Disclaimer: They belong to Joss & Co. Not me. I just play with them.
Summary: What should have happened during The Pack if I'd written it. Please R/R. Please???
Just Dying for a Taste
Bitter.
That was the first thing he thought. Bitter. Tangy – a raw edged taste that forced it's way over his tongue and down his throat.
Fresh. Juicy.
Bitter.
Around him, all around, his friends, his 'group' were experiencing the same thing he was – a buzz of enthusiasm and want filled the small room. Flesh was ripped from bone – the smell intoxicating. Chattering, jittering, nervous play and focused hunger.
Dropping a clean bone to the floor and licking his lips, he stretched his lean body towards the ceiling, his nails scraping gently against the roof, before swinging his arms down. He snapped his head round – gazing into the dark eyes of the other members in turn. No words were needed, as they too stretched and discarded the carcass.
He sniffed, the stench of blood hanging wonderfully in the air, the smell of people filtering under the door from outside.
The wonderful smell of people. When he was hungry again, he knew he would like to take one. And he knew who he would take.
He knew a girl.
Now though, it was time to be moving off, time to rest and groom and intimidate. He headed towards the door.
Behind him, he heard the others shuffle, cowering, huddling below, close to the floor.
They were afraid of him. They were afraid.
He smiled at the feeling that gave him, a dizzy, euphoric feeling that blended with the bitter taste in his mouth.
Fresh. Juicy.
They were his friends and they were afraid. They had every right to be. He was faster, stronger, more alert and aware. They should be afraid.
His belly was full, however – and that made him lethargic. He yawned, a wide yawn showing red-stained teeth, before snapping his mouth shut. Rest. He would find somewhere to rest before returning.
"Come on. Our mascots all run out"
Behind him, they laughed and giggled, as he pulled open the door and walked into the corridor. He felt power, as they filed out behind him – he was their leader. They were a group. A Pack. And he was their leader.
Xander Harris licked a stray drop of blood off his lip, and smiled.
Okay. Nothing to worry about. Find Xander and capture him. Simple. Easy as that.
Buffy felt herself beginning to worry as she marched quickly to the room where Herbert the Pig Mascot had been kept. She'd check it out (or whatever was left) and then scout around to find Xander and the other…hyena people.
"Boy, my job's not weird" she muttered, turning the corner. Nearly there.
She wondered what he'd be like, how far he would have gone. Last night, at the Bronze, Xander had seemed cruel and callous. But Giles said the possession moved fast – today he'd be more of an animal than ever. She'd seen that in the Dodge ball game. Seen it in the way he'd talked to Willow. Felt in the eerie way he had looked at her. And laughed.
"If I have to knock you out – I will" Buffy resolved. "With whatever object's handy" Shaking her head, Buffy marched on.
She was coming. He could hear her – the tap of her shoes on the tiled floor, the swing of her hair brushing against her jacket, her sharp intake of breath that meant she was nervous. The smell. Her smell that made him want to erupt and die – the clean, fresh, innocent smell. He'd bring her into the dark. He'd wrap her in shadows. He'd show her where the night lived…She knew she wanted it. She liked to live dangerously.
"Buffy…" The whisper went unanswered, as he slipped behind a vending machine. Here he would lay in wait - a predator hunting its prey.
The door opened. Buffy walked in. Xander smiled to himself as he heard her gasp of horror at the sight of those white clean bones. Slowly, gently, he stood.
"Hello Buffy"
She shrieked. She actually shrieked - stumbling round to find herself face to face with him. She said nothing else, her lips clamped shut – but Xander could see fear in those eyes.
He liked fear.
"Xander" Now she spoke, her voice attempting to sound light but failing. Suddenly she lunged at him, throwing him backwards. Xander felt himself go down, landing heavily on his back, Buffy straddled across him.
"I've been waiting for you to jump my bones" He told her. He saw a flash of…what? Lust? Guilt? in her eyes. It was there for only a second, and then it had gone, replaced by a resolute look – one of determination.
Without warning, Xander flipped her over. She pushed him off, before standing, fists raised. He laughed – a loud, confidant cackle. He saw how she hated it, and laughed some more.
"Oh Buffy" He saw her flinch as he said her name. He placed his hand round her neck, her skin cold, gazing deep into her eyes – not letting her look away, swinging her round – slamming her up against the vending machine. She gasped again.
Xander studied her, tilting his head from side to side, sniffing, caressing her cheek with one finger, running his thumb across her cheekbone before lowering his head, placing his lips over hers in a tender kiss…
He pulled away, surprised and pleased to see Buffy frozen, motionless, too shocked and stunned to fight.
"What's up Slayer?" He slipped his fingers through her hair, pulling her head sideways. He sniffed again, excited by the smell and pale skin. "Cat got your tongue?" He kissed her again, biting down on her bottom lip, drawing blood. "Or have I?"
"Get off me!" Buffy raised her legs and kicked out, connecting with Xander's midriff as hard as she possibly could. He grunted and flew backwards, his grip on her hair wielding only at the last second. Buffy watched as he crashed backwards over a desk, spilling to the floor – falling in a strangely agile way. She coughed, rubbed at her neck, the skin sore and painful. She watched as he jumped to his feet, anger in his eyes, a dark furious rage, predatory. Lethal.
"Oh Slayer. You are going to taste so sweet after that"
He swung at her; she ducked, before upper cutting with her left. Xander stumbled backwards, blood dripping from his lip. He wiped it away savagely, before jumping back towards. He caught Buffy off balance, grabbing hold of her shoulders, pushing her backwards and down, causing Buffy to slam her head on the vending machine as she hit the floor. Everything went woozy, Xander leering over her, panic stations, panic. Pain. Dizziness, as Buffy tried to sit up, failing miserably. Xander straddled across her, pinning her arms above her head, not letting her fight or move. She could barely see anything – what ever she had done to her head had broken something important.
"Speak, Slayer. I want to hear you scream"
"Xander. You don't want to do this" Buffy whispered. Her voice sounded ever so far away in her ears. She heard Xander respond, but she couldn't make out the words. Everything was shrinking, diminishing, tumbling far far away, closing off to become shrouded in fog. Blood ran down the side of her head, cloyingly sweet and sticky. She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe.
Faintly, she felt her shirt being pushed up – felt cool air on her belly. It wasn't going to end like this. It couldn't. This was a stupid way to die. Was that a tongue? Xander had just licked his way across her stomach – she heard him growl in pleasure, felt him scratch his nails across her skin, drawing blood, felt him lap at it, before moving his head downwards...
Oh god no. Dear…dear…god…. no…
She couldn't help but scream.
Bitter.
That was the first thing he thought. Bitter. Tangy – a raw edged taste that forced it's way over his tongue and down his throat.
Fresh. Juicy.
Bitter.
The way he liked. The way he knew it would taste.
The way only the finest things, the way things you'd yearned for, for a very long time, only *could* taste.
Dear Buffy.
Xander Harris licked a stray drop of blood off his lip.
And smiled.
Summary: What should have happened during The Pack if I'd written it. Please R/R. Please???
Just Dying for a Taste
Bitter.
That was the first thing he thought. Bitter. Tangy – a raw edged taste that forced it's way over his tongue and down his throat.
Fresh. Juicy.
Bitter.
Around him, all around, his friends, his 'group' were experiencing the same thing he was – a buzz of enthusiasm and want filled the small room. Flesh was ripped from bone – the smell intoxicating. Chattering, jittering, nervous play and focused hunger.
Dropping a clean bone to the floor and licking his lips, he stretched his lean body towards the ceiling, his nails scraping gently against the roof, before swinging his arms down. He snapped his head round – gazing into the dark eyes of the other members in turn. No words were needed, as they too stretched and discarded the carcass.
He sniffed, the stench of blood hanging wonderfully in the air, the smell of people filtering under the door from outside.
The wonderful smell of people. When he was hungry again, he knew he would like to take one. And he knew who he would take.
He knew a girl.
Now though, it was time to be moving off, time to rest and groom and intimidate. He headed towards the door.
Behind him, he heard the others shuffle, cowering, huddling below, close to the floor.
They were afraid of him. They were afraid.
He smiled at the feeling that gave him, a dizzy, euphoric feeling that blended with the bitter taste in his mouth.
Fresh. Juicy.
They were his friends and they were afraid. They had every right to be. He was faster, stronger, more alert and aware. They should be afraid.
His belly was full, however – and that made him lethargic. He yawned, a wide yawn showing red-stained teeth, before snapping his mouth shut. Rest. He would find somewhere to rest before returning.
"Come on. Our mascots all run out"
Behind him, they laughed and giggled, as he pulled open the door and walked into the corridor. He felt power, as they filed out behind him – he was their leader. They were a group. A Pack. And he was their leader.
Xander Harris licked a stray drop of blood off his lip, and smiled.
Okay. Nothing to worry about. Find Xander and capture him. Simple. Easy as that.
Buffy felt herself beginning to worry as she marched quickly to the room where Herbert the Pig Mascot had been kept. She'd check it out (or whatever was left) and then scout around to find Xander and the other…hyena people.
"Boy, my job's not weird" she muttered, turning the corner. Nearly there.
She wondered what he'd be like, how far he would have gone. Last night, at the Bronze, Xander had seemed cruel and callous. But Giles said the possession moved fast – today he'd be more of an animal than ever. She'd seen that in the Dodge ball game. Seen it in the way he'd talked to Willow. Felt in the eerie way he had looked at her. And laughed.
"If I have to knock you out – I will" Buffy resolved. "With whatever object's handy" Shaking her head, Buffy marched on.
She was coming. He could hear her – the tap of her shoes on the tiled floor, the swing of her hair brushing against her jacket, her sharp intake of breath that meant she was nervous. The smell. Her smell that made him want to erupt and die – the clean, fresh, innocent smell. He'd bring her into the dark. He'd wrap her in shadows. He'd show her where the night lived…She knew she wanted it. She liked to live dangerously.
"Buffy…" The whisper went unanswered, as he slipped behind a vending machine. Here he would lay in wait - a predator hunting its prey.
The door opened. Buffy walked in. Xander smiled to himself as he heard her gasp of horror at the sight of those white clean bones. Slowly, gently, he stood.
"Hello Buffy"
She shrieked. She actually shrieked - stumbling round to find herself face to face with him. She said nothing else, her lips clamped shut – but Xander could see fear in those eyes.
He liked fear.
"Xander" Now she spoke, her voice attempting to sound light but failing. Suddenly she lunged at him, throwing him backwards. Xander felt himself go down, landing heavily on his back, Buffy straddled across him.
"I've been waiting for you to jump my bones" He told her. He saw a flash of…what? Lust? Guilt? in her eyes. It was there for only a second, and then it had gone, replaced by a resolute look – one of determination.
Without warning, Xander flipped her over. She pushed him off, before standing, fists raised. He laughed – a loud, confidant cackle. He saw how she hated it, and laughed some more.
"Oh Buffy" He saw her flinch as he said her name. He placed his hand round her neck, her skin cold, gazing deep into her eyes – not letting her look away, swinging her round – slamming her up against the vending machine. She gasped again.
Xander studied her, tilting his head from side to side, sniffing, caressing her cheek with one finger, running his thumb across her cheekbone before lowering his head, placing his lips over hers in a tender kiss…
He pulled away, surprised and pleased to see Buffy frozen, motionless, too shocked and stunned to fight.
"What's up Slayer?" He slipped his fingers through her hair, pulling her head sideways. He sniffed again, excited by the smell and pale skin. "Cat got your tongue?" He kissed her again, biting down on her bottom lip, drawing blood. "Or have I?"
"Get off me!" Buffy raised her legs and kicked out, connecting with Xander's midriff as hard as she possibly could. He grunted and flew backwards, his grip on her hair wielding only at the last second. Buffy watched as he crashed backwards over a desk, spilling to the floor – falling in a strangely agile way. She coughed, rubbed at her neck, the skin sore and painful. She watched as he jumped to his feet, anger in his eyes, a dark furious rage, predatory. Lethal.
"Oh Slayer. You are going to taste so sweet after that"
He swung at her; she ducked, before upper cutting with her left. Xander stumbled backwards, blood dripping from his lip. He wiped it away savagely, before jumping back towards. He caught Buffy off balance, grabbing hold of her shoulders, pushing her backwards and down, causing Buffy to slam her head on the vending machine as she hit the floor. Everything went woozy, Xander leering over her, panic stations, panic. Pain. Dizziness, as Buffy tried to sit up, failing miserably. Xander straddled across her, pinning her arms above her head, not letting her fight or move. She could barely see anything – what ever she had done to her head had broken something important.
"Speak, Slayer. I want to hear you scream"
"Xander. You don't want to do this" Buffy whispered. Her voice sounded ever so far away in her ears. She heard Xander respond, but she couldn't make out the words. Everything was shrinking, diminishing, tumbling far far away, closing off to become shrouded in fog. Blood ran down the side of her head, cloyingly sweet and sticky. She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe.
Faintly, she felt her shirt being pushed up – felt cool air on her belly. It wasn't going to end like this. It couldn't. This was a stupid way to die. Was that a tongue? Xander had just licked his way across her stomach – she heard him growl in pleasure, felt him scratch his nails across her skin, drawing blood, felt him lap at it, before moving his head downwards...
Oh god no. Dear…dear…god…. no…
She couldn't help but scream.
Bitter.
That was the first thing he thought. Bitter. Tangy – a raw edged taste that forced it's way over his tongue and down his throat.
Fresh. Juicy.
Bitter.
The way he liked. The way he knew it would taste.
The way only the finest things, the way things you'd yearned for, for a very long time, only *could* taste.
Dear Buffy.
Xander Harris licked a stray drop of blood off his lip.
And smiled.