madimpossibledreamer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
madimpossibledreamer) wrote2025-01-27 01:55 pm
madimpossibledreamer) wrote2025-01-27 01:55 pm
Entry tags:
New Beginnings
Shaun may or may not be right about Xander--not that Desmond's not peeking in at the edges, but how far that's influencing things is up to the reader. Man, it's awesome and weird to finally have this done.
Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Assassin's Creed (Beginning's End)
Summary: Xander and Shaun finally get to talk (and do a little more than just talk).
Word Count: 2205
Rating: Teen
He has an urge to apologize, to tell Xander everything he’d been yearning to tell Desmond, about how he shouldn’t have died, about the fact that he’d just been a miserable bastard. But if he does that, if he uses Xander as a proxy for the dead, it’d kill any chance of anything further, more thoroughly than that damned Isu device. It’d temporarily assuage his fragile ego, but no matter how his heart insists, it’s not necessary. They’d come to something of an understanding, toward the end. Xander’s not Desmond, any more than Desmond had been his ancestors, and—well, he can’t be sure Xander wouldn’t just go along with it, but a light in his eye would die and never return.
Except in trying to find a place to begin, to not just blurt that out, he’s just been staring. Not ogling, this time, but enough to make the man nervous as he shifts a little, worrying at the lip scar like he’s trying to come up with the right words, too. For lack of anything better to do, he spits out the remaining blood he can’t fully remember getting on, wiping away the rest. And the silence isn’t helping. As the seconds tick on, Xander looks more and more like a man about to be condemned, and he doesn’t exactly make the conscious decision to respond to that directly. “You could look happier about finally getting to talk, you know,” Shaun snaps.
Xander manages a slightly scared smile, uncrossing his arms with effort like they’ve been glued together. He’s lying with his own body language, trying to appear more confident than he truly feels—and Shaun’s suddenly putting it together, the way that Desmond would snap back or alternatively disappear silently when Shaun would throw his absolute worst just to get him to stop hovering. He’d been lonely. Lonely and afraid of rejection, and either that’s bleeding through or Xander had similar problems. He’s insecure now, even if he’s trying to pretend he’s not. “Oh, I am happy, I’m just...suddenly very worried because this is real and I’m scared of screwing it up. I don’t have good luck with relationships.” The tone is light. You could be forgiven for thinking he’s not taking a bit of this seriously, but it’s just a bit, a performance of ‘look no further’, and Shaun’s a bit of a nosy git.
Shaun’s lip curls, and he feels more out of control than when he’d been in wolf form going after the others that dared threaten his mate—potential partner. Not mate, not yet, and doesn’t that just burn? “Like with the other werewolf, you mean?”
Xander laughs. Like this is all a joke, which just makes Shaun’s metaphysical hackles rise further. “Oh, uh. Oz wasn’t my ex. He’s Willow’s.” Shaun’s too nonplussed to have a coherent response, not at that precise moment, which Xander apparently knows. He takes the opportunity to move closer to the temporary wall of boxes Shaun’s leaning against so as not to embarrass himself by doing something ridiculous like falling over. “Scoot over,” he suggests, and Shaun complies without a single protest, realizing after the fact that might, in fact, have been a mistake. This close, he gets to feel the heat of Xander’s body, and even senses dulled by not being in wolf form can make out the shampoo and bodywash. From the quick glance and secretive smile, that might’ve been the point. Too bad he’s still feeling under the weather, as it were.
No wonder Oz had been somewhat amused at the thought. List that as something he rather should apologize to Xander specifically about, and crumple up the paper and throw it in the bin, because no matter how much the temporary bartender might deserve it, the words simply won’t come.
It seems like he’s taking comfort from their proximity, but is still nervous, playing with his hair and not meeting Shaun’s eyes. “But, um. I’m still a mess. I mean, I messed up the wedding with my ex-vengeance demon fiancee, and there was this whole thing with Willow and there’s also Faith and basically I just. I don’t want you to be disappointed with me.”
He does a bit of a double-take when he catches Shaun smile out of the corner of his eye, though. Well, why not? He’d been so scared that the only time they’d be afforded would be while he was still in wolf-form, that Xander was just a flirt, that he wouldn’t want a ginger with a sharp tongue around. He’d forgotten the scent of Xander’s attraction, the phone conversation that just might be the key to victory, to proving that he did, in fact, care about more than just a dead colleague. “I believe Rebecca described me as a ‘hot mess’, which is not entirely incorrect, and I am certainly intrigued by a ‘sexy one-eyed Hispanic goofball’ who can speak four languages and read even more. I happen to agree with your abuela.”
Xander startles, if anything a touch more shy—but, this time, not in a bad way. “Um.”
Maybe it’s a bit formal, laying all of this out directly, but it feels right. “I’m under no illusions that this will be easy. Long-distance relationships never are, and we both have our work, but I believe you deserve to be happy, and I’d be honored to be involved in bringing you that happiness.” And, of course, there is adapting to being a werewolf, which will likewise be a challenge, but, he suspects, not an insurmountable one. Not since Xander had mentioned the ex-vengeance demon.
The lopsided smile makes an appearance again. “You’re just seducing me for access to ancient texts, aren’t you?”
“Well. Not just,” Shaun admits modestly.
Xander shakes his head, but he’s smiling, at which point Shaun decides he’s been patient enough and decides to go for a snog, to which said one-eyed Hispanic goofball seems perfectly amenable. And he proves he hadn’t been complaining about Shaun’s weight, not if his open appreciation of being pinned is any indication. He does push Shaun away when they come up for air, though, touch lingering in a way that says he’s reluctant to part. “Look, I’m enjoying this, and for the record I’m totally open to that. I mean...okay, totally might be a bit of an exaggeration. I’m still scared. But I…” He pauses to kiss Shaun’s hand, like he’s a princess, but Shaun’s pride, for once, doesn’t bristle. It might later, when he’s not feeling like wagging a non-existent tail. Maybe it’s the fact that he still hasn’t let go of Shaun’s hand, touch lingering sweetly. “I want to try us. More than that, I want us to work, and I want the opportunity to pay back those saves and vice versa. But I really don’t want to have sex in a warehouse, and you, my pseudo-furry friend, are still running a fever. Up we get.”
“I thoroughly disapprove,” Shaun complains, in lieu of whining deep in his throat at the loss of contact.
Even Xander’s chuckle is a little deeper. “I look forward to hearing about that on the entire way back, but right now, I want to make sure you get some rest. Willow’s pretty sure that’s all you need—and no, that does not mean nookie first. Nookie after. Maybe after food, too—though, uh, Andrew might be swinging by, which means lots of delicious food coupled with extremely nosy questions you don’t have to answer.” He pulls Shaun to his feet, seemingly without difficulty (he might be showing off, just a little) and then just...conveniently forgets to let go, adjusting his grip so they can walk side by side. “Transforming is a pain in the ass enough when you’re just doing it during the full moon, supposedly. You’ve got to get the energy for the change from somewhere, and I’d guess you pushed yourself a little too far today. Not that I’m complaining. I very much appreciate the ‘you saving my life’ and ‘being around to kiss and make out’ parts. Just...you know, for the future. Spread it out more.” And then he winces, suddenly realizing something. “Also, uh, the blood, probably. It’s not so bad for the wolf part, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s confusing the hell out of your humanish immune system.” He’d tried to get the blood out of his mouth, but...yes, that’s a consideration, isn’t it.
Rebecca must hear them approaching, because she calls out, “Done already?” in a voice that says she’s already laughing at them, and that’s enough to provoke Shaun’s anger.
“Hardly, no thanks to your sneering. I’m being treated abominably.” And Xander just smiles at that one. He hadn’t been kidding, but then, maybe he’s just enjoying Shaun being, as he’d put it, ‘bipedal’ once more, getting to hear his voice. Though, thinking of it...Desmond had done much the same, when he wasn’t personally offended. And he probably has a reasonable expectation that none of it is strongly meant.
“We’d have given you more time,” Willow offers, sounding genuinely sorry, and that’s it, she’s his current favourite.
“Apparently we didn’t want it,” Shaun replies, with enough emphasis on the ‘we’ that they will likely figure out it’s mere exaggeration.
“Oz was right.” The urge to growl when the name was mentioned has considerably lessened. “It’s just ‘cause I was enjoying it so much that we had to stop. Kind of want to make sure Shaun stays intact for future use.”
It’s unclear if their particular brand of wrangling a perfectly good language resulted in such a provocative declaration or if he’s doing it on purpose, but he’d probably feign ignorance either way. At least he isn’t pairing that with eyebrow waggles or anything especially ludicrous. Willow stifles a giggle. Rebecca doesn’t even pretend to not be laughing at them.
“Oh, if that’s all...” But it’s hard to hold on to the mocking, self-righteous anger when Xander’s still smiling softly at him, tracing distracting patterns on their joined hands with a thumb.
“Well, back to the cabins, probably,” Willow announces cheerfully, starting some sort of magical ritual that’s fascinating to see—quite possibly akin to the key glowing steady and sure in his pocket. That sounds vaguely like Hebrew, but he can’t make out a word, and frowns…
“Kabbalah. Though I don’t know how it works, exactly, sorry—Willow tried to explain once, but it just kind of flew over my head. I’m not the magic guy.” Xander, low and close to his ear, in an attempt not to bother her, probably, and yet he still shivers. That is highly attractive.
“If you’re going to insist on leaving before we’ve finished…” His heart’s not really in it, anymore, although he’ll certainly riot if he isn’t allowed to wrap himself around Xander before drifting off. “You know Hebrew?”
That is nearly exactly Desmond’s smirk, the absolutely frustrating one that says he has the upper hand and knows it. Infuriating, because all it makes Shaun want to do is kiss it away. “Not one of the ones I speak, actually. That’s just English, Spanish, Arabic, and Italian, for reasons you might be able to guess. But I can read ancient Hebrew, Latin, Greek, Sumerian, Egyptian…” He trails off, and it takes Shaun a moment or two to find his breath and words.
“Unfair. Infuriating,” is all he manages.
“Poor baby, but don’t worry, I’ll tuck you in.” That has to be Desmond; they’ve, of course, only had a limited acquaintance, but he’s fairly certain Xander’s brand of teasing is a little more open, a little less mocking. Gratifying, in a way, to know that Desmond had possibly considered this, but it’s considerably less entertaining when he can’t even continue the banter. He’d been able to ignore the effects, but here and now he can’t entirely dismiss the toll from the day’s events anymore.
Fortunately, he’s had experience lately communicating through body language, and it’ll even be fun. So he sways a little, allowing his eyes to droop, and leans on Xander. The man experiences a moment of alarm before he relaxes, chuckling and pressing a kiss to Shaun’s hair. The rest is mere flashes, the portal and the path in between, but Xander doesn’t pretend that Shaun’s going to sleep anywhere else. Readying Shaun for bed is solicitous, but efficient. He keeps his promise to tuck Shaun in with the slight alteration that he’s doing so for them both. Sooner or later this little ‘vacation’ must end, but it doesn’t fill Shaun with terror, not anymore, and he doesn’t bother to worry about that, not anymore, because it’s not an end. It’s the path to something new.
Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Assassin's Creed (Beginning's End)
Summary: Xander and Shaun finally get to talk (and do a little more than just talk).
Word Count: 2205
Rating: Teen
It’s hard, at first, to figure out where to start. Flirting with Xander in the bar had been easy enough, because, well. He’d been distracted, hadn’t he, and not just by a handsome bloke. Grief and seeking answers and now he has those, and suddenly everything actually might mean something, if they proceed, which is absolutely terrifying, if he’s honest for once in his bloody life. Because he doesn’t want to muck this up, and it’s about even odds that he manages it somehow.
He has an urge to apologize, to tell Xander everything he’d been yearning to tell Desmond, about how he shouldn’t have died, about the fact that he’d just been a miserable bastard. But if he does that, if he uses Xander as a proxy for the dead, it’d kill any chance of anything further, more thoroughly than that damned Isu device. It’d temporarily assuage his fragile ego, but no matter how his heart insists, it’s not necessary. They’d come to something of an understanding, toward the end. Xander’s not Desmond, any more than Desmond had been his ancestors, and—well, he can’t be sure Xander wouldn’t just go along with it, but a light in his eye would die and never return.
Except in trying to find a place to begin, to not just blurt that out, he’s just been staring. Not ogling, this time, but enough to make the man nervous as he shifts a little, worrying at the lip scar like he’s trying to come up with the right words, too. For lack of anything better to do, he spits out the remaining blood he can’t fully remember getting on, wiping away the rest. And the silence isn’t helping. As the seconds tick on, Xander looks more and more like a man about to be condemned, and he doesn’t exactly make the conscious decision to respond to that directly. “You could look happier about finally getting to talk, you know,” Shaun snaps.
Xander manages a slightly scared smile, uncrossing his arms with effort like they’ve been glued together. He’s lying with his own body language, trying to appear more confident than he truly feels—and Shaun’s suddenly putting it together, the way that Desmond would snap back or alternatively disappear silently when Shaun would throw his absolute worst just to get him to stop hovering. He’d been lonely. Lonely and afraid of rejection, and either that’s bleeding through or Xander had similar problems. He’s insecure now, even if he’s trying to pretend he’s not. “Oh, I am happy, I’m just...suddenly very worried because this is real and I’m scared of screwing it up. I don’t have good luck with relationships.” The tone is light. You could be forgiven for thinking he’s not taking a bit of this seriously, but it’s just a bit, a performance of ‘look no further’, and Shaun’s a bit of a nosy git.
Shaun’s lip curls, and he feels more out of control than when he’d been in wolf form going after the others that dared threaten his mate—potential partner. Not mate, not yet, and doesn’t that just burn? “Like with the other werewolf, you mean?”
Xander laughs. Like this is all a joke, which just makes Shaun’s metaphysical hackles rise further. “Oh, uh. Oz wasn’t my ex. He’s Willow’s.” Shaun’s too nonplussed to have a coherent response, not at that precise moment, which Xander apparently knows. He takes the opportunity to move closer to the temporary wall of boxes Shaun’s leaning against so as not to embarrass himself by doing something ridiculous like falling over. “Scoot over,” he suggests, and Shaun complies without a single protest, realizing after the fact that might, in fact, have been a mistake. This close, he gets to feel the heat of Xander’s body, and even senses dulled by not being in wolf form can make out the shampoo and bodywash. From the quick glance and secretive smile, that might’ve been the point. Too bad he’s still feeling under the weather, as it were.
No wonder Oz had been somewhat amused at the thought. List that as something he rather should apologize to Xander specifically about, and crumple up the paper and throw it in the bin, because no matter how much the temporary bartender might deserve it, the words simply won’t come.
It seems like he’s taking comfort from their proximity, but is still nervous, playing with his hair and not meeting Shaun’s eyes. “But, um. I’m still a mess. I mean, I messed up the wedding with my ex-vengeance demon fiancee, and there was this whole thing with Willow and there’s also Faith and basically I just. I don’t want you to be disappointed with me.”
He does a bit of a double-take when he catches Shaun smile out of the corner of his eye, though. Well, why not? He’d been so scared that the only time they’d be afforded would be while he was still in wolf-form, that Xander was just a flirt, that he wouldn’t want a ginger with a sharp tongue around. He’d forgotten the scent of Xander’s attraction, the phone conversation that just might be the key to victory, to proving that he did, in fact, care about more than just a dead colleague. “I believe Rebecca described me as a ‘hot mess’, which is not entirely incorrect, and I am certainly intrigued by a ‘sexy one-eyed Hispanic goofball’ who can speak four languages and read even more. I happen to agree with your abuela.”
Xander startles, if anything a touch more shy—but, this time, not in a bad way. “Um.”
Maybe it’s a bit formal, laying all of this out directly, but it feels right. “I’m under no illusions that this will be easy. Long-distance relationships never are, and we both have our work, but I believe you deserve to be happy, and I’d be honored to be involved in bringing you that happiness.” And, of course, there is adapting to being a werewolf, which will likewise be a challenge, but, he suspects, not an insurmountable one. Not since Xander had mentioned the ex-vengeance demon.
The lopsided smile makes an appearance again. “You’re just seducing me for access to ancient texts, aren’t you?”
“Well. Not just,” Shaun admits modestly.
Xander shakes his head, but he’s smiling, at which point Shaun decides he’s been patient enough and decides to go for a snog, to which said one-eyed Hispanic goofball seems perfectly amenable. And he proves he hadn’t been complaining about Shaun’s weight, not if his open appreciation of being pinned is any indication. He does push Shaun away when they come up for air, though, touch lingering in a way that says he’s reluctant to part. “Look, I’m enjoying this, and for the record I’m totally open to that. I mean...okay, totally might be a bit of an exaggeration. I’m still scared. But I…” He pauses to kiss Shaun’s hand, like he’s a princess, but Shaun’s pride, for once, doesn’t bristle. It might later, when he’s not feeling like wagging a non-existent tail. Maybe it’s the fact that he still hasn’t let go of Shaun’s hand, touch lingering sweetly. “I want to try us. More than that, I want us to work, and I want the opportunity to pay back those saves and vice versa. But I really don’t want to have sex in a warehouse, and you, my pseudo-furry friend, are still running a fever. Up we get.”
“I thoroughly disapprove,” Shaun complains, in lieu of whining deep in his throat at the loss of contact.
Even Xander’s chuckle is a little deeper. “I look forward to hearing about that on the entire way back, but right now, I want to make sure you get some rest. Willow’s pretty sure that’s all you need—and no, that does not mean nookie first. Nookie after. Maybe after food, too—though, uh, Andrew might be swinging by, which means lots of delicious food coupled with extremely nosy questions you don’t have to answer.” He pulls Shaun to his feet, seemingly without difficulty (he might be showing off, just a little) and then just...conveniently forgets to let go, adjusting his grip so they can walk side by side. “Transforming is a pain in the ass enough when you’re just doing it during the full moon, supposedly. You’ve got to get the energy for the change from somewhere, and I’d guess you pushed yourself a little too far today. Not that I’m complaining. I very much appreciate the ‘you saving my life’ and ‘being around to kiss and make out’ parts. Just...you know, for the future. Spread it out more.” And then he winces, suddenly realizing something. “Also, uh, the blood, probably. It’s not so bad for the wolf part, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s confusing the hell out of your humanish immune system.” He’d tried to get the blood out of his mouth, but...yes, that’s a consideration, isn’t it.
Rebecca must hear them approaching, because she calls out, “Done already?” in a voice that says she’s already laughing at them, and that’s enough to provoke Shaun’s anger.
“Hardly, no thanks to your sneering. I’m being treated abominably.” And Xander just smiles at that one. He hadn’t been kidding, but then, maybe he’s just enjoying Shaun being, as he’d put it, ‘bipedal’ once more, getting to hear his voice. Though, thinking of it...Desmond had done much the same, when he wasn’t personally offended. And he probably has a reasonable expectation that none of it is strongly meant.
“We’d have given you more time,” Willow offers, sounding genuinely sorry, and that’s it, she’s his current favourite.
“Apparently we didn’t want it,” Shaun replies, with enough emphasis on the ‘we’ that they will likely figure out it’s mere exaggeration.
“Oz was right.” The urge to growl when the name was mentioned has considerably lessened. “It’s just ‘cause I was enjoying it so much that we had to stop. Kind of want to make sure Shaun stays intact for future use.”
It’s unclear if their particular brand of wrangling a perfectly good language resulted in such a provocative declaration or if he’s doing it on purpose, but he’d probably feign ignorance either way. At least he isn’t pairing that with eyebrow waggles or anything especially ludicrous. Willow stifles a giggle. Rebecca doesn’t even pretend to not be laughing at them.
“Oh, if that’s all...” But it’s hard to hold on to the mocking, self-righteous anger when Xander’s still smiling softly at him, tracing distracting patterns on their joined hands with a thumb.
“Well, back to the cabins, probably,” Willow announces cheerfully, starting some sort of magical ritual that’s fascinating to see—quite possibly akin to the key glowing steady and sure in his pocket. That sounds vaguely like Hebrew, but he can’t make out a word, and frowns…
“Kabbalah. Though I don’t know how it works, exactly, sorry—Willow tried to explain once, but it just kind of flew over my head. I’m not the magic guy.” Xander, low and close to his ear, in an attempt not to bother her, probably, and yet he still shivers. That is highly attractive.
“If you’re going to insist on leaving before we’ve finished…” His heart’s not really in it, anymore, although he’ll certainly riot if he isn’t allowed to wrap himself around Xander before drifting off. “You know Hebrew?”
That is nearly exactly Desmond’s smirk, the absolutely frustrating one that says he has the upper hand and knows it. Infuriating, because all it makes Shaun want to do is kiss it away. “Not one of the ones I speak, actually. That’s just English, Spanish, Arabic, and Italian, for reasons you might be able to guess. But I can read ancient Hebrew, Latin, Greek, Sumerian, Egyptian…” He trails off, and it takes Shaun a moment or two to find his breath and words.
“Unfair. Infuriating,” is all he manages.
“Poor baby, but don’t worry, I’ll tuck you in.” That has to be Desmond; they’ve, of course, only had a limited acquaintance, but he’s fairly certain Xander’s brand of teasing is a little more open, a little less mocking. Gratifying, in a way, to know that Desmond had possibly considered this, but it’s considerably less entertaining when he can’t even continue the banter. He’d been able to ignore the effects, but here and now he can’t entirely dismiss the toll from the day’s events anymore.
Fortunately, he’s had experience lately communicating through body language, and it’ll even be fun. So he sways a little, allowing his eyes to droop, and leans on Xander. The man experiences a moment of alarm before he relaxes, chuckling and pressing a kiss to Shaun’s hair. The rest is mere flashes, the portal and the path in between, but Xander doesn’t pretend that Shaun’s going to sleep anywhere else. Readying Shaun for bed is solicitous, but efficient. He keeps his promise to tuck Shaun in with the slight alteration that he’s doing so for them both. Sooner or later this little ‘vacation’ must end, but it doesn’t fill Shaun with terror, not anymore, and he doesn’t bother to worry about that, not anymore, because it’s not an end. It’s the path to something new.