Fallen 1
She had been a demon too long to let a little thing like an audience stop her. He had been a demon too long to ignore a free show, and spent the better part of three nights shouting comments, directions, suggestions. Finally, in response to her arch invitation, "You think you could do better?" he was freed from the chair, and the education of Xander Harris began...
...and ended, in horrifying marital vision of the two of them alone, unbalanced, Xander fighting who he really was, what he really wanted. The two of them, alone, and maybe he´d never really believed the Buffy fixation. Maybe he´d always thought that some day, Spike was coming back.
Later, all he really remembered of the wedding–that–wasn´t was dazedly wondering – did he want her, or did he want him? Or did he want that sweetly remembered amalgam of him–and–her, which he now knew would never come again?
Except he was wrong about that, too. In those last desperate days of Sunnydale, falling apart, wanting only to give up himself, his power, his damaged body – wanting only for someone else to make the decisions – the cot in the basement brought salvation. Coming together as they once had, three bodies moved as if muscles had never been given the chance to forget. Depth perception didn´t matter when blindfolded, and betrayals were paid for with skin and service. Xander fell into the familiar comfort of being done to, of the reality that his lovers´ pleasure was his purpose. Tied down, no choice but to accept the intrusions in mouth and ass, he found the peace he´d fought against for so long; found the joy in belonging to these two perfectly possessive lovers. And finally, felt the balance, restored.
When it crumbled, when his whole world lay lying in a pile of dirt, from birth to – oh, god – death, Xander simply fell. Fell down. Fell apart. One leg cannot stand on it´s own.
