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Voluntary Madness	By : Spacey Category: AtS/BtVS Crossovers > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1677 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS or AtS. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Voluntary Madness
- 1
Drunkenness is nothing but voluntary madness
-Seneca

"Happy New Year!" The words are cried from the mouth of an almost-twenty-something blonde, obviously drunk. Xander averts his eyes as she lifts her top and idly wonders if Girls Gone Wild is filming at the L.A. New Year's Eve Costume Bash. For that matter, he muses, why don't they make a Guys Gone Wild for mostly closeted gay guys with a slight tendency to attract demons and a low tolerance for tequila sunrises?

Xander shifts the stuffed parrot on his shoulder, the sword at his hip bumping him in the process. The air virtually hums with sex and anticipation. Xander twists and bobs, ducking stray blows from two drunken coeds, and finds himself down a street with no name. The party vibe has yet to permeate this avenue, and Xander feels the hairs of the back of his neck rise. No partiers crawl this street, just stray cats and the dull flickering light of a dying halogen light bulb. He's seen enough horror movies to know that this is where the hero decides to "explore further", but Xander turns to blend into the slowly moving throng. It's not that he's not heroic, he thinks. He's just not rock stupid.

Four blocks later and the wiggins hit him again. Strong. He moves quickly and pulls a stake from his pirate boot, cursing his stupid eyepatch and shoving it up on his forehead to see better. He gages the distance between the costumed people spilling from the noisy bars and clubs and his own hotel. Far. Too far. He speeds up his steps.

When it happens, the attack comes swiftly, and Xander can only be impressed at the speed with which his end draws near. One minute he's sidestepping an amorous couple blocking his path, and the next moment his feet are leaving the ground and rough arms, not human, are lifting him off the ground. Hands draw around his throat, not so much choking as *poking* into his esophagus, trying to shuck his throat like a cob of corn.

Then, just as quickly, the hands are still. Frozen. The bodies behind him drop away with a thud and Xander slumps to his knees next to them. He tenderly fingers the bruised skin on his neck and takes in great gasps of air.

"Nothing to see, folks. Beer and lime vodka—not a good mix," an unfamiliar voice announces.

When Xander is confident that he can again stand on two feet he does so, not certain if he should thank his savior or just run like the blazes. He opts for the former.

"Thanks." It sounds like a grunt, inhuman even to his own ears. He clears his throat and watches as the people flow down the street.

"Just a couple of Pesota demon. No problem." Somehow, it sounds as if it *is* a problem, and Xander wants to hide. The voice is deep, powerful in its own human way. Human. Probably. Xander trusts his instincts better these days, but still... His savior is confident, which always throws him off. All people should be as bumbling and awkward as him. He knows that's irrational, and he also knows he should turn to face his savior, but he can't quite bring himself to do it. So he massages his throat and watches the crowd and pretends to catch his breath.

The other man is quiet. "You shouldn't have left them." It doesn't sound like a threat, but Xander is cautious just the same.

"Who?"

"Your girls."

"My girls?" he feigns.

"C'mon, Xander. I know you ain't *that* slow."

Xander turns then because this guy, this man, knows his name and knows his girls and that means he's either a friend or about to lose a limb.

"Who are you?" Xander scans the man from head to toe twice. Then he can't help chuckling which turns into what he knows is a terribly inappropriate, but utterly uncontrollable, laugh.

The man scowls and hitches at his tight pants. "What's the matter? You ain't never seen a black Zorro?"

"Not a bald one," Xander laughs, and a smile breaks the stranger's face, bright teeth a stark contrast with the dark skin.

They're jostled by the crowd. People surge past, bumping and pushing. "Let's get out of here," Zorro says above the music.

Xander nods, curiosity and caution warring. He follows broad, caped shoulders to a space between two bars; it's almost a street, too large to be an alley. The walls sway, and Xander curses the tequila sunrises once again.

"So Zorro, you picked up a lot of guys this way?"

The man seems alarmed, confused, then smiles a small smile. "They told me you were funny."

"Yeah, I'm a regular Don Knotts. I'm told I have his figure, too." Xander does a little spin, then regrets it as he loses his balance. Strong hands grasp him and keep him upright.

"Not from where I'm standing," the black man laughs, then freezes, maybe realizing that a come-on has slipped out without warning him first. He swallows hard, and Xander watches his throat muscles work in the dim shadows. "If you're okay, I should probably leave."

"Why are you here again?" Xander is beginning to feel impatient. And horny. And maybe in need of more tequila sunrises.

"Long story. Someone had a vision. They kinda didn't want me to tell you about it. Supposed to be inconspicuous."

"An inconspicuous black Zorro."

"It's a costume party." The man tugs self-consciously at his collar.

"Right. So Cordelia has a vision and they send…you."

"Hey, I didn't say it was Cordelia—"

"It's okay. I won't tell Buffy that Angel and his lackeys are in town."

"I ain't no lackey of Angel's. I just work for him from time to time. Freelance."

"Got it. And tell Cordelia thanks."

"Sure."

Xander nervously licks his lip. Now they're just two men standing awkwardly in the dark side street while Ricky Martin blares from a dance club across the street.

"Cool mask," Xander says, because there really *is* nothing more to say, and yet he doesn't want to go back to the hotel just yet. He feels dark eyes scrutinize his body. It isn't an entirely unpleasant experience.

"So, you're a pirate."

"Yeah." Xander waves his stake menacingly, then quickly drops it and scrambles for his plastic sword. "Ahoy matey and... Well, you get the picture." The man only nods. "You know, it's kind of unfair, you being here. I mean, it's not that I don't mind the save-age, because I do, but I don't know your name."

"Name's Gunn."

Good gumdrops why does that sound sexy? Movement on Xander's left catches his eye. Two shapes are partway hidden behind the brickwork, writhing together. He instinctively reaches for the stake that's no longer there, but the other man catches his wrist.

"Chill out, Xander. Danger's gone." When Gunn speaks, it's a whisper close to Xander's ear. Suddenly he isn't so sure that the danger *is* gone. At Gunn's touch, a whole new can of worms comes spilling open, specifically in his gut and groin.

"We should probably get moving. Put distance between ourselves and the highly incriminating demon bodies."

"Yeah." Gunn also seems captivated by the couple on Xander's left, and Xander watches the man's eyes flicker to another couple further down the alley. "Gotta keep moving." Gunn doesn't seem convinced.

"Unless..."

And Xander is so far out on a limb, he thinks, that there's just him, a twig, and a single leaf—the kind that's all yellow and dirty with a crunchy brown tip.

"Unless what?"

Gunn's voice doesn't seem accusing, repulsed, or alarmed at the almost-invitation, so Xander finishes, "Unless you think we should stay here. Unless you *want* to stay here," he adds. Xander's face is red, and he can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and dick and nowhere else. He hasn't done this since Oxnard, and he knows he'll be rusty and almost certainly regretful. What the hell is he thinking? Xander wants to giggle inappropriately but doesn't.

"You mean . . .?" Gunn stares down the passageway, then toward the throng of partygoers illuminated by the club lights.

Gunn doesn't leave, and Xander takes it as a good sign. Six tequila sunrises, and Xander's gotten bold. The other man's wearing a ruffled white shirt like his own. Xander steps close and grabs two large fistfuls of it before pulling hard and running his lips over Gunn's mouth.

Gunn shoves him, and Xander's back scrapes against the brickwork. For a moment, a split second, his world tilts. This is a very bad idea, he realizes. Gunn's a lot stronger than him, and the girls don't know where he's at. And finding his mutilated body is a shitty way to come out to them. Then huge, hot hands are sliding over his shirt, dragging it from his pants, and warm lips are nuzzling his neck. There's a moan that might be him, might be Gunn, or might be the couple on their left. Xander doesn't much care.

"What do you do?" Gunn whispers. His hands are descending, cupping Xander's cock. It's all Xander can do not to fall to his knees right there. Gunn leaves one hand on Xander and uses his other to take Xander's hand and drag it between the folds of his cape, then presses it to his own hard bulge. He grinds Xander's hand down.

"I can suck you if you want." Where did that come from? Those words have never left Xander's mouth before, though they've reached his ears on one—no, two—occasions that Buffy and Willow will never find out about if there's a goddess in heaven.

Gunn nods, a wide smile breaking the darkness. "Yeah."

Xander grinds his hand harder, then fingers the zipper torturously before sliding it down and slipping both hands beneath Gunn's costume. His dick is already leaking when Xander wraps his hand around the shaft and slides his thumbs over the tip.

"Nice," he gasps, closing his eyes. The smell of fried food and cigarette smoke reminds him where he is. Exposed. Alone. And yet... Hands settle on his shoulders, pressing down gently, and it's so easy to do this. Kissing slowly, letting his back scrape down the wall, taking his hands and Gunn's pants with him.

Gunn shivers and Xander feels an absurd moments of tenderness. "Suck it," Gunn demands. The sound is less sweet, more intense, than the others; it's an aphrodisiac made just for him. Xander nods, suckles the swollen tip before him, and rest his hands over dark hips. Gunn pulls Xander toward him, gently pushing deeper into Xander's mouth. Xander tips his head and draws it deep, sliding the length in at one angle, then out at another.

"Mix it up, Xander," he thinks to himself and is satisfied when he hears the deep voice growl higher, more rough. The hands on Xander's shoulders are suddenly gripping his hair, then stroking his cheeks. He sucks harder, and the suction caves in his cheeks.

Gunn likes that, he can tell. His thumbs trace Xander's cheeks so tenderly that he's momentarily surprised. Xander steps up his efforts. He slides his hands back, cupping at Gunn's ass and squeezing him hard as Gunn pulls Xander forward. Xander grunts around Gunn's cock, so happy and drunk and yes, deeply satisfied to be in a dirty alley on New Year's Eve with a man coming between his lips, panting his name into the darkened sky.

He swallows sloppily and then stands, pulling Gunn's pants with him because he's nothing if not considerate. Xander's not sure what to say to Gunn, who's panting and sweaty and just So Hot that Xander would happily rewind the last half hour and do it all over again. Gunn solves his momentary confusion by kissing him, an affectionate gesture that makes Xander smile under Gunn's ample lips.

"My room's empty until two," Xander rushes out. He might be making a mistake, but if this guy's tough enough to handle Cordelia Chase on a day-to-day basis, then he has to be good people.

"Okay." They turn to leave. "You know," Gunn says, squeezing the hard bulge between Xander's legs until the young man yelps with pleasure, "Cordelia also told me you were full of surprises."

The End
- 1
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Voluntary Madness