Title: Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound
Feedback/Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Summary: Xander's whisky bent and hell bound in all the literal ways. *g*
Notes: Because I love you all I'm not making you wait until tonight for the next fic. *g* This is the second of my unrelated pieces written for brandil and crazydiamondsue's Music of Pain Xander-centric ficathon. (Masterlist available Monday 11 July.) And despite literati's best attempts, this is the complete story. Whatever happens afterwards is all in your heads, k?
Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound
Lyrics to 'Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound' by Hank Williams Jr
I've got a good woman at home who thinks I do no wrong
But sometimes lord, she just ain't always around
And you know that's when I fall, I can't help myself at all
And I get whiskey bent and hell bound
Play me some songs about a ramblin' man, put a cold one in my hand,
'cause you know I love to hear those guitar sounds
Don't you play 'I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry' cause I'll get all balled up
And I'll get whiskey bent and hell bound
Sure enough about closing time, (I'm) about stoned out of my mind
And I end up with some honky-tonk special I found
Just as sure as the morning sun come, thinking of my sweet girl at home
And I need to get whiskey bent and hell bound
Play me some songs about a ramblin' man, put old Jim Beam in my hand
'cause you know I still love to get drunk and hear country sounds
But don't you play 'Your Cheatin' Heart' cause that'll tear me all apart
I'll get whiskey bent and hell bound
The wedding goes off without a hitch - despite everything - and Anya and Xander slowly, happily, settle into married life.
Six weeks later Xander's lifelong shell of denial develops cracks.
He goes out with some guys from work to celebrate a promotion, gets roaring drunk, and wakes up very naked and totally screwed. By Spike. There is panic and denial. There are threats and accusations. There are recriminations flying thick and fast.
Xander dresses in record time and flees the crypt as dawn breaks, blocking out the quickly veiled hurt in Spike's eyes.
And life in the Harris household goes on as usual, for the next few months, until Xander has a little too much to drink at a workmate's birthday bash.
Again he wakes at dawn, his body tangled with another, cooler, form. And once again he panics, pouring scorn and loathing on the rumpled, sated vampire.
He flees the crypt and avoids touching alcohol for weeks. He would have liked to avoid touching Anya too, but she has 'needs'. And so life in the Harris household goes on as usual.
The fifth time it happens, Xander isn't quite as drunk. He wakes up knowing exactly what he's done. He clearly remembers begging Spike to - 'Please, Baby' - fuck him, knees bent over shoulders, hands knotted into sheet-filled fists. The memory of the way Spike feels - 'Ohmygod! Yes! Thererightthere! - inside him causes his dick to twitch, and a heavy shroud of guilt wraps around his heart. He never comes like that with Anya, he's never once passed out. With her he always keeps a minute part under tight control, a discipline he hasn't even noticed until now. He's never dared to lose himself with any girl like that, but Spike has somehow...
"Staying for a morning session this time, are you, Pet? Did you tell the missus you'd be out all night?"
Heart palpitations, from the shock of Spike whispering those - any - words in his ear, coincide with the rush of blood to his groin as his dick reacts favourably to just the thought of a bonus morning session, and Xander almost passes out again. He shakes his head to clear it, unknowingly transmitting his decision.
"Right then. You gonna start with all the screaming and shouting while you're getting dressed, or can we, just this once, take it all as read? Undead, unclean, unwanted, I know the drill. Just get your kit on and run back to the clueless little wife, okay? I'm sure you'll be back here soon enough."
And Xander leaves without a word, sneaking home to curl up on the couch the way he always does, so Anya can believe he came home drunk and just passed out.
The memories replay themselves at inconvenient times. Every time he slips between her thighs he feels Spike there, buried deep inside him. And he comes.
Anya uses women's magazines to diagnose him - premature ejaculation brought about by stress - and tells him he should spend more time with friends, more time relaxing. She decides he'll spend each Friday night out with the guys, drinking, playing pool, just having fun. She's the one who phones him up at work to say 'don't hurry home', 'you must relieve your stress so you're relaxed so we can have more sex', and obediently he does what he is told.
Of course, the only thing that really does relieve his stress is getting buggered hard and fast by Spike. So, under orders, and he really feels he is, he buys a couple of bottles of decent whisky. He's going to go and see Spike when he's sober, just this once, so they can talk this over, over drinks. Maybe they can come to some... arrangement, about stress relief.
He knows it's no solution but surely it's a start. Maybe if he gets this out of his system it'll all work out? He'll go back to his wife and settle down and they'll be happy. They'll have the kids, the cottage, and the little wrought iron fence. Not pickets - Anya thinks they look like stakes. And until then he'll do what Anya wants and practice stress relief. So long as no one knows it'll be okay... right?
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