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This fic has been nominated in Slashfest 2003.



Xander sat on a ledge overlooking a sluggish river; the rays of the setting sun, for a moment, touching the water with red and gold as it wound through the limestone flats and into the wasteland beyond. Xander had never, in a million years, dreamed that he would be in this place, this godforsaken place. Even as the sun was sinking behind the mesa rim the heat was oppressive, and even with the river the furnace-like air was so dry that his nose and throat burned with every breath. 

The wind never ceased. The cicadas created an unholy din, hiding the more deadly sound of the rattlers that hid in the rock crevices.  The ants, the flies, and the mosquitoes were all after his blood, and with the coming of night and his proximity to the river, the bloodsuckers were only going to get worse. The little ones and the big ones. He glanced at the cave, cut deep in the mesa ridge, barely visible from where he sat, and wondered if his companion was lurking among the many shadows that stretched across the rocky path leading down to the river.

He shrugged and reached for the flask in his pocket. The whiskey washed away the dust and replaced the burn of days in high altitude and dry climate with a very different warmth. He giggled. He had thought that Southern California was hot. But there was something about this heat that was different from any he had ever known in Sunnydale. Compared to that wet, sticky, thick heat, this was a brutal, parching, killing heat. It made everything bright and sharp during the day. The greasewood bushes were a more brilliant green, the sandstone a more vibrant pink and the cholla cactus appeared huge and black and twisted against the blinding blue sky.  

Xander had not been at all amused when he had learned the name of the river. He had thought it singularly fitting; La Rio de las Animas en Perdidas. The River of Lost Souls in Purgatory. Or, as it was known by some, simply, the Purgatory. It was a slow, warm, dirty river that gave no relief from either the heat or the thirst that had plagued Xander on his trek through the canyon lands surrounding it. Now, he sat beside it, waiting. Waiting for the one who had, appropriately, brought him here, to the river the Spanish explorers had named Purgatory. To lose his soul. 

The sun had set and the sky glowed purple. The first stars were beginning to shine and the cicadas had quieted from the day's racket to the night's more peaceful, rhythmic melody. Xander heard a coyote yip and howl in the distance, knowing that later the night would be full of the sounds of the pack hunting. Then, suddenly, he was aware, as prey is of a predator, of a presence on the rocks with him. He hadn't always been able to sense Spike's approach but the days spent alone, with no other company, had made him sensitive to the slightest change in the environment around him. The hairs on his arms were standing up. 

He had shed his shirt when the sun had started its descent so he could feel the wind drying his sweat soaked skin. It took him just a moment to notice that it was not just the wind caressing his back any longer but cool fingers, playing along the muscles of his shoulders and the ridges of his spine. He shivered in the heat and heard a familiar, dry chuckle. 

Spike stepped around him and sat. Xander didn't look but inhaled sharply at the scent that assaulted him. All day he had smelled nothing but dust and the mouldy, earthy smell of the river. Now he smelled whiskey and cigarettes and  with the clicking sound of a lighter the sweet smell of pot wafted towards him as well. He finally turned to look. He was almost startled by the brightness of blonde hair and pale skin in the dark. He refused the joint that was offered to him, content for the moment with the whiskey buzz. Spike shrugged bare shoulders. He, too, was stripped to the waist, his skin almost luminescent under the clear night sky. Xander turned away again. It was difficult to look at the vampire, here, in this lonely place. It appeared almost like a tableau. Spike, with his perfect face, shining hair and skin, his body slim and muscled, clad only in tight jeans and boots against the desolate backdrop of the black mesa and the dark, distorted shapes of the cholla. 

Smoke wafted around Spike's head and he squinted his blue eyes at Xander. Xander made no move to turn away when Spike inhaled deeply from the joint and brought his hand to Xander's face, pulling him close. Xander knew what the vampire wanted and he didn't resist, tilting his head and closing his eyes. He felt the touch of cool lips against his and he opened his mouth to take a deep breath in time to catch the smoke that Spike exhaled into his mouth. He stayed as he was, mouth pressed to Spike's, as his lungs began to burn and the vampire licked his lips as a reward. He fell back from the vampire's grasp onto his hands, arching back to look at the stars, and exhaled through his nose. 

He stayed as he was for a moment, letting the stars begin to lose their focus, when he felt Spike begin to crawl over his legs. He did nothing, remaining passive, as the vampires cold hands brushed against the skin of his stomach above the waist of his pants. With a gentle shove from Spike he let himself fall flat on his back on the smooth limestone bank, and felt Spike put something gently in his hand before feeling a cool tongue circling a hip bone. With a small moan he brought the joint to his lips and hit it, tasting Spike on it as the vampire undid the button of his jeans and then the zipper. He hadn't been wearing shoes so the pants came off easily when he raised his hips, and he had stopped wearing underwear shortly after this journey had begun. 

He was spread out naked on the riverbank under a sea of brilliant, spinning stars with a joint in his hand and a vampire between his legs. The idea of it made him fully hard even before Spike's mouth closed on him, taking him deep. He couldn't move, his muscles wouldn't obey his muddled mind, all he could do was gibber and then sob as he felt familiar teeth close on him and prick him. As he whirled and the stars swirled, Xander felt the joint taken from his hand and the mouth taken from his aching erection. Tears came to eyes from the loss. But soon Spike's hands were back, pushing his uncooperative legs apart and then touching him, entering him, slick and smooth. Xander caught the scent of cinnamon in the air. Spikes fingers probed and opened him bringing little murmurs and whines from Xander's hoarse throat, making him sound young and vulnerable. It was a reflection of how he felt, kind of hurt and mushy and delicate inside, like he could break at any time.

Spike played Xander out to the limit of his tolerance, alternating between a strange tenderness and contained savagery. He kept his fingers, three of them now, inside Xander, and his lips and his teeth roamed all over Xander's body, from his face to his cock. Sometimes his kisses were feather light; sometimes he drew blood. Xander responded with sharp sobs and Spike licked away his tears. 

When Xander felt that he could take no more and his intermittent sobs were becoming screams, Spike removed his fingers and Xander felt Spike's cock at his entrance and Spike's hand on his neck, cutting off his screams. With one hand and his own thighs, Spike held Xander's legs uncomfortably wide while he entered him. It was like a cold fire inside of him, stroking him, teasing him.  Spike was there, above him, his body blocking out the sky as he bent over Xander, pinning one of his legs over his shoulder. For the first time that night Xander could hear the vampire even over his own, choked, whimpering cries. Spike was whispering nonsense punctuated with hisses of pleasure. 

Xander almost lost himself to the moment, to the blackness of unconscious pleasure-pain, but he couldn't. He was waiting, waiting to be truly taken. And when Spike's hisses turned into predatory growls, he knew it was time. Xander twisted in Spike's grasp to expose the flesh of his neck to the demon who held him, welcoming the pain from the rocks beneath him. Spike let go of Xander's leg in order to grab the boys straining cock and shifted his hold on Xander's neck. He saw only a flash of yellow eyes before Spike's teeth pierced the vein. That was it, that was his release. Xander coughed and gasped while he came in great, heaving bursts. As he bucked and thrashed in the midst of his climax he felt a sudden tensing in the hard body above him and a deep, vibrating moan from Spike as the vampire came with him.

It was several moments before Spike released Xander's neck and pulled away from him. His absence left Xander feeling weak, empty and used. The breeze had picked up and, although it was warm, it felt chill on his wet, sticky body. He knew that he should get into the river and rinse off. The sweat and come covering his body were going to attract more little bloodsuckers and he had a burning desire to be clean. But he could barely breathe he was so stoned on sex and weed, and he knew that nothing, especially not that muddy river water, was going to wash him clean.

He finally closed his eyes against the hurtful brilliance of the stars just as they came back into focus.  Hiding in the darkness of his head he heard a quiet splash and knew that the vampire had gone to the river, assuming Xander would follow. He pictured the shimmering, pale body swimming gracefully through the black waters of the Purgatory and his gut tightened and his cock twitched. After a moment, though, he shook his head slightly, mindful of the sparks behind his eyelids. No. He wasn't going. Spike and that damned dirty river were slowly stealing his soul away. He fumbled across the rocks until he found where Spike had laid the joint. He lit up with the lighter from the pair of pants lying next to him. It would kill the pain, the stars would spin all night . . . and it would keep the bugs away.

The End

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The Spander Files