Let's Talk About Sex
by
Estepheia
Part Twenty-Seven
Always does
MONDAY
Xander briefly considered going after the vampire, but the thought of acting out what might easily turn into a noisy quarrel within earshot of his neighbors stopped him.
Instead, he took Anya's casserole out of the microwave.
He'll be back, he told himself. It's not like I never insulted him before. A thought that did nothing to make him feel better. He ate a few bites, but there was a painful knot in his stomach, so he soon put the fork down and headed for the bathroom.
Wow, looks like Spike actually cleaned it. Sort of. Points for intent rather than thoroughness. He stared into the mirror. "So, this is what a total jerk looks like," he muttered. His reflection agreed. Something caught his attention. A jerk with a hickey? He took off his sweaty T-shirt and leaned closer to get a better look. Oh Spike, you idiot! How am I supposed to keep this from Anya? It's a miracle she hasn't seen it already!
He touched the bruised and discolored skin, watching mirror-Xander do the same. He was neither surprised nor shocked when his body responded to the memory of Spike's lips with instant arousal.
If life on the Hellmouth had taught Xander one thing it was that life was too short to lie to yourself about important things. You could lie to others or keep a secret, but you should never kid yourself. Otherwise you invited misery into your life, which, once invited, was harder to get rid of than a stray dog. Look at Buffy, she lost the ability to smile even before she died. She's so firmly entrenched in denial country... He shook his head. And this is so not about Buffy! he reminded himself.
He had faced quite a few truths so far: Like the truth that Buffy didn't love him and never would. She's a Slayer, I'm a loser, not a match made in Heaven - or on a Hellmouth. The truth that he had no particular skill to contribute to the fight against evil. No mutant Spider around to give ME Peter Parker superpowers. The unexpected discovery that Anya didn't just want to 'interlock bodies' with him but that she actually loved him. Loser boy teaching an ex-demon all about worldly success, how rich is that? Or the truth that the prospect of marriage scared him to no end. Cause I'm not sure the Harris family carries the marital bliss gene...
In light of these other truths Xander had come to terms with, the fact that Spike made him hot wasn't all that monumental. Neither was the realization that he actually felt more than simple lust for the man. It just took getting used to...
"Where's Spike?" was the first thing Anya asked when Xander walked into the Magic Box an hour later. He had just kissed her over the counter and then looked around, hoping to see the bleached wonder sulking in some corner.
"He's not here?" he asked, full of apprehension. "He left before me..." he petered off uncertainly.
"Well, not waiting for non-punctual vampires, here," Buffy decided. "He'll turn up. Always does."
"Yup, he's a bit like, you know, a boomerang, you can toss him out but he'll always come back," Willow added.
"More like Malaria," Buffy said with a shrug.
"Like we need his brains anyway," Xander heard himself join in. Oh no, my mouth is on autopilot again! he thought. Do we always sound this spiteful, when it comes to Spike?
"I think he's smart," Anya chipped in, and got surprised looks from the rest of the group.
"He is," Xander conceded, actively trying to practice saying nice things about the vampire, even though Spike wasn't around to appreciate the effort. "But for someone that smart he sure does some dumb things, sometimes." Oops, backslide. And when he felt the surprised glances redirected at him, he giggled nervously (finding that he sounded uncannily like a hyena. Bad memory. Bad memory.). "Don't we all?"
Buffy made a face, but let the matter rest.
They settled down with coffee and a stack of books to research yet another instance of "Want-to-end-the-world?-Welcome-to-the-Hellmouth!", that this Monday had thrown at Sunnydale and its defenders.
However, Xander found it unusually hard to concentrate on apocalypses, omens and monsters. All he could think of was just how much verbal-abuse-of-Spike had become an ingrained habit. And the look on the vampire's face... well, the memory was imprinted on the Xander brain. ‘Hit by a truck’ was putting it mildly.
Maybe I should go and check if he's in his crypt? Apologize to him. Have hot and wild make-up sex - Oops! Where did that come from? Except that Anya wouldn't let him roam the cemeteries at night (rightly so), and taking Buffy along on THAT particular mission wasn't such a bright idea.
In the end, he and Anya drove directly home.
Xander noticed straight away that Spike had been back at the apartment while they had been out. For when he checked the balcony, the plastic sacks with the vampire's loot were gone.
He changed into his blue satin PJs, buttoning the top up a bit further than usual to hide Spike's little memento of passion. Then he went to bed. When Anya came into bed after him, smelling of coconuts, he pretended to be asleep.
TUESDAY
On Tuesday morning, after wake-up sex but before work, Xander quickly stopped by the cemetery only to find Spike's crypt devoid of vampires, friendly or unfriendly. The opening in the ground that led to Spike's lower level had been covered with a heavy stone slab. He called Spike's name, but there was no response. Either the vampire didn't want to see him or he wasn't in.
Xander couldn't think of many other places for the vampire to sleep the day away. The fact that Spike wasn't resting in his crypt made him strangely nervous. Spike probably did what Spike does best: beat something to a pulp and then killed a bottle of JDs somewhere, he tried to reassure himself. He'll turn up. Always does.
Xander would have liked to investigate further, but he couldn't afford being late for work and drove off in a hurry.
Work was just as annoying as it was on Monday. Extra hours peppered with foul language, just what he needed. With some people, don’t you just wish you had a remote control to turn them off? Or maybe just mute. I would love a mute button right about now.
Tuesday night was dedicated to more research and to bandaging some injuries Buffy had sustained while fighting an Egyptian mummy and its golem bodyguards. Xander silently added a 'check' to his mental list of 'monsters we haven't seen yet but are bound to encounter sooner or later.' Can’t wait for the Granting-three-wishes-to-Construction Workers-Genie…Or maybe the Here’s-A-Million-Dollars-Demon.
Still no Spike.
He’ll turn up. Always does.
WEDNESDAY
On Wednesday morning Spike's crypt looked exactly like it did the day before. No trace of the vampire. In fact, Xander didn’t even smell a hint of smoke. This time, Xander had taken Anya with him, after telling her about the way he had insulted the vampire.
"You know, just because he is a demon," she had complained, "it doesn't mean it's alright to hurt his feelings. Demons are people, too, at least some are."
"What about all the things he’s called ME?" he had said. “Remember the ‘glorified brick-layer’?”
“Not lately, though.”
“Not lately,” he had admitted.
They took the time to search the place more thoroughly. The mausoleum looked downright bare. The TV was gone. Radio, books and knickknacks likewise. Only the larger pieces of furniture were still there.
Xander checked the fridge (which was empty) and was startled by the fact that four photos were stuck to it with magnets. One was an old crumpled black-and-white picture of Drusilla. One showed the Summers women: Joyce, Buffy and Dawn. One, which was slightly out of focus, showed Xander and Anya sharing an ice cream cone on a Ferris wheel Hey, I remember that night. Spike was there?, and finally there was a snapshot of all the Scoobies, Giles included. It looked like it had been taken at the Bronze on Tara's birthday, to which - of course - Spike had not been invited. But apparently he had been there, lurking as usual.
I bet none of us keeps a photo of HIM around… The guilty knot in Xander’s stomach tightened. He pocketed the photos, deciding to keep them safe until the vampire’s return.
He'll turn up. Always does. It was like a chant. Would it work if he repeated it often enough?
Why were all of Spike's personal things missing? Or were they merely stored on the lower level?
Xander wondered if he should leave a note asking Spike to call him. Get a grip, he's only been gone three days, he told himself.
“He'll turn up. Always does,” Anya said with her usual optimism.
The day dragged on. The evening came. No Scooby-ing, as the slaying of the mummy had averted the descent of the Biblical plagues on an unsuspecting Sunnydale.
Plenty of apocalypse-avoidance.
Not enough Spike.
THURSDAY
On Thursday night, Spike was still AWOL. Finally, Xander asked Buffy to check out Willy's to inquire about the blond vampire's whereabouts.
"Why would I wanna go looking for Spike?" Buffy asked. She didn't mention that she had stopped by Spike's crypt twice since Tuesday, irritated and intrigued by the vampire's inexplicable absence.
"Cause he's... you know, part of the team, in a way," Xander babbled, "It's just... we could do with his help. And he's been quite, you know, reliable lately, he’s not all ‘goody-two-shoes’ or anything, I know, but I've kinda gotten used to having him around, and..."
"What Xander is trying to say," Anya interrupted, "is that Spike is..."
"He's a friend!" Xander finished her sentence. There! I said it!
"Oh?" Buffy said, evidently surprised. "Isn't life full of surprises...that make me want to gag."
Willow smiled, "You and Spike are friends? Officially? As in, you do the buddy thing, hanging out together and talking about boy's stuff? Oh, I’m glad to hear it. I mean, not so much the Spike part, but the part about you being friends with someone, even if he's, well, you know, undead. How did it happen?"
"Officially? Nah, I never actually told him..." he said, fully realizing now that perhaps he should have. Idiot! "You know, we manly men never really talk about all that mushy stuff. But we played a few games of pool last summer, Anyway, last Friday, when you had your girl’s night, Spike and I watched some Monty Pythons, and we talked about... stuff... and bingo, it sort of hit me that he's... well..." he didn't know how to finish the sentence. He had seldom felt so inarticulate. “I kinda miss him,” he said, but was quick to add, “a little.”
“Weirder things have happened. I mean, we are sitting on a Hellmouth,” Buffy sighed and left.
An hour later Buffy returned with the information that Spike had climbed into his deSoto and driven off towards L.A.
"When was that?"
"Monday night."
He’ll turn up. Always does. But what if he doesn’t?
FRIDAY
On Friday, Xander exploded. No, not literally!
When, during lunch-break, that irritating homophobe cracked another vicious joke, something in Xander snapped. He took the man aside. "Okay buster, listen carefully, cause I'll only say this once. I don't like your attitude or your sense of humor. Keep'em to yourself. If I hear one more crude joke about gays, faggots, pansies, queers, homos or whatever you call them, one more joke, I'll fire you faster than it takes to say 'fuck you', do I make myself clear?"
"I don't believe this," the man raised his voice. "You can't be serious. You can't fire a man 'cause he tells a joke or two!"
"You better believe it," Xander said, aware of the fact that his entire crew was watching the exchange. "One more lapse of good taste and you are out of the construction business."
"What do you care? Ooh that's it," the man shouted, "You're one of them. Hey guys, Harris is a faggot! Shit, the fucking pansies are everywhere!"
There was a stunned silence.
"No, I'm not, but I'm beginning to think that you might be," Xander said. "And even if I were, it would be none of your business."
The man scoffed. "You can't fire me. This is a free country, I can speak my mind like the next man. Freedom of speech and all that. You know, the whats-it-called? Declaration of Independence."
"It's the Constitution, you moron. But don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to look it up. Get the fuck off my site. You're fired."
"You haven't heard the last from me, Harris. This isn't over!"
"Library," Xander said. "It's the place with all those books. You know, li-brar-y!"
"Fuck you, Harris!" he said as he grabbed his lunchbox and stormed to his truck.
"And what are you all gawking at?" Xander asked his crew. "Get back to work, will ya? Show's over."
He grinned. He felt much better, already. Now all he had to do was make up with Spike.
And if he doesn’t turn up on his own, I’ll make him!
With that decision made, the painful knot in his stomach eased noticeably. The rest of the day passed quickly enough. Eventually, Xander wished his crew a good weekend and climbed into his car. On his way home he stopped at a sex shop to buy a tube of lube. Just in case.
At home Xander picked up the phone. If Spike had really gone to L.A. maybe his sire or grandsire or whatever knew how to reach him. Time to give Angel a call.
Part Twenty-Eight
Long Distance
Spiiike, please... I need it... oh... my... don't stop...
The memories were clinging to him: That chocolaty taste, burning skin, fingers gripping Spike’s shaft, pumping and stroking, hot lips surrounding his cock, a tongue circling the sensitive tip. Memories of Xander. Of that masculine smell: sawdust and sap so ingrained in sunburnt skin that it didn’t completely come off any more, and just a bit of Anya, that was so much part of Xander’s complex scent, that it would seem all wrong if it were absent.
But most of all…memories of breathless words uttered without thought.
Spike... I want... you... Need you!
Memories that sent a tingle through him.
No matter how hard he tried – or how much he drank – his thoughts constantly gravitated to Xander and, to a lesser degree, Anya. When they had gone off to work on Monday morning, he had crawled between their sheets, letting their smells envelope him, slightly embarrassed at the pleasure it had given him to just sense them and entertaining the hope that Xander’s suggestion for a threesome might actually, unbelievably happen.
Pathetic.
Needy.
Stupid.
No more!
He dropped his half-smoked cigarette to the floor and crushed it with his boot, then dialed the number from memory.
The phone was answered at the first ring. “Hello?” Xander’s voice could be heard.
That was quick. Spike was leaning against a wall in one of the quieter corners of the bar. There was an air of menace emanating from him. A ‘don’t mess with me or I’ll rip your fucking head off’ vibe. The cel phone he was using was stolen, and the Jack Daniels he was drinking was paid out of a stolen wallet, not because he was broke – he wasn’t - but out of principle. He took a swallow from the bottle, unwilling to talk.
“Spike?” Xander asked, sounding agitated. “Spike, is that you? Answer me!”
“The one and only,” he said, trying to sound casual. But hearing Xander’s voice had a strange effect on him. He felt like something was choking him. He drank some more whiskey to wash it down, whatever it was. “What do you want, Harris? Make it quick,” he asked.
“Um... so, Angel reached you, huh?”
Spike cradled the phone between shoulder and chin, and searched his duster pockets for his cigarettes. “Was in this pub when this geezer comes up to me and shoves one of Angel's business cards in my face, asking me to call that number. So, yes, the Broodin’ Avenger told me to call you.” He lit his smoke and inhaled deeply, realizing that he was prattling, prolonging the call unnecessarily. Get to the point. Find out if everybody’s alright. Then tell him to fuck off.
“Anything happen to Buffy or Dawn?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to ask about any of the others. Or about Xander himself. He’d sound like he cared. Which he did. But that was totally besides the point. It wasn’t like they cared if he liked them or not. In fact, it still made them uncomfortable when they couldn’t attribute everything he did to his well-known Buffy obsession. Hell, it made HIM uncomfortable.
We are not your friends.
“No, they’re… everyone’s okay.”
“Well, what's so important, then? Another plot to bring about the end of the world?”
“Um, no end of the world… , at least none that I’ve heard of, but I’m sure there are several in the making, even now.”
No casualties. No catastrophes. What’s he want, then? Another sip from the bottle. “Just as well. You’ll have to get used to averting ’em without me.”
“What?”
I said, …”
“I heard what you said. Does that mean… that you’re not coming back?”
Spike frowned. He hated talking over the phone. You couldn’t read the other person’s face or his scent. He thought Xander sounded weird. Like he cared. But he couldn’t be sure. It might just be the connection that gave the kid’s voice a higher pitch than usual. Besides, what did it matter what Harris – or the others - said or thought or did or wanted?
Except it did. It mattered. It mattered a lot.
Which was why Spike had left Sunnydale in the first place.
Spike, you're a monster.
Spike, you’re disgusting.
I never want your opinion, Spike.
He could still hear their voices. But they all seemed like a mere prelude to the finishing blow.
He remembered the elation he had felt, talking to Anya on the phone. She had invited him to her birthday party. Officially! Cordially, even. Like she meant it. They had had a little chat, too, about totally inconsequential things. Private stuff. Nothing to do with Armageddons.
Hey mooch, what are you still doing here? Does your crypt have termites, or something, or did you just forget how to get back to that smelly, dusty, grave-type place you call home?
It wasn’t the words. It was their delivery. The practiced ease of the insult. Ingrained habit bypassing everything that had happened during the weekend and firmly putting him back into the little box where he belonged. The box with the label: “Evil love-sick vampire, temporarily defanged, do not touch!”
He shook his head and took another swig from the bottle.
He had no future in Sunnydale.
“Spike!”
What was the last question again? Oh yes, am I going back?
“You can all rejoice, Harris,” he said, with as much venom as he could muster. “I won’t be botherin’ you anymore.” No more mooching. Or smooching, for that matter. Again he felt like something was choking him. He decided it was hurt pride, which was alright. Hurt pride was something he’d learned to live with. As long as that’s all they can hurt…
He was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to destroy something. He looked at his whiskey in disgust and hurled the almost empty bottle at a wall, where it literally exploded into tiny silvery shards. The sound attracted curious and disapproving glances from other patrons, but nobody dared to comment.
“Spike? Are you alright?” Xander’s concerned voice came from the other end.
Even now Spike found himself wanting the human. Hearing him, thinking of him made him hard. A week of whoring and drinking hadn’t changed any of that.
“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”
“I thought I heard something breaking…”
“Then you heard wrong. Listen, got to go. Say 'Happy birthday' to demon girl for me, will ya? Or was there anything else you wanted from me?”
“I don’t get it. What do you mean, you won’t be bothering us? Don’t tell me you went all the way to L.A. because… because of what I said?” Xander asked hesitantly. “Cause if that’s it, then I’m sorry. I mean… I had a bad day and then, you know… I know I shouldn’t have said what I said, but come on, hey, we’ve called each other names before…”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Harris,” Spike scoffed. “The two sacks on your balcony? Those Collector Demons had quite a few interesting knickknacks. Came here to hock ‘em. And now that I have some dough, I don’t need any more hand-outs from you or the Scoobies. So, why don’t you just fuck off!”
“Spike, stop being such an asshole! I’m trying to apologize here!” Xander exploded.
“Oh yeah?” Spike was taken aback.
“Question: What is the difference between a faggot and a refrigerator? Answer: The refrigerator doesn't fart when you pull the meat out.”
“That’s your apology? Very funny, Harris. You’re even weirder than I thought,” Spike retorted. But curiosity was beginning to replace his anger.
“It’s not an apology, it’s what I had to listen to at work all day Monday, hell, for weeks! Except on Monday it finally got to me. It made me feel all bad about, you know, about what happened, about us, when it shouldn't have.”
’Us.’ He said ‘us’.
“Spike? You still there? Spike? Spike!”
“Still here.” A tray with drinks was carried past him. He grabbed a beer, threw a few dollars on the tray and took a sip.
“I mean, seriously Spike, you can’t turn my world upside down like this and NOT expect me to freak. Hell, I’m STILL freaking out over the fact that I… um…gave you a …you know…”
“You sucked my cock, Xander,” Spike interrupted him bluntly. And it was bloody marvelous!
A young couple was walking past him just then. They stared at him and the girl blushed.
“If you can do it you should be able to say it,” Spike continued. He gave them a cocky salute, before lifting the bottle to his lips. The young man swallowed visibly before shepherding his girlfriend away.
“Okay, so I’m freaking out over the fact that… um… I sucked your …um … cock. And over the fact that I want to do it again. For Christ’s sake man,” Xander suddenly burst out, “I jerk off at night thinking about your cock up my ass.”
Spike coughed and swallowed frantically.
“What was that? Are you alright, Spike?”
“Just choked on my beer, is all. Caught me by surprise, you did.”
“You think YOU'RE surprised? What do you think I am? Until a week ago I considered myself - and you - to be as straight as they come. And now? Now I can’t stop thinking about you. Just talking to you gives me…um… a hard-on.”
Er, same here…
Spike found himself wishing he could see the other man, smell him, touch him. He pulled his duster around himself, hiding the prominent bulge in his pants from the general public.
“Well, I've got news for you, Xander. I'm not your pet vampire, to pet and fuck when you feel it’s convenient and to push away when you’re through.”
“I know that.” Xander said quietly. “But why do you think I asked you, of all people, to be um... part of Anya's birthday present?”
“Cause you like my ass?” Spike suggested.
“Nuh. I mean, I do. Now. But then I didn’t. Or if I did, I didn’t know about it. Um… but when I asked you, I thought you’d jump at the opportunity to have sex with Anya. How could I know you were going to get me all confused and stuff. I was, like, heading for Threesomeville and, without warning, found myself re-routed to Gay City. Or rather Bi County. That was pretty disturbing. Scary, actually…” he continued nervously. “And I’m beginning to sound all Willow-y. So, say something before I embarrass myself any further.”
“So, why DID you ask me?” Spike asked.
“I asked YOU because out of all the guys on this planet you’re the closest I’ve got to a friend.”
“Oh right,” Spike scoffed. “Must’ve missed the memo.”
“Okay, so I never told you. It took me a while to figure it out. But think about it. We fight side-by-side, play pool for money even though I know you always win, but that way you don’t have to steal my money to pay for drinks, and you’re always honest, in a painfully sarcastic but uncannily perceptive way. Mind-blowing sex aside, that makes us pals, right? I mean, I’ve seen buddy movies work with less.”
“Pals?” Spike said, dubiously. “You mean, when no one’s looking…”
“Sorry, Spike, the being-friends-thing is kinda official. I told Buffy and the others. I wanted to make her go look for you. That’s how I found out that you were in L.A.”
“Oh.” Spike nodded. “Right.” He smiled. He dug out his keys and briskly headed for the exit.
“Yup. Doesn’t mean you’re not a pain in the ass. Sometimes.”
“Yeah well, that comes with the territory,” Spike said smugly, as he stepped outside.
“So, Spike,” Xander said. “Now that you know…everything, what are you going to do?”
“Er, get into the deSoto and break every speed limit?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“There’s just one thing I need to take care of first,” Spike said, his voice smooth. Fortunately, the car was parked just round the corner.
“And that is?” Xander asked.
Spike opened the door and slid behind the wheel. “I’m going to open my pants before my hard-on kills me.”
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