Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: all characters belong to Joss. No money is being made, yadda yadda.
Author's notes: this is a challenge response (challenge follows story). I haven't answered the full challenge, but perhaps I shall expand on it at a later date. Unbeta'd, so any glaring mistakes are my own.

Ooh lookie: this fic came runner up in the Viking in the Sack category in the Spring/Summer 2005 round of the White Knight Awards.

Out of Character

by
Spurglie

Part One

Spike watches with wide eyes as Xander strolls nonchalantly across the crypt towards him. He doesn't think he's ever seen Xander stroll before. Shuffle, bounce, flee, amble? Yeah. But not... not like this. This walk, this... way that Xander is moving towards him makes Spike frown faintly. He can't help but watch. And then there's the strange, unfamiliar way that Xander's eyes are locked on him, his lips parted and moist, his breathing shallow but even.

Spike leans his hips back against the marble sarcophagus in the centre of the floor, folds his arms and... waits. 'Look,' he sighs. 'I said I was sorry, didn't I? It was a mistake. We all agreed on that. Slayer agreed, too. After I helped her find that demon. What's past is past and all that. Right?'

Spike isn't in the mood for this. He's never in the mood for this. These damn children who delight in pestering him. Who have the audacity to no longer be afraid. And who, for the most part, hold the power of life and death over his head, but never actually carry through on any of their threats to stake him. Damn them. Damn every last one of them to hell.

But Xander's expression doesn't change. Normally at this point, he'd be gearing up for an always engaging bout of mutual insults and name-calling, but he remains silent. And he's getting closer.

Spike sighs again. He has a busy night planned. Trip to the butcher's for some blood, then home for a lonely night's TV watching and whisky drinking. Hugely entertaining it's not, but still preferable to any time spent in Xander's company. Whatever the whelp has on his mind, Spike hopes it isn't going to take long.

Xander is close now. Only a few feet away. So Spike sneers, folding his arms a little tighter, but Xander doesn't stop. He walks right up into Spike's personal space until they're toe to toe. Spike draws his head back sharply, his arms unfolding because Xander's chest brushes against the bare skin of his arms. This is... new. And unexpected. Is Xander going to hit him again, he wonders. Much as he likes the idea of hearing a few of the boy's knuckles crack, the unfortunate truth is that Xander's punches have been getting much better recently and tend to sting a bit. And still he doesn't speak.

Spike eyes him warily as Xander raises his hands, palms facing out, and lets them hover a few inches away from Spike's chest.

'Okaaay,' Spike says. 'This is the part where I wake up, right?'

Xander isn't looking at him anymore. He's watching his own hands intently as they move in tiny increments over Spike's chest, close, so close to touching the thin material of the tight black t-shirt that Spike wears. Spike can only see the tousled crown of Xander's hair when he hears the softly spoken question.

'Do you want to?'

This, Spike decides, is getting steadily weirder by the moment. 'Do I want to what?'

Xander looks up, his hands finally moving that last inch and settling on Spike's chest. Spike draws in a sharp breath.

Xander cocks his head, curious. 'Do you want to wake up?'

Spike inhales again, scenting this time, and his eyes widen in surprise. And in distrust. 'Why did you come here, Xander?'

Xander lets his gaze wander over Spike's face, his hands slowly travelling down Spike's ribs. He shrugs lightly. 'Don't know. Wanted to...'

'Wanted to what?' Spike is still leaning back, not trusting himself to press into the warm, moving touch on his body. And it's cold in here. Colder than the mild fall evening outside suggests.

'To see you. Been thinking 'bout seeing you for a while now.'

'Is that a fact?' Spike says slowly. 'And I'm just supposed to what exactly? Melt in your manly embrace? Show the world my true colours by embracing my inner fagdom?'

Xander doesn't seem phased by this. 'If you don't want... I can go.' He licks his lips and Spike is furious with the warm spiral of desire that turns over and uncoils slowly in his belly. 'But I thought, y'know, that you--'

'Swung both ways?'

'Well... yeah.' For the first time, a crease of doubt mars Xander's expression. 'Don't you?'

'Well...' Oh, what the fuck. 'Yeah. I might.'

'Oh.' The doubt vanishes and the hands start to move again. Spike realises that he's not leaning back quite as far as he was. 'Well that's all right then.' Xander slides his fingers into Spike's hair, tugs him closer and kisses him.

Spike hasn't been kissed by a man in a long time. Not like this. There's been nights when... Yeah, there's been a few in the last century, but on those rare occasions, it's usually Spike who takes the initiative. With most people. All people, in fact, but one.

But here and now, there's no doubt that this kiss belongs to Xander and Spike is just along for the ride. It's wet and hot and Xander has pressed himself bodily against Spike, who is gripping tightly to the edge of the sarcophagus. When they finally break apart, Xander's eyes are glazed, his lips dark pink and kiss-swollen. Spike's hair is mussed, and he knows that he's breathing, and that he's hard. So hard that it's uncomfortable and it's pressed against Xander's hip. So Xander knows that Spike wants this -- whatever this turns out to be -- but it was Xander who started this, so that's okay, isn't it?

'You know what you're doing?' Spike asks, not knowing why he cares.

Xander nods breathlessly. 'Yes,' he says. 'Definitely. Do you?'

But Spike doesn't get a chance to answer because Xander's kissing him again, tongue eagerly lapping at his lips, warm hands slipping under his shirt and pushing cotton out of the way, exposing cool skin over hard muscle and he can't seem to touch enough.

'We gonna do this?' Xander asks against Spike's lips, not breaking their kiss.

This is a bad idea, thinks Spike, but it's all he can do to nod, his shirt disappearing. The rough material of Xander's jacket rubs against his chest, brushing his nipples and makes him hiss. This is a bad idea. He knows that Xander is the bottom rung of the ladder. The lowest, most useless of all the Slayer's crew, but before today he didn't know how the calluses of Xander's palms felt against his skin. He didn't know that Xander makes these little humming noises as he kisses. Didn't know that those kisses would be greedy, possessive, pushing Spike's head back and making him feel like he was being taken. It's an odd sensation, and not one that Spike is used to, but he thinks that he likes it. If this was some tentative, sloppy, half-assed seduction routine, he knows he'd laugh in Xander's face and send him packing. But this... this... this is desire and want and take and have.

Something Spike knows all about.

With conscious effort, Spike lets go of the edge of the sarcophagus and pushes Xander's jacket from his shoulders. Xander's shirt goes next; ripped open, buttons scattering across the floor of the crypt. Xander groans, and his hands go to the fly of Spike's jeans. Popping the buttons one by one, Xander slips his hand inside. Spike's eyes roll back in his head, his hands grabbing at Xander's ass, dragging him closer, needing to feel more. Spike's jeans are shoved to his ankles. Xander pushes at him, making him hop up and sit on the sarcophagus, spreading his thighs to let Xander in. Spike's head is spinning. He can't be doing this. He can't. Sitting here, naked, his legs wrapped around Xander like a girl, and all the while moaning and muttering encouragement, writhing and pressing and pulling and--

He growls as Xander's hand encircles his cock, thumb brushing the head, swirling through the dampness at the tip.

'Want this now,' Xander is saying, his gaze unfocused. 'Gonna do this now. 'Kay?'

Spike nods. He's dizzy. The denim of Xander's jeans is brushing back and forth on his inner thighs and Spike needs more. They're both trying to unfasten Xander's jeans and are only succeeding in getting in each other's way. And they're kissing all the time. It's so good. So good. The jeans are pushed down and now Xander is mostly naked and the sensation of warm flesh in between Spike's thighs, pressed against his chest, cocks rubbing together, makes him mewl low in his throat.

'Wait, wait,' Xander says, reaching blindly for his jacket. He retrieves something from the pocket and tosses the jacket behind Spike on the sarcophagus. 'Something to lie on,' he explains.

Spike's eyebrows raise in surprise and he finds himself smiling in return. 'Didn't know you were the hearts and flowers type, Harris.'

Xander smiles back. 'Oh, I'm just full of surprises.'

There's such unexpected warmth in that smile that Spike wonders what it is that Xander sees when he looks at him. Spike thinks that he probably looks typically debauched to Xander. After all, he's naked, his hair is probably ridiculously curly and he's greedily pulling Xander back towards him. This is a bad idea, but it feels so good that Spike just can't seem to care. How odd that only minutes ago he'd been here alone. Cold and bored and lonely. And now...?

Xander presses closer into the welcoming circle of Spike's legs, and circles one lubed finger around Spike's opening. Spike rocks back at the sensation, pushing his hips further forward and encouraging Xander's questing fingers. One slips in, two, and they crook. Spike's world rocks; everything narrowed down to that one small point where their bodies are joined.

But Spike is an impatient creature and hates having to wait to get what he wants. Fingers scrabbling over marble, he finds the small tube and squeezes out a generous amount into his palm. Rubbing his hands together to take out some of the chill, he wraps his hand around Xander's cock. Velvet coated concrete. Xander's eyes flutter closed and he mouths Spike's name.

'That's right, lovely. Inside me.'

Withdrawing his fingers -- a sigh of loss from Spike -- Xander takes hold of slender hips and surges forwards, pushing past any resistance and sheathes himself wholly in Spike's body.

'Oh, god. Good, Spike. Is very good.'

Clinging to Xander's shoulders, Spike shifts his hips up, hoisting his legs a little higher to give them a better angle. Xander leans in for a kiss. Solemn and deep. Their bodies clenching and shaking and sweating.

'You okay?'

Spike nods; their foreheads pressed together. ''S good,' he whispers, his voice hoarse and shocked. 'Been a while.'

Xander nods his understanding. 'Tell me when.'

'Oh, god.' Spike looks up with a shaky grin, leans back again and arches, making Xander cry out. 'Now, luv. Now.'

Xander moves, long and firm, angled up and deep. He's riding the edge; can't pay too much attention to the sounds that Spike is making, the way he's moving or it'll all be over far too soon. And this has to last forever.

But it can't. Spike can feel it building, and can see it on Xander's face -- his eyes mostly closed, his mouth open and panting. Spike is dying. He's living. Xander touches his cock, just once, and it's all over. They go over the edge together, Spike surging up to wrap his arms around Xander. They hold each other tightly as they rock together, their bodies shuddering with completion.

A moment later, they calm, and the crypt seems very quiet. The moment of truth.

'So.' Spike draws back far enough to look Xander in the eye. He sees only contentment reflected back at him. Contentment and a little nervous anticipation. 'That was a touch out of character for you. You want to tell me what all that was in aid of?'

'I just... wanted.'

'You. You wanted. And you wanted me? Excuse me if I'm having a little trouble swallowing that.'

'It's the truth.'

Spike's leg is cramping, but he doesn't want to move it. Moments can be broken for less.

'And you can, you know,' Xander says.

Xander shifts his weight, not letting go, and Spike can feel him, warm and spent, still inside him. This knowledge is enough for a ripple of lust to run through him. The possibility for round two rears its head.

'I can what?'

Xander smiles, and kisses him. 'Anytime you want.'

Spike is thrown off guard by the kiss. It's soft and intimate and languid. He hasn't had kisses like that for a very long time. When his head clears, he remembers that he has a question.

'I can do what anytime I want?'

Xander's smile grows sad. He touches Spike's lips with his fingertips and the desire that Spike sees is still there catches him unawares.

'Xander,' he whispers, already tired of talking, wanting the fingers to be replaced by lips. 'I can do what anytime I want?'

'You can wake up.'

Spike opens his eyes and he's alone in the crypt. The television is blaring and he's cold. He's also painfully hard, his cock howling its protest at being ignored for so long. He unbuttons his jeans with one twist of his wrist and is coming almost as soon as he touches himself. His orgasm is hard, his mouth open, gasping harshly, but it's not enough. And as soon as he's spent he feels unfulfilled. Empty. Alone.

Slamming his fists on the battered leather arms of the armchair he fell asleep in, he swears loudly, cursing his dreams. How in the hell could his own subconscious betray him like that? Making him dream about Xander bloody Harris? Making it seem so real. Making it feel so good. Swearing again, he stands, and tucks himself back into his jeans. Needing activity, needing to move, he collects together his jacket and his cigarettes, planning to make it two bottles of Jack this evening instead of the usual one.

How could he? How could he?

Pausing at the door of the crypt, Spike presses finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, trying to get a grip on himself. It was just a dream, that was all. No big deal. He's dreamt of worse. Dreams don't mean a damn thing. Not to be taken literally. Was probably just the brain's wacky interpretation of how much he hates his pathetic existence at the moment.

But how the hell will he ever be able to look Xander in the eye again? The next time the boy insults him, or hits him, or touches him for whatever reason, how can Spike not trust himself to let something slip? A wrong word. A glance.

All because it had been so damn real.

Stepping out into the night, Spike hardens his expression, looking at once grim and dangerous. He'll forget about it. That's all.

Simple.

Across town, Xander sighs in his sleep, hugging the pillow tighter to him.

'... Spike.'

Part Two

'Spike? Spike, wake up.'

Spike frowned and turned over in his sleep. Whoever wanted him, they could just bloody well take a number. This was the first time in two days he'd managed to get any shuteye without first having to suffer through dreams of shagging Xander Harris. Not that "suffer" was necessarily the right word. Oh no, Dream Xander always made sure that Spike had a good time. An incredible time, in fact. It was the waking up part that tore him to shreds.

Waking up cold and alone. Sometimes with a painful hard on, and sometimes with the evidence of his climax wetting his belly. And always with the knowledge that he'd dreamt about Xander again. Dreamt about Xander taking him. Dreamt about welcoming whatever Xander wanted to do with him and always, always wanting more.

If he absolutely had to start having pornographic dreams every time he closed his eyes, couldn't he have had them about someone else? Like Drusilla. Shagging Drusilla every night, he wouldn't have minded in the slightest. Maybe getting shafted by Angelus again would bring back some bittersweet memories. He wouldn't say no to a threesome with Willow and Tara. Or, God, even the Slayer -- just for interest's sake, you understand.

But Xander?

What was wrong with him?

'Spike, c'mon. I don't have much time.'

'Go 'way.'

'Don't be like that. C'mon, wake up. I'll make it worth your while.'

'Said go 'way.'

A warm hand wormed its way under his blankets and palmed his nipple. Still half asleep, Spike stifled a groan and pressed into the caress.

'Do you really want me to go away?'

'Mmm.'

'Was that a "yes"?'

'Mmm.'

The hand worked its way lower, peeling back the blankets as it went. Spike sighed as a warm tongue traced figure eights on his navel. And still the hand went lower. When it wrapped around him, Spike hissed, even now not opening his eyes, and turned his face into the pillow. He squirmed his hips and grabbed at fistfuls of the sheet, still balancing on that fine line between sleep and waking. A second hand cupped his balls and squeezed, evoking a guttural sound from Spike.

Then the hands stopped moving, but didn't let go. 'Do you really want me to stop?'

Spike pushed his face further into the pillow. 'No,' he whispered.

The hand started to pump with long, firm strokes. Spike bit his lip and arched his hips up off the bed. 'Don't stop,' he whispered.

'Open your eyes.'

Spike kept them closed.

'Spike, please. Look at me.'

Knowing that he'd regret it, but unable to deny that pleading voice anything, at least, not right at that moment, Spike opened his eyes to see Xander's watchful eyes upon him, face flushed pink and lips moist.

'You came back,' Spike gasped.

Xander smiled. 'Couldn't stay away.'

Spike reached up and touched Xander's cheek. 'Feels so good. Haven't had this in a long time.' He dropped his hand. 'But it's not real. Don't know why I keep dreaming this.'

'You're not.'

Spike let out a humourless laugh. 'Well what would you call this?'

Xander shook his head. 'You're not dreaming.'

Xander leaned forward and kissed him, swallowing Spike's cry as he came. Spike was drowning in the kiss, not wanting to stop because he knew then that Xander would be gone and he'd be alone. Then the doubt and the self-recrimination would start and he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. Maybe this time Xander wouldn't leave. Maybe this time he'd explain why he was taunting Spike with dreams like this. Yeah, maybe he'd ask him.

Spent, he collapsed back into the pillows and, just for a second, his eyes closed. Too late, he remembered that he was supposed to watch Xander this time, make sure he didn't pull another disappearing act. He opened his eyes and looked around urgently, but he was alone. With a growl, he kicked at the footboard in frustration. There was a loud crack as it splintered off and crashed to the floor.

Grabbing a t-shirt from where he'd discarded it on the floor beside the bed, Spike wiped off his stomach, threw the shirt across the room in a rage and rolled himself in a furious bundle, deep inside his blankets.

Sleep was not forthcoming.

Part Three

A few days later, Spike sat sullenly at the back of the Magic Box, chain-smoking cigarettes, even though he'd been told four times by three different people to stop. Like he cared. It was monster-of-the-week time again and he was only here for two reasons. One - there would most probably be some violence to be had when the Scoobies were done with all the endless yakking and fretting and researching, and two - he had demons of his own to face.

Picking a shred of tobacco off his tongue with finger and thumb, Spike glanced up from under his lashes. There he was. Donut Boy himself. Shuddering with disgust -- aimed, for the most part, at himself -- Spike went back to glaring blackly at his boots and waiting for the call to arms.

'No, no, no,' Willow's voice could clearly be heard saying, 'it had four arms, see? This guy has six. And his nose is all wrong.'

'Well, perhaps you could describe the nose a little better than "squishy",' said Giles, clearly trying to hold on to the remaining shreds of his temper.

'Bulbous,' offered Tara quietly. 'And globular.'

'That's right.' Willow laid her hand over Tara's and smiled supportively. 'And warty. Ooh, and there were these little short tusks.'

'Like this?' Giles offered another book.

'No, Giles. Four arms. Four.'

'Why don't we just find its lair and hack it to pieces?' Buffy asked brightly, as though most of her attention wasn't on the sword she was deftly balancing, sharp end up, on the tip of her index finger. 'You guys can spend all the time you want identifying it afterwards, and I can go to the Bronze.' She spread her palms, the sword suddenly found itself unsupported and plummeted towards the ground. Giles gasped, thinking of his hardwood finish. Buffy grinned and with a snap of her wrist, caught the falling sword without looking. 'Then everybody makes with the happy.'

'And what if hacking it into twenty pieces makes twenty new demons?' Giles asked, swiftly taking the sword away from her. 'You know there's a reason why we research these things, Buffy. Do try and pay attention.'

Buffy's face fell. 'Oh, yeah. That wasn't so much fun last time it happened.'

'Quite.'

'Maybe me and Tara could magic it away,' offered Willow. 'We've been working on this new spell that--'

'Now, Willow,' said Giles, putting the sword out of harm's way behind the counter. 'You know how I feel about you putting yourself in the line of fire. Especially where spellcasting is concerned. I really feel that we should spend more time training you properly. The way you break spells down into their component parts is really quite--'

'Is this the guy?' Xander pushed a book across the table towards his bickering friends. They peered over the book, examining the diagram on the open page. Tara was the first to look up.

'That's him, Xander,' she smiled.

Xander shrugged and gave a bashful little smile. 'You know me. Anything to help thwart the squishy-nosed demon population.'

'Well done, Xander,' said Giles, already halfway through reading the passages referring to the demon. 'There, you see?' He pointed to the page. 'Hacking a Bore-Anaz Demon into pieces releases toxic gases and renders the attacker comatose. The demon then reassembles itself and eats said attacker.' He turned a superior eye on Buffy, who's only remaining line of defence was to try her best I'm-too-cute-to-scold smile on him.

'And this is why you're the book guy, and I follow your lead, being merely a lowly Slayer.'

Giles' eyebrows crawled up into his hairline. 'Follow? Since when?'

Buffy made a "pffft" sound and waved her hand. 'Only, like, always. What, you mean you didn't notice?'

Giles hmmed doubtfully and went back to reading the text. Buffy grinned and slid into the seat beside Willow.

Spike took all of this in without comment. How nice it was to spend time with his once mortal enemies. How lovely to see the inner workings of their little clan. He sighed, trying to shift the heavy weight on his chest. Yeah, okay, so he was jealous. So what? Didn't mean he had to admit it to anyone, let alone himself. Just because you hated someone's guts, didn't mean you couldn't want what they had. It had been so long since Spike had fitted in anywhere. Even when he was with Angelus or Dru, yes, he'd felt at home, even loved on occasion, but never that he really fit. Never that they couldn't survive without him.

Perhaps it could all be explained by his behaviour since the chip. Would any demon worth their salt behave as he had done since the Initiative had taken away his reason for existing? For the thousandth time he cursed his decision to stay in Sunnydale after discovering what they'd done to him. He could have gone to Dru; she of all people might actually have been able to help him. He could even have swallowed his pride and gone to Angel. A chip wasn't a soul by any stretch of the imagination, but maybe they could have worked something out.

Or he could have set out by himself. Got a crew of his own. Become a demon bounty hunter. There were much worse ways to earn a bit of cash. Explained it away by saying that the hunt was better than chasing lowly humans; who really were no better than cattle these days. He could have done any of these things, but instead he stayed, making him even more pathetic than he'd ever thought Angel had been. At least Angel had the soul, and he had his purpose. Angel had actually wanted to be in this godforsaken town. He had wanted to help the Slayer. Spike couldn't have given a toss one way or the other. He'd told himself that he was staying because the Initiative were still in town and that was his best shot at getting rid of the chip. But the Initiative had been gone for over a year, and still Spike had remained. No closer to regaining his freedom. No closer to becoming the vampire he once was.

He lit another cigarette. And now, to cap it all off, to ice the buggering cake, he was dreaming about one of the white knights. Dreaming about taking it like a girl from one of them.

The dreams... those damn dreams wouldn't stop. And the worst thing? And every night, every time they came -- every time Xander came to him -- Spike said "yes".

A jangling bell roused him from his moping. He looked up in time to see Buffy, Willow, Tara and Giles disappearing across the street, the shop door banging behind them. Xander stood at the door, flipping the sign to "closed" with one hand and turning the lock with the other.

Spike was momentarily too outraged to speak. He leapt to his feet, and when he regained power over his vocal chords, all he could at first manage was an loud and indignant, 'Hey!'

Xander jumped at the noise and spun around to face him. Hand over his heart, he took a deep breath in relief. 'Oh, it's just you. I forgot you were there.'

'Yeah, you and the rest of the world. Where have they gone?'

'To fight the demon. They're getting Buffy a set of scuba gear so she can fight without breathing the fumes and Willow and Tara have this cool encase-the-demon-in-indestructible-crystal spell set up. I got lumped with shop duty.' He sighed. 'Still, not really looking to get beaten up or rendered comatose this evening, so see me whistle while I work.'

True to his word, Xander began whistling a jaunty tune as he set about lowering the window blinds.

Spike, meanwhile, eyed him furiously. It had hit him hard, approximately three seconds ago, that he was alone in a locked building with Xander. Alone for the first time since his dreams had started. He decided he was going to get through this like a man. Like the vampire he once was and would be again. He would act like there was nothing wrong -- except for the fact that he'd been unceremoniously left behind. 'And so they just left without me! I've been waiting here all bloody night. Waiting for you lot to get off your lazy arses so I can have a spot of violence, and they go and leave without me?'

Looking up like he couldn't understand Spike's anger, Xander shrugged lightly. 'So go after them.'

That would be the obvious thing to do, wouldn't it? But Spike couldn't honestly think of anything more depressing. The fight suddenly gone out of him, Spike threw himself back into his chair. He slouched back into it, his legs falling wide apart, one arm hooked over the back of the chair. 'What the fuck for? I'm not going pleading for scraps. Hope the Slayer goes and gets herself all nice and toxic. I've heard about those Bore-Anaz demons. They can knock you out at fifty paces. And I can find my own fights to enjoy, thank you very much.'

Xander set the keys on the counter top and reached across it to grab the broom. 'We just forgot you were there, honest. It's just not like you to be so quiet. Normally you're all... there. You know?'

Spike only rolled his eyes and huffed out a cloud of smoke.

Xander started sweeping. 'Just saying that you have a knack for reminding people that you're present. When you want to.'

Spike didn't reply, his mind already on other things. His right leg bounced restlessly as he considered his options. There was always Willie's, but the thought of spending another night playing kitten poker with those pansy, light-weight demons in the back room made his teeth itch. Then there were the graveyards, but that was a pretty hit or miss affair. There were a few spots downtown that he'd heard about, but it never paid to go into a demon hangout looking for trouble when you had no one to watch your back and no idea what that trouble might be. He'd just have to go out and play it by ear. Hell, there were other bars in town, he always been able to sniff out trouble. 'Cept if trouble happened to come in a human package, then Spike was screwed. And not in a good way.

A sweeping brush knocked against his foot.

'Hey, fangless. Lift your legs, will ya?'

Spike looked up into dark brown eyes, and suddenly he was back in his crypt, his legs wrapped high around Xander, drawing him in closer. But, no, damn it, he wasn't, because that had never happened. Xander had never been there. It had never happened. None of it.

Spike couldn't look at him anymore. He dropped his gaze, and without a word, moved his foot. Then there was a wooden tapping sound of the broom being dropped to the floor. Before Spike had a chance to react, the sensation of warm hands on his thighs sent a surge of red-hot lust through his body. Spike snapped his gaze back to Xander's face; now much closer because the boy was kneeling between his spread thighs. The smouldering cigarette fell from Spike's fingers, unheeded, to the floor.

'What,' he choked out, 'what are you doing?'

Xander softly kneaded his thighs, staring up guilelessly into Spike's confused face. 'I thought you'd forgotten.'

'Forgotten what?' The overwhelming urge to reach out and fist his hand in Xander's hair was enough to make his arm twitch.

'Forgotten me.' Xander lowered his head to rub his cheek over the tightly clenched muscles of Spike's thigh.

It was hard to form words. 'No, no, I couldn't. Been trying to. But it won't go away.'

His cheek still pressed to Spike's thigh, Xander smiled. 'I knew you wouldn't forget.' Spidering his fingers up towards Spike's belt, the cheek rubbing never stopped.

Stretched back in the chair, Spike gasped for breath he didn't need, seeing his ribs stretch under his t-shirt, his chest rise and fall. Xander had his buckle undone and the top button opened before Spike grabbed his hands and held them immobile. Xander looked up in silent question.

'Why do you keep doing this? What are you doing to me?'

Xander blinked slowly, gracing Spike with a carnal smile. 'Very rude things,' he whispered. 'I want to see how you taste.' He tilted his head. 'Do you want me to stop?'

Spike swallowed, his eyes wide, and shook his head. He let go of Xander's hands, and they immediately went back to the fly of his jeans. But Spike wasn't going to be passive in this. Not again. Every night, all night, since this had started, Xander had been coming to him, with those damn huge brown eyes constantly watching him. Disarming him with harshly whispered words of want and need, soft caresses and possessive desire. And each time, Spike had let him.

Not tonight. Not again.

He slipped his hands under Xander's arms and bodily lifted the boy into his lap to straddle him. The chair creaked in protest as it found itself supporting two bodies instead of one. Spike pressed one hand to the small of Xander's back, nudging him even closer, hissing as Xander's weight pressed against him. The other he carded through Xander's hair, pulling him in for a kiss. Spike was mollified when Xander responded enthusiastically, licking and biting at Spike's lips, pushing him back into the chair. Spike groaned at the heat between them. Xander was always so hot. So damn hot it felt like he was burning. Their hips twisted and rubbed together, each trying to gain just a little more friction, mindlessly humping, as they devoured one another.

'Spike,' Xander gasped, trailing kisses along the vampire's smooth jaw. 'Don't forget. Don't forget this. Couldn't stand it if you forgot.'

'No, luv.' Spike's eyes closed in bliss as he tilted his head back, allowing Xander access to his throat. 'I won't forget.'

There was a cracking, splintering sound and, too late, Spike realised that the chair would take no more abuse at their hands. Tumbling backwards, they hit the ground as one. Spike's arms came up to cushion Xander's fall, but closed around nothing but air.

A second later, he opened his eyes to see a circle of faces staring down at him, each displaying varying degrees of curious amusement, stark condescension, and anger.

'Spike, what the bloody hell are you playing at?' asked a fuming Rupert Giles. 'That chair is part of a set.'

'Whassa matter, Spike?' mocked Buffy. 'You fall asleep? Hope you didn't get any splinters.'

Willow and Tara giggled softly, with no real malice, but Spike only noticed that Xander wasn't one of the faces looking down at him. What the hell was this? Just another dream? Damn it. Damn it. He hadn't been sleeping well, true, but that was no excuse to fall asleep here. In the proverbial lions' den. What if he'd said something damning in his sleep?

He sprang to his feet and brushed made a show of brushing down his duster, pulling it tightly around him before anyone could notice exactly what type of dream he'd been having and how much he'd been enjoying it. 'Bugger off,' he said succinctly. 'Hardly surprising a bloke could fall asleep in here with the time it takes for you lot to come to a decision.'

Buffy rolled her eyes and sighed a weary sigh of unconvincing tolerance. 'Well, a decision has been reached in your absence. Congratulations, Spike. You get to fight a demon.'

Spike narrowed his eyes in distrust. 'I do?'

'Yup. You fight -- hacking the demon to pieces, then cutting out and squashing its brain -- then Willow and Tara seal it up in indestructible crystal. Seeing as you don't have to breathe, you're the obvious choice.'

'Huh. You sure you don't want to go and get yourself a nice wetsuit and snorkel mask and see how long you can hold your breath?'

'Not so much,' Buffy said, already walking away. 'Well, come on, time's a-wasting.'

Glaring daggers at the back of her head, but not wanting to pass up the opportunity to vent some of his frustration on an unsuspecting demon-type, Spike followed.

'And what about my chair?' Giles called after them, holding one of its legs aloft.

Willow laid a consolatory hand on his arm. 'Don't worry, Giles. I know a great spell that'll have it good as new in no time.'

Spike tried, he really tried, but he couldn't help sneak a look at Xander, still sitting at the table, on his way past. Xander had his head in his hands and was wearing a confused frown.

'You coming?' Spike asked, not really meaning to speak at all.

'What?' Xander jumped in his seat, looking up as though Spike had thrown something at his head. 'No,' he grinned nervously. 'Have that whole breathing issue, so I'll be staying here. Close up the store.'

Spike nodded slowly. 'Something a bit more your pace. Looks like the place could use a good brush out.'

Xander's nod was even slower. 'Yeah. I'll do that.'

Xander's hands twitched on the table top, drawing Spike's gaze and the now familiar lust rolled through him. Suddenly Spike wanted out. Now.

'SLAYER! You ready to go?' he yelled, without taking his eyes off Xander's hands.

'Jeez, keep your hair on, Spike.' Buffy returned, wearing her jacket and tucking a stake in her waistband.

Spike tore his gaze away to glare at her. 'Well, come on then. I don't have all night.' Without another word, Spike strode out of the shop with Buffy, Willow, Tara and Giles in hot pursuit.

Xander sat at the table, not moving, for several minutes. Then, silently, he got up, locked the door and flipped the "closed" sign, and began to sweep the floor.

The look of worried confusion never left his face.

Part Four

Late that night, Xander lay on his back, staring at his bedroom ceiling, eyes wide open. He was fully clothed, lying on top of the covers. Beside him on the bedside table was an empty mug, ringed with dark coffee stains. His head throbbed and he twitched with caffeine. He was exhausted, his eyes red and scratchy, but the last thing he wanted was to go to sleep. Sleep meant dreams and dreams meant...

Bad things.

Very bad things.

In fact, it was safe to say that Xander Harris never wanted to go to sleep ever again. It was only now that he'd been able to see what the big deal was for all those kids in the Freddie Krueger movies. When you were tired, you were weak, and when you were weak, all you wanted to do was give in. Except sleep is the thing that you fear, so there's no escape. You're trapped.

Xander sighed and rolled on his side. Trapped. At first he'd thought it was just his always over-active imagination playing nasty tricks, but not any more. What he'd been experiencing could no longer be classed as normal dreams. They consumed his sleeping hours, wearing him out, so that when he awoke it was as though he hadn't slept at all. They were so real that he couldn't tell where his waking hours stopped and where the dreams began. And the subject matter... oh god.

Xander rolled to his other side, covers pulled protectively to his chest. Why, in the name of all that was hellmouthy and unholy, did he have to have these particular dreams? About this particular vampire?

There was no way this was normal. No way. And at this stage of his Slayerette existence, it was safe to say that that meant magic. A spell, a demon, a curse, a hex. Something. And it was focused on him. But how could he get rid of it without enlisting Scoobie help? Help from his friends meant explanations. And there was no way this side of hell that he was admitting to them that he was having sex dreams about-- Xander screwed his eyes shut. About Spike.

There. He could think it. He could think it because none of this was real. He hadn't done anything wrong. He certainly hadn't enjoyed any small part of it. He hadn't enjoyed being the seducer instead of the seduced, no sir. He hadn't savoured the taste of the forbidden. He hadn't revelled in the way that Spike responded to him. The way that Spike opened himself up and lost himself wholly in the moment. The way that Spike hadn't mocked, but had given himself over to Xander. He hadn't longed to touch every single inch of that strong, pale body. He hadn't--

His eyes snapped open and he went back to steadfastly studying the ceiling.

He hadn't. Period.

So what now?

Continued avoidance of Spike was one definite course of action. Earlier in the Magic Box had been... Awful. Stunningly, hideously awful. How could he have fallen asleep there, in the midst of his friends and dreamt those... those things? How could he fall asleep at the table, with the real Spike only feet away? What if he had talked in his sleep? Even a murmur and Spike would have picked it up. He could never let that happen again. Never. From now on, caffeine was his new best friend.

But the way Spike had finally taken the initiative... The giddy sensation of being lifted into the vampire's arms had been topped only by the strength he had felt when being held in his lap. Held so close...

'No.' Xander turned again. 'Not real. Not fun. Stupid brain.'

The worst part was the way Spike had looked at him afterwards... Like he knew Xander was hiding something. Like he was looking right into him, stripping his meagre defences and seeing his dirty little secret laid bare... and he wasn't too impressed with what he saw. And when he'd told Xander to brush out the store...? Xander had nearly swallowed his own tongue.

He had to do something to make these dreams stop. He'd ask Willow to check him over. Make sure there weren't any spells affecting him. If there were, he'd just have to find a way to explain things without going into details. And if there was no spell...

Well, suicide was always a viable option in such cases. No, really, plenty of cultures had a long and varied history of socially acceptable suicide. He'd been channel-surfing a few nights ago in the wee small hours in a bid to stay awake and Shogun had been on. The Japanese, while still so strange in so many ways, saw things much more clearly than he ever would with his cluttered American existence. Seppuku, an honourable form of ritual suicide, no longer seemed as alien a notion as it once had. Death is life and life is death. There is no difference between the two. So say the samurai. Although there would be no honour in it -- killing yourself over graphic gay-type dreams about the undead lacked a certain nobility -- the sense of no longer being able to live with his shame rang true.

He sighed. Perhaps not. His pesky, cluttered American existence left little scope for ceremonial death, least of all his own. Besides, he had a tendancy to faint at the sight of his own blood.

There had to be a spell. This couldn't just be him. It couldn't. He'd find a solution. Somehow.

But could he really last without sleep until then? This was different to the heavy, up all night fatigue that he'd experienced a few times over the years, whether an all-out, last ditch studying frenzy before end of year finals, or, more frequently, a late night demon that needed to be slayed. How long did it take before sleep deprivation drove you mad anyway? Didn't hallucinations play a big part when your brain couldn't function normally?

So, this was all he had left to look forward to. Asking Willow for magical favours, all the while living in terror that she might find out what his real reasons were, and in the meantime going slightly mad from sleep deprivation.

Speaking of sleep deprivation, why was he lying down again? Bed was not of the good. He had no intention of sleeping. He knew that as soon as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, then he'd be wherever Spike was. Everyone else would disappear and there would only be the two of them. Then their clothes would start to disappear and Xander wouldn't be able to help himself. He wanted, oh, how he wanted, and he knew that it was okay to take, because Dream-Spike wanted just as much.

Didn't he?

No. There would be absolutely no analysing what Spike may or may not feel, because it wasn't real. Wasn't happening. Had never and would never happen. The real Spike would never, ever act this way. It was a dream. All a dream. A magic dream. And that, Xander told himself, was that.

Unfortunately, he was so busy trying to convince himself that none of it was real and none of it was having the slightest effect on him that he let his guard down. He didn't notice when sleep pulled him down and down and down with welcoming arms into the peaceful darkness.

And straight into Spike's crypt.

'You're back.' The words were dull and left a bitter aftertaste. Spike was swaying slightly on his feet, an almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels hanging from his hand.

Xander blinked. It was dark here. It was always dark where Spike was. Went with the territory, he supposed. He fought the urge to smile. Spike wouldn't want smiles, Xander expected. Besides, he wasn't here to smile. He was only here for one thing. If the dreams weren't going to stop, then the least Xander could do was make the most of them. And he intended to. These days, since this had started, this was the only time he felt whole. The only time he felt alive. His head was clear here, and he felt awake. It was like clear, cool water on a scorching summer's day.

'Yeah,' he said. 'Did you miss me?'

'Ha!' Spike scoffed, lifting the bottle to take a drink, but paused halfway to his mouth, getting sidetracked by his own thoughts. 'Miss you. Don' be daft. 'Sides, you never bloody leave me alone, do you? Don't have time to miss you.'

Xander shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. The crypt was dusty and dirty, but this was a dream. The dust wasn't real. His jacket wasn't real. He wasn't really here. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing but the here and now. He walked slowly to Spike and gently touched his fingertips to the back of the pale hand that gripped the bottle.

'Been drinking?'

He was surprised when Spike pulled back out of his reach. 'Yeah. What of it?'

Xander shrugged. 'Nothing, I guess.' But something was bothering him. Why did Spike look so unhappy? This was a dream, wasn't it? Why would a dream Spike be unhappy? Didn't he reserve that privilege for real life?

Nothing mattered. Nothing but the heat inside him, aching to get out. Nothing but the way he remembered Spike's skin tasting.

Xander leaned in and kissed pouting lips, just once, savouring the faint taste of whiskey and the artificial heat it loaned to Spike's lips. Spike moaned, the bottle slipping out of his grasp to smash at their feet on the hard floor. His mouth opened to Xander, wet and hungry for more. Cold hands were pulling at his clothes, greedy for bare skin. Xander obliged.

Shirts gone, jeans pushed low and out of the way and Xander leaned in for a full body embrace. They both sighed at the contact, warm on cold, and Xander watched intently as Spike's head rolled back, his eyes flickering under closed lids. Xander began a slow, rocking, grinding motion that soon had them both panting.

'Bed. Now,' Xander instructed.

Spike nodded weakly and kicked off his boots and jeans from around his ankles so that he could lead the way to the bed. They were already in the lower level of the crypt, Xander noted. Handy. He followed suit, losing his jeans and sneakers on the way, and joined Spike by the bed.

Spike stood beside the unmade bed, staring at the white sheets.

'Lie down for me.'

Spike did as he was told, his arms outstretched like an offering. Xander gazed fixedly at the feast laid out before him. Starting with one pale ankle, Xander crawled up the bed, running his hands and tongue up Spike's body, kneading muscles and teasing sensitive spots as he went. Spike responded, arching into the touch, but when Xander reached the head of the bed and saw the expression on Spike's face, he paused. Spike's eyes were screwed shut, his face turned away into the pillow.

Xander drew his hands away with something akin to horror, startled that he could have invoked such a reaction, then almost immediately he had his hands back on Spike's body, soothing and petting, trying to warm all of him at once.

He hadn't meant for this. He wasn't one to force anyone to do anything they didn't want. But he'd thought that Spike wanted. He'd been so sure of it. This was something new. Something Xander didn't like.

'What... Spike, what is it? What's wrong?'

Turning his head a fraction, Spike cracked open his eyes and offered a weak smile. 'Nothin' much. Just goin' mad. That's all.'

'What?' Alarmed, Xander drew back to really look at him. 'What are you talking about?'

'All this.' Spike gestured to the two of them. 'Not real. Can't be. But it doesn't stop.'

Wish it would stop, Xander immediately thought, but then he was struck by a deeper longing that caught him off guard. One that said he didn't ever want it to stop. So he asked the question. 'Do... do you want it to stop?'

'Yes,' Spike said immediately. Then he looked up at Xander and the certainty wavered. 'Yeah,' he said again, but his voice cracked. 'No,' came next, a miserable admission. 'I don't know.' He reached out to touch Xander, hesitantly, like he might vanish in a puff of smoke if Spike moved too quickly. 'When you're here...' The look in his eyes made Xander's breath catch in his throat. No one had ever looked at him like that before. Just Xander's luck that it was a dream when it finally happened. 'When you're here... it's like... Christ, Xander, it burns.' The hand was removed and Spike looked away, leaving Xander feeling cold. 'But you're not really here and I can't keep doing this because it's not real and you don't give a damn about me and I don't give a damn about you and we'd sure as hell never really shag each other. So I'm going mad.' He nodded decisively. 'Quietly. Don't worry, I'll keep it to myself.'

Xander didn't know how to answer this distressed figment of his imagination. 'I... I don't know how to stop it,' he admitted.

'Why don't you just stop coming here, then? That would be a good start.'

'No,' he said, too quickly. 'I mean, I can't help it. I'm... drawn here. I don't mean to come. It just happens.'

'Just happens,' Spike repeated dully, searching Xander's face for... something. 'There's only so much "just happens" a guy can take. What we're doing here. This-- this is passion. Eventually, passion burns itself out. That or...'

'Or?'

'Or something else grows. Hate. Greed. Disgust.' Spike's gaze flicked away, downcast. 'Love. You take your pick.'

It occurred to Xander that this was the longest conversation they'd ever had. And probably the most meaningful.

Then he remembered.

'But... it's not real. We're not real.'

'Not real?'

Xander shook his head. 'No, it's not real. It's a dream.'

Spike grabbed suddenly at Xander's shoulders, flipping them on the bed before Xander even had time to draw a breath. Their faces were inches apart and he was fully aware of Spike's sudden anger. 'What are you playing at?'

'Nothing?' Xander said, but it was more of a question than a statement.

'Bullshit. I know... I know it's a dream, but yesterday...' Spike frowned. 'The other day, whenever it was... You said that I wasn't dreaming.'

Seeing the confusion and hating that he was adding to it, Xander tried a tentative smile to soothe Spike's ire. He lifted a hand to cradle the side of Spike's face. 'I did say that.'

'So make up your bloody mind.'

'I meant it's not your dream.'

'No?'

Xander shook his head, puzzled. 'No. It's mine.'

The anger quickly warped into grumpy confusion. 'Don't be daft. That won't wash. I'm the one who's asleep here.'

'No, you're... I'm...' Xander was at a loss, and Spike saw his genuine confusion.

'I don't understand what this is. It doesn't feel like a dream.' Spike circled Xander's throat loosely with his hand, using his thumb to tilt Xander's head up a little. Xander couldn't help feeling a warning tingle; there was a vampire paying more than a passing interest to his throat. But Spike didn't linger. He ran his palm down over Xander's chest, over his stomach, and took hold of his still urgent erection. 'This doesn't feel like a dream. It feels real.' His voice to a husky whisper. 'It feels good.'

Xander mumbled incoherently, his head suddenly too heavy for his neck as Spike squeezed and stroked him. 'I told you,' he said, the words a chore, 'I'm dreaming. This is my dream. But I didn't want it. Didn't ask for it.'

'And you think I did?' Spike asked sharply.

Xander shook his head, his eyes sliding almost shut as Spike continued to work him. He wanted to pay attention to their conversation, but he couldn't, not when Spike was touching him. It was cruel to expect anything else.

Spike swung a long leg over Xander's hips and guided Xander into place. With a hiss and a look of unadulterated pleasure on his face, he took Xander deep inside.

'This feel real to you?' he ground out.

Xander could only nod mindlessly and grab at Spike's hips. 'Feels... real.'

'Then... make it real.'

'What?' Xander's head was spinning. It was all he could do to hold on. Thoughts and words were too much, not when he was riding this wave. 'Wh-what?'

'Make it real.' Spike's hands were on his chest, splayed out and gripping at muscles. He raised himself, drawing out the moment, making them both shake with need. 'Make it real.'

'H-how?'

Spike rose and fell, rose and fell; his head tipped back, eyes closed. Not slowing, not allowing for human frailties, Spike rode Xander hard, his lips moving in whispered mantra. 'Make it real. Make it real. Make it real.'

Xander went entirely rigid as he came, shooting deep, his mouth stretched open with silent pleas, his heels digging deep into the mattress. His entire body gave itself over to the orgasm that Spike wrenched out of him. His vision clouded over and he sank back into the pillows, totally spent. Just before he blacked out completely, he felt Spike's lips against his cheek, words repeating endlessly.

'Make it real. Make it real. Make it real.'

When he next opened his eyes, he sat bolt upright in his own bed, his body thrumming with a nervous, carnal energy. With the heels of his hands, he rubbed at his eyes, trying to work some sense into his brain. Sense was nowhere to be found. When he couldn't bear to rub his strained eyeballs a moment longer, he took his hands away and found the world and bright and disorientating place. His fingers strayed to his cheek, where he could still feel Spike's lips moving against his skin.

Make it real. Make it real. Make it real.

For a long, dejected moment, Xander sat very, very still. Feeling very, very sorry for himself.

'Even if it's not real,' he said quietly, staring blankly into the middle distance, 'even if I don't believe. This is...'

Slowly shaking his head, completely at a loss, he got to unsteady feet and stripped off all his clothes. Naked, he padded to the shower, where he stayed under the hot spray for a long, long time, letting the water sluice over his aching head and his tired body.

Across town, Spike opened his eyes. He was lying facedown on the floor of his crypt, his mostly empty bottle of whiskey taking up most of his line of sight while it silently mocked him. The useless drunk he was in his dreams mirroring the useless drunk he was during his waking hours. He closed his eyes again; too tired to even care when a lone tear trickled out and ran over his cheek.

'This can't go on,' he said quietly, the breath he used to form his words raising puffs of dust from the floor. 'This can't. Bloody. Go on.'

Unsteadily, he got to his feet, his body aching with fatigue. Looking around him, hoping for a little divine inspiration, his eyes wild, the emotion had to find a way out. It took shape as laughter, violently bursting from him, echoing around the walls of his crypt.

'So what do I do?'

His strength left him in a rush and he staggered, having to support himself on the nearby wall.

'What the hell do I do?'

Part Five

His hair still wet from the shower, a threadbare towel wrapped around his waist, Xander hangs up the phone and scratches thoughtfully at his chin. Willow had called, wanting to know if he was up for a little demon hunting. The Bore-Anaz problem was turning out to be a little more widespread than they'd originally thought. Buffy had discovered a female while out on patrol and the female of the species in this case stuck to the stereotype and was more deadly than the male. Buffy had needed a trip to the emergency room for a few stitches after that little encounter. Nothing serious, Xander, Willow had valiantly reassured him, don't worry.

Don't worry. Right. Why hadn't he thought of that?

Shortly afterwards Giles had made the disconcerting discovery that their initial slaying of the male Bore-Anaz hadn't stuck.

Xander wonders at this. How does a slaying not "stick"? Especially when you've been hacked to bits, your brain pulled out and squashed, and your body encased in supposedly indestructible crystal by two powerful witches and thrown into the middle of the deepest lake in Sunnydale?

On the patrolling issue he'd pleaded exhaustion -- those long days at the site were really taking it out of him -- and wished Willow happy hunting. He feels a little guilty at the white lie, but not quite guilty enough to call her back and agree to go along. He knows he wouldn't be much use to them anyway; he's a little preoccupied with his own problems. This knowledge does nothing for him but send a hefty dose of shame scurrying after all the guilt.

Finishing his black tar, lukewarm coffee in one long swallow, he pulls off the towel and rubs it over his head. Dressing quickly, he fills his pockets with holy water, a stake and a vicious-looking dagger he'd bought himself at an army surplus store that was fast becoming his new best friend. Then he lets himself out and heads across town, keeping to the well-lit areas as any good Sunnydale inhabitant knows well to do.

He's not going to fall asleep, no matter what. Not until he gets this sorted out. The plan is to cut through the park and go to the Magic Box where he's going to read every book on dreams that he can get his clammy little hands on. Buffy had been released from the hospital with orders to go straight home and recuperate, so, of course, she's out patrolling with the others looking for their demon. With everyone thusly preoccupied, this is the best chance Xander's likely to get.

Halfway through McWilliam's Park and a scuffling sound draws him up sharply. He squints, seeing a flash of white blond hair through the foliage, and yes, it's Spike. Of course it's Spike. The vampire equivalent of a bad penny. Did he really expect that his eternally shitty luck would allow him the quiet dignity of a night alone? No. Drop your toast and you'll be picking carpet fluff out of your peanut butter. Leave the house with your umbrella and you're guaranteed that it'll never rain. Ten thousand spoons and all he needs is a big, splintery stake.

Spike is here and so Xander can't have the peace he was looking for. So, thinking quickly, or perhaps not thinking at all, he decides to be brave and bite the bullet. Now all he has to do is try and make sure it doesn't blow the back of his head off.

'Spike.'

He can't help but take a modicum of pride at the way Spike starts at the sound of his own name, dark eyes looking up and squinting. The squinting isn't necessary, is it? An old human reflex from a time before Spike could see perfectly well in the dark. Now those vampire eyes look directly at Xander, honing in like a laser beam. Xander continues to slowly circle the line of trees and finds himself wondering if this is just another dream. Wondering if he's finally fallen into an endless loop of fantasy where he'll never be able to tell if what he's experiencing is real or not.

(... make it real... )

Spike surreptitiously pinches himself, hard, on the arm, grimacing slightly when the pinch does its job and hurts like hell. So he rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands and then looks back to Xander. Waiting. Watching. Wary.

'What you doing here?'

'Could ask you the same question, Fangless.'

'Sod off. None of your bloody business what I do.' Spike spits the words with bravado, watching through a narrowed, distrustful veneer. Nothing new there then. 'I'm behavin' myself, if that's what you mean. Not much else I could be doing. You out with the Slayer or something?' Spike scans the park behind Xander and his frown grows ever more impatient when he sees that Xander is alone.

Xander shakes his head, still circling the trees, every step bringing him closer. 'Out for a walk by myself. Decided to pretend like I don't live on a hellmouth and threw caution to the wind.'

'Stupid prat.'

Xander bobs his head. 'Maybe.' He comes to a stop several feet away from Spike. Spike looks miserable. Exhausted. Xander can relate, yet is surprised at the compulsion he feels to reach out and comfort. This isn't his dream -- he's pretty sure -- and this isn't his beautiful, willing Spike. This is the evil, soulless bastard who hates him and who he hates in return. They share a tolerance of one another, mostly for Buffy's sake, and for their own sanity. That's all. There have been moments, in the mismatched buddy-buddy cop sense, where they've shared a little more. A few games of pool to escape the women folk. A few beers to drown their sorrows on nights where if they stick to speaking in vague metaphors then they can manage not to end up bickering too much. A helping hand in the heat of battle, one reluctant ally to another. Xander refuses to see his dream Spike cast in the creature standing before him, even if they do share the blue crystal eyes hooded in shadow. The same alabaster skin and whipcord body.

Spike swallows. Xander watches the bob of his Adam's apple and wants to bite it. This unexpected urge sends a shudder through him and he has to drag his gaze back up to Spike's eyelevel.

Damn it. If he'd known he was going to run into Spike on his travels, he would have stayed at home and chanced the dreams. He doesn't know how to act with this Spike. He's forgotten how he used to feel about him before. Before. Such a simple concept. How did he interact with Spike before he'd dreamt about fucking him? How does somebody remember something like that? And now, how does he mask his thoughts? The constant pulse of paranoia Xander now carries with him screams that he's guaranteed to make a mistake in glance or word or deed that will let Spike see his dirty secret. One error and the floodgates crack and burst open. That's all it will take.

Now he's here, now they're both here, he can't seem to stop looking at Spike. Spike who probably thinks Xander is off his rocker for being out here in the dead of night. This is just like the dreams. He happens upon Spike and they are drawn to one another. At times like this there are usually only the two of them. Their propriety, the rest of the world, and finally their clothes all fade away until there is only Spike and Xander, entwined in one another. Unable to resist.

There's a flare in Spike's cupped hands as he lights a cigarette. He looks at Xander with fire reflected in his eyes, which dims when he blows the match out. At Xander's blank look, Spike's eyes roll heavenward and he tilts his head back to exhale a long, thick stream of smoke, white in the moonlight. 'Well?' he demands. 'Was there something you wanted?'

Xander shakes his head. He's lost here. And maybe a little mesmerised. Doesn't know what to do. Most of him knows that this is Spike. Spike who hates him. Spike who, as far as Xander's limited knowledge is aware, is mostly interested in the fairer sex.

'I've been having these dreams.'

Oh. Oh, god. Christ, god. Way to keep a secret, Xander. But it's too late. The words are out before he even knew that he was thinking them. Now he's left dangling stupidly in a vacuum without the slightest clue as to where to go from here and Spike is watching him like a spooked horse.

'Yeah,' Spike says, drawing out the word, and it's typical don't-give-a-rat's-ass Spike, except for the way that his body stills like he's frozen in time, the only movement a trickle of smoke still escaping from his lips, and the way that his voice breaks on the word. Xander puts it down to the smoking and lets it go. He waits for Spike to say something else. Spike doesn't. So Xander waits for divine intervention. There is none. So he is reduced to willing the ground to open up and swallow him. The ground stubbornly stays exactly where it is. Spike finishes his cigarette, flicking the glowing butt away into the trees where it lands with a shower of sparks and disappears forever. 'Well,' he says, a touch of finality to his words, 'if that was all...'

Some unnamed emotion catches painfully in Xander's throat as Spike starts to walk away. 'I...'

Spike stops, his back still to Xander, and turns his head. Not enough so that he's actually looking at Xander, but enough so that Xander knows he's at least listening.

'These dreams...'

'Having trouble sleeping. That it?'

'Yeah. You could say that.'

There is a long silence.

'Spit it out, Harris. Or do you just want me to fetch you some warm milk and a blankie?'

At Spike's sides, hidden in shadow where Xander can't see, Spike's hands are clenched into fists, white balls of tension, squeezing his own flesh painfully in an effort to stop the shaking. His eyes are wild, darting around the forest floor; every nerve straining to hear what Xander might be about to say next.

'I was wondering if maybe you'd...'

Spike closes his eyes. He catches a whiff of fear and it makes the animal in him sit up and take interest. But Spike is immobile. He is silent. And he waits.

'If you'd...'

It's intolerable. He can wait no longer. 'If I'd what?'

Xander lets out a tiny, involuntary noise, almost like a whimper. 'If maybe you'd been having them, too?'

Spike opens his eyes. 'You mean this isn't a dream?' he asks. It's a serious question, and it's the last thing that Xander is expecting.

'Right now?' Xander blinks, flicking his gaze around the trees, the grass, some ever-present jasmine that seems to flourish all over town. 'No.'

'I'm not dreaming?'

'No,' Xander repeats, not so sure anymore. 'Of... of course not.'

'Funny that.'

'What is?'

Spike turns, and Xander literally twitches as his body expresses its desire to run away. 'How come this usually only happens when I'm asleep, then.'

'What...'

'You come to me. Talk sweet nonsense in my ear and...'

'And?'

Spike waves his hand in the air. Nonchalant. 'They're dreams. Fuzzy. What do I know?'

'Oh.' Xander doesn't move, but in his shoes, his toes are busy tying themselves in nervous little knots. 'How long?'

'A week or two. You?'

Xander nods. ''Bout the same.'

'Hallelujah. Another hellmouth miracle.' Spike sighs deeply. 'One I could well live without. What do you suggest?'

'Wh-what?'

'That's why you came, isn't it? A little help with making it stop? A little confirmation that you weren't going round the bend?'

Xander stammers silently, unexpectedly nonplussed by the question.

'So we've established that you're not. That we're not. And that there's something fishy going on. Now we figure out how to make it stop.'

'How to make it...?'

'Stop, Xander, stop.' Spike eyed him strangely. 'Are you with me here?'

'Yeah. I am. All the way here.'

Spike blinks, the hardness in his eyes clearing for a tiny increment of time. Another blink and the hardness is right back in place. Where it belongs. 'Right. Square one. What nasties have you come into contact with recently? Anything out of the ordinary?'

Xander thinks back. 'No. Nothing but a few vampires on patrol with Buffy in the last... month or so. You?'

Spike seems to focus on something in the middle ground as he thinks. 'Don't think so. Vamps. Had a punch up with a Fannhey demon a while back, but we both walked away.'

'A Fanny demon?'

'Fann-hey.'

'Oh.' Xander tilts his head. 'Is that what the fight was about?'

Spike looks up, his expression not changing, but he looks almost... amused. 'Mighta been. But I don't think he's our man. They've got no magic. Just muscle.' He shrugs. 'Wasn't such a bad bloke. Bought him a beer after.'

'You...?' For a second Xander can't believe his ears. Then he remembers who he's talking to. 'Never mind.'

'And the Bore-Anaz. That's all.'

'Yeah. Not much to go on.'

'So we'll get Willow to check us out.' Spike pauses, seeming to reconsider. 'Or maybe ask Tara. She seems to have a bit more wit about her.'

Feeling rather disloyal, Xander has to quickly stop himself from nodding his agreement.

'See if the others have been having any weird dreams,' Spike continues, not looking overly confident about the whole thing. 'And in the meantime, we'll see if there's anything new to be found about these Bore-Anaz buggers.'

'Sounds like a plan,' Xander agrees.

Spike curls his lip in sudden displeasure. 'I really hate working with you lot. Such a bunch of rank bloody amateurs. Makes me sick to my stomach.'

Xander glares at him, his temper flaring. 'Y'know, that's just crazy-odd, because I love working with a bloodthirsty dead guy. Makes me all warm and squirmy inside.'

'Pillock,' Spike spits.

'Murderer,' Xander retorts.

'Just because you say it doesn't make it real. I've killed more people than you've had hot dinners. For a century I...' He trails off when Xander's reaction isn't what he's expecting. 'What?'

'What did you just say?' Xander's words are too hard, too insistent, and not at all what Spike is used to hearing.

'I said that just because you run your mouth off doesn't make it...' In slow motion, all the expression leaks off Spike's face and is replaced by quiet horror. '... real.'

Xander stares right at him, right into him, not blinking. Like there's no one else alive. 'That's what I thought you said.'

Spike swallows heavily as he feels his chest constrict. Tight. He feels like a fish on a hook. Xander couldn't... could he? He lifts his chin. 'What's it to you?'

Spike watches Xander, looking for the cracks. But Xander isn't wavering. He's not slouching. He's not cracking jokes and he's damn sure not avoiding the issue. When the question comes, Spike isn't ready for it.

'What do you remember?'

'Remember?'

'The dreams. What do you remember?'

'Bits and pieces. Nothing much.'

'Liar.'

Spike is incredulous. And suddenly furious. 'I fucking told you I don't fucking remember.'

'And I told you I don't believe you.'

'Tough shit.'

Xander walks right up to him so that they're nose to nose. He can't quite help the cold smile when Spike's eyes widen in surprise and there's none of that cocky swagger that the last few hard years with the chip have taken away from him.

'Tell me what you remember about your dreams.'

'I... I remember...' Spike's gaze is flitting back and forth, covering the tiny distance from one of Xander's eyes to the other, then a dart to his lips and back up again.

'What?'

'I remember, all right?' Spike barks, ashamed. 'I remember every single sodding second of them. Like they're real. Like I can't tell the difference any more. It's...' He does look away then, looking mournfully at something over Xander's shoulder, unable to make this confession under Xander's scrutiny. 'I'm exhausted. Can't keep up with them any more, but still they're...' He sagged. 'They're the only time I get any peace.'

'Are they the same as mine?' Xander's voice is softer, but still just as insistent.

'I don't know, do I? Can't see inside your head.'

'All right, then. I'll make it simple for you. What were you dreaming when you said, "make it real".'

The catch of breath in Spike's throat and the way he turns his face away are answer enough for Xander.

'You did,' Xander breathes, not quite able to believe that this is happening. His head rushes and he can feel his pulse thump in his ears. 'You were there with me.'

Spike's head snaps back up. 'You...?'

Xander nods, hoping for all the world that he's reading this right, and leans in... hesitates...

'Tell me this is real,' Spike murmurs, almost afraid to ask the question.

'It's real,' Xander says, because he wants it to be.

'You promise?'

'Yeah. I do.'

... then closes the final distance between them.

Then there's kissing.

Spike moans in his mouth and Xander swallows it down like a starving man. It's hard and messy and it's like their first kiss. In some ways it really is, but in others it feels like they've been doing this forever. Spike is pushing, pulling, at his shoulders. Mostly holding him closer, murmuring sweet, dirty, nonsensical things. Xander angles his head and it's like there's a click as they fit together. He maps the roof of Spike's mouth with his tongue and murmurs encouragement when Spike returns the favour. His hands are inside Spike's shirt and he hears the sound of stitches ripping. He pushes up and off and the shirt is gone. Spike takes advantage of the few seconds they're not kissing to yank at the front of Xander's shirt, losing a few buttons in the process, but then the shirt is half off and they still suddenly, looking at one another.

'You want this, Spike?' It's funny, but Xander has to hesitate before saying Spike's name. The word takes form, hangs heavy, and sounds so damn intimate considering that he can still taste Spike in his mouth. 'You want me to make it real?'

'Yeah,' Spike says breathlessly. He's impatient, always impatient, but there's a hint of a smile there, too. 'Fuck, yeah.'

So Xander tugs at the waist of Spike's jeans, making the vampire take a half-step forward. Spike's eyes widen appreciatively. Xander undoes the top button and tugs again. The next few buttons open and Spike growls softly. He reaches for Xander's hand, but Xander stops him. 'Want you to do something for me, Spike.'

'What's that?'

Xander drags his gaze up from Spike's crotch, past all those glorious muscles and bare skin, to his face. He's feeling brave because Spike always brings this out of him. He knows that nothing he asks will be refused in this moment. Not if he asks just right. So he bares his teeth in a ragged smile. 'Blow me.'

There's a hint of surprise in Spike's expression, but there's hunger, too.

'No teeth,' Xander warns with a quick grin.

Spike smirks. 'Spoilsport.' But he runs a hand down Xander's stomach, without breaking eye contact, and opens his fly. When Spike drops to his knees in the grass, Xander's gaze goes with him. When Spike runs blunt nails over his balls, Xander hisses and fists his hand in Spike's hair. Spike's lips and tongue cover the head of his cock and it's all Xander can do not to cry out. A strong, sure hand squeezes him and he watches himself disappear into Spike's mouth. And damn if that isn't one of the hottest things he's ever, ever seen.

Spike immediately sets a punishing pace, using lips and tongue like weapons, his head bobbing back and forth. Xander's knees feel weak; his hips pumping mindlessly. Everything feels high and tight and his mind is a whirlwind in a snow globe when Spike... stops.

'No,' Xander wails. 'What...?'

Spike looks up, every inch the debauched cherub, and runs a pointed tongue over the tip of Xander's dick. When he breaks contact completely, Xander can only manage a distraught, 'Guh?' as the part of his brain ordinarily used for speech is still tied up with why the greatest blowjob in the history of the world had suddenly stopped.

'Come here,' Spike says, busy pushing his own jeans off and getting on his hands and knees on the grass. 'Come here and fuck me.'

Xander doesn't need to be told twice. On his knees behind Spike and there's too much denim tangled around their legs in the grass, but he can't think about that because Spike is pushing back against him and he's so hard and he wants this so much. And, oh god, he's sliding inside and too late he wishes he'd brought some lube, but Spike doesn't seem to care. Ever impatient, he's pushing back, then with a sudden jerk of his hips and an animal, guttural noise from Spike and Xander is in as deep as he can go.

And this is one sensation that will never ever get boring.

This time, however, he knows it won't last long. Spike wiggles his hips, so Xander takes hold, and as one they start to fuck. He's sliding, almost forcing, his way in and out of the pale, willing body laid out in front of him, and Spike is writhing like a snake; anchored as best he can by sinking his nails into the ground and grabbing at handfuls of grass. Xander can hear a tearing sound as roots are torn from the earth.

There's sweat and heat and the glorious slap of skin on skin and Xander knows that he was right -- it doesn't last long. A few dozen thrusts and he's coming, emptying himself into Spike, hips hammering forward, every muscle tight, giving everything. He wraps his arms around Spike's waist like a lifebelt in a storm, and for a moment the vampire feels small in his arms. Xander smiles where he knows Spike can't see him and presses his cheek to Spike's back. He's still inside Spike's body, clenching muscles grasping at him, wanting more. He can feel Spike still pushing back against him, still impatient, even though he knows Xander is spent. Xander kisses the blade of Spike's shoulder before sliding out and lying on his back in the grass, his arms flung out beside him, trying to get his breath back.

Spike lies beside him, his head resting on Xander's arm, his mouth open, one hand on his own chest, staring up at the night sky. Xander glances over and sees that he's still rock hard. 'Shit. Gimme... just gimme one second, 'kay?'

Spike turns his head. And smiles. It takes Xander's breath away.

'Take your time, mate. I'm in no rush.'

'No?' Xander is genuinely surprised, and smiles. He lifts his head and they meet in a kiss.

But they don't connect. Two pairs of eyes open in surprise to see everything is fading around them. Their twin expressions of dismay say it all. It's happening again. This time wasn't any more real than any of the others. It's all happening again.

But they're both still awake. Both still witnessing this. That's never happened before...

Xander reaches for Spike, but can't seem to grip, his fingers useless flopping sausage things; Spike's body melting like fog.

'No!' Spike cries, reaching for him, his hands shaking him, but it's like smoke over water. Unsubstantial and nothing can reach Xander because he's slipping away. They're both drifting. 'No!' Spike says again. 'You said it was real. You promised.'

There's a rushing all around them and Spike's face is fading away, angry and betrayed and so sad, and Xander only has time to say, 'I'm sorry. I thought it was.'

Part Six

When Xander wakes, his head is pounding and his mouth is so dry it's like the desert at high noon. He'd happily give both his kidneys for a drink, but the thought of sitting up and fetching one makes him want to cry. He cracks his eyes open and the million-watt glare from the light bulb overhead clouds his vision as tears form.

'Xander?' a soft voice asks, and it sounds like his mom. Maybe she'll have some fruit punch for him.

'Xander?'

No, not his mother. Small, warm hands are holding his hand, squeezing and brushing gently and it feels safe and good.

'Xander, can you hear me?' He can hear tears in the voice, and it's then that he realises it's Willow.

'Wi--'

His hand is squeezed a little harder. 'Xander!' There's a wet splash of a tear hitting the back of his hand. He wants to lick it up, but doesn't know if he could find his mouth. 'Xander, open your eyes. Come back to us.'

His eyes roll, but he can't make the lids lift. They're so heavy, and it's so bright. He wants to stay in this limbo. If only someone would bring him a glass of water. Do they have water in limbo?

But it's Willow. And she's crying and squeezing his hand and he knows that he has to.

'Giles, dim the lights. I don't think he likes it.'

There's a fumbling sound, a few footsteps and then, blessedly, the light goes away, replaced by a soft glow that his eyes can handle. He opens them and sees Willow smiling down at him, her cute little nose bright red, her eyes streaming with tears.

'Oh, Xander. We were so worried.'

'Wha--' He closes his mouth and swallows, his throat making a dry clicking sound.

'You want water?'

Oh, hell yes. He nods and she turns away from him for a second, not letting go of his hand. When she comes back, she has a cup in her hand. She helps him to lift his head and he gulps at the water. It's tap water, lukewarm, and it's the best, sweetest thing Xander has ever had in his mouth.

'Easy,' she says, and takes the cup away. Xander's mouth falls open in protest, but she shushes him gently. 'In a sec. You've been out for three days.'

Three days? Out where? What the hell happened? Is this just another dream? Is this hospital? Possibly the mental ward where he belongs. And where's Spike?

A voice to his other side. 'Welcome back, Rip Van Winkle.' He turns his head. Buffy. She's smiling, her eyes damp, and she looks so tired. 'You really put us through the wringer. Do you remember what happened?'

Xander shakes his head.

Buffy glances up, her eyes darting to two spots in the room, then down to stare at nothing in the middle ground. Xander is too tired to turn and see what she was looking at. He supposes that it's Willow and Giles. Her shoulders are hunched, and he gets the distinct impression that there's something behind her that she very much wants not to be there. He glances up and sees that the only thing behind her is a dresser and the only door to the room.

'There was a demon,' she says.

'Buffy,' Giles' voice, soft but firm, comes from somewhere behind him. 'Do you really think this is the time? He only just woke up.'

'I need to know. I need to know if--' She bites off her words and Xander knows that if he had the energy to spare, he'd be using it to be suspiciously intrigued. 'It's been three days of not knowing,' she says. 'Now I need to know.' She looks warmly, sadly, at Xander. 'If you're able.'

Xander nods once, then drifts, Willow's gentle touch on his hand his only constant. Everything else is too hard. He squeezes her hand and looks at the cup. She lifts it and again helps him to lift his head. Dear, sweet Willow with her dear, sweet water. Somewhere in the room, Buffy and Giles are still talking, but right here, right now, there's only Willow and the water.

All too soon the cup is empty. Xander lies back, already feeling better, and he can feel the water trickle down through his body to collect in a weightless puddle in his stomach. His body cries out for more.

Buffy says his name again.

''ey, Buff,' he says, and it's easier this time. His voice is still rough as hell, but the water has washed away some of the dustbowl that was his mouth.

'Hey, Xander.' She's sitting beside his bed, and she leans in closer to him. He can tell from her smile that she is truly relieved to see him back in the land of the living. 'Do you remember anything that happened?'

''ree days?' he croaks. Only three days?

She nods. 'The Bore-Anaz demon.' Her smile wavers. 'I wasn't there. We only found you after. We thought that you--' Her gaze darts up again at the same moment that Willow's grip tightens on his hand. Buffy takes a breath and looks back down. 'It didn't look good.'

He shakes his head. 'Don' remember.'

'Xander... you weren't alone.'

His memory is a dark and unresponsive thing. He relates this to her with a blank expression.

'Spike was there.'

Spike? Xander's heart lurches in his chest and picks up the tempo.

'I need to know... Xander, did Spike do this to you?'

'You said...'

'I know. It was the Bore-Anaz that did this. You were already unconscious when we got there.'

(... hacking a Bore-Anaz Demon into pieces releases toxic gases and renders the attacker comatose. The demon then reassembles itself and eats said attacker...)

Holy Moley. I was in a... 'Coma?'

She nods. 'If it wasn't for Willow...'

Dear, sweet Willow. Xander squeezes her hand and hopes that it manages to convey even a fraction of the love and affection he feels for her. Willow's a smart cookie; he's sure she'll get it.

''pike?'

'He was there. Unconscious, too.'

'So...?'

Buffy shifts her weight. 'I just wanted to make absolutely sure that nothing he did put you in the path of the Bore-Anaz.'

'No.' Xander's pretty sure. He'd feel more sure if he could remember anything that happened. 'We both...?'

'Yeah. He's been out, too.'

'Where?'

She glances back over her shoulder without moving her head. 'He's in the other bedroom.'

Xander looks around the room he lay in, recognising it for the first time. Giles' bedroom. They'd brought them to Giles' house and given Spike the spare room.

'He awake?'

She shakes her head.

'Check.'

'What?'

He looks to Willow, knowing that he'll find a more sympathetic audience there. 'Check.'

Willow considers this quickly, running the idea through in her head. 'The healing spell should have worked for both of them,' she says, addressing first Buffy then Giles. 'He could be awake.'

'Check,' Xander says again, nodding.

'I'll go.' Giles leaves the room.

Xander can hear another door opening and the faint murmur of Giles talking. He can't hear any reply. He squeezes Willow's hand again. He's already drifting away again, the room fading to grey. 'Water?' he manages to ask.

Willow smiles. 'I'll have some here for when you wake up.'

''re the best,' he says with a smile as he falls into the welcoming arms of real sleep.

Willow takes a deep breath and puts Xander's hand on his chest with a little pat. She smiles at Buffy, then glances at the empty side of the double bed. 'You know...' she begins.

'Sleep,' says Buffy, getting out of her chair. 'I'll bring the water.'

With a grateful smile, Willow crawls onto the bed beside Xander and curls into a little ball. Within minutes, and for the first time in days, she falls fast asleep.

Xander wakes with a gasp, his eyes opening wide. It all comes crashing back. What had happened to him? Why had he been unconscious for three days? And, most importantly, was this really him back in the midst of his friends or was this just another dream?

He zones in on the glass of water beside him, and the glass of orange juice beside that. Sitting up, and getting the mother of all head-rushes for his troubles, he picks up the water first. Trying not to rush, he drinks the whole thing, then makes short work of the OJ.

Then, of course, he needs to pee.

He gets up carefully, trying not to jostle Willow, smiling at her as he imagines footie pyjamas and the way she used to suck her thumb. Swinging his legs carefully out of the bed is a challenge in itself. He sees that he's still wearing the boxers he remembers putting on three days -- only three days? -- ago, and his favourite green t-shirt. He could also use a long bath, possibly with a straw for a little bathwater drinking when he gets thirsty, but energy levels being what they are, he puts this on the back burner for now.

Holding onto the wall for support, he makes it to the bathroom without incident and pees sitting down because his legs feel like matchsticks. He washes his hands, his face, combs a little water through his lank hair with his fingers, and unashamedly drinks more of the tap water. He rifles through the small cupboard and finds a toothbrush, which he uses to scrub out his mouth until his gums hurt. Setting down the brush, he grips the edge of the sink and stares at the haggard face reflected back at him in the mirror. He stills then, trying to piece together what happened to him. Trying to remember anything useful. Anything at all that doesn't involve several condensed weeks of not knowing... much of anything, really, and dreaming about Spike.

Spike.

Buffy doesn't want Spike here, that much is obvious, and yet he'd been here, in this house, unconscious for as long as Xander. Xander is struck by an intense desire to see him, to talk to him, to ask him what he remembers. To see Spike's face when he answers. To see if he had travelled his one-way trip into imaginary Spike-lusting alone. To see if he was right in insisting that Spike had nothing to do with what happened to him.

No time, he decides, like the present.

He makes his way carefully to the spare room, considers knocking, then just walks on in. Spike's in the bed, covers pushed down around his waist, and he's wearing a white T-shirt. The room is dark and it takes Xander's eyes a second to adjust. When they do, he sees that Spike is asleep. Or pretending to be. His hair is as messy and curly as Xander has ever seen it. There's a large glass on the bedside table, with a straw in it and a dark red ring near the top. Xander pads over to the bed and just stands there. Unsure.

A moment later, Spike opens his eyes. He sees Xander and it looks for a crazy moment like he's about to smile. Xander is treated to a patented scowl instead. 'Oh, fuck all,' Spike croaks. 'Not this again.'

Xander sighs resignedly. 'Hey, Spike. How are you?' He has to clear his throat to speak, and when he does it's still raspy, but he finds that if he whispers his voice doesn't desert him. That's okay. Whispering is fine by him.

'Peachy. You?

'Dandy.' Xander chews on his lip. 'Listen, I'm just going to cut right to the chase here. Do you remember anything?

'Don't remember getting here, 'f that's what you mean.' Spike blinks lazily. ''parently we had a run in with a nasty demon.'

'That about sums it up.' Xander takes a deep, open-mouthed breath and decides to be brave. For "be brave" read: jump in at the deep end. 'Do you remember the dreams?'

'What dreams?'

Xander wonders how come a vampire can manage to sound so damn innocent. 'The dreams. While you were unconscious.'

'Oh, that. Yeah, the Watcher said we'd both been a might twitchy.'

'He did?'

'Mm. 'parently neither one of us have been exactly sleeping the light fantastic.'

'So you were dreaming?'

Spike waves his hand. 'They're dreams. Fuz--'

'Fuzzy. What do you know?'

Spike stares at him for a long moment making Xander's heart thud heavily in his chest. 'Yeah,' he says eventually, making it sound like he's signing his life away. 'Yeah, I remember.'

'Tell me what you remember.'

Spike regards him evenly.

The look makes Xander want to squirm. It reminds him that Spike is older than any man has a right to be, and it reminds him that Spike isn't a man, and hasn't been for a very long time. It reminds him that he doesn't even feel like a grown up yet and that what he's doing could be construed as the most foolish thing he's ever done in a long, long line of foolish things. It also reminds him that Spike is intelligent, and beautiful, and evil, and deadly, and greedy for attention, and holds Xander's hand so tightly sometimes and he loves it -- loves it -- when Xander bites on his throat.

The look doesn't change anything.

'I remember the confusion,' Spike is saying. 'The hurt. The peace. The way you would stalk me from across the room.'

'And... and do you remember... Do you remember asking me to... make it real?'

An eternity of waiting. Then: 'Yes.' Spoken so quietly Xander's not sure he heard right. 'I remember.' Smooth lips curl in distaste and Spike's eyes shutter. 'That enough for you?' he asks bitterly, looking away.

'That's enough,' Xander says softly. 'And... and when you said... Did you mean it?'

Spike's gaze swings even further away and he seems to be having an intense conversation inside his head. 'Yeah,' he says after lengthy internal discussion. 'Yeah, at the time, I meant it.'

Something breaks free inside Xander. Something liquid and good and warm. Something he didn't know he'd been missing, but it was something that he didn't ever want to be without. Without asking, he climbs onto the bed beside Spike and lies facing him, his fists tucked up under his chin, their faces only inches apart. To say that Spike looks disconcerted would be an understatement.

'You know, I can do that now,' Xander whispers.

Spike lets out a sound of surprise, somewhere between a whimper and an exclamation of disbelief. 'And why in the hell would you want to do a thing like that?' he whispers back harshly. 'I'm your friendly neighbourhood monster. Three days ago we got along just fine hating each other's guts. What's changed?'

'Three days ago things were very different.'

Spike snorts. 'You can say that again.'

'Three days ago things were very different.'

Spike rolls his eyes. 'Wanker.'

Xander smiles then, and extends the fingers of one hand, so that just his fingertips are resting on Spike's chin. He brushes the skin there, remembering how it tastes, how it bruises faintly if he grips too tight. Remembering that all his memories are just dreams and he still has to discover them for the first time. 'I want you,' Xander says simply, his smile fading away into seriousness. 'Really want you. A lot.' An unguarded expression in clear blue eyes tell him that Spike isn't used to hearing such sentiments directed at him, and this tugs hard at Xander's heartstrings.

Then Spike looks angry. 'You don't even like me. And you don't know me. We've just been dreaming. Dreaming. As in figment-of-our-overactive-imaginations. Put there by inhaling toxic demon blood. Which involves magic and warping our sense of what's real and what's not. Probably giving us some temporary connection while we were out of it. And dreamscapes should never be taken literally, any fool knows that.' He looks as though he wants to rap Xander's skull until Xander calls uncle. 'You following any of this?'

Xander nods. 'I know this. I know what you are.'

'There you go then.'

'I still want you.'

'You are being overly thick-headed today, you know that?' Spike says, exasperated.

'Desperate times call for desperate measures. We've been through this before.' Xander taps his temple. 'I'm tired of two-stepping around this.' He shrugs. 'Dunno. Maybe it's the dehydration, or the fact that my stomach's about to eat itself, but I just don't want the merry-go-round.'

'Tuh. Sometimes the merry-go-round's the best part,' Spike says. 'And it won't work. Can't. You know that.'

'It could.'

Spike shakes his head. 'Do the others know you're in here? More importantly, does Buffy?'

Xander shakes his head. 'Don't change the subject.'

Spike tuts, irritated. 'Gotta be realistic. Could work for a while.' His gaze flits over Xander's face and down his body. When he speaks again, his voice is rough. 'Could work really well.' He swallows. 'But then,' he looks back up, 'six months, a year -- things start bugging you that you used to let slide. No sunshine strolls. Your friends hating me almost as much as I hate them. That whole evil, blood-drinking thing. You start seeing grey hairs while I stay the same.' His gaze slips away and he takes hold of the hand that's resting on his chin, lifting Xander's touch away from his skin. 'And then if the chip...'

'I want you,' Xander says again, still just as sure, but knowing that Spike will need more than that. Knowing that Spike is right. Knowing this will probably be difficult and painful, but that he doesn't want to give up this easily. 'Haven't you ever... compromised?'

'Compromised?'

'Yeah. Before Sunnydale. Before the chip. Didn't you ever just... be?'

'You mean was I ever not evil?'

'I guess.'

'I've had... friends,' Spike answers grudgingly.

'Human friends?'

'Some.'

'That you didn't kill.'

'Mostly. Yeah.'

'That's reassuring.'

'Hey, this is your game.'

'I know.' Xander's eyebrows draw in in a brief frown. 'Have you ever... have you ever considered that the chip may never come out?'

Spike sighs then, long and deep. 'Only every day since it happened.'

'That would make things...' Not easier. Don't say "easier". 'Simpler. In the grand scheme of things.'

A spear of hot anger travels into Spike's core, but he knows that Xander isn't being flippant and so bites down on it. 'Tell me we're not having this conversation.'

'What conversation?'

'The one where I give everything up for a pipe dream with a human of all things.'

'Okay, we're not having this conversation.'

'Are though, aren't we.'

'Could be.'

Spike takes a moment to answer. 'Looks like.'

'Spike, I... I believe... I mean, I think I believe that this has a chance. And lemme tell you the only reason I'm braving this conversation is probably because we wouldn't stand a chance without it. With the vampire aspect and all.'

Spike raises an eyebrow. 'And what about the guy aspect?'

'In my life? Not even a close second.'

'You should know not to trust me.'

'I don't. Not yet. But I can learn.'

'Even that's a lot of trust for a vampire's shoulders.'

'You have good shoulders.'

'I've got good everything.'

'Your modesty valve may be a little defective.'

Spike curls his lip in a don't-care Elvis sneer. 'Mayhap it is.'

'So, back to that thing about the chip...'

'The chip, the chip.' He lets out a breath that brushes Xander's mouth. Xander parts his lips and breathes in. 'Yeah, it might make your life simpler if it stayed, but not mine. I want it gone. You know it. Buffy knows it. I'll do pretty much anything to make it happen.'

'But if it never--'

'If it never comes out I'll still be a vampire. Still be a demon. Obnoxious and angry as hell most of the time. Always wanting more. Always wanting the violence and the pain and...' His gaze travels over Xander's throat, slow and seductive and Xander knows well that Spike sees him shudder. 'Always wanting a taste.' He looks back up. 'And it's not what I want. Not to live like this. And you'll always wonder...'

'So we're back to compromising.'

'Nice and vague, that.'

'It doesn't have to be.'

'Sounds like you're planning a pre-nup.'

Xander almost laughs. 'Does, doesn't it?'

'Pretty intense stuff, whelp. Considering that we've never even kissed.'

The statement comes out of left field and catches Xander napping. 'Jesus. We haven't have we?'

'Yes and no.'

Xander blinks his gaze down to Spike's lips, so close to his own, and back up again. 'You know there's an easy remedy to that.'

Spike doesn't move. 'Do your worst.'

So Xander leans forward and closes his mouth over Spike's top lip. When he feels Spike's lips close to form the other half of their kiss, Xander closes his eyes. He runs his tongue over Spike's lip and feels an urgent pressure in the response. He cracks open his eyes and can just make out Spike's frown of concentration. One of Spike's feet moves forward under the blankets to rest against Xander's. Xander lays his palm against Spike's chest and lets his fingers smooth over the skin just above the neck of the white T-shirt. Spike's hand creeps over his ribs and Xander sighs contentedly. They kiss slowly, deeply, and with soft touches for a long time.

When they finally stop, Xander is flushed and half-hard. Spike is breathing and looks wide-awake, but apprehensive.

'This can work,' Xander says. 'I want to try. But I don't want to be this serious everyday.'

'Yeah,' Spike says slowly. 'Yeah, I guess I want to try, too. And don't worry, there's a time and a place for serious.'

'You're damn skippy.'

'You really think this has a chance?'

'Yes,' Xander says with conviction. 'Besides, you ever step out of line and I could punish you.'

'You could...' Something hot flares in Spike's eyes. 'Oh, really?'

Xander doesn't flinch. Instead he smiled evilly. 'Really.'

Spike looks rather impressed. 'Right, then. I guess we could give it a shot. I am evil, after all. Dirty old vampire taking advantage of the nubile young lad.' He nods, his bottom lip sticking out proudly as though he came up with the whole idea himself. 'I can do that.'

Xander smiles broadly, and hooks his fingers in the neck of Spike's T-shirt, pulling him in for another kiss. Spike obliges at first, then draws back suddenly, abandoning Xander mid-kiss.

Xander frowns. 'What's wrong?'

Spike puts his hands on Xander's face, reading him like Braille, seeking tactile comfort.

'Spike?'

'Xander,' he says, and Xander can't ever remember the last time Spike used his actual name.

'Xander, this is real, this time. ... Isn't it?'

The End

Dream Seduction Challenge by Marie_Jayn18

Challenge: Anya's always talking about how great Xander is in bed; I want a story where someone finds out just how good he is.

A person of your choice (anyone from BtVS or Angel, male or female as long as it's not Anya) is shocked when they start having realistic dreams about Xander.

They start out as erotic, but later on have them talking and learning things they hadn't known about him (the sex dreams don't stop, there are just other dreams added in), and the person slowly falls in love with Xander. You decide whether or not Xan knows about the dreams.

They must get together in real life eventually, and the sex must be as good, if not better, than in the dreams, and the things they learned about him must be true.

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