Title: Strip Tease 6

Email: tirel@pcnuthut.com

Author: Velvet Crypt

Disclaimer: Joss is God. I own nothing.

Spoilers: Season 6 ending. AU after that.

Summary: A bit of William.

Spike supposed they were very lucky to be in New Orleans and not on the Hellmouth with as much attention as they were paying to the world around them. Every few feet, one of the boys would stop to pull the other into a long, passionate kiss. Every time they went past a light pole or a building with walls near the sidewalk, one would shove the other against the unyielding surface and plunder the other’s mouth.

The trip home took nearly three times as long as usual. When they finally made it to the house, they fell through the doorway, kicking the door shut on the way. Only then did they pause. Xander looked at the man beneath him, eyes glazed with desire, lips swollen and parted, a flush to the normally pale skin. Xander raised a hand to hover over the vampire’s face and Spike turned into it.

“You are so beautiful,” Xander whispered, running a single finger down the other man’s cheek. Spike shook his head.

“Not nearly as gorgeous as you, luv,” he returned then captured the questing finger.

“I…I want you. Tonight. Please.” Xander heard the pleading in his voice and for once didn’t care. Spike blinked some of the haze from his eyes and focused.

“Why?”

Xander looked incredulous. “Why? You have to ask why?” He laughed.

Spike cocked his head to the side. “Yeah. I think I do.” Xander was thrown back to their first meeting with those words. He rolled off of the blonde and propped his head up on his left hand as he allowed his right to continue playing with Spike’s duster.

“I want you because you excite me. Because you make me feel…gorgeous. Because you make me mad, you make me smile; you make me look at who I am and what I want. I looked. I decided. It’s you.”

Spike stared seriously at him. “Not because I’m all you have left of your past and you’re holding on with a death grip? Not because you think I’ll leave if you don’t prove something to me? Not because-“

Xander silenced him with a gentle kiss. “Spike. You are the best thing that’s happened to me in the last year.” He chuckled. “Or more. I want you cause I want you. I want to feel your mouth on me.” He demonstrated by dragging his lower lip across Spike’s cheek. Spike shuddered and his eyes closed.

“I want to feel your weight on my chest.” He rolled back up to straddle Spike. “I want to feel your hands exploring every inch of me.” He unbuttoned the vampire’s shirt and pushed it aside, exposing pale skin in the moonlight. Spike opened his eyes to find Xander gazing down at him with a tiny smile. “Beautiful.” He placed a finger on Spike’s lips to forestall any response.

“I want to feel your tongue tasting me.” He bent down and ran a wet line up Spike’s belly and over his chest. Spike shivered and imagined what the boy would taste like. “I ache for you, Spike.” Xander whispered, holding Spike’s gaze. “I ache to feel you in me. To be in you. To sleep, naked and sated in your arms while I re-live making love with you in my dreams.”

Spike tried to speak, but what came out was a moan. He cleared his throat and tried again. “But what about tomorrow, luv?” Xander crossed his arms on Spike’s chest and brought his face closer.

“What about it?” He smiled. “Tomorrow, I get to wake up wrapped around you. No awkward moments. No regrets. Maybe if I’m really good, we’ll get to do it again.” He nibbled on Spike’s chin. The vamp still looked upset. Xander tilted his head. “What’s wrong, Spike? Why won’t you tell me?” He sat up a little. “Is it me? You just don’t want me?” The anger flashed hot and bright in the vamp’s eyes.

“Don’t you ever think that, Xander Harris.” He growled. “I want you. I want you badly. I just…” He took a deep cleansing breath. “I’ve never really had a friend before, Xander. But I think I’ve found one in you.” He cupped the human’s cheek in his hand. “I don’t want to bugger this up. I don’t want to lose the only friend I’ve had in 120 years.”

Xander nuzzled his cheek into Spike’s hand. “You won’t lose me, Spike.” He placed a gentle kiss in the vampire’s palm. “But I’ll wait if you want me to. I’ll wait for as long as you need. For as long as it takes to prove to you that you’re worth loving.” He climbed off of the vamp and held a hand out.

Spike stared at him, wide eyed. Did he know what he just said? Was it a slip of the tongue? Or a platitude? Could he…mean it? Xander laughed. “Come on, blondie. I only bite if you ask me to.” Spike shook the questions away and reached up to grab Xander’s hand. Xander tugged him up and released his hand with a quick squeeze. “Turn on the TV. I’ll make popcorn.”

___________________________________________________

“So what exactly are we doing here?” Spike asked looking around the darkened room with a questioning raise of his eyebrow. Xander placed a finger to his lips and led him to a tiny table in the back. They maneuvered around quietly chatting, darkly clad, and frighteningly pale people. Spike had to actively listen for heartbeats, so certain was he that his goofy boy had led them into a vamp haven.

Xander wriggled into the small seat and picked up one of the candles burning in the center of the table. He sniffed it and nodded appreciatively. Holding it out to Spike, he choked back a snicker at the look on the vamps face: pure bewilderment. “I thought you might enjoy something less manly than playing pool and drinking beer all night.” He whispered.

Another rise of the eyebrow.

Xander smiled and leaned his head in closer to the blonde vamp. “You once told Buffy you were a poet.” Wariness began to creep into Spike’s eyes. “I am not, by any means, a poet. So, I thought this might be the best place to learn about it.” Spike stilled and glanced around the room again.

Then it clicked. He was at one of those poetry reading/expressionistic art clubs he’d read about on the society page of the paper. Xander brought him here? He scrunched his brow up. Why?

~Well, you nonce, he just told you why.~ His snarky inner voice prodded.

And he had, Spike realized. ‘To learn about it.’ But why would he want to lean about poetry? The boy hated school. Hated English class. Didn’t even really like limericks. But Xander liked him. For me? Xander did this for me?

~Idiot tosser.~ His voice sighed. ~Of course he did it for you. You went on and on about your fluffy bunny side.~

Bugger that. He wasn’t an aristocratic pouf anymore. He wanted nothing to do with William’s world anymore. He was strictly in the mangle and kill world of Spike now.

~Snort.~

Did you just say snort?

~And so how do you explain that bothersome soul, there Spike m’boy? Last I heard, and I do have it on good authority, you weren’t as all about the mangling and killing as the Spike of old.~

So, what? The whelp is feeling sorry for poor William, buried for all of these years under nasty old Spike?

~Sigh. Pull your head out of your arse, mate. He’s spent years getting to know Spike. Then Spike goes and gets all souled and out pops William again, who he’s never really known existed. Now he’s trying to understand William.~

Why would he want to?

~Because William is a part of you, arsewipe!~

A part of me. Spike closed his eyes and a tiny smile sneaked onto his lips. He wants to know the other parts of me. What the bloody hell are you doing to me, Xander Harris?

“Spike?” A tentative touch on his arm, a whispered voice in his ear…the breath teasing wisps of his hair. He shuddered.

“Yeah?” He turned to look at the brunette. Xander had a worried look on his face.

“Did I do something wrong? Is this too way out there for you? Cause we can leave.” Ah, Xander-babble was beginning.

“No, luv.” Spike gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek and a smile that warmed every molecule in Xander’s body. “This is perfect.”

__________________________________________________

“And the blood of Mother Moon drips from my lips, seeding all around me with desiccation and despair…” Spike stood on a bench and belted out the prose, one hand on his heart, the other stretched out in supplication to ‘Mother Moon.’ Xander stood below clutching his stomach and wiping tears from his eyes.

“Spike, stop! You’re killing me!” He laughed, finally collapsing onto his ass as the vampire looked down his long nose, snobbishly.

“Ignorant buffoon! Have you no appreciation for the finer arts? Now where was I…” He paused a moment, then struck his pose again. “Blah, blah, blah…desiccation and despair …And my brothers and sisters of the night, they crawl around me, licking the fluid of evil as it flows down my chest. They imbibe my despair…perpetuate the desiccation…and join me in the darkness.”

He dropped his head suddenly and stood quietly for a moment, the only sound Xander’s hysterical laughter. Eventually, even the strongest man swayed beneath the vision of a happy Xander. And so Spike’s stoic face began to slide off and his lips began to twitch. Soon, he was guffawing along with the gasping human.

“So,” Xander sucked in a breath, “Are all poets like that?” Spike rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know what the bloody hell he was doing with all of those props. In my day, the staples of a writer were pencil, paper, and a pair of reading glasses. I have no idea what all that dancing around and flinging cherry Kool-Aid was about.” Xander chuckled again as he recalled the look of utter distaste on Spike’s face when the poet began pouring the red liquid down his ruffled, white shirt.

“So, how am I supposed to learn about poetry if that is my example?” He sighed dramatically. Spike mock punched him and hauled him to his feet.

“I’ll teach you myself.” Xander’s eyes lit up.

“You’d do that? The Big Bad would teach me to like poetry?” Spike ducked his head in sudden embarrassment.

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t make such a deal about it. S’only bloody words. Besides,” Xander could have sworn the vampire was blushing. “I’d do anything you asked me to.”

Spike waited with bated breath to see what kind of ears his words would fall on. He’d almost given up and mentally kicked himself when his chin was lifted up and a gentle kiss placed on his lips. He opened his eyes to a chocolate brown gaze, brimming with unspoken emotion.

“I have just the plan for the rest of the night. If you still trust me after that.” He hitched his head back towards the poetry club and grinned. Spike just nodded. He trusted Xander. Bloody hell, of course he did. He loved him.

___________________________________________________

“Go. Shoo. Go pick us up something to eat.” Xander laughed shoving Spike down the sidewalk with a hand at the small of the vampire’s back. Spike looked warily at him, but wordlessly did as Xander asked. Once Spike was out of sight, Xander darted into the store he’d found on one of his forays around the city in the first few weeks of living in New Orleans.

He met back up with Spike, carrying his own bag of goodies, a few minutes later. “Off to the park.” Xander linked his arm into Spike’s. Spike rolled his eyes, but smiled and led them down the street.

“So, luv, what’s the plan?” The blonde asked as Xander plopped under a huge tree near a gently glowing park lamp. Xander patted the ground next to him and began rummaging through the bag of food Spike bought. Spike sighed and folded his legs under him, sinking to the ground.

When Xander had his ‘picnic’ set up he reached into his own bag and pulled out a book. Spike just looked at him. “I want you to read to me.”

Xander nearly laughed at Spike’s confusion. “Poetry.” He clarified. “It’s a book of poetry. I want you to read it to me.” He placed a gentle finger under the older man’s chin. “I want to hear you read it to me. I want to hear it the way it should be read. I want to talk about it with you. I want you to teach me.”

Spike blinked. Blinked again. Then gingerly reached out and took the book with shaking fingers. “I-I don’t know if I can, Xan.” He whispered, carefully holding the symbol of a life he had spent 100 years trying to eradicate.

Xander stroked his cheek. “If you can’t, you don’t have to. I didn’t mean to dredge up the bad stuff, Spike.”

Spike smiled painfully. “It’s not all that bad. I…I’ve actually missed literature. Not a whole lot of thought-provoking articles in ‘those’ mags, don’t care what they say.” Obviously steeling himself, he sucked in a huge breath and held the book to his chest. “I would be honored to share this with you Xander Harris.” He announced.

Xander leaned over and nuzzled his face into the vampire’s neck. “Thank you.” He shifted until he was lying with his head in Spike’s lap, looking up at the ethereal blonde. “So, what do I need to know to appreciate this stuff?”

____________________________________________________

“Oh, Xan, this is one of my favorites.” Spike nearly bounced. Xander could feel his heart swelling with pride as Spike became more and more excited with each page turned.

“What is it?” He asked lazily, totally content.

“It’s by a bloke named William Ernest Henley. Here’s a piccie of him. Well, of a drawing of him, anyway.” Xander craned his neck to look at the book Spike was holding upside down. He nodded.

“So what’d he write?”

“It’s a poem called Invictus. He wrote it bout five years before I was turned. He was in a Scotland hospital gettin’ his leg chopped off.” Xander looked up at him with ‘eww’ written all over his face. Spike laughed. “He had a kind of tuberculosis. It affected his bones. He was crippled and they had to amputate his leg to save him.”

“Oh. Well, okay. Less eww then.” Spike bumped his knee against Xander’s head affectionately. “So? You just gonna tell me horror stories or are you gonna read the thing to me?”

Spike cleared his throat, nervously and darted his eyes from Xander’s face to the book until Xander took pity on him and closed his eyes. With a thankful smile Xander couldn’t now see, he began shakily, but soon lost himself in the rhythm of the poem and the power of the words.

“Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever Gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.”

Xander loved Spike’s voice. Pure, husky, turning every word into lyrical bliss. But this? This was amazing. Had he never been told about Spike’s past, he would have known the man had been a poet. The words dropped from his lips like precious icons, each one worshipped.

“In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.”

Xander smiled a tiny smile. Had William patterned Spike after this poem? Had Angelus known what he was up against when Drusilla turned the mousy poet? He could see why Dru liked William. Spike’s passion simmered under the surface usually bursting free in fits of rage. But Xander could hear that same passion welling up now, in William, as his voice painted pictures in Xander’s mind.

“Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.”

Ah, what a bitter foreshadowing of the Spike he had come to know. The Spike bent under the weight of the Initiative, under the weight of his newfound soul. No, love, no more fear. Never again, he promised.

“It matters not how straight the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate.

I am the captain of my soul.”

Spike stopped reading, slightly embarrassed as Xander continued to lay unmoving on his lap, lips adorned with that adorable smile. He cleared his throat. Xander opened eyes shining with shared pain, with understanding, with acceptance.

“More?” He whispered. Spike nodded, and Xander nestled down into his lap. _______________________________________________

“Xan, luv?” Spike leaned down to Xander’s ear. “It’s getting lighter.”

Xander opened his eyes in disappointment. He could have lay there forever listening to that addicting voice. Reluctantly, he sat up. “Okay, we’ll get going. But first I want to give you something.”

Spike smiled. “Luv, I think you’ve given me plenty tonight.”

Xander shook his head as he rummaged through his bag again. “Nope. Besides, this is totally selfish on my part.” He triumphantly pulled a leather bound book out of the bag and presented it to Spike.

“What’s this then?”

“It’s a journal. An empty one which I would like you to fill with self written poetry that you will then read to me.”

Spike frowned. “You realize they called me William the Bloody because of my poetry not my fangs, right?”

Xander smiled. “Don’t care. Just want something from your head. From your heart. From…”

He trailed off, but Spike picked it up anyway. “From my soul?” He finished quietly.

Xander nodded. Spike took the book reverently into his hands and smiled softly. “I can do that. For you.”