The One Who Does Magic
Chapter 11
Disclaimer: Hello. I don't own any characters or anything that could conceivably make me any money, with the possible exception of some stuff I have listed on Craigslist. Anyway, yeah: don't sue me, please.
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"Oh, God, what have I done?" Willow thought. Hearing his intake of breath, she knew he hadn't missed her utterance, and judging by the tinglies running up and down her body from his touch, she could only guess at the tone she'd used saying his name. Well, there was nothing to do for it now but to…pretend she was still asleep.
"Will?" Xander asked hesitantly. "Are you awake?"
"Xander…pizza," she sighed, snuggling closer to him.
"Liar."
"What?" Willow asked, forgetting to disguise her consciousness.
"You're the worst actress I know, Willow Rosenberg," Xander explained, curling his arm around her back and pulling her closer.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she protested. "I…hey, remember the third grade school play? I totally kicked ass."
"You played a tree."
"Yeah, well, I was the best tree ever," she said, pouting slightly.
"You were," Xander said softly. "I called you my willow tree, and you said, 'I'm not a willow, I'm a birch.' I thought it was a bad word." He hadn't stopped touching her, was now rubbing her upper arm and back, his hand on a track she could feel throughout her body. "Hey, speaking of words…"
"Xander, don't."
"Will—"
"Don't you get it? It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what I said, or what I feel."
"What you feel?" he asked, hope burning through his chest.
"I mean…I just—that felt nice, you know? With the rubbing and stuff, and I was asleep, and—"
"And you said my name. And not in a 'Xander, can I borrow a dollar?' kind of way, either."
She hesitated slightly. "Well, how would I know how I said it? I was asleep."
"And you said it more than once. I heard you. In my head, a hundred times. Will, please—"
"Okay!" she said, grabbing his hand from her arm. "You caught me, all right? I was thinking about you—dreaming about you. What does that change? This is still very thin ice we're standing on, Xander. If we screw this up, it's not just the two of us. What happens if we can't be friends? If we can't even look at each other without feeling regret or embarrassment? Xander—" she said, pulling his hand to her stomach, "that can't happen now."
"That won't happen, Will. Ever. I love—"
"Don't," she said, stopping his words. "Don't say it, Xander. Please."
"Why?" he asked, frustrated. "I've loved you since five minutes after I met you. Are you saying the fact that I love you—"
"It's not the 'that' I'm worried about. It's the 'how,'" she said, lowering her voice to almost a whisper.
"Because you're gay. I get that, Will. I do."
"Do you?" she asked.
"Yeah, I do. Do you?" he challenged.
She felt like she'd been slapped. "That's harsh, Xan."
"I'm sorry. It's just—Will, I feel things with you—from you. I don't know if you're confused or I am, but I know what I felt that night. There should've been a moment when it felt wrong, but…there wasn't. At least, there wasn't for me. And tonight—God, Will, if I'm way off base here, just tell me. Just tell me and I'll be hands-off guy. But if I'm supposed to keep my hands to myself, then you'd better keep your thoughts to yourself, because you're making me think…I can't—I don't even know what to think." He stopped, out of words or defeated by their inadequacy.
"Don't think. Feel." Buffy's words came back to her, and they were out of her mouth before she realized it.
"Huh?"
"Uh, just talking to myself," Willow said lamely.
"Well, maybe you should listen to yourself," Xander suggested. "Seems like sound advice."
"It wasn't…I mean, it's Buffy's," Willow faltered.
"Buffy is a wise woman. I've always said that."
"You've never said that."
"I'll start now, as long as you listen to her." He silently pleaded with her.
"I can't," Willow began. "What if it doesn't work? What if I don't feel anything more than friendship? Or what if I do, and then I can't sustain it? Or what if—"
"Or what if you just try?" he said softly, rubbing her arm again.
"What if I hurt you?" she asked, on the verge of tears.
"Let me worry about my own heart, okay?"
"No, it's not okay, Xander. It's not." Her eyes burned and her mind was a jumble.
He knew she was talking herself in circles, worrying herself sick, and it wasn't in him to let her. He found her face in the dark and wiped the tears from her cheek. After a moment's hesitation, he brushed his lips across hers. Her face was hot from crying, but she shivered slightly. He moved his mouth to her cheek, her neck. Then he pulled back. "I'm sorry," he said, though he wasn't.
"No," she said. "You're right." She leaned toward him tentatively, still afraid to try, more afraid not to. Her heart raced as she brought her hands to his face.
Xander sighed into her palm and kissed it. Hoped against hope. As she brought her lips to his, he felt scattered to the wind and lashed back together in the same instant. He brought his hand to the nape of her neck, tangled his fingers in her hair.
Willow broke the kiss and brought her mouth to his neck. She felt the need to kiss away all the doubt she'd instilled in him, to touch every insecurity and make it vanish into the darkness. When he pulled slightly on her hair, tipping her mouth up to his, she welcomed him back, moving her hands up to his hair, pulling him closer. The weight of the moment was crushing, the heat of her tears searing her face and his, but she could not get him close enough.
"Will," Xander broke in raggedly. He paused to kiss her again, feeling unable to stop. "Any, uh, preliminary findings?" He felt compelled to ask but afraid to hear the answer, so he kissed her again, pulling at her shoulders, crazy to keep her, terrified to lose her.
"I don't think I can…" She paused to kiss his cheek, to gently stroke his hairline, and his heart sank. "I don't think I can stop kissing you."
His captive breath escaped in a huff of laughter. "Is that good? I mean, clearly, it's good for me—"
"It's good," Willow said, smiling against his neck, suddenly a little shy with her oldest friend, not certain she knew how to be this Willow with this Xander. And yet, as experiments went, she couldn't have asked for a better outcome. That is, until the alarm went off.
"Hell and damnation," Xander said, though even the prospect of working a long day short on sleep didn't faze him now. He couldn't have kept the smile from his face if he'd paid it. He hit snooze on the alarm and turned back to Willow.
"Saved by the bell, huh?" she remarked, though she missed him before he'd even left the bed.
"I demand a rain check. In fact, if there is rain, I might get off early, and—"
"And that's a lot of hours of work you'll be losing, mister. I don't know how you expect to support this family with your lousy work ethic." There was teasing in her voice, but it was a thinly-disguised question—one to which she hoped she already knew the answer.
"Just give me the chance, Will, and I'll support the hell out of this family." Please give me the chance.
He pulled her to him and kissed her for nine minutes.
Beep, beep, beep…
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To be continued…
A/N: I am so hesitant to write mushy stuff because I'm a cold, hard biznatch and it kinda squicks me out (a fact to which my long-suffering boyfriend can attest--and will, to all within earshot). Regardless, I gave it my best shot, because I love the W/X dynamic more than I can express.