::::::::::::::::::
"Here, cancer boy. Catch." Xander tossed the carton he'd picked up on his way home at Spike.
Spike's palms closed around it as it arced over his head, and he pulled it down, turning it this way and that before glancing at Xander. "The hell's this?"
"Running low, aren't you?"
Spike shrugged. He held the carton slightly away from his body, looking back and forth between it and Xander. He looked like he was working out an algebra equation. "Yeah, but these ain't cheap--"
Xander headed for the kitchen. "Forget it." Was it so hard for the guy to say thanks? One little syllable?
Spike tagged him all the way to the fridge. "Should've gone to the corner mart. Tell Percy there you know me, he'll hook you up cheap."
Xander studied the few cans of pop left on the shelf. They looked lonely, just them in a big cold box. "I'm going out. Forgot to get--" He paused, trying to think of something he could have forgotten. "Baloney. Forgot baloney."
Spike blocked the door. For a slight guy, he did have the puffed-up looming intimidation thing down. "Baloney."
"What I said." Xander turned sideways thinking he could slink past.
What was he? Stupid? Spike caught his shoulder easily and turned Xander to face him. He was smiling, though, so that was something. Also shaking his head, bewildered and disappointed. "Give me some credit, will you?"
"Give you lots of credit," Xander mumbled. When Spike clucked his tongue, Xander looked up into his eyes. He wanted to blush, thought he was going to blush, thanks to the electric blanket, turned up high, that was wrapping itself around his guts and ribs. Maybe he *was* blushing. He just couldn't tell.
Spike lifted his hand from Xander's shoulder and brushed the hair out of his eyes. His skin felt cool and good, and Xander half-instinctively, half-deliberately butted his forehead into the touch.
::::::::::::::::::
Spike rested his palm against Xander's forehead before moving back to the table.
He must have moved too fast, because Xander crossed his arms and muttered, "Just trying to be nice. God."
Turning the carton end over end, Spike considered whether to take the bait. Slip into some cranky banter? Ignore it and light up? Distract, avert, avoid? He sat on the edge of the table, legs swinging, studied what the surgeon general had to say for himself, and mumbled some sounds that, taken together, could be said to add up to *thank* *you*. He was thankful; who wouldn't be, presented with ten whole packs of smokes, especially when one couldn't exactly make a run to the corner in the daylight? But it seemed like a waste of money, money he knew for sure now that Xander didn't have. No wonder he'd been hanging around the Slayer's so much lately, eating everything in sight.
He raised his head and saw Xander looking very deliberately at the far corner, lips pursed, whistling to himself. Shirtless, hair tangled and sticking out over one ear, pants loose on his hips and his cheeks flushed red: He could be a child, furious over a dessert denied because he didn't come home when called.
Spike yawned, more loudly than strictly necessary, then waited until Xander turned to see what was going on. Then, very deliberately, very slowly, he stretched, twisting at the waist and tipping he head back until his mouth dropped open. He hummed a little and raked his fingernails across the skin below his navel. Just to heighten the effect.
"Sleepy?" Xander asked. Quietly and tonelessly, but his eyes kept widening as Spike dropped one arm and scratched his shoulder blade. Faked another yawn.
"Hmm? Oh, yeah. *Sleepy*." Spike stood, gave another quick twist of the hips, and padded towards the bedroom. He didn't turn, but raised his voice a notch. "Coming?"
Xander's heartbeat thumped down the hall ahead of him and Spike grinned. It was an old trick, revoltingly transparent, but highly reliable.
He caught Xander at the edge of the bed and pushed him down, then kneeled between his legs.
"Spike--" Xander muttered as his fly was undone. "Kinda sore."
Spike nodded. "Wasn't sure if that was possible."
Xander cuffed him, just over the ear, but Spike caught his hand and pulled two fingers into his mouth. He ran his tongue over the pads, around the knuckles, back up to the pads, tracing the whorls, watching Xander's eyes widen and his mouth go into that slit that meant he was about to start panting.
Xander slid his fingers in and out, and Spike just held him loosely by the wrist, his other hand going down his pants. When his cock was out, he dove down and sucked until his lips drove against the webbing between Xander's fingers. "Yeah," Xander said. "Oh, god--"
His fingers crooked against Spike's tongue, dragging nails over tastebuds, twisting, rubbing the edges of molars. Hot and cold, Spike felt himself swinging fast between the two, vertigo flooding his head, as he bit down on Xander's knuckle, watching the boy jerk himself off. "Fuck, so good, Spike, want more--" and Spike could only nod, friction of his hand on his cock not enough, never enough, not with the heat and smell and sweat of Xander so close. He moaned and hummed around Xander's fingers as they scrabbled for purchase in his mouth, nearly slapping himself in the urgency of getting off, and when the heat finally got to be too much, the base of his spine melting fast, he felt himself start to come and looked at Xander, looked at him looking back, tongue poking from the corner of his lip. "You're coming," Xander said. Disbelief rang in Spike's ears as he fell back on his elbow, tearing himself off Xander's fingers, and his back arched and he shot. "Oh god, you're--"
He lay on the floor, knees still bent, aching and trembling as he watched Xander's eyes close, the wet fingers going to one nipple and jerking it, twisting hard. "You wanna come, Xan--"
Xander nodded desperately, losing the rhythm and groaning. "Want to. Need--"
"Just do it, pet--" Spike had trouble keeping his voice audible, let alone sensible. All his throat felt capable of was the odd mewling gurgle. Xander rubbed his engorged cockhead. "Come. It'll feel good. I want you to come--"
Xander's eyes flew open and his fist slipped back down his shaft. He was practically scraping the nipple off his chest.
"Want to see you," Spike said, struggling to sit back up. He grabbed Xander's head and laced his fingers through his hair. "Look at me when you come."
He tipped their foreheads together as Xander moaned. Red face, dark, gasping mouth, then Xander's head jerked back and Spike fastened his teeth on his throat, feeling the hot cum spatter his chest.
He rose and draped himself around Xander's prone form.
"Spike?" Scared little-boy voice again, one hand closing on air, not finding him.
He rubbed the cum on Xander's stomach and kissed his cheek, then the sweat along his hairline. "Sleep, pet, okay? Need your nap."
::::::::::::::::::
Everyone joked about being unemployed so they could take naps; Xander knew he'd heard the joke several times over the years on Comedy Central and the short-lived talk shows that run after the ones that run after Letterman or Leno. If stand-up had a cliche, that was definitely it. Along with jokes about French people. Hell, stand-up *was* a cliche, and he was just splitting hairs here.
Anyway. He liked naps. More specifically, he liked this kind of nap, where you slept because you could, not because you had to, out of exhaustion or paralyzing sadness.
::::::::::::::::::
Spike didn't want to be domesticated. He didn't want to have a place to come home to. He certainly didn't want a warm human waiting for him there with cigarettes and big brown eyes.
No, of course he didn't. Not in the least.
And for once, his reluctance had nothing to do with his reputation. His street cred, such as it was, had been trashed the moment he showed up on the Watcher's stoop with a chip in his head. It's time he accepted that, far past time, actually.
He watched Xander sleep, thought of beached walruses, whiskers, snores. He shook himself away from the temptation to ease into poetic musing. Tried to, that is. Lad had this thing he did, when he thought no one was paying attention. Where he pulled in one corner of his mouth, nipped down hard, then soothed himself with a quick massage of the tongue. Quick jolt of pain, then automatic comfort.
Xander's body responded and soothed while his mind stuttered, sputtered, and judged. One lulling, the other irritating: Spike had always known this. It wasn't a mystery, not something Xander could exactly hide, and that was all the more reason for Spike to stay away for years. The cleave had always made Spike wary as hell. Prickling hairs on the back of the neck, a cat's spine arched like a bow, that sort of wary. Spike had always had the choice to turn away or turn the tables, ignore Xander or jab back. Different now.
It'd be nice if soul and demon and self lived in some metaphysical South Africa, kept separate and hostile by apartheid, never meeting, always on the brink of war. Things would be clearer then. That way he'd *know* which part wanted this, which part reached out and touched that cheek that night and brought him here now.
Soul would be okay; smarmy, but he could take it. Not like he'd never been smarmy. Self? Better, much better; confusing, leading to all kind of further questions, but better. And if demon, then he'd know that he'd be celebrating the next sunrise in person.
Not like that, though, was it? No, everything had to be smeared worse than roadkill, and he was left alone with this mess and not even a plastic spoon to aid the clean-up.
Say, though, that he *did*. Did want something involving some kind of comfort and a particular human. Just suppose. What would he do next?
::::::::::::::::::
Xander liked to cook up theories. Definitely didn't like to *share* them, because of the weird looks they tended to get. Best to cut to the chase, if he could figure out what the chase was here. The cliche made it sound like the chase was a place, but he was starting to realize it was much more literal than that. Chase as in running breathless, not knowing where you're going, and *definitely* not wanting to look over your shoulder.
Over dinner, Spike looked kind of longingly at his burrito, and Xander passed him the rest. He wasn't hungry, and his stomach was doing hideous little jigs that Michael Flatley would *adore*. He didn't even bother cutting his eyes away and protesting when Spike squeezed the spicy bean filling into the rest of his blood and stirred it with his thumb.
"Hey, Spike?"
"What?" Spike was cleaning off his thumb with his tongue. Lucky blood.
"Ever think about--" Shit. 'Taking it to the next level'? Just a little too lame, even for him. 'Doing me'? Crude, which was good, but he'd probably crack up.
Spike blinked. "Don't know why you bother." He sounded harsh and tired, but not tired tired. They'd had like a five hour nap. Tired in that big existential way.
And that statement could be taken in lots of directions. Choices made Xander dizzy. Even forks in the road or multiple freeway exits made him dizzy. Completely totally open-ended statements? Hitchcock territory here. Especially coming from such an unhappy face. Xander sucked at his cheek and bit at it, thinking. In general, you didn't want to be around a sulky vampire. Just, you know, a good rule of thumb. But specifically when you're looking to get laid by said vampire? Very much not good.
He scooted his chair closer until his thigh pressed up against Spike's. Felt Spike tense, then press back.
"Want you," Xander whispered. He closed his eyes, starting to steel himself against whatever came next.
"Yeah." Spike sighed.
Xander turned and only opened his eyes when he was looking safely away. Steel was too soft to say just how he was feeling. Iron, maybe, wrapping around his chest and squeezing. Plus the ever-optimistic hard-on that had annoyingly sensitive Spike-dar. Flag went up every time he got within a foot.
Spike slapped his hand a little too hard. "'Course I *want* you," he said. "Don't be daft."
It was the 'of course' that got Xander. What of course? No of course. Never an of course.
::::::::::::::::::
Right, reassurance, then shagging.
Spike grabbed Xander around the bicep to stop the fidgeting, and when he looked at Spike, wide-eyed and surprised, there wasn't anything to say. He kissed Xander, hard, knocking teeth and shoving in his tongue, sucking out the chemical-burrito taste and diving in for a good long taste of Xander himself.
He felt the boy, man, whatever, didn't exactly matter right now, press against him and wrap an arm around his neck. Searing skin, and he was getting kissed back, tasting and swallowing tiny squeals and gasps.
When Spike pushed him away, rising from the table, Xander grunted. Spike tugged him up by the hair, grinning when Xander ducked to increase the pull, and shoved him into the hall. "Bed, now," and he could have sworn Xander's feet shuffled in an absurd little Bojangles jig before he took off.
::::::::::::::::::
Xander dove for the bed, rolling, trying his hardest not to giggle and not succeeding all that well. He wanted to clap when Spike paused beside the bed, took a long, long look at him, and then stripped off his shirt so slowly Xander could have counted the ribs if that part of his brain was working.
Spike tossed him the lube and crawled across the bed until he lay at Xander's feet, a tiny smile playing on his face.
Lube. Right. Which was for the guy who--? Xander tossed it from hand to hand and looked back at Spike. "Always kind of thought that you'd, y'know--"
"Always?" Spike leered. He rubbed Xander's thigh in long, hard ovals, getting closer and closer to the cock without ever quite reaching it. If he looked down too long, or concentrated too much on the sensation, Xander started going groggy. "Just how long is always?"
Xander pressed his wrist over his eyes. "We have to talk about this *now*?"
"You're the one who keeps bringing up 'always'."
"So we are." Xander shifted back, tugging Spike with him so he wouldn't lose any chance at the touch. He didn't mind so much, not really, but there was momentum to consider here.
Spike rolled on his back, tucking an arm under Xander's leg and tickling his thigh. "What?"
"Talking about it."
Spike blinked as Xander pinched the nearer nipple. "Talking about what?"
Xander sat up straighter, messily dislodging Spike. "Are you brain-damaged? Did you *think* to check that Iniative guy's license before he dug into your head?"
"What are you on about?" Spike cocked his head, as if he honestly had no idea and would quite appreciate any insight Xander might grant. He needed a kiss. Or a spanking. Maybe both.
"Jesus, Spike!"
"Which one?"
Xander tugged the hair over Spike's ear, feeling it crinkle against his palm, and shook his head. "You are *so* retarded."
"Nah." Spike shrugged. He winked and licked his upper lip. "I'm special."
"You're special," Xander said agreeably, patting Spike's hair like you would a beloved, farting old dog.
Spike ducked the hand reaching for his cheek. "Hey, now!"
Xander leaned forward, brushing his lips over the edge of one cheekbone. God. Even his skin tasted good. "You are. You're very, very special."
Slightly mollified, Spike accepted the ghost of a kiss. "Thank you. Now, where were we?"
Xander sighed and slumped back against the headboard. "I. Just. Don't. Know."
"Believe you were about to detail for me the deepest, sweetest, oldest fantasies you've had of buggering?"
"Was not."
Spike ticked his finger like a metronome, not accusingly so much as warningly. "Were. Involved massage oil, yeah? Little spray of flowers on your pillow for you to bite down on?"
Stupid as the images were, Xander's cock was throbbing again. Not that it had stopped, but it was *really* throbbing, kind of painful, ever since Spike's lips said 'buggering'. How embarrassing was it to be turned on by some old slang that even Giles probably thought was out of style? "Fuck you, Spike."
"Wanna?"
Xander didn't need to look up to catch the brow waggle and gratuitous hip thrust. But he did, and tried to suppress his grin. "Not so sure anymore."
"Oh." Spike dropped his head and drew slow lazy circles over Xander's chest. "Make love, then? Somethin' so slow and sweet you doze off in the middle?"
"No." He pushed back against the finger, because teasing was not nice, not when you were about to explode. Even if it felt--shit!--really good. Spike's lip quirked up a bit as Xander sighed.
"Good." Spike nodded primly, and Xander saw crowds of first-grade teachers applauding. "So--?"
"Let me think."
Spike slid off the edge of the bed and was in the doorway before Xander finished blinking. "Give me a call, then," Spike said, tugging on his shirt. "Might be able to fit you in after the apocalypse."
"Spike--" Xander studied the ridges of the floorboards, trying to ignore the flushed panic throttling through his chest and cracking each vertebra in turn.
"Yeah?"
The voice sounded a little too close to be real, and Xander closed his eyes. When a cool hand stroked the back of his neck, he dropped his head all the way down. This? Exactly why he shouldn't be allowed to talk. His arms felt thick and heavy, which was weird, because his chest was hollow and his breath felt very far away.
Spike touched him lightly, not saying a word. Some little part of Xander's brain told him how creepy he should think that was--both the touch and the silence. He knew he should just roll away and pull the covers up over his head. Maybe when he woke up, he could be alone again.
Two cold fingertips walked down his spine and around the curve on one shoulder blade.
"Which way, Spike?" he whispered. Good choice, he figured: quiet enough that he might not be heard, but in case he was, vague enough not to have to mean anything.
"What's that now?" Spike shifted around until they were sitting side by side, turning Xander's head so he couldn't avoid his eyes any longer.
"Who goes on top?" He honestly didn't know. He didn't know *anything*, but of everything he might need the answer for, this was one Spike could supply.
Spike shrugged. "Doesn't matter. More important question--to my mind, anyway--is whose cock goes up whose ass."
"Spike!" Xander flopped backwards, hitting the mattress hard.
"Xander!" Spike flopped on top of him. Wiggled a bit, scraping khaki on cock, and grinned. Licked up Xander's jaw and nibbled a bit. "Hm. 'scomfy down here."
Grabbing Spike by the elbows and giving a heave of energy he didn't know he had, Xander rolled them over. The fact that he *could* meant something. He wasn't sure what, since his brain was suffering a severe blood-flow deficit. Whatever it was, it was a good thing, though. He was pretty sure of that. He got his weight up onto one arm and wriggled against Spike's splayed out legs. He leaned down and got a big wet messy kiss that sent a flood of happy jingles down his legs and through his cock. "Comfy up here, too."
Xander thrust his hips experimentally. Spike was staring up at him, eyes hooded and lips drawn tight against his teeth. Xander went still at the sight. Bit his lip, and told himself not to look away.
Gradually Spike's expression loosened into an easy grin, and he slid his hand around the back of Xander's neck. Brought him closer and kissed his eyelids so lightly Xander knew he was about to lose it. "Just as you always dreamed, Mr. Harris?"
"Noooo--" Answer drawn out a little too long as Spike arched up and ran his tongue up Xander's throat. "Not quite. But it'll do."
