Title: Retarded Survival Instinct
Author: iridescentZEN
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Vampire Xander/Willow
Varietypack100 prompt: 099 Vampire Xander/Willow
It was pouring out when Willow opened the door to a sopping wet, yet somehow better looking than normal, Xander. Best friend. Heart. The crush that would never go away, lesbian or not. "Xander!" His presence was unexpected. Since she and Tara were Wiccans and doing spells together, she really hadn't seen much of her friends just dropping by. "You're sopping wet, come in before you freeze to death!" she demanded, not noticing the hunger in his gaze when she issued the welcome and broke the number one rule in Sunnydale.
Again.
Willow ushered him inside her room, grabbing a towel from a storage bin behind the door. She handed it to him, and he took it from her hesitantly, like he was in no rush to dry off. "What's the matter? You look ... so pale." She huffed. "Did Anya try to make you omelets again without the whole cooking through thing?"
"It's uh, not food poisoning this time, Will."
There was a picture of Tara and Willow together in a jeweled frame that Buffy had taken on a beautiful summer day. They were at the park, beautiful trees and wildflowers in the background. Xander seemed fixated on it. Willow looked to him, then at the picture, then at him again suspiciously. "Xan, what's the matter?"
"What's the matter," Xander repeated back to her, moving forward in an almost threatening manner. If he were anyone but Xander. His eyes were cold as he stared her down, knowing she would look away. Knowing that for all her new found liberation, she was always going to be submissive at heart. "What's the matter?" he repeated, his voice without emotion. "I'm dead. That's what's the matter. Come on Will, don't tell me ya didn't know. I'm all super sexy with the whole vampire charisma." He sighed then said, "I'm wearing leather! Duh."
"Xander?" Her voice was so small with fear. It boomed in Xander's ears like it was supersonic, making him hungry.
It was, he noted with particular glee, going to be ugly.
And so, so beautiful.
It was weird, but she didn't run like he expected her to. He expected to smell her fear, more potent than any perfume, clouding in the air around her, leaving a fragrant trail directly to where she went. Oh, the fear was there, but she wasn't moving. Wasn't running away or ... he looked behind him ... floating any pencils.
In a way, it was kind of a letdown.
"I remember what it was like to touch you," he said, invading her personal space. Cold brown eyes were suddenly warm from a deceptive face. "I remember the way you taste on my lips. Funny," cocking his head to one side, he looked deep in thought, "You would think I would've went after Anya, but ... your taste," he had her backed up against the painted black wall that she and Tara worked so hard on, strung up with Christmas lights to keep their love light and warm like the holiday season, "Your smell, your touch. The way," his hands moved against her, cupping her breasts, "your breasts felt like they were made for me, and me only."
"Xander," she cried, but her magic was about as useful in a crisis to her as a sprinkler was to a house that was burning down. It was there, but it was spinning all around. Not doing the things it was supposed to. The celestial sun shaped mirror she and Tara bought at a flea market cracked, her textbooks started to wobble, and Xander had his fangs in her neck.
Hands in bad places.
The bite burned. They outlived all the doom dates that their association with Buffy and Giles brought only to be cursed just the same. Hot blood coursed out of her neck, over her rapidly cooling skin; she could feel the tears he made with his fangs, feel the ugly bumps and ridges of Xander demon, and her retarded survival instinct kicked in.
It was too late to go kicking and screaming now, but she tried.
The lights in the entire building dimmed, bulbs burning out or exploding. Music was booming so loud it was deafening. Phones rang off the hook. In the halls it looked as though there was a poltergeist with hovering trash cans, books, and other debris. The walls were bleeding, pouring to the rhythm of the rain that splattered against air conditioners and window panes.
Willow stiffened beneath Xander, her world turning dim, her essence in Xander's belly.
She tasted blood on her lips that wasn't her own, an alluring flavor that made her thirst for more. Xander's face was Xander's again. That face she knew and loved forever, curly dark brown hair framing a darkly angelic face, and pleased eyes. She knew she would wake up from this nightmare into one even more dark and twisted, and it was okay.
Okay because it was Xander.
"It wasn't a fluke, Willow." Xander buried his nose in Willow's vibrant red locks, suddenly wishing it was the darker auburn of his friend's natural hair color. "When you wake up you'll realize that."
End.