Title: Needing Normal
Author: Green
Rating: R-ish
Pairings: B/X, (B/S heavily implied. It's really a B/S fic. Xander's just there.)
Summary: Spoilers for S6, but set in S7. Early S7? Dunno.
A/N: Thank you to my betas: Jingle, Beamer, and Gwen. You guys rock!
***
She knows this is right. She tries to focus on how *right* it truly is; his breath is hot on her neck, and his skin tastes like real sweat, and his heart is beating against her own and he's so fucking *human* that it feels abnormal. But this is what she is supposed to want and need. What she is supposed to absolutely *crave*. What woman in her right mind doesn't want this? He personified loyalty and integrity and decency. He was a good-looking man with a steady career and his name on a lease to his own apartment. Just perfection, right? He knows her, knows her life, her family, and her calling. He knows and he still loves her. He accepts the parts of her life that she would usually keep from the average Joe. And he's average. Normal.
//This is your chance to prove it, girl. You aren't a freak. He's human, and he wants you, so just do it. Just do it.//
So her lips meet his lips and her teeth click against his teeth in an awkward attempt at normalcy, and his tongue is hot and sweeping and it tastes slightly bitter, with the undertone of beer and salt.
//He tastes human. He tastes like a man is supposed to taste... so why do I miss the hint of blood and smoke?//
//Just keep kissing him.//
He has his hand under her collar around her neck, and he's going so slowly, like a gentleman, like he has all the time in the world. She can't help but think that if he were Spike, her blouse would already be unbuttoned and pushed down over her arms. His cool mouth would be making her heart race and her mind would be clouded with lust. There would be nothing at all in the world except for the fires he started everywhere he touched her. But instead, it's Xander's work calloused fingers kneading the back of her neck in a not unpleasant but boring way. There were too many thoughts running through her head for her to enjoy it. She remained aware of her surroundings, and of every angle of the couch, and the way that the overstuffed pillow beside her was pressing against her ribs, and the way that her legs needed to stretch or move or something before she got a cramp. Spike would never let her mind wander to these petty details.
The conversation in her mind took away none of the surreality of the situation.
//This is normal. This is right. This is what is supposed to happen when you are with a man.//
//He's a good man, and he loves you.//
//Spike loves me.//
She pushes some of these thoughts away, but they crowd back to the front of her mind.
//Yes, but this is a real man. This is Xander, the man who has loved you since he first saw you. This is the loyal friend who has fought at your side for years. This is a steady, dependable man who could give you babies, and sunshine, and a heartbeat to lay your head on in the middle of the night.//
//But do I want that, after all?//
Too many thoughts. Not normal thoughts. Not normal.
//Of course you do. You're just a girl, underneath it all. Why wouldn't you want what only he can give you?//
//Maybe I want what only Spike can give me. Maybe there's something wrong with me.//
Her hands grip his shoulders as she deepens the kiss, and his breath quickens into pants, and she can feel his erection beneath his khakis like some foreign object. It doesn't feel right, and the smacking sounds that their mouths make is too loud and nothing seems to fit together properly, no matter how hard she tries to make herself want it.
He pulls away from her mouth for a moment, wincing. He reaches for her hands, and she notices that they are now clutching his upper arms.
"Buff... you're hurting me here..." and he smiles painfully, apologetically.
//*Did you bruise the boy?*//
She lets go abruptly, and she is about to say something, move away, rush out of the apartment. But then he is kissing her again, as if he knows what she is considering, and suddenly she wishes she had been a bit quicker. Now, his fingers are fumbling with her buttons, and she has a flashback to Spike getting frustrated and ripping a shirt away from her in one stroke... But Xander is being so patient and so careful, and he is looking at her now as he uncovers her white lace bra, looking at her as if she is the one thing for which he has waited his entire life. Spike has a similar look, but when *he* gave her that look, with his head tilted and his blue eyes full of awe, it made her want to love him.
This look, the Xander version, just makes her want to run.
She's suddenly wishing for an interruption, the ringing of the phone, or a knock at the door, or maybe he will come to his senses? Why can't she be the one to break this absurd spell? Because guilt is running all slippery like blood through her veins, and she knows that she has done it again. She has used someone to make her feel. Except he's not making her feel normal. Not like he was supposed to.
There is no normalcy here in his arms, while his mouth finds the hard jut of her collarbone, there is only the realization that his touch is making her more uncomfortable than aroused, and his frame is too bulky as he looms over her, and his heat is so unwelcome to her that she thinks she may choke.
She pushes him off and suddenly she is standing and buttoning her blouse, and then pacing, and she can feel his eyes on her as he tries to figure out what he did wrong. Only she knows the truth, and it isn't him, and it isn't the timing, and it isn't the fact that they are friends and that is all they should ever be. The awful truth is that she isn't normal, that she never was, and that she will never be happy with just an ordinary man. She will never be happy being an ordinary girl.
She turns to explain, but what can she possibly say?
"Buffy? What... what's wrong?" The pain of her rejection is broadcast across his features, and his voice is hoarse with lust and uncertainty.
"I can't. I just... The two of us... we don't do this. This isn't us, this isn't right," she tries to explain, tries to make it about friendship, about kinship. But he knows her better than that.
He stands abruptly, and his eyes are fierce and very un-Xanderlike, and for a moment she feels a thrill. This is familiar, this excitement, and she thinks of fiery azure eyes that burn her skin with their intensity.
//Oh, great, Buffy, he has to get angry for you to feel anything for him? You sick bitch.//
"This is about *him*, isn't it?" he asks in a quiet, controlled voice.
She doesn't know how to answer him, doesn't know how to tell him that it isn't his fault, that it has nothing to do with Xander, or Spike, or humans or monsters or demons or love or friendship... it was her. It had to be her.
She looks at him with wide, overly bright eyes, and her bottom lip trembles as she tries to find the explanation.
"It's..." she begins, "it's not you. It isn't... him." She speaks so softly that he can barely hear her words.
"Tell me." He wants to know, god, please let him know what she needed, what she wanted...
She looks completely stricken now.
Then so quietly, barely a whisper, "I don't know," and she is fleeing his apartment.
END
Author: Green
Rating: R-ish
Pairings: B/X, (B/S heavily implied. It's really a B/S fic. Xander's just there.)
Summary: Spoilers for S6, but set in S7. Early S7? Dunno.
A/N: Thank you to my betas: Jingle, Beamer, and Gwen. You guys rock!
***
She knows this is right. She tries to focus on how *right* it truly is; his breath is hot on her neck, and his skin tastes like real sweat, and his heart is beating against her own and he's so fucking *human* that it feels abnormal. But this is what she is supposed to want and need. What she is supposed to absolutely *crave*. What woman in her right mind doesn't want this? He personified loyalty and integrity and decency. He was a good-looking man with a steady career and his name on a lease to his own apartment. Just perfection, right? He knows her, knows her life, her family, and her calling. He knows and he still loves her. He accepts the parts of her life that she would usually keep from the average Joe. And he's average. Normal.
//This is your chance to prove it, girl. You aren't a freak. He's human, and he wants you, so just do it. Just do it.//
So her lips meet his lips and her teeth click against his teeth in an awkward attempt at normalcy, and his tongue is hot and sweeping and it tastes slightly bitter, with the undertone of beer and salt.
//He tastes human. He tastes like a man is supposed to taste... so why do I miss the hint of blood and smoke?//
//Just keep kissing him.//
He has his hand under her collar around her neck, and he's going so slowly, like a gentleman, like he has all the time in the world. She can't help but think that if he were Spike, her blouse would already be unbuttoned and pushed down over her arms. His cool mouth would be making her heart race and her mind would be clouded with lust. There would be nothing at all in the world except for the fires he started everywhere he touched her. But instead, it's Xander's work calloused fingers kneading the back of her neck in a not unpleasant but boring way. There were too many thoughts running through her head for her to enjoy it. She remained aware of her surroundings, and of every angle of the couch, and the way that the overstuffed pillow beside her was pressing against her ribs, and the way that her legs needed to stretch or move or something before she got a cramp. Spike would never let her mind wander to these petty details.
The conversation in her mind took away none of the surreality of the situation.
//This is normal. This is right. This is what is supposed to happen when you are with a man.//
//He's a good man, and he loves you.//
//Spike loves me.//
She pushes some of these thoughts away, but they crowd back to the front of her mind.
//Yes, but this is a real man. This is Xander, the man who has loved you since he first saw you. This is the loyal friend who has fought at your side for years. This is a steady, dependable man who could give you babies, and sunshine, and a heartbeat to lay your head on in the middle of the night.//
//But do I want that, after all?//
Too many thoughts. Not normal thoughts. Not normal.
//Of course you do. You're just a girl, underneath it all. Why wouldn't you want what only he can give you?//
//Maybe I want what only Spike can give me. Maybe there's something wrong with me.//
Her hands grip his shoulders as she deepens the kiss, and his breath quickens into pants, and she can feel his erection beneath his khakis like some foreign object. It doesn't feel right, and the smacking sounds that their mouths make is too loud and nothing seems to fit together properly, no matter how hard she tries to make herself want it.
He pulls away from her mouth for a moment, wincing. He reaches for her hands, and she notices that they are now clutching his upper arms.
"Buff... you're hurting me here..." and he smiles painfully, apologetically.
//*Did you bruise the boy?*//
She lets go abruptly, and she is about to say something, move away, rush out of the apartment. But then he is kissing her again, as if he knows what she is considering, and suddenly she wishes she had been a bit quicker. Now, his fingers are fumbling with her buttons, and she has a flashback to Spike getting frustrated and ripping a shirt away from her in one stroke... But Xander is being so patient and so careful, and he is looking at her now as he uncovers her white lace bra, looking at her as if she is the one thing for which he has waited his entire life. Spike has a similar look, but when *he* gave her that look, with his head tilted and his blue eyes full of awe, it made her want to love him.
This look, the Xander version, just makes her want to run.
She's suddenly wishing for an interruption, the ringing of the phone, or a knock at the door, or maybe he will come to his senses? Why can't she be the one to break this absurd spell? Because guilt is running all slippery like blood through her veins, and she knows that she has done it again. She has used someone to make her feel. Except he's not making her feel normal. Not like he was supposed to.
There is no normalcy here in his arms, while his mouth finds the hard jut of her collarbone, there is only the realization that his touch is making her more uncomfortable than aroused, and his frame is too bulky as he looms over her, and his heat is so unwelcome to her that she thinks she may choke.
She pushes him off and suddenly she is standing and buttoning her blouse, and then pacing, and she can feel his eyes on her as he tries to figure out what he did wrong. Only she knows the truth, and it isn't him, and it isn't the timing, and it isn't the fact that they are friends and that is all they should ever be. The awful truth is that she isn't normal, that she never was, and that she will never be happy with just an ordinary man. She will never be happy being an ordinary girl.
She turns to explain, but what can she possibly say?
"Buffy? What... what's wrong?" The pain of her rejection is broadcast across his features, and his voice is hoarse with lust and uncertainty.
"I can't. I just... The two of us... we don't do this. This isn't us, this isn't right," she tries to explain, tries to make it about friendship, about kinship. But he knows her better than that.
He stands abruptly, and his eyes are fierce and very un-Xanderlike, and for a moment she feels a thrill. This is familiar, this excitement, and she thinks of fiery azure eyes that burn her skin with their intensity.
//Oh, great, Buffy, he has to get angry for you to feel anything for him? You sick bitch.//
"This is about *him*, isn't it?" he asks in a quiet, controlled voice.
She doesn't know how to answer him, doesn't know how to tell him that it isn't his fault, that it has nothing to do with Xander, or Spike, or humans or monsters or demons or love or friendship... it was her. It had to be her.
She looks at him with wide, overly bright eyes, and her bottom lip trembles as she tries to find the explanation.
"It's..." she begins, "it's not you. It isn't... him." She speaks so softly that he can barely hear her words.
"Tell me." He wants to know, god, please let him know what she needed, what she wanted...
She looks completely stricken now.
Then so quietly, barely a whisper, "I don't know," and she is fleeing his apartment.
END