odd little fic (well, odd for me at least) written from Xander's, Angel's and Spike's POVs. It starts off during the episode and graduates to post-black screen. I guess it's my take on what they were thinking during the ep and what I think happened after.

It's a little strange: there's humour, but I think it's pretty much an angsty fic overall. Anyway, I'll shut up now because this garbled intro is going to end up longer than the story...

Oh - I've never written Xander before, so...er....sorry in advance! *g

Denial

by
Ash Carpenter

This is bad. No, this is worse than bad. Awful. Horrific. Disastrous. Catastrophic. What’s worse than catastrophic? Well…I don’t know, but this is it.

So, since when did I turn into a Happy Meal, exactly? I must have missed the Happy Meal memo. I got the demon magnet one, but I had mistakenly assumed that was limited to female demons… How silly of me.

Being tucked under Deadboy’s arm and hauled along like some sort of picnic is just humiliating! I am a man. Well, nearly. And ok, so I’m not always the manliest of almost-men – a big, ugly spider makes me squeal like a girl as much as the next squeamish, arachnid-averse guy – but I do have some pride!

Or, at least, I did. It’s rapidly going the way of the dodo right now. My squirming is apparently as ineffectual as my chat-up lines at the Bronze, because he’s not even paying me perfunctory attention. And that’s just rude. If you’re gonna snatch a guy against his will and offer him for an evil demon to snack on, then the least you can do is pretend that his struggles are marginally more bothersome than a mayfly buzzing in the background. It’s just common courtesy! Sheesh.

And, for a reformed, apparently non-evil dead guy, he’s really gripping kinda tight.

The funny thing is, he’s talking to this scary blond, kinda compact vamp – Spike…Whoa. Compact?! Anyway…they’re banging on about evil ruses and I feel as though I should be concentrating – I mean, this must have some relevance to me, right? But see, I’m pressed against Angel’s side and the other one is leaning in against me and I’m just a little too scared to think straight and there’s this really weird feeling in the base of my spine and… Oh God.

Remember that thing that was worse than bad? Well, this is way more worse than that. This is like the Worsest Worsey King of Worsedom from Worse Castle on Worse Hill.

If this wasn’t the most screwed-up, sanity-threatening, unthinkably awful experience of my whole life – and, since I grew up on the Hellmouth, that is actually saying something – then I would be tempted to make a joke.

Unfortunately, it isn’t a stake in my pocket.

And there’s just nothing funny about that.

~*~*~*~*~

OK, so apparently I deserve the award for the dumbest plan in the history of dumb plans. Spike will be disappointed to have to relinquish his title, but this one really is a corker…

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Snatch the annoying boy, pretend to offer the annoying boy to the really annoying vampire to drink…and then…Well, I hadn’t really gotten that far. I suppose there was some heroic rescuing and then macking on the hot chick involved, but who knows? People generally credit me with a lot more foresight than I really have. I mean, hello? Mr. I’m-sure-nothing-bad-will-happen-if-I-snack-on-a-gypsy here.

But anyway, I kinda had something vaguely figured out. Until Spike’s scent filled me and his arms wrapped around me and I realised he was hard and remembered how good it feels to have a human sandwiched between us. And the fear and blood were thick in the air, with the sound of the kid’s pulse so strong, and just…Yeah. So, the ‘plan’ was already on shaky ground.

And then, Xander got hard. Stupid, annoying, babbling, useless excuse for a snivelling whelp! All sweaty locks of hair in his puppy eyes and hot, smooth body and great stinking wafts of arousal… Grrr.

Just super.

So, now I’m leaning down in game face, getting ever closer to his neck, with my head chock full of dirty, bad, wrong images and not even a glimmer of my ‘brilliant’ plan. Am I going to bite him? What the hell is my plan?! So, I’m trying to convince Spike that I’m evil… Damn, he looks good; I really his hair like - ARGH! FOCUS!!!! Right, plan… I mean, how far am I thinking of taking this? Er, sorry for eating Xander, Buffy – I was just trying out a sneaky ruse? Fuck! My fangs are really close now! Spike’s face is right there. I could just flick out my tongue…NO! No tongue-flicking. Plan. What should I be doing? What would a heroic, soulful, reformed man of mystery be doing? Should I hit Spike? Is hitting Spike my plan?

OUCH!!!! Spike took my plan! Oh, wow. He is so fucking dead…

~*~*~*~*~

Great bloody poufy wanker!

Did he really think that he could run around the world avoiding us for nearly a hundred years without us hearing that he had a soul?! Stupid prat.

Darla told us the day he left!

I thought if I ever saw him again then I’d just stake him. Not for having a soul, but for leaving us. And when we got trapped on that sub together, I did think of staking him, but then he distracted me with…other things. And, I have to admit, I’m still thinking of staking him. Just…not with anything made of wood. I can’t believe that I want him after all these years, and with that fucking soul!

It just pisses me off.

Which is probably why I’m here, ranting at him and using pop culture references that he clearly doesn’t get, while he just stands there stupidly staring at me with a tree trunk in his pocket! Grrr!

And the kid’s hard too, whoever the hell he might be. Angelus must know him. I wonder if they…ARGH! Why does that drive me crazy? Why do I care? Uh-oh, the minions have turned up. Better send them after the great bloody ponce. It’s ok, they won’t be able to catch him: running away is wot he does best.

~*~*~*~*~

Well, that was fun. Or not.

It’s bad enough being used not-exactly-consentingly in a vampire’s plan, but when the vampire in question seems to forget his plan half-way through and you think you’re in real, actual danger of being on the lunch menu… Yeah, not so much with the fun.

Particularly if the imminent biting seems to make certain treacherous parts of your anatomy all perky. Stupid teen libido.

Still, it was probably just some strange reaction to all the fear and adrenaline. Yeah, of course. Which doesn’t quite explain why it’s still trying to poke its way through the front of my pants, making this whole manly stalk away thing we’re doing very difficult, but hey! I’m the Xan-man. Denial is my friend.

I have to ask him why he didn’t hit Spike though. I mean, what kind of sucky plan was that anyway? I am so allowed to be righteously angry. It’s not as if he knows about the whole not-a-stake-in-my-pocket thing, and thank the Lord for long jerseys.

Couldn’t make the first move? But why not? Surely, making the first move in a round of punching the vampire before he eats an innocent bystander/hostage is a good idea. What if he’d bitten me?! I mean, apart from the fact that I’d probably have sprayed the front of my jeans, I’d be dead! What’s your answer to that, Captain Fantastic?

“We would’ve known he bought it!?!?!?” Did I mention how much I hate Deadboy?

~*~*~*~*~

Argh! The kid is asking me about my non-existent plan. The irritating little pest should be worrying more about the fact that he is hobbling along sending off great wafts of lust than about why I nearly let Spike sink his fangs in.

“We would have known he bought it.” Ha! That’ll shut him up.

Wrong again. Does he ever shut up? Oh no. He’s asking me about Sires. Quickly walk away…Hell, run away if that’s what it takes… What the hell am I supposed to say!? Yes, the annoying blond pest is my responsibility? We spent several decades killing, feeding and fucking? Oh yeah, that would go down really well.

He’s following me! Short of flailing away screaming like a girl, I’m going to have to talk to him. Shit. Damn, he smells so good! I just want to… No, no, no. Don’t even go there. I need to deflect the attention away from myself.

I’m going to tell him that vampires can smell lust. (Like the lust I smelled rolling off my boy – my beautiful, murdering, soulless masterpiece – though I won’t say that.)

Oh yeah, that worked.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone go such a pretty shade of pink. And he’s finally stopped following me! Thank Christ for that.

I couldn’t have taken much more of that temptation.

~*~*~*~*~

I know he’s there before he even crosses the threshold. But then again, I’ve been expecting him – I made sure he’d be able to track me. I’ll have to grab him and haul him back outside – I don’t want my princess knowing that Daddy is around.

He’s all soulful eyes and shame. He even tries to have a go at warning me off and getting the hell out of Sunnyhell. Doing his white hat bit.

Would probably be more effective if he wasn’t hard.

God, it’s so familiar. He might be acting all Captain America, but I can smell it all! The darkness and passion and lust. He wants to feed, he wants to fuck, he wants to hurt me the way he used to. He wants to spill my blood and cum, feel them gushing all over him.

It hurts so much. He’s different, he left us, and I want to tell him to get the fuck out of here before I dust him. But I can’t.

When I half-turn from him, deliberately giving him the opportunity to jump me, he takes it. He hits me first, venting his self-hatred, before knocking me down to the dirty concrete. I can almost feel the strength and surety flowing back into his limbs: all that weakness I could sense is conquered in the face of blood and fangs and cock. Of course.

I’m only struggling enough to maintain the status quo. I’ll feel bad about this later – like I should have been strong enough to refuse him – and it’ll be a relief to convince myself that I tried but he was just physically superior, like always.

Besides, it turns him on.

He’s different, but not different enough. And the further this goes, the smaller the gap becomes. Beating and fucking and mocking and biting, holding me down and subjecting me to this brutal worship: he’s still Angelus.

I hate him so fucking much. Can a dead heart ache?

He’s kissing me. It makes it worse.

~*~*~*~*~

I probably shouldn’t have followed him.

OK, I know I shouldn’t have followed him.

If he can smell lust, then surely he can smell me now. If there happen to be any vamps wandering around Bora Bora, they can probably smell me now.

He and Spike are going at it right on the ground outside the warehouse. It’s like watching wild animals fuck: it’s all teeth and nails and fists. Angel’s still fully clothed, near enough, although he has torn most of Spike’s, and the things he’s saying… I’ve never heard him say that many words at all, during our entire acquaintance, and most of them are filthy.

Why can’t I move? Why am I not I running back to safety? Shouldn’t I be warning Buffy what Angel is? Giles is a Watcher, so he should know about this, but I have a feeling that he doesn’t. This doesn’t look like the sort of thing that a bunch of stuffy British academics would write about in those dusty books.

So, again I ask. Why am I not running?

Oh yeah. That.

I’m frozen to the spot. I’m trying to convince myself that I’m afraid they’ll notice me, but that’s bull. They might not notice a jumbo jet if it landed next to them.

I’m going to come in my pants. I actually am, and without even touching myself. I shouldn’t be turned on by this. There is a very obvious lack of feminine lumps and breathy pants and “Ooh, that’s so good; fuck me harder”s – all the things that I know should get me off. Hell, I watch enough porn to know. There is instead an abundance of hard muscle and cock, blood and violence and terrifying brutality. Is this why Angel wouldn’t tell me about being a Sire?

When Angel pulls out and shoots cum all over Spike, getting him from groin to mouth, I have to bite down on my lips hard enough to draw blood as I arch forwards against nothing at all, unloading in my pants.

Who knew that vampire cum shots would be so hot? The porn industry has really missed a trick there…

Trying to recover my breath, I watch Angel kiss Spike and I know that I won’t tell Buffy or Giles a damned thing.

And not because of the whole ‘stake in the pocket’ thing and how very not funny that is. But because, even though I hate Deadboy, that look on his face broke my heart. All that pain and gratitude, and hate and love, self-disgust and desperation.

I think I get why he doesn’t want to talk about the Sire thing.

And if there’s one thing Alexander Lavelle Harris can do, it’s pretend that something never happened.

Yay for denial.

The End

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