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He chuckled darkly to himself.
He shivered in the slightly damp air, coming out of his thoughts. He had stopped on the sidewalk
across the street from the house where his living quarters were, mouth quirking sarcastically at that
thought surfacing again. He leaned against the light pole while he looked at the blurred edges of reality
around him, making the overgrown yard look spooky and farther away than just across the street. False
home just wasn’t appealing tonight. He just couldn’t face it again after the week he’d had so far. Not
even the thought of a hot shower and bed after this endless week was enough to pull him across the
street to the darkened house.
He pushed off the light pole with a twist of his shoulders and aimed a one finger salute, that wasn’t his
index finger, at the house that looked so unreal across the street.
/Nope not gonna. I’m not playing dodge the verbal bullets tonight. I’m just not in the damn mood for
it. That’s a big Hell No to being the victim tonight even though I do the victim thing soooo well./
He knew exactly where he was going, his mood lifting as he backtracked his steps. As he moved
through the almost fog, he stopped to check the stake in the pocket of his old jacket, while carefully
examining the surrounding area. He bent to check the knife and little holster he wore on his ankle
habitually now. The blade and the holster were gifts from friends he’d met before the beginning of
summer. His mouth moved into a genuine shit eating grin as he thought about his "new" friends.
Tomas and Sinjin. They were brothers, but they were as different in coloring as night and day. They
were both about his height and with the sharp defined musculature of people who stayed in fighting
shape without being too bulky. They sparred and worked out daily. Tomas was the golden boy with
hip length golden hair that was thick and wavy, caught back in a braid that tamed the mass of it and
kept it from tangling. He had clear blue eyes that nearly rivaled Spike’s in color, and sparkled most of
the time with good natured mischief. His eyes could turn into chips of frozen blue ice when he was
angry, or snap blue fire at you when he was irritated.
Sinjin was the dark one. His hair fell to past his butt and was as straight as a board and just as thick; it
was black as sin, and had the shine of a raven’s wing in sunlight. He left his hair loose most of the time
to fall about him like a cloak. His eyes were a bright luminous green like a cat’s. They both had high
cheekbones and full lips, thick eyelashes and flawless fair skin. They were absolutely beautiful
separately, but together they packed a one two punch that left males and females alike gasping in their
wake. Beautiful wasn’t a term Xander would generally use to describe men. But Thomas and Sinjin
were beautiful, not that he’d ever say so....where they could hear him, anyway. He’d seen sales clerks
and wait staff of both sexes, human and demon, flounder helplessly under the gaze of one, and be
decimated when both turned their attention on the hapless mortal or creature.
/No one is immune to the dynamic duo./
Xander chuckled to himself.
Not only were they beautiful, they could fight like no one he’d ever seen before except Buffy, Angel
or Spike. But they were more like Spike. They were like savage poetry in motion, all sensuous grace
and ferocious strength, power, skill and speed. They were deadly in hand to hand and, like Spike they
used a combination of styles and dirty street fighting. Their motto was ",Avoid fighting if you can but
if you can’t, use whatever it takes to keep yourself alive and never leave behind a living enemy."
He had met both of them one night when he’d gone to the Bronze to see if Spike was there and up for
a beer and a game of pool. Spike hadn’t been there. But the two brothers were, playing pool and
insulting one another about their playing skills.
He laughed out loud remembering that night, his laughter rang loud in the silence around him.
They had been decked out in full regalia. Tomas was wearing a black silk pirate shirt, with long full
sleeves and tight wrist cuffs, that clung to his torso in all the right places. It was tucked into a pair of
butter soft tight black leather pants with calf high black leather boots. The pants hugged him like a
second skin and advertised an impressive package up front. Sinjin had on the opposite: everything in
white. He wore a white silk shirt with a single sparkling green stone at the middle holding it closed,
the sides falling open just the right amount. And he’d teamed it with clinging white leather pants that