Rating: Heavy R.
Disclaimer: Characters not mine. Words are.
Warnings/Squicks: some fairly heavy angst.
Summary: Yesterday there was smiles and laughter. Today he’s gone, and Xander’s alone.
Notes: Fairly complete lack of any sort of spoilers. At all.
Kiss Me, Kill Me
Xander sat on his bed, and wondered where the hell it went wrong.
Today was his anniversary. Just a month, but when that anniversary was with Spike, a month of a relationship meant a hell of a lot.
Well, it had been his anniversary. Now it was just a day like any other. If every other day left him miserable and alone, of course.
Everything had been just fine yesterday, damn it. They’d woken up, lazed around in bed for a while, then spent another couple hours watching TV because Xander had the day off from work and it was rare that they got the chance to do the couch potato thing. They’d made a mess in the kitchen making lunch, left the mess for later and ordered pizza for dinner. Xander had been plotting his surprise for Spike for the next day, involving breakfast in bed and lots of sex, both fast and sweaty and the slow and loving kind.
And then it had happened. The Fight. Capitalize as needed, ladies and gentleman. Xander wasn’t sure exactly how it had happened, but somewhere between the pepperoni pizza and the Chunky Monkey ice cream, they’d started screaming at each other. Which wasn’t really unusual in and of itself, since they fought almost as often as they had sex, but this time it was serious. This time they weren’t just insulting each other- they were trying to wound, going for the emotional jugular. At some point Xander had stopped, amazed at the words that were coming out of his mouth, but Spike just kept right on, filth spilling out of his mouth that he hadn’t heard from the vampire since the days when they were “Harris” and “the chipped bastard.”
And then Spike had said the Words, and he’d left.
How could Spike have said that to him? Well, besides the, “duh, he’s evil” thing. He’d thought Spike had stopped playing on his insecurities, saying just the right thing to remember what it was like to be the Zeppo, the one who was always passed over when the school dance rolled around. But apparently they hadn’t moved past that at all.
“I’m tired of this shite,” he’d said, storming towards the door and grabbing his coat. And then lower, softer, and dead serious, staring straight at Xander when he said it-
“I’m tired of you.”
And then he’d left. He hadn’t even bothered to slam the door behind him, because his words had sure as hell needed no counterpoint.
At first, Xander hadn’t believed that he’d meant it. It hurt, sure, but this was something they could move past. Spike would come back, and they’d both apologize, and they’d have make-up sex and everything would be fine.
He sat up all night telling himself that, but Spike still didn’t come home. He sat, curled up on the couch, all the next day, telling himself that Spike just couldn’t get home because the sun was up, and he’d call, tell Xander he was sorry and that he’d come home as soon as it was dark. And then he’d paced the living room all night, waiting for Spike to come home, but now it was almost dawn, and he had to come to the conclusion, finally, that Spike wasn’t going to come home. That Spike had really left him, that Spike really was tired of him, and this wasn’t Spike’s home anymore.
So he just sat there, on the bed he’d shared with his lover for a month to the day, and wished that he could still cry. He hadn’t been able to cry for years, not since he’d killed the thing that looked like Jesse with his own hand, and he’d never regretted that lack, because, hello, crying isn’t exactly manly. But he was sitting all alone in his big bed, and he didn’t give a damn about being manly. He missed Spike, and he wanted to be able to cry because that would be something to do besides just sit there and stare at the wall.
Where the hell had it all gone wrong? There was fighting, sure, but they were always fighting. It was almost like a game to them. But suddenly things had been different, and there was real anger in their words, and then Spike had left. He’d said that thing, that thing that hurt worse than almost anything, and then he’d left.
So where had it gone wrong? At what point had things shifted, gone from casual to ugly? At what point had Spike decided that Xander wasn’t worth his time, that Xander wasn’t good enough for him anymore?
At what point had Xander become such a loser that Spike’s words hadn’t even been such a surprise?
He didn’t know. Maybe he’d always been this way. Maybe he was a product of his upbringing, and the drunken screaming that he used to live with had combined with dozens of rejections to create a person who expected to be kicked when he was down.
And here was Spike, a gorgeous demon that walked and talked like he was pure sex on legs, and he was living and sleeping with one Alexander Harris. What part of this image was wrong? Oh, maybe, all of it. People like Xander didn’t get the guys like Spike, because guys like Spike could have anyone they wanted. So yeah, maybe it wasn’t that much of a surprise when Spike had said that and walked out. Hurt like a son of a bitch, but somewhere in him he’d been expecting it. Just like he hadn’t expected that Spike would come back, even though he waited for him for a day and a half.
So maybe he just wanted to cry now because he had to admit that it was over. It had been great, it had been a fricking miracle, but it couldn’t have lasted. Spike would never want to stay with Xander when there were so many people that were so much more worthy of his beauty, his animal magnetism, and in the end, Xander was just the loser who couldn’t get anyone better than the good ole Sock Puppet of Love.
There was a rustling noise in his doorway and he looked up, reflexes born of the Hellmouth causing his muscles to tense and his heart to race until he saw that it was Spike. Then his heart was racing for a different reason, because- Spike! Here! Irrationally, his first thought was to wonder how Spike had gotten into his apartment without him hearing the door, but the thought was quickly discarded and he just spent a moment basking in the fact that Spike. Had. Come. Back.
Spike just stood there awkwardly and looked anywhere but at Xander, and Xander just stared there and didn’t say anything because he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he’d fuck it up again, and then Spike would leave.
But Spike still wouldn’t say anything, and he still wouldn’t look at Xander, and finally Xander couldn’t wait any longer. “Spike, what-“
But he never got to finish the thought, because Spike had crossed the room in a flash and was on the bed with Xander, on top of Xander in fact, and was kissing him desperately, like he was afraid he’d never see him again. Xander didn’t stop to wonder how long this was going to last, or even what the hell was going on between them, because he just wanted to enjoy what it was happening while it was still happening.
Between them they made short work of Spike’s clothes, and Xander was only wearing a pair of jeans to start with. They gave under Spike’s greedy hands with a loud rip, and the shreds of them went flying, forgotten by the time they landed on the floor. Xander rolled them till Spike was on top, still kissing frantically, and Spike groped for the lube they kept in the bedside table.
They both froze when Spike slid one slicked-up finger inside Xander. Xander’s eyes went wide, questioning what was happening even as it happened, and Spike’s were surprisingly steady and tender as he introduced a second finger. He pulled his fingers free and brought both hands up to wrap around Xander’s wrists, holding them as securely as steel manacles over his head. And when he slowly, carefully pressed inside, Spike didn’t turn his head like he always did, didn’t do anything to break the intense eye contact they had. He just looked at Xander, and his face was set as he slowly began to move.
Xander gasped, and pressed his head back hard into the pillow, breaking the eye contact as he snapped his hips up into Spike’s thrusts, but it wasn’t enough. It was too slow, too steady, too measured and controlled and this wasn’t how he wanted it. This wasn’t Spike, and this wasn’t them. It wasn’t right.
He opened his eyes and stared at Spike, whose face was still set in the same hard, uncompromising lines. “Spike- please-“ he pleaded, but Spike didn’t respond, just stared into Xander’s eyes as he moved slowly inside of him, and it was the most intense thing they’d ever done but it still wasn’t right, and Xander didn’t want it like this. He wanted it to be them, to be like they always were, so that he could ignore the niggling thought in the corner of his mind that could still think that that this was just Spike’s goodbye, and that as soon as they were finished he was going to get up and walk out of the door.
Xander finally got one hand free and he wrapped it around the back of Spike’s neck, pulling on it until Spike broke with a low, guttural groan and dove down to kiss him like he was starving and Xander was a twelve-course banquet. Xander pulled his other hand free and wrapped both arms around Spike’s body, digging short nails into the packed muscles in Spike’s shoulders. Spike pulled away from Xander’s mouth and dropped his head, pressing his forehead against Xander’s in a movement more intimate than the feeling of his cock inside of his body.
Spike’s thrusts sped up, rocking Xander hard against the soft give of the mattress, but Xander gave as well as he got, pushing back for the maximum contact and lightly scratching his nails over the small of Spike’s back, where he knew Spike’s skin was extra-sensitive and it never failed to make Spike lose it, just like he was doing now. Growling almost into Xander’s mouth, and he knew that the forehead pressed to his was now ridged and the eyes that were too close to focus on were yellow, but he didn’t care because it meant that he was finally getting what he wanted, Spike slamming into him and he could feel the orgasm gathering at the base of his spine.
Then he was coming, his vision whiting out with the force of the sensation, and dimly he realized that Spike was coming too, the clenching of the muscles in his ass pulling Spike into orgasm with him. Then it was gone, and the two of them were collapsed on the bed, Xander panting like he’d just run a marathon and Spike lying completely still on top of him, his slowly softening penis still inside him.
Xander’s arms were still looped around Spike’s waist, and after a moment he slowly withdrew them. Normally he’d have left them, and they would have snuggled for a little bit or even fell asleep like that, but this wasn’t normal. This wasn’t even close.
Spike took that as his cue to pull out, and against his will Xander hissed at the twinge of pain from well-used muscles. Spike’s eyes flickered with concern, but Xander didn’t respond, didn’t reassure him that he was okay, because when either of them spoke this would be over and Spike would be leaving again, and he didn’t want that to happen just yet.
Except it was happening, and Spike was climbing off the bed. Despite himself Xander made a protesting noise and half-sat up, not wanting Spike to go, not wanting him to leave him alone again.
Then Spike was back at the bed, climbing in beside him and pulling the covers over both of them. Xander found himself wrapped in Spike’s cool arms, and habit caused him to snuggle in even when he couldn’t stop thinking that Spike was going to leave in a minute.
“I love you,” he said soundlessly, or at least he thought it was soundlessly, which it must not have been because Spike’s body was suddenly filled with tension. Xander silently cursed himself for ever opening his mouth, and prepared for Spike to roll away.
And then there was Spike, talking to the top of his head where his mouth was pressed, but Xander could make out his words anyway. “Shouldn’t have left. Shouldn’t have said the things I did, but sure as hell shouldn’t have left. Forgive me?”
Sure that he was hallucinating, Xander tilted his head back and saw that no, Spike really had said it, and he was looking at Xander with what might have been called nervousness if he’d been anyone but Spike.
“Of course I forgive you,” Xander said, and was rewarded by a huge smile, a real smile that Spike so rarely showed, because his lips were so often twisted in a sneer or a smirk. Spike lowered his head and kissed Xander, soft and tender and so unlike anything they’d ever done that Xander’s heart did a little double thump.
Spike pulled his left hand out from behind his back and produced what he’d gotten out of bed to get- a small wooden box with an odd and mystical-looking symbol inscribed on it. Xander glanced quickly from Spike’s face to the box and back again, and Spike nodded encouragingly.
“Go ahead. Open it.”
Xander gingerly took the box out of Spike’s hand and, glancing once more towards Spike with something like a request for permission, opened it.
And immediately froze with shock. Inside the box was a ring. It was a thick band, made of woven silver and gold, and when Xander would have sat there and stared at it for a lot longer, Spike took it out of the box and draped it around his neck with the matching chain that Xander just then noticed.
“I thought it’d get caught on something at the site if you wore it on your hand,” Spike said nervously. When Xander turned his head very slowly to look at him, confused beyond belief, Spike added quietly, “It looks good on you.”
He couldn’t finish the question, but Spike seemed to understand anyway. He smiled, slow and real, and pulled Xander back down into his loose embrace before turning off the light.
“Happy Anniversary,” he whispered into Xander’s ear, and those two words gave him such a thrill he thought his heart would burst from it. Spike hadn’t said Those Words, the words Xander himself had said to Spike just a minute ago, but he might as well have. Xander knew. Spike wasn’t going to leave again.
“Happy Anniversary,” he whispered back. He lay in Spike’s arms, and smiled into the dark.
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