Battledrome
Dec. 19th, 2017 11:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerMain Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Iron Man Crossover (Self-Made Hero)
Summary: No one's seen Xander in days.
Word Count: 1082
Rating: Gen
There’s something sinister about the air, though. It’s the same sort of feeling he got, that he shouldn’t breathe for fear of waking something terrible, when the First was around.
And then he hears the reply. “Andrew?” The voice is hoarse. “Down here.”
He hurries through the darkened silence, needing to make it to the superhero’s side as quickly as he can, and finds him covered in oil, mixed with blood from cuts, and, given the smell, probably sweat. He pushes down the urge to lick some of that off, because that’s probably really unhygienic. “Xander, are you all right?”
He coughs a little. Who knows how long he’s gone without sleep? Xander might not even know.
“I don’t think so.” He sways a little, nodding at something in front of him, and Andrew turns to see—
Red eyes. That’s his first impression, and it’s terrifying. Eventually he makes out the outline of a suit, but it’s definitely not built along the same lines as the Paladin line, or even the schematics he’s seen for the Xena or Jedi armors. There’s something evil, something alive in that gaze. “Possession, or—” he starts, already trying to find a protection spell in his repertoire, and Xander chuckles darkly.
“Nobody in here but the usual suspects,” He explains, and at the startled glance, elaborates, “Remember that Halloween where everyone became their costumes?”
“I was a Jedi. It was awesome,” Andrew agrees, before frowning. How was that relevant?
“I still have multiple Tonys in my head,” he states casually, and quickly ends up taking a place by the bench rather than falling over.
It takes the reformed warlock a few seconds to dissect that statement before he’s gaping. “That—Xander, that’s awesome.”
Xander shakes his head, wiping a grimy hand over his oil-covered face and succeeding in removing exactly none of it. “I’m just hoping this won’t be my Ultron.”
Instantly he sobers. “I’m pretty sure we don’t have any Tesseracts, but…” He waves his hands around like a wizard would. It’s supposed to look cool, but he’s pretty sure it just ends up looking goofy instead. “You don’t mind if I take a look, do you?”
He smirks, tired enough but there’s personality enough in there. “Can’t help yourself from peeking under the hood?” He gives a thumb’s up anyway.
Andrew blushes brightly and tries to ignore any similarities to a Vulcan mind-meld as he steps forward. If he’s going to get a peek inside and look for influences, he’s going to have to get closer than he’s willingly done in a while. He steps forward and gently takes Xander’s face in his hands. Like they’re about to kiss, or make out. He sees Knight’s eyes dilate, the way the smirk grows, and swallows. “B-Behave.” That doesn’t seem like it’s doing much, so he quickly adds, “…Or I’ll tell Buffy on you.”
“Spoilsport,” Xander mutters, slumping forward a little and head resting a little more securely in Andrew’s hands. If he’s not careful, he’s going to have an unconscious genius on top of him, and while part of him loudly doesn’t disagree with the idea, it’s not a good idea in the long run and he knows that. He doesn’t need a relationship, he needs redemption.
He reaches out, reaches for Xander’s mind, and almost pulls away at how easily he’s received. There’s very little resistance at all, and part of that is the exhaustion and part of that, he’s surprised and humbled to discover, is trust.
He goes through as quickly as he can while still being thorough and finds, as far as he can tell, no outside influences. Xander shivers, and it’s like his mind is ticklish. He tries to keep his mind on the task at hand, especially when Xander seems amused.
He finds the blinding obsession, and picks the strands apart—the blinding hatred of being helpless, the utter terror he’d felt at that damned priest, the bright determination to protect his friends. The thought of a weapon that could protect them, the attempt to ignore the thought until it became too strong to ignore.
He pulls away, almost reluctantly, and bites his lip hard as Xander shivers from head to toe at the withdrawal. Rather than continuing to stare at his employer, he quickly turns toward the new suit, the one that terrifies him.
What he finds is that it’s not alive. What he finds is that there’s no outside nature in it, other than the fact that it feels like Xander has somehow managed to tap into the Platonic Ideal of Destruction and pour it into the suit. What he finds is that it’s a Last Resort, merciless and deadly as a hurricane.
“The Battledrome,” Xander whispers, and this time the shiver up his spine is not pleasurable. He feels the wild urge to reference Mad Max but reins it in. “I should test—” he begins before yawning.
Andrew reaches out a hand before he’s even aware of it and finds himself with his palm resting on Xander’s chest. “You should take a shower and sleep. It’ll still be here when you’re done.”
The look Xander gives him is hard to read, but after a moment or two he nods. Andrew helps him to the bathroom attached to the downstairs lab, and both hopes and dreads that Knight will need his help. He’s waved away and decides to stand right outside the door, just in case.
Shortly, Xander stumbles out, and Andrew practically has to carry the now damp superhero out and deposit him on the couch. His employer’s snoring softly, leg and arm flopped off the couch as if at any moment he might roll off and follow them, and the warlock has a slight battle on his hands trying to get the man safely on the couch and tucked in. When he’s done, he settles in with his back to the couch and closes his eyes.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Iron Man Crossover (Self-Made Hero)
Summary: No one's seen Xander in days.
Word Count: 1082
Rating: Gen
“Xander?” Andrew calls out nervously. The CEO hasn’t been seen in a few days. Usually, that’d just mean a tech spree, but he’s not entirely certain Xander should be left on his own with the ghosts of the past whispering in his ears, never mind the fact that he’s still adjusting to the eyepatch. Usually, Buffy’s there to cajole him into coming upstairs to eat or play games, at which point he tends to crash, but she’s trying to figure out the rebuilding of the Council along with Giles.
There’s something sinister about the air, though. It’s the same sort of feeling he got, that he shouldn’t breathe for fear of waking something terrible, when the First was around.
And then he hears the reply. “Andrew?” The voice is hoarse. “Down here.”
He hurries through the darkened silence, needing to make it to the superhero’s side as quickly as he can, and finds him covered in oil, mixed with blood from cuts, and, given the smell, probably sweat. He pushes down the urge to lick some of that off, because that’s probably really unhygienic. “Xander, are you all right?”
He coughs a little. Who knows how long he’s gone without sleep? Xander might not even know.
“I don’t think so.” He sways a little, nodding at something in front of him, and Andrew turns to see—
Red eyes. That’s his first impression, and it’s terrifying. Eventually he makes out the outline of a suit, but it’s definitely not built along the same lines as the Paladin line, or even the schematics he’s seen for the Xena or Jedi armors. There’s something evil, something alive in that gaze. “Possession, or—” he starts, already trying to find a protection spell in his repertoire, and Xander chuckles darkly.
“Nobody in here but the usual suspects,” He explains, and at the startled glance, elaborates, “Remember that Halloween where everyone became their costumes?”
“I was a Jedi. It was awesome,” Andrew agrees, before frowning. How was that relevant?
“I still have multiple Tonys in my head,” he states casually, and quickly ends up taking a place by the bench rather than falling over.
It takes the reformed warlock a few seconds to dissect that statement before he’s gaping. “That—Xander, that’s awesome.”
Xander shakes his head, wiping a grimy hand over his oil-covered face and succeeding in removing exactly none of it. “I’m just hoping this won’t be my Ultron.”
Instantly he sobers. “I’m pretty sure we don’t have any Tesseracts, but…” He waves his hands around like a wizard would. It’s supposed to look cool, but he’s pretty sure it just ends up looking goofy instead. “You don’t mind if I take a look, do you?”
He smirks, tired enough but there’s personality enough in there. “Can’t help yourself from peeking under the hood?” He gives a thumb’s up anyway.
Andrew blushes brightly and tries to ignore any similarities to a Vulcan mind-meld as he steps forward. If he’s going to get a peek inside and look for influences, he’s going to have to get closer than he’s willingly done in a while. He steps forward and gently takes Xander’s face in his hands. Like they’re about to kiss, or make out. He sees Knight’s eyes dilate, the way the smirk grows, and swallows. “B-Behave.” That doesn’t seem like it’s doing much, so he quickly adds, “…Or I’ll tell Buffy on you.”
“Spoilsport,” Xander mutters, slumping forward a little and head resting a little more securely in Andrew’s hands. If he’s not careful, he’s going to have an unconscious genius on top of him, and while part of him loudly doesn’t disagree with the idea, it’s not a good idea in the long run and he knows that. He doesn’t need a relationship, he needs redemption.
He reaches out, reaches for Xander’s mind, and almost pulls away at how easily he’s received. There’s very little resistance at all, and part of that is the exhaustion and part of that, he’s surprised and humbled to discover, is trust.
He goes through as quickly as he can while still being thorough and finds, as far as he can tell, no outside influences. Xander shivers, and it’s like his mind is ticklish. He tries to keep his mind on the task at hand, especially when Xander seems amused.
He finds the blinding obsession, and picks the strands apart—the blinding hatred of being helpless, the utter terror he’d felt at that damned priest, the bright determination to protect his friends. The thought of a weapon that could protect them, the attempt to ignore the thought until it became too strong to ignore.
He pulls away, almost reluctantly, and bites his lip hard as Xander shivers from head to toe at the withdrawal. Rather than continuing to stare at his employer, he quickly turns toward the new suit, the one that terrifies him.
What he finds is that it’s not alive. What he finds is that there’s no outside nature in it, other than the fact that it feels like Xander has somehow managed to tap into the Platonic Ideal of Destruction and pour it into the suit. What he finds is that it’s a Last Resort, merciless and deadly as a hurricane.
“The Battledrome,” Xander whispers, and this time the shiver up his spine is not pleasurable. He feels the wild urge to reference Mad Max but reins it in. “I should test—” he begins before yawning.
Andrew reaches out a hand before he’s even aware of it and finds himself with his palm resting on Xander’s chest. “You should take a shower and sleep. It’ll still be here when you’re done.”
The look Xander gives him is hard to read, but after a moment or two he nods. Andrew helps him to the bathroom attached to the downstairs lab, and both hopes and dreads that Knight will need his help. He’s waved away and decides to stand right outside the door, just in case.
Shortly, Xander stumbles out, and Andrew practically has to carry the now damp superhero out and deposit him on the couch. His employer’s snoring softly, leg and arm flopped off the couch as if at any moment he might roll off and follow them, and the warlock has a slight battle on his hands trying to get the man safely on the couch and tucked in. When he’s done, he settles in with his back to the couch and closes his eyes.
