The Suicide Plot 
by Kayla 

No one knew he'd kept it. So many years since that Halloween night when he'd 
actually *been* someone! Someone strong, someone brave! And now, all that was 
left of that was one of the many weapons he'd stockpiled while in his soldier 
guise. 

Xander held up the gun, tilting it back and forth. It was loaded. He knew it 
was loaded, because he'd just put a bullet in the chamber. Only one; if he 
did this right, that's all he would need. And how hard could it be to kill 
yourself? 

He stared around the quiet room, so devoid of any happiness and life. Well, 
in a few minutes, it would be even more lifeless. Taking a deep breath to 
prepare himself, Xander closed his eyes and lifted the gun to his temple. His 
finger slowly squeezed the trigger. 

The sudden pounding on the door startled him, and he flinched, his arm 
jerking. Time seemed to move in slow motion as his finger jerked on the 
trigger. It was wrong; he knew it was wrong. And in the spilt second before 
the deafening shot echoed through his ears, his only thought was, 'Well, 
fuck!'. Then, his world exploded in a haze of crimson agony. 



Spike stood outside Xander's apartment, blatantly ignoring the 'No Smoking' 
signs as he took a deep drag from his cigarette. He glared at the stub that 
remained, then nonchalantly flicked it onto the floor, snickering as it 
scorched a mark in the pristine carpeting before he ground it out with his 
heel. Transferring his glare back to the door, he took a moment to try and 
figure out why he'd come here. 

He shrugged, deciding to chalk it up to sheer boredom, then pounded heavily 
on the door. He jumped back at the sharp 'crack' that came from behind the 
door. "Whelp? You in there?" He frowned, his nose wriggling at the acrid 
smell of gunpowder that wafted out. A smell that was drowned out by the 
headier scent of freshly shed blood. 

"Shit," he muttered. Without any internal qualms about doing so, he kicked 
the door in, wood splintering as the locks were wrenched out of place. At 
least he had no problems with barriers, thanks to the invite he'd managed to 
trick out of Xander during an argument once. A fact for which he found 
himself grateful when he rushed in to find Xander's body slumped over the 
couch, blood gushing from a wound in his head. 

Spike cursed when he saw the gun dangling from limp fingers. He darted 
forward and yanked it away, checking to see if it was still loaded before 
hurling it across the room. "Xander? Mate?" He could hear the faint throb of 
a pulse in the boy, so at least he knew Xander wasn't dead. At least not yet. 
But with the amount of blood coating him... 

Spike blinked, licking his lips at the sight of all that fresh, delicious 
blood that was positively calling his name. He stepped forward, kneeling in 
front of Xander. "Hey, you ok?" When he received no answer, he reached out 
and ran a finger down the boy's cheek. He brought the blood-covered digit to 
his mouth, moaning at the explosion of flavor across his tongue. "Xander?" he 
tried again in a whisper. 

Still no response, and he leaned forward, gently tilting Xander's head toward 
him. His tongue appeared, and he lapped at the trickles of blood that had run 
down the boy's neck. He groaned, feeling himself vamp out as he began to lick 
more fervently, making his way up Xander's face and removing every drop of 
the precious fluid that he could find. 

He nuzzled through sticky locks of hair, coming closer to the source. The 
bullet wound; the wound that still reeked of gunpowder as blood continued to 
flow sluggishly from it. 

Spike wrenched himself back, panting heavily. "Get a grip, Spike," he ordered 
himself, shaking slightly. He took a deep breath to steady himself, absently 
wondering why he still had a habit of doing that even after more than a 
century of not needing to breathe. Standing, he ran a trembling hand through 
his hair. With a mental smack to his libido, which was thoroughly enjoying 
the sight of the bloody human sprawled nearby, he made his way to the 
kitchen, where he managed to fill a bowl with warm water. 

Taking the bowl and a clean washcloth back to the couch, he knelt again. He 
soaked the cloth, then set about carefully cleaning off the drying traces of 
blood from Xander's face. As best he could, he washed out the matted hair, 
gently pushing it away from the oozing wound. He dabbed at the long, ragged 
gash, feeling a faint twinge of relief that the boy didn't seem to be in any 
danger of bleeding to death. 

A quick trip to the bathroom provided him with a remarkably well-stocked 
first-aid kit. Several bandages were laid atop the injury, and wrapped in 
place with a liberal amount of gauze. When he'd finished, Spike sat back, 
smirking when he thought how Xander now resembled on of these amnesia 
patients on the soaps. Not that he watched soaps; Passions was *not* a soap! 

Spike sighed as he stared at the unconscious boy, for the first time 
wondering what the hell Xander had thought he was trying to do. Shaking his 
head, he hefted the limp body and carried him to his bedroom. Amazingly 
enough, he had a lot of practice divesting uncooperative individuals of their 
clothes, so had no problems getting Xander out of his ruined garments. 

Shamelessly, he took full advantage of the opportunity to get an eyeful of 
Xander's naked form, wondering when the whelp had managed to acquire all 
those muscles. Very firm, bronzed, glistening muscles. And those stiff, pert 
little nipples... 

Spike's fingers twitched, aching to run along warm skin and sneak into every 
dip and crevice on Xander's body. He growled softly, his hand reaching out 
and ever so softly touching the tiny patch of hair that started at the boy's 
belly and trailed down, down... 

"Ahh!" Spike pulled back, thumping his head with his hand. "What are you * 
doing*? You do *not* want this...boy!" Whirling, he hurried back out to the 
scene of the crime, glowering at the blood-spotted couch. He noticed the door 
still hanging open, so he stalked over and slammed it shut. The gun he picked 
up and slipped into one of the pockets in his duster, then he removed the 
duster and hung it neatly in the closet. 

Wearily, he sank onto the floor, gaze once more fixed on the couch. "I don't 
want him," he whispered. "I just fixed him up 'cause Slutty would've staked 
me if she knew I'd let him bleed out. I do *not* want to tie him to the bed, 
lick every bit of his hot flesh, then bury myself in his tight body and shag 
him senseless. I *don't*!" 

He glared down at the erection pressing painfully at the front of his jeans, 
eagerly denying his every word. "Bloody hell." 



Xander woke, whimpering pitifully at the throbbing headache he was 
experiencing. For a minute, he was confused, since he certainly didn't 
remember getting drunk enough to be this hungover. 

Then it came back to him, and his eyes flew wide open. He jerked his body 
upright, then fell back with an anguished yell. His hand reached up gingerly 
felt at the source of the pain. When he encountered the gauze wrappings, he 
sighed. It seemed that this wasn't some freaky afterlife, but that'd he 
managed to screw up something as simple as suicide. He wondered if other 
people had this kind of trouble... 

"'Bout time." 

Xander screeched as the voice startled him, and he sat up quickly. Too 
quickly. He groaned and cradled his head in his hands, eyes closed as he did 
his best to ignore the fact that there was a smirking vampire sitting on the 
end of his bed. 

"You probably need these." 

Xander peeled an eyelid back up, fixating intently on the tiny white pills 
that were being held out to him. With a sound of desperate relief, Xander 
snatched the pills away and swallowed them dry. 

Spike made a show of checking his fingers, then stood and paced across the 
small room. "What the bleedin' *hell* did you think you were doing?!" He 
glared at Xander. 

Xander sank back down and stared up at the ceiling. "Don't pretend that you 
care, Spike. It doesn't suit you." 

Spike threw his hands up. "Fine. I *don't* care. But next time you plan on 
fucking well *shooting* yourself, at least gimme the heads up so all that 
lovely blood doesn't go to waste!" He loomed over Xander, a furious 
expression on his face. 

Xander snorted. "Gee, comfort much? I'm surprised you didn't take advantage 
of me while I was all injured an unconscious." 

Spike cleared his throat and glanced away. 

"Oh my god. You did! You...you..." He spluttered, unable to find the words. 
Then he blanched. "Oh fuck. Tell me your mouth was nowhere near my body." 

Spike coughed, then turned and began fiddling with the lamp that was on the 
bedside table. 

"Oh, ew, gross! You...licked me! Didn't you? Oh, man!" 

"Oh for cryin' out loud! You botch up killin' yourself, so I find you sittin' 
there like a little vamp snack, an' you expect me not to have a taste? It's 
not like I...*molested* you or anything!" 

Xander's headache was suddenly forgotten as he flashed to a mental image of 
Spike licking and nibbling at his skin. 

"And what was up with the whole dramatic gun bit? What's so bad you wanna die 
over it?" Spike folded his arms over his chest, foot tapping impatiently as 
he awaited Xander's reasoning. 

Xander caught his breath and rolled onto his side, back to the vampire. "Go 
'way," he muttered. 

Eyes narrowed, Spike plunked himself down on the bed beside Xander. "I'm 
bloody well not goin' *anywhere* until you talk to me!" 

Xander remained stubbornly silent. He knew Spike couldn't really care, and 
would probably try to hold this entire incident over his head later, but... 
He let out a shuddering breath, sniffling softly. 

Spike listened to the boy struggling not to cry. He sighed and curled up 
behind Xander, a hand resting lightly on his back. "Xander, please..." 

At the touch, something inside Xander broke. His shoulders heaved as he began 
to sob quietly. He hugged a pillow close, trying to muffle the wretched 
sounds. 

Spike tried to resist, he really did. But the sounds were tearing at his 
unbeating heart, and he gave in, wrapping his arms around the shaking boy and 
pulling him close. He started to purr softly as he rocked, keeping it up 
until Xander finally began to calm. 

Xander wiped at his eyes, feeling drained. "I'm nothing," he confessed in a 
small voice. 

Spike never quit rocking, but he growled a little. "You not nothing," he 
admonished the human. 

"I am," Xander reiterated. "I'm *nothing*." He sniffled again, searching for 
the words to explain. "See...Buffy, she's the Slayer. And Giles is Watcher 
guy. Oz had the werewolf thing going for him when he was around, and Wills 
and Tara have the whole witch happening. Riley is all studly commando guy, 
and even you have the vampire thing. Me? I'm...nothing." 

"Xander--" 

Xander cut him off. "I...I *was* something once. You remember? On Halloween, 
I was all 'take charge, kick evil ass solider man'. But...it was just an 
accident. Because really, I'm nothing." He laughed bitterly. "Even Anya had 
her ex-demoness gig to fall back on. And she must have thought I was nothing 
too, 'cause she left me." 

Spike winced, knowing what that felt like. Being dumped sucked...and not in a 
good way. He stroked Xander's belly, hoping to calm him a bit. 

Xander curled around the touch and went on. "They don't need me, you know. No 
one does. I'm like...errand boy. I get doughnuts, I act as bait, I do the 
things no one else wants to and they foist off on me. And even those 
excellent qualifications aren't good enough to keep me in a job that pays 
above minimum wage. Which of course means I can't afford to keep the 
apartment, and I've been expressly forbidden from ever returning to 'chez 
basement'." Another muffled sob worked its way out, but he continued speaking 
through it. "S-so I've got no girlfriend, no job, no home, and n-no one who 
really gives a fuck! And I'm such a screw-up, I can't even manage to kill 
myself right!" 

Spike clutched at Xander, snarling. "Bite your tongue," he hissed. "You're 
not a screw-up, and *I* bloody well give a fuck!" 

"Spike, I--" 

"No! My turn!" His arms tightened around Xander. "Ok, so maybe I'm the evil 
vamp that no one can trust, and my opinion probably isn't worth much to any 
of your little gang. But damn it, this isn't worth dying over! All 
those...morons; they don't appreciate you. Hell, they don't know how effin' 
good they got it with you around! You keep 'em all happy, and sane, and 
there's not a one of 'em that doesn't owe you their life for some reason!" 

He cuddled Xander closer, speaking directly into his ear. "That demon bint 
was a fool to let you go, an' if those wankers you work for can't tell a good 
thing when it smacks 'em in the face, then piss on 'em!" Then Spike snorted. 
"As for digs...hell, mate! I live in a crypt! You thing you got it bad?" 
Then, voice trembling, he managed to admit, "You're not 'nothing' to me, Xan. 
You're...you're..." He sighed in frustration, pulling away enough to roll 
Xander onto his back. He stared the boy in the eye and licked his lips 
nervously. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he bent down and 
brushed his lips over Xander's. 

Xander gasped, his head jerking back slightly. He gaped up at the vampire in 
disbelief, not sure whether to laugh, or cry, or run screaming from the room. 
And quite suddenly, he felt how Spike's cool body was pressed up against his 
own, skin meeting worn denim and soft cotton. Bare skin...and Xander finally 
realized that he'd somehow managed to wind up in bed with Spike, naked. 
And...it wasn't such a bad thing after all. 

"Xan?" 

Xander coughed. "Um, so...you don't think I'm nothing?" 

Spike smiled. "No. Definitely something. Dunno what, but...something." 

"Yeah? Something good?" 

"Oh, very good. Want me to prove it to you?" 

Heart beating wildly in his chest, Xander breathlessly asked, "How?" 

Spike quirked an eyebrow, leering at the exposed portions of Xander's body. 
"I think I can find a way." 

"It, uh...it might take a lot to convince me." He gasped as a hand wandered 
over his stomach, stroking softly. 

"It's daylight now, pet. I have all day. I think I can manage." 

"And...if you don't?" 

Spike nipped an earlobe, then whispered in a husky voice, "Well then, I'll 
just have to stay the night and...keep trying." 

"Oh. Right." He opened his mouth to add more, but became distracted by the 
tongue that suddenly plunged inside. At that moment, he decided that if he 
was going to die, this was certainly a much better way to do it. Death by 
sex...what could possibly go wrong with that? 



Finit