It’s a moment.

Even as he stands there holding the paraphernalia of the spell, Xander knows that this is questionable.  Wrong even.  But he has to try.

This may be wrong but that was certainly not right and he feels he has to try and put right the wrong.  Story of his life.  Story of Anya’s continuing death.

No-one else knows, and if this works Xander will move somewhere distant and never mention it, or the result.  Arrangements have already been made for this new life on the off-chance.  If it doesn’t work…  Well, he needs a change.  Yes, a new life.  He’s been lagging behind in the whole new-lifeness experience and a change, being as good as a rest, is overdue.

He uses the…pink stuff to draw the outer symbol.  He uses the…yellow stuff to draw the inner.  He knows what they are but it doesn’t come easily; bad enough he has to recite the mumbo-jumbo.  Some anarchic scrap of wholesome anti-magic doughnut boy manages to rebel and be an obnoxious little know-nothing for the thousand-and-umpteenth time in his life.

It’s worked before, it’s worth the effort.

But he’s alone now and not sure who he’s making the effort for.  But it happens.  Like shit.  It happens.  And it’s like the gift that keeps on giving in a totally non-gifty way, because who would want…  Boy, is he losing the plot.

His hands are trembling as he removes the paper from his pocket.  He’s been promised this is simple, and painless unlike the Buffster’s resurrection, something to do with his ex-fiancée’s sometimes demon status, and the words on the page will do the trick, and Xander will stop feeling so goddamned fucking bad all the time.  Survivor’s guilt.  Who’d’ve thought?  After everything.

A few words and he carefully places the crystal within the pink.  A few more words and the manky green whatever goes within the yellow.  A drop of his blood, the spilling of which causes him to flinch, falls on the flattened remains of Sunnydale.  More words and he’s done.

Okay.

Xander waits impatiently in the moonlight, uses his flashlight to check his watch, prods the little button that will confirm the date: one year.  Spot on.  The first anniversary of the – and excuse the hollow laughter – earthquake.

The contract, he remembers suddenly, and it’s brought from his jacket’s inner pocket.  It’s unhesitatingly signed, making his demonically worded yet none the less heartfelt declaration.

All Hell does not break loose – he knows that one and this isn’t it – but there is crashing and flashing and stinking smoke and a fragile form is revealed as the lightshow ends.  A step forward to greet the trembling figure but the smoke clears and Xander, who believes himself well past being shockable, is shocked.

“Fucking hell,” come the first stilted words from a hoarse throat.  “Fucking hell, Harris.  What have you done?”

Despite being perplexed and disorientated and angry and upset, Xander offers Spike the common courtesy of assisting him to the car.  Assisting because the vampire – yes, still a vampire – is weak and weaving and apparently so unused to this corporeal form that he’s forgotten how it all works.  Left, right, left, right, many more of those and into the passenger’s seat.

Spike sits and shakes.  Cold.  A vampire shouldn’t feel cold but logic isn’t helping.  Xander wraps the car rug around thin shoulders still clad in their going away ensemble and turns up the heater.  Spikes sits and shakes.

“Shock,” Xander says definitely.

“You always were a master of understatement.”

“Why you’re shaking.”

“Cold.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“And the rest does?”

Spike sits and shakes.  It’s a hot night and Spike is freezing.

“Were you in hell?  Was it so hot there that it feels cold here?”

“I was…”  Spike finds a new shudder and Xander, for the moment, shuts up.

*****

“Tell me about the spell,” Spike says when he’s ready and not before.

Xander does, every detail he can think of.  Spike shakes and listens, surprisingly quiet, but punctuating Xander’s account with suitably loud facial expressions reflecting his dismay, disbelief, inappropriate amusement, and general appalledness. 

“The crystal is the symbol of the contract.  It glows because the spell is in force, see?”

“Can I…”

“You can’t touch it.  Only if I give it to you with the express purpose of terminating the contract without terminating you.”

“Terminating me?”

“If I destroy the crystal you go back to where you came from.”

That reminder and Spike shudders.  Shudder, shudder, shudder.  When he’s done with the immediate shuddering, Spike asks to see the contract and Xander is able to hand that over.  Spike skim reads the document then returns to pertinent passages.

“You had this included?  Anyanka had to want to come back.”

“I thought, after Buffy…”  Enough said.

“She obviously didn’t want to.”

Xander feels entitled to a mixture of emotions as it sinks in: Anya didn’t want to return to him.

His duty is done; no more bad feelings.

She didn’t want him; he’s used to feeling rejected but still…

No.  He has to stop fooling himself.

Relief.

More relief.

But Spike instead.

“Anya didn’t want to come back.  But you did.”  Xander has always had this innate skill for stating the obvious.  “You’ve taken her place in the contract so…”  Xander isn’t sure how to finish that sentence.

“Where does it leave us?”

Xander nods.  Spike reads.  Xander finally considers his actions and their consequences.  No Anya but Spike instead.  Who won’t stick around.  And Xander Harris has put an unchipped, possibly unsouled, William the Bloody back on the streets.  Nice move, Xander.  Unless…  Unless he destroys the crystal.  Kind of a mean trick to play on the most recent guy to save the world.  And where Spike has been, Xander does not want to know.  He gets to keep the crystal and Spike, and he keeps Spike out of trouble.  Yes, that’s so obviously bound to work.  He rolls his eyes at his own stupidity and Spike’s interest is captured.

“Magic?” he asks with a gesture.

It takes Xander a long moment.

“Oh!  This?  No.  Glass.”  Xander taps his left eyeball with a fingernail and Spike cringes.  “Squeamish?” Xander laughs.  “You’re squeamish about this?  That’s priceless.”

“No,” Spike responds quietly, going back to his reading.  “Hardly priceless.”

Xander figures that Spike still has the soul.

*****

They drive to the hotel in silence, Xander sweltering as Spike hikes the heater up to full, but he can’t object because this is his fault.  The spell, the vampire, the necessity of unnecessary heat is all down to him so no whingeing.  Yet.

But he’s going to attempt being no-whingeing man.  Because Spike is trying to switch on the radio and his hand is shaking so hard he can’t hit the button.

*****

“Do you want to sleep?” Xander asks when they reach his – their – room.

Shake of the head and Spike’s already found the mini-bar and is in the process of emptying it of its contents.  Xander uses room service and gets a bottle of JD and a six-pack sent along with some food.

Xander’s not expecting Spike to eat but he goes through a heap of sandwiches like a plague of locust before hitting the JD.  Which appears to warm him up because the shaking stops.  Xander picks at his food in an un-Xandery way.  Troubled.  In a perfectly Xandery way: post-stupid-action-without-sufficient-thought.

Spike is back with the spell.

“You realise you’ve made yourself responsible for me.  Totally responsible.”

“For Anya.  It was for Anya.”

“For me now.”  Xander knows that, even the finely developed denial techniques of a lifetime on the Hellmouth can’t provide an escape route.  “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” Spike taunts, offering up the smirk that makes Xander thoroughly aware that this is Spike, and Spike was never synonymous with nice, kind, generous.

“What?”

“The connection.  For the connection you chose sex.”

“With Anya,” Xander spelt out.  “The other choices…”  Xander pulled an eloquent face.

“With me now.  Ready for that?”

Xander looks momentarily petrified before giving a pseudo-casual shrug.

“How difficult can it be?  Everyone else seemed to manage it.”

Spike looks to Xander for the anger that has to live behind that comment, but he just seems weary.  Defeated even.  A year can change a human, and Spike wonders what the past year has been like for Xander, and if he’ll ever know him well enough to ask.  Or does that reek of a soul’s sensibilities?  He reminds himself that he’s still a vampire, a demon, and why should he care about knowing Xander well enough for anything?

He decides to stir, see if he can make Xander hurt, see if he still has the touch.

“Did the others dump you?  Move on without you?  You always seemed to be the man most likely to be forgotten.”

Xander actually perks up at this and Spike inwardly curses.

“Everyone’s fine, getting on with their lives.  Moving on, sure, but…”

“Is Buffy with Angel?”

“No, new life, new guy, she’s in—”  Xander catches the words before they escape his mouth.

“You can tell me, I’m not about to go chasing after her.”

“You’re not?”  Spike doesn’t answer, and turns his face away to deny Xander his expression.  “Dawn’s with her,” Xander continues, just about changing the subject.  “Willow’s in England with Giles, it didn’t last with…”

“She happy?” Spike demands.  “Buffy?”

“Yeah,” Xander says after a beat.  “Pretty much a normal life.  What she needed.”

“Good.”

And it’s Spike who’s left hurting; Xander has the touch without even trying.  There’s nowhere for Spike to go to get away from this, so he lies on the far side of the bed with his back to Xander, being as alone as possible as he soaks up the changes.  Buffy’s gone, the past is gone, the old life is gone, and all he has is the cold, half a bottle of whiskey, and Xander bloody Harris.

It’s a moment.

*****

While Spike sleeps Xander goes over the contract, trying to understand all the clauses he doesn’t understand and find a way to put an end to this without actually sending Spike back to the unexplained scary place.  Maybe as Spike does seem to have the soul he can be safely left to his own devices.  But – and fuck only knows where this comes from – Xander doesn’t like the idea of leaving him alone to fend for himself, despite Spike being the king of survival.

Xander’s been lonely recently, hence the resurrection of Anya not apparently being the stupidest idea to top all his other stupid ideas – and he’s sensitive to it.  Okay, this is Spike he’s thinking about, but if Spike is all that’s left of the old life he misses…  He decides to stick with the not wanting Spike to be alone, doing the vampire a favour as opposed to admitting his own weaknesses.

He can’t let down his guard, because this is Spike.

He has to find somewhere to buy blood.

Xander throws another blanket over the shivering body and stares in wonder.

This is Spike.

*****

Xander starts to feel his way into this situation, taking several days to get to know this version of Spike, which is pretty much the last version of Spike he remembers, but with the vulnerability Xander has projected onto him.

Knowing he’s projecting, and that Spike will expect to be off-loaded as rapidly as possible, Xander brings up the subject, tentatively asking the vampire where he’d like to go now.

“You’re hoping I’m going to fuck off and leave you?”

“Not hoping,” Xander insists, and he almost manages convincing.  “I just thought…”

“It’s in the contract.  This togetherness.  You’re stuck with me, mate.”

“Stuck.  Right.  Okay.”

Spike is actually lying but Xander obviously doesn’t know that.  Spike isn’t sure why he wants to stay with Xander of all people but thinks it’s about familiarity.  And Xander brought him back, intentionally or not.

“Did anyone else think of trying this?”

Xander knows what Spike is asking, and knows who the anyone else is.

“After last time?  Jeez, no, I’m the only one dumb enough for that,” he jokes, and Spike looks at him with gratitude for his avoidance, because no-one cared enough to attempt to magic back the vampire, and they both know it.

Xander brought him back, and Spike owes him, and maybe there is something to the spell because he actively wants a little togetherness with Xander.

He’s curious.  He knows what’s coming – pun, pun, pun – and he’s curious about the Viking in the sack.  Although Xander won’t be wanting or giving more than what’s essential for the spell.  After being lost for a year, a year of almost total sensory deprivation, Spike will settle for any kind of contact, the sooner the better, and he’s happy to lie about the contract’s contents to get what he wants.

But maybe Xander is going to put an end to this nonsense, not fulfil the spell’s requirements and send him back to purgatory.  The thought makes him shudder and shudder, freezing again, and he hopes that Xander will notice and do something about it.

Xander notices and does, without thinking, just his damned niceness kicking in, and he isn’t awkward about it until after five minutes of hugging his warmth into the cold form and rubbing chilly limbs, and Spike is no longer shaking and needing but simply exploiting and enjoying.

Xander is about to apologise again for being over-familiar, so Spike gets in first with his thanks, and he tries to tell Xander about where he’s been but it’s too hard, describing nothing, the lack of everything, but being frighteningly aware of every second of nothing, and before this hot, generous human can withdraw Spike is pushing back into his embrace, having genuinely managed to upset himself, and he’s being hugged and stroked again, and he knows, he knows he could get used to this.

*****

“You’re going to back out?”

“No.”

“Even if you have to fuck me?”

Xander determinedly doesn’t give Spike the satisfaction of a moment’s pause for freaking out.

“It only has to be the once, right?  The once and you’re safe in the spell?”

Spike scans the contract and considers adding his own clause.  The soul rebels.

“Yeah, once would be enough.”

“How…  I mean, for you, would it…  Will it…”

“Vampire, mate, fuck anything,” Spike says dismissively.

“That’d be by choice.  This isn’t.”

Spike stares at Xander, knowing how uncomfortable it makes him.

“Not a problem.  I just have to lie back and think of England.”

“I thought—”

“What?”  Spike waves the contract.  “You’ve made me the bint here, you get to fuck me.”

“So we can’t…”  Xander gives up and waits for his timely death from embarrassment.

“Natural bottom, are you?  Never saw that coming.”

Xander hates that smirk and for a moment fantasises about the crystal smashing beneath the heel of his shoe.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, okay?” he snaps, crossly.  “I don’t want to screw it up, or – or…”  The voice drops away but Spike catches the final words.  “Hurt you.”

Spike is stunned by that.  Stunned and he tries to cover.

“You won’t hurt me.  And it’s all pretty basic: the what goes where.  Not too many choices after all.”

Xander is…what?  Still pissed at Spike?  Upset?  Humiliated?  Whatever.  He starts to leave but comes back very quickly.

“I’m sorry, Spike.”

“I bet you are.”

“For you, not for me.”

“You brought me back.”

“And made you have to…  But it’s just once and then the spell is complete and you’re safe.”

Xander cares, Spike realises, and he’s in shock again.  He lets himself shudder because he knows the effect it has on Xander.  Xander is there in a second, holding him.

“Cold.”  Statement from Xander, not question.

“Always,” with an unseen smile as Spike snuggles in closer.

“I’m not sorry for bringing you back, don’t think that.”

At that precise second the words are entirely true.

“If you’d known this would happen?  Not Anya but me?”

“I don’t know.  I probably wouldn’t have.  For a start, I wouldn’t have felt I had any right.”

“Do you want to go back?  Destroy the crystal?”

If Spike had breath he’d be holding it.

“I said I wouldn’t.  You’re here now.”

“Your responsibility.”

“Yeah.  I hadn’t forgotten.”

“Have you thought about it?  Once we’re bonded, that’s it for life.”

“Bonded?  When did bonded come into it?”

“If I live to be a thousand, you live to be a thousand.  Even if we’re on opposite sides of the planet.”

“Bonded, Spike?”

“We’ll belong together though.  In truth, I already belong with you.”

“But, that isn’t…  Oh, God, that is!  Anya.  I was supposed to take care of Anya forever.”

“It’s going to be a long life.  Be nice if you fancied me.”

“I keep telling you, I’m straight!”

“I’m more irresistible than you are straight.  It’ll happen.”

“It’ll happen,” Xander groans.  “And you won’t be safe until it does.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll…  We’ll…  I’ll…  Oh…fuck.”

Spike fakes a shudder to prevent further thought.

Xander automatically hugs and Spike smiles.

*****

Home.  Or as home as it gets.

Spike wanders around Xander’s admittedly swish apartment and plays with the what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is mine approach that vampires are so good at.

“There was plenty of insurance money after Sunnydale,” Xander explains in the background, “and Dawn was around at the time to help choose…”

“Where’s the bedroom?” Spike demands.

It’s a mentality Xander is growing used to, the obsession Spike has with fulfilling the spell, understandably wanting to be safe.  In Xander’s reality he’s putting off the dreadful deed out of sympathy for Spike having to be fucked by someone he can’t possibly want; in Spike’s reality Xander’s simply being a tease and winding the vampire up to a state of permanent arousal.

Spike is distracted, however, when Xander takes the glowing crystal from his pocket and studies it before placing it on the mantel.

“You don’t have to look terrified every time I go near it.”

Xander expects a smartass comment in return but Spike seems humiliated at being caught out.  A little lost, a lot miserable.

“Where’s the bedroom?” Spike demands once more, and Xander knows it’s about time he showed him.

*****

It’s not the first time Spike has shed his clothes and expectantly waited for Xander to do the same, but this time there’s the feeling that Xander will get his ass kicked if he doesn’t comply.  He has been as modest as Spike has been immodest, so Spike doesn’t actually know yet what he’s getting, but Xander always feels good when he hugs, and Spike has had innumerable surreptitious gropes under the pretext of clinging to his champion.

“C’mon, get your kit off.  Pointless being coy with me.”

Spike flings himself onto the bed, sprawling and stretching and looking anything but worried about his fate.  On his back and patting his body in invitation.

“I was thinking…  Maybe it would be easier, y’know, from behind?” Xander asks hopefully in a bid to cut down the embarrassment factor.

Spike is up again and shoving that damned contract in Xander’s face.

“This symbol?  Means face-to-face.  We meet each other’s eyes at the moment of…”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Until then you can keep your eyes closed.  Pretend I’m whoever.”

“No,” and that’s hard.  Meant.

Spike the manipulative bastard is not wasted here.

“Can’t you try to want me, Xander?” he asks, sad and big-eyed and too pretty for words.  “Just once?  To make me safe?”

“It’s not that…  I don’t…  I can’t…”

“Even now you’re a sodding White Hat,” Spike whinges, throwing the sad prettiness aside.  And then he’s purring in Xander’s ear.  “Gonna make it good for me?  Make me come so your conscience is clear?  If I get off it’s not…”

“Stop it!”  For the first time Xander pushes Spike away.  “I can’t do it, I’m sorry, but I can’t do it.  Not if you think it’s – it’s…an assault.”

“You think I’m going to deny myself an existence because of a shag?” Spike laughs humourlessly.  “Get on with it, can’t you?  I can see the light dying in that crystal even if you can’t.”

“It’s dying?”

“Read the contract,” Spike says in idiot-speak.  “Fulfil the requirements or it’s all over for yours truly.”

“So soon?”

Spike tosses the paper onto the dresser and flings himself onto the bed once more, back to his sprawling and stretching.

“I’ll make it good for you.”

“I’m not worried about that.”

Spike rolls onto his side and softens his approach.

“I want you.  It’s not just about the spell.  I do want you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve been kind to me.  I’ve learnt to appreciate kindness.  Soul an’ all.”

The reminder that Xander is not only condemning the demon but also the soul to purgatory is enough to get him moving.  Xander strips, at first reluctantly, but then at speed to get it over with.  Spike watches and enjoys.  The human is gorgeous.  Who’d have thought?

Xander approaches the bed.  Slowly, the sodding tease.  It’s a long time since Spike’s been taken and he’s looking forward to this, he even hopes he can somehow persuade some brutal fucking from the soft git who’s about to mount him.  But as long as there’s contact he’ll be happy, even if this is Xander Harris.  He laughs to himself but outwardly smiles kindly at Xander’s troubled face.  Xander Harris.

Lube in the nightstand, and any other time Spike would make the most of that with a few cheap comments, but Xander sits holding the tube and looking stricken.

“Oh, for…!  Give it here.”

Spike snatches the tube from Xander’s hand and kneels, preparing himself, eyes squeezed shut as he enjoys the familiar rough handling of his body, not seeing but knowing that Xander is watching and he can even imagine the look on the young man’s face.  Libidinous awe.  That’s what this fabulous body deserves.  Xander’s eyes, real or glass, will be fixed on the slick fingers that are being worked into Spike’s body.  Worked in and out of Spike’s body.  It’s an unexpected turn-on, the thought of Xander watching him finger-fuck himself, and as he curls those fingers and hits his prostate the shallowest breath indicates that this isn’t purely about practicality.

“Can I?” Xander asks softly, and Spike can’t believe he heard that, but with a swift move he’s tipping himself onto his back and staring as Xander self-consciously positions himself between Spike’s thighs.  Fingers slicked and, following as closely as possible what he’s seen Spike do, Xander pushes one, then two digits into the vampire’s body, free hand holding Spike down as he uncontrollably bucks at the heat and the intrusion.

Difficult for Xander, being so personal yet impersonal, and he’s trying to learn but at the same time make this good, wishing he felt able to touch wherever he wanted because he’s good with his hands, this he knows.  He’s instinctively following Spike’s finger-curling and that seems to do something wonderful because he’s being grabbed at and drawn over the recumbent form, pulled and pushed into position whether he’s ready or not.  Luckily he is.  Ready.  Xander is always ready.  He’s been always ready since he was thirteen.

Any attempt at a careful entry is nullified by Spike’s impatience, and Xander finds himself inside the vampire’s body, strong hands on his hips manoeuvring him into an untidy rhythm.

“You’re so…”  Xander gasps at the tremendous pressure on his cock.  “This is so tight, it has to hurt.”

“Nice.  Don’t stop,” as if Xander had ever really started.

Forcing himself still, Xander touches the crease between Spike’s eyebrows, tries to soothe it away.

“It hurts.  I won’t hurt you, not like this.  Let me go, Spike.”

Spike has to admire Xander’s treatment of him.  Had this been the other way around Spike wouldn’t have been so considerate.  In fact, he’d have used the whole spell/contract scenario to fuck Xander silly.

Naturally, he’s not about to comply with what Xander wants.

“C’mon, Harris, you were always a pain in the arse,” Spike jokes, “so this is nothing new.”  Xander glares and tries to withdraw, but he’s stopped.  A change of tack and with soft touches he’s encouraged.  Soft words.  “Save my life, Xander.  Please.”

The tone is horribly persuasive.  The simple use of Xander’s given name is a powerful thing, and his resolve weakens further at the yearning on Spike’s face.

“I won’t hurt you,” Xander says stubbornly, but also unsurely.

“That’s right, you won’t.  Vampire, remember?”

Still unbearably hands off, merely touching where they’re joined, Xander begins to fuck the vampire, uncomfortably and stiltedly – so obviously not Xander’s natural style – and it seems to Spike that the man cannot cope with face-to-face; to get the fuck he wants, Spike turns his head away, chooses to remain passive and non-distracting.

It’s going through Xander’s head that this is once and only once, to save Spike’s life.  Okay.  At least that’s what he’s trying to think.  But Spike turning away, almost turning off, gives him the freedom to study this remarkable creature, and when he does it pisses him off that he isn’t free to explore him during this solitary encounter.

And if it is only once…

Spike feels Xander lower himself, feels the connection of warm skin and cool.  He won’t look to see what’s going on, but the first exploratory touches thrill and terrify him.  Fingertips explore his neck, pressing where the pulse isn’t before gliding down to trace the shape of his collarbone, the line of his pectoral muscles.  A light caress to his left nipple is unforeseen and startling although highly predictable, and Xander’s cock twitches inside him as the tiny bud hardens within a gentle pinch.

Spike won’t look.  Won’t look as Xander murmurs appreciatively at the vampire’s abdominal muscles quivering due to the sensation of scratching fingernails.  His navel is explored, played like an erogenous zone, finding itself thoroughly fucked by a rigid pinkie.  Xander’s lips ghost over his chest, settling on one stiff nipple then the other, parting to allow a moist tongue to flicker and tease.

The sensitivity of the vampire’s skin is often overlooked.  ‘Demon’ is the overriding thought and the body is treated accordingly.  But Spike is so sensitive.  And Xander recognises this.  Knows and groans with the knowledge.

“You’re beautiful.”  Expressed without thought but with absolute sincerity.

This is unexpected.  If it had been expected it would have been feared.

Spike has always been physically available but there are places within him that no-one has ever touched – nameless, unreachable, emotional places – and Xander fucking Harris is not going to be the one…

Or maybe he is because Spike’s never been worshipped like this and he feels like he’s melting.  Time for some defensive snark.  If he can get his bloody brain to work past the mind-crippling attention.

“Don’t—” is all he can manage, and Xander is bound to misunderstand.

“I won’t stop,” the human reassures and, there you go, misunderstanding, softly and sweetly.

His misunderstanding is a glorious relief.

Spike is hard.  Not just hard but hard.  And Xander will be there next, with his unswerving concentration and his touches and his getting everything right.

Xander runs his hand down the lean body, leaving it to rest momentarily on Spike’s belly as he continues the examination visually, fascinated by Spike’s cock, and not only for the places that it’s been.  Nicer than his own, Xander admits to himself, so perfectly proportioned, length by girth, and as attractively pale as the remainder of the alabaster body, except for the rosy pinkness of the glans.  The first touch, the back of Xander’s fingers stroking the underside, has that lovely cock dripping, and Xander is relieved because that has to mean Spike is getting off on this.

“Fuck me,” a whispered plea from the vampire confirms Xander’s assumption.

Xander stops.  Everything.  Waiting for the moment when Spike will look at him to find out what’s going on.  Spike will look, he’ll have to, and he does.  Oblivious to exactly how much Spike is enjoying this, Xander expects the throwing of ocular daggers because surely Spike wants this over and done with?  Surely?

Xander waits and Spike looks.

Spike is further unsettled by the expression on Xander’s face; uncertainty and longing.  There is longing and what’s that about?

It’s about this: Xander touches Spike’s face rather than his body and, unwilling or unable to meet Spike’s eyes, he focuses instead upon the vampire’s mouth.

Spike knows that Xander is going to kiss him and that’s quite daunting, a kiss is probably more intimate than the sex, and he can tell that’s what Xander wants, the man doesn’t want the sex without the intimacy and…  Suddenly they’re on the same page, because Spike knows that too well and doesn’t want it either, the sex without intimacy.

He wants this kiss, right now he wants Xander; his insides churn with that knowledge, and he’s more excited than he’s been for years.

There’s a slight hesitation when he fears that Xander might chicken out, but Xander is the reliable, tender, stubborn one, and if he’s made up his mind…

He’s made up his mind.

Xander has the courage, just about, to meet Spike’s eyes, and he sees a need there that he recognises.  His heart jumps.  Spike wants this.

And Spike is more irresistible than Xander is straight.

Their mouths meet and Xander’s tentative enquiry is met with an enthusiastic affirmative.

They kiss.

And kiss.

And kiss.

And they’re bloody good at it: a century of experience meeting honed natural talent.

Spike is aware that if Xander moves now it will all be over, and wouldn’t that mean mortification?  Brought off by a few, albeit incredibly erotic kisses from the glorified bricklayer.  Carpenter, Spike corrects himself, and that’s when he knows this is about more than a spell.  He’s willing to give himself over to the long-time loser that is Xander Harris because the man’s kisses can calm the beast and rouse the soul.

His hips tilt in invitation and Xander gasps into the latest kiss and responds, slowly enough to let Spike regain some control, slowly, slowly fucking their bodies into one mighty nerve bundle of pleasure.

Xander feels Spike’s hands on his shoulders, back, hips, butt, urging him on and he gives in to both the vampire’s earlier demands and temptation, and fucks.  Spike is ready, but he isn’t ready for this.  Spike thinks he’s going to be disappointed.  He isn’t.  This human is a Viking in the sack.  Hard, soft, slow, fast, demanding, teasing, winding, dipping, rolling, touching everywhere and it’s been far too long and Spike is coming whether he wants to or not, having his orgasm wrung from him so skilfully that he finally figures out the nature of his reward for saving this worthless world.

Xander holds back.  He watches Spike’s pleasure and is enthralled by the honesty of this creature, the sheer, unbridled, demonically-featured sensuality that is revealed as he bucks and groans and moans nonsensical words that may, however unlikely, be as affectionate as they sound.

Maybe not too unlikely, because Xander’s been loved for the sex before.

Xander holds back.  Despite being truly out of practise he still has the control and he holds back.  Giving Spike a few seconds to recover because the essential duty, the conforming to the spell, is about to become the ride of a lifetime.

“Hey,” he whispers, and Spike’s eyes open in a few blinks, yellow returning to blue.  Focusing with warmth and appreciation and desire and not a sign of rejection.  Either way.  “Hey,” Xander repeats, and Spike offers his mouth, having gotten the message.  Spike is being kissed gently, fucked considerately, and this is something he’s never known and it’s highly disconcerting.

Maybe Xander gets that because Spike finds his legs over Xander’s shoulders and his hips being gripped as he’s fucked like a demon.  He forces himself to peek and Xander’s watching him, studying him inch by inch, not eyes closed and pretending whoever.  Xander is fucking Spike, knowing it’s Spike, wanting it to be Spike, making this so damned good for Spike.  And Spike, no longer to his shame because this man is a bloody Viking in the sack, unselfconsciously morphs into his true face and comes again.

And in a minute or two, when he’s back on the planet, Spike’s going to flip Xander over and ride the come out of him with reciprocated enthusiasm.

For now he’s too zoned out to register tenderly inquisitive touches to the lumps and bumps of his vampire visage, but Xander doesn’t appear to be appalled or turned off, simply…tenderly inquisitive.

They’re certainly both too involved to bother hoping that this isn’t over when it’s over.

When they figure that out…

It’ll be a moment.

*****

Spike doesn’t wait to be asked or told or invited or seduced.

He’s taking Xander’s clothes off him as the human flounders over the simplest words, the way to say ‘I want you again’.

Xander could cry when Spike’s mouth sucks his cock into its cool depths, because this is so wrong, but if he can’t have this he’d rather be dead.  Not that he’ll be suggesting that to Spike and giving him ideas.  Wrong for so many reasons but Spike is more irresistible than Xander is straight.  Thank God.  Who most definitely doesn’t enter into it.

“Want to fuck you,” passionately from Spike and Xander is so far beyond saying no, or saying anything, so far beyond speech or rational thought or anything other than opening himself up and yelling in total elation when Spike takes him for the first time.  The first time of what he instinctively knows will be many.  Many many at that.

Wrong, but he feels more alive than he has done in a year.

Wrong, but it’s already too much, and more than, or…whatever.  Since the first kiss, old-fashioned romantic that Xander is and tries not to be.  It’s everything.  Spike can be everything.

Xander says stupid-action-without-sufficient-thought things when he comes.

Spike believes every one.

*****

“I want to come with you.”

Familiar words, unfamiliar theme.  Unfamiliar so far, but only time will tell.

“You can’t,” Xander tells Spike.

“Are you ashamed of me?”

“It’s not you I’m ashamed of, it’s myself.”

“Because of that bloody spell.”

“If I explain us I have to explain that.  Explain about trying to bring back Anya.”

“You know if it’d worked she’d never have put up with this.”

“I know.  That’s something else I’m ashamed of, the way I treat you.”

Spike is always distractingly sexy when he’s shocked.  Xander tries not to look at him being shocked in the hope they can finish this conversation outside of bed.

“You treat me well, Xander, you have from the moment you brought me back.”

“I should have been honest about you from the start.  It was bad of me to leave you out of everything.  If I’d told them straight away…”

“I’ll come with you this time, we’ll think of something to tell them…”

“More lies?”

“We’ll say…  That you’d gone back to Sunnydale to say a final goodbye to Anya, and that was the night the Powers chose to return me.”

“And when they ask why I didn’t tell them before?”

“It was my choice, I told you not to tell them.”

“They’ll ask why you’re with me.”

“That’s the one thing I want to be honest about,” Spike says resolutely.

“But that means they’ll know about the spell and…”

“Xander…  Xander, why are we together?”

“The spell.”

“Beyond getting me here, the spell has nothing to do with us.”

“We were bonded,” Xander stubbornly insists, “I was responsible for you.  I still am.”<