Chapter Text
It was a dark and stormy night.
That probably should've been the tip-off.
But for Xander Harris, who knew better than to rely on the cliche when gauging the current safety of the Hellmouth, rain was never an issue. He'd spent nights in worse when he was young and too scared to go home, too prideful to ask Willow or Jesse for their couches yet again. And thunder had never frightened him like it should've-- though for a very long time he'd wished his father would get struck by lightning-- so to him it was all a light show, a fireworks display.
The spooky Hellmouth stuff happened on clear nights too. Clear days, even. So Xander was not at all suspicious of the ominous roll of thunder overhead, even when he found himself sopping wet and on the other side of town, with no clue of how he got there, and barely half a clue as to where he was. One minute he was leaving the cemetery, picking fledge dust out from under his nails, mind in a daze as it tried to focus on something that wasn't a certain bleach-blonde Brit, and the next minute he found himself here.
At "Bull's".
The most demon infested gay bar in Sunnydale.
Slumping down at a relatively clean space at the bar, Xander silently observed the clientele over his beer.
Two gay men probably together. Short, slightly shorter than Spike.
Talking to a single man, heavier. Blonde hair. (Not as bleached as Spike’s.)
Sitting next to extremely tall man sulking and glaring at his drink. Probably a demon in disguise – too tall, too lean, face awfully angled cheekbones terribly sharp. Looking directly at him now. Not as good looking as Spike.
Gentlemen clad head to toe in leather, trying to work up a conversation with too-tall man. Defiantly human. Losing his hair. Not looking as good as Spike would look in that outfit.
Xander downed his drink and motioned for another one. Somehow, some way, he needed to stop thinking about Spike.
And, somehow, he had to get that voice out of his head.
It was a dark and stormy night.
For some reason, the rain was less of a bother than the hot, dry air in this bar.
His stout was right, at least. Imported and dark as the current sky, the dark moon providing very little reassurance that his decision to come here tonight was a good one. But new moons were never his friend. dark moons brought back memories of a time when he'd put them to good use.
They'd made their best magic on dark moons. Without touching runes or ancient tomes or anything but each other. Sometimes high, sometimes not. Sometimes in love, sometimes not.
Sometimes it would rain like this, and the thunder would mingle with his voice until every rumble sounded like Ethan in the sky, groaning "Harder" and "Ripper" and "More".
He took a long gulp of his stout.
There was a Kribblestyk at the bar, muttering to a couple of idiotic boys looking for a third. They'd be dead by morning, but at this moment, he felt like they'd be getting what they deserved.
After all, that's what you get when you try to play with hungry soulless things.
The thunder murmured "Ripper" again, and he clutched his glass, wondering when he'd stop hearing that voice. Head buzzing with unwanted thoughts, Giles tried to distract himself by sizing up the clientele. Extremely tall and gangly man with severely angled face…..probably finds lots of other-worldly friends to spend time with due to his unfortunate resemblance to a Yinthfar demon. Ethan would refer to him as “Deformis et raucus” (ugly and horny.) Gentlemen in badly fitting leather jacket. Losing his hair. Ethan would refer to him as “calvus et deformis” (bald and ugly.) Male or possibly female Kzbpe demon, not bothering with a disguise. Ethan would be ready to trade sexual favors for some bloodroot stones for fullmoon magic. A short 3-fingered Suzopr demon, clambering up to the stool to engage in conversation with a human that looked strikingly similar to Xander.
“Body-double,” Ethan would have called him.
A deep sigh surprised the men around Giles, surprised even Giles himself. But the lad resembled Xander in more ways than one….the mop of hair begging to be stroked, the strong, muscled shoulders clothed in a rumpled shirt. The shoulders were slumped the same way Giles had seen Xander slump, in exhaustion or frustration, the kind of posture that made Giles want come up from behind, maybe stroke some of that wild hair into place, even touch the hairs at the base of the neck, and ask his fellow ‘scooby’ what had left him feeling so defeated. Which was a stupid idea.
After all, He was here to find a body-double substitute for Ethan From, not Alexander Harris.
The 3-fingered Suzopr demon clambered up to sit on the stool next to him of all the dignity of a man who considered his 4’7 height the norm and everyone else the freak. With both red hands on the bar he was quite comfortable with who he was and who he was talking to, and he started the conversation right away.
“So why did you come here?” he asked.
Xander’s day had been too long to be surprised by anything now. He gestured with his beer. “Drinkin’.. Why did YOU come here?”
“Breathing". Came the squeaky reply. “Told I hadn’t lived until I came to the hellmouth and breathed the air. But I’m about done with it…..gonna’ get back to LA and my nice sewer and get on with my life.
“So, word on the street is you kill our kind. Come here to kill our kind tonight?
“Not tonight,” Xander said.
“Then why ARE you here?” the little red man asked frankly.
He thought about it. Seriously thought about it, like he hadn't been asking himself that very question since he'd walked through the door. Turned the question over and over in his mind, beer sliding from one hand to the other. The sound was soothing, but not enlightening.
He thought about what Spike would say, mind painting a vivid picture of the vamp lounging against the bar, elbows digging into the sticky faux-marble bar top, usual sneer on his lips. Probably "M'bored", or something equally as petulant, because with a cigarette between his lips he could make petulant sound badass. Yeah. "M'bored", with the 'o' stretching out into the 'r', making it one letter, one sound that was more 'o' than 'r'. That fucking accent. He always had to sound so smooth.
But Xander didn't have that magical coolness capability, so took a long gulp of his beer and licked the bitterness from his lips. "Trying to drown the accent in my brain." He quipped, looking down at the amber liquid in his hands. "Or myself. Whichever comes first."
The Suzopr looked confused, three fingers tapping on the bar in rapid succession. "Accent?"
"The one that's calling me a 'bloody id'jot child'. His words, not mine." He smiled faintly at the memory, the way Spike's hands shoved him into the wall, lingering on his shoulders for a moment before returning to the fray. They'd been up against the usual demon-of-the-week, and apparently he'd gotten in the way. But the touch buzzed through him for a too-long moment, and he'd walked home in a blissful state of wanting, still feeling the ghost of its pressure.
The Suzopr smiled faintly. At least, it looked like a smile. Sort of. "Ah. English. Known a few in my time. Very sexy."
"God, yeah." He sighed, swallowing the last of his beer and waving to the bartender for another. "What is it with that accent? Makes my dick wake up and say 'hello'."
"Wish I knew." The Suzopr leered. "Older?"
"Much." He found himself grinning, shaking his head at his own pathetic attraction to danger. "Body of a porn star, swagger of a rock-star. Practically made of badassery."
The Suzopr looked suitably impressed. "He know about your little side-hobby?"
Xander scoffed. "Oh yeah. He knows." Then shut up, because he was supposed to be forgetting about Spike. Hell, he was supposed to be home right now, washing fledge out of his hair and clothes.
Thinking about Spike.
Fuck this... He sighed softly, turning to his Suzopr companion. "And I take it you're here to get laid?"
Suzopr scoffed. “I’m here because it’s pouring rain. During the day I’m here because I HATE this sunlight. No smog to dull it like in LA. I really hate it here. Tunnels and sewers aren’t friendly. I’m leaving tomorrow. I just came thinking you’d be paying to get some information…..the word on the street.
“Are you? Looking for information?”
“No, sorry.”
“Wanna get laid then?”
“No, sorry,” Xander deadpanned, gazing into the bar mirror, the one showing about half the clientele that was actually present. He had realized it just now......having sex with demons was what he was here to forget.
“Your loss,” the short fellow said and clambered down the stool, disappearing into the taller crowd.
Giles watched the exchange with amusement. He was out of his seat and headed toward the young man, even while Ethan was arguing in his head. “Your cheating on my body-double with the body-double of a kid? You whore. You can’t get that body-double to beg you to do it ‘harder’ like I can.”
"I can't get YOUR body-double to beg that way, either."
"Fair point," grumbled the voice in his head.
Xander was looking deeply into the depts of his beer. “Why AM I here?” he asked it, but it had no real answer.
“Bloody Suzopr demons, so very sure of themselves,” came an accented voice from behind him.
Oh God, not another Brit! Xander didn’t look up. He briefly looked to the bar mirror to see who he was talking to, but of course, there was no bar mirror.
A good deal of the clientele had no reflections anyway.