Nowhere Else To Go

"You don't have to walk me home." Xander didn't look up at the vampire in the tuxedo, who was walking next to him. "I'm a big boy." Xander wished tuxedo pants had pockets so he could stick his hands in them. His hands felt big, awkward, out of place, like the rest of him. But at least he could stick his hands in his pockets to keep them out of the way. He folded his arms across his chest instead, and that was almost as good.

"I don't mind."

"Maybe I don't want you to walk me home. Have you thought of that?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Xander thought he saw Angel smile, just a little. "Maybe."

Xander snorted. "Okay, Deadboy, why are you walking me home?"

"So that you get there."

"I've been walking myself home on the Hellmouth for at least fourteen years."

They walked on in silence, with Xander counting each step because it gave him something to do that wasn't talking to Angel. He'd gotten to thirty eight before Angel spoke. "The way you smell tonight, I'm surprised every demon in town isn't walking you home."

Xander stopped sharply, and turned on his heel to face down Angel. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Angel held up his hands. "Nothing. Let's go. You're almost there."

"No." Xander planted a hand on Angel's chest, over where his heart wasn't beating, and frowned at it. Angel didn't feel human up close like this. Not really. Still looking at his hand splayed over Angel's white shirt, Xander continued. "I want to know what you mean. And I want to know why you're suddenly Mr. Must Protect Xander. Isn't there a Slayer waiting for you somewhere?" For an answer, Angel was suddenly a lot closer, and dipping his nose into Xander's own personal space in a way that would have given Xander the serious wiggins at the beginning of the year. Instead, he just stood there. Stiffly, though his heart was suddenly pounding hard enough for two. "Well?"

Angel spoke against Xander's throat, and when he did, Xander could hear the soft sibilance of Angel's accent through the fangs. "Why didn't you pull away?"

Xander tightened his jaw, the soldier in him standing at attention as if at inspection, trying to ignore the pressure of Angel's cheekbone against the skin that was still a little tender from a Slayer's hands. "Maybe I don't want to."

Xander felt Angel nod, then the cool press of lips against his neck above the too-tight collar of his tuxedo shirt. When Angel stepped back, his face was smooth again, handsome, and Xander's hand still rested against his chest. "That's why I'm walking you home." He tilted his head in the direction of Xander's street. "Let's go."

And Xander did. It wasn't as if either of them had anywhere else to go tonight.