::::::::::::::::::
June, huh? So he had at least a couple months.
Wedged in between the porch railing and Spike's chair, Xander sat in the dark, nursing the bottle of lukewarm beer. He wasn't sure if Spike was asleep or just lying there like, well, a dead man. Either way, he didn't want to bother him, nor did he really feel like leaving. The noise from the house sounded like water moving, a ways off, just out of sight, voices slipping over and under each other. If he kept his eyes closed, he couldn't distinguish which voice belonged to whom, or what they were saying.
He may have dozed off, or maybe it's all the carbs he had just inhaled, but when the door opened, widening the arc of light in his eyes, he felt like he came back to his body. As if he'd been away, floating somewhere, and the light shoved him back inside clammy skin and flesh. His hand still rested on Spike's arm. It looked comfortable there, felt warm and heavy, and he didn't think he could move it.
Sure, he thought about moving it, remembered distantly that touching Spike on Buffy's porch was probably not of the comprehensible, but it felt nice. He knew that much.
So he just looked at it, admiring his tan against the shadowy ivory of Spike's skin, wondering vaguely where he learned to think of someone's skin as 'ivory'.
A narrow shadow, a new one, darkened his sight, and he had to shake himself out of the mood. Squinted up and saw Dawn there, crouching on the other side of the chair. She cocked her head, hair curtaining over most of her face so he couldn't read her expression.
"Hey, Bit," Spike said. Xander jumped. Spike hadn't moved, hadn't given any sign of being there except his voice. "What's wrong?"
Dawn knelt and tipped her head against the arm of the chair. "Guys," she said. "Sorry to, y'know, interrupt."
Spike braced his weight against one hand and somehow, using some source of strength and balance Xander could only marvel at and envy, lifted himself up and back until he was sitting in the chair normally. He pulled Xander's hand with him, never breaking the touch.
"Not interrupting," he said. "What's wrong?"
Dawn shrugged. "You guys going back to the apartment?"
Xander coughed. Either Dawn was incredibly dense, which really wasn't possible, unless she'd been hit on the head as many times as he had and he'd never noticed, or she was so perceptive that it was scary. Neither option made him very comfortable.
"Maybe," Spike said. "Why?"
"They're watching movies tonight," she said. "Stupid girl movies with cheerleaders and stuff."
"Sounds fun?" Xander offered. Spike shot him the good old 'shut up, Harris, before I start plotting your death in earnest, beginning with your nads' look. "What? I like cheerleaders. They encourage cheer. And spirit."
"Cheerleaders are evil," Dawn said. Her eyes narrowed, glaring at him, and it wasn't fair that she got made out of Buffy, and therefore got all the scary intimidation tactics, too.
"Yeah, got me there." Xander grinned, attempting to deflect the glare. "But you gotta admit, they're hot."
"Shut up, Harris."
"Yes, sir."
Dawn's eyes went back and forth between him and Spike. She looked like old-time Giles, when he was amused and pointedly keeping quiet, and, yeah, it was creepiness personified to realize that she wasn't a kid any more. Okay, never had been, literally, a kid, but--. Xander sighed. He always got into impossible mental mazes when he tried to think about Dawn.
"Right, then," Spike said. "No cheerleaders for you. Fancy a night of cards and Harris's disgusting junk food?"
Dawn smiled for the first time, and Xander knew she was going to bounce before it started. Yeah, there she went.
"I don't play poker," Xander said.
"I know games other than poker, dolt."
"Yeah? Like what? Euchre?" That's what they played in Jane Austen movies, he thought. Except he tended to fall asleep during those, so maybe he just made that up.
"No, not euchre." Spike scowled. "Like, um, War. And Asshole."
"Perfect," Xander said. "Why am I not surprised those are your games?"
Dawn giggled and bounced up. "So it's okay? I can come with, and I won't be getting in the way?"
She didn't wait for an answer, and ran full-tilt into the house.
Xander wanted to sigh. He felt really old for some reason. He gripped the arm of the chair, ready to pull himself up when Spike grabbed him by the back of his neck.
"Hey!" Whatever he was going to say got lost as Spike pulled him in and kissed him hard, driving his tongue over Xander's. He felt the tingles zap down his body, melting his bones. Spike sucked on the tip of his tongue as Xander's hands fisted and released his shirt. He could hear his heart pounding, saw his vision going dim and blurry around the edges, and thought he was going to pass out when Spike finally released him.
"Fnnh," Xander said. Spike was grinning at him. "What the fuck, Spike?"
"Nothing." Jesus, that smirk was infuriating. Sexy as hell, but really annoying.
Xander tightened his hold on Spike's shirt, tugging the fabric up. "What was that for?"
"What, I need a reason?"
"A minute ago you were Mr. Comatose, before that doom-and-gloom, now this. I get to be confused. Confusion is mine."
"Yeah," Spike said. "You've cornered that market, definitely." His hand on Xander's neck squeezed, then rubbed the skin roughly.
Xander leaned in and kissed him lightly, just pressing his pursed lips against Spike's slack ones, running the tip of his tongue along the sharp curves of Spike's lips, back and forth. //Two can play this game.// Spike shivered under his hand, pressing up, and Xander wanted to laugh. He pressed him back down and kept up the light licking, little random swirls and patterns, until Spike squeezed his neck and pulled him forward, sucking Xander's mouth into his. Xander wanted to take his time, wanted to taste the odd citrusy cool of his mouth all over again, but Spike was twisting and moving under him, pulling him forward and deeper. Moaning into his mouth, around his tongue, vibrations in tune with the blood thrumming in his cock, and there was no time left--
"Okay, now that's just gross!"
//Shit-Fuck-Crap-Holy-Crap// Panic surged through Xander, huge flashing trails of trembly panic, and it kind of felt exactly like horniness flooding his body, which wasn't good, because now he was doubly horny, looking up blindly as Spike's teeth way-too-slowly released his bottom lip.
Dawn loomed over them, hands on her hips, grinning.
//Grinning?//
Xander shook his head and tried to think: Never a bright prospect at the best of times, and now? Damn near impossible. But she *was* smiling, and when he thought about it, her voice hadn't been all that loud.
"Are we going or what?" Dawn checked her watch. "Or should you get a room? We could do poker night some other time." She fake-pouted; she'd obviously learned much from the duelling masters, Buffy and Spike.
Spike unfolded himself bonelessly and rose, running a palm over his hair. "Let's go," he said, and tugged his shirt down to something more modest.
Xander leaned against the chair, rough wood prickling against his over-sensitive skin. He would have liked to knock his forehead against the wood.
"Coming, Harris?"
Xander groaned.
::::::::::::::::::
Waiting for permission, Dawn had her arms crossed and wore her worst glare, trained now on her sister, but ready at a moment's notice to sweep over to Willow. "It's not a big deal."
Buffy sighed, and it was getting really hard for Dawn to keep up the glare, because she looked so thin and worn. She looked like Mom when the headaches first hit, as if she were grinding her teeth together, desperately trying to hold herself up and look normal.
"Look," Dawn said, dropping her arms and the glare; like Buffy needed something else hurting her just now. "Sorry. But it's safe. I'll be safe with Xander. And if Spike's there--" //Nice! Their secret's safe with me.//
Willow touched Buffy's shoulder. "She's right. She'll be okay."
Dawn nodded wildly. ListentoherListentoherListentoher: She tried to send it telepathically, but the others never picked up on her messages, which wasn't fair for any number of good reasons. "Probably safer there than here, right?"
Crap. That was the wrong thing to say; Buffy looked like she was about to collapse. Her eyes were ringed with dark skin, like bruises, only permanent. But she shook herself, brushed hair from her eyes, and nodded. "You're right." Her voice was scratchy and tentative. "Go with Xander, and you'll be--"
"Okay! Thanks!" Dawn hugged Willow and Buffy at once, knocking their heads together. "Sorry, sorry."
Willow squeezed her hand and Dawn grinned at her for a second before rushing out.
::::::::::::::::::
Spike couldn't lose himself in the moment like he used to be able to. For a century, it had been so easy to ignore time; what did he need with time? He barely needed to sleep. All he really needed was to feed, and given the innate credulity of humans, that was never going to be a problem. But now he had the soul, and with it came time, and he had forgotten how slow and frustrating time could be. He'd noticed it first on the ferry from Cape Town, where he shivered in the hold, listening to the bilge slap and recede around him: minutes ticking past, and they were no longer his own.
Dawn helped, though, helped ease him out of the moment. And he'd never say so, because, damn it, he was still evil, but Xander did, too. The two were more alike than anyone thought, warm and sad and hopeful, with big cartoon eyes and shy smiles. And for some reason they both seemed to like him just fine. Spike felt himself losing track of time, finally, lying across Xander's couch, clutching his cards to his chest, watching Dawn elbow Xander when he tried to steal her turn.
The flat was lively again, and Spike knew it was temporary, only an effect of Dawn, because without her the boy would probably sink back into whatever overblown, grandiose melancholy he'd cooked up for himself this time.
//Which you, of course, know nothing about.// And fuck all if the soul was meaner than a rabid cat. Correct, sure, but dead mean.
"Yo, soulful." Xander slapped his leg.
"Hmm?"
"Your turn, Mr. the Bloody."
Dawn laughed as Spike shook himself into awareness and squinted at the cards. "Out of it much?"
"He's brooding all the time now," Xander told her. "I think he's trying to pull an Angel, 'cept with his build, I'm not sure it can be done. He's a pretty skinny little man."
"Not to mention the hair," Dawn said. "It's not nearly pointy enough. Hey, you should call him! Ask for tips!"
"Grr. Sod off." The suits and numbers were swimming before his eyes and, blinking, he rearranged the cards rapidly. "What're we playing again?"
"Gin," Dawn said. Xander smirked and Spike smirked back.
"Right. Okay then." He rapped his knuckles on Xander's head, discarded, and spread out his cards. "Gin. Ha."
Spike lay back on the couch, arms folded under his head, while the humans grumbled and gathered up the cards. Dawn got up for ice cream and Xander bounced in front of the stereo, twisting the radio dial, muttering about never getting anything good on. Dawn shrieking to leave it there, and dancing around the living room, pulling Xander with her. Stumbling and giggling, Xander dipping Dawn, nearly dropping her.
Warm, silly humans. His humans.
He used to think love was singular: Cecily, then Dru, then Buffy. One person at a time in the queue. No room beyond the one. That's what everyone said it was; but now he loved two. Of course, he also used to think he was a Master of Evil and Chaos.
Things change.
::::::::::::::::::
Bedtime, but Dawn hovered in the doorway, bouncing again. "You want a story? Water? How about warm milk?"
"Go away, Dawnie." Xander covered his eyes with his arm to block the light from the door. Too bright, and his sugar high was wearing off, leaving him cranky and faintly jittery. It didn't work, so he raised his head from the pillow and tried to glower at her, summoning all the authority of Mr. Cleaver or Red Foreman to speak to her. "Go to bed."
"Not a bed," she said. "It's a couch."
"Go to couch, then," Spike said, emerging from the bathroom.
"Can I have a kiss?"
Spike kissed the top of her head, smoothed her hair, and spun her around. "Sleep tight, sweetheart."
"Xander?"
"Yeah, Dawnie?"
"Can I have a kiss?"
"C'mere." She was there faster than he could have thought possible, kneeling on the side of the bed, pressing warm, dry lips on his forehead. "Night, Dawnie."
"Night." She was pulling the door closed, so the light wasn't so bad. Xander rejoiced too soon; Dawn's head poked back inside. "And I don't want to hear anything gross, got it? I'm young and impressionable and it just wouldn't be right."
Spike closed the door and Dawn yelped, yanking back, just before it hit her head. "Goodnight, Dawn."
"I'm serious!"
"So am I," Spike said. "This thing lock, pet?"
Xander sat up on his elbow. "Heh. Pet." Spike scowled. "Sorry. There's a little thing in the knob. Don't know if it works, though. Or how well." He watched Spike fiddle with it until, satisfied, he turned and crawled up the bed beside him. Cool weight of Spike against him, smelling like toothpaste. "You're not going to try anything, are you?" Whispered, as if they were out past their curfew and about to get caught.
Spike kissed his shoulder, his mouth wet and cold. "No." Husky whisper, and Xander tried very hard not to moan. His hand crept over Xander's chest and flicked a nipple. "'Course not."
"Good," Xander said, throwing his arm around Spike's waist. "Because that would be, you know, gross." His fingers trailed down Spike's back, rubbing lazy circles and figure eights as Spike licked his way along Xander's collarbone. Xander spread his fingers and kneaded the tight, corded muscles in the small of Spike's back.
"Xander?" Spike's head lifted up, and darkened eyes were staring at him.
"Yeah?"
"Want you." Spike's eyes went hooded as his stare dropped away, and he sounded faint, almost embarrassed. Xander covered Spike's hand with his own, squeezing the cold skin, feeling suddenly how delicate, almost bird-like, the bones were, and guided it down over his hardon until Spike gasped. Once, shortly, and Xander shuddered at the sound.
"Mm-hmm," Xander said. "Feeling's mutual."
