FIRST AND LAST
This is going to be short and sweet. I don't usually write happy endings, but I decided to deviate just slightly with this piece. Hope you like.
Xander didn't know much. He didn't know why the world turned, or even why it turned around the sun. He didn't know why his parents always fought and most of the time he didn't want to know. He didn't know very many things, but he knew Buffy. She was all he knew: the toss of her hair, the tint of her eyes, the cluck of her tongue. Sometimes he thought it was useless to think so much of someone, especially someone who regarded him as insignificant and expendable.
He knew what she was thinking before she even knew it. She'd make certain preceding gestures or movements before a certain action, and he'd know just by the cock of her eyebrow or its failure to transpire. Even now, as they sat alone in the Magic Box and with her back turned to him, he knew what she was thinking. She was scared. She was always scared.
"Spike isn't coming back, Buffy," Xander told her as he piled several books on Wican practices atop the mahogany desk. "You killed him. He's dead. Stake through cold, pruny heart under most all supernatural circumstances equals dead vamp."
Her back was still turned to him. She didn't say anything for a moment, as she remained stationed with her rear to the steps of the Magic Box and two hands on her knees. She was thinking about things, people in her life and life-altering events. She contemplated friendship and love. Finally: "I loved him. Spike, that is. I loved him in a strange way, but it was love and it was frightening to love someone who was just so… so…"
"Wrong?" Xander finished for Buffy.
Gradually, she turned around and met his gaze. "Yes, he was wrong. But it was still love." She was standing now and making her way to the dark wooden desk. "I kill the men I love the most." It seemed to Xander some sort of proclamation, her telling him his. They had shared secrets before, but this time he felt something out of the ordinary. This time she was outwardly telling him and not only implying her words and her fears; he didn't have to interpret her thoughts through her actions. Not this time.
"Most recently, of course, was Spike. I never told anyone about our affair at the beginning because I was ashamed. He was everything opposite of me, but perhaps we were more alike than I'd care to admit. Those nights when he'd tear off all of my clothes without so much as a thought. When he'd take me with a force I wasn't even sure I could handle." She paused and smirked mysteriously while looking at the ground. Suddenly, her smile faded. "But, finally with that chip out of his head, he reverted back to my enemy, the Platinum-Blonde Vamp with a larger than life libido. If only he didn't go after innocent lives. If only he had gone after me, I might have let him take me. But that wasn't the case, and I killed him.
"Then there was Riley. He was the perfect man, the perfect better half—better being the operative word. Being with him made me feel complete, like I was finally having a normal life without my obligations as the Slayer or even as a sister and friend. I was someone who could do no wrong. When we made love, it was the sweetest thing I've ever known. Stars didn't burst and the universe didn't implode, but it was just enough that I could feel him inside of me, moving with me, being a part of me. Riley the boys' scout who would have never hurt me, and I killed him. Maybe not physically but emotionally. I couldn't love him as much as he loved me and it tore him up."
Buffy's story was still not complete, but Xander knew all of this. He knew her stories and her tales of heartache and sorrow. But still he didn't want to hear that last name, the person who stole any chance he could have had with Buffy.
"Angel," she whispered. She was sitting beside him now at the desk, pushing the books away from Xander's cowering face. "Angel, the man I loved more than the world itself, was all I knew throughout those first unsettling years in Sunnydale. He gave me strength to keep fighting and challenged me when I needed to think for myself. He was my first time, so I believe he was my first love. Angel was my first sacrifice to save those around me."
Xander ignored the uncomfortable silence after hearing Angel's name. "Why do you love these men? Why do you give so much of yourself to people who are wrong for you and either hurt you or place you on an idealistic pedestal? They don't love you, Buffy. They just loved the idea of loving someone so strong and so full of both life and grief. You encapsulate every single emotion those men wanted to achieve but never could because, in truth, they were lost without you. That's not love… I have no idea what the hell that is."
Buffy's hand was on his now. It felt so perfect resting there, warm with life and cold with grief. "I realized it a long time ago, Xander, that my love was too easily given away." She kissed him. His lips did not expect it and neither did his body for it jumped in complete shock.
"Buffy, what are you doing?"
"You've always made it clear how you felt for me, Xander. But you've never asked for anything more than my friendship. I've loved you since we first met, that unpleasantly warm day at school when you helped me pick up my things from my fallen purse. I realized it then but it was disguised by a mask of contentment and friendship; you are always there to pick me up when I've fallen apart.
"You were there as faith for me to keep pressing on. I died, Xander. But only when we're together do I feel like I'm truly alive again, like there is something worth staying here for. You're not only my friend -- you're my constant."
Xander entwined his fingers with hers. "I wasn't your friend because I wanted something from you, Buffy."
"I know that," Buffy replied. "But now I'm ready to give you what you were too scared to ask of me." Slowly, she leaned into Xander's body and pressed her lips against his again. "When all the chips have fallen, you are still there. And I have never taken that for granted, Xander. I never will. You're my last man standing. You're my last love." She pressed her hand to his chest and, without any resistance, had Xander pinned under her on the desk.
She had let men take her before. But this time she took Xander, under her spell and under her bold desire. In moments, his clothes were scattered on the tiles of the shop. She felt his hot hands move under her shirt then onto her shivering skin. Gradually, his fingers fumbled on the zipper of her jeans. She moved over top his nude body and gently he entered her. She rocked up and down, back and forth, increasing in speed but also wanting to savour each second with Xander. The two of them silently moved together as they attempted to muffle their moans of bliss by biting their lips, which were already raw from their bruising kisses. Buffy knew she was right; he would be the last, as he was always the first. "Xander, I love you," Buffy cried out as their moment of lovemaking reached its climax. She slid into his thick arms comfortably, not knowing sweat from tears.
Xander knew her. He had always known her and loved her with a passion too compliant for comfort. But he never imagined she would ever know him in return until that night. Buffy was his and he knew that his heart had always belonged to her.
They rested for the rest of the night, but only moments later the sun began to peek over the horizon. A new day had come.