Written July-August 2000
Shell shocked. That's the only way Xander can think of to describe his current state of mind. He's eating Ramen with Oz and Devon and listening to them calmly discuss the pros and cons of beef versus chicken flavor.
This is an edited version, with all pairings deleted except Spike/Xander. The full version can be found here
Just three guys loading up on carbs after fucking each other.
Xander is mildly amazed he can even think that sentence and not gibber. Yet somewhere in the back of his mind he's still mostly of the opinion that God really likes him, but now tempers that with the suspicion that God also has a fucked up sense of humor.
He realizes that he's not getting out of Sunnydale. He's spent almost an entire day trying and failing. And while Xander feels he may not exactly be at the top of his game thinking-wise, he has to mentally acknowledge that yes, something odd is at work here.
And he should tell someone. Or do something.
Definitely should do something, because the conversation has dried up and Devon is looking at him in a decidedly speculative manner.
"Hey, uh, guys, I should-"
"Be naked," Devon interrupts.
"Leave him alone, Dev." Oz gives Xander's flushed cheeks a sympathetic smile and continues, "He's generally not big on the savoring the afterglow part. Not until the second or third afterglow, anyway." The corners of his eyes wrinkle as his smile deepens when Xander shifts uncomfortably. "But I think you're ahead of us today."
Miles ahead, Xander thinks. "In some aspects, yes," he says. "I should go." Go and find someone who can explain why Xander, who has spent most of his life as an asexual icon, is now the sexual equivalent of a bomb pop on a really hot summer day.
They let him go. Let being the operative word, because after the goodbye kissing and fondling Xander is more than half convinced that going might not be what he really wants to do after all.
Giles, he reminds himself. He's going to see Giles and get some answers.
He's a good three blocks away when he remembers the car. After pausing for a moment, he shakes his head and continues on foot, which will be just as fast. After a mostly car-less lifetime, Xander knows all the shortcuts.
Gets to Giles' and suddenly realizes that there were no guarantees that It -- whatever It was -- wouldn't work on the G-man. He was still trying to figure out how he would react to that when the door suddenly opened without him even getting a chance to knock.
"Well, well, well. I always knew you'd take up whoring one day."
Xander rolled his eyes. He wasn't sure if he had any blushes left. "Yeah, yeah, good to see you're still filling your empty life with pointless snarkiness. Is Giles in?"
Spike lounged in the doorway, effect spoiled somewhat by the towel he was holding over himself to block out the last of the evening sunlight. "As a matter of fact, he's off picking up hoo-doo supplies. I'm just here to raid the fridge and watch the Simpsons."
"Right, fine, whatever. God, you've gotten dull. Would you please let me in?"
"I may be dull, but you're still... Xander."
"Oooh, 50 points to the observant eunuch. Move over."
Spike did, but only just enough for Xander to pass. Xander managed to brush a vast quantity of Spike walking in. "Asshole."
"Aren't you a little sore for that, pet?"
Oh, wait, there was a blush.
"You know, Spike, if you got yourself a life you wouldn't be so obsessed with everyone else's."
"True, but I get such... pleasure out of mucking with you lot. You squirm so prettily..."
There was something very different about Spike's voice. Xander chose to ignore it, flopped on the couch, and deliberately turned the TV off.
"You're absolutely right, Xander. TV's all right, but I think I can come up with some other ways to entertain myself."
"Oh, fuck, Spike, not you, too?"
Spike moves between Xander and the TV. Crouches and inhales and smiles. "Well, if you're going to be the village bicycle, you shouldn't be surprised when a bloke wants a ride."
"Yeah, well, this bike is going into the shop, fangless wonder. Back off."
Spike lunges, pausing just before his head would've made contact with Xander's crotch. And sniffs. Presses his nose right to the fabric and pulls an Oz and hey, wait, this isn't supposed to work on him again.
Crotch-sniffing immunity or something like that and Xander scrambles up and over the back of the couch, landing with a thud before jumping to his feet again.
Spike is still on his knees in front of the couch, looking... distinctly happy.
"I swear to God, Spike, I will kick your ass if you come any closer."
Spike stands immediately. And takes off his belt.
And tosses it to Xander.
"Now, now, mate, take it easy. I don't go in for that cross-branding thing. I'm not some kind of freak." He started moving around the couch and Xander did his best to both back away and stop staring at the worn, black leather belt with his mouth open.
He half-succeeds, snapping his teeth shut with a click just as Spike stops in front of him.
And starts stripping.
T-shirt gone with one long pull. Boots kicked off and Spike has his thumbs between his skin and the waistband of his jeans before Xander can think of anything to do.
Which is to bolt for the door, only to find Spike there before him, pressed up against the door, deep rust nipples hard and the world's most misplaced innocently cheerful grin.
"You know, Xander, technically I'm supposed to be the one trying to escape, but I'll make an exception for you."
Xander ran for the back exit, but Spike got hold of his t-shirt and yanked him back against him. Held him with a rock-hard yet carefully gentle grip.
"Loop the belt around your hand a couple of times, love. That way you won't lose it, even if you lose control."
"I always knew Dru wore the pants."
"Only if I was very, very good... her sweet quim all outlined by the slacks. She thought them far too naughty..."
And, OK, Spike showing his age with the language, there, but there was something about that word, and the thought of swollen pussy lips and heavy juices staining the fabric and the restorative powers of Ramen were apparently more powerful than anyone knew.
Spike hard against him. Pressing close, breathing deep.
"Or maybe you like it the other way?" Purred in his ear, punctuated with a slow, deliberate grind against his ass.
"Heh. Let me take a moment to consider the least embarrassing way to answer that question."
"Anything you say, pet..." Tongue in his ear now, hold fractionally tighter and other hand moving down to play with Xander's dick through his rumpled pants.
"Ohh... oh that's not helping thought happen, Spike."
Little growl and a squeeze. "Think with your body --" Cutting himself off with a sucking kiss to Xander's cheek, the back of his neck, his throat. Pushing his face against the throbbing vein and mouthing it relentlessly and Xander has to.
Has to do something, break away, move away from the windows, something, Giles could come back at any moment and see... this. Struggles against the grip and an awkward shift slips Spike's cock in the covered cleft of his ass --
"Fuck, yeah, mate. Gimme."
Spike changing his hold much too rapidly for Xander to escape, his story, he was sticking to it, and Spike has him by the hips, lining him up to get dry-humped right then and there, and... and.
How fucking dare he do this?
Xander struggles in earnest, forcing Spike to tighten his hold enough to cause pain that, in turn, makes him let go.
Xander stumbles a few steps before regaining his balance. Adjusts his semi and Spike licks his lips. Steps forward.
"Take your pants off, Spike."
Raised eyebrow and he does it with a smirk that changes beautifully when Xander takes his advice about the belt. "Yeh?"
Xander nods, heart thumping in his chest and several parts of his brain lost to gibbers and screams. "You can... uh... you can hold on to the back of the couch."
"Fucking yeah." And Spike, naked, is something to see, absolute marble and underfed muscle and a swagger. Uncut cock arching up toward his flat belly. He pauses before Xander, runs a finger over Xander's belted hand. "This changes nothing."
Head bowed. Xander's eyes almost coerced into following the lines and ropes of muscle that make up the long unmarked column of Spike's back, his hard, lean ass. So white it almost kind of glows, blue in the hollows kind of white. Unearthly. Un... dead.
And shouldn't that be a turn off?
But apparently L'il Mr. Xander is not only hyperactive he's also a kinky little freak. The kind of penis the other penis's mothers warn them to stay way from, only Xander's stuck with him now. Him and his brand new necrophilia. Up and trying to nudge his way out of Xander's cotton twills for a peek. Rough nudge of cotton is enough to make him shift a little, bring the belt to his face.
The leather smells strong and bitter. Feels soft against his cheek. Xander rubs it against his lips, cheekbone, hard enough to burn a little. Until he can smell it even when it moves away. When he raises his arm, tries to find a starting point.
Somewhere between a fastball and... maybe a punch. Awkward as hell, the belt too light, too heavy. Not sure why he's doing this and that pisses him off -- that Spike got him here like this. Or well, not like Spike's holding a gun to his head but... He's red in the face. Horny again. And it's not like he can deny that he really would like to whip Spike's ass.
It's just that it really really bothers him to know that Spike's actually going to enjoy it and...
"Planning on starting sometime this century, ducks?"
And his hand just lashes down. Sharp and hard. Crack of leather on skin. Gasp and arch.
And now there is a narrow, perfect diagonal of red on the white flesh -- from Spike's right hip, across one cheek, broken at the crack but picking up again across the other.
"Holy shit..." he whispers. Bites back the apology that wants to follow. Because this is Spike, who actually once hit him in the head with a marble bowling trophy and hadn't managed to say he was sorry yet. But still he has to come in for a closer look.
No, he hasn't broken the skin. Just blood vessels underneath it and it's a really pretty color, all these different reds and some purple and blue just underneath and when he lays his finger on the stripe it feels warm and when he runs his thumb over it, Spike hisses a little, pushes against his hand.
"Come on Xander," Spike sounds rough. Maybe even a little needy. "Do me right, eh? Ye'll feel so good."
"Shut. Up." Xander says. Spike's voice is like this wire and he's going that way anyway and he doesn't need any help. And he can't help, really he can't -- holding Spike's hip, holding him right where he is, thumb hard on the raising welt and rubbing Mr. Far Too Happy About This into the crack of Spike's ass.
Just long enough to make sure he's good and hard, to get a whiff of vampire scent -- pale and clean somehow -- sweat and musky sex and iron. To get the sweet feeling going and he pushes off, steps back.
"Spike," he says and just as the vampire's head comes up he brings the belt down. Crack!
A better arch this time and some noise in the gasp and that feels good and now there's another welt, just crossing the first. And Xander... just can't get comfortable with it. Which is good, right? He asks himself hopefully. Is maybe a sign that the sex hoo-doo is wearing off and he can maybe go on to live some kind of a normal life. Maybe take a shower.
And it could be a sign except for the annoying fact that he's still hard, still itching for something. Things, maybe. Things he can't even put a name to. Like the 'taken and captured' fantasy and the Xander-lesbian sandwich fantasy. And the Xander Graham Riley fantasy that he was pretty sure he'd never had, not to mention the Spike-whipping fantasy when apparently is one of the few things he doesn't...
"I'm going to take it away from you if you don't start using it." And um, sproing.
"Don't even think about talking to a travel agent about going there."
But Spike is turning around and leaning back against the couch -- pink headed cock bobbing out of a narrow, ringletty,
not-too-surprisingly black V of curls; head peeking out of its little turtleneck of flesh, shiny-slick at the tip. Xander has to
make himself swallow, make his eyes move back to Spike's face.
"I'm easy, luv," Spike says, grinning.
Xander manages: "Nuh-uh" before Spike is right up against him -- hard, naked and cool -- hands around his head, pulling him into a kiss that has both soft lips and hard teeth in it. Lots and lots of licking. And yes, he is aware that somewhere in there he started to moan and the moan just manages to keep slipping out whenever Spike pulls back enough to let it.
"That's right, love," Spike slurs against his skin, hands moving down to Xander's shirt, grip, tension and *pop, pop, pop...* buttons flying and the t-shirt underneath scoring a line of heat into his neck as the neckline gives and he's ready to say "Hey..." right there, but Spike just ducks his head and takes a nipple, gives it some mind-whammying one-two vampire suck that tugs right down to his balls and while his hips are still writhing from that is back to his mouth again.
Sort of. Mouth, chin, jaw. Neck. Tiny nibble-sucks that are too sweet and achy to really be pain and just seem to make him weaker and weaker. So that now he is leaning into Spike and on Spike and Spike's hands are still traveling him.
Torn shirts peeled down his back and loosely trapping his arms. Spike's teeth somehow soft against his shoulder, scraping skin and then, head ducking fast like a hummingbird to poke a slick tongue into his armpit.
That feels weird and ticklish and almost-icky-good enough to make Xander jerk but not enough to do anything but make him aware of Spike's grip on him. Makes Spike aware too, obviously from the way he turns his focus there. Licks, sucks. Tonguefucks the sensitive little slit until Xander is actively struggling to get his arms free. Or maybe just hump Spike's leg a little more actively.
"Mmm," says Spike, looking up at Xander all bruised, red-lipped innocence. "Salty." And bites Xander on the nipple again. And hooks his fingers through the empty beltloops of Xander's pants and yanks.
The pants slide off with little resistance. They were baggy when he put them on this morning -- he's probably lost ten pounds since then. The only snag is Mr. Happy's head and Mr. Happy doesn't seem to mind the tussle. It just makes him drool. Xander can empathize. Vampires sure move fast when they want to. Spike is already on his knees.
Hands on Xander's hips now, holding him stiller than he wants to be, or than his hips want to be anyway and it's a little embarrassing that he can't actually stop himself from push-pushing his dick at Spike's mouth. But it's right there. Soft looking, lips slick and shiny and red.
Slightly parted. He's actually panting now. Anticipating the slipperiness of it. The suction. And Spike's doing nothing but
looking at it like he's practicing trying to bend forks with his psychic mindrays.
Mr. Cooperate With The Enemy attempts to comply, stiffening.
Spike sticks his tongue out, catches a strand of pre-come and follows it up to lick the flared head of Xander's cock. Then he closes his lips over the head and sucks.
For a second it's all concentrated there and too much to bear as Xander feels his bones bend, muscles twist as his whole body tries to compress itself down into the place where all that whitehot pleasure is happening. Just for a second and then the pressure breaks, the goodness spreads through him. He finishes the yell he didn't notice he'd begun.
His dick slides abruptly free of Spike's mouth and Xander opens his eyes to find Spike licking his lips and frowning.
"You taste... familiar," Spike says.
"Swell," says Xander. "Is that," he struggles to find words... "...relevant?" He's regretting this already. Especially the part where his dick is not being sucked anymore.
"Yeh," Spike says, frowning more deeply. "Not somebody recent, but, still... memorable. Almost."
"It's going to bug me now."
"I'm not giving you a list," Xander growls.
He's struggling to get free again, because he's decided he needs his hands to grab Spike's head. Spike doesn't seem to notice.
"Makes it hard to concentrate, doesn't it?" He says, going back in for another quick taste that makes Xander's knees buckle. "I mean it's right on the tip of me tongue..."
A moment. A pause. A little grudging appreciation which he refuses to express in anyway except to grind his hips a little helplessly. And that's not even really voluntary at this point so he allows it not to count.
"You're fucking with me now."
"You're trying to get me all sexually frustrated and mad at you so I'll indulge your little Vampire Gets Pussy-Whipped By Mortal fantasy."
Xander considers. He has noticed, for instance that he hasn't let go of the belt. Imagines, just for consideration's sake that he has Spike bent over the sofa again and is thwapping him steadily, making his ass jump and his voice make that needy, broken hitch. And that's not an unpleasant heat sizzling a little at the base of his cock.
"Possibly," he allows. "Try a little less 'frustration' and just a little more 'sexual'."
"Say the magic words..." Xander closes his eyes. Thinks about what he wants. What he really really wants.
"Suck my cock, Spike," he growls.
Spike tilts his head.
Looks at Xander's cock.
Licks his lips and smiles evilly. "No."
Sit back and smirks. Smirks
And Xander's hand is in Spike's hair, pulling his head back and Spike's eyes never lose that insolent 'you haven't got the balls' look.
"No?" Low, whispery growl that he doesn't quite recognize as his voice. It occurs to Xander that he shouldn't be this desperate, this... whatever he is. But then--
"No. Not unless you make me." Spike pulls against Xander's hand, makes a little purring sound when his fingers tighten and flicks his tongue over his lips again. But is still smirking.
"You do want to make me. Don't you, Xander?"
Yes. The answer is a sincere yes, since Xander drags Spike back to the couch, throws him back into his former position. And the belt, the belt feels good in his hands now. Just heavy enough and comfortable now that his sweat has made it warm. Pliable.
No hesitation now. Kicks his pants free, shrugs out of the torn shirt. His arm swings back, then forward with a little snap. He sees Spike react a split second before he hears the crack of the belt, arching up into it.
And Xander plants a foot a little behind him and leans into the next one, and the one after that, the belt rising and falling. Heavy stripes of color on Spike's ass now, pinkish red, crisscrossing each other. And with each blow, another arch, another cry and Xander is willing to bet there's no smirk on Spike's face now, nothing but need.
Panting, he lets the belt hang, steps forward and grabs a handful of blonde hair again, pulls Spike's head back and sees... Yes. Lips swollen. Cheeks flushed. Eyes glittering and when Xander lets the belt trail over a welt, a whimper.
So he does it again, gets something a little like a mewl and has to lean forward, whisper, "Suck. My. Cock."
Another sound, raw, and Spike drops to his knees, Xander's hand still tightly clenched in his hair.
No teasing, not even a lick and fuck. Spike's lips stretched around his cock, his eyes half closed and a steady moan from deep in his throat reverberating around him. Taking him in deeper, his mouth cool, his tongue rubbing on the underside and Xander needs more.
His hips rock forward as he pulls Spike's head toward him, roughly thrusts in all the way. And Spike's eyes close as he strains forward, his throat working, swallowing and it just feels so oh. So fucking hot. Panting and staring down while he fucks Spike's mouth, his cock sliding in and out, rough and careless because this is for him, all his.
And he sees Spike's hands, pinching his own nipple, pulling at his cock and before Xander can even process this sight, his hand holding the forgotten belt lashes out and catches Spike square across the back and he's panting, "Hands off."
Pulls and waits, holding Spike's head still. Lets the belt lick over him again. When Spike shudders and his hands drop to his sides, Xander pushes back in, hard.
Feels a tooth nick him and Spike's eyes open wide just as his face morphs.
Vampire, he's fucking the mouth of a vampire, his mind gibbers. His fingers around the belt are nerveless and he instinctively pulls back, but now Spike's hands are at his hips, holding him still.
Deep throating him, his eyes squeezed closed and he's moaning and swallowing around Xander's cock, his lips shiny with pre-come and spit and silken strings of red and oh god feeding, Spike is feeding on him and it hits him like a knee-buckling wave of adrenalin. Spike is feeding on him, so intent and groaning, swallowing around him and god it it it aches.
So deep. So deep he's going to fall, let go but Spike's hands have him clamped and vised, moving around to cup his ass, pull him in deeper. Another swallow that squeezes him from base to tip like the last bit of toothpaste and and oh and ohhh -- he's ohh fingers part his cheeks, sweat slick and spread him and --- ohh --
Inside. Finger, fingers, finger -- too much and ohh and ohh -- another swallow works him and he's trying to scream and beat at Spike's ridged face ravening at his groin and he's swallowed, swallowed, worked and done for, speared rocked back onto fingers stretching too wide too hard not enough for anything but pleasure, hot and driving -- and Spike stills suddenly and growls--
Animal sound so not human monster teeth flashing heat inside him cock and ass and Xander is helplessly coming coming beating himself between iron hands and marble face, coming that won't stop while the swallowing goes on and on and suddenly his knees are wet and something cool is spilling across the tops of his feet and Spike growls around him again, but rougher... slower and Xander wonders if anyone else has ever died like this as he comes again and everything fades to silence and gentle gray...
When the curtain rises again, Xander is surprised to find that the afterlife is a lot like being draped with sticky Vampire on an ex- Librarian's utterly ruined Indian rug.
And that there is licking involved.
And the thought, the wonder of what that is, those two tiny aches that throb as Spike gasps and realizing: Spike is still nursing at him. Jesus.
Gets up on his elbows to confirm the truth, Spike lapping fitfully, painfully at a tiny and infinitely horrifying wound on his cock.
"I don't think you're gonna get anything else outta there, fangboy." His own voice is hoarse and deeply, deeply used.
"Hope springs eternal in the bloody undead breast. Shut up and let me work."
"So desperate for human blood..."
Spike sort of... flashes at him, blue eyes hard and glittering, but he doesn't say a word, just starts licking the other dry wound. And... that's it, isn't it?
"You really are, aren't you, Spike? Desperate. You came all over me without a touch..."
"Don't let it go to your head. It would've happened with any human blood."
Xander ignores him and lets his head fall back, stretching muscles he'd apparently used hard. "Told you I was a nummy treat."
Spike just glitters at him again, holds Xander's gaze as he sucks much too hard at Xander's oversensitized head. "You shouldn't be so eager to adver --"
"Xander, why are you naked on my floor being licked by Spike?"
"Uh... uh... sniff me!"
Spike looks up indignantly. "Hang on, I'm not done yet!"
Xander scrabbles away, hideously aware of the way his genitals bounce and flop around. Naked and flopsy in front of a potentially unaffected Giles equals bad.
And Spike is crawling toward him, equally naked and apparently now using his special mindrays to try to make Xander's cock bleed a little more and Xander scrabbles and shuffles right into Giles.
Who is now crouching above Xander, who suddenly has an extremely good view of the way his pants outline his own flopsy dangles.
"Spike, you do realize that the human refractory time is rather more than the vampire one?"
"He's young, Rupert!"
"Hmmm. Yes, that is true. Still, he's mine now, so off you go."
Xander has discovered an entirely new sort of terror today, the kind that makes him want to smile, cry, and also run away very fast and also be caught. "Yours?"
But they're ignoring him.
"Aw, now that's just unfair! You can't just barge in on a man's fuck and -- Fuck! OK, OK, put the crossbow down. Bloody hell."
Xander's eyes widened just the tiniest bit more, and he laid very, very still through the sounds of Spike dressing and muttering curses. When Giles reaches down to adjust himself Xander is abruptly hit with a wave of horny librarian scent.
Which is entirely not a bad scent.
In fact, it's a pretty good scent, all things considered. The kind of scent a guy could really spend some time considering.
Which is good, since Xander is pretty much stuck with his head right there and he thought older guy knees didn't work as well as this but Giles isn't the average older guy and when the door closes Xander is just sort of....
Breathing in time to his jittering mind, which has given up, at last, on the job of inserting reason into this day. Because, hey, if Giles says he's his, then clearly it's OK to be naked on his rug, sniffing his crotch.
And yes, Xander does now understand every dog he's ever met.
"You really do need a bath."
"Oh, definitely sex. Quite a bit of sex, I would think. But also a bath."
"I can do that. Well, maybe not the 'quite a bit,' thing, it's been, um... a busy day."
"Had the whole town, did you?"
And Giles stands, helps Xander to his feet. Giles has green eyes that are looking at him in a very un-Giles way that seems to go along just fine with the new rules of Xander's existence. "Not the whole town..."
A chuckle and then Giles is running two fingers over Xander's face, pausing at his mouth before slipping under his chin. And then kisses him, slow and... really kind of sweet.
"You're under a spell, Giles. Everybody is. You... you don't really want to do this. I swear, I only came here because I
thought you'd know..."
"You think you're using me, Xander?"
"Giles, I'm serious, you said it yourself." The palm now, pressing and sweeping over his skin. "The whole town, when none of them ever looked at me twice, not like that, except maybe Willow and she's gay now and oh.
"Ohh... but I don't want you to stop touching me."
Giles' smile is gentle, but still predatory
"I promise we'll work on the spell, Xander... Let's go get you a bath."
And it turned out that 'bath' had, in fact, referred to an actual bath. In a tub filled with steaming hot water that made him hiss
when he settled in. Two little stings, only making him harder, as the bit of Holy Water in with the rest worked on his fang-marks.
There were even bubbles, that smelled like a fraction of Giles' scent, magnified.
Holy water and bubble bath. Only Giles.
Xander arches back to stretch, smiles at how fogged Giles' glasses are. He takes them off as he watches, returns Xander's
smile with a sort of open self-deprecation.
Wakes up to a series of briefly incomprehensible stimuli. Warm light trying to burn through his eyelids,
muscles he didn't know he had demanding to know why he hadn't stretched. The clink of china on china, the turning
of a page. The smell of sex and... Giles.
And it all comes together in a rush of images. Way, way too many images that don't fade until Xander tries to count
how many people will want to lynch him now that the spell's worn off. Had the spell worn off?
"Mmmph." He tries again. "Giles." Better.
"Good afternoon, Xander." Giles smiling down on him now, glasses firmly in place.
"Indeed. Can I get you something? Or do you need to go back to sleep?"
"So nice to me --" And Xander cuts himself off, horrified. Mouth moving before brain working equals badness of the happening and. "I mean... did you find out about the spell?"
"I think so. I believe someone or something enhanced your natural pheromones. It should wear off in a few days."
"I haven't the foggiest, Xander. Best to just treat the symptoms, and see if they fade."
Xander nods, and Giles goes back to his book for a while. Xander steals sips of coffee, gradually regaining higher brain function.
"Ah. Well." And he reaches beside him, and Xander sees something flash silver before --
-- and yes, he is cuffed to the headboard.<
"Xander, at the rate you're going you'll die of dehydration before the spell fades."
"Hey! I can always say no, you know."
"Yes, of course you can." Petting his shoulder. "Just relax, Xander, you'll be quite safe here."
Tests the chain. "Safe?"
Shell shocked. That's the only way Xander can think of to describe his current state of mind. He's eating Ramen with Oz and Devon and listening to them calmly discuss the pros and cons of beef versus chicken flavor.