DVD Commentary for Tabaqui's Dogs of War 2/2
Title: Dogs of War
Author: tabaqui
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
DVD Commentary by: yin_again
"Jesus, Spike! Stop my heart, one of these days." Spike tipped his head a little to one side, his eyes narrow, and then he took two fast strides forward and put his hands on Xander's hips - shoved him back hard into the tunnel wall and followed until Xander was pinned there, Spike pressing against him from the waist down. Xander put his hands on Spike's biceps, just lightly holding. It’s time, and they both know it. Everything has been leading here, and Spike has made his choice. It’s important that Spike make the choice, since all of his choice has been taken away for so long.
"Spike?" Xander asked, and Spike just looked at him. Spike had nightmares, sometimes - less often when he shared the cot with Xander. Spike startled easily and lashed out with hard, pin-point punches if you crept up on him or made noise when he wasn't expecting it. Xander had learned to duck, but he'd also learned that sometimes Spike just needed to touch, and that was all right. But this felt...different. Ya think, Xander? Catch a clue, babe.
Spike's hands slid slowly up from Xander's hips, smooth and chill on his water-warmed flesh. The muscles in his arms flexed under Xander's fingers like snakes under satin and Xander felt a shiver go through him. Spike pressed his palms lightly over Xander's chest and then slid his hands up further, to curl around Xander's throat. His fingers wove through the hair at the nape of Xander's neck and he leaned forward until they were forehead to forehead.
"Ss-aaann..." he rasped, closest he could get to Xander's name just yet. His breath was cool, tinged with smoke and cinnamon. "Sssaan." Oh, man - Spike trying to make Xander’s name one of his first words - another realy big moment that just drops in lightly.
"What? What is it, Spike?" Xander whispered, because this felt - this was different, this was - intense and nothing like the casual way Spike would lean into him as they listened to the radio - nothing like the petting he would unconsciously do while Xander cleaned some weapon or haltingly wrote down his observations for Wesley. Spike would sit cross-legged on the table and smoke and card his fingers through Xander's hair and sometimes Xander would just lean there and rest.
"I...n-nee...d..." Spike's voice was shaking - Spike's hips were moving a little, pressed tight to Xander's, their chests just touching, t-shirt soft as flannel against Xander's bare skin. Xander could feel what Spike needed - could feel the hard length of the vampire's cock pressed into his thigh and he felt his own body react - felt his own cock filling, responding without conscious thought or effort. Spike pulled back just a little and his eyes caught the light from the Hall like a cat’s - his face was tight with strain and frustration as his mouth worked but no words came out. Then Xander leaned forward and kissed him. Xander can’t take it anymore - can’t watch Spike struggle for words when the don’t need them. This paragraph is beautifully written and also very, very hot.
Soft, cool, wet - tasting of cigarettes and cinnamon and blood, teeth small and sharp, tongue clever and slick. Xander sighed into Spike's mouth and tipped his head a little - let one hand drop to Spike's jean-clad hip and pull him closer. Spike was shivering under his hands - gasping for breath and then plunging back in, his fingers tight in Xander's hair and these low, soft groans vibrating up out of his chest.
Xander's whole body was leaping - thrumming - sparking to every touch and movement and sound that Spike made and he couldn't get enough breath, enough contact, enough anything. *God, oh god....* Xander shifted, opening his thighs, pulling Spike in hard against him and Spike broke away, gasping, his hands slipping free of Xander's hair, his arms winding fiercely around his ribs, almost hurtfully tight. He was mouthing Xander's neck - his jaw - and Xander got his own fingers up under Spike's t-shirt and scrabbled over that cool-silk flesh, mapping bones and muscle. His own mouth found the fading scar of the collar on Spike's throat and he kissed and licked and soothed, wishing he could burnish it away with his lips. I’m just gonna go with “Guh!” here.
Then Spike's mouth was back on his, pushing and licking and tasting and taking and oh fuck, Xander wanted to give in, wanted to give him something - give him everything.
"Xander? Are you here?" Wesley's voice and Spike twitched and then he was pulling away, his head on Xander's shoulder and his ribs heaving under Xander's arms - his hips still moving. Xander rapped his head back against the tunnel wall.
"Bloody fucking hell," he whispered fiercely, and Spike's head came up and he was grinning, his eyes sparkling in the dimness, laughing almost silently. "Yeah, you think that's funny?" Xander grabbed two handsful of muscle and thrust hard, once and twice and three times and Spike's head went back and his eyes fluttered. He made a tiny little mewl of pleasure and Xander nipped hard at the curved length of his throat. Guh again. Xander giving it back to Spike - this is grown-up Xander - he’ll let you play, but he’ll get his own back.
"I'm just getting out of the shower, Wes, be right there!" he yelled. Spike took a step back - put his hands gently on either side of Xander's face and kissed him on the forehead.
"K-keep," Spike whispered, and then he was gone down the tunnel, opposite direction, and Xander knew he'd come into the Hall from a different tunnel. “Keep” - so Spike; leave ‘em wondering.
*Does that mean - this'll keep? Or- he'll keep me, or -* Xander thumped the wall once in frustration and then he shook his head. Gotta get moving. Hastily he snatched up a t-shirt and pulled it on - grabbed socks and boots and the camouflage overshirt that said 'Waters' and 'U.S. Army' on it and walked briskly up the tunnel to where Wes was waiting, examining the notes he'd been working on the night before.
"Xander! Excellent. I've got wonderful news. One of our operatives had a break today, and she managed to get a prisoner out. She's going to be here in -" Wesley squinted at his watch. "In ten minutes or less."
Xander's heart leapt in his chest and he stumbled, then sagged down onto the milk crates, dropping his boots.
*Prisoner - Buffy? Willow? Oh god -* Spike suddenly appeared, cat-footed, behind Wesley and snapped his fangs at the man and Wesley squeaked and jumped, frowning. Spike just can’t help giving Wes a scare, it’s too much fun. Spike eased up onto the table and his booted foot brushed Xander's knee, sending a little tingle of sensation shooting up Xander's leg.
"Who - who is it? How - what -" Wesley smiled suddenly, his whole face opening up and his eyes sparkling. He looked - ecstatic.
"I'll explain. It was chance, pure chance. Xander - we've got Willow."
Xander felt like he'd been punched - like he'd missed the last step. Giddy and breathless. "Oh god! How? How did -"
"It's really bloody amazing!" Wesley looked like he wanted to jump up and down with glee and Xander couldn't keep the huge smile off his own face. "One of our operatives has been monitoring the progress of the spells. You'll remember I told you that they've been using drugs to assure Willow's cooperation?" Xander grimaced - nodded - hating to think of his Wills drugged and helpless.
"Our operative informed us they were moving Willow - new rooms closer to Ethan Rayne. They've some idea to have them work together, apparently. She informed us of the move and we were able to launch a small diversion. The Initiative will have conflicting reports of Willow being taken east and south." Wesley put his hands together behind his back and paced, grinning. "Of course, in an hour or so they'll uncover the truth - Willow was actually taken north with a convoy of escapees. When in reality, she'll be here. Right under their noses." Wesley looked so please that Xander hated to say anything, but he had to.
"But - isn't that dangerous? I mean - couldn't they do a spell and -"
"They can't, actually. What they've done, with the Hellmouth... Magic is getting very, very risky here. Small spells like that have become almost useless - like trying to listen to a radio in the middle of a concert. Too much - background noise." Wesley looked at his watch again.
"S-spike, if you - hear anything, please...inform us? I'm not sure how well Willow is right now. I know that our operative kept at least one dose of the medication away from her today, perhaps two. She'll be more clear-headed, but she'll also be suffering the beginnings of withdrawals." Spike nodded shortly at the Watcher, and then they simply waited, tense and on edge now that the good news was broken. After what seemed an eternity, Spike suddenly lifted his head and then pointed, and Wesley moved forward briskly, going down a corridor that eventually led to the hospital. Xander got up to follow and Spike rose, as well - reached out and touched his arm. Xander stopped - turned to look at him.
"What is it?" he asked, and Spike smiled at him - leaned in close and kissed him, brush of his lips lightly over Xander’s.
"Don't...fff-rr-get," he whispered. Xander let his hand come up, and delicately ran his fingertips along Spike's cheekbone and jaw. *garbled sex noise* Spike’s made the turn, and now he’s all sex-kitten and sweet, hot touches.
"There's no way, Spike. No way I could forget." Spike grinned, and nodded towards the corridor, and they both went to meet Willow.
One-hundred and seventeen days. Willow was - better. Lovely time jump - almost seamless. Tabi is really moving the story along without whacking us in the head with the bat of exposition. Whatever drugs they'd been giving her had caused some sort of damage. Temporary the operative - and Wesley - had assured them. Temporary but frightening, and Xander had hated to see his Willow sitting blank-eyed at his jerry-rigged table, swaying slightly, humming to herself. Just gone, and the operative - a short, fierce Latina woman named Alvera - had told them that Willow had deliberately cut herself off - retreated from the horror of her captivity into her own mind, and it would take time for her to come out of that, as well. Xander understood that, but it made him sad and angry and frightened to actually see it. On the third day Alvera had left, back to the fight, and Tara had come for good. She'd held Willow and wept, rocking her, and Willow had smiled a little and looked away, and that was that. Another gorgeous canon parallel - Tara is doing for Willow just as Willow supported Tara after Glory brain-sucked her. Tara talked to her every day - sang and read and just babbled on about this and that and nothing at all. Xander actually kind of liked it - it was somehow comforting to hear her. Spike seemed to like it, too. He brought books for Tara to read aloud, and he helped her with Willow; holding the thin, pale body when it thrashed in the grip of nightmares, or the lingering throes of withdrawal. Willow talked now - simple, childish sentences, and endless questions, but she was coming back to them, and that was all that mattered. The Initiative had cut Willow's hair - easier to deal with, Xander supposed - and she had about two inches of deep-red fluff that stuck up in tufts and cowlicks. Tara would brush it every night, and Willow would close her eyes and fall asleep.
Spike's hair had grown out as well - grown long enough to curl wildly all over his head in a honey-brown tangle that reminded Xander of a rumpled hedge-hog. But it was soft - so very soft. Xander couldn't resist touching it, and he found himself petting Spike's hair at every opportunity; just running his fingers through and through it, mindless caress. Spike would lean into him and go bonelessly limp, most of the jangle and tension that he habitually carried going out of him. In that state he looked about seventeen and Xander found himself wondering what human-Spike had been like. He never asked, though.
Wesley made it a point of coming down almost every day - how he got away Xander wasn't sure, but from comments Wes made Xander was pretty sure that the Initiative still thought of it's English liaison as a bit of a joke, and wasn't keeping tabs on him. Three weeks after Willow had been rescued, he had more news.
"We've settled it. We're going to come in at first light, two days from now. We've got two companies of the SAS on their way as we speak. Four hundred of the finest Special Forces in the world." Wesley wasn't grinning this time - he was deadly serious. Tense and thin and he took one of Spike's cigarettes and smoked it, cupping his hand around the cherry and looking as if he hadn't slept in a week.
"They're going to take out whatever units of the Initiative are left - they're going to secure the labs and the hospital and then... You're going to have to be very careful, Xander. We're arranging for a special unit to come to you and get all of you out. Wil - erhm, Spike? It's up to you if you - decide to go with them, or not. They'll be going directly to England." Wesley had a strange look on his face as he said it - as if he expected Spike to be upset. Spike just shrugged, cross-legged on the table and his knee lightly pressing into Xander's bicep. Later though, when they were lying on the cot and Spike's hand was rubbing slowly over Xander's belly, Xander had to ask. Of course he did - he’s fallen in love with Spike, and Xander loves fiercely and long.
"You gonna come with me? To England?" Xander whispered, his lips against Spike's hair, and the hand stilled for a moment and then started again, slow caress that dipped lower every other minute or so.
"Want m-me?" Spike breathed, and Xander pulled him over, kissing him hard and running possessive hands under Spike's shirt - rocking his hips up against the denim-clad ones that pressed so urgently down. They didn't dare sleep nude - didn't dare actually do what they wanted to do, and it was getting...so hard. Mmmm, UST - my very very favorite.
"Yeah. Want you. Come with us, okay? Come with me." Making it crystal clear - Xander doesn’t want Spike to come for the cause or for Buffy of for safety - he wants, selfishly or not, to have Spike for himself.
"Yeah..." Spike breathed, mouthing Xander's throat and digging his fingers into Xander's back. Xander wrestled with buttons and zip until they were half-naked, rubbing together, hitching glide of sweat-slick skin. Biting Spike's lips to keep from crying out, shuddering and arching up and just needing it - needing the skin-on-skin and the weight of the vampire. Needing the heat of the friction and the tiny, mewling cries that told him Spike needed it just as much as he did. They writhed together, straining towards the peak, gasping harshly and then the shuddering, frenzied climax that left them both limp and panting. The tidal scent of it was thick in the air and Spike hooked a ragged t-shirt off of the crate by the cot and cleaned himself up - wiped Xander down as well and followed with kisses and darts of his tongue, arching into Xander's sleepy, lazy petting. They both zipped and buttoned and curled around each other and it was Tara's insistent, panicked whisper that woke them a few hours later. Mmmm - a desperate promise for what’s to come. But they both know that this could be the last, so they need something to hold onto
"Xander - wake up! Wake up!" Tara was crouched just out of arms-reach, the wisp-light dim and eerie in her hand. Spike startled upright, hissing, and Xander caught at him and held him still.
"What is it? Tara?"
"Someone's down here!" Tara whispered, and they all froze at the shuffling scrape of feet down the corridor and panting breaths. Spike was up and off fast, his bare feet silent, his skin catching the bluish glow of the wisp for a moment and then he disappeared into the gloom. Xander cursed softly, struggling out of the blanket and after him. There was a growl - a shriek - and a moment's scuffle. And then -
"Light!" Spike rasped, and Tara was there, blowing gently on the pebble so that the light would flare up brighter. Xander saw Spike, demon-faced, holding something that cringed away - holding a figure... Human, female, dark blonde hair. Xander though his heart had stopped for a moment, and then it pounded so hard he felt dizzy - felt like he might throw up.
"Buffy?" he whispered, and the figure turned to him, a crooked, shaky smile and the wet streaks of tears. And a body bowed and heavy, rounded with pregnancy. Nearly to term, but the looks of it. Poor Buffy - she’s always been the one to bear the hardest burden, and Tabi absolutely does not shy away from this. Even would it would be so easy - she could have had Buffy not pregnant at all, telling of other pregnancies, but she makes the reader bite the bullet and take it - full horror fully realized.
"Oh, god - Xander? Xander -" And she broke down in sobs.
*Jesus - JESUS! What in hell are we gonna do? How - she wasn't -* Xander didn't know what to think - couldn't form a coherent thought let alone sentence, and he helped Buffy down the corridor to the Hall, dazed. She walked slowly, panting, one hand under her belly and the other gripping Spike's arm bruisingly tight. They settled her carefully on the stacked crates and she sighed in relief, leaning back against the wall. Tara brought her a blanket, tucking it around her and Xander got their little Coleman stove lit, starting a pot of coffee.
"Buffy - are you in pain?" Tara asked softly, and Buffy just looked at her for a moment and then laughed softly.
"I'm... I don't even know how to answer that, Tara," she said finally, her voice cracked and wobbly. "Physically I'm - I've been better."
"Not right," Spike said, touching her belly, and Buffy flinched a little.
"No, it's - it's not. I...wasn't pregnant a month ago." She stopped and put her hand to her face for a moment - heaved in a hard, wet breath. When she spoke again her voice was thick with tears and revulsion - trembling with fear. "It's one of Walsh's - experiments. It's the - the fifth...time..." Damn - hard to take, but so real within the confines of this world. Buffy buried her face in her hands, keening softly in distress and Tara shot one wild, horrified look at Xander and was gathering Buffy into her arms, shushing her and crooning to her, telling her it would be all right.
Xander didn't realize he was crying - shouting - until Spike stepped between him and the stack of crates, stopping him from punching them again and folding him carefully into his arms. Then Xander felt the wetness on his face and the rawness of his throat and he held fiercely onto Spike, gasping for breath. Feeling sixteen again and watching Jesse collapse into dry, lifeless dust. Canon touchstone - Xander matches the two times in his life where he was/is utterly, completely helpless.
*Fuck, fuck, what're we gonna do, what? So fucking...sick, it's... God, Buffy...* Xander finally got himself under control - straightened up and wiped his face - sheepishly took the paper towel Spike held out and blew his nose. Then Spike leaned in and kissed him on the corner of his mouth while his fingers just gently stroked his ribs and Xander heaved a huge, steadying breath. He caught Spike as he eased away and kissed him back, feeling a curling little spark of heat in his belly at the small, pleased smile that crossed Spike's face. Then they both turned to face Buffy again.
She was still bent over, with Tara still talking to her, but she seemed to have stopped crying and was just there, bowed over in misery. Tara plied her with paper towels and a bottle of water and Buffy finally sat back up, her face red and her eyes swollen.
"Sorry - sorry, guys."
"Don't, Buff," Xander said softly, and she sniffed and half-smiled and pushed her hair back. They hadn't cut her hair at all - in fact it had grown out of any style and was lank and dark, stringing around her face. Spike lit a cigarette and then crouched down beside Buffy, his face a mask of anger. He carefully touched her belly again, butterfly-light, and Buffy watched him.
"How - f-five?" he asked finally, and Buffy shuddered.
"I lost them. M-miscarried. At first I was - sad, but - I saw the last t-two. They were... She's trying to mix human and demon...genes. It - doesn't...work." Buffy took a drink of her water and looked at Tara for a moment - looked at Spike again, her pale face thin and ghostly in the low light, her eyes sunk and dark. Tara's hand was in hers and Xander saw Tara flinch just a little as Buffy unconsciously squeezed.
"They were - wrong, they were...monsters." Spike looked up at her and finally nodded - stood fluidly and walked away, easing up onto the table and folding his legs up. Buffy watched him go and then turned her gaze back to Xander, a tiny smile curling the corner of her mouth.
"I guess - you've got a lot to tell me, huh?" she said, and Xander nodded and sat down at her feet, and told her.
One hundred and eighteen days Boom! One day later and the world has changed. and Wesley came into the Below wide-eyed and frantic, his jacket unbuttoned and his tie askew. He careened into the Hall and came to a stop, nearly falling, his wide eyes glued on Buffy, who was sitting and eating some MRE chicken a la King, talking quietly with Tara and fending off Willow's curious hands. Xander got up from where he'd been sorting his notes, wanting to laugh at the completely shocked expression on Wesley's face. He could hear Spike in the corridor just behind, switching from 'stalk' to 'strut' as the intruder was revealed.
"Good - god! How - my god, Buffy! How did you come here? They're going mad up there! What happened?" Buffy did laugh, small pleased chuckle at Wesley's incomprehension.
"It was just dumb luck, I guess," Buffy said, and told Wesley what she'd told Xander and Spike and Tara.
A seemingly random series of events, but ones that had added up. Her medication had been messed up for almost a week, and she'd found herself feeling close to full strength for the first time in months. Then, the orderly who normally took her to exercise and bathe was sick, and had been replaced with a newer, less alert, and smaller one. And there had been a fire or something. She's smelled smoke - heard alarms - and just let instinct take over. She'd knocked the orderly unconscious and taken his key-card and escaped the hospital. Memories of fights and of Spike's crypt had led her to the Below, and something...had guided her in the right direction.
"Maybe it was Spike. I could feel - something. I can feel vamps... Or maybe it was - a scent. Coffee or soap... Something just told me the way to come."
Wesley just shook his head, his expression still unsettled. "Well, it's complete chaos up there. Your escape has them in a panic. In a little more than twenty-four hours the troops will be here and I think this - demoralization - will work in our favor." Wesley took of his glasses and rubbed wearily at his eyes - peered near-sightedly at Spike, who had decided to come out of the shadows and had moved to stand next to Xander, leaning into him. "All of you need to be ultra cautious now. Just - stay here, and be ready. I suggest you pack anything you might want to take with you. Yes, thank you," Wesley added, taking the oil-stained bandana the Willow held out to him. She patted his arm and then grinned as Tara took her hand.
"Tara! Story now? Please?" she begged, and Tara nodded and smiled, drawing Willow over to the crates, picking up the book they'd been reading and letting Willow pretend to read it to her. Wesley slowly put his glasses back on, looking sadly after the two of them, and then he went over to Buffy - touched her shoulder with his hand. "I really am pleased to see you, Buffy. Giles - will be so happy to know you're all right."
Buffy nodded, looking down at her tin plate of chicken-paste. "Do you think... Does he know about - this?" she asked softly, her hand splayed over her belly, and Wesley looked up at the rest of them, quick glance full of sorrow.
"He knows, Buffy. He's been swearing awful revenge for weeks. He - he misses you terribly and feels... Well..." Wesley pulled back - straightened his tie and smoothed his jacket. "Well, I'll let you two talk it over, eh? In a day or two you'll have nothing but time. Your mother and sister - are so eager to see you."
Buffy nodded sadly - looked up and smiled shakily at Wes. "Thanks, Wesley. I - I'll be glad to see them, too." Wesley ducked his head, nodding, and then he turned to Spike and Xander.
"Please do be very careful, the both of you. Don't leave this area until it's time. When the attack is fully underway, a squad of SAS will come down here to escort you out and yes, we've got sun-proof clothes for you, Spike." Spike nodded shortly and Xander felt the minute shift of muscle against him that meant he had relaxed. "They'll expect you to meet them at the Cross at seven bells, all right?" Xander nodded, figuring times. Spike leaned over and took the packet of peanut butter that had come in Buffy's MRE and tore it open, sucking it out of the olive-drab plastic with a little grin. Xander had to admit, Army peanut butter was the best peanut butter he'd ever tasted.
"How will we know - I mean, is there some kind of - code or something?" Xander felt stupid asking, but if an attack was going on Above, remnants of Initiative soldiers might find there way down to the tunnels. They weren't unknown to the Army, but they'd deemed them a wash after the first few weeks. Tara's confusion spells had helped, and for all the Initiative was working with demons and magic-users, they didn't seem eager to use it much for their everyday 'grunt' work.
"Yes, actually." Wesley pulled another tissue of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Xander. "That's the - the password, and their response. If they don't reply correctly, run. Or - let Spike loose. But don't approach, and don't let them get their hands on you. They'll reply with the second line, and be waiting for the third line before they identify themselves. The man heading up the platoon is a Sergeant Carlyle. He's a good man - you can trust him." Wesley pushed on hand back through his hair, looking flustered and a little afraid - looking tired to death. "Almost there, and then this nightmare can be over - we can all go home."
"I am home, Wesley. I don't... I don't know if this is ever going to be over...not for us." True, and very sad. Lovely. Wesley nodded slowly - buttoned his jacket and brushed at himself, straightening his back and lifting his chin.
"I doubt Sunnydale will be open to - civilians - for a long time, Xander. I hope that you can find a home somewhere else, when this is all done. I hope all of you can." He looked around at them one more time and then nodded shortly - turned and strode out. Xander sighed and unfolded the tissue, squinting in the unsteady light of the lantern.
"Acts of injustice done - between the setting and the rising sun -"
"In h-history lie like bones, e-each wa-one," Spike finished, slurred but recognizable, and Xander flashed a grin at him.
"You can tell Englishmen thought this up. What the hell is it?"
"Au -den," Spike said, plucking the tissue out of Xander's hand and burning it like he'd done before. Tara's voice droned on, reading to Willow but watching them, and Buffy had put her fork down and was staring bleakly at Xander.
"Really gonna happen," she whispered, and Xander nodded shortly.
"I'll get our gear together. C'mon, Spike." They both moved away into the darkness of the tunnels.
One-hundred and nineteen days - five a.m. and then six, and Spike's mouth was wet and cool and Christ, fucking perfect on Xander's cock and he bit down hard on his forearm, stifling the moan that welled up. "So - not the...time - fuck, Spike!"
"Think of...b-better time?" Again, Spike knows all about how the world can turn on a dime, and the needs to take his pleasures when and where he can. Also, hot! Spike murmured, licking him like a Popsicle and then sucking him in again and Xander got a handful of honey-silk hair and thrust hard. Spike's fingers were digging into his hips, bruisingly hard, and it felt so fucking good. A hand on his balls, and then between his thighs - fingertips probing and then pushing in and Xander arched hard, silent; his orgasm a roaring of blood in his ears and spangles in the darkness of the tunnel. There had been the distant crump of explosions for the last hour, and whatever was happening was under way. And they still had an hour to go until their rendezvous.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Xander moaned, sagging weakly back against the stone wall and a moment later Spike was plastered against him, mouth on his mouth and the taste of brine and blood. His hand on Xander's hand, dragging it to his groin. Spike's jeans were undone and his own cock jutting out and Xander gripped and stroked and pulled - wormed his other hand in to grasp Spike's balls. Spike's tongue was fucking his mouth, his hands on Xander's ass, down his camo fatigues and gripping tight.
"Sss...san, f-fuck..." Spike hissed, thrusting fiercely into Xander's hands, his teeth clicking off Xander's, his mouth sliding wetly to latch onto Xander's throat, mauling with human teeth and then prickling lightly with vampiric ones and Xander gasped and stroked him harder, hand slippery with pre-come and sweat. Spike sucked hard at his neck and Xander knew he'd drawn a little blood. Didn't care, because something like a second orgasm was quaking through him and Spike was coming over his hands, cool and slick and thick, and Xander gasped into his shoulder and wondered how long it would take before he could walk again. *flaily hands* Dead from guh.
"Christ..." Spike gasped out, slumping heavily onto him. Xander just hung there, gasping, until Spike straightened up and tugged at his shirt - pulled it off and wiped himself up with it.
"Damnit, why my shirt all the time?" Xander huffed. And then Spike froze, and he did, because there was a sound... Rattle of plastic, something quickly hushed and Spike morphed, his eyes gleaming. He gestured to Xander - hand-sign they'd worked out when he could barely speak and Xander nodded - eased his camo pants closed and silently picked up his rifle - made his way stealthily down the tunnel towards the Hall and the girls. They were waiting for the SAS to arrive, a state of tense half-sleep that he and Spike had abandoned hours ago. Xander ducked around the corner and saw Buffy who was sitting up, alert and wary. He crossed swiftly to her and put his mouth by her ear.
"Company," he breathed, and she nodded, her face tightening in fear and anger. He held out his hand and helped her climb to her feet - went to Tara and touched her shoulder. The witch startled awake, silent, and Xander delivered the same message. Tara nodded as well, pushing the blanket off her shoulders and slipping on her worn sneakers. Willow was spelled - out - a precaution they'd hotly debated and that Tara, tight-lipped and determined, had done. Willow chattered every minute of the day, and Buffy and Spike had both insisted that they couldn't risk that - couldn't trust her to keep a promise to not talk, because Willow was still not quite right. So sad; such a hard thing for Xander. Xander just hated the idea of her being helpless, but when Tara had finally conceded, he'd given in as well. Now he made sure Willow's jacket was zipped up and her shoes laced tightly and carefully picked her up, cradling her close. Tara slung a backpack over her shoulder and nodded - ready. Buffy had a hand-gun - she hadn't done more than dry-fire it, but the steely glint in her eye gave Xander no reason to believe that she wouldn't use it if she had to. They waited then, utterly silent and Xander flinched hard when Spike suddenly appeared in the tunnel entry.
'Soldier', he signed, and then touched his head, and Xander felt his stomach drop. Initiative, that meant. Spike held up two fingers in a warped cross and pointed down another tunnel - one that led in a wandering fashion to the rendezvous under the church. Xander bit his lip, hesitating - gestured for Spike to come with them, and the vampire slowly shook his head - showed his fangs in an expression of pure hate, and Xander knew that the soldiers were dead. Just give Spike time. Xander nodded finally and Spike nodded back, and then he turned and stalked away and Xander shivered at the glimpse he'd had, of the vampire, of the demon - of the Slayer of Slayers, who'd run with three of the most infamous vampires in all history.
*Fuckin' soldiers won't know what him 'em,* Xander thought, and turned and began the long walk to the Cross. After a while, faintly, they could hear shouts, and gun-fire ringing off the stone walls. They walked faster, being as careful as they could in the blue-white glow of the wisp-light Tara had conjured.
They were five minutes from the Cross - maybe less - when Xander heard footsteps behind them - moving fast and near-silent, but still there. Buffy looked around, wide-eyed, and then they were moving to opposite sides of the tunnel, weapons ready and Xander pushed Willow into Tara's arms. She doused the faint glow of the wisp-light, clutching the pebble tight in her fist and sinking into the shadows, cuddling Willow close. The footsteps came nearer - hesitated - and then a hoarse voice whispered out of the darkness:
"Carpenter, Glinda, Red-witch, Slayer."
"Spike! Report!" Xander hissed, and Spike appeared suddenly, glowing eldritch white-blue as Tara blew gently on the pebble, bringing the wisp-light back. He leaped on it and closed her fist around it and they were left with an afterimage of his hunched shoulders and blood on his hands. His eyes glowed, sulphur-gold.
"Too many. Run - now!" They ran, Spike carrying Willow and Tara risking the wisp-light so they wouldn't fall - Xander in the rear, alert for sounds of pursuit. All too soon, he heard them. It sounded like a dozen men - maybe more - and he caught the crackle of a radio that was hastily silenced.
*Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. What are we gonna do? How close is it to seven bells? Damnit... Get to the Cross, get into the south corridor. It opens out and there's all those stalactites. We can hide in there - confuse them... There's an alcove on the far wall, Tara can go up there with Willow...* The soldier in him plotted - planned - and when they arrived at the Cross he could hear the bell tolling above them. They stopped dead, listening, but the bell only tolled its tune three times, and then stooped. *Damn. Fifteen minutes to go until seven. FUCK.*
Xander touched Spike's arm and motioned and in minutes they had Willow curled into the back of the alcove and Tara in front of her, her face white with fear but set. She took two twigs from her back-pack and wedged them into cracks opposite each other, then looped a ragged bit of shimmery black cloth between them.
"Stay here. Spike'll find you," Xander whispered, and Tara nodded and handed over the wisp-light, dampened to a faint, silvery glimmer.
"Obscurus," she whispered, and the alcove shimmered and faded, and they were gone. If he looked just right, Xander could see the shiver of the cloth, like a veil or a spider web. But he knew the soldiers wouldn't see anything but more rock and earth.
"Here," he whispered, touching Buffy's arm and getting her up and onto a wide ledge. Protection of a sort, and a better vantage for her limited weapons skills. Buffy scrambled up awkwardly, her hand to her stomach, something more than fear in her expression. "What is it?"
"Hurts," she said shortly, grimacing. "I think - labor or - another miscarriage." Poor Buffy. Tabi won’t let us flinch away from the horror, and it’s so effective, keeping the reader so closely in the moment as the action buils and builds, carrying us along with it.
"Fuck," Spike breathed, still the demon, recoiling slightly from her.
"Wait for light," Xander said and then the footsteps rang out louder as the soldiers reached the Cross and he and Spike turned and ran, heading deeper into the stone maze and leaving Buffy in the dark. They slid around a pillar and Xander clawed the backpack off his shoulder, opening it and pulling out a handful of emergency flares.
"Nightvision gear?" he asked, and Spike nodded, watching him. "Get up high. Wait until they're in the middle. Throw these down into them - they'll be blind. I'm gonna shoot, so - stay out of the way." Spike grinned, feral and gleeful, and yanked a 9mm hand-gun out of the back of his jeans. Xander grinned back and shoved the flares at him and then put the pebble into his pocket, dousing the last bit of real light. "They've got Kevlar. Heart-shots are useless."
"Yess," from Spike, so soft. A faint, ambient glow was everywhere here, from tiny cracks and holes high in the ceiling, but it was too dim for any real use. But it would give just enough power to Army-issue goggles. Xander steadied his rifle on the stone in front of him and felt Spike moving away - heard the soldiers come into the maze of stone and falter, and then move rapidly on. Following the slightly phosphorescent trail of paint that Xander had laid down weeks ago, to guide himself through. In another minute or two they would be in the biggest open space in the maze - a space he and Buffy - and now Spike - were overlooking. A death-trap, if this worked right. Xander's hands were sweating on the plastic stock and he wiped them slowly, one by one, on his pant-leg. Realized, with a small smile, that he hadn't ever put a shirt back on. *Lets go, motherfuckers. I'm SO ready to fight. So, so ready. * Xander is so looking forward to getting his own back. He may have the White Knight at his core, but he’s got a touch of Black in him, too.
The pop of a radio made him start, and then a voice, low and rapid. Xander strained to hear, and went cold at the conversation.
"Core-Command to Outpost recon. Status, over."
"This is Outpost recon, status is grid 119, repeat, grid 119, over."
"Any movement, Outpost? Over."
"Positive movement, Command, we have hostiles. Preparing to neutralize, over."
"Neutralize with extreme prejudice, Outpost. Over."
"...Please repeat, Core-Command? Over."
"Repeat. Extreme prejudice. Operation Hopscotch terminated. Over."
"Affirmative, Core-Command. Extreme prejudice. Over and out."
*SHIT. That means no survivors. Where in fuck are the English guys? C'mon, Spike! The time is NOW!* It was almost as if Spike had heard him - or had heard the radio, more probably, because from nowhere came a bundle of flares - at least ten - all alight and burning with an intense, white fire that Xander instinctively shut his eyes against. He heard the Initiative soldiers cursing - one yelling - and then there was gunfire - rapid and loud, coming from overhead. *Spike - fuck yeah.*
Xander opened his eyes and took aim - began to shoot, one bullet at a time. He knew the soldiers had Kevlar vests so he aimed for knees and thighs and arms, doing his best to wound because he probably couldn't kill. The knowledge - the instinct - to aim for the head itched in him, but some small part held back. Not there, yet, despite everything. Still White.
He saw flashes on his left, slightly elevated and knew that Buffy was firing as well. Spike seemed to be ranging all over the cavern and Xander caught a glimpse of him leaping like a goblin from ledge to broken stalactite, grinning insanely, the gun held out in a rock-steady hand, firing repeatedly.
The soldiers started firing back, ducking for cover, scattering into the maze. Four lay on the stone floor, unmoving, and a fifth was crawling away. Xander stood halfway up and scuttled to another point of cover, eyes warily on the four soldiers and the three others he could see darting in and out of the shadows. The flares were still burning brightly and Xander knew the Nightvision gear was useless now in that actinic glare. A bullet pinged the rock near his head and he ducked and ran, popping off a shot or two over his shoulder and then diving into deeper shadow.
An unearthly howl reverberated off the maze walls and a soldier cursed very near him, letting off a wild volley of shots. Xander peeked around a rock and saw a camo-suited body - whipped the rifle up and shot, watching in satisfaction as the man crumpled, screaming, his thigh a bloody mass.
*Got 'im, damn, fuckin' mess...Jesus, Spike!* Xander flinched as Spike leaped out of the shadows, the gun in his fist shooting straight into a soldiers face. The man's face exploded; wet, red ruin and Spike was gone and then Xander heard Buffy scream.
"Shit! Spike!" He ran shooting randomly for cover, hoping Spike would stay above or behind him. He tore around a corner and saw Buffy, half off the ledge, struggling madly against a soldier. There was blood streaking down her legs and she was kicking and yelling - waving her gun wildly. She hit the soldier in the side of his head and his helmet came off and skittered away into the darkness.
"Buffy! Let go!" Xander yelled, and Buffy dropped straight off the ledge and onto the soldier, who collapsed under her. Another soldier ran out of a near-by corridor, weapon raised and Xander snapped off a shot, making him dive for cover instead. Xander ran up and hauled Buffy off and up, spinning her straight into a blood-stained Spike who set her carefully aside and pounced on the soldier. The report of Spike's gun was muffled as he shoved it into the soldier's mouth and pulled the trigger. Spike turned and darted away, cackling.
Xander stood for a long moment, staring down at the dead man at his feet - at the brains and blood and bits of skull that had spattered on his shins. The urge to vomit was strong, but he controlled it - looked for Buffy who had sagged to the ground, hand to her stomach.
"You - you okay, Buff?" he asked, his voice cracking, and Buffy winced and nodded.
"Yeah, I'm - I'm okay. Get - get going. Gimme his rifle, okay? I - mine was out."
"Right." Xander clamped his jaw shut tight and bent down - disentangled the rifle from the dead arms and handed it to Buffy, who took it with a grimace.
"Hold! Hold right there!" A distinctly non-American *Scottish?* voice called out, and there was another burst of gunfire close by, and cursing. Xander lifted his own rifle again, turning around and saw a man all in black trotting towards him.
*The SAS! God, please, be the SAS! Be - Carlyle!* "Hey!" Xander yelled, and then he stopped, trying to remember the password.
"Acts of injustice done! a hoarse voice sang out, and it was Spike, somewhere above and behind him, and the black-clad soldier stopped, looking at Xander.
"Between the setting and the rising sun."he said slowly, clearly.
"What the fuck is wrong with you people?" Another voice and Xander jerked around, staring. Lit by the flares was another Initiative soldier, who took off his helmet and threw it down. *Oh fuck ME,* Xander thought. *Agent Riley fucking Finn*
"You lost, Riley! Your side lost! Give up!"
"Give up to you? To the freaks and the - the monsters? Over my dead body." Riley stared at him - at the English soldier, and then he lifted his rifle. "No. On second thought, over your dead body."
"Riley, don't!" Buffy screamed, and Riley flinched, and his rifle fired. Xander felt fire, blooming all along his side. He jerked - fell to his knees, hard, and his arms were useless - couldn't hold the rifle. "No! Xander! Tara, help me!" Buffy was crawling towards him - the black-clad soldier was sprinting - and the last thing Xander saw was Spike, like a white arrow straight into Riley Finn. They both went down; rolling across the flares and it was dark, so dark. Xander felt cold stone on the side of his face - felt a hand turning his head - and he looked up into a seamed, sun-darkened face, with faded blue eyes and a scar along the jaw.
"In history lie like bones, each one," he whispered, and then there was nothing at all. Xander has killed, and almost been killed himself. By commission or omission, he’s let Riley die - he’d do it again, and that’s Xander’s journey here - he makes his way from fear to certainty. It’s not a traditional hero’s journey, but it’s his only path.
The stones were rough - cold - damp with the rising mist and Xander ran his hands slowly along the massive flank of the trilithon.
*Trilithon. Giles would be proud. Well, actually, he would NOT.* Xander looked around and laughed aloud when he saw his shadow, leaping from the top of one stone giant to the next. "You are gonna get in so much trouble if Giles finds out you did that!" he called, and Spike turned and leapt gracefully to the ground, his coat flaring up around him like bat's wings, rustling. Between them, the Initiative and the SAS had managed so much destruction that Spike's treasured coat was gone for good - along with a most of Sunnydale. But the new one, bought in Tokyo and lined with silk suited him just fine. Time jump, unexpected at first, but then not, because it works so beautifully with the structure of the story.
"And who, may I ask, is going to tell Rupert I was playin' leap-frog up there, huh?"
"Well..." Xander looked at Spike through his lashes, smiling slyly. "I might, actually..."
"Oh, might you?" Spike advanced on Xander, head down, prowling, and Xander felt his heart skip and speed up, pounding in his chest.
"Yeah, I - I just might. Unless..."
"Unless...what?" Spike backed him right into the stone and Xander leaned there, thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, hands casually framing the growing hardness under the zip. Ooooh, sexy, confident Xander - not afraid to put it out there, because nothing can touch him in his new skin; nothing but Spike, and Spike wouldn’t want him to change.
"Unless you...do something really...nice for me. I might...just forget all about you - defacing a National Treasure."
Spike snorted. "National Treasure my arse." He put his hands on either side of Xander's head and leaned into him, rocking grind of hip to hip. "Now, define...nice," he purred, and his mouth settled over Xander's, slow and leisurely kiss that took Xander's breath away.
"Ohhh, I think...you could do something nice with that talented mouth of yours..." Xander gasped, and Spike grinned and slid like a snake down Xander's body, the coat pooling around him, spill of ink. The white silk shirt he wore under it glowed in the moon light, as did his punk-spikey, silver-white hair. His skin was moonlight - cool and perfect and utterly smooth, and Xander gasped softly as deft fingers undid button and zip and tugged his jeans to mid-thigh. This is so hot and so beautiful at the same time - black and white and silver - ink and moonlight, Black Knight and White Night. A masterful use of juxtaposition that is absolutely seamless and unforced.
"You mean...something like this?" Spike asked, and his tongue licked a slow trail from hip-bone to navel to hipbone, making Xander shiver.
"Oh - yeah, like -" Spike nipped at the soft skin under his navel and Xander started to pant, his hands sweeping up Spike's neck to his jaw. He let his fingertips rest there, feeling the muscles working as Spike licked and nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin along the crease of this thigh - in the hollow of his hip and across his belly. His tongue lapped softly at the edge of the ragged scar on Xander's left side and Xander shuddered.
Sunnydale - the Initiative - all of it was...so many days and weeks and months gone. A time of nightmare that Xander looked back on with astonishment and sadness. All but three of the Initiative soldiers that had chased them underground had died, including Riley Finn. Spike - had done it; disemboweling the man and winding his entrails around his throat - showing him his death with a flare shoved through his ribs. The SAS hadn't interfered - Sergeant Carlyle had, in fact, ignored the wet, desperate screams and gotten the rest of them up and out.
Xander had been air-lifted to the hospital in Fort Irwin with Buffy and hadn't woken up for two days. When he had, the first thing he'd seen had been Spike - still bloody and smudged, lying in an exhausted heap across his legs. Spike will never leave him - they’re connected forever. Buffy had been in the chair on the other side of him, no longer pregnant, white and tear-streaked and smiling at him.
Tara and Willow had been flown straight over to England, to the Watcher's Headquarters where a slow course of magic and therapy had finally brought Willow back to herself. Ethan Rayne, who had been harder to control and therefore had been more thoroughly broken, was still recovering.
"Love, you're not paying the proper attention." Spike's voice in his ear, and Xander came back to himself with a start, and smiled sadly into the lean and beautiful face that leaned so close to his own.
"I'm sorry, Spike. Got a little...distracted."
"Remembering, love. I know." Spike's fingers stroked the raised, twisted scar that ran from Xander's rib to hip - the wildly ricocheting bullet from Riley's gun had plowed a trench through his flesh eight inches long - and Xander caught his hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing each one slowly, fluttering his tongue over the tips. Scent of iron and cinnamon, of smoke and leather and earth. Spike's scent, comforting and intoxicating.
"I was. I'm sorry. Make me forget?" Spike's eyes gleamed in the moonlight and he took Xander's shoulders in his hands - turned him and propelled him backwards until his hips bumped another stone, this one on its side in the dew-wet grass.
"Can. Will. Want to," Spike whispered, and he turned Xander around - put his hands on the gritty stone and pulled his hips back. "Ready for me, love?"
"Always r-ready for you -" Could that be sexier? I don’t *think* so. Xander husked, and groaned softly as Spike's fingers caressed him - pushed in, two and then three, sliding and twisting.
"Love, god, that’s...so fucking...hot.” Spike's hands slid up under Xander's jacket and sweater, rubbing up his spine and scratching slowly back down as his cock crowded close between Xander's legs, damp tip nudging at his balls and pushing at the underside of Xander's own cock.
"God...oh, that's..."
"Sweet, yeah..." Spike leaned back, and a moment later he was pushing in, slow and smooth and powerful. Xander gasped softly, lowering his head, pushing back and going up on his toes - coming back down. Loving the feel of Spike moving in him, touching everywhere inside.
"Xan...love, love..." Spike murmured into his neck - into his hair, hands holding his waist and then sliding up under his sweater to rub his chest - to cross over his ribs and pull him up and back, tight against the vampire's body. Cool silken shirt, hard muscles and the rasp of his jeans against the underside of Xander's buttocks.
Xander leaned his head back against Spike's shoulder, watching the slow skeining of the mist through the stones - the way the moon beams seemed to shift, so slowly; sometimes as thin as smoke, other times looking so solid it seemed you could almost walk on them. The stones around them loomed blackly, sheltering fingers in a green and cupping hand, and Xander finally closed his eyes and just moved with Spike, letting his own hands roam where they would.
"Spike...oh, kiss me..." he whispered, and Spike's fingers were on his jaw, gently turning so that their lips could brush and tongues could flicker, tasting. Spike's cock moved slow and steady, frission of champagne sparkles every time he pressed in, shuddering heat every time he pulled out, and Xander was panting now, clutching Spike's hip in one hand and his neck in the other. Silken hair under his palm, the curve of Spike's skull and the flex of tendon. Callback to the initial touching - Xander’s hand on Spike’s head - gloriously intimate. Spike's mouth on his jaw and on the side of his throat, nipping kisses. His hands on Xander's belly, pressing and rubbing and then dropping down to stroke Xander's own cock, smearing the fluid there and sending shivery little shocks up Xander's spine. Xander clenched his body tight around Spike and felt the vampire's body tense against his.
"Xan - come on, love...Xan, Xan-der..." Spike groaned, his thrusts becoming faster, less regular. Xander's legs were trembling and he was writhing back against Spike. He leaned over, hands on the stone again, arching his back and Spike thrust harder, panting himself now, fingers tight on Xander's hips.
His orgasm was a stuttering flurry of thrusts, Xander's name a whispered moan and then Spike's hand was on Xander's cock, hard and fast, and Xander arched back, crying out, dimly aware of the pearl-white fluid striping the dark stone. Spike wrapped his arms tight around him and held him, and gradually his heart slowed, and his breathing evened out.
"Better now, love?" Spike asked, and Xander smiled - turned in his arms and kissed Spike, slow and sweet.
"Better now. Let's go home, okay?"
"Mmmm...hot bath," Spike said, and Xander laughed, and kissed him again. Home was Joyce and Dawn and Oz, the stone house by an old mill pond. Home was Buffy and Tara and Willow on the weekends, and Giles, laughing around the big, scrubbed-white table in the kitchen. Home was Spike, rolling over cool and soft in the bed, pulling him close and snuggling deep under flannel and goose-down. Home...was forever in blue eyes and the scent of cinnamon, and Xander never counted the days. And the kicker - counting the days has lost its importance, and Tabi knocks it right out of the park.
It’s been a long time since I read S/X fic. For personal reasons, this pairing holds a lot of pain for me. But I figured if I could do it for anyone, I could do it for Tabi. I made it all the way to the end until the tears fell, and they were less about me than they were about this story. It’s beautiful, it’s everything that any piece of fiction should be - fan or otherwise.
Author: tabaqui
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
DVD Commentary by: yin_again
"Jesus, Spike! Stop my heart, one of these days." Spike tipped his head a little to one side, his eyes narrow, and then he took two fast strides forward and put his hands on Xander's hips - shoved him back hard into the tunnel wall and followed until Xander was pinned there, Spike pressing against him from the waist down. Xander put his hands on Spike's biceps, just lightly holding. It’s time, and they both know it. Everything has been leading here, and Spike has made his choice. It’s important that Spike make the choice, since all of his choice has been taken away for so long.
"Spike?" Xander asked, and Spike just looked at him. Spike had nightmares, sometimes - less often when he shared the cot with Xander. Spike startled easily and lashed out with hard, pin-point punches if you crept up on him or made noise when he wasn't expecting it. Xander had learned to duck, but he'd also learned that sometimes Spike just needed to touch, and that was all right. But this felt...different. Ya think, Xander? Catch a clue, babe.
Spike's hands slid slowly up from Xander's hips, smooth and chill on his water-warmed flesh. The muscles in his arms flexed under Xander's fingers like snakes under satin and Xander felt a shiver go through him. Spike pressed his palms lightly over Xander's chest and then slid his hands up further, to curl around Xander's throat. His fingers wove through the hair at the nape of Xander's neck and he leaned forward until they were forehead to forehead.
"Ss-aaann..." he rasped, closest he could get to Xander's name just yet. His breath was cool, tinged with smoke and cinnamon. "Sssaan." Oh, man - Spike trying to make Xander’s name one of his first words - another realy big moment that just drops in lightly.
"What? What is it, Spike?" Xander whispered, because this felt - this was different, this was - intense and nothing like the casual way Spike would lean into him as they listened to the radio - nothing like the petting he would unconsciously do while Xander cleaned some weapon or haltingly wrote down his observations for Wesley. Spike would sit cross-legged on the table and smoke and card his fingers through Xander's hair and sometimes Xander would just lean there and rest.
"I...n-nee...d..." Spike's voice was shaking - Spike's hips were moving a little, pressed tight to Xander's, their chests just touching, t-shirt soft as flannel against Xander's bare skin. Xander could feel what Spike needed - could feel the hard length of the vampire's cock pressed into his thigh and he felt his own body react - felt his own cock filling, responding without conscious thought or effort. Spike pulled back just a little and his eyes caught the light from the Hall like a cat’s - his face was tight with strain and frustration as his mouth worked but no words came out. Then Xander leaned forward and kissed him. Xander can’t take it anymore - can’t watch Spike struggle for words when the don’t need them. This paragraph is beautifully written and also very, very hot.
Soft, cool, wet - tasting of cigarettes and cinnamon and blood, teeth small and sharp, tongue clever and slick. Xander sighed into Spike's mouth and tipped his head a little - let one hand drop to Spike's jean-clad hip and pull him closer. Spike was shivering under his hands - gasping for breath and then plunging back in, his fingers tight in Xander's hair and these low, soft groans vibrating up out of his chest.
Xander's whole body was leaping - thrumming - sparking to every touch and movement and sound that Spike made and he couldn't get enough breath, enough contact, enough anything. *God, oh god....* Xander shifted, opening his thighs, pulling Spike in hard against him and Spike broke away, gasping, his hands slipping free of Xander's hair, his arms winding fiercely around his ribs, almost hurtfully tight. He was mouthing Xander's neck - his jaw - and Xander got his own fingers up under Spike's t-shirt and scrabbled over that cool-silk flesh, mapping bones and muscle. His own mouth found the fading scar of the collar on Spike's throat and he kissed and licked and soothed, wishing he could burnish it away with his lips. I’m just gonna go with “Guh!” here.
Then Spike's mouth was back on his, pushing and licking and tasting and taking and oh fuck, Xander wanted to give in, wanted to give him something - give him everything.
"Xander? Are you here?" Wesley's voice and Spike twitched and then he was pulling away, his head on Xander's shoulder and his ribs heaving under Xander's arms - his hips still moving. Xander rapped his head back against the tunnel wall.
"Bloody fucking hell," he whispered fiercely, and Spike's head came up and he was grinning, his eyes sparkling in the dimness, laughing almost silently. "Yeah, you think that's funny?" Xander grabbed two handsful of muscle and thrust hard, once and twice and three times and Spike's head went back and his eyes fluttered. He made a tiny little mewl of pleasure and Xander nipped hard at the curved length of his throat. Guh again. Xander giving it back to Spike - this is grown-up Xander - he’ll let you play, but he’ll get his own back.
"I'm just getting out of the shower, Wes, be right there!" he yelled. Spike took a step back - put his hands gently on either side of Xander's face and kissed him on the forehead.
"K-keep," Spike whispered, and then he was gone down the tunnel, opposite direction, and Xander knew he'd come into the Hall from a different tunnel. “Keep” - so Spike; leave ‘em wondering.
*Does that mean - this'll keep? Or- he'll keep me, or -* Xander thumped the wall once in frustration and then he shook his head. Gotta get moving. Hastily he snatched up a t-shirt and pulled it on - grabbed socks and boots and the camouflage overshirt that said 'Waters' and 'U.S. Army' on it and walked briskly up the tunnel to where Wes was waiting, examining the notes he'd been working on the night before.
"Xander! Excellent. I've got wonderful news. One of our operatives had a break today, and she managed to get a prisoner out. She's going to be here in -" Wesley squinted at his watch. "In ten minutes or less."
Xander's heart leapt in his chest and he stumbled, then sagged down onto the milk crates, dropping his boots.
*Prisoner - Buffy? Willow? Oh god -* Spike suddenly appeared, cat-footed, behind Wesley and snapped his fangs at the man and Wesley squeaked and jumped, frowning. Spike just can’t help giving Wes a scare, it’s too much fun. Spike eased up onto the table and his booted foot brushed Xander's knee, sending a little tingle of sensation shooting up Xander's leg.
"Who - who is it? How - what -" Wesley smiled suddenly, his whole face opening up and his eyes sparkling. He looked - ecstatic.
"I'll explain. It was chance, pure chance. Xander - we've got Willow."
Xander felt like he'd been punched - like he'd missed the last step. Giddy and breathless. "Oh god! How? How did -"
"It's really bloody amazing!" Wesley looked like he wanted to jump up and down with glee and Xander couldn't keep the huge smile off his own face. "One of our operatives has been monitoring the progress of the spells. You'll remember I told you that they've been using drugs to assure Willow's cooperation?" Xander grimaced - nodded - hating to think of his Wills drugged and helpless.
"Our operative informed us they were moving Willow - new rooms closer to Ethan Rayne. They've some idea to have them work together, apparently. She informed us of the move and we were able to launch a small diversion. The Initiative will have conflicting reports of Willow being taken east and south." Wesley put his hands together behind his back and paced, grinning. "Of course, in an hour or so they'll uncover the truth - Willow was actually taken north with a convoy of escapees. When in reality, she'll be here. Right under their noses." Wesley looked so please that Xander hated to say anything, but he had to.
"But - isn't that dangerous? I mean - couldn't they do a spell and -"
"They can't, actually. What they've done, with the Hellmouth... Magic is getting very, very risky here. Small spells like that have become almost useless - like trying to listen to a radio in the middle of a concert. Too much - background noise." Wesley looked at his watch again.
"S-spike, if you - hear anything, please...inform us? I'm not sure how well Willow is right now. I know that our operative kept at least one dose of the medication away from her today, perhaps two. She'll be more clear-headed, but she'll also be suffering the beginnings of withdrawals." Spike nodded shortly at the Watcher, and then they simply waited, tense and on edge now that the good news was broken. After what seemed an eternity, Spike suddenly lifted his head and then pointed, and Wesley moved forward briskly, going down a corridor that eventually led to the hospital. Xander got up to follow and Spike rose, as well - reached out and touched his arm. Xander stopped - turned to look at him.
"What is it?" he asked, and Spike smiled at him - leaned in close and kissed him, brush of his lips lightly over Xander’s.
"Don't...fff-rr-get," he whispered. Xander let his hand come up, and delicately ran his fingertips along Spike's cheekbone and jaw. *garbled sex noise* Spike’s made the turn, and now he’s all sex-kitten and sweet, hot touches.
"There's no way, Spike. No way I could forget." Spike grinned, and nodded towards the corridor, and they both went to meet Willow.
One-hundred and seventeen days. Willow was - better. Lovely time jump - almost seamless. Tabi is really moving the story along without whacking us in the head with the bat of exposition. Whatever drugs they'd been giving her had caused some sort of damage. Temporary the operative - and Wesley - had assured them. Temporary but frightening, and Xander had hated to see his Willow sitting blank-eyed at his jerry-rigged table, swaying slightly, humming to herself. Just gone, and the operative - a short, fierce Latina woman named Alvera - had told them that Willow had deliberately cut herself off - retreated from the horror of her captivity into her own mind, and it would take time for her to come out of that, as well. Xander understood that, but it made him sad and angry and frightened to actually see it. On the third day Alvera had left, back to the fight, and Tara had come for good. She'd held Willow and wept, rocking her, and Willow had smiled a little and looked away, and that was that. Another gorgeous canon parallel - Tara is doing for Willow just as Willow supported Tara after Glory brain-sucked her. Tara talked to her every day - sang and read and just babbled on about this and that and nothing at all. Xander actually kind of liked it - it was somehow comforting to hear her. Spike seemed to like it, too. He brought books for Tara to read aloud, and he helped her with Willow; holding the thin, pale body when it thrashed in the grip of nightmares, or the lingering throes of withdrawal. Willow talked now - simple, childish sentences, and endless questions, but she was coming back to them, and that was all that mattered. The Initiative had cut Willow's hair - easier to deal with, Xander supposed - and she had about two inches of deep-red fluff that stuck up in tufts and cowlicks. Tara would brush it every night, and Willow would close her eyes and fall asleep.
Spike's hair had grown out as well - grown long enough to curl wildly all over his head in a honey-brown tangle that reminded Xander of a rumpled hedge-hog. But it was soft - so very soft. Xander couldn't resist touching it, and he found himself petting Spike's hair at every opportunity; just running his fingers through and through it, mindless caress. Spike would lean into him and go bonelessly limp, most of the jangle and tension that he habitually carried going out of him. In that state he looked about seventeen and Xander found himself wondering what human-Spike had been like. He never asked, though.
Wesley made it a point of coming down almost every day - how he got away Xander wasn't sure, but from comments Wes made Xander was pretty sure that the Initiative still thought of it's English liaison as a bit of a joke, and wasn't keeping tabs on him. Three weeks after Willow had been rescued, he had more news.
"We've settled it. We're going to come in at first light, two days from now. We've got two companies of the SAS on their way as we speak. Four hundred of the finest Special Forces in the world." Wesley wasn't grinning this time - he was deadly serious. Tense and thin and he took one of Spike's cigarettes and smoked it, cupping his hand around the cherry and looking as if he hadn't slept in a week.
"They're going to take out whatever units of the Initiative are left - they're going to secure the labs and the hospital and then... You're going to have to be very careful, Xander. We're arranging for a special unit to come to you and get all of you out. Wil - erhm, Spike? It's up to you if you - decide to go with them, or not. They'll be going directly to England." Wesley had a strange look on his face as he said it - as if he expected Spike to be upset. Spike just shrugged, cross-legged on the table and his knee lightly pressing into Xander's bicep. Later though, when they were lying on the cot and Spike's hand was rubbing slowly over Xander's belly, Xander had to ask. Of course he did - he’s fallen in love with Spike, and Xander loves fiercely and long.
"You gonna come with me? To England?" Xander whispered, his lips against Spike's hair, and the hand stilled for a moment and then started again, slow caress that dipped lower every other minute or so.
"Want m-me?" Spike breathed, and Xander pulled him over, kissing him hard and running possessive hands under Spike's shirt - rocking his hips up against the denim-clad ones that pressed so urgently down. They didn't dare sleep nude - didn't dare actually do what they wanted to do, and it was getting...so hard. Mmmm, UST - my very very favorite.
"Yeah. Want you. Come with us, okay? Come with me." Making it crystal clear - Xander doesn’t want Spike to come for the cause or for Buffy of for safety - he wants, selfishly or not, to have Spike for himself.
"Yeah..." Spike breathed, mouthing Xander's throat and digging his fingers into Xander's back. Xander wrestled with buttons and zip until they were half-naked, rubbing together, hitching glide of sweat-slick skin. Biting Spike's lips to keep from crying out, shuddering and arching up and just needing it - needing the skin-on-skin and the weight of the vampire. Needing the heat of the friction and the tiny, mewling cries that told him Spike needed it just as much as he did. They writhed together, straining towards the peak, gasping harshly and then the shuddering, frenzied climax that left them both limp and panting. The tidal scent of it was thick in the air and Spike hooked a ragged t-shirt off of the crate by the cot and cleaned himself up - wiped Xander down as well and followed with kisses and darts of his tongue, arching into Xander's sleepy, lazy petting. They both zipped and buttoned and curled around each other and it was Tara's insistent, panicked whisper that woke them a few hours later. Mmmm - a desperate promise for what’s to come. But they both know that this could be the last, so they need something to hold onto
"Xander - wake up! Wake up!" Tara was crouched just out of arms-reach, the wisp-light dim and eerie in her hand. Spike startled upright, hissing, and Xander caught at him and held him still.
"What is it? Tara?"
"Someone's down here!" Tara whispered, and they all froze at the shuffling scrape of feet down the corridor and panting breaths. Spike was up and off fast, his bare feet silent, his skin catching the bluish glow of the wisp for a moment and then he disappeared into the gloom. Xander cursed softly, struggling out of the blanket and after him. There was a growl - a shriek - and a moment's scuffle. And then -
"Light!" Spike rasped, and Tara was there, blowing gently on the pebble so that the light would flare up brighter. Xander saw Spike, demon-faced, holding something that cringed away - holding a figure... Human, female, dark blonde hair. Xander though his heart had stopped for a moment, and then it pounded so hard he felt dizzy - felt like he might throw up.
"Buffy?" he whispered, and the figure turned to him, a crooked, shaky smile and the wet streaks of tears. And a body bowed and heavy, rounded with pregnancy. Nearly to term, but the looks of it. Poor Buffy - she’s always been the one to bear the hardest burden, and Tabi absolutely does not shy away from this. Even would it would be so easy - she could have had Buffy not pregnant at all, telling of other pregnancies, but she makes the reader bite the bullet and take it - full horror fully realized.
"Oh, god - Xander? Xander -" And she broke down in sobs.
*Jesus - JESUS! What in hell are we gonna do? How - she wasn't -* Xander didn't know what to think - couldn't form a coherent thought let alone sentence, and he helped Buffy down the corridor to the Hall, dazed. She walked slowly, panting, one hand under her belly and the other gripping Spike's arm bruisingly tight. They settled her carefully on the stacked crates and she sighed in relief, leaning back against the wall. Tara brought her a blanket, tucking it around her and Xander got their little Coleman stove lit, starting a pot of coffee.
"Buffy - are you in pain?" Tara asked softly, and Buffy just looked at her for a moment and then laughed softly.
"I'm... I don't even know how to answer that, Tara," she said finally, her voice cracked and wobbly. "Physically I'm - I've been better."
"Not right," Spike said, touching her belly, and Buffy flinched a little.
"No, it's - it's not. I...wasn't pregnant a month ago." She stopped and put her hand to her face for a moment - heaved in a hard, wet breath. When she spoke again her voice was thick with tears and revulsion - trembling with fear. "It's one of Walsh's - experiments. It's the - the fifth...time..." Damn - hard to take, but so real within the confines of this world. Buffy buried her face in her hands, keening softly in distress and Tara shot one wild, horrified look at Xander and was gathering Buffy into her arms, shushing her and crooning to her, telling her it would be all right.
Xander didn't realize he was crying - shouting - until Spike stepped between him and the stack of crates, stopping him from punching them again and folding him carefully into his arms. Then Xander felt the wetness on his face and the rawness of his throat and he held fiercely onto Spike, gasping for breath. Feeling sixteen again and watching Jesse collapse into dry, lifeless dust. Canon touchstone - Xander matches the two times in his life where he was/is utterly, completely helpless.
*Fuck, fuck, what're we gonna do, what? So fucking...sick, it's... God, Buffy...* Xander finally got himself under control - straightened up and wiped his face - sheepishly took the paper towel Spike held out and blew his nose. Then Spike leaned in and kissed him on the corner of his mouth while his fingers just gently stroked his ribs and Xander heaved a huge, steadying breath. He caught Spike as he eased away and kissed him back, feeling a curling little spark of heat in his belly at the small, pleased smile that crossed Spike's face. Then they both turned to face Buffy again.
She was still bent over, with Tara still talking to her, but she seemed to have stopped crying and was just there, bowed over in misery. Tara plied her with paper towels and a bottle of water and Buffy finally sat back up, her face red and her eyes swollen.
"Sorry - sorry, guys."
"Don't, Buff," Xander said softly, and she sniffed and half-smiled and pushed her hair back. They hadn't cut her hair at all - in fact it had grown out of any style and was lank and dark, stringing around her face. Spike lit a cigarette and then crouched down beside Buffy, his face a mask of anger. He carefully touched her belly again, butterfly-light, and Buffy watched him.
"How - f-five?" he asked finally, and Buffy shuddered.
"I lost them. M-miscarried. At first I was - sad, but - I saw the last t-two. They were... She's trying to mix human and demon...genes. It - doesn't...work." Buffy took a drink of her water and looked at Tara for a moment - looked at Spike again, her pale face thin and ghostly in the low light, her eyes sunk and dark. Tara's hand was in hers and Xander saw Tara flinch just a little as Buffy unconsciously squeezed.
"They were - wrong, they were...monsters." Spike looked up at her and finally nodded - stood fluidly and walked away, easing up onto the table and folding his legs up. Buffy watched him go and then turned her gaze back to Xander, a tiny smile curling the corner of her mouth.
"I guess - you've got a lot to tell me, huh?" she said, and Xander nodded and sat down at her feet, and told her.
One hundred and eighteen days Boom! One day later and the world has changed. and Wesley came into the Below wide-eyed and frantic, his jacket unbuttoned and his tie askew. He careened into the Hall and came to a stop, nearly falling, his wide eyes glued on Buffy, who was sitting and eating some MRE chicken a la King, talking quietly with Tara and fending off Willow's curious hands. Xander got up from where he'd been sorting his notes, wanting to laugh at the completely shocked expression on Wesley's face. He could hear Spike in the corridor just behind, switching from 'stalk' to 'strut' as the intruder was revealed.
"Good - god! How - my god, Buffy! How did you come here? They're going mad up there! What happened?" Buffy did laugh, small pleased chuckle at Wesley's incomprehension.
"It was just dumb luck, I guess," Buffy said, and told Wesley what she'd told Xander and Spike and Tara.
A seemingly random series of events, but ones that had added up. Her medication had been messed up for almost a week, and she'd found herself feeling close to full strength for the first time in months. Then, the orderly who normally took her to exercise and bathe was sick, and had been replaced with a newer, less alert, and smaller one. And there had been a fire or something. She's smelled smoke - heard alarms - and just let instinct take over. She'd knocked the orderly unconscious and taken his key-card and escaped the hospital. Memories of fights and of Spike's crypt had led her to the Below, and something...had guided her in the right direction.
"Maybe it was Spike. I could feel - something. I can feel vamps... Or maybe it was - a scent. Coffee or soap... Something just told me the way to come."
Wesley just shook his head, his expression still unsettled. "Well, it's complete chaos up there. Your escape has them in a panic. In a little more than twenty-four hours the troops will be here and I think this - demoralization - will work in our favor." Wesley took of his glasses and rubbed wearily at his eyes - peered near-sightedly at Spike, who had decided to come out of the shadows and had moved to stand next to Xander, leaning into him. "All of you need to be ultra cautious now. Just - stay here, and be ready. I suggest you pack anything you might want to take with you. Yes, thank you," Wesley added, taking the oil-stained bandana the Willow held out to him. She patted his arm and then grinned as Tara took her hand.
"Tara! Story now? Please?" she begged, and Tara nodded and smiled, drawing Willow over to the crates, picking up the book they'd been reading and letting Willow pretend to read it to her. Wesley slowly put his glasses back on, looking sadly after the two of them, and then he went over to Buffy - touched her shoulder with his hand. "I really am pleased to see you, Buffy. Giles - will be so happy to know you're all right."
Buffy nodded, looking down at her tin plate of chicken-paste. "Do you think... Does he know about - this?" she asked softly, her hand splayed over her belly, and Wesley looked up at the rest of them, quick glance full of sorrow.
"He knows, Buffy. He's been swearing awful revenge for weeks. He - he misses you terribly and feels... Well..." Wesley pulled back - straightened his tie and smoothed his jacket. "Well, I'll let you two talk it over, eh? In a day or two you'll have nothing but time. Your mother and sister - are so eager to see you."
Buffy nodded sadly - looked up and smiled shakily at Wes. "Thanks, Wesley. I - I'll be glad to see them, too." Wesley ducked his head, nodding, and then he turned to Spike and Xander.
"Please do be very careful, the both of you. Don't leave this area until it's time. When the attack is fully underway, a squad of SAS will come down here to escort you out and yes, we've got sun-proof clothes for you, Spike." Spike nodded shortly and Xander felt the minute shift of muscle against him that meant he had relaxed. "They'll expect you to meet them at the Cross at seven bells, all right?" Xander nodded, figuring times. Spike leaned over and took the packet of peanut butter that had come in Buffy's MRE and tore it open, sucking it out of the olive-drab plastic with a little grin. Xander had to admit, Army peanut butter was the best peanut butter he'd ever tasted.
"How will we know - I mean, is there some kind of - code or something?" Xander felt stupid asking, but if an attack was going on Above, remnants of Initiative soldiers might find there way down to the tunnels. They weren't unknown to the Army, but they'd deemed them a wash after the first few weeks. Tara's confusion spells had helped, and for all the Initiative was working with demons and magic-users, they didn't seem eager to use it much for their everyday 'grunt' work.
"Yes, actually." Wesley pulled another tissue of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Xander. "That's the - the password, and their response. If they don't reply correctly, run. Or - let Spike loose. But don't approach, and don't let them get their hands on you. They'll reply with the second line, and be waiting for the third line before they identify themselves. The man heading up the platoon is a Sergeant Carlyle. He's a good man - you can trust him." Wesley pushed on hand back through his hair, looking flustered and a little afraid - looking tired to death. "Almost there, and then this nightmare can be over - we can all go home."
"I am home, Wesley. I don't... I don't know if this is ever going to be over...not for us." True, and very sad. Lovely. Wesley nodded slowly - buttoned his jacket and brushed at himself, straightening his back and lifting his chin.
"I doubt Sunnydale will be open to - civilians - for a long time, Xander. I hope that you can find a home somewhere else, when this is all done. I hope all of you can." He looked around at them one more time and then nodded shortly - turned and strode out. Xander sighed and unfolded the tissue, squinting in the unsteady light of the lantern.
"Acts of injustice done - between the setting and the rising sun -"
"In h-history lie like bones, e-each wa-one," Spike finished, slurred but recognizable, and Xander flashed a grin at him.
"You can tell Englishmen thought this up. What the hell is it?"
"Au -den," Spike said, plucking the tissue out of Xander's hand and burning it like he'd done before. Tara's voice droned on, reading to Willow but watching them, and Buffy had put her fork down and was staring bleakly at Xander.
"Really gonna happen," she whispered, and Xander nodded shortly.
"I'll get our gear together. C'mon, Spike." They both moved away into the darkness of the tunnels.
One-hundred and nineteen days - five a.m. and then six, and Spike's mouth was wet and cool and Christ, fucking perfect on Xander's cock and he bit down hard on his forearm, stifling the moan that welled up. "So - not the...time - fuck, Spike!"
"Think of...b-better time?" Again, Spike knows all about how the world can turn on a dime, and the needs to take his pleasures when and where he can. Also, hot! Spike murmured, licking him like a Popsicle and then sucking him in again and Xander got a handful of honey-silk hair and thrust hard. Spike's fingers were digging into his hips, bruisingly hard, and it felt so fucking good. A hand on his balls, and then between his thighs - fingertips probing and then pushing in and Xander arched hard, silent; his orgasm a roaring of blood in his ears and spangles in the darkness of the tunnel. There had been the distant crump of explosions for the last hour, and whatever was happening was under way. And they still had an hour to go until their rendezvous.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Xander moaned, sagging weakly back against the stone wall and a moment later Spike was plastered against him, mouth on his mouth and the taste of brine and blood. His hand on Xander's hand, dragging it to his groin. Spike's jeans were undone and his own cock jutting out and Xander gripped and stroked and pulled - wormed his other hand in to grasp Spike's balls. Spike's tongue was fucking his mouth, his hands on Xander's ass, down his camo fatigues and gripping tight.
"Sss...san, f-fuck..." Spike hissed, thrusting fiercely into Xander's hands, his teeth clicking off Xander's, his mouth sliding wetly to latch onto Xander's throat, mauling with human teeth and then prickling lightly with vampiric ones and Xander gasped and stroked him harder, hand slippery with pre-come and sweat. Spike sucked hard at his neck and Xander knew he'd drawn a little blood. Didn't care, because something like a second orgasm was quaking through him and Spike was coming over his hands, cool and slick and thick, and Xander gasped into his shoulder and wondered how long it would take before he could walk again. *flaily hands* Dead from guh.
"Christ..." Spike gasped out, slumping heavily onto him. Xander just hung there, gasping, until Spike straightened up and tugged at his shirt - pulled it off and wiped himself up with it.
"Damnit, why my shirt all the time?" Xander huffed. And then Spike froze, and he did, because there was a sound... Rattle of plastic, something quickly hushed and Spike morphed, his eyes gleaming. He gestured to Xander - hand-sign they'd worked out when he could barely speak and Xander nodded - eased his camo pants closed and silently picked up his rifle - made his way stealthily down the tunnel towards the Hall and the girls. They were waiting for the SAS to arrive, a state of tense half-sleep that he and Spike had abandoned hours ago. Xander ducked around the corner and saw Buffy who was sitting up, alert and wary. He crossed swiftly to her and put his mouth by her ear.
"Company," he breathed, and she nodded, her face tightening in fear and anger. He held out his hand and helped her climb to her feet - went to Tara and touched her shoulder. The witch startled awake, silent, and Xander delivered the same message. Tara nodded as well, pushing the blanket off her shoulders and slipping on her worn sneakers. Willow was spelled - out - a precaution they'd hotly debated and that Tara, tight-lipped and determined, had done. Willow chattered every minute of the day, and Buffy and Spike had both insisted that they couldn't risk that - couldn't trust her to keep a promise to not talk, because Willow was still not quite right. So sad; such a hard thing for Xander. Xander just hated the idea of her being helpless, but when Tara had finally conceded, he'd given in as well. Now he made sure Willow's jacket was zipped up and her shoes laced tightly and carefully picked her up, cradling her close. Tara slung a backpack over her shoulder and nodded - ready. Buffy had a hand-gun - she hadn't done more than dry-fire it, but the steely glint in her eye gave Xander no reason to believe that she wouldn't use it if she had to. They waited then, utterly silent and Xander flinched hard when Spike suddenly appeared in the tunnel entry.
'Soldier', he signed, and then touched his head, and Xander felt his stomach drop. Initiative, that meant. Spike held up two fingers in a warped cross and pointed down another tunnel - one that led in a wandering fashion to the rendezvous under the church. Xander bit his lip, hesitating - gestured for Spike to come with them, and the vampire slowly shook his head - showed his fangs in an expression of pure hate, and Xander knew that the soldiers were dead. Just give Spike time. Xander nodded finally and Spike nodded back, and then he turned and stalked away and Xander shivered at the glimpse he'd had, of the vampire, of the demon - of the Slayer of Slayers, who'd run with three of the most infamous vampires in all history.
*Fuckin' soldiers won't know what him 'em,* Xander thought, and turned and began the long walk to the Cross. After a while, faintly, they could hear shouts, and gun-fire ringing off the stone walls. They walked faster, being as careful as they could in the blue-white glow of the wisp-light Tara had conjured.
They were five minutes from the Cross - maybe less - when Xander heard footsteps behind them - moving fast and near-silent, but still there. Buffy looked around, wide-eyed, and then they were moving to opposite sides of the tunnel, weapons ready and Xander pushed Willow into Tara's arms. She doused the faint glow of the wisp-light, clutching the pebble tight in her fist and sinking into the shadows, cuddling Willow close. The footsteps came nearer - hesitated - and then a hoarse voice whispered out of the darkness:
"Carpenter, Glinda, Red-witch, Slayer."
"Spike! Report!" Xander hissed, and Spike appeared suddenly, glowing eldritch white-blue as Tara blew gently on the pebble, bringing the wisp-light back. He leaped on it and closed her fist around it and they were left with an afterimage of his hunched shoulders and blood on his hands. His eyes glowed, sulphur-gold.
"Too many. Run - now!" They ran, Spike carrying Willow and Tara risking the wisp-light so they wouldn't fall - Xander in the rear, alert for sounds of pursuit. All too soon, he heard them. It sounded like a dozen men - maybe more - and he caught the crackle of a radio that was hastily silenced.
*Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. What are we gonna do? How close is it to seven bells? Damnit... Get to the Cross, get into the south corridor. It opens out and there's all those stalactites. We can hide in there - confuse them... There's an alcove on the far wall, Tara can go up there with Willow...* The soldier in him plotted - planned - and when they arrived at the Cross he could hear the bell tolling above them. They stopped dead, listening, but the bell only tolled its tune three times, and then stooped. *Damn. Fifteen minutes to go until seven. FUCK.*
Xander touched Spike's arm and motioned and in minutes they had Willow curled into the back of the alcove and Tara in front of her, her face white with fear but set. She took two twigs from her back-pack and wedged them into cracks opposite each other, then looped a ragged bit of shimmery black cloth between them.
"Stay here. Spike'll find you," Xander whispered, and Tara nodded and handed over the wisp-light, dampened to a faint, silvery glimmer.
"Obscurus," she whispered, and the alcove shimmered and faded, and they were gone. If he looked just right, Xander could see the shiver of the cloth, like a veil or a spider web. But he knew the soldiers wouldn't see anything but more rock and earth.
"Here," he whispered, touching Buffy's arm and getting her up and onto a wide ledge. Protection of a sort, and a better vantage for her limited weapons skills. Buffy scrambled up awkwardly, her hand to her stomach, something more than fear in her expression. "What is it?"
"Hurts," she said shortly, grimacing. "I think - labor or - another miscarriage." Poor Buffy. Tabi won’t let us flinch away from the horror, and it’s so effective, keeping the reader so closely in the moment as the action buils and builds, carrying us along with it.
"Fuck," Spike breathed, still the demon, recoiling slightly from her.
"Wait for light," Xander said and then the footsteps rang out louder as the soldiers reached the Cross and he and Spike turned and ran, heading deeper into the stone maze and leaving Buffy in the dark. They slid around a pillar and Xander clawed the backpack off his shoulder, opening it and pulling out a handful of emergency flares.
"Nightvision gear?" he asked, and Spike nodded, watching him. "Get up high. Wait until they're in the middle. Throw these down into them - they'll be blind. I'm gonna shoot, so - stay out of the way." Spike grinned, feral and gleeful, and yanked a 9mm hand-gun out of the back of his jeans. Xander grinned back and shoved the flares at him and then put the pebble into his pocket, dousing the last bit of real light. "They've got Kevlar. Heart-shots are useless."
"Yess," from Spike, so soft. A faint, ambient glow was everywhere here, from tiny cracks and holes high in the ceiling, but it was too dim for any real use. But it would give just enough power to Army-issue goggles. Xander steadied his rifle on the stone in front of him and felt Spike moving away - heard the soldiers come into the maze of stone and falter, and then move rapidly on. Following the slightly phosphorescent trail of paint that Xander had laid down weeks ago, to guide himself through. In another minute or two they would be in the biggest open space in the maze - a space he and Buffy - and now Spike - were overlooking. A death-trap, if this worked right. Xander's hands were sweating on the plastic stock and he wiped them slowly, one by one, on his pant-leg. Realized, with a small smile, that he hadn't ever put a shirt back on. *Lets go, motherfuckers. I'm SO ready to fight. So, so ready. * Xander is so looking forward to getting his own back. He may have the White Knight at his core, but he’s got a touch of Black in him, too.
The pop of a radio made him start, and then a voice, low and rapid. Xander strained to hear, and went cold at the conversation.
"Core-Command to Outpost recon. Status, over."
"This is Outpost recon, status is grid 119, repeat, grid 119, over."
"Any movement, Outpost? Over."
"Positive movement, Command, we have hostiles. Preparing to neutralize, over."
"Neutralize with extreme prejudice, Outpost. Over."
"...Please repeat, Core-Command? Over."
"Repeat. Extreme prejudice. Operation Hopscotch terminated. Over."
"Affirmative, Core-Command. Extreme prejudice. Over and out."
*SHIT. That means no survivors. Where in fuck are the English guys? C'mon, Spike! The time is NOW!* It was almost as if Spike had heard him - or had heard the radio, more probably, because from nowhere came a bundle of flares - at least ten - all alight and burning with an intense, white fire that Xander instinctively shut his eyes against. He heard the Initiative soldiers cursing - one yelling - and then there was gunfire - rapid and loud, coming from overhead. *Spike - fuck yeah.*
Xander opened his eyes and took aim - began to shoot, one bullet at a time. He knew the soldiers had Kevlar vests so he aimed for knees and thighs and arms, doing his best to wound because he probably couldn't kill. The knowledge - the instinct - to aim for the head itched in him, but some small part held back. Not there, yet, despite everything. Still White.
He saw flashes on his left, slightly elevated and knew that Buffy was firing as well. Spike seemed to be ranging all over the cavern and Xander caught a glimpse of him leaping like a goblin from ledge to broken stalactite, grinning insanely, the gun held out in a rock-steady hand, firing repeatedly.
The soldiers started firing back, ducking for cover, scattering into the maze. Four lay on the stone floor, unmoving, and a fifth was crawling away. Xander stood halfway up and scuttled to another point of cover, eyes warily on the four soldiers and the three others he could see darting in and out of the shadows. The flares were still burning brightly and Xander knew the Nightvision gear was useless now in that actinic glare. A bullet pinged the rock near his head and he ducked and ran, popping off a shot or two over his shoulder and then diving into deeper shadow.
An unearthly howl reverberated off the maze walls and a soldier cursed very near him, letting off a wild volley of shots. Xander peeked around a rock and saw a camo-suited body - whipped the rifle up and shot, watching in satisfaction as the man crumpled, screaming, his thigh a bloody mass.
*Got 'im, damn, fuckin' mess...Jesus, Spike!* Xander flinched as Spike leaped out of the shadows, the gun in his fist shooting straight into a soldiers face. The man's face exploded; wet, red ruin and Spike was gone and then Xander heard Buffy scream.
"Shit! Spike!" He ran shooting randomly for cover, hoping Spike would stay above or behind him. He tore around a corner and saw Buffy, half off the ledge, struggling madly against a soldier. There was blood streaking down her legs and she was kicking and yelling - waving her gun wildly. She hit the soldier in the side of his head and his helmet came off and skittered away into the darkness.
"Buffy! Let go!" Xander yelled, and Buffy dropped straight off the ledge and onto the soldier, who collapsed under her. Another soldier ran out of a near-by corridor, weapon raised and Xander snapped off a shot, making him dive for cover instead. Xander ran up and hauled Buffy off and up, spinning her straight into a blood-stained Spike who set her carefully aside and pounced on the soldier. The report of Spike's gun was muffled as he shoved it into the soldier's mouth and pulled the trigger. Spike turned and darted away, cackling.
Xander stood for a long moment, staring down at the dead man at his feet - at the brains and blood and bits of skull that had spattered on his shins. The urge to vomit was strong, but he controlled it - looked for Buffy who had sagged to the ground, hand to her stomach.
"You - you okay, Buff?" he asked, his voice cracking, and Buffy winced and nodded.
"Yeah, I'm - I'm okay. Get - get going. Gimme his rifle, okay? I - mine was out."
"Right." Xander clamped his jaw shut tight and bent down - disentangled the rifle from the dead arms and handed it to Buffy, who took it with a grimace.
"Hold! Hold right there!" A distinctly non-American *Scottish?* voice called out, and there was another burst of gunfire close by, and cursing. Xander lifted his own rifle again, turning around and saw a man all in black trotting towards him.
*The SAS! God, please, be the SAS! Be - Carlyle!* "Hey!" Xander yelled, and then he stopped, trying to remember the password.
"Acts of injustice done! a hoarse voice sang out, and it was Spike, somewhere above and behind him, and the black-clad soldier stopped, looking at Xander.
"Between the setting and the rising sun."he said slowly, clearly.
"What the fuck is wrong with you people?" Another voice and Xander jerked around, staring. Lit by the flares was another Initiative soldier, who took off his helmet and threw it down. *Oh fuck ME,* Xander thought. *Agent Riley fucking Finn*
"You lost, Riley! Your side lost! Give up!"
"Give up to you? To the freaks and the - the monsters? Over my dead body." Riley stared at him - at the English soldier, and then he lifted his rifle. "No. On second thought, over your dead body."
"Riley, don't!" Buffy screamed, and Riley flinched, and his rifle fired. Xander felt fire, blooming all along his side. He jerked - fell to his knees, hard, and his arms were useless - couldn't hold the rifle. "No! Xander! Tara, help me!" Buffy was crawling towards him - the black-clad soldier was sprinting - and the last thing Xander saw was Spike, like a white arrow straight into Riley Finn. They both went down; rolling across the flares and it was dark, so dark. Xander felt cold stone on the side of his face - felt a hand turning his head - and he looked up into a seamed, sun-darkened face, with faded blue eyes and a scar along the jaw.
"In history lie like bones, each one," he whispered, and then there was nothing at all. Xander has killed, and almost been killed himself. By commission or omission, he’s let Riley die - he’d do it again, and that’s Xander’s journey here - he makes his way from fear to certainty. It’s not a traditional hero’s journey, but it’s his only path.
The stones were rough - cold - damp with the rising mist and Xander ran his hands slowly along the massive flank of the trilithon.
*Trilithon. Giles would be proud. Well, actually, he would NOT.* Xander looked around and laughed aloud when he saw his shadow, leaping from the top of one stone giant to the next. "You are gonna get in so much trouble if Giles finds out you did that!" he called, and Spike turned and leapt gracefully to the ground, his coat flaring up around him like bat's wings, rustling. Between them, the Initiative and the SAS had managed so much destruction that Spike's treasured coat was gone for good - along with a most of Sunnydale. But the new one, bought in Tokyo and lined with silk suited him just fine. Time jump, unexpected at first, but then not, because it works so beautifully with the structure of the story.
"And who, may I ask, is going to tell Rupert I was playin' leap-frog up there, huh?"
"Well..." Xander looked at Spike through his lashes, smiling slyly. "I might, actually..."
"Oh, might you?" Spike advanced on Xander, head down, prowling, and Xander felt his heart skip and speed up, pounding in his chest.
"Yeah, I - I just might. Unless..."
"Unless...what?" Spike backed him right into the stone and Xander leaned there, thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, hands casually framing the growing hardness under the zip. Ooooh, sexy, confident Xander - not afraid to put it out there, because nothing can touch him in his new skin; nothing but Spike, and Spike wouldn’t want him to change.
"Unless you...do something really...nice for me. I might...just forget all about you - defacing a National Treasure."
Spike snorted. "National Treasure my arse." He put his hands on either side of Xander's head and leaned into him, rocking grind of hip to hip. "Now, define...nice," he purred, and his mouth settled over Xander's, slow and leisurely kiss that took Xander's breath away.
"Ohhh, I think...you could do something nice with that talented mouth of yours..." Xander gasped, and Spike grinned and slid like a snake down Xander's body, the coat pooling around him, spill of ink. The white silk shirt he wore under it glowed in the moon light, as did his punk-spikey, silver-white hair. His skin was moonlight - cool and perfect and utterly smooth, and Xander gasped softly as deft fingers undid button and zip and tugged his jeans to mid-thigh. This is so hot and so beautiful at the same time - black and white and silver - ink and moonlight, Black Knight and White Night. A masterful use of juxtaposition that is absolutely seamless and unforced.
"You mean...something like this?" Spike asked, and his tongue licked a slow trail from hip-bone to navel to hipbone, making Xander shiver.
"Oh - yeah, like -" Spike nipped at the soft skin under his navel and Xander started to pant, his hands sweeping up Spike's neck to his jaw. He let his fingertips rest there, feeling the muscles working as Spike licked and nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin along the crease of this thigh - in the hollow of his hip and across his belly. His tongue lapped softly at the edge of the ragged scar on Xander's left side and Xander shuddered.
Sunnydale - the Initiative - all of it was...so many days and weeks and months gone. A time of nightmare that Xander looked back on with astonishment and sadness. All but three of the Initiative soldiers that had chased them underground had died, including Riley Finn. Spike - had done it; disemboweling the man and winding his entrails around his throat - showing him his death with a flare shoved through his ribs. The SAS hadn't interfered - Sergeant Carlyle had, in fact, ignored the wet, desperate screams and gotten the rest of them up and out.
Xander had been air-lifted to the hospital in Fort Irwin with Buffy and hadn't woken up for two days. When he had, the first thing he'd seen had been Spike - still bloody and smudged, lying in an exhausted heap across his legs. Spike will never leave him - they’re connected forever. Buffy had been in the chair on the other side of him, no longer pregnant, white and tear-streaked and smiling at him.
Tara and Willow had been flown straight over to England, to the Watcher's Headquarters where a slow course of magic and therapy had finally brought Willow back to herself. Ethan Rayne, who had been harder to control and therefore had been more thoroughly broken, was still recovering.
"Love, you're not paying the proper attention." Spike's voice in his ear, and Xander came back to himself with a start, and smiled sadly into the lean and beautiful face that leaned so close to his own.
"I'm sorry, Spike. Got a little...distracted."
"Remembering, love. I know." Spike's fingers stroked the raised, twisted scar that ran from Xander's rib to hip - the wildly ricocheting bullet from Riley's gun had plowed a trench through his flesh eight inches long - and Xander caught his hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing each one slowly, fluttering his tongue over the tips. Scent of iron and cinnamon, of smoke and leather and earth. Spike's scent, comforting and intoxicating.
"I was. I'm sorry. Make me forget?" Spike's eyes gleamed in the moonlight and he took Xander's shoulders in his hands - turned him and propelled him backwards until his hips bumped another stone, this one on its side in the dew-wet grass.
"Can. Will. Want to," Spike whispered, and he turned Xander around - put his hands on the gritty stone and pulled his hips back. "Ready for me, love?"
"Always r-ready for you -" Could that be sexier? I don’t *think* so. Xander husked, and groaned softly as Spike's fingers caressed him - pushed in, two and then three, sliding and twisting.
"Love, god, that’s...so fucking...hot.” Spike's hands slid up under Xander's jacket and sweater, rubbing up his spine and scratching slowly back down as his cock crowded close between Xander's legs, damp tip nudging at his balls and pushing at the underside of Xander's own cock.
"God...oh, that's..."
"Sweet, yeah..." Spike leaned back, and a moment later he was pushing in, slow and smooth and powerful. Xander gasped softly, lowering his head, pushing back and going up on his toes - coming back down. Loving the feel of Spike moving in him, touching everywhere inside.
"Xan...love, love..." Spike murmured into his neck - into his hair, hands holding his waist and then sliding up under his sweater to rub his chest - to cross over his ribs and pull him up and back, tight against the vampire's body. Cool silken shirt, hard muscles and the rasp of his jeans against the underside of Xander's buttocks.
Xander leaned his head back against Spike's shoulder, watching the slow skeining of the mist through the stones - the way the moon beams seemed to shift, so slowly; sometimes as thin as smoke, other times looking so solid it seemed you could almost walk on them. The stones around them loomed blackly, sheltering fingers in a green and cupping hand, and Xander finally closed his eyes and just moved with Spike, letting his own hands roam where they would.
"Spike...oh, kiss me..." he whispered, and Spike's fingers were on his jaw, gently turning so that their lips could brush and tongues could flicker, tasting. Spike's cock moved slow and steady, frission of champagne sparkles every time he pressed in, shuddering heat every time he pulled out, and Xander was panting now, clutching Spike's hip in one hand and his neck in the other. Silken hair under his palm, the curve of Spike's skull and the flex of tendon. Callback to the initial touching - Xander’s hand on Spike’s head - gloriously intimate. Spike's mouth on his jaw and on the side of his throat, nipping kisses. His hands on Xander's belly, pressing and rubbing and then dropping down to stroke Xander's own cock, smearing the fluid there and sending shivery little shocks up Xander's spine. Xander clenched his body tight around Spike and felt the vampire's body tense against his.
"Xan - come on, love...Xan, Xan-der..." Spike groaned, his thrusts becoming faster, less regular. Xander's legs were trembling and he was writhing back against Spike. He leaned over, hands on the stone again, arching his back and Spike thrust harder, panting himself now, fingers tight on Xander's hips.
His orgasm was a stuttering flurry of thrusts, Xander's name a whispered moan and then Spike's hand was on Xander's cock, hard and fast, and Xander arched back, crying out, dimly aware of the pearl-white fluid striping the dark stone. Spike wrapped his arms tight around him and held him, and gradually his heart slowed, and his breathing evened out.
"Better now, love?" Spike asked, and Xander smiled - turned in his arms and kissed Spike, slow and sweet.
"Better now. Let's go home, okay?"
"Mmmm...hot bath," Spike said, and Xander laughed, and kissed him again. Home was Joyce and Dawn and Oz, the stone house by an old mill pond. Home was Buffy and Tara and Willow on the weekends, and Giles, laughing around the big, scrubbed-white table in the kitchen. Home was Spike, rolling over cool and soft in the bed, pulling him close and snuggling deep under flannel and goose-down. Home...was forever in blue eyes and the scent of cinnamon, and Xander never counted the days. And the kicker - counting the days has lost its importance, and Tabi knocks it right out of the park.
It’s been a long time since I read S/X fic. For personal reasons, this pairing holds a lot of pain for me. But I figured if I could do it for anyone, I could do it for Tabi. I made it all the way to the end until the tears fell, and they were less about me than they were about this story. It’s beautiful, it’s everything that any piece of fiction should be - fan or otherwise.