Sunday Morning Coming Down

by
Crazydiamondsue

Part Ten

Xander realized that he was going in circles the third time he passed beneath the marquee of The Sun. He stopped, trying to figure out why he was walking in the first place, considering that he had driven to the Bronze. Great, now his car was probably being used as a vampire necking place while he wandered the streets on foot.

He turned and headed toward his apartment, thoughts of retrieving his car and the rashness of strolling through Sunnydale after dark rising and then being dismissed as inconsequential.

Willow could bring Buffy back. Her death had been mystical. She was in hell. Xander focused on that last one. He was still trying to get his head around the idea that Willow had somehow known about this hell dimension stuff all summer long and had never bothered to tell anyone but Tara. He remembered trying to help Giles comfort Dawn with the idea that Buffy was no longer suffering, that she was being rewarded for all of her efforts as a Slayer, attempting to give substance to the meaningless, “She’s in a better place.”

And Willow had just sat there and listened, not offering information that it might not be true, after all, and that they should get moving on Operation: ‘Escape from Hell’ as soon as possible. So why hadn’t Willow said anything?

Xander closed his eyes as he remembered Willow’s reactions all summer. She’d seemed the least lost of any of them. Taking control on patrols, suddenly exhibiting a confidence that she’d never had before. She’s been planning this since the day we dug the grave, he realized. He remembered the glow in her eyes tonight as she detailed her plan. He also remembered the distant look on Tara’s face and her more silent than usual silence. But he also remembered that Tara had clung steadfastly to Willow’ hand while the plan had been unveiled. Still…

If Willow had noticed Tara’s less than rah-rah attitude, she hadn’t shown it. She’d just blathered on about urns and spells and how, really, it wouldn’t be that different than re-ensouling Angel.

When? he’d asked, and Willow had said soon, a few weeks, just until after Dawn went back to school. Don’t tell Dawn, don’t tell Spike, and soon Buffy will be back and all things will be made new.

Except that Buffy was dead, and dead was dead. Xander had a quick flash of vampires, zombies and mummy princesses, but dashed it away. He’d held Buffy’s limp, unresponsive body in his arms and lowered it into a coffin. He’d closed the lid over her face with hands that were scratched and bruised and nail scarred from building that coffin. Dead was dead.

And the thought of Buffy somehow walking back to them, smiling, was so creepy it literally made him sick to his stomach. She was dead. He’d had nine Sundays to get used to that idea. She wasn’t gone, she wasn’t away…she was dead.

And maybe if Willow had dropped this knowledge on them from the beginning, it wouldn’t be so hard now to understand. But to let them bury her and mourn her…and then to smile at him like she was going to wiggle her nose and presto – dead no more? But you couldn’t, or you shouldn’t, and, God, I don’t want Buffy to be in hell, but she was dead.

Hell, maybe Willow would have told him earlier, but he’d barely spoken to any of them since the day they carried Buffy’s broken body, wrapped in Giles’ jacket, back to the house. But then Anya had been hurt and Dawn hadn’t spoken for three days and Giles had seemed more broken than the body he’d never taken his eyes from until they put it in the ground. Then one night Spike suggested that they go patrol and Giles had hesitantly agreed. They’d found themselves racing around a cemetery, Willow barking telepathic orders and Tara casting spells, Giles and Spike giggling at each other in almost hysterical delight and the ‘Bot trying to stake everything that moved.

Xander had been following his ‘jump the vamp, get knocked down, hear Anya scream look out!’ strategy that usually more or less worked. That night, he’d been grabbed from behind, his stake pointed uselessly in front of him, hearing Anya babbling behind him and then seeing Spike streak out of nowhere, knocking the vamp off of him and hearing the eruption of a dusting behind him. Spike had moved on, turning back briefly to say, “Gotta be more careful, mate,” and Xander had looked down at the dust-free stake in his hands, wondering for the first time in five years, What the hell am I doing here?

Anya had walked up to him, beating the dust from the back of his jacket, and he had turned to her and said tonelessly, “Dammit, Jim – I’m a carpenter, not a Slayer.”

Anya had nodded back to him absently, breezing over the strange new nickname and said helpfully, “Yes, honey, you’re very good at nailing things.”

Xander looked up, realizing he had walked past his building. He could see the red glow on the balcony and suddenly he was running, taking the stairs two at a time and jerking open his unlocked front door. He saw Spike calmly closing the patio door behind him as he turned to face Xander, any lingering irritation from their fight earlier that day not showing on his face.

Xander felt the sudden energy surge plummet, and he stood unmoving, his heart pounding and his lungs aching with each breath.

“Where’ve you been?” Spike asked as he went to slip his cigarettes back into his duster. “Been waiting here for over an hour and I’ve spent the past several trying to teach the Niblet how to cheat at Rummy while the soddin’ ‘Bot just sat and stared at me, and well, creepy is what that is.”

The ‘bot. The Buffybot that Spike had built because he couldn’t have her any other way.

“So you’ll have to forgive me if my patience is a little thin,” Spike continued.

“Don’t talk,” Xander said, crossing the room to him and bending to take Spike’s mouth in a rough kiss. He’d always been told that he was a good kisser, but he didn’t attempt any technique this time, his lips hard and reckless as they drove into Spike’s. Spike didn’t seem to mind the lack of precision, opening his mouth under Xander’s and using his tongue to fence fiercely back, and then making Xander groan as he pulled away.

“Xander? What…?” Spike asked, attempting to lean back in Xander’s tight hold to meet his eyes.

Xander shook his head, “No words, no words,” he muttered, and he bent his head back to Spike, sucking hard on that full bottom lip until Spike shrugged and pressed back against him, reaching up to grab the back of Xander’s neck and taking control of the kiss.

Xander’ hands slid down from their bruising grip on Spike’s shoulders and slipped beneath his arms to span his chest, his thumbs absently rubbing at nipples that pebbled up beneath a thin t-shirt. Xander tightened his fingers around the hard muscles of Spike’s chest, marveling at the small frame that his hands seemed to make all that much smaller, and at the strength and danger that radiated from it.

Spike moaned happily at Xander’s roughness, and Xander dropped his hands, rucking up Spike’s shirt up to explore bare flesh. He felt Spike’s stomach muscles contract reflexively and then Spike was breaking away, gasping, “Hands are cold, mate.”

Xander backed away, raising his hands so that Spike could see how they trembled. “This is what you do to me,” Xander said roughly, grabbing one of Spike’s hands in his and feeling how warm Spike felt in comparison, “I think about you, about seeing you, about touching you, and my hands start freezing and I start shaking like I’m going through withdrawal and I saw your fucking shadow on the balcony and I got hard, Spike.” He looked up at Spike’s shocked gaze, “What are you doing to me?”

“Nothing you didn’t ask me to do,” Spike said, moving back against him.

Xander backed off again, dropping Spike’s hand, “Then why?”

“Why am I?” Spike asked, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it and then moving in to rest a palm firmly against Xander’s chest, “Should be obvious.”

He looked up into Xander’s wide-eyed stare that couldn’t quite meet his own. “Think I’m playing you, is that it?” He grabbed Xander’s still shaking hand, drawing it to the hard bulge beneath his jeans. “Can’t fake this, love. I’m not stupid enough to ask you to trust me, Xander, but this,” he said, leaning in to suck softly at the skin of Xander’s neck, “this you can believe.”

Xander shook his head, laughing harshly, “Okay, any port in a storm, right? You want to get laid and I look like the poster boy for desperation. So you get your rocks off and then – what? We hang out – kill monsters, play a few games of pool? ‘Cause I’m really not sensing long term, here. Somehow I don’t see me referring to you as my undead life partner and asking if you want to adopt Dawn.”

“What are you so afraid of, Harris?” Spike asked, concentrating on sliding his hands beneath the back of Xander’s shirt, his fingers working the tight muscles there as his lips brushed softly in the hollow below Xander’s ear, “Rupert’s not here to cast a disapproving eye, no Slayer to dust me for corrupting one of her mates.”

Xander swallowed hard, forcing his thoughts away from Buffy and back to the hypnotic rumble of Spike’s voice, “And Red and her girl? Well, people in glass houses. And somehow I think Dawn would think it was…neat,” Spike finished with a small laugh, his hands sliding down to curve around the seat of Xander’s jeans. “Besides,” Spike said, pulling Xander in to begin grinding against him slowly, “didn’t think you were into long-term, anymore.”

Xander reached back, taking Spike’s hands and tugging then away from him, “Anya…Anya loved me, couldn’t stand the idea of hurting me and gave me everything she had and I couldn’t get away from her fast enough. But you…you piss me off, and then you make me laugh and then you,” Xander’s grip tightened on Spike’s fingers, “you make me want things I never knew I wanted and being here like this makes everything just…shut up for a while and that feels…really amazing and it shouldn’t because I don’t deserve…” he stopped, feeling Spike’s fingers turn in his, holding his hands, the thumbs stroking his wrists lightly.

“’S not about deserving,” Spike said, his voice low so that Xander was forced to watch his lips move to hear the words, “I deserve to have died a long time before you even knew things like me went bump in the night. You deserve to feel like an utter git for not telling demon girl the truth and just getting your happy and moving on instead of stringing her along. But deserving or not, we’re both still here, and we both know how easily that can change. And there are so many things we could be doing, instead of blithering on about whether or not we deserve to.”

Xander jerked his hands away from Spike, spinning back toward the bedroom. “I can’t,” he said, shaking his head as he walked away, “I can’t do this…and I’m not going to. So, sorry I led you on, Spike, and thanks for the ‘happy,’ and, hey,” he said, looking back as he pushed the door to his room open, “stick around, ‘cause maybe there’ll be another sale on diamond solitaires and if you catch me during an apocalypse – who knows?”

Spike followed him into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He met Xander’s glare with a shrug. “Can’t hurt my feelings, pet. Stakes and crosses – but words will never hurt me.” He crossed his arms over his bare chest, his expression grave but his eyes lighting up a little as he flexed slightly and saw Xander’s eyes follow the motion.

“So Buffy’s dead,” Spike eyes flashed with pain but then he lifted his chin and continued. “Sad, that, but a Slayer’s tie to this world is always tenuous. She fought well, died saving her sis and an undeserving world in the process. You figured out that getting married while still getting used to the novelty of having to shave every day wasn’t, just maybe, the wisest course of action. Your Watcher felt like a world without a purpose wasn’t worth hanging around in and he carted the reality of your indecision off with him. Now you’re wondering why you’ve struggled to fight this fight, when it wasn’t your mission, it wasn’t your calling and it’s rather pointless now and you’re also wondering if you’re the only one who feels that way. And, here’s a bit of ‘dear, God, what have I done,’ on top of all that – you suddenly realize that you’re feeling all hot and trembly, or maybe cold and trembly, in your case, for someone you’d just as soon seen dusted a while back. How am I doin’ so far?”

Xander stared back at him and then dropped to sit on the edge of the bed, lacing his fingers and looking at the floor. “She’s gone,” he said quietly, “She’s gone and I don’t know if I did all of that just for her or because it was the right thing to do but it doesn’t matter, because now I don’t even know what the right thing is. And Giles – he gets a get out of the Hellmouth free card and I’m supposed to just step in – but if I don’t, what happens to Willow and Dawn? Five years, Spike, and I know that’s not a lot to you, but for five years I got to hide in the mix – not having to grow up because I could live the fairytale forever. No one dies and the good guys win in the end and yay us, because that’s the way it supposed to be, and that’s the way it was.”

Xander looked up and met Spike’s gaze and then Spike dropped his arms and walked slowly over to him. His hand reached up and cupped Xander’s cheek, strong fingers sweeping over the curves of mouth and chin, “So, I’ll ask you again, Xander, and remember, you can’t hurt me – or at least you can’t do more to me than others have done before you. What do you want?”

To be able to stand still for a minute and not have to fight anymore. To feel your arms around me and let someone else be the heart, for once, even if theirs isn’t beating. To know that you’re not just laughing at me and that you want me like I want you and that I’m not just a substitute for something that you might get back someday.

And when was last time anyone had cared what he wanted? His lips parted and he said, “This,” and then before either of them could add to that, Xander’s face was pressed against Spike’s hard stomach, his cheek hot and damp as his tears wet the cool skin below it. His fingers clenched around Spike’s hips and he felt a hand hesitantly threading through his hair as he was pulled closer.

Xander cried for Buffy, aloud this time, and for his own weakness in not saving her, and for his guilty relief that with her had died a life less ordinary. He cried for Anya and things he couldn’t take back and for Giles and the sadness and anger and quiet joy he’d felt at his leaving and not having to be answerable anymore. He cried for hating Spike and wanting Spike and at the tenderness he felt coming from him that was so much scarier than the posturing of the Big Bad.

Xander eased back, feeling Spike’s fingers tighten briefly on the back of his neck and then drop away. “Okay,” Xander sighed tiredly, not looking up, “go ahead. Laugh.”

Rough fingers grasped his chin and jerked it up. “I’ve never mocked pain, Harris,” Spike said, his own eyes wet but burning hotly, “I’ve caused it, and I’ve reveled in it and I’ve worshipped at its bloody feet – but I’ve never found it amusing. I don’t need a bleeding soul to feel it, either. Remember that when you’re wondering why I’m still here, waiting to have my teeth kicked in.”

Spike dropped to his knees, his hands running slowly up Xander’s legs from ankle to thigh. “Now, confession’s good for the soul and all that,” he quirked an eyebrow, “what do you want?”

“You,” Xander whispered.

“Thought so,” Spike smiled and then Xander felt himself falling back against the mattress as Spike’s body covered him and cool lips met his.

Spike kissed him with need and want and promise and Xander met him all the way, his hands running restlessly over Spike’s back and then clutching at his arms, his ass, the curve of his neck.

“That’s it, lover,” Spike moaned, feeling Xander arching beneath him and hands scrambling for the waist of Spike’s jeans.

“Don’t call me lover,” Xander mumbled, his mouth opening around Spike’s collarbone.

“That’s it, then, puppy boy,” Spike laughed into the curve of Xander’s neck.

“Lover’s good,” Xander said, his cheeks feeling stiff with tears but relaxing with the grin that tugged at them.

Spike kicked his jeans off and then made short work of Xander’s, his fingers ripping at the over shirt the boy was wearing, sending buttons flying.

“Hey,” Xander complained half-heartedly as Spike shoved his t-shirt up and attacked his chest with his lips and tongue.

“I’ll sew ‘em back on,” Spike breathed against Xander’s breastbone and then raised his head when he felt Xander still beneath him, “Forget I said that,” he mumbled, his lips latching around Xander’s nipple.

“Forget what?” Xander groaned as Spike’s tongue made slow circles and then blunt teeth scraped across his chest. “Hang on,” he said, pushing Spike back to sit up and tear the t-shirt over his head, throwing if off the bed and sending his boxers after it, “Okay, come here.”

Spike fell back against him, rubbing teasingly against Xander, letting his cock drag up Xander’s thigh and then across his stomach, leaving a cool wet trail behind it. Xander bucked under him, his hands trying to map all of Spike’s skin at once. Spike’s hands roamed just as greedily, smiling as he realized that Xander’s hands might be undead cold, but the rest of him was living, blood boiling hot. His fingers found a thick scar behind the crook of a knee, the soft, hairless inside of a thigh, and that trailing his fingers down the cleft between Xander’s buttocks produced a truly cartoonish yelp.

Spike’s lips followed his hands and he decided to fulfill his part of a week-old promise as they encircled Xander’s cock, learning the swell of the head that butted against the back of his throat, tracing the length of the vein that throbbed beneath his tongue. He swallowed around the hardness, hearing Xander moan and then feeling fingers in his hair and lifting his head to see if he was being asked to stop. Again.

He met Xander’s eyes and watched him give a slow shake of his head. “Just proving it was you,” Xander said, lifting his hips to brush his glistening length against Spike’s lips, “More,” he commanded.

Spike chuckled and dipped his head again, waiting until he felt Xander’s cock slide into the back of his throat before leaning forward and using the tip of nose to write his name in Roman script against Xander’s pubic bone. Xander’s hips rocketed up and he made some inarticulate sound that might have been, “Spike” or “Christ,” so Spike ducked his head again, writing it in Greek letters this time and having to relax his throat a bit more to keep sigma from looking like epsilon.

“I don’t know what you’re doing,” Xander groaned, “but don’t stop.”

“Running out of lessons, pet,” Spike said, his lips sliding away from Xander. He looked up again, and then rested his chin against Xander’s groin and wiggled it, feeling crisp hairs tease at his jaw, “What do you want, Xander?”

Xander sighed, shifting his thighs restlessly beneath Spike, “How many times do I have to say it, you egocentric, orally endowed vampire? You – I want you.”

“No,” Spike chuckled, sending shivery vibrations through Xander’s cock. “What do you want to do?”

“Oh,” Xander said in a small voice. He took a deep breath and said, “Left side – behind the blue lava lamp.”

Spike got to his knees, leaning over Xander to fumble along the built-in bedside, his fingers closing over a – half-empty tube of Astroglide. Well, well.

He looked back down into Xander’s flushed face, seeing determination and lust war with fear and embarrassment. Spike tossed the lubricant into the air, catching it, “Sure about this, pet?”

Xander cleared his throat, “Does it hurt?”

Spike’s eyes flashed as remembered rough hands clenching his hips, a punishing hardness ramming into him, slicked up only with blood, or maybe a handful of spit, as well, if Angelus was feeling romantic.

Spike shook his head, clearing it, “Doesn’t have to – not the way we’re going to do it.” He popped the cap on the tube, squeezing some of the gel into his palm. He kept his eyes on Xander’s, easing his hand between them to glide his fingers slowly over the hot length of Xander’s cock and cupping his balls.

Xander jerked. “It’s c-cold,” he stuttered.

Spike stopped, and then reached for Xander’s hand, rubbing the slickness into it and then closing Xander’s fingers over it. He waited a few seconds, letting Xander’s now warm hand heat it up. He opened the fingers again, pulling Xander’s hand down until both of their fingers brushed against the tight opening.

Xander gasped again, this time from the unfamiliar sensation. “Feels weird,” he said softly as he drew his hand away, allowing Spike’s fingers to ease into him.

“Bad weird or good weird?” Spike asked, his voice low and tight.

Xander shook his head, “Don’t know yet. I’ll get back to you.”

Spike smiled and then leaned down, letting his fingers ease in deeper as he parted Xander’s lips with his tongue and kissed him deeply. He felt Xander start to relax against him and added another finger, shuddering at the warmth and the tightness clenching around him. His fingers slid slowly back and forth as he savored the heat from Xander’s body.

He felt Xander’s hand fumbling in the sheets and then heard a soft click. A few moments later, a warm, slick hand was reaching down to glide up and down Spike’s erection, and he arched his back, breaking the kiss to look down at Xander with lust-darkened eyes. “You ready?” he breathed.

Xander hitched against him, his head turning to look at the nightstand and the half empty bottle beer from a couple of nights ago. Hot and gross, yeah, but…

“No,” Spike said quietly, turning Xander back to face him. “I only wanna taste you.”

Xander nodded jerkily, licking his lips. “I’m ready.”

“Won’t hurt you, love,” Spike said, dropping his head to kiss down Xander’s body until he was settled between strong but slightly shaking thighs. No intent to hurt, no bloody mind melting pain, right? he reminded the chip.

He slid Xander’s legs over his arms, lifting them until they draped over his shoulders and pressed forward, easing his way in slowly and feeling Xander tighten around him. “Shh, shhh,” Spike whispered, keeping his body stilled while everything in him told him to find his way deep inside all that glorious warmth. “Slow, yeah?”

Xander closed his eyes, reaching down to take hold of Spike’s hands that rested on his hips, “Okay,” Xander agreed.

Spike pressed harder, feeling a slight give and then suddenly sliding almost all of the way in and stopping with a harsh groan.

“Stop, stop,” Xander gasped, “Burns. It burns.”

“’S okay,” Spike said soothingly, tightening his fingers on Xander’s. “Just let me,” he twisted his hips slightly, drawing back and then pressing in again, feeling Xander jerk against him, crying out in pleasure this time, as Spike showed him something he’d never learned on him own.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Xander gasped again. “Feels good…don’t listen to me. Just do that again.”

Spike grinned and then pulled almost all of the way out and slid all the way back in, giving that little hip twist again and swallowing Xander’s happy groan with a hot kiss. He stayed there, kissing slowly and deeply as his body shook in reaction to the heat. The kind of heat that warmed you from the inside, making you shiver at first and then filling your entire body until you felt like you were on fire. Even his sodding toes felt warm.

He started to move then, easing his hands out of Xander’s grasp and moving them to the boy’s hips to pull him closer. “Come on,” he muttered to Xander, “move with me, let me feel you…oh, bloody hell, yes, Xander, like that,” as Xander thrust back against him, crying out.

Spike knew he wasn’t going to last long. Too long since this acceptance, this want, this feeling. He dropped a still slick hand between their bodies and eased it around Xander’s hard flesh, rubbing faster when he felt Xander starting bucking against him.

“Yeah, love,” Spike sighed, “let it go…that’s it, God.” Spike realized he was getting close to whispering poetry, but didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the warm body shaking beneath him, the dark eyes staring into his with dawning awareness, the full parted lips that were answering back, “Yes, Spike, oh my God, Spike. Spike.”

Spike thrust harder, trying to ease back because he didn’t want Xander to be too sore to do this again, and soon, but he really didn’t think Xander minded, from the way he was twisting and moaning beneath him.

Suddenly the tightness surrounding his cock clamped down harder and Xander was yelling and this time it was something like, “Jesus, Spike!” which made him grin in completely unholy glee. The smile was wiped off his face as felt hot pulses cover his hand and chest as Xander slammed up into him again, harder and faster.

Spike wasn’t sure if his answering, “Christ, Xander!” was heard, but he was sure the boy felt the shuddering against him and the cool flood that burst from Spike as he rode out his orgasm.

Spike fell across Xander’s chest, and then rolled carefully to the side, pulling him Xander with him. “You okay?” he murmured, brushing his lips across a hot forehead.

Xander closed his eyes, nuzzling into Spike. “More than okay. New favorite thing. Never doing anything else.”

Spike laughed, pulling Xander even closer and curving a leg over a warm, damp hip. “Never say never,” he said, bending to whisper against Xander’s lips. “And don’t forget, you still get to try topping me.”

Xander’s eyes flew open, tired but glowing hotly. “I totally forgot about that. This is amazing. You’re amazing. I feel amazing. I’m going to stop saying amazing, but this feeling is...more than a feeling. I feel a song coming on.”

Spike groaned, closing his eyes, “Don’t. Thought you liked me, now.”

“Like,” Xander nodded back. “There’s like and lust and happy and, oh, kind of sleepy.”

“Go to sleep,” Spike said, dropping a kiss on Xander’s lips and then turning away to push a pillow under his head.

Xander eased up behind him and eyed the slight stiff set of Spike’s back and then went for it. His arms slid around Spike, pulling him back against him. He felt Spike relax and then dropped his head forward, letting it rest against Spike’s neck.

Fear coiled in his stomach, replacing the feelings of discovery and mindless calm. I could get used to this so easily, he thought, only to lose it. Lose Spike or lose Buffy forever. Only the Hellmouth would ask him to make that choice. But Buffy was already gone, and that hurt had been faced and dealt with…mostly. Bringing her back wasn’t going to answer all of the questions, and Spike was here in his arms, and he was so raw and so open and it wasn’t just about a quick fuck and then a laugh at Xander’s attempts to figure out what it was about. But to break Willow’s heart, and Dawn’s in the process, or lose the only peace he’d known in months...

“I don’t think I could,” Xander said softly into Spike’s now warm skin, not sure which choice he was talking about.

“What’s that, love?” Spike mumbled into the pillow.

Xander tightened his arms around Spike. “I said I feel good,” he answered, hoping Spike would think the shakiness in his voice was just after-glow giddiness.

Spike ground back sleepily against Xander’s groin. “That you do, pet,” he said, dropping a kiss onto the hand that clutched his chest and settled into sleep.

Xander lay awake trying to think his way out of a no-win situation, until a soft yet hard body turned in his arms, a blond head settled into the curve of his neck and a cool hand made slow, gentle circles across his chest, lulling him to sleep.

Part Eleven

Spike rolled over in the bed, kicking at the sheets that were wrapped around his legs. He lay there for a moment, trying to use his internal chronometer to suss out what time it was, and then finally turned with a sigh to look at one of the many alarm clocks ringing the bed. 1:30 in the afternoon. Xander would be home around sundown. A lot of daylight to kill in the meantime.

Spike kicked at the sheets again, sliding from the warmth with regret. He stretched, rubbing his hand through his hair and trying to decide how he wanted to begin filling the hours until…God, when had his days started revolving around Xander Harris’ work schedule? He shrugged. Thinking about it wasn’t going to make the time pass any faster.

Shower? Blood? Maybe a quick wank with one of Xander’s t-shirts as inspiration? That thought was tempting…okay, shower it is.

He stood under the spray, the cold tap untouched, just pure hot water pouring down over him, drawing in the scents of Xander’s skin and hair. He turned off the water as it started to cool, reaching for a towel and noticing that the pink one with the ‘X’ was alone on its hook. He refused to feel smug about that, since the ‘A’ was probably carefully tucked away in a drawer somewhere.

He used Xander’s still slightly damp towel to dry off, smiling slightly as he remembered the awkward kiss Xander had dropped on his shoulder this morning before mumbling, “Going to work. More blood in the fridge,” and then left, making an already quiet flat seem eerily still. Spike had slept again, then, easing himself back with the memory of the sound of Xander’s breath beneath his cheek.

He threw his t-shirt on and kicked his jeans into the bathroom, digging out a pair of Xander’s sleep pants instead and slipping into them. He rolled his eyes when he realized he had to pull the strings to the limit to keep them from sliding down his hips.

He headed into the kitchen and grabbed a bag of blood out of the refrigerator, frowning when he realized there were only two left. He hadn’t really given a lot of thought to what would happen with his blood supply now that Giles had abandoned his post.

His lip curled. Old Rupert had always been a bit chintzy with the goods, anyway, and if it hadn’t been for the occasional bit of cash he’d cozened out of him or Buffy to spread around at Willy’s, he’d have been as frail as Dru at this point.

He frowned down at the packet of blood in his hands, his fingers squeezing the plastic until it bugled on either side of his fist. It had been one thing to take blood from the Watcher, or the Slayer; withholding information or vampire reflexes until they’d conceded his price.

But to take it like this, now, from Xander, somehow it felt…wrong. He flung the blood to the counter, digging through the cabinets until he found a mug and filled it, shoving it into the microwave and pressing the buttons angrily, as if begrudgingly drinking this blood would somehow made him feel less…kept. Beholden. Owned.

The microwave pinged and Spike carried the cup into the living room, dropping onto the couch and glancing over to appreciate the fact that Xander had nailed layers of blankets over the wall of windows.

He brought the mug to his lips and drained it, letting it thump back on to the coffee table in front of him. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Not that they could ever understand that. Artificially warm and long dead and so far from human. But having it here for him…it had been a gesture. It was trust. It was acceptance. It was your price, the darker part of his mind chided.

He dropped his head back against the couch, closing his eyes. What was he still doing here? How much of the limitations with the chip had been reality, and how much had been the excuse to get closer to her, become part of her world? He wasn’t helpless. He had contacts, places he could go where his name still meant something. Demon world was full of places for someone like him. Not to Angel. Never Angel – even before the gem that never was, he’d burned, fuck it all, he’d blown up those bridges long ago. And Dru… nothing left there but the look in her eyes when he’d ripped her away from Buffy, still remembering the cry of Angel’s name on those dark red lips. They’d danced their last dance.

So the question was? I'm counting on you ... to protect her. And the answer? Till the end of the world. Even if that happens to be tonight.

And then hearing Buffy as she had faced them all, for him: He’s here because we need him.

And when was the last time he had been needed? Darla was the clever one, the one with the plan, the destination. Angel was the one with the strength, bringing the careful death. Dru with the divination, the warning when the time to run was coming. And then Dru had needed him. For a while. But she was like a cat, always finding another alley, another way out.

Then Buffy was gone, leaving him with the rest she had left behind. They’d eyed him doubtfully, trusting him with Dawn and then granting him leave to patrol, as if they alone controlled his access to the darkness of the Hellmouth. Willow had caved first, turning to him for approval of the plan of action. Giles’ agreement to that had been obligatory, but it had been some form of acceptance, nonetheless. Willow’s girl, Tara, was a bit of all right, or at least she’d never opened her mouth enough to prove otherwise. Xander and Anyanka, well, they’d just gone along with the rest, shrugging and nodding as if his inclusion didn’t matter one way or another, so long as it keep them human and whole at the end of the night.

So now here he sat with his borrowed cup of blood, eager again, waiting for night. Watching for eyes full of darkness that had nothing to do with color, for hands that trembled with want, not fear. Wanting for skin that burned with heat that was more than desire and for words that would welcome or cast out.

He shrugged. He was here, either way.

Xander walked in just at sundown, his hair sweaty and windblown, a yellow hardhat tucked under his arm. He looked over and found Spike sitting on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table, a notepad and pen in his hand.

“’Sup?” Xander asked, walking over to drop his hat, tool belt and lunchbox on the table.

“’Sup?” Spike repeated, looking up and almost hitting the California accent, but deepening his voice too much and just missing it.

Xander shrugged. “I was heading for casual, but ended up getting off at lame.” He nodded to the notebook. “Whatcha doin’?”

Spike ripped out a sheet of paper and handed it to him, his eyes not quite meeting Xander’s.

Xander accepted it gingerly, seeing the opening lines and raising his brows as he began to read aloud:

“I, Spike, also called William the Bloody, do promise to keep the self-named Scoobies from risking their bloody necks trying to patrol in lieu of a Slayer. This includes clean up after wonky works of magic, ill conceived and poorly executed demon reconnaissance and any time Dawn should venture out alone. I do this in exchange for blood, smokes and monetary compensation and not for any altruistic intent that might occur to some. I expect to be paid.

Signed this day,
Spike

Xander glanced up from script that reminded him of the Declaration of Independence and frowned. “What’s this red blob?”

“My blood oath,” Spike said, his fingers gripping tightly together. “To seal the bargain and verify it was made by me.”

Xander chuckled, dropping the paper on to the table and turning back to the kitchen, “A notary would have been less gross.”

“Sign it,” Spike said, his voice soft, but something in the tone made Xander turn around.

He opened his mouth, about to tell Spike what he could do with his blood oath, when he saw the look in Spike’s eyes.

“Fine,” he sighed, walking back over and taking the pen from Spike’s hand. He scrawled Alexander L. Harris across the bottom of the page, well away from the blood mark, and tossed the pen atop the paper. “There. Happy?”

Spike said nothing, and Xander looked back up at him. “I would have gotten you blood,” he said quietly.

Spike looked back at him, and then nodded briefly. “But now we both know the reason.”

Xander frowned and Spike sat up, reaching for the paper and moving to tuck it into his pocket and then grimacing when he realized he didn’t have any.

“Need to go back to my crypt,” he said. He smiled slightly as he caught Xander’s quickly hidden look of concern. “Need clothes. Smokes. More blood,” he said, watching Xander’s shoulders relax as he nodded.

Xander went back to kitchen to start opening cabinets, searching for his after work, pre-dinner snack, and Spike glanced back down at the paper in his hands. “What’s the ‘L’ stand for?” he asked.

Xander looked back over his shoulder with a grin. “Lov-ah,” he drawled.

Spike rolled his eyes. “I think the word you’re looking for is Lo-ser,” he called back.

Xander grinned, shrugging as he started making a sandwich.

“No, really,” Spike said, standing and dropping the paper on the table to join Xander in the kitchen.

Xander shook his head. “Not telling.”

Spike quirked a brow. “I’ll just ask Willow, you know.”

Xander licked a glob of mustard from the corner of his lips. “She won’t tell you.”

Spike leaned against the counter, looking down at his nails, wondering briefly when he’d stopped painting them. “Ask Dawn, then.”

Xander swallowed. “She won’t tell you either,” he said, his voice less firm.

Spike’s eyes met his, and then a bologna sandwich was on the floor, bare feet were being stomped by heavy work boots and a cool black t-shirt was pressed against a sun warmed Superman one as they both wrestled for the phone on the table.

“Give it,” Xander gritted out, his fingers sweaty and Spike chuckled, his fingers dry and using it to his advantage.

The phone squirted away from them, falling to the floor. They looked at each other again and then they both dove for it. Spike landed on it first with a grunt as the short antennae jabbed him in the ribs and then let out a larger grunt as Xander fell on top of him, his hands shoving beneath Spike to poke uselessly at the sides of the phone that was pressed between the vampire’s body and the floor.

“I said give it, you…undead asshole,” Xander giggled.

“Take it from me, you overfed bit of demon bait,” Spike said, trying to wiggle his way out from beneath Xander, and just succeeding in rubbing against the warm body atop him.

“Spike,” Xander breathed hotly in his ear, “give me the phone, or I’ll…” his dropped his full weight on Spike, grinding against the soft flannel sleep pants that covered the muscled curve of ass that was thrusting back up at him.

“Or you’ll what, Xander?” Spike purred back, snickering again as he was pressed harder on the phone, causing it to beep loudly.

“Or I’ll yank those pants, which by the way are mine, off those skinny hips and…”

Xander was cut off by a knock at the door. Before he could do more than rise up on his arms, still straddling Spike, the door opened and Willow was gaping down at them.

She shook her head harshly and then came at them. “Oh, my God, Xander, stop it! Get off of him,” she said, grabbing Xander by the arm and tugging hard.

“What?” Xander yelped, letting Willow pull him up and then stumbling away from Spike.

Spike sighed, grabbing the phone from beneath him and bouncing to his feet.

“She thinks you’re trying stake me,” Spike said, watching as a slow blush rose in Xander’s cheeks. He leaned closer, lowering his voice and breathing in Xander’s ear, “Yeah, that one will never stop being funny, will it?” his lips twitched as he watched Xander’s blush deepen.

Spike cleared his throat, turning toward Willow. “It was nothing, Red. I just told Harris here that he was spelling his middle name wrong, and he didn’t believe me, so we were fighting over who was going to call you to find out.”

Willow frowned at him. “L-A-capital V-E-L-L-E. How else would you spell it?”

Spike’s grin widened as he tossed the phone to Xander. “How else, indeed? My mistake, then.”

Xander glared at him and then turned back to Willow. “What’s up?”

“Yeah, Will,” Spike snickered. “’Sup?”

Willow looked slowly between the two of them, raising her brows. “Er...nothing as interesting as this,” she said.

Xander glared harder at Spike, which just caused him to chuckle harder. Xander rolled his eyes and said, “This isn’t interesting, Will. It’s beyond boring. I’d go so far as irritating, maybe, but interesting? No. So, what’s, um…what’s going on?”

Willow’s gaze flitted over Spike, who straightened, his grin fading as he nodded. “Right then. I’ll just let you two…” he turned and walked toward the bathroom, slamming the door hard behind him.

Xander winced and looked back at Willow, crossing his arms. “Subtle, Will. Thanks.”

She stepped closer to him, mimicking his pose. “What’s he doing here?” she whispered. “And why is he talking like you and wearing your clothes?” Her eyes widened. “You’re being Single White Xandered!”

“No, I’m not,” he hissed, leaning closer to her. “It’s Spike, remember? He showed up here last night, wanting to know what kind of big pow-wow we would be having that left both him and the ‘Bot out of the loop, okay?”

Willow’s look of concern increased. “You didn’t tell him, did you?” she asked.

Xander dropped his eyes from hers. “No, I didn’t tell him,” he muttered.

She relaxed a bit, easing back. “Good. Because I really don’t need Spike…” she trailed off.

Xander looked up. “Don’t need Spike, what?”

Willow shook her head. “Nothing. It’s just that…he might not understand and we can’t have anything go wrong. I’m too close. We’re too close to doing what has to be done.”

Xander nodded slowly and Willow reached out for his hand. “Hey. I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t break a promise to me. You said you wouldn’t tell, and I know you won’t. I didn’t mean to sound like I didn’t trust you. I do, Xander,” she said, keeping his gaze with hers, “We have to trust each other now, right? Like before.”

Xander squeezed her hand, turning away, “Yeah.”

Willow looked at the tense line of his back. “Anyway, I came over to see if you could come by tonight. I didn’t want to just call, cause you know, Dawn and everything. But we really need to work out a new patrol schedule and I want to go over the plan with you and Tara. You left so quickly last night…”

“It was just too much, Willow, okay?” he said, turning back and giving her a sad smile, “I’m still trying to take it in.”

Willow grinned broadly, “I know. I mean, it’s bigger than anything I’ve ever done, but I know I can do this, Xander. I know I can. Trust me.”

Xander nodded again, looking away from here. “Yeah. I’ll come over,” he cleared his throat, “Listen, Will, about Spike and me, when you got here…”

She rolled her eyes. “I really thought you’d finally had it. I know how he is with you; you two can barely be in the same room without getting in each other’s faces.” She frowned, tilting her head slightly. “Why’d he want to know your middle name, anyway?”

Xander sighed. “It’s this blood oath thing…oh, never mind, I’ll tell you about it later. You know,” he said, shrugging. “Spike.”

She grinned, turning to open the door. “Yeah, anything to get a rise out of you.”

Xander groaned behind a smile. Willow really needed to stop with the unfortunate turn of phrase. “So, I’ll see you later tonight.”

She nodded, pulling the door open. “We’ll order pizza,” she agreed as she left.

The bathroom door was flung open just as the front door closed. Spike walked out, buttoning his jeans. “She gone?” he asked, looking around.

Xander nodded. “Yeah. She just left.”

Spike leaned against the wall, staring at Xander. “Let me guess. Big meeting of the House of Scooby and I get to watch the ‘Bit.”

Xander started to answer and then had a thought, grinning slowly. “Well, you’ll both be there, anyway. You two can gross the rest of us out, putting blood and mustard on your pizza. Blood and mustard respectively, that is. We’re both going.”

Spike straightened, walking toward Xander. “That right?” he asked. “When?”

Xander shrugged. “Around eight, I guess? Why?”

Spike moved against him, his lips brushing Xander’s neck as he pressed him back against the door. “Just wondering how much time we had,” he said, as his lips trailed a path from Xander’s neck to his shoulder.

“Time,” Xander gasped, nodding. “Lots of time.”

Spike’s lips left the arch of Xander’s neck and found his mouth, brushing and biting teasingly before pressing deeply, drawing Xander’s lips into his and sucking them, flicking his tongue and demanding entrance. Xander’s mouth opened hotly beneath his, and Spike delved inside, tasting mustard and cola, sweet and tangy.

Xander’s hands suddenly tightened around Spike’s shoulders and he spun them both around, shoving Spike against the door, hard enough to make it rattle. His mouth left Spike’s and began a slow journey down the center of the vampire’s chest, his hands sliding down Spike’s arms as he went.

Spike leaned his head back against the door, groaning. “That’s it,” he sighed as Xander’s mouth opened around his nipple through the t-shirt. “LaVelle…”

Xander bit down sharply, grinning at Spike’s answering yip and then slid lower, pushing the black t-shirt up and tearing at the half-buttoned fly of Spike’s jeans.

“When do I get to learn your secret identity?” he asked, the words muffled against the skin below Spike’s navel.

“What’s that?” Spike asked, reaching down and wrapping a hand in Xander’s hair.

“Well,” Xander said between mouthing Spike’s hipbone and shoving his jeans aside, “you weren’t born William T. Bloody. You know my secret name…when do I get to learn yours?”

Spike closed his eyes with a hiss as Xander’s lips trailed down his cock. “You’re ah, you’re gonna have to spin a lot of bloody straw to learn that, pet.”

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it these days?” Xander asked, as his mouth opened around Spike.

Part Twelve

Xander sat in the brown, squishy chair in the Summers’ living room, a soft half-smile on his face as he watched Dawn and Spike laughing on the couch. Dawn’s head was tilted toward Spike, their foreheads almost touching, her long, dark hair falling over the paleness of Spike’s arm. Xander wasn’t even sure what the joke was, but from the slow rise of pink in Tara’s cheeks, it was probably something he would be horrified that Dawn had heard – or worse yet, had said – had he been paying attention.

He closed his eyes briefly, just listening; the long unheard, almost forgotten sound of Dawn’s laughter causing something in him to melt away, a tension so constant it was almost unnoticed, fading. Xander opened his eyes, his gaze moving from Dawn to Spike, seeing the play of muscles under the black t-shirt as Spike’s hand reached up to brush Dawn’s hair back. Xander watched Spike pause as he realized Dawn’s eyes were on him, and close, watching this unconscious, almost tender gesture, and then his hand was moving again, brushing her hair back over her shoulder as Dawn leaned into the touch, grinning, causing Spike to chuckle again.

Xander’s hands clenched on his knees as he suddenly realized something, saw it, maybe for the first time, and wondered if he was the last one in this room to draw the picture from the lines. That somehow during this summer that had no end, Spike had stopped being the first best line of defense, or maybe the lines had blurred, and he had just blended in.

The smile on Tara’s face when she’d opened door to them, stepping back to allow them both to enter with an almost apologetic explanation that Willow was in the kitchen getting things ready but would join them in a minute. Her words had been directed at Xander, but her smile hadn’t faltered as she looked between him and Spike. And Dawn…the hugs she had silently demanded of both of them had more than a little desperation to them, as if reassuring herself once again that they were both real, both still there. But then again, the bounce and the little spin she made as she took them by the hands and lead them into the living room had been pure Dawnster delight.

She’d been so excited to see them both on a night that just promised pizza and laughter and maybe some glimmer of the old, that she didn’t seem to find it worth mentioning that they had arrived together. She hadn’t seemed to notice how they’d paused in the center of the room, still standing shoulder to shoulder, the backs of their hands almost brushing, as if they’d been joined just minutes before. She had skirted the edges of the coffee table, almost dancing her way over to curl up in the center of the couch. She had seemed unaware of the way Spike and Xander had both eyed the large empty space next to her, looked at each other, and then quickly away, separating with abrupt motions. Xander had flopped down in the chair and Spike had gone to sit carefully on the edge of the sofa, close enough to protect, but with enough of a shrug to seem unconcerned about where he sat, or with whom.

Xander felt eyes on him then, and glanced up, expecting Spike, but finding him still laughing with – or at – Dawn, and then looked over to find Tara watching him, her head cocked slightly in question.

Dawn, he mouthed silently, nodding back toward the uninterrupted giggling on the sofa. Tara nodded, settling into the cushions behind Dawn, and smiling at Xander as they just listened and…it was good.

“Okay,” he heard exclaimed brightly – too brightly – behind him, “I’ve got the ‘Bot set up, cookie doughin’ in the kitchen, so Dawnie, if you wanna go get with…Spike.”

Willow’s ‘get the party started’ cheer had cut off somewhere over Xander’s right shoulder, and he tensed slightly as he watched Spike pull away from Dawn, slouching back into Big Bad with a head tilt as he said, “I’m not too much for baking, Red, but I wouldn’t say no to some lovin’ from the oven.”

“I didn’t mean you were…” Willow cleared her throat. “I was just surprised to see you here, Spike, that’s all.”

Spike frowned. “Harris said we were going to work a new patrol schedule. Sort of figured I’d factor into that one.”

Xander didn’t have to glance behind him to know that Willow was fidgeting and attempting an expression of big-eyed innocence.

“Patrol, right. Duh, of course I didn’t mean not here for patrol. Can’t patrol without our Super Vamp, right? Need you out there all fangy and ‘grrr,’ as you vampires do.”

Now Tara and Dawn had joined Spike in a trio of puzzled frowns staring at a point just behind Xander’s shoulder. Before Xander could see that babble and raise her some inappropriately timed humor –

“Xander, can I see you in the kitchen for a second?”

- and there we go.

Xander got slowly to his feet, turning to face Willow, and finding himself staring at her back as she headed determinedly into the kitchen, expecting him to follow. He sighed and turned back, shrugging lightly at the confused looks on the sofa before he headed into the kitchen to face the music.

Willow stood facing him, her fingers already drumming on the counter. The ‘Bot was behind her, one hand stirring furiously in a mixing bowl and the other methodically removing lemons from a large basket.

The ‘Bot looked up as he walked in, smiling. “Hi, Xander!”

Xander nodded to it, smiling weakly, and then Willow’s hand was tugging at his jacket, pulling him closer as she lowered her head and whispered, “What is he doing here?”’

“What?” Xander asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You said we were going to work out a new patrol schedule. Spike will be the point man, ergo, necessary at schedule meeting. What’s the problem?”

Willow leaned closer, her eyes never leaving Xander’s as she lowered her voice further. “You know the schedule wasn’t the main point of this meeting.”

“Okay,” Xander said slowly. “But we do need to work out a new schedule, Will. We can’t keep doing these half-assed sweeps; we’re not even making a dent. We need Spike.”

Willow sighed in frustration, blowing her hair off of her forehead. “I didn’t think we’d ever completely decided that.”

Xander flung his hand back toward the living room. “Hello – closest thing we’ve got to a Slayer?”

Willow stared at him and then pointed a finger back toward the ‘Bot. “Hello – really not!”

Xander dropped his head forward, his fingers clenching on the edge of the counter before looking up, meeting her eyes again. “Scenario, Willow. Vampire flying toward Tara, fangs opening on her neck – who would you rather have racing toward her, Buffybot or Spike?”

Willow ducked her head, not looking at him, her silence answer enough.

“Willow,” Xander said quietly, stepping forward to put his hands on her shoulders. “He’s fought alongside us all summer. Question his motives all you want, but don’t let pride make you do something stupid.”

Willow pulled away from him slightly. “Pride? You think this is about pride?”

Xander shook his head, raising his hands in placation. “Whoa, whoa! That’s not what I meant, Will. I just meant,” he chewed his lip for a minute. “I just meant that sometimes stuff gets a little out of control, okay? I know you’re…” he saw that her hurt glare hadn’t lessened and he sighed.

“Look,” he started again, calmly, “I miss Buffy, too. We don’t talk about it, and really, not my thing there, but at least we’re all agreed on what we’re not talking about. We miss her and we feel helpless and sometimes it can make us try too much or do things that we think will fix everything…” He groaned. “I’m not saying this right.”

“What I’m hearing, Xander, is that you don’t trust me. You don’t believe me when I say I can fix this.”

Xander rubbed his hand harshly over his face. He’d brought Spike along to avoid this very conversation, but he should have known that plan would blow up in his face. He just needed more time. Time to stall Willow and keep this in the planning stages until he could figure out why the thought of resurrecting Buffy wasn’t bringing on ‘happy, happy-joy, joy’ feelings.

“That’s not what I meant, Willow. You know I trust you. But you’re just dropping this huge thing on me and expecting me to rush in behind you, without knowing where we’re going or what’s going on.”

Willow crossed her arms, looking at him. “Well, isn’t that what you do?” she asked in a low voice.

Xander winced and Willow’s expression immediately became contrite. “Xander…I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” She pushed her hands through her hair, her eyes meeting his in honest confusion. “Okay, try to understand the ‘huh?’ moment, Xan. Why would I think that telling you I could bring Buffy back would make you feel anything but, “Go, Scoobies!”?

Xander looked quickly behind them and then took her by the arm and steered her back toward the basement door. “Way to acknowledge bionic vamp hearing and Dawn of a thousand eavesdrops, Will,” he hissed.

Willow grimaced at her own stupidity. “Right. Look, Xander…”

A loud thwack! accompanied by an enthusiastic cry of, “Hi-yah!” made them both jump.

They turned, seeing the ‘Bot with a giant cleaver in her hand, a dismembered lemon on the counter before her. She replaced it with a whole one, the cleaver flashing again to the tune of another gleeful, “Hi-yah!”

Xander started slightly again and then rolled his eyes. “You know, Buffy-bot, the sound effects really aren’t necessary to make the knife work.”

The ‘Bot nodded in understanding, quietly halving the next lemon. “Thank you, Xander. I appreciate the value of your experience with weapons and other sharp, shiny objects.” Her bright eyes ran over his tight t-shirt. “Your expertise is evident in both your unique fighting strategies and your large and well-defined upper torso.” She grinned at him, turning back to the lemons.

Xander turned a shocked, slightly horrified gaze on Willow.

Willow fidgeted, shrugging lightly. “Spike asked me to make her stop hitting on him, so I fiddled around a little, and well, I think all I’ve managed to achieve is crush transference.”

“Well, really working the ‘trust me’ angle, Willow.”

“Why don’t you, Xander?” Willow asked quietly. “Okay, wonky robotics aside, what have I ever done that would make you think I don’t believe I can do this? We’re not talking silly love spells or…or trying to take on a god when I wasn’t running on anything but hurt and anger. I’m not rushing into anything this time, Xander. I’ve covered everything. I know what I’m doing, what I can do. All I need is for you to believe in me. You used to do that without thinking.”

Xander stared back at her, his face expressionless but everything in him wanting to reach out to her, to trust her, to find something to believe in again.

“I’m only asking you to trust me, Xander,” she whispered, turning her head and blinking back tears. “Trust, faith, that’s all I’m asking in return for offering you hope – believe that I can bring her back.”

Xander shook his head. “It just feels wrong,” he said hoarsely.

“How can it possibly feel wrong, Xander? The only wrong here is Buffy being gone in the first place. And isn’t that what we do? Try to fix things that went wrong?”

“No,” Xander said carefully. “That’s Quantum Leap. We run around dark cemeteries going, ‘Oh, shit! Oh, shit!’”

“Xander,” Willow said, plowing ahead and ignoring the attempted quip distraction, “I have to do this. I really need you to be with me on it, but with or without you, I’m going to bring her back. I can’t leave her there.”

Tears started down her pale face and he felt that separating sensation again – part anger, part sorrow and a whole lot of confusion – that led to detached fiancée jilting and freaky cemetery kiss-and-run situations.

“All right, Will, here it is. You want to hear it – fine.” Xander leaned in, his face inches from hers. “You let me grieve all summer. You let Dawn cry herself to sleep – yeah, I heard it those first few nights we were all here – you let Giles leave believing that he had failed and…”

“We all failed, Xander,” Willow interrupted fiercely. “We had a moment there when we, one of us, any of us, could have changed it, but we didn’t. I didn’t trust my power enough, you weren’t strong enough, Spike wasn’t fast enough, Giles wasn’t knowledgeable enough – whatever the variable was – we failed her. Something happened in that moment and we weren’t enough. Something wrong, Xander. We failed – and she fell.”

“She didn’t fall, Willow,” Xander said sadly, wondering why now, when she was wanting to fix everything with a wave of her hand, they were finally letting this out, like it didn’t matter anymore, like it wasn’t real and they hadn’t lived it, just because Willow willed it so.

“It wasn’t failure, Willow,” he said gently. “It was a gift. Her gift.”

“Yeah?” Willow said, brushing back tears. “Well, it was a pretty crappy gift – and the price is way too high. She’s not going to pay that price, Xander. I’m not leaving my best friend in some hell dimension while we stand around and debate whether or not we’re morally entitled to alter something we – I’ve – been given the power to change.”

Willow stared at him, her gazed fixed, determined and filled with something so much more than resolve it made Xander tremble, forcing him to remind himself that this was Willow, just Willow. “It was wrong, we failed her, she failed us and they don’t reward failure, do they, Xander? I’m not going to let her be punished for something we could have prevented, that should never have happened.”

The harshness left Willow’s face then and wide, tear-filled eyes fastened on his, and she really was just Willow again. “Please don’t leave me on this, Xander. All I’m offering is a second chance. Buffy’s death was mystical, unnatural. I’m not breaking any rules by just…bending it back to the natural order. I’m tired of feeling punished for this, Xander. And I’m tired of seeing shadows in your eyes, in Dawn’s…god, in Spike’s. I can do this – don’t let us fail her again.”

Xander reached out to Willow, ready to agree to anything to ease this sense of failure, and yeah, that’s what it was, what he’d felt all summer, he’d just needed it named, he supposed – and then pulled back when he heard a noise behind him.

“Did you already call for pizza? Did you get Hawaiian, ‘cause you know I…” Dawn’s voice trailed off. “Willow? Are you crying?”

Willow shook her head quickly, hearing the tremble start in Dawn’s voice. “Huh-uh. The ‘Bot was slicing lemons and I must have gotten a little juice in my…”

“Oh! Willow!” the ‘Bot cried out, grabbing a dishtowel and rushing to Willow’s side, scrubbing at Willow’s damp eyes with the same hand that held the cleaver, causing both Willow and Xander to shriek and jump back.

Dawn smiled slightly as she watched Xander disarm the Buffybot, but her eyes were worried as she dipped a finger into the cookie batter and licked it off. Her face contorted in horror. “Ewww…lemon chocolate chip?”

The ‘Bot turned, nodding. “Willow taught me lemonade and cookies. I thought lemonade in cookies was much more time efficient.”

Dawn looked at Xander and Willow and pushed the mixing bowl away. “I’ll just wait for the pizza,” she said, snickering.

“What’s with all the girly screaming, Harris?” Spike asked from the doorway.

“Me?” Xander asked, easing away from Willow and slinging an arm around Dawn’s shoulders, aiming for a grin and just making it. “We’re just lucky that kitchen injuries are something I have a long, sorry past with. I’m the hero here, buddy. Show some respect.”

Spike rolled his eyes at him and Xander nodded, sighing, “Okay, come on, that patrol schedule’s not going to write itself.”

“You’re right, mate – oh, wait it has,” Spike said, waving a sheet of paper. “Got bored. Okay, me and Harris on vamp heavy nights – Saturday, Sunday and Wednesday…”

“Wednesday’s vamp heavy?” Dawn asked, frowning. “How come?”

“After church crowd,” Spike and Xander answered together, and then glared at each other. Xander waved for him to continue.

“Yeah. Uh – Willow and Tara can take Monday and Tuesday, with the ‘Bot of course, and we’ll all go on Fridays, soddin’ Bronze with their coin beer ‘make me drunk and stupid’ night, and I’ll take Will on Thursdays,” he said, smirking, “since I’ve been informed that Harris has a standing date with the telly.”

“ER?” Tara asked, nodding in understanding.

“Charmed,” Dawn giggled, earning her a headlock from Xander, who shrugged, “Sorry. I can’t be shamed with that.”

“So when you say on Fridays we’ll all go…?” Dawn began.

“You’ll go to Janice’s,” Willow said, smiling.

“God,” Dawn sighed in frustration, pushing away from Xander. “When is it ever going to be my turn?” She waited a beat and then looked around at them, finding Willow busy affixing the schedule to the refrigerator door, Xander sniffing the cookie batter and Spike tossing the abandoned meat cleaver from hand to hand.

Tara went to pour some lemonade and looked up to find Dawn still watching them expectantly. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. We’re not even bothering to answer that anymore.”

Much pizza, a last minute cemetery sweep, and some ill advised, reasons-why-you-shouldn’t-bend-a-vamp-over-a-cross-shaped-headstone snogging later, Spike and Xander were headed home; stopping off at the Bronze first to pick up Xander’s car. Xander neatly evaded Spike’s questions as to why he had abandoned it there in the first place. Well, not so much evaded as distracted with hands and lips.

Xander shut the door behind them, kicking his shoes off and unfastening his jeans. He looked up into Spike’s brow-lifted stare and grinned. “Vamp dust. Shower. More later.”

Spike watched Xander continue his slow strip, the trail of clothes following him to bathroom. Awful…perky tonight, he thought, frowning. They all were. Well, Dawn had been pleasantly so, hadn’t seen that many smiles from her since…but Willow and Xander? Not since before Rupert and Anya had left had they been that demonically cheerful. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought they spent that time in the kitchen getting stoned. He shook his head. Nah, nothing that poetic. Must just be for Dawn’s benefit. Though God knows they could all use a break from requiems and lamentations.

Spike looked around the living room, blinking a little from the overhead light and the glare from the lamps Xander had snapped on as he’d gone past. Spike went into the kitchen, digging through a few drawers and taking his findings into the bedroom where he dug around some more.

When Xander walked out of a steam filled bathroom a few minutes later, a towel wrapped around his waist, he found a darkened living room, lit by more candles than he’d even known he owned, and a naked vampire standing in the center of them.

Xander swallowed. “Spike…are you trying to tell me something?”

Spike smiled slightly. “Hmm…I have faith you’ll figure it out, Xander.”

Xander looked around at the candles, fighting a grin. “You know, every time I’d have to go to your crypt, I’d always look at all those candles, trying to imagine the big bad vampire going around lighting them. It was kind of sweet; sorry I missed it this time.”

“Why were you thinking about my candles, Xander?” Spike asked softly, walking toward him.

“Okay,” Xander said, his hands coming up as Spike pressed against him, his lips on Xander’s shoulder, “now here’s the part where I’m given too many choices. I mean, I can go with the obvious blowing joke, or maybe something more subtle, like burning at both ends, or there’s the dribbling hot wax, always a favorite…”

“Or you can shut up and come over here,” Spike said, taking him by the hand. Spike tugged him to the sofa, turning him around and gently easing him back against the cushions. Xander watched as Spike crawled slowly up to him, his lips brushing ankle, knee, hip and chest until they opened just beneath Xander’s jaw, sucking lightly.

“Spike,” Xander groaned, “if, ah, you’re trying to seduce me, let me put you out of your misery: I’m pretty much a sure thing.”

“Not seducing you, pet,” Spike said, his lips moving along Xander’s jaw to his mouth. “Leading you into temptation, whole different set of events.”

Spike covered Xander’s mouth with his own and Xander felt that familiar heat flare between them, but it was slower now, quieter. Spike’s hands weren’t reaching for him in that, hurry, let’s get to the good stuff, way. They were still, gentle, one cupping the side of Xander’s face, drawing his mouth closer, and the other was cool against his side, motionless except for the thumb that brushed softly against his ribs.

Xander met Spike kiss for kiss and they allowed themselves to surrender to the heat, the wet, the thrust of tongues. Drowning in each other and then giving life back with whispers and murmurs. Yes. Want you. Touch me. Words more felt than heard, lost between gasps and groans.

Xander looked up at Spike, seeing the body above him hidden in shadow, but the face bathed in light, looking back at him with eyes that made dark promises even as lips lowered to keep them.

As Spike’s tongue made a lazy path across his chest and stomach, Xander reached for him, needing to touch, to take, just as Spike was giving. His fingers curled through Spike’s hair, brushed at his shoulders and then were left empty as Spike moved lower, his mouth opening around the drape of towel and tugging it away. Xander moaned and brought his knees up, his feet rubbing against Spike’s calves, his hands reaching again to pull Spike back up to him.

“Xander,” Spike laughed against the straining flesh beneath him, “I’m kind of the middle of something, here. Stop poking at me.” He gave another slow lick to the head of Xander’s cock. “With your pokey fingers, anyway.”

“Need to touch you,” Xander groaned. “Need to feel you.” He shuddered beneath Spike as that wet mouth, impossible cool heat, surrounded him again.

“Feeling me, love,” Spike said, turning his cheek against Xander’s thigh and biting lightly. “Need more? That it?”

Xander nodded, arching against Spike as those blunt teeth scraped across the tender skin at his hipbone. Spike crawled back up him, his hand reaching behind Xander’s head to retrieve the other prize taken on his candle search. He leaned over Xander, his hands working as his lips lowered to Xander’s again, tugging at Xander’s bottom lip with his teeth and then reaching back, a slick hand sliding over Xander’s length.

Xander looked up at Spike’s body braced over him, one hand gripping the couch behind him, the other grasping his cock, squeezing firmly, working the slickness over his skin.

“Want to take me, Xander?” Spike asked, leaning back, drawing his hand between his own legs, letting Xander watch as he eased fingers into himself, eyes fluttering shut, head thrown back. “Want to feel me around you? Feel all of me?”

Xander’s hands reached out, wrapping around Spike’s hips, the fingers digging in. “Yes,” he said simply, ready to take anything Spike offered, as long as it meant he could touch, could feel, could have more.

Spike eased back, watching Xander’s face in the flickering light as he slowly lowered himself down, felt Xander hitch against him, hard cock nudging him, urging him on. He drew his legs up, planting his feet on either side of Xander and then reached back and took Xander in his hand, giving a few quick strokes before he sank down on him, his eyes never leaving Xander’s as he allowed himself to take, and be taken.

“Oh, God,” Xander groaned, feeling satin smooth skin gripping at him, fluttering muscles giving as they closed around him, coolness heating with friction. “Tight,” he sighed, his hands clenching harder on Spike’s hips, fingers finding the grooves in the muscles and tracing them. “So fucking tight.”

“Mmm,” Spike sighed, settling back against Xander’s raised thighs and wrapping his hands around them, using them as leverage as he began to raise and lower himself on Xander’s cock. “Every time like the first time.”

“Always the first time,” Xander said roughly, looking into his eyes.

“Yeah,” Spike said, smiling softly down at him. “You always get to be first,” he said, throwing back his head with a sigh as Xander began to move against him, slick heat moving in and out of him. He opened his mouth, drawing a deep breath and panting unconsciously as Xander slammed up into him again.

“Spike,” Xander said with a gasping laugh, “you’re panting. I’m making you pant. You, who have no breath.”

Spike raised himself almost all the way off of Xander, falling forward until his mouth crushed Xander’s. “Give me yours, then,” he gritted out, his arms wrapping around Xander and pulling him up against his chest, sliding back again, fast and hard, swallowing Xander’s moan in the kiss.

They moved together, bodies joined at mouth and hip, their thrusts lazy at times, frantic at others. Their lips covered every bit of skin they could reach, meeting again to share soft, silky kisses and then parting to suck and bite at tender skin.

“God, this is good,” Xander whispered, his hand easing around Spike’s cock and stroking in time with their thrusts.

“This is bloody fantastic,” Spike agreed, dragging his lips across Xander’s cheek. “This what you wanted, pet? This enough? Feeling it yet?”

Xander tipped his head back, looking into Spike’s eyes, his fingers closing around Spike’s cock as he wrapped another hand low on Spike’s hip, moving them together faster, tighter. “Yeah. This is it. Feel me?” he asked, thrusting up again just as Spike slid back down on him.

“Fuck, yeah,” Spike muttered. “Love your cock, Xander.” He tapped a finger against the hot cheek next to his as Xander’s eyes slid closed. “No, love. Look at me.” He waited until Xander’s eyes opened, dark and wet. “Look at me. Wanna see the look in your eyes when you come. Want you to see yourself reflected in mine.” He groaned again, grinding himself against Xander. “Wish I could see myself in yours.” He chuckled breathlessly. “Bet we look pretty hot.”

Xander slid a hand up Spike’s back, gripping the back of his neck and holding Spike’s face close to his. “We do,” he said softly. “The light against your skin, in your eyes, I can’t see myself, but I can see how you look at me. Can see the way your jaw tightens when you take me inside,” he kept his eyes on Spike’s, watching the candlelit blue deepen to black. “See how dark my hand looks, moving on your cock,” he dropped his eyes for a minute, looking down at their writhing bodies and then back at Spike. “Can see your body taking me in, watching you move against me, around me. See it…feel it…”

“Oh, god, Xander,” Spike gasped, moving faster, harsher, losing the rhythm and not caring. Xander’s hand gripped the back of his neck harder, pulling Spike in for a kiss just as Spike tightened around him, his tongue thrusting roughly into Xander’s mouth as his body shook violently, his come coating Xander’s hand and stomach as he cried out his release against Xander’s lips.

Xander dropped his head against Spike shoulder, both hands moving to Spike’s hips and holding him still as Xander thrust up desperately, moaning Spike’s name as he came hard, shuddering harshly and hearing Spike hiss as he felt Xander’s heat fill him.

Xander raised his head slowly, looking up at Spike and seeing the bruises, the bites that covered pale skin, and opening his mouth to apologize. Spike hesitantly ducked his head, his eyes unsure, and he kissed Xander softly, their bodies stilled and damp, wrapped tightly around each other as their mouths moved together easily, unhurried and sweet.

Xander pulled away reluctantly, looking up at Spike. “That was…pretty damn close to romantic,” he said, watching the candle-shadowed face above him, the jaw still clenched in pleasure, the eyes still tightly closed. Xander fell back against the couch cushions, taking a deep breath. “I guess we should probably talk about that, huh?”

Spike groaned, his head dropping to Xander’s shoulder. “Why not,” he sighed. “Been at least twenty four hours since our last bit of over-thinking. Probably due.” He pulled away from Xander, walking across the room to fumble around in his duster for cigarettes.

Xander sat up, reaching for the t-shirt on the floor and using it to wipe himself off. “Spike…”

Spike lit up, turning around. He looked at Xander for a moment, his body still warm from Xander’s, yet feeling the chill of coming rejection, and then nodded. “Okay, then. Suppose you would rather talk about how it’s possible for us to be together that isn’t just trying to fuck the world away, than to tell me what went down between you and Willow tonight.”

Xander balled up the t-shirt, twisting it in his hands. “That was just…Willow and her need for…”

“Control,” Spike said, blowing a stream of smoke at him.

“No,” Xander said automatically, and then stopped. “Maybe. She was just surprised to see you, so I had to explain why we were together.”

Spike squinted at him over the cigarette, and then laughed shortly. “Love to hear that explanation.”

Xander looked down at the shirt in his hands, smoothing the fabric over his thighs. “You know what I meant.”

Spike nodded. “Right. So, all clear between you and the chief. Back to the subject at hand, then. Where did you want to go with this? Are we still on the timeline thing – only been a week since this experiment in insanity began, only been a fortnight since life as we know it shattered at Slayer central, only been a…”

“…year since you fell desperately, unrequitedly in love with Buffy,” Xander finished, looking up at him.

Spike cocked his head. “That what you want to talk about, Xander?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

Xander exhaled, nodding, and then shook his head, saying, “You know, I’m still trying to get used to you calling me ‘Xander.’”

Spike took a deep drag and then stubbed out the cigarette. “Xander,” he said quietly, looking up and meeting the troubled gaze across the room.

“Spike,” Xander acknowledged back.

“Spike and Xander,” Spike said slowly. “Now there’s something I’d have never put together.” He looked at Xander, considering, watching candlelight dance on dark skin, glow in darker eyes. “Not that it didn’t turn out to be one hell of a good idea.”

Xander ducked his head, chuckling. “You’re dancing around the subject, Spike.”

“Been dancing for a while, haven’t we? Sorted you out first off – you trying on the armor of dark knight, ‘stead of white, taking what you want ‘cause there’s no one left to tell you can’t, or shouldn’t. No one you’re listening to, in any case.”

Xander shifted irritably on the couch, and then tossed the t-shirt aside as he got to his feet and headed into the kitchen. “No,” he answered, even though Spike had once again been telling, not asking. “That’s not why. You’re making a lot of assumptions here, buddy. Who’s to say this wouldn’t have happened, anyway? Even if Giles was still here, or if things had happened differently with Anya, or if…” he paused, jerking open the refrigerator and grabbing a beer. “No, wait, if Buffy hadn’t died, you wouldn’t have wanted this, would you?”


He walked back into the living room, finding Spike still standing in the middle of it, his bare body tensed, defensive. Xander twisted the top off of the bottle and took a long swallow. “That’s what they call a ‘moot point,’ right?”

Spike gestured to the bottle in Xander’s hand. “I see you’ve armed yourself, Sir Knight. But wait,” he said, taking the bottle out of Xander’s hand and slamming it down on the table. “Don’t let’s make this a skirmish, when we can have a bloody war,” he shot a dark look at Xander and pushed past him into the kitchen, where he tore open cabinet doors, at last finding a half-empty bottle of Scotch and smirking.

“Let’s bring out the big guns, do this right,” he said, digging for glasses and filling them. “Get royally pissed and really rip into each other.” He toasted Xander’s shocked face and then tossed back a shot, grinning around a mouthful of whiskey. “Get to the heart of things, the meat. So, come on then,” he said, pushing the glass toward Xander, “Let’s have a go – fucking and fighting’s what we do best. Give it to me, Xander.”

Xander stood still, staring at him, ignoring the glass, so Spike picked it up, walking over to him and pressing their naked bodies close. “C’mon,” he growled, wrapping Xander’s hand around the drink, rubbing harshly against him, “let me see that darkness.”

“I don’t want to fight with you, Spike,” Xander said as he shoved the drink back into the vampire’s hand and turned away.

“No,” Spike agreed, pressing against Xander’s back and wrapping an arm around the other man’s waist, holding him there. “You want to take little jabs at me, pot shots, little bit of dirty fighting and then look at me with those big soulful eyes and wait for me to be the one to piss off, leave you blameless.” He rested his chin against Xander’s rigid shoulder thoughtfully. “Well, we’re not gonna do it that way, love. Gonna teach you a new game, show you a new way to play.”

Xander pulled away from him and walked into the living room, grabbing his jeans up from the floor and moving to put them on.

“Here, none of that,” Spike said, tugging the jeans out of Xander’s hand.

“Just let me put my pants on, Spike,” Xander said with an irritated sigh, holding his hand out, “then we can talk all you want, any way you want.”

“Feeling a little, er, vulnerable, are we, Xander?” Spike asked. He kept his eyes on Xander as he tossed the jeans out of reach. “Here,” he said, holding out the drink again. “I offered you something to hide behind. Take it.” He watched as Xander unclenched his fists and then reached for the glass. “Don’t need to cover anything up anymore, right? Nothing I haven’t seen, touched,” he licked his lips as Xander swallowed the whiskey. “Tasted.”

Spike reached back into the kitchen for the bottle and tipped his head toward the living room. “So, come on then. Gonna do this right. Have a few drinks, share a few confidences, nothing we haven’t done before, eh?” He nodded Xander toward the couch and them moved to stand in front of the coffee table and refill their glasses. “And remember, Xander, while you’re glaring those death rays at me, this was your idea.” He shoved the glass toward Xander again and looked down into his own drink.

“You know,” he began conversationally, “never gave it much thought before, ‘cause you weren’t much more than an annoying blip on the radar, but you don’t really seem the talking type. You’re more of a doer who regrets after the fact, right? So what’s with this sudden need to chat me up? Could take it as a compliment, I suppose.” He raised a languid hand to his chest, his voice becoming caressing. “Oh, Spike, you’re the only one I can talk to, the only one who understands me,” Spike tossed the shot back, grinning. “But we both know that’s pure shite, right, mate?”

“Spike,” Xander bit out, starting to rise from the couch.

“Now, now,” Spike said, waving him back. “You’ll have your turn, your chance to speak your piece.” He waved the empty glass at Xander. “Or you can tell me to get the hell out. Go on, Xander. Scrape me off – let me have it – give me a good old fashioned, ‘Fuck off, Fangless.’”

Xander just glared back at him silently, and then reached for the bottle, filling his own glass.

Spike smiled. “Right then. So…we were discussing my affection for the Slayer…oh, why be so formal? We’re intimate friends now. My wanting to fuck Buffy.” His smile widened as he watched Xander’s fingers tighten around the glass. “Bet that’s been a thought that’s buggered the hell out of you, even before you let me…how was it, again? Put my ‘undead parts’ against you? What I fantasized about…the ways, the places, the positions?” He lowered his voice. “Wanna compare wank stories, Xander? I’m learning you’re a creative sort; love to hear the things you came up with, especially back when your blood ran so hot for her.”

Xander’s face was flushed from more than whiskey and Spike shrugged, backing off a bit. “But we’ve already been down this merry road, haven’t we? Told you that first night. She drew me in, just as she must have you. Wanted to be a hero’s champion, didn’t we? Drawn to the light…” Spike poured another drink, and then set it on the table, untouched. “My one shot at redemption, wasn’t it? The vampire who sacrifices himself for a Slayer. Epic, really. Should have been enough for whatever powers guide our course, but it wasn’t. In the end, not fast enough, not good enough.”

Xander’s breath hitched, hearing Spike echo Willow’s words.

“But, then, we always canonize the dead, don’t we?” Spike continued. “She can’t live up to the fantasy, anymore, so we’ll leave her to heaven. So now you’re wondering how we got from there to here, how I could claim to love her and yet turn to you so easily. Was I won over by that awkward charm you give off in waves? That young, hot body, that gleam of purity, of honor, that clings to you no matter to what depths you sink? What do you think it was, Xander?”

“I think you wanted to get laid,” Xander said thickly, pouring himself another shot.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Spike said, nodding with exaggeration. “Oh, hold on, no, it wasn’t. If that’s all this was…” he paused, hearing Xander’s agitated heartbeat begin to slow, watching his eyes become heavy-lidded as the drink began to get to him. “You need to hear the why, don’t you, pet?” he asked quietly.

Xander looked up at him, his eyes tired and lost. “Just tell me what this is, Spike.”

“And what if I tell you that I don’t know, Xander?” Spike said, walking over and dropping to his knees in front of him. “Could call it grief, call it insanity, lust, therapy? Fuck,” Spike said softly, “I don’t know the why. Why her, why you? Couldn’t save her, so now I’m going to rescue you from yourself?”

Spike laughed low, leaning in to press his lips against Xander’s throat. “I think we both know I’m not that noble.” He let his head fall against Xander’s, their faces a breath apart, heavy lidded eyes trying to lose themselves in each other. “But you have to know how much I want you, Xander. If I was just looking to ‘get in and get out,’ there’s been a whole lot of sundown between now and the first time. But I’m still here and you haven’t told me leave, so I’m thinking you must want me, too? You do, don’t you, pet? Want me, like I want you?”

Spike ran his fingers through Xander’s hair, feeling the slight movement as Xander slowly nodded. “How much?” Spike whispered.

Xander closed his eyes, groaning. “I want to make you into a pair of man-pants and go commando.”

“That right?” Spike chuckled. They had drifted closer, curling together, their foreheads touching, Xander’s breath warming Spike’s cheek. Spike closed his eyes, “So we’ll just stay here, then. The undiscovered country – from whose bourn no traveler returns, and makes us rather bear those ills we have, than fly to others we know not of?” He swallowed hard, using borrowed words and leaving the rest unspoken. “Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,” he murmured.

Xander peeked open one eye. “What’s with all the poetry?”

Spike laughed, rubbing their foreheads together. “’S not bloody poetry, you nit. Shakespeare. Hamlet. They do still teach the classics? Or at least make you watch the sodding films?”

Xander nodded sleepily. “Yeah. Mel Gibson. ‘To thine own self be true,’ right?”

“Something like that,” Spike breathed as he met Xander’s lips with his own, tasting whiskey and want and deciding that Xander being more of a doer than a talker wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

"The undiscovered country..." is from Hamlet, Act III, Scene i

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