![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Learn to be Lonely Chapter 6/?
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chocgood84
Rating: NC-17 for brief violence and sexual content
Pairing: BtVS Spike/Xander
Author’s Note: Yes, I am aware that the timeline is a little screwed up and that Giles didn’t own the Magic Box until after Adam and after Dawn arrived. But in my reality, who’s Dawn? Adam what? Also, a huge spanking thanks tokitty_poker1 for being my official L2BL beta.
Disclaimer: These character’s aren’t mine, never were; I don’t get any profit for this hobby, so don’t sue – Thanks.
Warning: Brief violence, nudity, and hetero and homo sexual content and situations. And some h0t man-luvin.
On the fifth buzz, Anya’s voice came over the intercom, crackling and sizzling with the weight of an old building that’s seen too much dust and not enough repair.
“-el-o?” she answered.
“Anya? Anya, it’s Xander.” He wasn’t sure whether she could hear him over the intercom or not; his hands were trembling so badly his finger kept slipping off the transmission button. “Let me in.”
A loud clanging that still reminded him of a train derailing announced that the door was unlocking itself for him to enter. He made his way inside and turned to the stairs; the elevator was as old as the building and had a habit of trapping its passengers between floors for hours or, in one case, days. The building itself was practically falling in on itself and sometimes Xander wondered how Anya could say anything about where he lived – this place wasn’t much better. But then he’d remember half of the reason she chose this building was that she could pay rent with what some people spent on a night at a bar. Good old Anya he mentally mumbled, rolling his eyes.
Xander sprinted up the thinly lit stairs, two and sometimes three at a time, careful of the cracks and weak spots in the old wooden planks and the splinters that grew like thorns up the banister. Creaks and groans accompanied each step, and by the time he reached the fourth floor the steady staccato rhythm of soprano and baritone had nearly driven him mad.
He found Anya’s door slightly ajar, casting a thin bar of bright orange and yellow flickering light on the opposite wall. For a moment, his stomach felt like an elevator, dropping to his feet and racing up to his throat. Panic gripped him until he realized she’d only opened it so he could let himself in.
Pushing the door open, he stepped into Anya’s living room, which was awash in white and amber and crimson stutters of light that shone from hundreds of candles throughout the room. Everywhere he turned, each surface was cluttered with short and tall and small and fat white candles. On the floor and the window sill, the dining room table and the kitchen counter. The bookshelves had been lined with dozens of tiny votives, the coffee table was littered with tealights. The air smelled faintly of vanilla and cinnamon, but the stench of heat assaulted his senses, sending a cold chill through his body even as sweat beaded upon his brow.
“A-ahn?” he called into the leaping and retreating shadows. The bedroom door was closed and no light seeped from beneath it. Another cold knife trickled up and down his spine as a shadow leapt out at him from the corner of his eye. He turned sharply to catch it, too sharply, and found himself falling to the floor, arms flailing and breath catching. A moment later and he felt plush carpet greet his face with an assailant's salutation.
“Ugh,” he mumbled. “This is so not my day.”
“Honestly, Xander,” Anya, formerly the shadow monster that had tried to assault Xander, chided as she shut and locked the door. “I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who messed things up as much as you do.”
“Um, thanks,” he muttered, rolling to his back and pushing himself up to lean on his elbows.
“Fortunately for you, there’s still some things you’re good at.” Her devilish smile took on an almost frightening connotation in the candlelight. She untied the knot that was holding her satin robe closed, letting the garment flutter to the floor like a feather caught in the wind. Before Xander could admire the view, she fell down on him and straddled his hips, rolling her own slightly and eliciting a groan from him. She bent down to kiss him.
“Just good?” he played along. “You told me I was the best.”
Anya’s face stopped halfway to Xander’s. Her head tilted to the left slightly and her eyes took on a confused daze.
“Oh,” she seemed to suddenly realize. “Oh, I don’t mean for that.” She rolled their hips together again, making Xander groan again. She ran one hand down Xander’s chest, stopping over his heart to feel it beating beneath the shirt.
“Then what did you mean?” Xander’s voice was low and husky, his eyes glazed and half-lidded. Just another one of Anya’s games.
“I mean for this!” Suddenly, Anya’s face transformed to Anyanka and the rolling hips became vices, squeezing and clenching his hands and legs together solidly and painfully. Anyanka raised the hand she had rested on his chest and brought it back down with lightning speed, spearing it into him. He could feel her hand inside him, tearing flesh and ripping vessels and organs apart as she found what she sought. He could feel it as she grasped his heart in her hand and wrenched it from his body. It beat once, twice, three times and stuttered, died. Though he himself should be dead, Xander looked on in a wondrous terror that seemed to course through his unflowing veins.
As he watched, Anyanka brought the bruised and dead heart to her lips, tearing into it with teeth and a savagery that no human possessed. With a piercing scream, she dropped the organ onto his chest and suddenly the scream was quiet, empty, caught as if stopped in the middle. Anya slumped over and fell off his body, her neck turned to face the wrong direction.
Taking her place, a blonde vampire wearing too much eyeliner slid onto his lap. With a grin and a wink, Spike picked up the heart that was quickly turning black, pumped it twice in his clasped hands and pushed it into Xander’s chest, returning it to its rightful place. Xander felt it jumpstart and beat, spreading both heat and cold through his limbs and flesh. Above him, two radiant blue eyes glowed like moons in the reflection of the candles that still burned. And then they were gone, and there was only darkness where the brilliant blue had blazed.
****
“Xander!” Giles called gently, shaking him awake. “Xander, wake up!”
“What?” Xander wondered as the blackness faded, taking with it the fuzzy image of candles and blood, and of blue eyes. Sleep washed away from him quickly this time, and for a moment he was unsure if it actually had been a dream. He reached and felt his chest, finding no hole or cavity, and breathed deeply in relief.
“Are you alright?” Giles asked in evident concern. “I thought you were getting murdered in here the way you were yelling and screaming.”
“I was?” he asked. “I mean, I’m sorry. It was just a dream. Bad dream, weird dreams lately.” He tried to shake off the insistent nagging feeling of badness that weighed on him like a suit made of lead, but it wouldn’t budge. “Only a dream.”
“Well, thank heavens,” Giles sighed. “At least it’s over, yes?”
“Uh, sure, Giles,” Xander replied, aware of how distant his voice sounded. Truth be told, he was distant. He kept remembering the dreams he’d been having the past couple of days, and began piecing them together to form one long nightmare. Something told him that it wasn’t quite over, yet.
“What?” he asked, realizing that Giles had been talking to him.
“I asked if you should be going; aren’t you supposed to be meeting Anya soon? I thought-“
“Shit! What time is it?” Xander scrambled up from his chair at the table, searching his pockets for his cell phone.
“It’s nearly seven, now,” Giles replied.
“Fuck!” he shouted, running for the door. “Thanks, G-man, I’ll fill you in later!” he called as he made his way into the twilight evening, ignoring the bad that still crowded his senses.
****
Xander reached Anya’s building a half hour later. It was only five minutes by car, but walking – even quickly – took much longer. He stood for a moment outside the rambling old building, staring up at the windows he knew to be Anya’s. He was hesitant to ring the buzzer, cautious because of the weird dream. He was fairly confident that Anya didn’t want to kill him, but some days those odds weren’t the highest. And he was almost certain that when your heart has been ripped from your chest and - gulp - eaten, you would be dead before you saw it gulp again stop beating. But, this was the Hellmouth, and no certainties were allowed and having no confidence is best.
Anya answered after only one buzz, and her voice came over the intercom as clear as Klingon. “Xander, come on up.” And then there was a train derailment.
He stepped cautiously into the lobby, not amused by the fact that the single ancient ceiling light decided to flicker on and off tonight, causing him to blink back a seizure.
Fully aware he was acting like a paranoid fool, he decided to take his chances on the elevator rather than risk the stairs leading to prophecy – he wasn’t quite sure how those things worked; prophecies, not stairs. A few moments later a loud clang announced the arrival of the elderly elevator and Xander haphazardly opened the gate and climbed in. The gate slammed shut with a harsh clack, startling him. Pressing the button for Anya’s floor, he fought the urge to say a prayer and instead held his breath, counting each floor he passed until the car lurched to a bouncing stop. Opening the gate, he stepped into the hallway.
He was happy to find the door closed and locked when he tried the knob. He took another deep breath and knocked once. Before his knuckles left the lead-painted door, it swung open to reveal a clothed Anya.
“Xander,” she said. “Please come in.”
Slightly confused by the formal tone she took, he shrugged and entered the apartment, only to find it completely empty. All her furniture and rugs and paintings were gone, and in their place there was only a bare hardwood floor that had seen too many tenants and blank walls that had been repainted sometime right after World War II.
“Anya?” Xander asked, turning in a circle and finding each corner of the room as empty as the last. “What’s going on?”
“I have to tell you something,” she said, walking to the undressed window and leaving the door open. She turned her back to him. “And I didn’t want to do it over the phone. It just didn’t feel right.”
“What is it?” Xander asked, but before he finished his question, he knew the answer. It took all the strength he had not to cross the room and pull her into his arms.
“I’m leaving,” she whispered, turning to face him but refusing to meet his gaze. Silent tears streaked her face, and in the twilight glow that framed the window Xander decided he’d never seen her more beautiful, nor more ugly, in all the time he’d known her.
****
“Just remember!” Xander shouted, swallowing a hiccup, waving his arms dramatically. “I left her! I said I wasn’t going to let her leave me, and I didn’t. I says, ‘Anya, you go ahead and leave. I don’t care! Just remember something, Anya.’” Another hiccup. “’I left you. You’re the crazy one, all veiny faced and heart-ripping-out. No thank you, goodbye, and good riding, nidderance, good riddance!”
“Whoa, easy there, buddy.” The bartender reached over the bar and grabbed Xander by his shirt, rescuing him from a nasty fall from the precariously high bar stool that had begun to topple.
“Thanks,” Xander squinted to read the man’s nametag but the font was so tiny and squiggly, “Todd. Coulda busted my head open. Again.”
“That’s what I’m here for, sir,” the bartender said with less amusement than weariness. It was that attitude all seasoned bartenders took with people that were three, four, five sheets to the wind. “And the name’s actually Joe.”
“Oh,” Xander mumbled around a gulp of the gin and tonic he was trying to swallow. He was aware he was probably being a bit loud, but who cared? “Well, what do you know, Joe?”
“That’s a good one, sir.” Joe rolled his eyes. “Haven’t heard that one before.”
“Well, that’s what I do, Joe. I’m the funny one,” Xander explained with a little more self-contempt disdain than he’d meant.
“Sir, we’re about to close up.” Joe nodded towards the neon clock that Xander couldn’t read from where he was sitting – probably couldn’t read if it was right in front of him. “Is there someone you can call? Or maybe I can call a cab?”
“Well, let’s see,” Xander mentally counted down all his friends. “Willow’s probably doing ‘spells’ with Tara, Buffy’s probably ‘patrolling’ with Colonel Cornfed and Giles is most likely doing the naughty with one of his dusty books.”
Joe gave him a puzzled look, not sure whether it was the drink making Xander say these things or if maybe he was just crazy.
“Shorthand, Todd, er, Joe, I got no one. No damn one at all,” Xander muttered, downing the rest of his drink and wincing at the bitter tonic splashing down his throat.
Xander felt strong hands on his shoulders, pulling him up off the bar stool and keeping him from sinking to the floor. Damn gravity.
“S’alright, mate, I’ll get him home,” Spike threw a fifty dollar bill on the bar and started pushing/leading Xander towards the door. “Come on, Xander, let’s get you home before you piss off someone else.”
“Oh, look!” Xander exclaimed, turning back to the bartender, who had come around the bar and was stacking stools on the counter. “It’s Sssssspike!”
“Yeah, whelp, it’s me,” Spike said around a smirk.
“Spike, will you take me home?” Xander mumbled, rolling his head. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Yeah, mate, I’ll get you home.” Spike’s smirk turned into a smile as they made it to the door, Xander stumbling the whole way.
“Only, Spike? Promise you won’t eat me?” Xander’s voice was weak and his skin was pale.
“Scout’s honor, Xander. I will not eat you.”
They’d made it a few feet outside the bar when Xander turned his head to face Spike.
“But you were never a Boy Scout,” he protested.
“Good point, that,” Spike said, nodding. “But I did eat one, once.”
“Oh. Well, I guess that’s okay, then.”
Author:
chocgood84Rating: NC-17 for brief violence and sexual content
Pairing: BtVS Spike/Xander
Author’s Note: Yes, I am aware that the timeline is a little screwed up and that Giles didn’t own the Magic Box until after Adam and after Dawn arrived. But in my reality, who’s Dawn? Adam what? Also, a huge spanking thanks to
kitty_poker1 for being my official L2BL beta.Disclaimer: These character’s aren’t mine, never were; I don’t get any profit for this hobby, so don’t sue – Thanks.
Warning: Brief violence, nudity, and hetero and homo sexual content and situations. And some h0t man-luvin.
On the fifth buzz, Anya’s voice came over the intercom, crackling and sizzling with the weight of an old building that’s seen too much dust and not enough repair.
“-el-o?” she answered.
“Anya? Anya, it’s Xander.” He wasn’t sure whether she could hear him over the intercom or not; his hands were trembling so badly his finger kept slipping off the transmission button. “Let me in.”
A loud clanging that still reminded him of a train derailing announced that the door was unlocking itself for him to enter. He made his way inside and turned to the stairs; the elevator was as old as the building and had a habit of trapping its passengers between floors for hours or, in one case, days. The building itself was practically falling in on itself and sometimes Xander wondered how Anya could say anything about where he lived – this place wasn’t much better. But then he’d remember half of the reason she chose this building was that she could pay rent with what some people spent on a night at a bar. Good old Anya he mentally mumbled, rolling his eyes.
Xander sprinted up the thinly lit stairs, two and sometimes three at a time, careful of the cracks and weak spots in the old wooden planks and the splinters that grew like thorns up the banister. Creaks and groans accompanied each step, and by the time he reached the fourth floor the steady staccato rhythm of soprano and baritone had nearly driven him mad.
He found Anya’s door slightly ajar, casting a thin bar of bright orange and yellow flickering light on the opposite wall. For a moment, his stomach felt like an elevator, dropping to his feet and racing up to his throat. Panic gripped him until he realized she’d only opened it so he could let himself in.
Pushing the door open, he stepped into Anya’s living room, which was awash in white and amber and crimson stutters of light that shone from hundreds of candles throughout the room. Everywhere he turned, each surface was cluttered with short and tall and small and fat white candles. On the floor and the window sill, the dining room table and the kitchen counter. The bookshelves had been lined with dozens of tiny votives, the coffee table was littered with tealights. The air smelled faintly of vanilla and cinnamon, but the stench of heat assaulted his senses, sending a cold chill through his body even as sweat beaded upon his brow.
“A-ahn?” he called into the leaping and retreating shadows. The bedroom door was closed and no light seeped from beneath it. Another cold knife trickled up and down his spine as a shadow leapt out at him from the corner of his eye. He turned sharply to catch it, too sharply, and found himself falling to the floor, arms flailing and breath catching. A moment later and he felt plush carpet greet his face with an assailant's salutation.
“Ugh,” he mumbled. “This is so not my day.”
“Honestly, Xander,” Anya, formerly the shadow monster that had tried to assault Xander, chided as she shut and locked the door. “I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who messed things up as much as you do.”
“Um, thanks,” he muttered, rolling to his back and pushing himself up to lean on his elbows.
“Fortunately for you, there’s still some things you’re good at.” Her devilish smile took on an almost frightening connotation in the candlelight. She untied the knot that was holding her satin robe closed, letting the garment flutter to the floor like a feather caught in the wind. Before Xander could admire the view, she fell down on him and straddled his hips, rolling her own slightly and eliciting a groan from him. She bent down to kiss him.
“Just good?” he played along. “You told me I was the best.”
Anya’s face stopped halfway to Xander’s. Her head tilted to the left slightly and her eyes took on a confused daze.
“Oh,” she seemed to suddenly realize. “Oh, I don’t mean for that.” She rolled their hips together again, making Xander groan again. She ran one hand down Xander’s chest, stopping over his heart to feel it beating beneath the shirt.
“Then what did you mean?” Xander’s voice was low and husky, his eyes glazed and half-lidded. Just another one of Anya’s games.
“I mean for this!” Suddenly, Anya’s face transformed to Anyanka and the rolling hips became vices, squeezing and clenching his hands and legs together solidly and painfully. Anyanka raised the hand she had rested on his chest and brought it back down with lightning speed, spearing it into him. He could feel her hand inside him, tearing flesh and ripping vessels and organs apart as she found what she sought. He could feel it as she grasped his heart in her hand and wrenched it from his body. It beat once, twice, three times and stuttered, died. Though he himself should be dead, Xander looked on in a wondrous terror that seemed to course through his unflowing veins.
As he watched, Anyanka brought the bruised and dead heart to her lips, tearing into it with teeth and a savagery that no human possessed. With a piercing scream, she dropped the organ onto his chest and suddenly the scream was quiet, empty, caught as if stopped in the middle. Anya slumped over and fell off his body, her neck turned to face the wrong direction.
Taking her place, a blonde vampire wearing too much eyeliner slid onto his lap. With a grin and a wink, Spike picked up the heart that was quickly turning black, pumped it twice in his clasped hands and pushed it into Xander’s chest, returning it to its rightful place. Xander felt it jumpstart and beat, spreading both heat and cold through his limbs and flesh. Above him, two radiant blue eyes glowed like moons in the reflection of the candles that still burned. And then they were gone, and there was only darkness where the brilliant blue had blazed.
****
“Xander!” Giles called gently, shaking him awake. “Xander, wake up!”
“What?” Xander wondered as the blackness faded, taking with it the fuzzy image of candles and blood, and of blue eyes. Sleep washed away from him quickly this time, and for a moment he was unsure if it actually had been a dream. He reached and felt his chest, finding no hole or cavity, and breathed deeply in relief.
“Are you alright?” Giles asked in evident concern. “I thought you were getting murdered in here the way you were yelling and screaming.”
“I was?” he asked. “I mean, I’m sorry. It was just a dream. Bad dream, weird dreams lately.” He tried to shake off the insistent nagging feeling of badness that weighed on him like a suit made of lead, but it wouldn’t budge. “Only a dream.”
“Well, thank heavens,” Giles sighed. “At least it’s over, yes?”
“Uh, sure, Giles,” Xander replied, aware of how distant his voice sounded. Truth be told, he was distant. He kept remembering the dreams he’d been having the past couple of days, and began piecing them together to form one long nightmare. Something told him that it wasn’t quite over, yet.
“What?” he asked, realizing that Giles had been talking to him.
“I asked if you should be going; aren’t you supposed to be meeting Anya soon? I thought-“
“Shit! What time is it?” Xander scrambled up from his chair at the table, searching his pockets for his cell phone.
“It’s nearly seven, now,” Giles replied.
“Fuck!” he shouted, running for the door. “Thanks, G-man, I’ll fill you in later!” he called as he made his way into the twilight evening, ignoring the bad that still crowded his senses.
****
Xander reached Anya’s building a half hour later. It was only five minutes by car, but walking – even quickly – took much longer. He stood for a moment outside the rambling old building, staring up at the windows he knew to be Anya’s. He was hesitant to ring the buzzer, cautious because of the weird dream. He was fairly confident that Anya didn’t want to kill him, but some days those odds weren’t the highest. And he was almost certain that when your heart has been ripped from your chest and - gulp - eaten, you would be dead before you saw it gulp again stop beating. But, this was the Hellmouth, and no certainties were allowed and having no confidence is best.
Anya answered after only one buzz, and her voice came over the intercom as clear as Klingon. “Xander, come on up.” And then there was a train derailment.
He stepped cautiously into the lobby, not amused by the fact that the single ancient ceiling light decided to flicker on and off tonight, causing him to blink back a seizure.
Fully aware he was acting like a paranoid fool, he decided to take his chances on the elevator rather than risk the stairs leading to prophecy – he wasn’t quite sure how those things worked; prophecies, not stairs. A few moments later a loud clang announced the arrival of the elderly elevator and Xander haphazardly opened the gate and climbed in. The gate slammed shut with a harsh clack, startling him. Pressing the button for Anya’s floor, he fought the urge to say a prayer and instead held his breath, counting each floor he passed until the car lurched to a bouncing stop. Opening the gate, he stepped into the hallway.
He was happy to find the door closed and locked when he tried the knob. He took another deep breath and knocked once. Before his knuckles left the lead-painted door, it swung open to reveal a clothed Anya.
“Xander,” she said. “Please come in.”
Slightly confused by the formal tone she took, he shrugged and entered the apartment, only to find it completely empty. All her furniture and rugs and paintings were gone, and in their place there was only a bare hardwood floor that had seen too many tenants and blank walls that had been repainted sometime right after World War II.
“Anya?” Xander asked, turning in a circle and finding each corner of the room as empty as the last. “What’s going on?”
“I have to tell you something,” she said, walking to the undressed window and leaving the door open. She turned her back to him. “And I didn’t want to do it over the phone. It just didn’t feel right.”
“What is it?” Xander asked, but before he finished his question, he knew the answer. It took all the strength he had not to cross the room and pull her into his arms.
“I’m leaving,” she whispered, turning to face him but refusing to meet his gaze. Silent tears streaked her face, and in the twilight glow that framed the window Xander decided he’d never seen her more beautiful, nor more ugly, in all the time he’d known her.
****
“Just remember!” Xander shouted, swallowing a hiccup, waving his arms dramatically. “I left her! I said I wasn’t going to let her leave me, and I didn’t. I says, ‘Anya, you go ahead and leave. I don’t care! Just remember something, Anya.’” Another hiccup. “’I left you. You’re the crazy one, all veiny faced and heart-ripping-out. No thank you, goodbye, and good riding, nidderance, good riddance!”
“Whoa, easy there, buddy.” The bartender reached over the bar and grabbed Xander by his shirt, rescuing him from a nasty fall from the precariously high bar stool that had begun to topple.
“Thanks,” Xander squinted to read the man’s nametag but the font was so tiny and squiggly, “Todd. Coulda busted my head open. Again.”
“That’s what I’m here for, sir,” the bartender said with less amusement than weariness. It was that attitude all seasoned bartenders took with people that were three, four, five sheets to the wind. “And the name’s actually Joe.”
“Oh,” Xander mumbled around a gulp of the gin and tonic he was trying to swallow. He was aware he was probably being a bit loud, but who cared? “Well, what do you know, Joe?”
“That’s a good one, sir.” Joe rolled his eyes. “Haven’t heard that one before.”
“Well, that’s what I do, Joe. I’m the funny one,” Xander explained with a little more self-contempt disdain than he’d meant.
“Sir, we’re about to close up.” Joe nodded towards the neon clock that Xander couldn’t read from where he was sitting – probably couldn’t read if it was right in front of him. “Is there someone you can call? Or maybe I can call a cab?”
“Well, let’s see,” Xander mentally counted down all his friends. “Willow’s probably doing ‘spells’ with Tara, Buffy’s probably ‘patrolling’ with Colonel Cornfed and Giles is most likely doing the naughty with one of his dusty books.”
Joe gave him a puzzled look, not sure whether it was the drink making Xander say these things or if maybe he was just crazy.
“Shorthand, Todd, er, Joe, I got no one. No damn one at all,” Xander muttered, downing the rest of his drink and wincing at the bitter tonic splashing down his throat.
Xander felt strong hands on his shoulders, pulling him up off the bar stool and keeping him from sinking to the floor. Damn gravity.
“S’alright, mate, I’ll get him home,” Spike threw a fifty dollar bill on the bar and started pushing/leading Xander towards the door. “Come on, Xander, let’s get you home before you piss off someone else.”
“Oh, look!” Xander exclaimed, turning back to the bartender, who had come around the bar and was stacking stools on the counter. “It’s Sssssspike!”
“Yeah, whelp, it’s me,” Spike said around a smirk.
“Spike, will you take me home?” Xander mumbled, rolling his head. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Yeah, mate, I’ll get you home.” Spike’s smirk turned into a smile as they made it to the door, Xander stumbling the whole way.
“Only, Spike? Promise you won’t eat me?” Xander’s voice was weak and his skin was pale.
“Scout’s honor, Xander. I will not eat you.”
They’d made it a few feet outside the bar when Xander turned his head to face Spike.
“But you were never a Boy Scout,” he protested.
“Good point, that,” Spike said, nodding. “But I did eat one, once.”
“Oh. Well, I guess that’s okay, then.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Thanks, babe! I'm glad you like it:)
From: (Anonymous)
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“Good point, that,” Spike said, nodding. “But I did eat one, once.”
“Oh. Well, I guess that’s okay, then.”
*falls over laughing* works for me, too!
Okay, those dreams... are just damned freaky!
*cackles* I still love that ending...
Kat Coll
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Thanks, love!
Glad you're like it:)
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Glad I could give you a good cuppa ;)
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“Good point, that,” Spike said, nodding. “But I did eat one, once.”
“Oh. Well, I guess that’s okay, then.”
*snickers* Too funny. The dream, however, is very creepy. Wonder how that's going to factor in.
But sweet Spike, coming to help Xander! And a smirk to a smile...*sighs happily*
~Nebula
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hee!
Thanks, luv!
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“Good point, that,” Spike said, nodding. “But I did eat one, once.”
“Oh. Well, I guess that’s okay, then.”
Accompanied by a volley of wild snickering on my end, that was.
So, to quote a phrase, where do we go from here? I am curious.
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Soon we'll know where we're going:)
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Gotta love the alcohol-induced logic. ::snerk::
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Marie
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*muah*
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So, Anya's gone now. Hmmmmmmmmmmm....
And Spike's taking XAnder home. Yay!
Great update, Brad!
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Anyway, THanks, luv! *smooooooch*
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Wonderfully graphic dream there, sweetie. *shivers*
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Thanks, luv!
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Thanks, luv - I'm glad you like it!
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But, oh! Scout!Spike!
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great drunk Xander. That's just the picture of A drunk Xander I have in my head, LMAO. He's so tragically funny.