October 2007
436 words
Written for the Giles/Xander Fest's Dabble-a-Day prompts @ gilesxander, for prompt #18: "Moving on"
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It's dark in the room, just light enough that Xander knows he's not home. He feels a hint of momentary panic at that, but he squashes it down, takes a deep breath, and closes his eye again. Then he remembers.
Attending Buffy's funeral, again, at dusk. The small gathering afterwards.
He sits up in bed, and groans. He can't make out much of the details of the room from the little amount of light coming from the bottom of what he assumes is the door. His head hurts, and he's pretty sure he's never going to be able to eat anything ever again.
Drink after drink after drink. Drinking himself into oblivion. Giles' hand on his shoulder, guiding him-- somewhere.
"Xander, are you awake?" The door is pushed open, light flooding into the room, and Xander blinks it out of his eye. Giles walks in with a tray. It smells like coffee.
Giles looks like he hasn't slept in weeks.
Hands on Xander's skin, peeling off sweaty clothes. Indistinct words, soothing and careful. Strong arms around him, holding him as he shakes.
Xander hopes he imagined that part. Not that it would be all that bad, considering he can plead temporary insanity from being drunk -- or he can just say he doesn't remember anything.
This time, she's not coming back.
Giles sits next to Xander, and hands him a glass of water. "Here, drink this, and then you may be able to drink your coffee without accidents."
Warmth surrounding him and he hears someone whispering "sleep now," and he feels a kiss on the nape of his neck.
Rubbing his eye, Xander takes the glass and gulps down half of it in one go. He's thirsty. He's not sure he's remembering last night right at all, but he can feel that kiss like a ghost on his skin.
When he looks at Giles, haggard and old and breaking, Xander thinks "it sucks that it took Buffy dying for us to finally do this," but he lifts his hand anyway. He cups Giles' jaw and says: "Life's too damn short, right?"
Giles gives him a smile. A sad one, granted, but it's a start.
Fingers on overheated skin, strong arms, a kiss on his neck, "sleep now."
"I've got you."
Xander leans in, presses their lips together, moving slowly, and coaxes Giles' lips apart with his tongue. He deepens the kiss with the sort of infinite care that only desperation can bring. Giles answers him with lips and tongue and fingers on his neck, ghosting the skin.
And the world is slowly sliding back into place.