Three Years Have Passed
Title: Three Years Have Passed
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing/Characters: Spike/Xander
Author: knittedshadow
Rating: adult
Words: 3,239
Description: Three years have passed. And a lot has changed. Spike found out that the soul was worse than a chip when it came to the kill. And with Buffy in Cleveland and Wolfram & Hart destroyed, he realized he had no need for a conscience and regarded its presence with continuing ill humor.
Challenge: None
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and ME just won't hand over the BtVS cast to me however many times I offer them money. Or pointy sticks.
Three Years Have Passed
Three years have passed. And a lot has changed. Spike found out that the soul was worse than a chip when it came to the kill. And with Buffy in Cleveland and Wolfram & Hart destroyed, he realized he had no need for a conscience and regarded its presence with continuing ill humor.
Three years have passed. And Xander lost his conscience long ago. Drowned it in drink along with all the memories. If the soul weighs twenty-one grams then he’s lost that too, and several times over. Thin, to the point of tin ribs and jutting cheekbones, he’s become more shadow than man.
The winter of the second year, Spike ran out of money. Too poor to buy pig’s blood and too proud to ask for help, he’d moved from apartment block to hotel to motel, until he couldn’t even afford that any more. And he’d found out that a vampire could not die of starvation. He could drop to mere skin and bone and still not be killed by it. That is not to say that the process was a painless one. A month spent doubled over with stomach cramps and hunger pains was enough to send him crawling into the only place that would shelter him. The only place where victims came willingly.
It’s also that winter that Xander saw Riley again. Watched over his glass, indifferent, as Riley punched another man in a drunken scrap at the end of the bar. When the fight finally broke up, Riley spotted him, his bruised and bloodied face breaking into a smile as he said “Xander Harris, whadda you know?” And there was too much edge in his eyes for it to be just excitement coursing through his veins.
And later on that night Riley told Xander there was a place they could go, somewhere to get a real buzz. Shifty-eyed, he rolled up his sleeves and showed off the track-mark trail of bites along his forearm. Xander was at first repulsed, but as he listened to Riley’s enthusiastic description all he could think of was that soon he’d be sobering up. He decided that he’d take any oblivion the world had to offer.
After that first night their lives ran side by side for about a year. Riley was still living on the fuck-all pension from the government and Xander found a 100% no responsibility desk job. He hated it but needed the money. Every week on pay-day he and Riley went out and got so drunk they could hardly stand, then they hit the nearest vampire den. Rent was rarely paid and food bought only occasionally, but Xander still thought he was getting a good deal when, for a few $50 bills, he could spend a whole night forgetting who he was.
It’s not until mid-winter of the following year that Xander and Spike’s lives collided. Spike, moving on from the overrun wreckage of his last den. His lifestyle meant he grew accustomed to packing bags and leaving overnight. Next stop - Sunnydale. And Xander, well Xander had never left.
-----
Spike’s bored and waiting for customers when the two figures stumble into the den at quarter past midnight. At first he doesn’t recognize them. The flickering light from small fires emphasizes the shadows in their faces and makes them look almost savage. It’s not until Xander leans closer to the flames, bending over to whisper in a female vampire’s ear that his face is thrown into sharp relief and a flash of recognition shoots through Spike.
He stares at the man in amazement. Yes, Xander’s grown to man, but the name and dark hair is all that is left of the smiling Sunnydale boy. Spike’s spent long enough in these places to know a type when he sees one. This is a regular customer, the scars and deathly pallor give it away. If Spike had ever been made to put money on which Scooby he was most likely to see here, it wouldn’t have been this one, the witch maybe, or even Buffy, but not Xander. He stares at him, the change in the boy is transfixing.
Xander’s still talking to the vampire, a young girl who can’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen when she was turned. She’s tucking her hair behind her ear and smiling up at Xander and with one more whispered word from him she takes his hand and leads him down a corridor to the rooms at the back of the house.
As for Riley, up until now he’s been standing in the shadows, but with the object of Spike’s attention gone, his gaze turns to the companion. If he hadn’t spotted the old army fatigues, worn now as familiar comfort rather than necessity, he would not have given the man a second glance. As it is, Spike recognizes him and sees he’s changed even more than Xander, scars litter his face and his eyes are dead. Above the collar of his shirt bite marks ring his neck. But despite Riley’s grim appearance, Spike is glad to see him. Because of him, the little puzzle pieces in Spike’s mind are starting to slot together. He thinks he’s just found Xander’s bad influence.
For a moment Spike considers following Riley, who after a short conversation, also disappears with a vampire in tow. But he doesn't. He knows Riley, saw this streak in him long ago, back in Sunnydale. But Xander, Xander’s a different matter, he doesn’t belong here. And Spike knows that it can’t just have been a bad influence that sent this man spiraling down into this little piece of hell.
-----
When Spike reaches the room they’d entered, Xander’s already sitting on a grimy mattress, leaning against peeling wallpaper, head tipped back. The girl is bent over his arm, hair falling in front of her face as she feeds.
Spike crosses the room silently, laying a hand on the girl’s shoulder. When she turns around he waves a few dollar bills in her face and motions towards the door. She shrugs, takes the money and leaves as quietly as he entered.
When the door shuts behind her, he kneels by Xander and waits for the man to notice him. It doesn’t take long. The bite had stopped abruptly and Xander opens his eyes blearily, spilling out of his dream and focussing on Spike. But when their gaze meets there’s no spark of surprise, no flash of recognition. The eyes stay blank until they are shut once more and Xander turns his head away to face the wall.
Spike, confused and unnerved, sits back on his heels. He knew that Xander had changed, but to not even acknowledge him… Spike would admit he’d followed Xander out of simple curiosity and because he was searching for a bit of a nostalgia trip and he’d assumed that Xander would be the same. Changed, yes, but still happy to see a familiar face.
The man was further gone than Spike had realized. He needs to catch Xander’s attention, something to shock him back to reality. Letting the scent of the room wash over him, he knows only too well how to get it.
Bending his head over the scarred arm he gently opens the cut left from the vampire before him. As soon as his fangs pierce the skin Xander’s head jerks up. Spike doesn’t look but he can feel Xander’s gaze, the tense in every muscle. And he hears a voice from above him, tight and cold,
“I already paid the other one. I’m not paying you too.”
He raises his head from the cut, “I’m not here for the money, Xander.”
Xander flinches at the name but doesn’t reply. Spike takes a little mental note and simply returns to the man’s arm, feeling the body by him shudder a little as he drinks again. He doesn’t really know what to do anymore, conversation is clearly not going to happen and since Xander’s already paid for a bite that Spike promptly got rid of, he can hardly just leave him in the room. In the end he gives into instinct, the taste of blood in his mouth is irresistible and he stays where he is, drinks deeper.
-----
After a while Xander’s breath begins to quicken, Spike doesn’t know whether it’s the Sunnydale blood that flows through the man’s veins or whether it’s those gasps falling from Xander’s mouth, but he’s never felt anything so… intense. And the blood and the moans have a predictable effect on Spike, he’s hard. Centuries of feed and fuck have linked the two permanently in his mind and he finds it difficult to separate them now.
Kneeling by Xander’s side he moves his hand to rest on the man’s thigh, feels the muscles beneath his palm tense, tense but not pull away. He lets his hand drift higher, excitement coursing through him as his knuckles brush against straining denim, Xander’s hard too.
He’s still running on instinct. Doesn’t know whether it’s just that feed and fuck mentality or whether it’s the fact that no matter how deep they’re buried he can still see the shattered shards of Sunnydale in Xander’s eyes. But something’s propelling him onwards, his hand moving up to cup the bulge in Xander’s lap.
Once again the body beneath his touch tenses, but this time Xander does not relax, lifts his free arm to push Spike’s hand away. A “fuck off” parts his lips. But Spike doesn’t care. He’s hardly feeding now, conscious of how much blood this man has lost already, he’s content to just lick any drops that escape the cut. But all the same that tiny taste is enough to keep him constantly aroused and if Xander isn’t going to play along…
Xander’s eyes fly open at the sound of Spike undoing his own zipper. And stay open, wide and staring as Spike, head still bent over Xander’s arm, slides his hand into his pants and starts a slow steady rub. After a minute or two, the wound stops bleeding completely and Spike lets go of it, kneeling back on his heels, eyes closed, mouth a little open as his hand strokes his hardening cock.
Lost for a moment in his own lust, he’s startled by a touch on his shoulder, his eyes snapping open. It’s Xander, thin cold hand clutching at him as his eyes remain transfixed on the hand in Spike’s pants. Spike waits until Xander’s gaze rises and their eyes meet, sharp blue to dull brown. Then he stands, moving till he’s kneeling, straddled over the seated Xander.
He eyes the man beneath him, taking in the scarred arms and neck without comment. But Xander won’t look at him again, disinterest or shame Spike can’t tell. But he’s rolled his head away again, pressing his cheek against peeling wallpaper, unaware that the movement has simply bared his throat to an extremely aroused vampire.
Spike swallows hard at the view, veins visible beneath the paper-thin skin, the man’s heartbeat almost palpable. Bruises litter jaw to collarbone but Spike quickly finds a gap of unmarked flesh and, leaning forward, gently bites down on it.
The effect is immediate, Xander bucks against him, his erection pushing into Spike’s hip. And Spike can’t help but press closer, filling his mouth with coppery sweetness as he ruts against the body beneath him. And Xander responds, lifting up to meet Spike’s thrusts, adding his own moans to Spike’s lust-filled panting.
Before long, Spike is pulling away, sliding them both down, repositioning them so that Xander’s flat on his back on the filthy mattress, Spike straddled above him. Then he’s tugging at Xander’s pants, pulling them open and shoving his hand inside.
Xander gasps, the bite and the cold hands bringing him closer and closer to climax. But just before he reaches that sweet release, Spike pulls away, he wants this to last a little longer.
Leaning forward he slides his hands into Xander’s shirt, and the man watches as fingertips trace the hollowed stomach and jutting ribcage, but, like the scars, Spike makes no comment. Instead he leans even closer, aiming for a kiss. But his lips meet Xander’s cheek instead, the man having turned his head so quickly that Spike’s sure he must have jarred his neck.
“Don’t…”
So Spike returns to tracing the patterns of Xander’s chest, fingers creeping higher until his palm lays flat above Xander’s heart. Despite the vampire’s heightened senses he can only make out the merest flicker of movement beneath the surface. It feels as though Xander’s heart is barely beating.
“You’re dying,” Spike says softly.
The man beneath him stays silent for so long that Spike doesn’t think he’s going to reply. But just when he’s given up hope of getting a response, he hears it, a whisper so broken it makes his still heart ache.
“What else is there to do?”
That was it. After years Spike had finally found his piece of Sunnydale in the very town in which it all first started, and he wasn’t about to let that piece die on him now. The man could refuse him all he liked but Spike would do what was necessary. He would fuck the life back in to Xander. He would hold him, fill him, make him live.
-----
Spike leans forward and whispers into Xander’s ear.
“I’m giving you something else to do, pet. You don’t get a choice on this one.”
Quickly he shucks off his pants, before tugging at Xander’s. Lets his hand slide round the hollow at the base of Xander’s spine, then lower, following the curve, his finger pressing into the tight heat. First one, then two and three, thrusting them, opening him. Xander bites his lip but just as his body becomes accustomed to the intrusion Spike pulls them out again and lifts Xander’s legs to hook them over his own shoulders, carrying their weight himself.
He pauses for a moment to take a look at the man beneath him. Throughout his actions Xander has not moved away, not protested once, but he hasn’t encouraged either and he’s moved his arm to cover his face, refusing to look at Spike. It’s something that Spike’s all too familiar with, Buffy used to pull the same trick. But he dealt with it then and he’ll deal with it now. He’s more aroused than he’s been in years and if a body, unobjecting, beneath him is as good as it’s going to get, then he’ll take it.
Readjusting Xander’s legs he moves so that he can start a slow steady slide forward. As he pushes into Xander, stars burst in the corner of his vision at the pure heat that envelops him. He has to stop after the first thrust, gasping in unneeded air to calm himself down. He’d hardly be saving the man if he came after five seconds.
When his lust is under control again he makes a tentative second thrust, then a deeper third. It’s on the fourth that he receives his first reaction from Xander, a tiny gasp and a bitten lip. Grinning evilly he presses in even further on the fifth, groaning himself now at the glorious burning tightness. This time he elicits a quiet moan from Xander. On the sixth Xander’s hips are rising to meet each thrust and on the seventh he’s moaning loudly, using the hand not covering his face to pull Spike closer to him. On the eighth he moves that other hand away.
For the first time Spike thinks he can see life flashing behind those brown eyes, it sways and flickers but it’s there. And then the words “Turn me” drop from Xander’s mouth.
Spike stops dead still, staring at Xander. He doesn’t pretend to misunderstand him, he knows exactly what he means. To sire again… The thought races through him, hotter than lightening, searing and powerful. Dangerous. In the state Xander’s in he can’t be trusted to say something and mean it, to really want it away from the lust and the bite. Oh but to sire again…
The body beneath him gives a tentative upward thrust, changing the position so that Spike is forced even deeper. Xander lets a moan fall from his lips.
“Come on Spike, bite me, turn me.” His eyes are a little feverish, but then so are Spike’s.
“You said it yourself,” Xander continues “I’m dying anyway, you could save me”
Save him.
They’re moving again, thrusts speeding up as Xander tips his head, his neck bare and Spike’s drawn to it, irresistibly.
“Turn me”
It wasn’t like he hadn’t been asked this before. Living in these bite brothels, it would have been more unusual for him not to have been asked. It was the ultimate hit for the people that came here, that one final overdose they craved. But so far he’d never even been tempted. But this was different, the familiar words came from a man he knew, desired even and it was so much harder to refuse.
As the body moved and begged beneath him he felt a yearning, almost overpowering. To sire again, he hadn’t turned a bite in years and he longed for it now. The simple pleasure of blood lust as you poured your demon into another.
“Come on,” Xander moaned. “Turn me. Save me.”
Spike could feel the orgasm building through him, exciting every nerve at the pure power of those words. And there lay Xander, pleading and irresistible. Turning him. Saving him. And Spike could no longer tell whether that was a contradiction.
Then, before he can think any further, Xander grabs Spike’s hand and bites the soft pad between thumb and first finger. His human teeth are too blunt to draw blood but it’s enough to send Spike tipping over the edge, turning to game face as he uses his own elongating fangs to tear a gash in his wrist, holding it to Xander’s mouth.
He shouts as the orgasm wracks through him, feeling Xander’s body clench around him, Xander’s mouth on his wrist, the claiming, fucking power of it all, taking him higher and higher. And with the final moan, Xander comes too, tipping his head back away from Spike’s arm, his lips stained red. And the sight is enough to make Spike climax again, gasping as the second orgasm hits him.
They collapse cold and sticky onto the mattress and enjoy a moment’s oblivion.
-----
Seconds later Spike’s conscious again, eyes snapping open, horribly aware of what’s just happened. He stares at Xander with dread in his heart. The man’s lying on his back, eyes open and a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. Horror pours through Spike and he leans over, frantically pulling at Xander until he’s sitting, his head pushed forward.
“Open your mouth, Xander,” Spike says, “Open your fucking mouth. Spit it out.”
Xander turns to him and Spike can see the fear in his eyes too. The reality of what they’ve done, crashing through their veins. Then Xander’s turning away again, stomach caving over as he retches desperately, coughing and gagging the blood out of his mouth.
“Did you swallow any?” Spike shouts, fear choking the words.
But Xander doesn’t answer, just keeps on retching up sticky, coppery mouthfuls and hoping to God he’s just imagining the chill that’s spreading through his body.
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing/Characters: Spike/Xander
Author: knittedshadow
Rating: adult
Words: 3,239
Description: Three years have passed. And a lot has changed. Spike found out that the soul was worse than a chip when it came to the kill. And with Buffy in Cleveland and Wolfram & Hart destroyed, he realized he had no need for a conscience and regarded its presence with continuing ill humor.
Challenge: None
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and ME just won't hand over the BtVS cast to me however many times I offer them money. Or pointy sticks.
Three Years Have Passed
Three years have passed. And a lot has changed. Spike found out that the soul was worse than a chip when it came to the kill. And with Buffy in Cleveland and Wolfram & Hart destroyed, he realized he had no need for a conscience and regarded its presence with continuing ill humor.
Three years have passed. And Xander lost his conscience long ago. Drowned it in drink along with all the memories. If the soul weighs twenty-one grams then he’s lost that too, and several times over. Thin, to the point of tin ribs and jutting cheekbones, he’s become more shadow than man.
The winter of the second year, Spike ran out of money. Too poor to buy pig’s blood and too proud to ask for help, he’d moved from apartment block to hotel to motel, until he couldn’t even afford that any more. And he’d found out that a vampire could not die of starvation. He could drop to mere skin and bone and still not be killed by it. That is not to say that the process was a painless one. A month spent doubled over with stomach cramps and hunger pains was enough to send him crawling into the only place that would shelter him. The only place where victims came willingly.
It’s also that winter that Xander saw Riley again. Watched over his glass, indifferent, as Riley punched another man in a drunken scrap at the end of the bar. When the fight finally broke up, Riley spotted him, his bruised and bloodied face breaking into a smile as he said “Xander Harris, whadda you know?” And there was too much edge in his eyes for it to be just excitement coursing through his veins.
And later on that night Riley told Xander there was a place they could go, somewhere to get a real buzz. Shifty-eyed, he rolled up his sleeves and showed off the track-mark trail of bites along his forearm. Xander was at first repulsed, but as he listened to Riley’s enthusiastic description all he could think of was that soon he’d be sobering up. He decided that he’d take any oblivion the world had to offer.
After that first night their lives ran side by side for about a year. Riley was still living on the fuck-all pension from the government and Xander found a 100% no responsibility desk job. He hated it but needed the money. Every week on pay-day he and Riley went out and got so drunk they could hardly stand, then they hit the nearest vampire den. Rent was rarely paid and food bought only occasionally, but Xander still thought he was getting a good deal when, for a few $50 bills, he could spend a whole night forgetting who he was.
It’s not until mid-winter of the following year that Xander and Spike’s lives collided. Spike, moving on from the overrun wreckage of his last den. His lifestyle meant he grew accustomed to packing bags and leaving overnight. Next stop - Sunnydale. And Xander, well Xander had never left.
-----
Spike’s bored and waiting for customers when the two figures stumble into the den at quarter past midnight. At first he doesn’t recognize them. The flickering light from small fires emphasizes the shadows in their faces and makes them look almost savage. It’s not until Xander leans closer to the flames, bending over to whisper in a female vampire’s ear that his face is thrown into sharp relief and a flash of recognition shoots through Spike.
He stares at the man in amazement. Yes, Xander’s grown to man, but the name and dark hair is all that is left of the smiling Sunnydale boy. Spike’s spent long enough in these places to know a type when he sees one. This is a regular customer, the scars and deathly pallor give it away. If Spike had ever been made to put money on which Scooby he was most likely to see here, it wouldn’t have been this one, the witch maybe, or even Buffy, but not Xander. He stares at him, the change in the boy is transfixing.
Xander’s still talking to the vampire, a young girl who can’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen when she was turned. She’s tucking her hair behind her ear and smiling up at Xander and with one more whispered word from him she takes his hand and leads him down a corridor to the rooms at the back of the house.
As for Riley, up until now he’s been standing in the shadows, but with the object of Spike’s attention gone, his gaze turns to the companion. If he hadn’t spotted the old army fatigues, worn now as familiar comfort rather than necessity, he would not have given the man a second glance. As it is, Spike recognizes him and sees he’s changed even more than Xander, scars litter his face and his eyes are dead. Above the collar of his shirt bite marks ring his neck. But despite Riley’s grim appearance, Spike is glad to see him. Because of him, the little puzzle pieces in Spike’s mind are starting to slot together. He thinks he’s just found Xander’s bad influence.
For a moment Spike considers following Riley, who after a short conversation, also disappears with a vampire in tow. But he doesn't. He knows Riley, saw this streak in him long ago, back in Sunnydale. But Xander, Xander’s a different matter, he doesn’t belong here. And Spike knows that it can’t just have been a bad influence that sent this man spiraling down into this little piece of hell.
-----
When Spike reaches the room they’d entered, Xander’s already sitting on a grimy mattress, leaning against peeling wallpaper, head tipped back. The girl is bent over his arm, hair falling in front of her face as she feeds.
Spike crosses the room silently, laying a hand on the girl’s shoulder. When she turns around he waves a few dollar bills in her face and motions towards the door. She shrugs, takes the money and leaves as quietly as he entered.
When the door shuts behind her, he kneels by Xander and waits for the man to notice him. It doesn’t take long. The bite had stopped abruptly and Xander opens his eyes blearily, spilling out of his dream and focussing on Spike. But when their gaze meets there’s no spark of surprise, no flash of recognition. The eyes stay blank until they are shut once more and Xander turns his head away to face the wall.
Spike, confused and unnerved, sits back on his heels. He knew that Xander had changed, but to not even acknowledge him… Spike would admit he’d followed Xander out of simple curiosity and because he was searching for a bit of a nostalgia trip and he’d assumed that Xander would be the same. Changed, yes, but still happy to see a familiar face.
The man was further gone than Spike had realized. He needs to catch Xander’s attention, something to shock him back to reality. Letting the scent of the room wash over him, he knows only too well how to get it.
Bending his head over the scarred arm he gently opens the cut left from the vampire before him. As soon as his fangs pierce the skin Xander’s head jerks up. Spike doesn’t look but he can feel Xander’s gaze, the tense in every muscle. And he hears a voice from above him, tight and cold,
“I already paid the other one. I’m not paying you too.”
He raises his head from the cut, “I’m not here for the money, Xander.”
Xander flinches at the name but doesn’t reply. Spike takes a little mental note and simply returns to the man’s arm, feeling the body by him shudder a little as he drinks again. He doesn’t really know what to do anymore, conversation is clearly not going to happen and since Xander’s already paid for a bite that Spike promptly got rid of, he can hardly just leave him in the room. In the end he gives into instinct, the taste of blood in his mouth is irresistible and he stays where he is, drinks deeper.
-----
After a while Xander’s breath begins to quicken, Spike doesn’t know whether it’s the Sunnydale blood that flows through the man’s veins or whether it’s those gasps falling from Xander’s mouth, but he’s never felt anything so… intense. And the blood and the moans have a predictable effect on Spike, he’s hard. Centuries of feed and fuck have linked the two permanently in his mind and he finds it difficult to separate them now.
Kneeling by Xander’s side he moves his hand to rest on the man’s thigh, feels the muscles beneath his palm tense, tense but not pull away. He lets his hand drift higher, excitement coursing through him as his knuckles brush against straining denim, Xander’s hard too.
He’s still running on instinct. Doesn’t know whether it’s just that feed and fuck mentality or whether it’s the fact that no matter how deep they’re buried he can still see the shattered shards of Sunnydale in Xander’s eyes. But something’s propelling him onwards, his hand moving up to cup the bulge in Xander’s lap.
Once again the body beneath his touch tenses, but this time Xander does not relax, lifts his free arm to push Spike’s hand away. A “fuck off” parts his lips. But Spike doesn’t care. He’s hardly feeding now, conscious of how much blood this man has lost already, he’s content to just lick any drops that escape the cut. But all the same that tiny taste is enough to keep him constantly aroused and if Xander isn’t going to play along…
Xander’s eyes fly open at the sound of Spike undoing his own zipper. And stay open, wide and staring as Spike, head still bent over Xander’s arm, slides his hand into his pants and starts a slow steady rub. After a minute or two, the wound stops bleeding completely and Spike lets go of it, kneeling back on his heels, eyes closed, mouth a little open as his hand strokes his hardening cock.
Lost for a moment in his own lust, he’s startled by a touch on his shoulder, his eyes snapping open. It’s Xander, thin cold hand clutching at him as his eyes remain transfixed on the hand in Spike’s pants. Spike waits until Xander’s gaze rises and their eyes meet, sharp blue to dull brown. Then he stands, moving till he’s kneeling, straddled over the seated Xander.
He eyes the man beneath him, taking in the scarred arms and neck without comment. But Xander won’t look at him again, disinterest or shame Spike can’t tell. But he’s rolled his head away again, pressing his cheek against peeling wallpaper, unaware that the movement has simply bared his throat to an extremely aroused vampire.
Spike swallows hard at the view, veins visible beneath the paper-thin skin, the man’s heartbeat almost palpable. Bruises litter jaw to collarbone but Spike quickly finds a gap of unmarked flesh and, leaning forward, gently bites down on it.
The effect is immediate, Xander bucks against him, his erection pushing into Spike’s hip. And Spike can’t help but press closer, filling his mouth with coppery sweetness as he ruts against the body beneath him. And Xander responds, lifting up to meet Spike’s thrusts, adding his own moans to Spike’s lust-filled panting.
Before long, Spike is pulling away, sliding them both down, repositioning them so that Xander’s flat on his back on the filthy mattress, Spike straddled above him. Then he’s tugging at Xander’s pants, pulling them open and shoving his hand inside.
Xander gasps, the bite and the cold hands bringing him closer and closer to climax. But just before he reaches that sweet release, Spike pulls away, he wants this to last a little longer.
Leaning forward he slides his hands into Xander’s shirt, and the man watches as fingertips trace the hollowed stomach and jutting ribcage, but, like the scars, Spike makes no comment. Instead he leans even closer, aiming for a kiss. But his lips meet Xander’s cheek instead, the man having turned his head so quickly that Spike’s sure he must have jarred his neck.
“Don’t…”
So Spike returns to tracing the patterns of Xander’s chest, fingers creeping higher until his palm lays flat above Xander’s heart. Despite the vampire’s heightened senses he can only make out the merest flicker of movement beneath the surface. It feels as though Xander’s heart is barely beating.
“You’re dying,” Spike says softly.
The man beneath him stays silent for so long that Spike doesn’t think he’s going to reply. But just when he’s given up hope of getting a response, he hears it, a whisper so broken it makes his still heart ache.
“What else is there to do?”
That was it. After years Spike had finally found his piece of Sunnydale in the very town in which it all first started, and he wasn’t about to let that piece die on him now. The man could refuse him all he liked but Spike would do what was necessary. He would fuck the life back in to Xander. He would hold him, fill him, make him live.
-----
Spike leans forward and whispers into Xander’s ear.
“I’m giving you something else to do, pet. You don’t get a choice on this one.”
Quickly he shucks off his pants, before tugging at Xander’s. Lets his hand slide round the hollow at the base of Xander’s spine, then lower, following the curve, his finger pressing into the tight heat. First one, then two and three, thrusting them, opening him. Xander bites his lip but just as his body becomes accustomed to the intrusion Spike pulls them out again and lifts Xander’s legs to hook them over his own shoulders, carrying their weight himself.
He pauses for a moment to take a look at the man beneath him. Throughout his actions Xander has not moved away, not protested once, but he hasn’t encouraged either and he’s moved his arm to cover his face, refusing to look at Spike. It’s something that Spike’s all too familiar with, Buffy used to pull the same trick. But he dealt with it then and he’ll deal with it now. He’s more aroused than he’s been in years and if a body, unobjecting, beneath him is as good as it’s going to get, then he’ll take it.
Readjusting Xander’s legs he moves so that he can start a slow steady slide forward. As he pushes into Xander, stars burst in the corner of his vision at the pure heat that envelops him. He has to stop after the first thrust, gasping in unneeded air to calm himself down. He’d hardly be saving the man if he came after five seconds.
When his lust is under control again he makes a tentative second thrust, then a deeper third. It’s on the fourth that he receives his first reaction from Xander, a tiny gasp and a bitten lip. Grinning evilly he presses in even further on the fifth, groaning himself now at the glorious burning tightness. This time he elicits a quiet moan from Xander. On the sixth Xander’s hips are rising to meet each thrust and on the seventh he’s moaning loudly, using the hand not covering his face to pull Spike closer to him. On the eighth he moves that other hand away.
For the first time Spike thinks he can see life flashing behind those brown eyes, it sways and flickers but it’s there. And then the words “Turn me” drop from Xander’s mouth.
Spike stops dead still, staring at Xander. He doesn’t pretend to misunderstand him, he knows exactly what he means. To sire again… The thought races through him, hotter than lightening, searing and powerful. Dangerous. In the state Xander’s in he can’t be trusted to say something and mean it, to really want it away from the lust and the bite. Oh but to sire again…
The body beneath him gives a tentative upward thrust, changing the position so that Spike is forced even deeper. Xander lets a moan fall from his lips.
“Come on Spike, bite me, turn me.” His eyes are a little feverish, but then so are Spike’s.
“You said it yourself,” Xander continues “I’m dying anyway, you could save me”
Save him.
They’re moving again, thrusts speeding up as Xander tips his head, his neck bare and Spike’s drawn to it, irresistibly.
“Turn me”
It wasn’t like he hadn’t been asked this before. Living in these bite brothels, it would have been more unusual for him not to have been asked. It was the ultimate hit for the people that came here, that one final overdose they craved. But so far he’d never even been tempted. But this was different, the familiar words came from a man he knew, desired even and it was so much harder to refuse.
As the body moved and begged beneath him he felt a yearning, almost overpowering. To sire again, he hadn’t turned a bite in years and he longed for it now. The simple pleasure of blood lust as you poured your demon into another.
“Come on,” Xander moaned. “Turn me. Save me.”
Spike could feel the orgasm building through him, exciting every nerve at the pure power of those words. And there lay Xander, pleading and irresistible. Turning him. Saving him. And Spike could no longer tell whether that was a contradiction.
Then, before he can think any further, Xander grabs Spike’s hand and bites the soft pad between thumb and first finger. His human teeth are too blunt to draw blood but it’s enough to send Spike tipping over the edge, turning to game face as he uses his own elongating fangs to tear a gash in his wrist, holding it to Xander’s mouth.
He shouts as the orgasm wracks through him, feeling Xander’s body clench around him, Xander’s mouth on his wrist, the claiming, fucking power of it all, taking him higher and higher. And with the final moan, Xander comes too, tipping his head back away from Spike’s arm, his lips stained red. And the sight is enough to make Spike climax again, gasping as the second orgasm hits him.
They collapse cold and sticky onto the mattress and enjoy a moment’s oblivion.
-----
Seconds later Spike’s conscious again, eyes snapping open, horribly aware of what’s just happened. He stares at Xander with dread in his heart. The man’s lying on his back, eyes open and a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. Horror pours through Spike and he leans over, frantically pulling at Xander until he’s sitting, his head pushed forward.
“Open your mouth, Xander,” Spike says, “Open your fucking mouth. Spit it out.”
Xander turns to him and Spike can see the fear in his eyes too. The reality of what they’ve done, crashing through their veins. Then Xander’s turning away again, stomach caving over as he retches desperately, coughing and gagging the blood out of his mouth.
“Did you swallow any?” Spike shouts, fear choking the words.
But Xander doesn’t answer, just keeps on retching up sticky, coppery mouthfuls and hoping to God he’s just imagining the chill that’s spreading through his body.