Manly Platonic Hand Holding

"Buffy?"

Xander tightened his fingers on Angel's hand, skin slipping against skin on feverish sweat. Who ever heard of a hot vampire? Well, okay, vampires were hot, some of them anyway.

But definitely not Angel. No. No hotness of Angel happening in Xander's brain.

But Angel was feverish.

And delusional.

And he kept calling Xander "Buffy."

And trying to kiss him.

Okay, so the kissage was becoming worrisome, so Xander did what Xanders do when the worry starts to happen.

He babbled.

"Not Buffy. I keep telling you I'm not Buffy, but I guess you're too out of it to tell. Okay. So I'll keep talking. Listen to the manly strains of Xanderbabble. Not Buffy. Not talking about shoes and parties, see? And not a stake in sight."

Xander wished he hadn't said that, because after the way Angel tried creeping a hand along his thigh, there was a stake in sight, and he was so not thinking about staking Angel.

Not that kind of staking Angel.

Buffy would kill him.

With either kind of staking Angel.

No stakeage.

And where the hell were Willow and Oz? They were supposed to be watching Angel, and this was so the last time that Xander ever did Willow this kind of favor, because Angel's hands were hot, and big, and doing things to his knee that were not meant to be done to a man's knees by another man.

So Xander did the only thing he could, and took Angel's hand in his, holding onto it. "Hey, remember. Xander, not Buffy. Buffy out there getting you Slayer Blood. Xander sitting here holding your hand, and okay, savor the weirdness here. And just for the record, I am only holding your hand in a manly platonic fashion to keep you from putting it in naughty places that you would not be putting it if you were in your right mind."

And Xander had so not imagined letting Angel's hands go naughty places or Angel's voice saying "Xander" the way he kept saying "Buffy," and all of this was Faith's fault.

Because if Faith hadn't shot Angel, Xander wouldn't be here holding Angel's hand.

And if Faith hadn't wrapped her slayer-strong hands around Xander's throat and squeezed, Xander's Mr. Happy would still be getting jiggy with the ladies in the glossy pages, not trying to crawl back inside at the sight of a pair of tits.

And Xander would not be sitting here holding Angel's hand, listening to him call for Buffy, and wishing he'd call for him instead.

Xander hoped Buffy was kicking Faith's ass.

Because it was all Faith's fault that Xander was starting to think Angel's chest looked pretty good, and starting to wonder what that sweat dripping down between his pecs tasted like.

And did vampires sweat the same stuff as humans or was it something else, and how could a vampire have a fever anyway when they had no internal temperature?

And so it was all Faith's fault that when Angel hooked that big hand around the back of Xander's neck and dragged him down to kiss, Xander let him. And who knew that vampire sweat tasted like human sweat and Angel's mouth tasted a little like oranges and cinnamon?

And okay, definite stake involved now.

"Xander? Buffy just called, and- Xander!"

Xander jerked upright as if burnt, and swiveled to meet Willow's wide eyes.

And it was all Faith's fault that his best friend was looking at him like he was a stranger.

He backed away from Angel so fast the stool he'd sat on clattered to the floor. "He thought I was Buffy! Buffy! Gotta go help Buffy. He's all yours, Will. And I've--I've gotta go!" Xander shoved past Willow, past Oz, and didn't stop running until he reached the end of Crawford Street