Work Text:
A House, A Home
by EntreNous
Xander gave the front door a hard shove and stepped inside. He peered around the entryway, and into the living room to his left. Nothing.
"Baby?" he called uncertainly.
After dropping the grocery bags on the kitchen counter, he shrugged out of his wet jacket and kicked off his shoes. Hmmm. No note on the pad of paper next to the phone charger. Weird.
He grabbed an apple from the bowl on the windowsill, and headed for the stairs. Taking them two at a time, he hummed nonsensically. Time for a long hot shower after a long crappy day. He turned left at the top of the stairs, headed for the large bath inside the master bedroom.
"Hey!" he cried indignantly, dropping his apple when he saw Andrew stretched out on his stomach across the bed, chin propped up on his left hand, his legs crossed in the air behind him.
"Oh! Um, what?" Andrew said distractedly as he shoved some magazine under the chenille throw resting on the end of the bed.
"What gives?" Xander asked curiously. Not that he was really upset, but Andrew always met him at the door when he came home. It was strange to find him here, paging through a glossy magazine . . . and it seemed like Andrew hadn't even heard him coming in. Well, Xander thought to himself, maybe they were just used to each other now. He couldn't expect Andrew to keep running down the hall at the sound of his keys in the door, couldn't count on Andrew flinging himself into his arms every time Xander entered the house. It just wasn't reasonable to keep expecting such things. Oh, well, he thought a little wistfully.
"Xander," said Andrew, his face unusually serious, "Don't you think that the bedroom should be a retreat and escape zone? A haven for togetherness?"
"Um," Xander began, and then looked bewildered. "Andrew, do you want to be in the bedroom by yourself? Because I can just take a shower in the guest bathroom."
"No, no, no!" Andrew said impatiently. "I'm talking about a pampering zone, a place for high grade sleep, an invigorating space of calm and rejuvenating décor."
"Décor," Xander said slowly. "You don't like the bedspread or something? Did I get gunk on it from eating cookies in here?"
"Oh, Xander, this is so much more important than a mere bedspread," Andrew replied. "This is about increasing well-being, about coordinating the pockets of leisure in our lives, about making a multi-function room that appeals to the senses."
"And that would mean . . . " Xander said doubtfully.
"Adding the right elements for flexible living. A room where function meets comfort, where we can feel free to feel good, and --"
"Wait just a doggone second," Xander cautioned, holding up his hand. "Why do all of those phrases sound so familiar? How come you're so wrapped up in the deeper meaning of the bedroom?"
"Well, it's just that -- "
"Andrew." Xander spoke carefully, narrowing his eyes. "Whatcha got there under the blanket?"
"Nuh-nothing! . . . And don't you mean under the 'throw'?" Andrew inquired haughtily, clearly angling for more time.
But Xander hadn't been part of a crack fighting team / research squad / demon slaying cadre for years for nothing. Before Andrew could react, Xander had pounced, pinning Andrew beneath him, and thrusting his hand under the throw to uncover the object Andrew seemed to be hiding.
"Aha!" Xander cried exultantly as he finally held the magazine in his hands. But, no, it wasn't a magazine, it was a . . . catalogue? Andrew wriggled under him petulantly, trying to make a grab for the catalogue, but Xander's heavier frame effectively trapped the smaller man to the bed.
"The IKEA catalogue -- I should have known!" Xander muttered. "I'd recognize that dopey way of describing plywood furniture anywhere. I don't remember seeing this around the house, so it must have just come today, while I was at work." He paused to think, ignoring Andrew's muffled shrieks as he struggled to escape.
Finally, a ruffled and rumpled Andrew was released and allowed to perch on the bed. He glared at Xander.
Xander gazed at him for a moment.
"Hey, baby," Xander murmured, "are you okay?"
For a moment Andrew looked annoyed and defiant, but then he seemed to have the air taken out of him suddenly, and slumped his shoulders forward.
"Mostly," he answered softly.
Xander settled down cross-legged next to him, and bumped his shoulder against Andrew's. "Want to tell me what this is all about?"
Andrew pushed the catalogue out of Xander's hands onto the top of the bed, turning the pages so that he and Xander could see them at the same time.
"I guess that -- I don't know. I just want us to be happy. I want you to be glad that you're with me and not regret any of what you're giving up for this. I just want you to feel like you're not making a mistake when you come home to me."
Xander ran his hand up and down Andrew's arm to soothe him. It hardly made sense to flat-out contradict the ridiculous idea that he was missing out on anything by being with Andrew. First and foremost, he needed to figure out what was going on in Andrew's head.
"What am I giving up for you?" he asked quietly.
"You know . . . normal stuff." Andrew's voice was low as he touched the pages reverently, and Xander looked to see what was so important in the images. Pretty much every page held brightly colored rugs and draperies, displayed rooms littered with art books, stuffed animals, modern looking clocks and wildly-designed tchochkes. And in every section, loving couples worked on their homes together, whether they were hanging pictures, making dinner in a small hallway inventively turned into a kitchenette, or just relaxing on plush couches and holding wineglasses as children played on the floor at their feet.
Andrew sighed. "I just want things to be good -- I want to make sure you have what you want. I want us to be like a normal couple."
Xander raised his eyebrows. "Well, not sure if we can do that, Andrew. I don't know what's so great about being normal, but that's definitely not us. I mean, you're a former demon-raiser turned techno-super-villain turned hostage turned guestage, now living with a demon-magnety one-eyed foreman slash carpenter whose best friends are a slayer and a witch. Middle America, we're not."
Andrew smiled despite himself at the list Xander ran down, and then turned inquiringly to face him. "Don't you mind?" he asked meekly. "I mean, if you were with a woman, like Anya . . . even though she was a former demon and all. It would be different, right? You know that it's true? You'd have . . . this . . . " he insisted, gesturing at the families and couples on the pages of the catalogue.
Xander looked down at the pages thoughtfully for a moment, and then reached over to close the catalogue.
"You know what?" Xander said to Andrew, his hand brushing against his soft cheek briefly, "I can't even count the apocalypses that we've stopped on two hands anymore. I honestly don't know how many prophecies have been averted since my sophomore year in high school. I couldn't tell you how many times someone has saved my life. Hell, I've stopped keeping track of how many people that I've known since nursery school who rose angry from their graves and turned to dust moments later."
Andrew tilted his head to the side, mutely asking where Xander was headed with this.
"And I can't tell you how things might have been different if I wasn't with you," Xander continued. "I don't know if any other life would have made me happy. I can't say that I never thought about having something like the people on these pages have, but I can't imagine being in any kind of world without you in my life.
"You know what I *do* know, though? Do you know what I *can* tell you?" Xander asked Andrew.
"What? What do you know?" Andrew asked a little breathlessly.
"You're mine. I'm yours. I love you, baby. You're home to me. I don't need anything else," Xander said simply.
Hardly a beat passed before Andrew dove into Xander's arms, burrowing his face against his shoulder and weaving his fingers into Xander's hair.
"I love you, Xander. I love you so much," Andrew whispered.
"Love you," Xander reassured him, stroking the small of Andrew's back gently.
After a while they separated, Andrew ducking his head a little shyly as Xander gazed at him openly.
"Oh, well." Andrew sniffled and then smiled. "I guess they do have nice stuff, though."
"Who does?" Xander asked absently as he pulled Andrew into his lap.
"IKEA," Andrew reminded him patiently. He pointed to the catalogue that had been tossed unceremoniously to the floor.
"Oh, *those* guys," Xander scoffed. "I can make anything in that catalogue out of stuff we've got down at the site, and it'd be a hell of a lot nicer and sturdier too."
"So we could do it?" Andrew asked eagerly.
"Oh, yeah, of course," Xander said quickly, and moved his hand up under Andrew's shirt.
"No, not that," Andrew said, holding Xander's hand still for a moment. "We could turn the bedroom into a haven for togetherness?"
"Absolutely," Xander assured him, moving Andrew's hand to rest on his waist and resuming his own leisurely exploration of the soft skin on Andrew's chest. He drew Andrew closer to kiss him insistently. "Only we don't need furniture and curtains to do that."
Andrew shivered and leaned into the kiss. No, they didn't need anything else. Except for maybe that great sheet and comforter set on pages 300 through 301.
The End
AN: When I wrote this, I had just gotten my IKEA catalogue -- can you tell? A few of the phrases Andrew spouts come from their copy... no infringement intended, IKEA!!!
AN2: Sorry, unbeta-ed, but this was a speedy little ficlet that I wanted to post tout suite.