Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Buffy or Angel franchises. No money is being made off this story. Please don't sue me.
Author's Note: From the second this pairing occurred to me, I knew I had to explore it at least a little. This is a scene entirely without context. Someday, maybe, I'll want to flesh this out more. But for now, possibly forever, this is a oneshot and you can build your own context around it.
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Nights of Worship
Spoilers for: Pretty much all of Buffy and Angel. (Nothing from the graphic novels.)
Summary: Illyria tires of watching Xander sleep. Set sometime after Not Fade Away.
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Xander woke to the sound of his name being said in a stern, commanding voice. "Alexander, wake up."
He rolled onto his side, but he knew that he would not be able to get away from this. Once she had her mind set on something, there was no changing it. He was going to have to wake up.
"Alexander, you have been slumbering for over three hours, and I grow weary of listening to the grating noises you make in your sleep."
Three hours, that was about twice as long as she let him sleep the last time. "Then maybe you should try falling asleep yourself."
"I have no need for sleep." Her voice was icy, like her eyes. It was one of the things about her that Xander found oddly enticing. "I wish to have further sexual relations."
"Boy, me too." He flopped onto his back again. "But for humans, who do have a need for sleep, eight hours is usually customary. Maybe in the morning."
"You could explore relations with the Burkle persona if you desire." From anyone else that would sound desperate and heartbreakingly pathetic, but she was incapable of being described by those adjectives. That she could become Winifred Burkle was merely a fact, not an attempt at seduction.
Xander's one good eye had started to adjust to the darkness, and he could almost see her now. She was lying on her back, rigid and staring at the ceiling. He mostly had to imagine the blue shade to her hair and the way that color seeped down her forehead and tinted most of her body.
After he was stabbed by Lissa, he swore off demons. Again. With the possible exception of former vengeance demons that he used to be engaged to. He never really intended to get involved with them at all; they always tricked him. (With the exception of a certain former vengeance demon.) Illyria had not tricked him. What she was was written all over her face and body. He knew, and he still let himself fall into that trap yet again. Not that this was a relationship. Illyria would never deign to be emotionally involved with a human. She'd probably never deign to have emotions.
Now, the one demon he had been with who clearly looked like a demon was offering to look human. It was more than that really. She had shown him the Burkle persona before, so he knew that she was offering to pretend to be human. He was not sure if it was supposed to be for him or because she was bored or if it was really something she wanted to explore. He just knew that he had to say no. He never knew Winifred Burkle, and he was not there with Winifred. He took Illyria's hand in his. It was cold. "You don't have to do that."
"I know that I do not have to. Wesley would have appreciated it though."
Right, that guy. Xander knew enough about her time at Wolfram & Hart to know that her closest relationships since assuming this body had been with people he had never really liked. Wesley, Angel, Spike. The less he heard about them, the better. "Well, I'm not Wesley, and you're not Fred. Besides, why would I want some Texas farm girl when I could have a goddess?"
She pulled her hand away from him. "You mock me. There was a time when I would not have been forced to suffer being made sport by my lessers. I was a—"
"God to a god, I know." Maybe he had been mocking her a little, and now he had to unruffle those feathers. "And you're a god to me." Under the sheet, he slid his hand over her smooth, cold stomach. He suspected circulation was another one of those things she had no need for. "I wasn't making sport. I worship you. Your body is my temple."
She did not move. "Your adulation means less than nothing to me."
Xander smiled, knowing that was her version of accepting the apology. "So do you mind if I go back to sleep then?"
"If you must," she said with contempt.
"I must." Actually, he could go without sleep on occasion, especially if she had something better in mind, but saying so would set a bad precedent. The night before had proven that. He slid his hand all the way across her abdomen to her far arm and used that to pull her closer. "You should try it. You might like it."
She allowed herself to be moved, which had not been a given. "I have tried it," she said as she rested her head against his chest. "I did not care for the feeling of being unconscious."
Xander did not know what else he could do except try to get more rest while she was feeling tolerant. He closed his eyelids and hoped for another three hours.
After about a minute, she said. "I can hear your heart beating. It soothes me. It is nothing but an insignificant collection of flesh that serves no purpose other than to prolong your meaningless existence. From the day you crawl into this world, it starts to rot, growing weaker every second until it eventually dies, taking your life with it. I find the whole phenomenon revolting. And yet, the sound of it soothes me."
Keeping his eyes closed, Xander brought his hand up to stroke her hair. She was the strangest woman he had ever met, and that was saying something. She was not even really a woman. Or a person. Or anything that belonged in this world. He knew that she represented everything he did not want in his life. She was not particularly evil at the moment, but that was probably only because she found today's version of evil mundane and unworthy or something like that. No matter how she behaved now, she was more purely demon than all the others he'd known, much more pure than any other demon walking the earth today. But, even still, something about knowing that his heartbeat soothed her made his life seem far from meaningless.