Secret Slasha – The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project
Secret Slasha – The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project

By Kay Tee
For Immicolia

Warren had noticed the looks for years, and successfully ignored them. He wasn't disgusted by Andrew's little crush, but he certainly wasn't interested either.

He still wasn't interested, but like Jean Luc Picard, he was willing to do what needed to be done to insure the safety of his people-- er, okay, the safety of himself.

Warren had seen how squirmy Jonathan was getting. Unless somebody stopped him, that canary was gonna sing for the slayer, and when that happened-- okay, there was just no way that was going to happen, because if it did, Warren knew he'd be inconceivably deep in slayer shit-- er, he'd be in trouble. So Warren planned to take Jonathan down, but first he needed to have Andrew's full support, and Tucker's little brother had seemed just a little bit nervous about the whole 'murdering people' thing lately.

But Warren was sure, with a little prodding-- maybe a tiny bit of manipulation-- he could use Andrew's crush to insure the blond's undying loyalty. And if that required a little flirtation on Warren's part... well, he could be flexible.

So Warren invited Andrew over one night, excluding Jonathan from their little meeting. They played 'Resident Evil' and 'Grand Theft Auto,' debated the merits of Starfleet Academy versus Hogwarts, and gorged themselves on twinkies and juiceboxes before Warren got around to the topic he needed to discuss: loyalty.

Andrew insisted, "I'm loyal! I'm totally loyal! I'm the Chewebacca to your Hans Solo; I'm the Scott Summers to your Professor Xavier! Okay, he was old and bald... But, maybe I'm like, the Samwise Gamgee to your Frodo Baggins; the Louis Lane to your Superman--"

"Hey, hold it there, killer," Warren interrupted. "I just want to know that you'll support me, whatever it takes."

"I'll always support you," Andrew promised. "I'm like the adamantium claw to your Wolverine."

Warren frowned. "Didn't Magneto rip that out?"

"Oh yeah... but they put it back," Andrew said.

"Right..." Warren drifted off. He needed Andrew to focus. Swallowing purposefully, Warren casually placed one hand on Andrew's knee and said earnestly, "Help me, Andrew Wells, you're my only hope."

Andrew went completely still, afraid to move and let Warren know they were touching. The blond gazed adoringly into his friend's eyes and said, "Anything for you, Warren Meers."


So it had all gone quite well. In fact, Warren couldn't figure out where he'd gone wrong. Or not wrong exactly, just extremely off-track.

He'd woken up the next day beside a warm body for the first time since Katrina left, and for a moment he'd thought this whole lonely last year was just a dream. Then he'd rolled over to embrace his bedmate and found his arms full of a rumpled and still snoring Andrew.

Warren had sensibly fled the scene, racing out of his own house and out into broad daylight, where the slayer could run into him while she was just wandering around, doing slayerer... er... slayery things.

He got a cramp about a block away from his house and bent over, clutching his side in pain. He and Andrew were both fully dressed when he woke up, but that didn't mean nothing had happened. Warren distinctly remembered lips. Slightly stubbly man-lips. And a tongue. A raspy, flickering, man-tongue.

Oh god, and hands. Warren remembered hands. He covered his face with his hands. "No, I didn't. I couldn't. I wouldn't have. I didn't," he muttered to himself.

But he had. And he had woken up warm, and not alone for the first time in almost a year.

Warren frowned and stared at the McKnight's house, across the street. "I'm an arch-villain, I'm supposed to be... sexually experimental," he decided aloud.

He stood and faced his house, willing his feet to move and take him back to the only willing, warm body available at the moment. It wouldn't mean anything anyway-- he just had to make sure he had Andrew under control, that's all. "It doesn't mean anything," Warren swore, plodding slowly home, feeling strangely terrified and anticipatory and... in control. Yes, he had control. He would bend and degrade and use Andrew as he pleased. He would kill and steal with total impunity. He was a goddamned arch-villain, of course he should get laid.