Fic: "Coming Ashore" Part 2 of 2 (Spike/Xander) Hard R
Title: Coming Ashore
Author: lillianmorgan
Setting: Post-Doomed, BtVS Season 4 and post-NFA AtS Season 5
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Hard R (Graphic: Adult-rated)
Disclaimer: I don’t own Joss’ and ME’s toys.
Summary: Rather than ships passing in the night, it’s like they’re both at sea and just trying to learn how to float.
A/N: This story is set in the days after Doomed (which aired in the States 18th January 2000) and six months after Not Fade Away (which aired on 19th May 2004).
Thanks and viele hugs to yourlibrarian for the beta job, to whom this fic was also dedicated.
Written as my contribution to fall_for_sx.
Originally posted 9th December, 2005.
Part One is here
Coming Ashore
Part Two
Thursday, 20th January, 2000
It had been, and just was way too much effort to deny, a craptastic day at work. While communing with the extra tasty smells of grease, fat and MSG weren’t bad enough, running into not one but two former Sunnydale High alum (cheerleaders? lacrosse team? debate club? Xander’s willingness to flee!flee! from school activities caused rather the blip in further conversation) reinforced how much life was currently about the suckage.
Which then came back and whacked him upside the face the moment he trudged down the stairs into his basement, guard undeniably down.
The “What the -?” that erupted from his mouth didn’t even begin to cover it.
Anya and Spike were lying altogether too comfortably on Xander’s bed (and yes, bed is the place of repose, despite lumps and springs in all the wrong places) giggling like a pair of school kids who’d just sniffed the coloured markers and were high on the ‘joys of life’.
As soon as Xander made his presence known, nothing happened. In fact it took some coughing noises, a shouted “Watch it, Spike!” and a kick in the leg before they responded to him.
“Honey,” said Anya, bounding off the bed. “You’re home.” She chose to shake his hand rather than kiss him. “I understand that is the correct way to greet a girl’s fella once they walk through the door. Only … the men in the movies never seem to smell as badly as you do.”
“Thanks, Ahn. Great to see you too. So glad to see the chipped one has kept you … occupied.”
“Your pause must imply distrust. Or perhaps distaste. But, really there’s nothing to worry about. Even though, I’m sure Spike’s able to give wonderful orgasms, what with all his experience, my heart well and truly lies with you.” And she patted the place said organ beat its merry tune.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” drawled Spike.
Anya turned around from standing before Xander and beamed at Spike. “Shall you tell him or will I?”
“Was your idea, luv. I’m just the means to an end.”
“OK,” she chirruped brightly, as Xander’s frown deepened. “Now that we’ve established that Spike cannot hurt humans but can hurt demons, how about he pays his way for your offer of shelter by providing some well-needed lessons and training.”
“Training?” gulped Xander, a blush threatening to surface.
“Yes, in the art of demon warfare. You don’t have the skills of Buffy and I worry for you out there. You’d make such a tasty snack for whatever came along and you really can’t continue defending yourself by hiding behind Buffy. This seems like the perfect outcome.”
“Yeah?” continued Xander. “And what’s in it for Spike?”
“We’ve negotiated a very reasonable settlement between the two of us that I’m sure you’ll find very fair.”
Xander’s eyebrows raised in tired but inevitable acceptance.
“Just some fags and blood,” said Spike, smirk beginning to grow across his face. “And one night on the bed.” Spike spread himself back across said bed, sighing contentedly. “Besides, wouldn’t want anyone to get the feeling that I was a kept man.” Oh yeah, he’d been saving that up ever since Xander fired the first salvo back when the water pipe exploded.
“Really it’s very reasonable, when you think Spike will be saving your life, Xander,” Anya reinforced.
“And if I don’t want to?” Xander glared at her, trying to figure out where the sense was in any of this.
“Who wouldn’t want to? You’re human, you’re mortal. It’s all going to end some day.”
“And when exactly are your lessons, honey?” Xander inquired.
“I didn’t live over a thousand years without picking up a few tricks here and there. Besides,” she pouted, offering her bottom lip for thorough inspection, “I thought you’d be pleased at my concern, Xander.”
He paused and thought about it. If he gave in a little here, maybe he’d get something back in return. Something really good back in return. After all, they could negotiate a settlement. And she liked it when he talked money.
“OK,” Xander said slowly and carefully.
“Great!” triumphed Spike, leaping from the bed and rubbing his hands together fast and furiously. “Let’s have at ‘em!”
“Tomorrow!” shouted Xander, holding up his hand and collapsing on the chair.
~*~*~*~*
Sunday, 19th September, 2004
“So shall I make up the spare bed, which is actually masquerading as that lounge suite you’re sitting on…?”
Spike raised his eyebrow and smirked. “I came all the way to your cosy abode, engineered my way into your bedroom and you’re offering me the spare?”
Xander smiled first to himself, then let it touch his lips. Spike watched as it moved to his cheeks, then his eyes, until Spike couldn’t contain himself and had to capture those enlivened gestures between his lips.
A few hours later and they were lying together on Xander’s bed, mirroring poses of relaxed, sated nakedness. Spike leant off the bed for his cigarettes.
“Uh - uh - uh!” warned Xander. “Not in the bedroom.”
“Relax, pet. I’ll let you have one.” He lit up a cigarette, then turned to face Xander, cupping his face between his thumb and forefinger, stroking back and forward. “Missed this.” Then softer, tender, “Missed you, luv.”
Xander blushed, then whispered back, “Me too.”
Spike blustered his way out of the quiet moment. “Bed’s a bit small though, for two such virile blokes as we.”
“Yep, it hasn’t seen much action lately.”
“Tsk, tsk, pet. Then why the charade, the pretence still with the birds?
“Well, I don’t feel comfortable…I mean, hey, I’m Xander. I’m poster-boy for normal -”
Spike interrupted with a grunt of unnameable emotion.
“It’s what I do. I do normal,” continued Xander. Then, “Except you, of course. You’re the only thing I don’t do that’s normal.”
“Just as it should be,” Spike concurred.
“In fact, I bet you’ve never had an urge for normal in your whole entire existence - past, present and future.”
Spike’s smile was enigmatic, but also predatory as he leaned in for another one of Xander’s specialities - the sloppy kiss.
~*~*~*~*
Friday, 21st January, 2000
Tomorrow night came around all too stealthily and before Xander knew it, he was standing in his basement, being handed a large (and rather embarrassingly heavy) broadsword by Spike.
“Where on earth did you get this?” Xander asked.
“Ways and means,” Spike replied, “ways and means.” He began searching through the large canvas, military style rucksack he’d seemed to have acquired overnight.
“And those would be?”
“Look I can’t kill humans, right? But I’m bloody well going to defend myself against demons. Got to get my sport somewhere, yeah?” The vehemence laced through his reply made Xander shiver.
“And you use the word defend in the loosest possible way you can?” Xander parried, sceptically.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Spike replied, grinning maniacally and pulling out his own hefty axe.
In the end, Xander settled for a stake which was much more practical and he was able to keep the edge on Spike by pointing out exactly what stakes were used for. Rather than the fact that they were lighter and fit into the pocket of his cargo shorts quite snugly.
And the feel of the wood grain biting into in his hand felt reassuring as they walked through the outer limits of Crestfield Cemetery. Which if he thought about that further kinda wigged him. But then every time he caught a glimpse of Spike from the corner of his eye reinforced the unsettlement. It was unusual to see Spike in his original purpose, as a stealthy hunter of the night, body sleek and taut, in motion and standing still, every inch of his body prepared and ready to anticipate the necessary battle movements. And that T-shirt outlined his abs really well too.
Yes, the level of wig was seriously reaching diabolical proportions. But once they met up with two unsuspecting fledglings waiting for their friend to rise from his grave, all those thoughts flew out on the night sky, and Xander re-discovered combat-lust.
It was rather messy, the punches and the jabs but once he got going he discovered the stuttering movements gave way to a sense of fluidity. Well, approaching fluidity. Spike disposed of his target far too quickly, but with an uncanny patience waited at a distance and watched Xander fight. At one point, when the fledge had tripped Xander and he was upended onto his back, Spike barked “Roll!” before the other vampire could get him.
He’d finally managed to surprise his opponent with a lucky uppercut (dashing, his brain amended, inspired even) and rammed home his advantage with wood.
“You enjoyed that,” commented Spike from where he’d been leaning against a tree, lit cigarette dangling from his mouth.
Xander flung his hands to his knees, and the adrenaline and need to breathe crashed in on his body. He sucked in great gallumping amounts of air, and then smiled. “Yeah.”
“Can smell it on you,” Spike informed, with a well-timed leer.
“Don’t be gross Spike. You’re ruining the moment.”
Spike pulled on his cigarette long and hard, causing his cheek muscles to cave in, as if he were trying to say something else. Like how good he was at sucking, maybe.
“No ‘m not,” he replied, after a pause, smoke following his words curling out from his mouth.
They made eye-contact then, and Xander felt the sensation of being pulled towards Spike’s eyes. He wasn’t even sure if his feet were moving, but he was stuck in a rip, and resistance was futile.
Unless that other vampire chose at right that moment to claw his way from the grave between them.
“Soddin’ hell!” was the first thing that greeted the vamp, followed by a swift stake to his chest. He’d only managed to get half of his body from the grave, but it was the half that enabled him to dust too quickly.
“Smooth,” informed Xander.
“Glad you’re impressed,” Spike replied. And this time Spike really did close the gap, striding toward Xander in two effectively short steps, coat swooping, lips descending, eyes enthralling and then they kissed. And Xander thought “Gah!” and “Guh!” and “Holy fuck!” and “Smooth, soft, sweet” all at the same time. Then he broke away.
~*~*~*~*
Monday, 20th September, 2004
Xander returned back to his flat as the late afternoon Autumnal gloom settled like a blanket over the city. He turned the key in the lock on the ground floor door, and climbed the two flights of wooden floors to his apartment, trepidation and anticipation warring in his heart and mind. Entering, he found the gloom was overpowering the inside too, with all curtains drawn and the television the only source of flickering light.
Spike was sitting on the couch, legs outstretched in front of him, hands folded across his chest, still and sleeping. He was wearing a pair of Xander’s black dress trousers and blue shirt he’d also raided from Xander’s cupboard. His feet were delectably bare. The television lit him up with an eerie glow, and cast the planes of his face into a blue-black relief.
Xander placed his bag at the door and walked toward the kitchen, opening the fridge door and removing a beer. His movements had not been loud, but nevertheless Spike stirred almost instantly from the couch.
“Sorry,” offered Xander, “didn’t mean to wake you.”
“’S alright. Bit of a light sleeper these days.”
Xander nodded and pulled another beer from the fridge, which he placed on the coffee table in front of Spike. He sat next to him, not too close, but far enough away too, to suggest his uncertainty about what would happen next. Spike put paid to all that by reaching for him and covering his mouth with a kiss that went from gentle and sweet to intense in the blink of an eye.
Xander broke away with a lopsided grin and suggested, “Beer first?”
“Yeah,” agreed Spike, though his eyes said something else. He swooped up his beer and drank three quarters of it in one go.
Xander sipped at his instead, and contemplated the difference. These days he felt more temperate, like he should savour each moment, savour sitting next to Spike drinking a beer again. Yesterday, he hadn’t had that. Today he did. Tomorrow he might not. Things were not easily regained once lost.
“What makes you a light sleeper then?”
Spike stared at him and moved in to kiss Xander. “You just wanna chat all this out then?”
Xander made an mmm-ing noise as if his mouth was being traitorous and wanted Spike’s lips back. But his brain said Spike was doing something else. Something his lips weren’t. Like avoiding. He’d been so reticent to give Xander any details of the whys and hows and wherefores of his sudden appearance.
“You offered last night. You said today we could do whatever I wanted once I got home from work,” Xander affirmed, and placed his beer on his knee for good measure. “And right now I just wanna talk.”
Spike turned his face away and sniffed haughtily, like he was a king and Xander his lowly servant, before turning around to face him and staring into his eyes, in that hard, brittle way when things weren’t going by his calculations. Finally, he raised an eyebrow and swung his empty beer bottle in Xander’s line of vision. “Think you had me by the short and curlies when I made that promise, luv. But if that’s what you want, better get me a few more of these, then.”
~*~*~*~*
Friday, 21st January, 2000
The kiss ended, as it began, like a surprise. Suddenly Spike’s lips were no longer there and Xander was left pouting into the midnight air. Spike had moved, with vampiric silky-smooth speed, to stand where the few steps had separated them before. But his eyes locked on Xander’s.
It was a strange moment, in the way those defining ones never feel momentous but when you look back, you realise this is just where the road turned. Like breaking yellow crayons or bumping into blonde girls in high school corridors.
In the immediate moments following the kiss, however, Xander felt loss. Not only was he missing the intense pressure Spike’s lips created on his, the combustion of feeling surging through his body but also at an actual loss of what to do next.
And, he jolted a few minutes later, that really should be wigging him out. Spike remained standing across from him, his face cast as marble, only a tiny line of skin dividing his eyebrows into a frown.
But Spike couldn’t stay immobile forever, so he jerked out a cigarette and leapt forward, brushing past Xander as he walked away.
Xander’s brain still wouldn’t tell him what to do, no matter how he railed for information, so the best option seemed to be following Spike home. Reaction not action was the plan when everything just seemed way too … odd.
The walk back to Xander’s house was weird. Xander kept stealing covert glances at Spike as he chain-smoked his way along the sidewalk. When he wasn’t smoking, he was swinging the axe, machine-like, from the arm on the opposite side of Xander.
It was odd watching Spike when he wasn’t talking. Usually Xander was doing everything in his power to avoid thinking about Spike because his mouth was spewing forth some lousy or obnoxious comment that Xander, had he not had eons of practice deflecting them at home, would have been more pissed than he ever showed. So the Spike not talking thing was odd, and that was because he radiated power. The barbs could be deflected, soaked up and spit out again, but the silence was hypnotising. It made Xander focus on all sorts of other things, like hands, and lips, and the scar that made his eyebrow sexy, or the way he controlled his environment by the way he walked, the way he held his weapon.
When they arrived back, Spike strode through Xander’s basement liked he owned the place, settled himself into a chair and turned on the TV, injecting the unnerving silence with noise. Canned laughter filled the room as Xander stared at the back of Spike’s head. Such a weird colour, and yet he’d know him, anywhere he saw him, he’d be all like “Hey, there’s Spike.” Spike defined by the back of his head.
He was so not ready to be without anything to say. He couldn’t remember the last time his basement had been so devoid of conversation not caused by television, because usually he was speaking to defend against something annoying Spike had said. Instead, doing something bizarro and contra the normal run of things with Spike seemed to send them both to the Great Silent Beyond, which was weird enough without them doing it together.
But, if they were going to do this … this … nothing, Xander reasoned that he really needed to fill it with something. He climbed the stairs and tiptoed through to the kitchen, where he found his father’s ready and waiting supply of beer. Returning back to the basement, Spike’s very Spike-like head had not moved, so he handed one of the bottles to Spike, who accepted it with a nod. Xander sat on his bed, settling in for the remainder of the evening to be filled with TV. And the TV did all the talking for them, the one faithful thing in an evening of change.
~*~*~*~*
Monday, 20th September, 2004
“So do you miss her?”
“Who?”
“Demon Girl.”
Xander paused and slitted his eyes so that they appeared shut. Sometimes the memory reminded him of pain. It was strange to lose someone and feel sadness. He wanted instead to embrace the things he loved about Anya, be reminded of why he missed her, because of her beauty, not because of the hole in his life she created.
“Like you miss Buffy?” Xander countered.
“Just asked you a simple question, idiot. Wasn’t making this into a bleedin’ pissing contest.” Spike stood then, ruffled and angry.
Xander suddenly felt unsure, like why had he even chosen to go on the offensive and behave so churlishly. So instead he chose honesty, just this once. It seemed important, like this opportunity was being preserved only in this evening. He’d lose it if he didn’t grasp it with both hands. “Yeah, I miss her. But the pain has dulled, y’know?”
Spike stared down at him hard. “Yeah,” he stated flatly, “I know.”
Xander huffed out a long breath and then said, “God we were bastards to each other, weren’t we?”
Spike strode to the kitchen and returned with six beers, the necks locked securely yet loosely from his fingers. “Was all just foreplay,” Spike suggested, handing him two bottles before placing the other four on the table. “Plus quite a bit of frustration.”
“And not to mention the things we did to each other,” agreed Xander, taking a gulp and feeling the bubbles cascade down into his stomach.
“There was some good,” Spike said, imitating Xander, then softly, “and some bad.”
“What’s all this mean, Spike?”
“What’s all what mean, luv?”
“This,” said Xander, rather ineffectively.
“Dunno.”
The next few moments passed by with the clinking of bottles being raised and lowered and alcohol glugging from bottles to bellies. Until finally Spike said, “Wanna fuck now?”
Xander shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure.”
Spike strode into the bedroom and Xander followed a few paces behind. Already Spike was shucking out of the blue shirt, and Xander watched with pleased appreciation as Spike’s muscles corded and tensed as he removed his clothes.
Such a beautiful creature, so much power and passion. But all bottled up, stewing and bubbling, so that when it popped, it was such an explosion. And either you were okay with the consequences or you really, really weren’t.
He turned then to smile at Xander, his face transforming into sultry sex, and Xander filled with desire. Spike took him by the hand, kissing him softly before gently removing his shirt, kissing his way from shoulder to shoulder. Taking his time to remember.
Xander ran his finger across Spike’s face, pausing with tenderness to kiss his eyebrow, run his hands over his crackling hair. It was slow and steady and no need to rush. And Xander understood that this was what he needed, right here, right now.
Time stretched out before him - the evening, the week, the year - and he realised he felt ok. Ok with Spike unbuttoning his trousers, getting on his knees and taking him in - Holy Fuck! - cool mouth suckling and slavering his impatient cock.
In fact, he might be reaching whole new levels of ok-ness on this date in history. He wasn’t sure he recognised the feeling but he was pretty sure what he should do with it.
And that was to enjoy it.
Finis
Many thanks to katekat1010 for the banner.
Author: lillianmorgan
Setting: Post-Doomed, BtVS Season 4 and post-NFA AtS Season 5
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Hard R (Graphic: Adult-rated)
Disclaimer: I don’t own Joss’ and ME’s toys.
Summary: Rather than ships passing in the night, it’s like they’re both at sea and just trying to learn how to float.
A/N: This story is set in the days after Doomed (which aired in the States 18th January 2000) and six months after Not Fade Away (which aired on 19th May 2004).
Thanks and viele hugs to yourlibrarian for the beta job, to whom this fic was also dedicated.
Written as my contribution to fall_for_sx.
Originally posted 9th December, 2005.
Part One is here
Coming Ashore
Part Two
Thursday, 20th January, 2000
It had been, and just was way too much effort to deny, a craptastic day at work. While communing with the extra tasty smells of grease, fat and MSG weren’t bad enough, running into not one but two former Sunnydale High alum (cheerleaders? lacrosse team? debate club? Xander’s willingness to flee!flee! from school activities caused rather the blip in further conversation) reinforced how much life was currently about the suckage.
Which then came back and whacked him upside the face the moment he trudged down the stairs into his basement, guard undeniably down.
The “What the -?” that erupted from his mouth didn’t even begin to cover it.
Anya and Spike were lying altogether too comfortably on Xander’s bed (and yes, bed is the place of repose, despite lumps and springs in all the wrong places) giggling like a pair of school kids who’d just sniffed the coloured markers and were high on the ‘joys of life’.
As soon as Xander made his presence known, nothing happened. In fact it took some coughing noises, a shouted “Watch it, Spike!” and a kick in the leg before they responded to him.
“Honey,” said Anya, bounding off the bed. “You’re home.” She chose to shake his hand rather than kiss him. “I understand that is the correct way to greet a girl’s fella once they walk through the door. Only … the men in the movies never seem to smell as badly as you do.”
“Thanks, Ahn. Great to see you too. So glad to see the chipped one has kept you … occupied.”
“Your pause must imply distrust. Or perhaps distaste. But, really there’s nothing to worry about. Even though, I’m sure Spike’s able to give wonderful orgasms, what with all his experience, my heart well and truly lies with you.” And she patted the place said organ beat its merry tune.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” drawled Spike.
Anya turned around from standing before Xander and beamed at Spike. “Shall you tell him or will I?”
“Was your idea, luv. I’m just the means to an end.”
“OK,” she chirruped brightly, as Xander’s frown deepened. “Now that we’ve established that Spike cannot hurt humans but can hurt demons, how about he pays his way for your offer of shelter by providing some well-needed lessons and training.”
“Training?” gulped Xander, a blush threatening to surface.
“Yes, in the art of demon warfare. You don’t have the skills of Buffy and I worry for you out there. You’d make such a tasty snack for whatever came along and you really can’t continue defending yourself by hiding behind Buffy. This seems like the perfect outcome.”
“Yeah?” continued Xander. “And what’s in it for Spike?”
“We’ve negotiated a very reasonable settlement between the two of us that I’m sure you’ll find very fair.”
Xander’s eyebrows raised in tired but inevitable acceptance.
“Just some fags and blood,” said Spike, smirk beginning to grow across his face. “And one night on the bed.” Spike spread himself back across said bed, sighing contentedly. “Besides, wouldn’t want anyone to get the feeling that I was a kept man.” Oh yeah, he’d been saving that up ever since Xander fired the first salvo back when the water pipe exploded.
“Really it’s very reasonable, when you think Spike will be saving your life, Xander,” Anya reinforced.
“And if I don’t want to?” Xander glared at her, trying to figure out where the sense was in any of this.
“Who wouldn’t want to? You’re human, you’re mortal. It’s all going to end some day.”
“And when exactly are your lessons, honey?” Xander inquired.
“I didn’t live over a thousand years without picking up a few tricks here and there. Besides,” she pouted, offering her bottom lip for thorough inspection, “I thought you’d be pleased at my concern, Xander.”
He paused and thought about it. If he gave in a little here, maybe he’d get something back in return. Something really good back in return. After all, they could negotiate a settlement. And she liked it when he talked money.
“OK,” Xander said slowly and carefully.
“Great!” triumphed Spike, leaping from the bed and rubbing his hands together fast and furiously. “Let’s have at ‘em!”
“Tomorrow!” shouted Xander, holding up his hand and collapsing on the chair.
~*~*~*~*
Sunday, 19th September, 2004
“So shall I make up the spare bed, which is actually masquerading as that lounge suite you’re sitting on…?”
Spike raised his eyebrow and smirked. “I came all the way to your cosy abode, engineered my way into your bedroom and you’re offering me the spare?”
Xander smiled first to himself, then let it touch his lips. Spike watched as it moved to his cheeks, then his eyes, until Spike couldn’t contain himself and had to capture those enlivened gestures between his lips.
A few hours later and they were lying together on Xander’s bed, mirroring poses of relaxed, sated nakedness. Spike leant off the bed for his cigarettes.
“Uh - uh - uh!” warned Xander. “Not in the bedroom.”
“Relax, pet. I’ll let you have one.” He lit up a cigarette, then turned to face Xander, cupping his face between his thumb and forefinger, stroking back and forward. “Missed this.” Then softer, tender, “Missed you, luv.”
Xander blushed, then whispered back, “Me too.”
Spike blustered his way out of the quiet moment. “Bed’s a bit small though, for two such virile blokes as we.”
“Yep, it hasn’t seen much action lately.”
“Tsk, tsk, pet. Then why the charade, the pretence still with the birds?
“Well, I don’t feel comfortable…I mean, hey, I’m Xander. I’m poster-boy for normal -”
Spike interrupted with a grunt of unnameable emotion.
“It’s what I do. I do normal,” continued Xander. Then, “Except you, of course. You’re the only thing I don’t do that’s normal.”
“Just as it should be,” Spike concurred.
“In fact, I bet you’ve never had an urge for normal in your whole entire existence - past, present and future.”
Spike’s smile was enigmatic, but also predatory as he leaned in for another one of Xander’s specialities - the sloppy kiss.
~*~*~*~*
Friday, 21st January, 2000
Tomorrow night came around all too stealthily and before Xander knew it, he was standing in his basement, being handed a large (and rather embarrassingly heavy) broadsword by Spike.
“Where on earth did you get this?” Xander asked.
“Ways and means,” Spike replied, “ways and means.” He began searching through the large canvas, military style rucksack he’d seemed to have acquired overnight.
“And those would be?”
“Look I can’t kill humans, right? But I’m bloody well going to defend myself against demons. Got to get my sport somewhere, yeah?” The vehemence laced through his reply made Xander shiver.
“And you use the word defend in the loosest possible way you can?” Xander parried, sceptically.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Spike replied, grinning maniacally and pulling out his own hefty axe.
In the end, Xander settled for a stake which was much more practical and he was able to keep the edge on Spike by pointing out exactly what stakes were used for. Rather than the fact that they were lighter and fit into the pocket of his cargo shorts quite snugly.
And the feel of the wood grain biting into in his hand felt reassuring as they walked through the outer limits of Crestfield Cemetery. Which if he thought about that further kinda wigged him. But then every time he caught a glimpse of Spike from the corner of his eye reinforced the unsettlement. It was unusual to see Spike in his original purpose, as a stealthy hunter of the night, body sleek and taut, in motion and standing still, every inch of his body prepared and ready to anticipate the necessary battle movements. And that T-shirt outlined his abs really well too.
Yes, the level of wig was seriously reaching diabolical proportions. But once they met up with two unsuspecting fledglings waiting for their friend to rise from his grave, all those thoughts flew out on the night sky, and Xander re-discovered combat-lust.
It was rather messy, the punches and the jabs but once he got going he discovered the stuttering movements gave way to a sense of fluidity. Well, approaching fluidity. Spike disposed of his target far too quickly, but with an uncanny patience waited at a distance and watched Xander fight. At one point, when the fledge had tripped Xander and he was upended onto his back, Spike barked “Roll!” before the other vampire could get him.
He’d finally managed to surprise his opponent with a lucky uppercut (dashing, his brain amended, inspired even) and rammed home his advantage with wood.
“You enjoyed that,” commented Spike from where he’d been leaning against a tree, lit cigarette dangling from his mouth.
Xander flung his hands to his knees, and the adrenaline and need to breathe crashed in on his body. He sucked in great gallumping amounts of air, and then smiled. “Yeah.”
“Can smell it on you,” Spike informed, with a well-timed leer.
“Don’t be gross Spike. You’re ruining the moment.”
Spike pulled on his cigarette long and hard, causing his cheek muscles to cave in, as if he were trying to say something else. Like how good he was at sucking, maybe.
“No ‘m not,” he replied, after a pause, smoke following his words curling out from his mouth.
They made eye-contact then, and Xander felt the sensation of being pulled towards Spike’s eyes. He wasn’t even sure if his feet were moving, but he was stuck in a rip, and resistance was futile.
Unless that other vampire chose at right that moment to claw his way from the grave between them.
“Soddin’ hell!” was the first thing that greeted the vamp, followed by a swift stake to his chest. He’d only managed to get half of his body from the grave, but it was the half that enabled him to dust too quickly.
“Smooth,” informed Xander.
“Glad you’re impressed,” Spike replied. And this time Spike really did close the gap, striding toward Xander in two effectively short steps, coat swooping, lips descending, eyes enthralling and then they kissed. And Xander thought “Gah!” and “Guh!” and “Holy fuck!” and “Smooth, soft, sweet” all at the same time. Then he broke away.
~*~*~*~*
Monday, 20th September, 2004
Xander returned back to his flat as the late afternoon Autumnal gloom settled like a blanket over the city. He turned the key in the lock on the ground floor door, and climbed the two flights of wooden floors to his apartment, trepidation and anticipation warring in his heart and mind. Entering, he found the gloom was overpowering the inside too, with all curtains drawn and the television the only source of flickering light.
Spike was sitting on the couch, legs outstretched in front of him, hands folded across his chest, still and sleeping. He was wearing a pair of Xander’s black dress trousers and blue shirt he’d also raided from Xander’s cupboard. His feet were delectably bare. The television lit him up with an eerie glow, and cast the planes of his face into a blue-black relief.
Xander placed his bag at the door and walked toward the kitchen, opening the fridge door and removing a beer. His movements had not been loud, but nevertheless Spike stirred almost instantly from the couch.
“Sorry,” offered Xander, “didn’t mean to wake you.”
“’S alright. Bit of a light sleeper these days.”
Xander nodded and pulled another beer from the fridge, which he placed on the coffee table in front of Spike. He sat next to him, not too close, but far enough away too, to suggest his uncertainty about what would happen next. Spike put paid to all that by reaching for him and covering his mouth with a kiss that went from gentle and sweet to intense in the blink of an eye.
Xander broke away with a lopsided grin and suggested, “Beer first?”
“Yeah,” agreed Spike, though his eyes said something else. He swooped up his beer and drank three quarters of it in one go.
Xander sipped at his instead, and contemplated the difference. These days he felt more temperate, like he should savour each moment, savour sitting next to Spike drinking a beer again. Yesterday, he hadn’t had that. Today he did. Tomorrow he might not. Things were not easily regained once lost.
“What makes you a light sleeper then?”
Spike stared at him and moved in to kiss Xander. “You just wanna chat all this out then?”
Xander made an mmm-ing noise as if his mouth was being traitorous and wanted Spike’s lips back. But his brain said Spike was doing something else. Something his lips weren’t. Like avoiding. He’d been so reticent to give Xander any details of the whys and hows and wherefores of his sudden appearance.
“You offered last night. You said today we could do whatever I wanted once I got home from work,” Xander affirmed, and placed his beer on his knee for good measure. “And right now I just wanna talk.”
Spike turned his face away and sniffed haughtily, like he was a king and Xander his lowly servant, before turning around to face him and staring into his eyes, in that hard, brittle way when things weren’t going by his calculations. Finally, he raised an eyebrow and swung his empty beer bottle in Xander’s line of vision. “Think you had me by the short and curlies when I made that promise, luv. But if that’s what you want, better get me a few more of these, then.”
~*~*~*~*
Friday, 21st January, 2000
The kiss ended, as it began, like a surprise. Suddenly Spike’s lips were no longer there and Xander was left pouting into the midnight air. Spike had moved, with vampiric silky-smooth speed, to stand where the few steps had separated them before. But his eyes locked on Xander’s.
It was a strange moment, in the way those defining ones never feel momentous but when you look back, you realise this is just where the road turned. Like breaking yellow crayons or bumping into blonde girls in high school corridors.
In the immediate moments following the kiss, however, Xander felt loss. Not only was he missing the intense pressure Spike’s lips created on his, the combustion of feeling surging through his body but also at an actual loss of what to do next.
And, he jolted a few minutes later, that really should be wigging him out. Spike remained standing across from him, his face cast as marble, only a tiny line of skin dividing his eyebrows into a frown.
But Spike couldn’t stay immobile forever, so he jerked out a cigarette and leapt forward, brushing past Xander as he walked away.
Xander’s brain still wouldn’t tell him what to do, no matter how he railed for information, so the best option seemed to be following Spike home. Reaction not action was the plan when everything just seemed way too … odd.
The walk back to Xander’s house was weird. Xander kept stealing covert glances at Spike as he chain-smoked his way along the sidewalk. When he wasn’t smoking, he was swinging the axe, machine-like, from the arm on the opposite side of Xander.
It was odd watching Spike when he wasn’t talking. Usually Xander was doing everything in his power to avoid thinking about Spike because his mouth was spewing forth some lousy or obnoxious comment that Xander, had he not had eons of practice deflecting them at home, would have been more pissed than he ever showed. So the Spike not talking thing was odd, and that was because he radiated power. The barbs could be deflected, soaked up and spit out again, but the silence was hypnotising. It made Xander focus on all sorts of other things, like hands, and lips, and the scar that made his eyebrow sexy, or the way he controlled his environment by the way he walked, the way he held his weapon.
When they arrived back, Spike strode through Xander’s basement liked he owned the place, settled himself into a chair and turned on the TV, injecting the unnerving silence with noise. Canned laughter filled the room as Xander stared at the back of Spike’s head. Such a weird colour, and yet he’d know him, anywhere he saw him, he’d be all like “Hey, there’s Spike.” Spike defined by the back of his head.
He was so not ready to be without anything to say. He couldn’t remember the last time his basement had been so devoid of conversation not caused by television, because usually he was speaking to defend against something annoying Spike had said. Instead, doing something bizarro and contra the normal run of things with Spike seemed to send them both to the Great Silent Beyond, which was weird enough without them doing it together.
But, if they were going to do this … this … nothing, Xander reasoned that he really needed to fill it with something. He climbed the stairs and tiptoed through to the kitchen, where he found his father’s ready and waiting supply of beer. Returning back to the basement, Spike’s very Spike-like head had not moved, so he handed one of the bottles to Spike, who accepted it with a nod. Xander sat on his bed, settling in for the remainder of the evening to be filled with TV. And the TV did all the talking for them, the one faithful thing in an evening of change.
~*~*~*~*
Monday, 20th September, 2004
“So do you miss her?”
“Who?”
“Demon Girl.”
Xander paused and slitted his eyes so that they appeared shut. Sometimes the memory reminded him of pain. It was strange to lose someone and feel sadness. He wanted instead to embrace the things he loved about Anya, be reminded of why he missed her, because of her beauty, not because of the hole in his life she created.
“Like you miss Buffy?” Xander countered.
“Just asked you a simple question, idiot. Wasn’t making this into a bleedin’ pissing contest.” Spike stood then, ruffled and angry.
Xander suddenly felt unsure, like why had he even chosen to go on the offensive and behave so churlishly. So instead he chose honesty, just this once. It seemed important, like this opportunity was being preserved only in this evening. He’d lose it if he didn’t grasp it with both hands. “Yeah, I miss her. But the pain has dulled, y’know?”
Spike stared down at him hard. “Yeah,” he stated flatly, “I know.”
Xander huffed out a long breath and then said, “God we were bastards to each other, weren’t we?”
Spike strode to the kitchen and returned with six beers, the necks locked securely yet loosely from his fingers. “Was all just foreplay,” Spike suggested, handing him two bottles before placing the other four on the table. “Plus quite a bit of frustration.”
“And not to mention the things we did to each other,” agreed Xander, taking a gulp and feeling the bubbles cascade down into his stomach.
“There was some good,” Spike said, imitating Xander, then softly, “and some bad.”
“What’s all this mean, Spike?”
“What’s all what mean, luv?”
“This,” said Xander, rather ineffectively.
“Dunno.”
The next few moments passed by with the clinking of bottles being raised and lowered and alcohol glugging from bottles to bellies. Until finally Spike said, “Wanna fuck now?”
Xander shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure.”
Spike strode into the bedroom and Xander followed a few paces behind. Already Spike was shucking out of the blue shirt, and Xander watched with pleased appreciation as Spike’s muscles corded and tensed as he removed his clothes.
Such a beautiful creature, so much power and passion. But all bottled up, stewing and bubbling, so that when it popped, it was such an explosion. And either you were okay with the consequences or you really, really weren’t.
He turned then to smile at Xander, his face transforming into sultry sex, and Xander filled with desire. Spike took him by the hand, kissing him softly before gently removing his shirt, kissing his way from shoulder to shoulder. Taking his time to remember.
Xander ran his finger across Spike’s face, pausing with tenderness to kiss his eyebrow, run his hands over his crackling hair. It was slow and steady and no need to rush. And Xander understood that this was what he needed, right here, right now.
Time stretched out before him - the evening, the week, the year - and he realised he felt ok. Ok with Spike unbuttoning his trousers, getting on his knees and taking him in - Holy Fuck! - cool mouth suckling and slavering his impatient cock.
In fact, he might be reaching whole new levels of ok-ness on this date in history. He wasn’t sure he recognised the feeling but he was pretty sure what he should do with it.
And that was to enjoy it.
Finis
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