Taken
by
Beetle
Part Four
July, 1997
Xander's mind-deep in Cable, issue #117, when he hears the knock on the door.
He rolls to his feet and opens the door to his room, pausing to toss the comic book onto his bed. Back in a minute, guys, don't save the future without me.
"Who is it, mom?" Xander leans on the second-floor banister, trying to see down the front hall, half expecting it to be Willow. Who shouldn't be walking around alone after dark.
"Hey, mom?" Xander calls when there's no answer. He starts down the stairs, a chill racing up his spine. "Is it Willow, or -"
By the time he's halfway down the stairs, he can see all he needs to see. His mother is standing just beyond the safety of the front doorway, talking to a vampire.
"Mom!" Xander's taking the stairs two at a time, full-tilt, until he, too, is out beyond the protective barrier of the doorway, at his mother's side. Ready to die defending her.
She turns to Xander, looking mildly annoyed.
"What? Your little friend, Jamie, dropped by to see you and spared the time and curtesy to speak with your mother - more than I can say for your other friends." A bleary-eyed reprimand that's kinda ironic, what with her being in danger of exsanguination.
The question is: how to get her back inside quickly, without the use of words like exsanguination, vampire, undead fiend and especially Eeeeek! Run!
"Mom, he's not -"
From the corner of his eyes, he can see the Jesse-vamp is shifting uncomfortably. "Xan, can we talk? Please?"
Xander can just make out it's miserable expression. He still refuses to look at the thing full-on until he has to.
"I'd really rather not." He manages to say very calmly. "Mom, would you please step inside?"
"We should all go inside and I'll make some fruit punch and Chex Party Mix for you boys, hmm?" Jessica smiles maternally, but the lipstick on her teeth ruins the effect, somewhat. "So, Jamie, why don't you come on -"
"MOM!" Xander interjects and pushes her behind him before she can finish inviting their death in for snacks. "Jamie can't hang tonight, he's got - plans. With his aunt. To go bowling. So he won't be staying long." Xander glances over his shoulder as he hustles her across the threshold, into safety. The Jesse-vamp hasn't made a single move toward them.
"Oh, well, okay. . . if you're sure. . . ." she says as she steps inside the house and Xander nearly faints with relief.
"I'm sure mom, really sure. Hey, isn't Married With Children on, now?"
"You're right! Why can't your father be more like that Al Bundy? He's so sweet and funny." Xander's mother makes happy noises all the way down the hall and into the livingroom.
Disaster averted. . . for now. And God, is my family life depressing.
"Xander, you have to know I'm not here to hurt you." The vampire's voice is soft, but sends Xander scurrying back through the doorway, too.
"Yeah, that'd be so 1996." Xander glares at the thing that used to be his best friend. It's like realizing Jesse's dead all over again.
Xander leans on the lintel, looking the thing in it's eyes for the first time in nearly a year. He doesn't know what he expects to see in the anxious, unhappy eyes, but if it's villainy, he's disappointed.
"If I wanted to hurt you, I coulda done it after I killed the those assholes, last Wednesday," it says, looking down at it's pale hands. "I don't have some big plan to kill or turn you.
"Mind-fucking me before you kill me?" Xander rolls his eyes. "Always classy. Jamie."
"I saved your life! Brought you home, didn't even try to get invited in - hell, I coulda gotten your mom to invite me just now, but I didn't!" The Jesse-vamp steps forward and rests it's palms on the mystical, no-vamps barrier, which ripples like the disturbed surface of a pond.
“So, what? You want a medal?” Xander tries for contempt, but all the while thinks: brave words from behind the barrier. I’m da man.
"I want you to be the one who invites me in, Xan. If and when." Jesse-vamp's face is so openly yearning and sad and -
Lonely, Xander's heart supplies before he clamps down tight on it.
“I’m not inviting you in, Jess. I will never invite you in.” Xander’s tone is beyond unwelcoming, now, and edging into hostile. Jesse-vamp looks down, it's hands dropping slowly away from the barrier.
"You saved my life, Xan, even after I tried to kill you.” Even though it’s almost surely calculating, pitching it’s voice small and sad on purpose, that voice still cuts Xander into pieces. “You - you're the best friend I've ever had and I don't want you to hate me."
"Thought a big-talkin' vamp like you was too cool to associate with a loser like me. Or are you just as big a loser dead as you were alive and the cooler vamps won't have anything to do with you?" Xander leans forward, closer to the barrier, but not past it. "Is that it?"
"No." The Jesse-vamp looks up again and it's eyes are shiny. Xander feels a moment of concern for it; hates himself twice as much as he hates it.
"I shoulda staked you when I had the chance, but I -" Xander laughs mirthlessly, helplessly filling his eyes with the sight of his dead best friend. "I mistook you for someone I used to know. Someone who's dead, now." Hurts to say that, to acknowledge the weakness that he still feels simmering within him. He bows his head and closes his eyes.
Even if I wanted to pray for Jesse's soul, I wouldn't know how. . . .
"Please, Xander. I was the loser for doing what I did. . . saying what I said. I'll do whatever it takes to regain your trust, just tell me."
Xander's startled into into looking, seeing; the vamp is watching him unblinkingly, it's dead, white face is stiller than Jesse's face had ever been.
The smile Xander summons for it is gentle, almost forgiving. "Not staking you when the opportunity presents itself? Is a mistake I won't make twice."
He slams the front door in the Jesse-vamp’s face before it can respond.
June, 2000
Xander is sure, now, that he knows how robots must feel.
His feet propel him toward Jesse - Jesse! - without his say so, his traitor lips are saying things that his brain heartily disapproves of - not for the first time - and his arms, his bastard arms. . . they’re just all about the hugging and holding. It’s shameful, really.
But, currently arc-welded to Jesse’s mouth - and opening enough to encourage some tongue-action - Xander feels his mouth is the biggest traitor of all. Easily on par with Benedict Arnold.
And - yep, his ass has joined the choir of sedition after a possessive double squeeze from Jesse’s strong hands.
Two years! It’s been two years! No matter how good it feels, he can’t just come back and kiss me and everything’s all alright! This isn’t some lame ass romance story! He can’t - oh, God, what am I doing? And in front of Spike?
At the thought of Spike - or of Spike watching him kiss Jesse - Xander’s body goes into overdrive, warp nine-point-seven, at least. The already uncontrollable desire he’s feeling for Jesse is fanned into a big, all-consuming need.
“Oh, bugger.”
Spike’s voice, coupled with Jesse’s touch sends some interesting signals to Xander’s naughty-fun zone and - and -
I’m hard, Xander thinks, lost in the wastelands between disbelief and self-disgust. And kinda angry. . . he waltzes back into my life with the jokes and the lips and the naughty-hands and suddenly I’m mister-forgiving-guy-who-instantaneously-f
He breaks the kiss quickly, panting and backing away a bit. The hazy, happy look on Jesse’s oft-wished for, long-missed face is enough to make him regret what he’s about to do, but damnit, he refuses to make this mistake twice. That way led to blood-loss and heart-loss, once upon a time.
“If I’d have known you’d be this happy to see me, I woulda come back a long time ago.” Jesse’s voice is shaking and he leans in for another kiss, but Xander backs out of his arms.
“You fucker.” And yeah, yeah, Xander's hauling back, hand curled into a fist. The confident, horny, blissed-out look on Jesse’s face is turning to confusion.
Spike looks from Jesse, fallen flat on his arse, to Harris, who’s shaking his hand gingerly and glaring at his very surprised friend.
“There’s your happy, asshole. Choke on it.”
“Xander -” Jesse's not even trying to get up, just turning the full force of puppy-dog eyes on Harris.
Oh, love, if you fall for that, you’re not nearly as smart as I don't give you credit for being. . . .
“Shut up, Jesse. It’s too-fucking-little, too-fucking-late.” That's the most forbidding tone Spike has ever heard the boy use and he heartily approves. It’s a surprisingly sexy voice, sends tingles to all the right places.
The fact that the voice isn't aimed at Spike makes the tingle that much sweeter.
Admittedly, though, after the marathon snogging - and groping - a left uppercut simply doesn’t follow.
“Right. I’ll admit to being slightly confused,” Spike says, breaking the intense silence. Harris starts and looks up at him, as if just remembering there are other people in the world besides him and Jesse. Then he looks around, at the late evening foot-traffic that’s making a wide berth 'round the three of them.
“Spike, I -” Harris doesn't so much as glance at Jesse. “He -”
“Jesse,” Spike amends.
“Yeah, Jesse." Cue the painful-looking, all-over blush. "We’re - we used to be friends.” Harris’s smile is limp, weary.
“So I saw. But not anymore, I take it?” Spike feels he should get a gold statuette for the kind of casual he’s pretending to be.
“No,” Harris says firmly. Jesse apparently isn’t giving up on the puppy-eyes any time soon, for all the good it’s doing him. “Not anymore.”
“Well.” Spike isn’t a good enough actor to stop the grimly satisfied smile. “Good, then.”
“Yeah.” Harris takes a few steps toward Spike, then a few more. “So. . . ?”
Spike opens his mouth, but can’t think of anything to say. Harris’s blush gets even deeper and he looks down at his ratty shoes again. Jesse is still sitting on the ground, not looking at Harris or anyone now, just staring into space, looking confused and a little lost. Spike almost feels sorry for him.
Almost. After all, the tosser’d had his hands all over Harris's arse and his tongue down Harris’s throat. Jesse's lucky he didn’t find himself on the wrong end of a stake. Hell, he might, yet.
No doubt Harris is will want to mope, then talk, then cry on Spike's shoulder. The truly pathetic part is that Spike fully intends to let him. The chip's turned him into a right ponce. He doesn't even have a bleeding soul to use as an excuse.
“Wanna go get that drink, now?” Spike's half-smile doesn't make it the whole nine yards to leer.
“Fuck, yeah.” Harris sighs, relieved, then sweeps an arm out. “Lay on, MacDuff.”
Spike gives Harris a toothy smile and holds out his hand. For a moment, all Harris does is stare at it, as if it’s some sort of strange species of flora. Spike’s about to retract the offer and the hand when the boy takes it unsurely, then laces their fingers. The smile he gives Spike is brilliant.
“Let’s go.”
Harris practically drags Spike down the street. He never looks back, though Spike does, the one time.
Jesse is gone.
Part Five
August, 1997
“Xander.”
Walking home from The Bronze, Xander doesn’t even have to look around to know whose voice that is. He's just glad it had waited till he'd dropped Willow off before moving on to the one-sided convo stage of it's continued stalking.
So he keeps walking, as usual, head down and hoping that it’ll finally go away and stop pretending to be someone it’s not.
The cold hand that closes on his shoulder kills that bright and shiny dream.
“Xan, come on, look at me.”
“If you’re gonna kill me, kill me. If not, just - lemme go home in peace. It’s been -” Xander has to laugh at the absurdity of telling this thing his woes. “It’s been a long year.”
“Tell me about it,” the vamp sighs, sliding an arm across Xander’s shoulders, easily keeping up with Xander’s brisk pace. Of course, it doesn’t have to worry about getting out of breath or leg cramps, does it?
“Look, you wanna come back to the lair and hang? We could pick up some pizza, rent some movies. . . .”
Oh, my God, I don’t believe this!
“Stop it!” Xander shoves the vampire’s arm off his shoulders and turns to face it - him. He looks so surprised, so miserable, so - so Jesse, which only makes Xander angrier. Unwisely so, but angrier, nonetheless. This - nonsense has been going on for weeks, now.
“You’re a fucking monster, okay, so stop pretending that you’re human, that you care and that you’re not just aching to kill a loser like me where I stand, ’cause we both know better, right?” Xander’s screaming, now, rage flowing out of his mouth like a poisonous river. The demon is just standing there, looking stricken and hurt and Xander doesn’t see that, doesn’t want to see that.
“Jesse is dead and you’re a demon - a parasite that took over his body, lied to us, to me! Tried to kill me! Jesse woulda never done that, man, so you ain’t Jesse! Nothing you can say will make you Jesse!”
The Jesse-vamp looks like he's about to cry and Xander feels like a jerk. He’s so very sorry he’d saved this thing, let it walk away, let it weasel off while Buffy was busy saving everyone’s lives.
Sorry that the stake in his back pocket is going to stay there, as it has all the other times the Jesse-vamp has shown his lying face in the past few weeks.
“So, you gonna kill me, now, or what?” Xander asks, even though the answer is always the same.
Jesse shakes his head, a mute denial.
Xander steps toward the vampire, who backs up. “Seemed real eager to do it last year, don’t see what’s stopping you now.”
“I don’t wanna kill you, Xan, I never -”
“So you were just trying to break that door down to give me and Buffy big, ol’ hugs, is that it?” They've been playing this game for too long and Xander's getting pretty tired of it. "You don't have a soul. You wouldn't know good, or love, or friendship if it bit you on the ass."
“Damnit -” The Jesse-vamp runs a hand through his hair, looking less miserable and more aggravated. More like Jesse than ever. “Will you just shut up, for once? Just for a minute? Scream at me later, but at least hear me out now!”
“Yeah, sure, explain away the fact that you’re an evil, soulless shit that’s walking around wearing my best friend’s corpse -”
Despite his harsh words, somewhere, deep down Xander really believed he’d been dealing with the same boy he’d gone to school with for the past ten years. But when the Jesse-vamp moves, pins Xander to the trunk of a nearby oak tree before Xander can even begin to gasp, reality comes crashing in like a pro-wrestler.
“I said shut up, Xan.” Jesse-vamp is in full gameface, now, his voice little more than a growl with delusions of grammar.
He weighs more dead than he ever did alive, Xander notes calmly as the Jesse-vamp flattens him against the tree; he’s suddenly afraid. Not of death - he’s lived in the ‘Dale far too long to fear death - but that Jesse’s demon might not let him stay dead.
Keeping my mouth shut sounds like a plan, for now.
Gameface melts away and Xander’s looking at his best friend again. The thing pretending to be his best friend.
“Listen.” Jesse-vamp sighs and the fangs and ridges melt away, like they never were. “I’m not the same guy I was a year ago. Or even six months ago. I know who I am, now, Xander. I’m Jesse. Stronger and faster and -”
“Deader.” Way to keep your mouth shut, idiot!
Jesse-vamp just blinks and grins. “That, too. But still Jesse. You’re still my best friend. I never wanna hurt you, you know?”
“We play on opposite teams, Jess, or didn’t you realize? I pal around with the Slayer, now.” Xander meant to sound proud of the fact, but he just sounds spiteful and petty, to his own ears.
Jesse nods and for a moment, he looks lost and confused. Then his face hardens. “Damn it, it’s all her fault I’m dead, anyway! She brought all this X-Files shit to town with her!”
“No she didn’t, and you know it. All the people, all our friends that’ve disappeared and died since, like, forever - Buffy didn’t bring that with her. She's putting a stop to it," Xander says, then quietly adds, "The real Jesse would understand that.”
“Come on, man.” Jesse-vamps’s eyes are shifting from brown to gold and it's hands are squeezing Xander’s arms so hard, he’s going to have bruises in the morning. If he lives that long.
“I did some stupid shit when I first got turned, but don’t - don’t hate me. I’m still your best friend. Don’t abandon me, man!”
It’s the tears that make Xander do what he does next. (At least that’s what he'll tell himself when he wakes up the very next afternoon, covered in bruises and bites and minus two pints of blood.)
Xander reaches up and caresses Jesse-vamp’s face tentatively. He immediately leans into the touch, his eyes closing. The skin under his fingers feels - well, Xander doesn’t know if it feels the same, he hadn’t been familiar with the way real-Jesse’s face felt. But the vampire's skin and tears feel soft, smooth and cool to the touch.
Giles and Buffy never said vamps could cry.
“Don’t cry, we - we didn’t abandon you, we - Giles and Buffy said -”
“What the fuck do they know about it?” Jesse-vamp opens his eyes and they’re wet, angry, golden. “Have they ever been vampires?”
Xander blushes. “No, but - “
“I’m not gonna lie to you, Xan - I’ve done some things, hurt some people and I guess it was wrong, but -" Jesse shakes his head helplessly. "I don’t feel bad about it. And why should I? I wasn’t hurting anyone who matters. Not my folks or Will, or you.”
“Jesus, Jess, it’s not that simple! You can’t just hurt people and not feel bad, it’s - it’s wrong and -” as Xander’s thumb gently brushes Jesse-vamp’s cheekbone, it starts to - purr, is the only word that seems to fit. “You can’t stay in Sunnydale and you can’t keep coming around! When Buffy gets back, she's gonna slay you!”
“Not if she doesn’t know I’m still here, she won’t.” Jesse-vamp grins, the same wry, sly grin he's had since kindergarten, but the sense of playful mischief has been replaced by something darker.
Or maybe the darkness is all that's left once the soul is gone. . . .
“Oh, no.” Xander leans his head back against the tree and closes his eyes wearily. "No-no-no, you're not Jesse, you're just a demon. A liar. Get away from me."
“Xander, please, you gotta believe it’s me. I'm the same as I was before I got turned, only happier, better. . . colder, though.” Jesse laughs nervously, his chilly hand coming up to rest over Xander’s, trapping it. “Having no circulation or body heat’ll do that to you, I guess.”
Xander laughs, too, even though he's sure he's going mad. “I’m sure you are. Please leave me the hell alone.”
"Xander, I'm so cold." As if to back up that statement, a cold whisper of breath ghosts across Xander’s palm. "And you're so warm. . . ."
Neither of them say anything for a few minutes and around them, the night grows slowly older. When Xander opens his eyes, Jesse’s giving him the weirdest look. His eyes are doing that flashing-thing, shifting between dark brown and gold; it’s almost mesmerizing.
Almost. Xander closes his eyes, tries to clear his head and starts to move his hand away. But Jesse shakes his head slightly, pressing Xander’s hand to his cheek.
“Don’t stop.”
Xander shivers, swallows around the lump in his throat. “Jess -”
“Come back to my lair.” Jesse turns his face to whisper against Xander’s palm, his lips and tongue a gentle, suggestive brush that makes Xander sigh.
“Okay.”
June, 2000
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.”
Spike frowns at his Stella for a minute before glancing at Harris - silent!Harris - again. “You sure?”
The boy knocks back another shot. “Pretty sure.”
“Right, then.”
It's a slow night at Willy's, unfortunately. A few vamps, a couple of Chthonians - the non-violent, non-slimy kind - but nothing dangerous or even very distracting.
Across from him, Harris, despite eight shots of Jagermeister, is remarkably un-drunk. Spike supposes the boy's inherited that Harris drinking-gene, after all.
Thought he'd be all tears and snot and mewling. . . he's a surprise at every turn, tonight.
“Why don’t you just admit it?” The boy's quietly amused voice is a bit of a startle, considering he hasn't strung together more than four syllables since they'd arrived.
“How's 'at?”
Harris starts laughing and Spike’s clearly missed something.
“What?”
“You’re curious. About me and Jess.”
Spike already has a fair idea of what their relationship had been. But all that's ancient history and that's what matters. “Am I?”
“Mmhm." Harris's bright, dark eyes are dancing with merriment and possibly tears. There's a briny scent in the air, but that could just be one of the Chthonian's Margaritas. "The curiosity’s been eatin’ at you but you’re too fucking stubborn to just ask and have done.”
“Maybe you’re the one eager to tell.”
"Like you don't want all the gory details." Harris snorts.
"Enlighten me as to why I would even care about what passes for your sex-life, pillock." Spike snarks out of habit, though he's very interested in what passes for Harris's sex-life.
"Enlightenment? Coming up." The boy's smile is sultry, a little bleary. Spike's about to suggest Harris lay off the hard stuff when a warm foot nudges his calf. Slides steadily upward along his inseam, till it reaches the semi he's been trying to ignore for the entire evening.
Harris's smile is downright predatory. His eyes never leave Spike's as he strokes with his toes. Spike leans back in his rickety chair and grins; a bit of shifting in his chair to maximize the area of stroke-age and. . . yeah.
Without breaking eye contact, he knows that every vamp eye in the place is on them, knows exactly what's going on.
That's it, tossers, this one's mine, no snackin' allowed.
And as much as Spike wants to unzip and let the boy show off this brilliant talent he seems to possess, it wouldn't be prudent. Not even in a dive like Willy's. Spike lifts his pelvis once, sharply, making sure his interest is unmistakable, before catching and stilling Harris's foot and pushing it away.
"Easy on the goods, for now, pet," Spike murmurs to those pretty eyes, to those bloody amazing toes. "Just washed these jeans, didn't you? Plus, we've got ourselves an audience."
The boys blushes and glances away. "Oh. God, this place is a pit."
"Don't have to tell me. But it's cheap. And. . . discreet."
Harris grunts something that could be agreement, stares into his empty shot glass. "Can I tell you about Jess and me?"
"'Course." After the aborted toe-job - Spike's been around the block countless times, but he's never received a toe-job - he'd listen to Harris read War and Peace.
The boy sighs again, glancing at the bar to signal the waitress.
“Nothing much to tell, really.”
“Is that so?”
“That is, indeed, so.” Harris's smile turns suspiciously bland. “He was my best friend. Mine and Willow’s. Since kindergarten. Just after Buffy came to town, about three years ago, he got turned by the Master. . . then he tried to kill us.”
Spike frowns. One of the Master's get? Probably not childer, then, but still not a vamp to be taken lightly. “Tough break, that.”
“Tell me about it. . . .” Harris falls silent as the waitress - a so-so looking vamp who must’ve been turned young - puts down his shot and a half full bottle of Jager. She collects the empties quickly, then makes tracks. Harris glares at the bottle morosely. “Friggin' Jesse, man.”
Spike clears his throat. “You two were lovers, then?”
The boy meets Spike’s eyes squarely. “Yeah. Only the one time, but. . . yes.”
“Only once?" Spike lets the eyebrow speak for him, but adds, "Not exactly Don Juan, our boy?”
“What? Oh, no - I mean, it wasn’t that. Hell, if anyone was the dud it was me. I’d never even kissed anyone, let alone -” Harris makes a vague gesture with his hand. His face is lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Then why only once?” Why didn't he claim you and keep you when he had you, love? He didn't look that stupid.
“Why?” Harris's laugh is bitter. “Because I’m a loser. I’m the Zeppo. I’m a nobody, remarkably easy to walk away from, or didn’t you notice?”
Spike winces. “I’m sure that’s not true -”
“Spike, you’re a bad liar and an even worse comforter. And it’s no big, you know? I know my role, have for a long time. I’ve accepted it. But seeing him again, tonight, after two years was. . . .” the boy trails off.
“Unexpected?” Spike offers. Harris laughs jaggedly.
“Yeah. That, too.”
Part Six
August, 1997 Next Index
Jesse had been stalking him almost since the night Buffy left town.
Showing up wherever Xander went, insisting they talk or hang. In all that time, he’s never once made Xander feel threatened, if one overlooks their initial meeting. But now, on Jesse's bed, in Jesse's lair - a borderline-cheap motel room just within the town limits - Xander’s instinct is clearing it's throat in preparation for a manly, but blood-curdling scream.
“Shit, please tell me you’re not getting hungry?” he asks. Jesse's just been sitting in a rickety motel chair, watching Xander for the past ten minutes and smiling an eerily zen smile.
Zen for a vampire, anyway.
“Since I got turned I’m always hungry, always horny,” Jesse sighs so ruefully, Xander’s torn between shuddering and laughing. A giggle slips out, desperate and high-pitched, but that clinches it. He’s laughing harder than he’s ever laughed before, doubling up and clutching his sides, hoping he doesn't yurg all over Jesse's rumpled bed.
“So, basically you’re saying the Master bit you and t-turned you into a fifteen year old boy?” Xander's laughing harder than he's laughed since - since Buffy came to town.
Jesse's still watching him, but smiling, so it's okay and not creepy anymore. “Gee, thanks for the empathy, man. I’m going through some massive angst here and you’re making with the funny. That’s touching in a not-at-all-touching sorta way.”
Xander has to lean back against the headboard or topple right over. “Hey, you said it, not me!”
Jesse’s still got that weird look in his eyes, but he’s still smiling, as well. “You’re beyond retarded. But at least you’re not scared of me anymore, right?”
“I dunno. That depends on whether or not I’m starting to smell like a one course dinner, or not.” Xander’s just joking, still fighting off the last of the giggles, but Jesse’s smile turns predatory.
“Let’s find out.” Jesse crosses the room and sits next to Xander so their legs are touching. He puts his hand on Xander’s shoulder and leans in close; so close, part of Xander’s over-taxed brain wonders if he’s about to be eaten, or maybe kissed.
“Hey, no -” he begins, but the sentence ends in a yelp as cold lips and an even colder nose touch his neck. Jesse inhales so deeply, Xander's glad he'd remembered to take a shower that day.
“Oh, jeez, you smell even better up close,” Jesse murmurs against Xander’s throat. “You smell like every dessert I’ve ever had or wanted to have. You smell like. . . .” Jesse inhales again and shivers. At some point, since the sniffing started, he'd begun slowly stroking Xander's arm as if gentling a skittish horse.
“Uh, Jess, you’re wigging me out.” Is that wet flicker Jesse’s tongue? You bet it is! Suddenly Xander’s shivering too, whether from fear or something else, he doesn’t know.
Oh, God, was that a pre-bite lick, or a pre-naughty-fun lick? Which kind of lick would wig me out more?
And there will be no deep pondering of that particular question, ‘cause it’s so not up for debate.
“You smell like fear, too.” The hand stroking Xander's arm is sliding around his waist and Jesse's cool, hard body is pressed against his side. The sniffing has turned into protracted nuzzling.
“Well, you’re scaring me, Jess, so yeah. I guess I would smell kinda fear-y.” And boy, is he afraid. But not of being eaten.
“Xan. . . .” Jesse's "breath" tickles and it sounds like he’s grinning. Then, oh, then his face is inches from Xander's. "Don't be afraid. I'd never hurt you, not now. . . not ever."
"Wow! Okay!" Xander practically levitates in his haste to get off the bed and put some space between himself and Jesse.
"Um, so, this is your lair, huh? Does it have room service and cable? Ooh, hey! A mirror!" Xander wanders over to the room's one, chipped dresser and leans on it tiredly. In the large, scuffed mirror, his eyes are wide and spooked.
I'm pretty sure he was gonna kiss me? How sure am I? Belmont Stakes sure. Vegas odds sure. Oh, crap. . . .
"Xander."
In the mirror Xander can see the bed, empty, rumpled, with a slight dip in the center. Jesse. And there's nothing for it but to turn and face him.
Yep, Xander's about to, any second, now.
"There’s another scent under the fear, Xander.”
Xander eeps at the chill whisper in his ear and the hands on his hips, pushing up his t-shirt just a bit. Soft, cool lips are on his nape, whispering - or kissing, if Xander's being honest with himself - due right, to his jawline.
Honesty is extremely over-rated. I'm all for denial.
“Another scent? Like wh-what? B.O., or - sweet, sprinkle surprise! Okay! Hungry and horny. I get that, now. I so get that, ‘cause your naughty-fun zone is pressed right against my - um, oh, wow -”
“Xander, in full-on-babble mode? Very hot. . . speaking of, touching you is like standing in sunlight. You're so warm and bright. . . but hopefully non-lethal.” Even though Xander can't see Jesse's reflection, he knows Jesse's smile is full of teeth, his eyes full of gold.
And he’s doing something that Xander might consider grinding if it wasn’t being done to him by his dead, male best friend.
“Jess, in case you forgot, I - uh -" Oh, if only Xander could ignore the utter surrealness of Jesse's - dead Jesse's - hard-on. "We’re b-both guys!"
"So?" Jesse is panting and his slow, easy grinding is getting faster, purposeful and intense.
"And you're a vampire!" Which still doesn't explain why Xander's letting himself be dry-humped against a motel dresser. It certainly doesn't explain why his body is - oh, say it ain't so - matching Jesse's funscarygay pace. Unless -
"Hey! Are you thralling me?!?”
“I'm not thralling you, lamewad.” Jesse sounds like he's laughing.
“Oh. . . what about Cordelia? Aren’t you having unrequited lust for her?”
Jesse snorts and slides his hands under Xander’s t-shirt and up his torso, brushing his nipples. “Please. I’d like to think I’ve grown as a soulless fiend. Anyway, that shallow bitch is so last year.”
Jesse's not in gameface, but Xander can feel the rippling on the back of his neck, like Jesse's fighting to stay human for him. (Only in his deepest, girliest subconscious will Xander ever admit that he's touched by the gesture.)
“So, you got turned and got turned gay? That's, um, weird and - uh. . . stuff.” Why has talking become the Xan-man’s arch-nemesis? Ah, yes, the grinding and nipple-brushing - nipple-pinching.
“I always thought you were cute. Just never had the balls to admit it.” One of Jesse's hands drifts down to Xander's fly, hesitates. "You wouldn't believe how many times I've jerked off while thinking about you."
“Yeah, right. ‘Hello, I’m Xander, the Great and Sexless Wonder’! I'm no one's stroke-fantasy, Jess. Well, maybe Willow's, but I’m not even gonna go there.” Xander shudders.
“I want you, Xan. Hear me? I want you.”
“For dinner? Hey maybe you’re confusing horny with hungry, ever think of that and why am I trying to talk you into eating me in the non-sexual, devour-y kinda way ohjesusfuck!” There goes the zipper, and Jesse's knuckles brush Xander's erection - just when the hell had that happened? - as he slides it slowly down.
Hands! Hands in naughty places! Principal Snyder in a speedo Principal Snyder in a speedo Principal Snyder in a -
Jesse's chin rests on Xander's shoulder. "I want you." A whisper that tickles his earlobe just before sharpish, still-human teeth bite.
Had Jesse's voice ever sounded like that, before? So dark and full of - need? Certainly it'd never sounded that way about Xander.
"Y-you do?" Xander opens his eyes only to see his own reflection, alone. His hair and shirt appear to be disheveling themselves. But he has an idea of where Jesse's eyes should be and looks steadily into them. "You really want me?"
Then Jesse's turning him away from the mirror, kissing him softly and slowly, which is, like, the best possible answer.
June, 2000
The world is shiny and pretty. And shiny, too.
“No, it’s not, you’re just drunk, is all. Believe me, the world’ll seem much less shiny with your head in the loo, pet.”
Is Spike reading my mind, or did I say that out loud?
“Bloody hell - of course you said it out loud, you pillock!” Spike grumbles and curses, but Xander finds himself distracted by the nice view he has of Spike's ass. A wonderful sight from far away, but up close, it's - wow.
Spike has a great ass.
“'Bout time you noticed, Harris.” There’s a laugh in Spike’s voice and that’s way better than the cursing.
The world, shiny and pretty though it is, is moving oddly, making blood rush to Xander's head. Though, at least half of that feeling is due to Spike's ass. “Spike, how come we’re not at Willy’s anymore?”
“You're really pissed, aren't you?" Spike sighs. "You passed out after shot fifteen, pet. Did a header right into the table. . . never heard a sound like that in all my unlife. What’s your skull made out of, anyway? Balsa wood?”
“Your ass is soooooooo fucking awesome." He watches Spike's ass clench and release as the strong, muscular legs above them walk. Wait. Above? "I dream about your ass.”
“Really?” Spike doesn’t seem too displeased about that.
“I dunno,” Xander admits. “But I’d like to, anyway. Hey, here’s a question: why am I upside down?”
“Tossed you over my shoulder and left, didn’t I? I’d never live it down if anyone saw me carrying you in my arms like some dainty, little chit.”
“Oh." Xander's arms are swaying above him - below him? - swaying like tree branches in a strong breeze. "Spike. . . would you sleep with me?”
"Yeah." There’s silence, for a bit, and Xander spends it contemplating the Amazing Ass. “What, you mean right now?”
“What?”
“Nothing, never mind. . . say, Harris. . . you still in love with your old mate?”
“Hunh?” Can an ass actually hypnotize? Are you hypnotizing me, Spike’s ass? Spike’s arse?
“Harris! Stop talking to my arse and answer the bloody question!”
“Alright, alright, Christ!” Xander feels very put upon. The world, which is mostly made up of Spike's hypnotic ass, is spinning. Xander thinks he might cry. Then he gets a brilliant idea.
“Oi! No grabbin’ it, either! ‘M tryin’ to walk!” There's a savage pinch to the back of Xander's thigh.
"Ouch!" Above him, Spike's ass and legs and a sliver of pavement resume their somba-esque rhythm. "Where's your duster? Did you leave it at Willy's?"
"God, no!" Spike sounds almost offended. "Willy'd sell his own mother for a wad of used chewing gum, never mind my duster. Carrying it on m' other arm. Don't want you pukin' down the back of it."
"Oh. . . do you work out?”
“I’m dead.” No matter what Spike's saying, it always sounds like he’s calling Xander a pillock. It's no fair the English get to make up words whenever they want.
“Would that be a no?”
“That would be a no.”
“Oh. . . well." Xander gives that some serious thought. "Some people just have naturally nice asses. I guess you’re one of them.”
“Ta, love.” Spike does have feelings. And Xander would call the feeling that’s currently coloring Spike's voice: touched.
But just in case he isn’t picking up on that, Spike smacks his ass soundly.
“Yipe!”
“Don’t complain. You know you liked that,” Spike says smugly.
The shame of it is, Xander can’t even disagree. When had he turned into such a he-slut?
Just smack my ass and I’ll follow you anywhere. . . maybe that’s why Jesse left me.
"If that's why he left, he's a fool and a daft bugger," Spike eloquently opines. "All too rare to find a human that really likes the rough stuff, I'll tell ya."
“I dunno.”
“Bugger I dunno, I can smell the pheromones comin’ off you like stink off a Drellnar! Bet you’ve been waiting for some strong, take-charge kinda bloke to spank you proper.”
“No - well, yeah. But I meant that I don’t know if I’m in love with Jesse, anymore. I don't know if I ever was. . . but he wanted me.” Xander sighs, which isn’t a good idea when you’re upside down over a guy's shoulder, as it leads to a near-puking.
“If you throw up on me, I’ll kill you, chip bedamned,” Spike warns.
“Not gonna throw up. . . ."
"You'd better not."
"He broke my heart, Spike. More than once.”
“So I gathered.”
"He said he'd never hurt me, never ever and then he went and did it anyway."
An empathetic pat on Xander’s ass turns into a sustained stroke. "He's a wanker, pet."
“He was my first and. . . I know guys aren’t supposed to get all sentimental about that kinda thing." They're going up steps. . . familiar steps. "But - all my friends are girls so sentimentality kinda rubbed off on me.”
“Gospel truth, that. Not exactly a manly man, are you?”
“Maybe that’s why he left," Xander tells the welcome mat, which is also familiar. "'Cause I’m just a dumb, ugly, girly, dumb loser-boy with stupid hair and tacky clothes and I talk too much.”
“Don't say that, pet, you're not - well, you’re not ugly.” Spike stops walking. Xander hears the jingle of keys. “Been wantin’ to shag you since Angelus gave you to me.”
“You have?” An open doorway with darkness spilling out and Spike is walking them through it.
“Yeah, I have." An unlovely scent like cheap beer and stale cigarette smoke makes Xander wonder if they're back at Willy's. "He only used you to distract me - the bastard - because I’m a sucker for pretty brunets and he knows that."
"Oh." Angel or Angelus, the guy's just a bastard, always exploiting people's weaknesses like a big, broody cave-vamp, and - "Wait - you think I'm pretty?"
Another door creaks, a light switch is flicked and things take a sudden downward turn. "Well -"
"Ohgodewww! Angel thought I was pretty?" Spike seems to be clomping briskly down a narrow, poorly-lit flight of stairs. That does not help Xander's sudden nausea at all, but at least the clomping stops relatively soon.
"Here we are!” Spike exclaims.
“Where's here -?” then Xander’s world is turned topsy-turvy-er as he’s dumped, like a sack of potatoes, onto a saggy bed.
When the room stops spinning enough for him to risk opening his eyes, he sees Spike - and Spike's three clones - staring down at him in concern.
Ah, back at the Basement of Doom. . . splendid. And I gotta get up at five - shit what time is it? I hope I don't yark all over the bed. Why the hell is Jesse back in town? I touched Spike's non-no area with my foot! Why is the room spinning? How drunk am I? I am gonna throw up, aren't I?
“Look a bit green around the gills, pet.” It’s cool that the clones tsk in sync, but also a tad creepy.
“Nah, m'okay, just. . . needa. . . lie here a moment. . . re-group. . . re-strategize. . . .”
“Alright, then. Think you’re gonna be heaving in the night?” The four Spikes are giving Xander very dubious looks.
“No. . . can I ask you guys somethin'?”
“Er. . . why not? Long as it isn’t about my arse.”
Xander blushes. “Could you, um - one of you, anyway - sleep with me?”
“Didn’t we cover this a little while ago?” The clones are reaching for their belts in perfect, four-part harmony, four leers lighting four, excruciatingly sexy faces. . . .
A wonderful sight, but -
“No! I mean sleep as in lay down with me and go to sleep! No naughty-fun! I gotta flip burgers in a few hours,” Xander whines just as the four vamps are about to yank down their pants. They turn four, disappointed pouts on him.
Sexy-pout times four? Almost more than a Zeppo can bear.
“Oh, fine. . . ." The clones seem disappointed, but tuck themselves away again, not that Xander had been staring, heavens, no! "Are you gonna act like a frightened virgin if you wake up and I’m in your bed?”
“No!" Xander feels vaguely insulted. He closes his eyes and rolls onto his side, shutting out four more dubious frowns. "Probably not.”
(Unless he forgets about asking Spike to join him, but they’ll cross that boat when they sail to it. Right now, all Xander wants to do is sleep.
Just not by himself.)
“Right. . . oi, Harris? Sometimes, I like to sleep in the altogether -”
“Spike!" Xander refuses to open his eyes again. Lord only knows what the Big Bad Quadruplets are doing now.
“Fine! I’ll sleep in m’ kit." Spike's sulky voice, followed by a muffled zipping-up sound. Xander sighs, tells himself he's not at all regretful. "Happy?”
“Deliriously. Just get in bed and be quiet. I gotta be up in -” Xander’s watch is all blurry and flesh-toned. . . he can’t even read it, what with those little dark hairs growing out of it.
“Three hours and twenty-seven minutes,” Spike says helpfully.
“Oh, fuck me.” Xander groans as the bed dips under Spike’s weight. A second later, a room temperature body is tucked up behind his own, one arm thrown over his waist.
“In the morning, love. In the morning,” Spike sighs, his cool breath tickling the back of Xander’s neck.
Before he can respond, darkness drops on him, like an Acme anvil.
