My ScorpionBy Firehorse
Spike was laying on the crypt, trying to decide if getting up was worth the effort. He wanted to eat - not that eating real food did a lot for him, but it gave him something to do. He needed to feed. He needed cash. Getting his bite back would be nice, too.
Which brought him back to the whole thing he'd been trying to avoid--the fiasco with the Initiative's doctor.
He rolled over and tried to bury his head under the pillow, but instead threw it across the crypt with a snarl when Harmony's froufrou perfume wafted into his nose.
Harmony. And again with the avoidance thing. After they'd narrowly avoided getting their arses kicked by the Slayer, he'd told the silly cow to piss off. If she'd spent less time posing and more time paying attention to the wanker with the scalpel, he wouldn't be in this mess.
Well, actually, he would. His innate honesty wouldn't allow him to lie to himself. Others, sure, but he didn't get to be a one-hundred-and-twenty-six-year-old Master vampire by deceiving himself. Survival meant being honest about the odds, even when they were bad.
Which brought him, again, back to where he was...biteless and broke, dependent on the charity of the Slayer and her friends.
He was startled out of his bleak thoughts by a tentative knock on the crypt's door.
"Sod off!" Wait, knocking? Farm-boy's gits would have just kicked the door in. The Slayer wouldn't have kicked it in, but she *would* have just barged in.
Getting up, he stomped across the crypt and jerked the door open, to be greeted by Xander's startled face.
"Um, can I come in?" Xander was dressed for patrolling, in cargo pants, boots and a hideous shirt, with a stake sticking out of his back pocket. Spike knew that his backpack contained more stakes, an iron blade, a silver blade, holy water, and probably an extra cross or two. And snacks, the whelp never went *anywhere* without food.
"You're not a vamp, pet, you don't need an invite." He stomped back across the crypt, and after finding his cigarettes, he threw himself into his chair. He thought about not lighting up, since it was his last smoke, but decided to anyway. Maybe he could cadge a few bob from the whelp.
He heard Xander moving around, and the thump-clink of his backpack hitting the ground, followed by the rustling of a paper bag. Xander backed into the crypt, juggling the bag with one hand and carefully pulling the door shut behind him with the other.
He looked around, then perched himself and his cargo carefully at the end of the crypt Spike had been sleeping on. He'd left his backpack and stake outside the now-closed door. Great, Spike thought, now even the whelp's not afraid of me!
He wanted to growl 'get on with it!', but didn't. Of all the Slayerettes, Xander had been the only one that treated him like a person, and after the time sharing his basement apartment, he'd come to grudgingly respect the boy.
Nancy-boy had called him Buffy's White Knight, and it hadn't taken too many patrols to see what he meant. It hadn't taken too many more to realize that Xander felt like an outsider with his own friends, and that despite that, he watched their backs with a loyalty that astounded Spike. And that underneath the humour and the sarcasm was a thoughtful person who saw a lot more than he said. He didn't quite consider the mortal a friend, but he was certainly closer to it than anybody else had been in a long time.
The delicious smell of something dragged him from his musings, and he looked up to see Xander holding out a Chinese take-out box.
"I brought dinner. Do you want the Kung Pao or the cashew chicken?"
Spike grinned despite his mood. Xander's crappy job number two-hundred-forty-three had been at the Dancing Dragon. Xander had laughingly found him a fork when he'd refused to eat with 'miniature stakes', and until the Dragon had been closed down by the INS, they had eaten well.
"The kung pao, pet. Since I won't be biting anybody, I won't have to worry about my breath, right?"
Xander handed him the box in his hand, another from the bag that he figured was rice, and with a snicker, a fork.
Settling back and digging in, they ate in companionable silence. On one hand, he resented that the whelp knew he was in a bad way. After the recent fiasco, he'd been told in no uncertain terms that he was on his own. On the other hand, he was glad the whelp was here; Xander was better company than his own thoughts, and he was eating. It wasn't blood, but it was better than nothing.
He belched and tossed his empty container into the corner. "What, no dessert, pet? I'm disappointed."
"Oh, yeah, thanks for reminding me." Xander quirked a grin at him, and after shovelling the last of the chicken and rice into his mouth, he put his chopsticks down and rummaged in the bag again.
"Here, catch." Spike caught the first bag of blood easily, and the next, and the fortune cookie that followed.
"Dessert. I figured a nice O Positive would go well with Chinese. What do you think?" The last was said in a snotty, fake-French accent.
Spike looked at the bags again. He'd been expecting pig blood, but these were clearly labelled with a sticker from one of the local blood bank collection points.
He raised one eyebrow and asked, "Do I want to know how you came to acquire this delightful vintage, pet?" His snotty fake-French accent was no better than Xander's.
"Um, no? But it's your fault. Imagine showing a law-abiding citizen like me how to pick locks!"
Spike chuckled. The expression on the boy's face was one of angelic innocence, spoiled only by the let's-be-naughty twinkle in those mahogany eyes.
"If you think a spot of lock-picking was a bad influence, you didn't spend nearly enough time in my company, pet," he smirked.
He really wanted to be a bad influence to the whelp. Harmony was too self-involved to be a good shag, and she didn't even have the benefit of being a warm body. Neither had Dru, of course, but she hadn't yammered at him from sundown to sunup, either. Since Xander was a teenaged male, and had all the hormones that went with it, he had briefly considered trying the 'if it feels good, do it' tactic while he was living in the Basement of Doom but had decided not to. Getting tossed out on his arse while the soldier boys were still looking for him was a bad idea, and since he'd never known Xander to go for guys, tossed out on his arse was what he was likely to get.
Xander chuckled with him, then hopped off the crypt and began gathering the trash and stuffing it all back in the bag it had come in. Spike took the opportunity to shift into gameface and quickly drain the first bag of blood.
God, it was good. Fresh and sweet, and still warm from the Chinese food that had been sitting on top of it. It had been so *long*.
He was startled to hear Xander ask, "Done with that?" as he held out the impromptu trash bag. Faintly embarrassed, although Xander had seen him feed before, he quickly forced his demon down enough for his human face to emerge and threw the now-empty bag in the trash.
Xander stroked a gentle fingertip across his brow. "I don't mind. It's part of who you are."
Spike sat there, gobsmacked, as Xander opened the door and took the trash to a conveniently handy garbage can. By the time Xander came back in, carrying his backpack and stake and shutting the door behind him, he'd gotten his expression back to his usual smirk, but his thoughts were still whirling. Foremost among those thoughts was 'what the hell?!' followed closely by 'maybe I *should* have asked him to shag' and somewhere in the distance was 'so this is what it's like to have a friend'.
Come to think, his demon liked the boy, too. Any time he'd planned the destruction of the Slayer and her group, the boy was never included, even this last time. 'Bathe in the Slayer's blood' was at the top of his things-to-do list , but the boy wasn't even on the 'kill later' list.
Xander settled back on the crypt and opened a soda. He was strangely quiet, almost preoccupied.
After some more companionable silence, Spike decided to ask the question he hadn't asked earlier. "What are you doing here, pet? Not that I don't enjoy the company-"
"Or the dinner!"
"-or the dinner, but if Slutty finds you here, she's going to stake me, and then you. I'm not exactly anybody's favourite vampire right now." He winced when he realized how pathetic he sounded, but Xander didn't seem to notice.
"Aw, Spikey. You'll always be my favourite vamp!" He raised his soda in a salute, then downed the last of it and tossed the can towards the door and his backpack.
Spike looked up sharply at Xander's words, but didn't say anything.
Xander sighed, then fidgeted with a missed chopstick. "Yeah, I know. And she'd stake me first if she knew why I was here." More fidgeting, and the chopstick was slowly reduced to toothpicks.
"Pet? You mind explaining?"
"See, I know why you did it. Kidnap the doc, I mean. And...I don't blame you. I hate zoos."
He looked up and met Spike's puzzled gaze with a small smile.
"Did you know I was possessed by a hyena once?"
"No, pet, I can't say that I knew that. Where was I?" Spike had no clue where this conversation was going, but he was willing to go along.
"Um, Brazil, maybe? Somewhere in South America? You weren't here yet."
Spike remembered the night he had come to Sunnydale. Then he remembered how it had turned out.
"Right. But what does that have to do with a bloody zoo?"
"Ok, explanation, take two. We went to the zoo on a field trip. The short story is me and a couple others got possessed by hyenas. I've never told anybody this before, but I remember. What it was like when I was Hyena-Boy, I mean. The memories weren't exorcised with the hyena." Xander's voice had gotten softer as he spoke, and finally trailed off altogether.
Seeing that they were sitting in the near-dark, and that Xander was done talking, at least for now, Spike got up and lit a few candles. He put them all on the crypt opposite the one Xander was on, and went back to his chair. He hesitated, then joined Xander on the crypt, propping himself in the corner and stretching his legs out.
"Keep goin' pet. I get the feeling this story's goin' somewhere." He nudged Xander's thigh with his bare foot, and was surprised when Xander dropped a hand onto his ankle, then left it there.
"Anyway, I remember what it was like. To be wild and free, and then not. Have you ever been to the zoo?"
Good thing I had so much practice with Dru, Spike thought to himself, 'cause this one's lookin' to go the same way.
"Actually, pet, I have. Dru wanted to feed the tigers. Couldn't manage that, but I took her on the putting-the-zoo-to-bed tour, in San Diego." He smiled in reminiscence. "They have a huge python called Lily. Lily told Dru she was from the Amazon, Dru said, and that's why she wanted to go to South America. To meet Lily's family." It was getting easier to talk about Dru, but he still missed his dark princess. "What?"
Xander shrugged. "It's just...I don't know...I have a hard time seeing the two of you doing something as mundane as a zoo. It's just not something I ever pictured William the Bloody doing." Xander shrugged again, and fell silent.
"Yeah, well, don't tell anybody, ok? Don't want to lose m'rep as the Big Bad, eh?" Spike smirked at Xander, who grinned back. "So, pet. You were a hyena, and I've been to the zoo. So what?"
"It's just that they make a big deal about all-natural habitats, just like home. It is, only it's not. Everything you need is there, but there should be so much *more*, y'know?"
Spike didn't know, but he nodded anyway.
"I mean, it looks like home, the right trees are there, and if you're really lucky, the rabbit they give you isn't quite dead yet. But it's not the *same*!" Xander's voice had risen steadily, ending on a shout. The echoes faded as he stared fiercely at Spike.
"Easy, pet," Spike murmured, rubbing his foot on the thigh under it. It was a good thing he didn't bruise easily, he thought to himself, or he'd have bruises on his ankle. Xander had clamped down as he'd gotten louder. When Xander realized what he was doing, he let go and stroked gently. Spike resolutely ignored how good it felt to be touched by someone warm.
"Sorry." Xander sighed. "It's just that it's a cheat. The hyena that possessed me had been caught in the wild. I can still feel the rage. The glass walls may be hidden behind lots of nice bushes, but they're still there."
"Right. And what does this have to do with why I kidnapped Dr. Wanker?" Spike still had no idea where this conversation was going, but he had spent enough time with Xander to know it was going somewhere.
"Your chip. It's a glass wall. You can't see it, but it's there. You can do everything any other vamp can, just like the hyenas, except for one thing, just like the hyenas, and that one thing is a humungo part of who you are, just like the hyenas. They roam, you bite. Your chip, their wall. It's the same thing. And anything, *anything*, to get your real life back is worth the risk. That's why you grabbed Dr. Wanker, and that's why I understand," Xander said earnestly. He folded his long legs up in front of him and turned to face Spike, who folded his own legs up in turn.
Spike was surprised. He hadn't known about the hyena thing, but the whelp's comparison to them was right on the mark. The soddin' chip *was* a wall. He could go anywhere, do anything...except feed himself, and defend himself. What had the whelp said? 'It looks like home, but it's not'? Right.
"Hey, Zone-vamp. I'm still talking here." Xander whacked him on the shin, and Spike quirked an eyebrow.
"So? Get on with it then."
Xander exasperatedly blew his hair out of his face and continued. "It's not right. You may not be a person," Spike glared at him, "well, a people-type person-" Spike was still glaring, "well, a living, breathing, people-type person-" Xander dodged a swat aimed at his head and finished, laughing, "You know what I mean, Fang Boy! You're not a person in the normal way, but that doesn't mean you're an animal. You want to know why I got involved with taking the Initiative down? It wasn't just to help Buffy, and it sure wasn't because I like the creepy-crawly, bump-in-the-night things, either."
Snorting with laughter, Spike regarded the man-child in front of him. Despite being a Slayerette, he managed to be his own person, and make up his own mind about things. If the Slayer had heard his little 'people-type person' speech, she'd be checking him for possession.
Spike revised his opinion. He hadn't previously considered the boy a friend, but now...now, maybe. Spike wasn't sure he'd *ever* had a friend, and certainly not as a vamp. The broody poof was his Sire, not a friend. Too much baggage, especially now that the poof had his soul back. Not Dru, either. Lovers, companions, and partners in bloody mayhem through the century, but he and his princess had never been friends. She had needed too much from Spike to be the equal that friendship demanded. And definitely not Harmony. The only person that bint was interested in was herself.
"It was because what they were doing was wrong." Xander took up the thread of conversation again. "It was more than wrong, it was evil."
The absolute certainty in his voice made Spike raise an eyebrow and ask, "Evil, pet? Isn't that going a little far?"
"No. I've lived on the Hellmouth all my life, and I know what evil is." Xander shifted around, leaning on the wall behind him.
Silence descended again. Spike waited, mostly patiently, for Xander to continue. Finally, he did.
"You know I'm working as a janitor at the university now, right?" Xander looked up at him, then went back to picking at the frayed hem of his pants.
"No, pet, I didn't, but go on, do." Another left turn. Hell, at least it made for an interesting trip...
"Yeah, I'm a janitor. I work in the BioTech building. I do different floors on different nights. Last night I was in the blood bank. I didn't *have* to pick the lock, since I had the keys," a sly grin slid across Xander's face, "but I thought it would be good practice. And a good excuse if they noticed they were a few bags short. I have the next two nights off, and I won't be back in the blood bank until Tuesday, but I'll see if I can get you another couple bags. Will you be okay until then? Can you get pig's blood from Willy's or somewhere?"
"Yes," Spike growled quietly, and under Xander's steady regard, kept his demon mostly submerged. He hated charity, hated it. He was William the effin' Bloody! The Big Bad!
Xander reached out and stroked his bumpy, scarred brow again. Okay, so maybe his demon wasn't as far down as he thought.
"I know it's hard. Umm, actually, that's kind of what I came here to talk to you about."
Spike's bewilderment increased. "What, my supply of pig's blood?"
"Not exactly. I said I work in the BioTech building, didn't I?"
At Spike's nod, he continued.
"Twice a week, I clean the bio-med lab. Last week, some guy was in there, cramming for finals. He lectured me--like I know what he's talking about!--saying that if he heard himself say it, he'd know he had it right. I mostly tuned him out. Then he said that they use microchips implanted in the brain to control things like epilepsy. I tuned in again, and started asking questions. I'm not as dumb as most people think I am, you know. I'm just lazy, sometimes."
He answered Xander's grin with one of his own. The boy *wasn't* stupid, or he wouldn't have survived on the Hellmouth as long as he had. Too bad the rest of Slutty's pals didn't see it.
He stared, gobsmacked, at Xander's next words. "Pet? Repeat that, and then tell me you're not joking."
Please. Please, whoever listens to the prayers of evil, undead, not-human people-type persons, *please* let him have heard the boy right. And please, let the boy *be* right.
"I said-do old vamps need hearing aids?-that I think I know a way to fix your chip."
---
Slowly, Spike got his thoughts in order. He stared at Xander, torn between wanting to believe and not wanting to get his hopes up, again. He'd been so close this last time that finding out it hadn't worked made staking himself start to look like a viable option again. To get his hopes up that high, one more time, and have it all come to nothing...well, he'd survive it, probably, but it wouldn't be pretty.
And what did the boy want in return? In his long experience, nobody had ever given him something for nothing. Either you paid for it, or you took it. 'Gifts' came with a price tag, and were never freely given. Although there was very little he wouldn't give to get this chip out of his head. And what could the boy want? He was only a mortal, and a young one at that.
"Wait, pet. That bleedin' idiot doc told me the chip was so far in that it could never come out without turning me into a vegetable. A couch potato I can live with, but a vegetable is right out!" His attempt at humour was just a bit tinged with hysteria.
"It doesn't have to come out," was the reply.
"Really. How do you figure that?"
"Spike, Spike, Spike..." Xander made little tsk-tsk noises, but quit when he saw how close to the edge Spike was. His face had settled on mostly human, but the blue eyes were now yellow, and faint ridges shadowed his forehead.
"It doesn't have to come out, it just has to stop working. And there hasn't been a technology invented yet that can't be screwed up. Harris' Law of Technology #1 states that the more complex the first gizmo is, or the more expensive it is, the less complex the gizmo is you need to screw it up. Or more simple. Or something like that."
At Spike's exasperated yellow glare, he went on.
"What I'm *trying* to say, Fang Boy, is that you've got an teeny tiny, ridiculously complicated and outrageously expensive piece of X-Files technology stuck in your head. And it's delicate. That's *delicate*, as in easily...ummm, what's your word...oh, yeah, buggered. And I've spent most of this last week listening to Professor Ugly Tie describe in boring detail just *how* easily it can be done."
"Bloody hell, pet, I never thought of that!" he exclaimed. "How's it done?" His gameface faded, but Spike refused to get excited. To hope that this time it might work.
"I learned more than I ever wanted to know about gate voltage, current flow, and oxide layers. When I was asking hypothetical questions," he made bunny ears around 'hypothetical', "I had to make some guesses. Your chip's not exactly available on the open market. It's strictly black-lab we-really-don't-exist government agency stuff. Mulder might know about it, but nobody else." They shared a quiet chuckle.
Despite his stern warnings to himself not to, Spike was beginning to hope. At the very least, the whelp had put some thought into it, and had proven that he cared. And since when had it mattered whether anybody cared about the Big Bad? Apparently, since the whelp shown up at the door with dinner and blood, and a plan.
"The bottom line; you've got three options. Electricity, and we're not talking lick-your-finger-and-stick-it-in-a-socket here, we're talking about power lines; or degaussing, or a fairly big electromagnet."
"And what in bloody hell is degaussing? It just sounds painful."
"Only the power line thing would hurt, and it might set you on fire, so that should probably be your last option. Degaussing is a way of overwriting magnetic commands, which is how your chip works, sorta. Information is sent through your chip on little magnetic pathways. Swamp those pathways with more power than they can handle, and they'll be erased, like a video tape. If they're erased, then no 'give Spike a headache-he's biting somebody' messages can get through. An electromagnet does the same thing, just on a bigger scale. Plus, the electromagnet would disrupt your chip's power source, which is of the good. No power, no work." He grinned at Spike.
Spike was amazed. He was all for technology, as it related to him. Cars, tellys, cd's, the microwave...maybe if he'd known more about it, he could have had this idea on his own. Nah. Wasn't really his style.
"Right, then, Boy Genius. Where do we get a degausser? Or an electromagnet?" He refrained, barely, from asking just how soon they could do this.
"Well, this is where it gets complicated. They make a hand-held plug-in size degausser, but it wouldn't be strong enough to reach through your head to the chip. We know your chip is fairly deep in your cortex, so we need something stronger. On top of that, we don't know how being a vampire has affected you."
"I think it'd be bloody obvious, pet."
"Yeah, yeah. But you're dead. And you're still walking around, which, from a biophysical viewpoint, means that your body has had some pretty radical biochemical and bioelectrical changes happen, and we don't know how, or if, that affects how the chip interacts with you. Or how the degausser would interact with the chip. Sorry," he apologized with a wry grin, "I spent so much time listening to the guy that I'm starting to sound like him."
After squirming around and rearranging his folded legs, he continued.
"I could move the one that's the next size up if I had a handcart and a car, but the gaping hole in the wall would probably give it away. Which means, Fang Boy, you'll have to come to lab with me next week, and hope that Professor Ugly Tie isn't there that night. The electromagnet would be easier, maybe. There's one at the junkyard-it's how they move the squished up cars around. We'd have to find somebody who can use the crane with the magnet on it, or break in and resort to the time-honoured method of pushing buttons until something happens. Of course, I could try and get a job there. God knows I've worked everywhere else in this hellhole!" Xander's tone was wry.
Spike couldn't bear to sit still any longer. He got off the crypt and started pacing. His thoughts were too chaotic for him to make much sense of, but the overriding feeling from the demon was 'yes!'. So it looked like he'd try it. Hell, who was he kidding? There was no way he wasn't going to try it. Still...he turned to face Xander.
"And what do you get out of this, pet? Why are you doin' this? You have to know that the first person I'm going to kill is the effin' Slayer. And if your precious Scooby Gang finds out it was you who helped me do it, they'll be after the both of us."
Xander wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Ah. So that's the way of it. Well, name your price, pet, but the Slayer's life is not negotiable." He turned his back and resumed pacing.
At Spike's disappointed, sarcastic tone, Xander looked up.
"It's not like that! I mean... It is, sort of. Listen, just hear me out, ok?"
Spike nodded, and wished desperately that he'd saved that last cigarette. He settled for playing with his lighter instead, flicking it on and off, not looking at Xander.
"Spike," Xander sighed. "Damn it, I knew I'd screw this part up," he said, half to himself. "Look. We only make a deal if you want to. I've told you everything you need to know. You can still do it without my help."
Xander raked his hands through his hair, then sighed again.
"Fuck, Spike. I thought we were friends. Or at least not rip-your-liver-out-and-eat-it-for-breakfast enemies. I'd like to be more than that."
Spike watched him from the corner of his eyes, and wondered just how much more the whelp wanted. Maybe he could turn this to his advantage yet.
"Would you, pet?" The sneering sarcasm was not quite as evident as it had been a few moments before.
"Yeah, I would." He watched Spike play with his lighter, and was clearly struck by a thought. "Oh, here. I found these in my dresser the other day." He fished in the pocket on his thigh, then tossed Spike a slightly crumpled but still unopened pack of cigarettes.
"Ta, pet." He opened them, shook one out and lit it. Sat down on the crypt where he had been, leaning in the corner.
"So, pet, what's this deal?" Somewhat calmer, he was ready to listen.
"It's, um, a two-parter, actually. I've already told you everything you need to know to do it yourself. If that's as far as you want to go, it's fine with me, and I'll count on our no-liver-eating whatever-this-is that you won't kill me, or turn me. I won't warn Buffy, either, but I will remind you that she's already kicked your ass, and that was before the chip. Thanks to the chip, you're out of practice."
Spike grimaced. "Thanks, mate. I didn't really need to be reminded that that skinny bint got the better of me. Me, the Big Bad!" He threw his hands up in the air theatrically, but his tone as much rueful as pissed.
Xander chuckled and continued, "If you want to deal, these are the terms. I'll help you any way I can, until we get it right. Right, as in you have your bite back and are fully functional."
They traded grins at the phrase. One rainy evening when patrolling had been cancelled, they had stayed in. Xander had been irritable and restless. At Spike's prodding he had given in and broken out the last of his supposedly 'hidden' stash. They had gotten seriously stoned and then watched a Star Trek marathon. Watching Data and Tasha Yar had sent Xander into a storm of giggles, with Spike not far behind. That evening marked the beginning of their no-liver-eating whatever-it-was.
"Go on, pet."
"Right."
Spike smirked at Xander's attempt to mimic his accent.
"As I was saying... In return for my help, you do two things for me."
Xander contemplated his shoelaces, and when he didn't seem inclined to continue, Spike asked, "And what might those two things be, pet?"
Visibly bracing himself, Xander met his gaze squarely.
"One. You don't kill either Willow or Giles."
"I wouldn't kill Red," he interrupted, "she makes me cookies. Bloody good ones, too."
Xander looked down at his shoes. "And two, takmewthywhenyougo."
Even Spike's preternatural hearing had a hard time with that one.
"Eh? Speak up, pet, and stop talking into your shirt. What's number two?"
Taking a deep breath, Xander looked up and repeated himself. "Take me with you when you go."
Gobsmacked. Again! Three times in one night. This was too bloody much. And why would the whelp want to go with him, anyway?
Closing his mouth, Spike asked, "What makes you think I'll be going anywhere?"
"Because you won't have any more reasons to stay here," Xander said, with flat certainty and calm eyes. "Drusilla's not here anymore, Angelus is gone, you've never wanted to be the Master of the Hellmouth, and the first thing you'll do is try to kill Buffy. Either way that goes, you'll be leaving. When you go, I want to go with you. I don't care where you're going, I don't care how long you're staying, I don't care how long you keep me with you. I want out of Sunnyhell, and if I only get as far as Bumfuck, Iowa, that's fine with me. I can work at Wal-Mart there just as easily, but I want away from the Hellmouth." Xander's gaze never wavered from Spike's.
Huh. This stranger who looked like Xander had him pegged perfectly. He fully intended to be out of town before the Slayer's blood had cooled.
Switching tracks, he asked "Why not Giles?" He thought he knew, but he wanted to hear the whelp say it.
Xander stared at something only he could see and answered wistfully, "He and Wills are the closest thing I have to a family. Hell, you were there, you saw my folks. Giles has been the only thing like a dad I've ever had."
Nodding, Spike agreed. That's what he'd thought. He didn't think Giles was all that, to use the whelp's phrase, but compared to the wanker who really was his father, he could see where Giles was an improvement. And Giles didn't smack the whelp around like his dad did.
"You didn't mention not killing your folks. What, you don't care if I eat their livers?"
"I asked Angelus to kill them the last time he was here."
Bleedin' hell! How many more surprises did this mortal have in store for him?
"Er...?" was all he managed.
Xander's eyes frosted over and his voice hardened. "I did. He refused, because it was what I wanted, not what he wanted. You're welcome to kill them if you like, but I wouldn't recommend eating Dad's liver; I'm not sure alcoholic cirrhosis would improve the flavour. Hey-maybe you could test your chip on him. If you go after dinner, he'll be so drunk that he won't be able to fight back and hurt you if the zap-the-chip project doesn't work."
Spike stared out the window, seeing nothing. Who was this stranger sitting in his crypt? Why hadn't he seen him in all the time they'd lived together? Behind him he heard Xander get up and move toward the door.
"Oi! Where are you going?"
"To take care of messy mortal business. I'll be right back." He picked up his stake and headed out. Spike heard the crackle of velcro, and the sound of a sigh of relief, followed by water in the weeds at the corner of his crypt. Then Xander was coming through the door, shutting it behind him and tossing the stake on top of his backpack.
Feeling uncharacteristically hesitant, Spike turned and asked, "Why did you leave your stake outside when you first got here?"
With a flop and a sigh, Xander relaxed into his usual loose-limbed posture on top of the crypt.
"I wanted to come as a friend, and you don't threaten friends with a good staking."
"Thanks for that, pet." Spike murmured, not entirely sarcastically.
Quiet filled the crypt, but not an uncomfortable one.
Spike left the window and returned to his previous seat beside Xander. Lighting up another cigarette, he smoked half of it before he asked his next question.
"What makes you think I'll keep my word? That I won't kill Willow or Giles? There's nothing you could do to stop me."
"I lived with you, remember? You may be William the Bloody evil undead guy, but under that, you're a decent person. Not-person. Whatever. Not very nice, maybe, which kinda goes with the whole evil thing, but decent. You have your own code of honour. If you gave me your word, you'd keep it."
More quiet. Spike finished his cigarette and lit another, while Xander picked at his nails.
"If you come with me, what do I get out of it? Other than getting the chip out, what's in it for me?"
Looking up from where he'd dropped the butt on the floor and ground it out, he was surprised by a faint whiff of fear. Before he could wonder what the whelp was afraid of, Xander looked up.
Meeting Spike's eyes, his answer was simple. "My ass."
---
Jesus bloody effin' Christ! It was a good thing he was already dead. Too many more surprises like the ones he'd gotten tonight and he'd stroke out.
He stared at Xander, shocked. The whelp was willing to trade his arse for a ride out of town? Why? Did he even know what he was offering?
He was so surprised he didn't use a nickname. "Xander? What- why? Never mind that, do you *know* what you're offering?"
Why was it so important to him that the boy knew what he was getting into? The Big Bad would have just taken him up on his offer and not worried about what the boy thought, or knew, but he found himself unwilling to do that.
Maybe...maybe because the boy had *offered*. He didn't have to take, it was being given. If the boy--and if he was really going to shag him, he had to stop thinking about him as 'the boy'--truly understood what he was doing, then hell, yes. He'd wanted Xander since their enforced cohabitation in Xander's basement.
"Do you even know what men do together?" He had to know.
Strangely, as Spike got more wound up, Xander got calmer. He seemed to realize that his deal had been accepted and now they were just hashing out the details.
"Yeah, Spike, I do. The good and the bad. Giving and getting, too."
Something in his tone made Spike say, "Tell me about the bad, then, pet."
The smell of fear intensified sharply, backed by the bitterness of shame. Xander breathed in deeply, shuddered, then exhaled. When Spike ran a soothing hand down his leg Xander grabbed it blindly and didn't let go.
"I was twelve. They were drunk."
No need to ask who 'they' were, Spike thought darkly.
"It was supposed to be a joke. Uncle Rory was complaining about being horny, and not having enough cash for a hooker. Dad offered me. Said I was pretty for a boy--he was right, I was--and that Uncle Rory would never know the difference. Dad meant to embarrass me. He was always telling me I was too pretty to be a real boy. He meant it as a joke."
Xander's voice had gone flat and quiet. Spike wondered which one of them Xander was trying to convince.
"Only...Uncle Rory was too drunk to know that it was supposed to be funny. He came up to my room after I went to bed."
Spike didn't want to know the rest of the story. Growing up in the streets of London he had known children who made their living selling it. Often it was the father making the arrangements. It had never happened to him for two reasons. Three, actually; his mum was a widow, so there was no man in the house, and he made enough thievin' and picking pockets that he'd never had to sell his arse. And he was good with his fists, as several of his chums' dads had found out, after they'd tried it on with young William. It hadn't happened again. Not until Angelus.
Right, Spike said to himself, we are not going there again. This isn't about you. Xander needs to tell it, so you, mate, are going to sit here and listen.
"You know what the worst part was, Spike?" Xander turned his face toward Spike, but his eyes were unfocused, staring into the past.
"Instead of just bending me over and doing it, I got the Uncle Rory Royal Treatment. That's what he kept calling it, the Uncle Rory Royal Treatment. Like if he said enough sweet things, if he petted me enough, he could make it better than it was. Like he could make it something that it wasn't. Like he could make me like it."
Xander's voice, eerie and distant, gave Spike goosebumps, and he could feel the tiny hairs at the back of his neck standing on end.
"He couldn't."
The misery and sadness were rolling off in waves, and his demon roared. Spike waged a brief battle with himself, torn between comforting Xander, if that were possible, and venting his rage.
Somehow, when Spike wasn't looking, he realized that Xander had gone from 'enemy' to 'not enemy' to 'friend' to '*my* friend'. And smart people left things that belonged to Spike alone. Chip or no chip, the Harrises would pay for their mistreatment of his friend. If the zap-the-chip thing didn't work, Spike still knew a few assorted demons who owed him favours. He'd cash those favours in with Harris blood if he had to.
Tentatively, he tugged on the hand still clutching his. Xander slowly slumped over, until most of his upper body was laying across Spike's lap, his head on Spike's thigh, entwined hands pinned under him. Spike used his free hand to brush the hair out of Xander's face, then put it comfortingly on his shoulder.
"What happened next?"
He could feel the fine shivers running through the body in his lap slowly fade as he rubbed Xander's arm.
"By the next morning, Uncle Rory had sobered up and realized that the whole thing wasn't a figment of rotgut gin. He spent the next three days crying and puking. Never apologized, though. Then he climbed back into his gin bottle and hasn't come out since. Hasn't spoken directly to me since then either."
"What did your folks do?"
"My dad blamed it on me. Told me I was a fag while he was wailing on me, and that it was my fault Uncle Rory was a fag too. He broke my collar bone slamming me against the kitchen counter."
A thought occurred to Spike. "Does Red know about this?" She was the most likely to. She and Xander had been close since childhood and even if they weren't as close any more, the whelp still considered her family. Come to think, maybe Giles was better than he thought. He would never hit the boy, or hit *on* him, either.
"No. I never told her. She went with me to the ER to have my collarbone fixed. She knew my dad did it, but she didn't know why. He didn't usually need a reason. I've never told anybody."
Xander's voice was low and slurred. Spike could hear his heartbeat slowing, could smell the sadness being replaced by sleepiness. He stroked Xander's hair gently.
"It's funny, y'know? I always liked Uncle Rory. Before that, I mean." Xander tumbled over the edge into sleep as Spike continued to stroke his hair.
---
Right, then. What are you going to do about this? Rearrange his to-do list, for openers. The Slayer was unceremoniously dropped to the number two spot, and the Harrises got the number one spot. They deserved his best effort, after all. Spike grinned wolfishly, unaware that he was completely in gameface. If he killed the soddin' Slayer first, then everybody would be after him, and he wouldn't have time to do the Harrises properly. On the other hand, nobody would notice if they didn't turn up for a few days. He'd have time to do a proper job of it, then he could do the Slayer, and then he and Xander could leave Sunnyhell.
Spike brought himself up short, his gameface fading into surprised human face. Leave with Xander? When had he made that decision? No matter, really. He had, and the whelp was coming with him.
He entertained himself with bloody plans for the Harrises demise. When he had come up with several workable plans fitting various timeframes, he moved on to the Slayer.
He debated what to do. Kill her? Turn her? Just torture her a bit, then let her go?
Xander murmured and shifted against Spike's thigh.
"Shhh, pet. You're safe." He resolutely put aside any contemplation about just *why* Xander would be safe with him.
As he ran his hand slowly up and down Xander's back his thoughts turned back to the Slayer. A feral, nasty smile stretched across his mouth as he thought of the perfect plan. He worked it out as he petted Xander.
What did he see as the Slayer's big fault? Pride. She was the Chosen One, the Slayer, and don't you forget it. What would hurt her the most? Ignoring her. Doing absolutely nothing. Make it clear that he had his bite back, but that he was leaving town without even trying to kill her. Make it clear that he wasn't going to kill her because she wasn't worth his time. And if he happened to be taking one of her ego club along with him? One that was willingly choosing him over her? The one who had, in fact, helped him get his bite back, and then manoeuvred Spike into taking him along?
He snickered as he pictured her expression. If she tried to stake him, he would defend himself, but do his best not to kill her. Then he would take Xander and go. He smirked in satisfaction. Right. Got that covered, then.
Where would they go? They probably shouldn't head to LA - Peaches probably wouldn't be too happy to see them. He'd rather go somewhere warm, but he wasn't particular. He'd ask the whelp later. There was no rush, since they wouldn't be leaving for a week or so anyway. For that matter, they didn't have to stay in the States at all. They could go anywhere in the world, although he'd prefer to stay out of South America and Central Europe.
Money wouldn't be a problem. He'd had a taste for gold in his younger days, thanks to Angelus' mansion-raiding habits, but he had converted it all to Swiss francs decades ago. It was sitting in Zurich, waiting for him to withdraw it. They could live comfortably for years on the interest alone. He just needed a bank that had late hours, since everything could be done by wire transfer.
He chuckled to himself. Buffy and company thought he was broke, and he was. He didn't even have enough dosh for a pack of smokes. But he wasn't poor. That was a different thing, and after his childhood, he'd sworn he'd never be poor again. He chuckled again. At least he hadn't been reduced to eating turnips.
Without his realizing, Xander had woken up. He sat up and blinked sleepily at Spike.
"Feel better after your nap, pet?" He squeezed Xander's hand gently, and then let it go.
"Oh, jeez, I was asleep? Note to self: Messy emotional scenes make me check out."
Xander rubbed his face, then raked his hands through his hair.
"I'm sorry. Would you believe me if I said I had no intention of telling you any of that?" Xander's smile was tentative but genuine.
Xander got up and stretched. With his hands over his head, his shirt rode up, exposing his flat stomach and the fine trail of black hair leading down from his navel and disappearing into the waistband of his pants.
Spike followed that trail with his eyes, and wondered what Xander's skin tasted like. He dragged his eyes back up to Xander's face to find Xander watching him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Xander turned and headed for his backpack. He rummaged in it for a moment, then came up with a package of Oreo cookies and another soda. He opened the cookies with one of the knives from his backpack, tossed the knife back in and held the cookies out in Spike's direction.
"Snack, Fang Boy? Note to self: Messy emotional scenes make me hungry, too."
Spike laughed. "Everything makes you hungry, pet."
He retrieved his second bag of blood and settled into his chair. As Xander passed in front of him Spike grabbed him by the wrist. Pulling slightly he asked, "Sit with me?"
Xander regarded him steadily for a moment, then put his soda on the floor beside the chair.
Spike got no warning beyond a slight grin. Xander flopped sideways into his lap with a flourish, then reached for his soda. Arranging himself more comfortably, he asked, "What?"
Laughing, Spike answered, "It's a good thing I don't need to breathe, pet. There's more to you than it looks like. You're lucky you didn't land on my more important bits. I like them attached, thanks."
He reached across Xander and stole a handful of Oreos.
"My favourite. Ta, mate!"
They munched on cookies for a while, talking about the latest demon. Xander kept shifting positions until Spike said, "What's up, pet? You keep wriggling like I'm pinchin' your arse!"
"I'm sitting on something, and it isn't you, smartass." Xander groped around under himself.
"Careful, pet! Don't be grabbing that unless you mean it."
Xander's "Oops!" was followed by an unrepentant grin.
"Are you sure you're not imagining sittin' on something?"
A bit more groping, and Xander triumphantly held up the bag of blood.
"Ah ha! I *knew* I was sitting on something. If I wanted to feel you up, I'd just do it. Like this."
Spike caught an unneeded breath as Xander's hand skimmed across his chest to tweak a nipple. Gently, he moved Xander's hand away from him.
"You've told me about the bad, pet, now tell me about the good." He wanted to make sure that there was good.
Xander finished his soda and leaned back against Spike's shoulder. Spike shifted to gameface and slurped on the blood.
"That would be Ian MacAllistair. He was a friend of Larry's." Seeing Spike's lack of comprehension, he explained. Spike knew about the werewolf thing, but that was it.
"Don't ask how we got hooked up, 'cause I still don't have the foggiest. We only spent a weekend together, and I haven't seen him since."
At Spike's glower, he hastened to explain.
"He went away to college. MIT or somewhere techy like that. And it was just sex, I knew that when we started. But it was really *good* sex. Really, *really* good sex." The musk of arousal rising from the boy--man, Spike corrected himself--in his lap was dizzying. "He showed me- He showed me a lot of things, actually. He didn't know about...what I told you, but I think he knew anyway, somehow."
Spike rubbed his free hand down Xander's back. Xander responded by shifting so that Spike could get under his shirt. He left his hand there, drawing small circles on the damp satin of Xander's skin.
"We went slow, but did everything. He stopped when I freaked out. He showed me how good it could be by letting me fuck him first. I decided that if it felt that good--and it must've felt good, I'd never seen so much come--that I wanted to try it. He got me so hot, and then he pushed inside me..." Xander's voice held a note of wonder and awe as it trailed off.
"I've never felt anything like that. Never. Not even with Anya and her thousand years of experience and her box of toys."
Spike grinned at that. He'd found that same box of toys stuffed under the edge of the couch and had teased Xander unmercifully about it. She'd taken the toys with her when she left to 'experience big-city life'.
"When I came down and we'd recovered, we did it again. And again, and then we got creative."
Feeling the shudders beneath his shoulder he turned and slanted a look at Spike, who was fighting back laughter.
"Yeah, laugh all you want, Fang Boy, but there are some advantages to being a teenager. No recovery time necessary is at the top of the list!"
"Right. So you're telling me you're bent, then." He swallowed the last of the blood and dropped the empty bag on the floor, an amused smirk on his now-human face.
Xander turned and straddled him, then thumped on his chest.
"Oi! No fair, whelp-I can't hit you back!" Giving lie to that statement, he whacked Xander solidly on the arse.
"Hey! That's what you get for not being politically correct. The proper way to put it would be 'gay' or 'same-gender oriented'. And no, I'm not. The politically correct word for me is 'bisexual', as in, I like it any way I can get it. I don't have enough experience with guys to know if I have a preference or not. But I'm hoping to get some." Xander leered at Spike, then rocked slowly in his lap.
Spike slid his hands into convenient back pockets and encouraged the leisurely rocking to continue.
"Y'sound like a vampire, pet. Even had the demon girlfriend."
Spike squeezed the firm flesh under his palms, pleased when Xander rocked harder against him. Still, he thought, there was something he needed to say.
"Pet? You're right. I'm leaving this bloody place just as soon as we get the soddin' chip buggered. You don't have to shag me to come with me."
Xander sat back on Spike's thighs and listened.
"I won't kill Buffy, either-she's not worth my time. And besides, it'll piss her off even more if I don't try than if I do. When she finds out it was you that set this in motion, well, it'll just be icing on the cake."
He regarded Spike in silence for a few minutes, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're right. That'll drive her absolutely nuts. And I don't really want to be talking about her anymore, either.Where were we?" He reached out, intent, and cupped Spike' face, his thumb stroking the sharp blade of cheek bone. "Oh, yeah. Here." He slowly leaned in until his mouth was a breath away from Spike's. Warm breath puffed across cool skin and Spike shivered.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Xander touched his lips to Spike's. Spike held himself perfectly still and let Xander do what he wanted.
Xander deepened the kiss for a brief, miraculous moment, then pulled away. Xander brushed briefly through Spike's hair, then trailed his hand down Spike's neck and stopped over his unbeating heart.
"Spike. I want this with you. Soon, preferably." Xander's smile was sweet and sultry and sure as he rocked against Spike once again.
Spike tightened his grip in Xander's pockets and listened in satisfaction as his breath deepened.
"Is now soon enough, pet?"
"Yes-" The rest of Xander's answer was lost as Spike claimed his mouth in a fierce kiss.
He groaned as Xander's hot tongue invaded his mouth and battled with his own. He held him by the back of the head, ruthlessly crushing his mouth to Xander's.
Xander was no longer rocking. He had fisted his hands in Spike's shirt and was instead holding himself close to the cool body beneath him.
A long, hazy while later, Spike tore his mouth away. He didn't need to breathe, but Xander did, and he sat there, panting and glassy-eyed. When Spike judged that the whelp wasn't going to pass out from lack of oxygen, he grabbed Xander's hands and quickly twisted them low, behind his back, making him lean back over Spike's sure hold. When Xander made no protest, he leaned forward and nuzzled Xander's neck. The feel of the pulse jumping made Spike's cock twitch.
"God, Spike." Low and ragged, Xander's voice vibrated on Spike's tongue, and flashes of what that vibration would feel like elsewhere rocketed down Spike's spine.
Shifting to gameface, Spike made sure Xander was watching him, then he lowered his head and deliberately bit off the top button of Xander's shirt. Xander chuckled at Spike's playful smile as he displayed the button at the end of his tongue, then spit it across the small room. Chuckles turned into gasps as Spike lowered his head and sucked at the skin he'd uncovered. He worked his way down Xander's shirt, biting off more buttons, licking and sucking at skin as he went. He stopped at Xander's navel, enjoying the hiss of indrawn breath and the involuntary clench of stomach muscles tightening under his tongue. Shifting back to his human visage, he thrust his tongue repeatedly into the tiny pucker until Xander's hips were thrusting in time with his tongue.
"Stop. Spike, stop!" Disgruntled and concerned, Spike looked up.
Bloody hell, he thought, the boy is gorgeous. His face was flushed, eyes glittering. The ruined shirt was pushed mostly off his shoulders and a trail of red love bites wandered drunkenly down his chest.
"Bloody hell, pet, you're gorgeous when you're debauched, but why'd you want me to stop?"
Xander leaned forward until his forehead was resting against Spike's.
"Because I wanted to come on you, not on me."
"Always did like a bloke with a plan." He let go of Xander's wrists so that he could shrug off the remains of his shirt.
Puzzled by Xander's stillness and about to protest the lack of action, he stopped, caught by the blaze of heat shining in Xander's eyes.
"Just wondering where to start," he answered Spike's unspoken question. His hot, sultry look travelled over Spike like a physical touch, lingering on his mouth, his neck. Spike's nipples were peaked and hard under the soft black cotton of his t-shirt.
Reaching down, he removed a slim dagger from Spike's boot, sitting beside the chair.
"Eh? How'd you know that was there, pet?"
Soft laughter. "How d'you think? How many times did I trip over your boots when you were living with me?"
A briefly uptilted chin and a wry smirk acknowledged Xander's point.
"Now you've got it, what are you going to do with it?"
"This."
Xander pinched the collar of Spike's t-shirt and pulled it away from the ivory skin underneath. Setting the tip of the blade in the hollow of Spike's throat, he paused.
"Go on, pet. You can't hurt me."
"I know. But I'm trying to decide if I want to." Spike swallowed heavily at the intent behind those words.
"Shh. Be still."
Spike swallowed again and nodded.
The tip of the knife bit in, and icy heat blossomed in the hollow of Spike's throat. A bright burning path followed the knife's progress slowly down his chest. The only sound was Xander's quiet breathing and the hiss of fabric as it parted before the blade.
He could smell his blood beading along the edges of the wound, and in a distant corner of his mind, Spike wondered what kind of books Giles had in his collection. Where else could Xander have learned about vampiric foreplay?
Cutting deliberately but not deeply, Xander moved down Spike's belly. He detoured around the navel, then came back up to complete the circle.
Spike desperately wanted to take control, to pull Xander to him and plunder that mouth, to bury himself in his tight heat and pound into him until dawn. Instead he sat still, as still as only a preternatural being can manage, but his struggle for control showed in his face. Blue eyes had gone yellow, and a low growl rumbled into the silence.
Hearing the growl, Xander jerked the bottom of the t-shirt out of Spike's jeans and cut it apart with a quick slash. He barely had time to put the knife down beside the cushion before he was hauled upright.
Their mouths came together again in a brutal kiss that softened quickly into something far sweeter than Spike had thought he was capable of.
He was getting lost in the sensations Xander was creating. Warm hands were everywhere. He knew his neck was sensitive, but the delicate exploration of the rim of his ear by Xander's tongue made goosebumps ghost across his shoulderblades. Broad palms covered his chest as Xander's tongue traced up his jugular.
A sharp nip to his earlobe made him gasp, and he thrust up aggressively when Xander alternately nipped his ear and pinched his nipples.
Bloody hell. He'd have to remember to send a thank you card to the git that taught Xander this. Or maybe Giles, for letting the whelp read his library.
Xander slowly kissed his way down Spike's body. He tried to leave a hickey on Spike's neck but couldn't, although Spike enjoyed the effort, twisting and growling as Xander sucked. Licking his way down the shallow cut he'd made, Xander swirled his tongue around Spike's belly button, then sat back, grinning in triumph at Spike's dazed expression.
"Stand up, pet. I want you naked. Now," Spike growled hoarsely.
With a lazy, sensual smile, Xander rose to his feet, standing on the seat of the chair and bracing himself against the ceiling of the crypt.
What was it the witch said? Cope and deal. Right. He could do that.
Spike untied each boot and held them steady while Xander carefully pulled out of them. He pulled off socks next, making Xander squirm when he ran his fingers down each elegant arch.
"Get up on the arms, pet." When Xander stepped up Spike laid the chair back and got to his knees.
"Good, now step back down." Xander stepped back onto the chair seat. Spike's face was now slightly above Xander's waist.
Spike ran his hands up Xander's thighs and around his hips, squeezing firmly. He nuzzled his face into Xander's crotch and inhaled deeply, revelling in the scent of arousal. And Xander was aroused; Spike stropped his cheek against the hot bulge, feeling it quiver and harden further.
Backing up a bit, he studied the fastening in front of him, then slowly pulled on the drawstring with his teeth. He stilled when the knot was almost undone and smirked when he felt Xander try to pull back. He dropped the drawstring and looking up at Xander said, "Naughty pet. Be still, and I'll do nice things to you. Ok?"
Spike assumed the gasp that answered him was a yes.
Spike mouthed the khaki crotch in front of him, then took the drawstring in his teeth again. Pulling back quickly, he jerked the knot open, and used the string to tug loose the corner of the waistband.
Velcro was a wonderful invention, Spike thought as it came free with a crackle. Bloody handy, too. Zips could be undone with teeth, but it wasn't easy.
He looked up when Xander groaned, and nearly groaned himself.
Xander was standing with his legs spread, arms braced on the plaster ceiling, pants hanging precariously from his hips. He was watching Spike with heavy-lidded eyes, his bottom lip caught tightly between white teeth.
If the whelp had a gameface, he thought to himself, he'd be showin' it now. The thought of Xander in gameface was enough to make Spike loosen the tenuous grasp he had on his control. He quickly pulled the rest of the velcro open and noted the lack of underwear with a raised eyebrow as the pants slid down. When they tightened over Xander's spread knees, Spike tapped one ankle and Xander obediently lifted it up so that Spike could slide the pant leg down and off his foot. They repeated the procedure on the other side, and Spike dumped the pants on the footrest in front of him. Then he looked to see what he'd unwrapped.
Bloody gorgeous.
"You're bloody gorgeous, pet."
"Said that already, Fang Boy."
"Still true, though."
And it was. The fine trail of hair that had caught Spike's attention earlier in the evening broadened low down, expanding into a riotous nest of dark silk. Xander's cock was curved up slightly, flushed with blood, the weight of it keeping it nearly horizontal. A single drop of pearly fluid oozed slowly out of the slit. The fact that the whelp was circumcised was a novelty for Spike; after all, *his* contemporaries were uncut. The balls hanging beneath were drawn up tight in anticipation.
"Spike, don't just look, *do* something!" Xander's voice was deep and harsh.
He kneaded the globes under his hands and licked the leaking crown. The taste of his mortal was intoxicating. Hot and musky, bitter and salty, faintly reminiscent of blood. Tightening his grip he rode out Xander's thrust, then engulfed his cock, taking it deep in his throat and sucking hard. Xander groaned and thrust. Spike let him.
Pulling his mouth off, he flicked the tight arrow of skin under the head with his tongue and delicately probed the slit. Bobbing up and down, he alternated sucking and flicking until the tremors in Xander's legs increased dramatically. He let his demon slip just a bit, and with sharp teeth nibbled carefully on the steadily dripping tip. Xander's cry was hoarse and broken, and Spike pulled him roughly back into his mouth to catch the resulting eruption. He swallowed it all greedily and held Xander up without effort, sucking gently, until Xander pulled away and leaned his weight back onto his own feet.
Spike looked up, grinning, and said, "I told you you were a nummy treat, didn't I?"
Xander laughed, deep and rich.
"Yeah. And now it's your turn. Jeans off, now."
Spike eased back and went to work on his jeans. Now that he was paying attention to himself again, getting his zipper open was an enormous relief. He slid them down his thighs and decided that was far enough-any more meant getting out of the chair. He unfolded his legs, careful not to kick Xander's feet out from under him, then leaned back.
He sat up seconds later to hold out a hand for Xander to brace himself on as he stepped down. Xander slithered down Spike with a mischievous smile and ended up on his knees in front of the chair. He used his body weight to close the footrest, helping it with a quick thrust of his knee. Hooking his hands under Spike's knees, Xander pulled him forward. Spike got the hint and leaned back as Xander pulled his jeans down around his shins, noting the lack of underwear with his own raised eyebrow.
Xander knelt up and settled between Spike's legs, spreading them with his elbows.
"Get on with it, pet," Spike growled. He'd been hard for so long he hurt, and his pale cock had been dripping steadily, sheening his stomach with moisture.
"Impatient much?" Xander murmured. Spike growled. Xander's warm tongue lapped at the crease between hip and thigh, then moved to the thatch of tight, dark curls, licking at the wetness there, while his hands traced distracting patterns through the fine hairs on Spike's inner thighs.
"Mm, tasty." The vibration of Xander's voice against the base of his cock made him grip the arms of the chair in a way that would shortly be detrimental to the upholstery.
Xander licked. And licked. And licked some more. He licked up every last drop of moisture from Spike's belly button on down, avoiding contact with the cock leaking that moisture in steady pulses.
Backing up a bit, he put his hands inside Spike's knees and pushed up, until they were propped up against the arm of the chair, leaving Spike opened wide and waiting. Spike's feet, still trapped in his jeans, were sole-to-sole on the front edge of the cushion, and Xander leaned over them, sliding his hands from knees to thighs and pushed again, opening him further.
Spike closed his eyes in anticipation and opened them a moment later, his shout of surprise ringing in the small crypt. Xander had bitten the sensitive spot behind his balls.
He was definitely taking the whelp with him, wherever he went. There was *no way* he was giving this up. And he was going to take a look at Giles' library, too, if he got the chance.
Xander was licking again, from the bottom Spike's balls down, stopping just short of the pale pink pucker. Back and forth he went, until Spike was squirming. When he started growling, Xander moved up to his balls, taking each tight orb and sucking it gently.
Leaning forward, he put his hands on Spike's hips and breathed on the tip of the pale cock. It bounced a bit as Spike's stomach twitched so Xander did it again, this time deliberately blowing on the entire length of it. Spike tilted his hips forward, trying to get closer to the maddening sensation, and Xander obliged. Finally moving his hands, he grasped the ivory column in front of him with one hand and circled Spike's balls with the other, gently pulling them down and away from his body.
Slowly, tantalizingly, he stroked up and down, playing with the collar of loose skin bunched behind the head. As he stroked up, his thumb slipped over the head, collecting the dripping moisture, spreading it back down the shaft.
Spike's entire being was concentrated on the sensations being created. When they stopped, he pried his eyes open and saw Xander rising to stand over him. Pushing Spike's outflung legs back into the chair he crawled on, pausing with one knee beside Spike's hip and his hands braced on the back of the chair.
"What, pet?"
"Bloody gorgeous."
"I seem to remember saying that already."
"Yeah, but I mean you."
Spike looked down his body. The tattered edges of his shirt framed his chest, the black a sharp contrast to the faintest of flushes. His tiny pale nipples were pebbled and hard and further down, his not-so-tiny, pale cock was hard and wet.
Xander folded his long legs into the chair, settling on Spike's pelvis in almost the same position they'd started the evening with. Leaning down, he captured Spike's mouth with his and rocked gently. Spike's cock, tucked down and trapped, rode between Xander's cheeks, the fully uncovered tip bumping gently from balls to pucker. Spike raised his hips and rubbed harder, chuckling when Xander broke their kiss with a gasp.
"Like that, pet?"
"Yeah. OH! Yeah..." A shiver and a sigh. "Yeah, I do." Looking down, Spike noted that Xander's description of 'no recovery time necessary' seemed to be accurate-the whelp's rigid cock was painting abstract designs on Spike's belly. Xander held himself suspended, letting Spike set the pace. His face was a study in concentration, his eyes closed. At Spike's frustrated growling he opened them and looked up, his expression a question.
Spike wanted to be deep inside Xander's tight heat in the worst way, but he didn't have lube--he hadn't needed it with Harmony--and he wouldn't shag the whelp without it. The chance of pain, for both of them, was too great. He was probably wet enough, but the whelp wasn't experienced enough, and while a touch of pain added spice, great waves of agony tended to put a damper on things. So they'd switch places now, and the next time he'd shag the whelp. And there *would be* a next time-right after he indulged in a bit of shoplifting at Walgreen's.
"Xander, pet, I want IN, but- this effin' chip...stupid gits...if you..."
Xander's puzzled expression cleared and he sat back. Reaching behind him, he fished around and came up with a handful of khaki cargo pants, still stuck in the footrest where Spike had dumped them. Untwisting the fabric, he patted pockets until he came to the one he wanted. Unsnapping it, he reached in and came up with a small bottle of...Spike narrowed his eyes and read...Wet Personal Lubricant. He snickered. So the whelp came prepared eh?
"Passion Fruit, pet?"
Xander snickered before he answered.
"The other choice was Wild Cherry."
"Next time, pet." Whatever else he was going to say died unsaid and he watched with disbelieving eyes as Xander popped the top and reached behind him. The smell of fake passion fruit rose up around them. Taking Spike's hand in his own, Xander thoroughly coated the first two fingers, then closed the bottle and carefully wedged it in the gap beside the seat cushion.
Leaning forward to lay on cool ivory skin, he took Spike's wrist and drew it around himself, placing it so that Spike's lubed fingers were brushing his cleft. Covering Spike's hand with his own, he directed its movement until a dazed Spike caught on.
"Pet? I thought you were..." he trailed off as their twined fingers circled the hidden entrance to Xander's body.
Letting go of the hand, Xander braced himself on Spike's shoulders and thrust his hips back. Spike got the hint and stroked more firmly. Reaching around with his other hand, he discovered what Xander had done when he opened the bottle. A slick trail led from his tailbone down to the back of his balls. Spike played, running his fingers up and down the trail, pausing to press a fingertip into the soft spot behind Xander's balls. Xander grunted and thrust back again. Spike decided it was time for the next step.
Xander's breath hissed out through clenched teeth as Spike eased his forefinger in past the guardian ring.
"Ok, pet?"
"Mmm." He pushed back against Spike's finger, and Spike responded by pressing in deeper, searching for that spot-
"Ah, god! Spike, *please*!"
-and finding it. Spike pressed against Xander's prostate rhythmically, using his other hand to rock Xander's hips. When the muscle had loosened a bit, he worked in some of the lube, then eased in a second finger.
Xander froze, then pushed back hard, catching Spike by surprise and burying his fingers deeply. He rocked as Spike thrust, and then he reached for the bottle. Lifting himself up and freeing Spike's cock, he poured a generous stream on the head and down the shaft.
"Now, Spike!" he demanded.
With one hand on the mortal, holding him open, and the other holding his cock still, he eased Xander down until the warm knot of muscle was nestled firmly against the tip of his cock. Xander's grip on his shoulder tightened as he was breached, nails digging into pale skin. Putting both hands on Xander's hips, Spike waited for the internal muscle to adjust to his presence.
He stared into luminous mahogany eyes as Xander lowered himself until Spike's shaft was completely engulfed.
Spike was in heaven, or as close to it as the evil undead could get. The warmth of the passage surrounding him was incredible. Spike hadn't had many mortal lovers since he'd been turned, and each time he remembered again why he liked to shag them-they were warm. No, they were *hot*. And since he wasn't, the contrast between the two bodies was that much greater, the pleasure that much more intense.
Rocking again, Xander set an exquisitely slow pace. Spike reached out and grasped firm cheeks, feeling between them, rubbing the place where they were joined, where his cool flesh entered Xander's heat.
Xander reached back too, and after briefly twining their fingers together to feel their connection, he moved on, rolling Spike's balls.
Shifting his weight, he thrust forward and kissed Spike, his cock rubbing slickly against Spike's belly, and then back, taking Spike in deeply. When Spike made to let go and lend a hand, so to speak, Xander pulled his mouth away and stopped him with a quick shake of his head.
"No. I like it." He took Spike's mouth again.
Right. Spike put his hand back where it was, using his fingertips to stroke the taut flesh surrounding him.
The slow pace was killing him. He wanted it fast and hard, and he knew that neither of them would last much longer. He slouched down in the chair a bit more, then lifted Xander and thrust up almost savagely. Xander caught his breath, then forced Spike down again, long enough to brace himself. Now better situated, he lifted himself nearly off of Spike's cock, then came down on it abruptly.
Not losing this new rhythm, Spike held Xander by the hips and pounded up into him, pulling Xander down against him. Xander met every aggressive thrust with one of his own and fell forward, his face in Spike's neck.
Xander bit down hard, muffling his cry as he came, and Spike groaned, the hot spurts nearly scalding his stomach. The tight passage tightened further, rhythmically milking Spike's cock. The faint smell of his blood made him aware that Xander's teeth had broken the skin on his neck and he felt Xander's warm tongue lapping at the few coppery drops.
With a shudder, Xander sat back, forcing Spike to slow his thrusts, although they were still hard and deep. As he pulled away, Spike could feel Xander's hot essence dripping down over the tight muscles of his stomach.
A bright glint arrested his gaze. Xander was holding the dagger again, this time to his own throat. Spike took his hand and moved it so that the tip was in the hollow under Xander's collarbone. He watched avidly, eyes only slightly yellow, as the tip bit in, cutting until the blood began to run. Taking it roughly out of his hand, Spike threw the knife away with a clatter and pulled Xander to him. His mouth fastened on the cut and he began sucking, tongue probing the cut in time with his thrusting cock.
Xander's blood flowed into his mouth, thick and rich and sweet. The cut wasn't so deep that Spike could take too much, but it was near the subclavian artery, and Spike could feel it thrumming as he sucked.
The distant, observant corner of his mind informed him that he *would* check out Giles' library before they left, one way or another. Xander hadn't learned *this* from Ian Whatshisname. Maybe the Watcher deserved to live after all.
Hot blood in his mouth, hot flesh surrounding him, heat pooling in his groin... His climax roared through him fast and hard, and he growled as he pulled his mouth away from the crimson ambrosia, remembering just in time not to bite.
Cool semen exploded into warm depths as Xander deliberately tightened around him. Bright pain came when Xander pinched his nipples, adding a sharp note of pleasure. His chest heaved with the remembered effort of breathing.
As the intense wash of pleasure finally faded, he loosened his grip on Xander's hips, rubbing apologetically at fingerprints he knew would turn to bruise.
Spike absently rubbed the come on his stomach into his skin. As he softened he slipped part way out, and was greatly entertained by the steady drip of lube and semen that ran down his cock. It was a good thing he wasn't attached to this chair-it would resemble a swamp in a few more minutes.
Xander snuggled against him, making small contented murmurs as Spike slowly stroked up and down the length of his back, ending with his hands cupped around Xander's cheeks once again.
His near-nap was interrupted by Xander's amused, incredulous voice asking, "Are you purring? You are! You're purring like a giant cat." He settled back against Spike.
Spike was embarrassed. Yes, he purred, most vamps did, but it wasn't a well-known fact. Like cats, a purring vampire was a contented vampire. Before he could respond or make himself stop Xander continued, "Cool. It feels good."
With the purring rumbling between them, they drifted into sleep.
An unknown time later, long after the last candle had guttered, Spike was woken by the sound of birds singing in the trees in the cemetery.
Xander was shivering in the pre-dawn chill.
"C'mon, pet. Wakey wakey!"
Xander struggled to a sitting position, then glanced out the window. It was still dark, but the false dawn in the sky gave promise of the true dawn soon coming.
"Shit!" Scrambling off Spike's lap, Xander got to his feet and started fighting with the chair over possession of his pants. He won, and hopped around on one foot pulling them on, to Spike's open amusement.
"Well, don't just sit there, Fang Boy. There's a shower with our name on it, and a bed, but we have to get you there by dawn. Get a move on!"
Xander velcroed and tied his pants, shook the dust from his buttonless shirt and put it on, then stuffed his socks into pockets and stomped into his boots.
Spike stood and stretched with feline grace, then pulled up his pants. Ditching the tattered remnants of his shirt, he shrugged into another one and sat down to put his boots on. That done, he snagged his duster and stood watching Xander, who was checking his backpack.
Their eyes met, and in the sudden stillness Spike could smell passion fruit, blood, and semen, a reminder of the night's activities and the deal they had made.
Stepping closer, he backed Xander into the door frame. Touching that lush bottom lip with his finger he paused, and Xander snaked his tongue out, tasting.
Slowly, gently, their mouths came together, clung, then parted. Silent promises were exchanged.
Spike stepped away. He looked around and decided that getting back to Xander's before dawn was more important than taking stuff with him. They could always come back later.
"Let's go. We need a shower." Xander hoisted his backpack to his shoulder.
"I'm followin' you, pet."
Together, they walked out of the crypt and headed into the new day.