splash image of Xander





16.

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Xander's warm human mouth on Spike's face, sweet and wet, kissing in counterpoint to his dry, ragged thrusts: It wasn't supposed to feel like this, was never supposed to feel *good*. Get him off, yeah, of course. But this--

The phone was ringing. Of course the bloody phone was ringing.

"Don't tell me you're answering that," Spike said.

Xander squinted dopily at him.

"'Course you are. Silly me."

Xander pushed himself up off of Spike and rolled, hitting the bedside table, knocking the phone to the floor, his arm flailing after it.

"Ow! Fuck!" He whacked his hand against the table. Gripped it in the other hand, shaking his head. "Stupid fuckin--"

Spike slid around Xander and retrieved the receiver from the floor.

"Hospital for the Terminally Clumsy."

"Spike?" Hoarse, reedy voice: Buffy. "Is that you?"

Spike swallowed and wondered briefly when his night vision got so bad. He could barely see a thing. "You want the boy?"

He didn't wait for her to answer, just handed the phone over.

"Buff?" Xander sounded about as normal as Spike himself: not much. Breathy with arousal and the pain of rapidly swelling knuckles. "What's up?"

Spike bent over Xander's lap to get a better look at his hand. Two knuckles already puffy, shallow scrapes welling with blood. He felt his stomach twist; not with hunger, although Xander would never believe him, but something else. Strong and sharp as a Slayer's fist.

::::::::::::::::::

"--just too much, and then Vi did--"

Xander tipped the receiver from his ear as Spike rose abruptly and stalked slowly out of the room. His shoulders were drawn up and tensed, arms straight and rigid at his sides. The light from the living room picked out the vertebrae in his neck like a cop's flashlight.

"Sorry. Go back over that again," Xander said. She sighed and he craned his neck, trying to see what Spike was up to. "Sorry. You were saying something unmentionable got in the disposal?"

"Gist of it, yeah," Buffy said. "Plus, Andrew's freaking."

Xander wondered why Andrew hadn't called; a backed-up garbage disposal hardly qualified for Slayer-attention. "You doing okay?"

Sigh again. Then something suspiciously like a sniff. "D'know. Something's off, you know? Got the slayer tingle going like all the time now."

"Oh yeah?" Xander sat up straighter. "Makes sense, though. Lots of shit going down--"

"Right. Probably all it is. Just--" Buffy stopped and Xander heard something scrape across the receiver, then distant voices, words he couldn't make out. He stood up, bringing the phone with him, and went to the doorway. No sign of Spike. "Xan?"

"Still here. So, Spidey-sense?"

"I gotta go, actually," Buffy said. "Forget it. Probably nothing."

Xander hung up and held the phone in his lap for a long time.

::::::::::::::::::

Different.

They'd told each other it was different now, they were different now, everything was different. Spike got the soul, Xander got dumped: Different.

The word meant far too many things to be of much use here. Spike knew things were different, knew he was different, both on his own and, especially, when he was around Xander. That didn't mean he wasn't also who and what and how he used to be.

He heard her voice in his head. It *was* her, it was a memory carved into tissue by blazing neurons, it was not anything false. He wasn't anyone's marionette at this particular moment. For one thing, Buffy wasn't saying anything to him: he could simply hear her voice, the singular quality underlying whatever she happened to say. So this sensation was not an effect of the First. It was evil, yeah, because he was, is, will be evil, but not Evil. Important distinction, that.

"Yo, little guy. Snap out of it."

Xander stood in front of him, snapping his fingers in Spike's face, and shook his shoulder gently with the other hand.

"Nothing," Spike said. Except Xander hadn't asked anything, just looked at him. He straightened his posture. "Everything okay on the home front?"

Spike had been leaning his side against the wall, staring blankly at the curtains while listening to Buffy's voice. He rolled now until his back was pressed against the wall so he had a better view of Xander. Xander shrugged. His hand moved from Spike's shoulder to cup his neck. "Never thought I'd live to see the day," Xander said. "Where *I'm* the option for mature adult grown-up conversation."

Xander's thumb worked over Spike's collarbone, the skin and the touch as warm as rain.

"Wonders never cease--" Spike began, but Xander's palm slipped down his chest, angling over to pause against his sternum, then sliding over one pec. Spike pressed back against the slightly damp warmth. "Ah--"

"Hey." Xander fanned open his fingers and scraped the tips lightly against Spike's skin. "You okay there?" He sounded gentle, coaxing: Spike had heard the tone plenty of times with Bit, and Anya, too. Used to make him smirk.

How many different responses to that question? He could break it apart, worry and gnaw each word into tiny gristly pieces. *You*. Which you? Who and what? He counted as a "you" only here, in Xander's face; absent, he'd no longer get to be "you", he'd slip into the general "him". *Okay*. Not a very strong word at all, a fairly mealy-mouthed, milk-toasted word. What kind of feeling was "okay"? Good, passive, fine, indifferent, not yet dust? *There*. He was some place other than Xander; pointed out, indicated from Xander's location. Elsewhere, possibly distant.

"Guess what?" Xander whispered, his arm going around Spike's waist, edging in between skin and wall, gathering Spike towards him like a dance partner. "It doesn't matter."

Spike tipped his head back and saw the dark eyes moving steadily over his. "Don't even know what I--"

::::::::::::::::::

Spike sagged for half a second against him, and Xander tightened his hold, feeling the thick cord of muscle curving from ribs to hip stretch against his palm.

"Sure I don't," Xander said. "Still doesn't mater. Still here, you and me."

Spike's eyelids fluttered shut. "Here, eh?"

"Yep. Here. You--" He squeezed Spike's waist. "And me. Here."

Xander was calm. This happened a lot, probably more often than he noticed, but it still always felt a little alien and slightly wrong every time it did happen. If he thought about it long enough, he could probably start worrying *about* feeling calm. He could get a good lather going, really work himself up so he was frazzled and babbling and back to what passed for normal. But--. Nope. Still calm. He didn't want to bounce and sputter. Weird as this feeling was--calm, still, and uncertain, but not worried--he liked it. He'd never presume to believe that things could always feel like this, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy it a little longer.

"Xander?" Spike asked.

"Yeah?"

"What's it like in there?" He tapped Xander's forehead with his forefinger.

Xander gave him a half-smile and sighed. "Messy. Lots of nooks and crannies."

Spike nudged them forward with his hips--not a thrust, Xander realized, just a little nudge. Suddenly he was grateful for those swing lessons, because he could follow Spike's lead smoothly, stepping backwards without tripping. "Nooks and crannies?" Spike asked.

The arm of the couch met the back of Xander's thighs as he answered. "Yeah. For, like, hiding things. Stowing 'em away. Fortress of Solitude, you know?"

"Secrets, yeah." Spike nodded sagely. No one ever got Xander's awkward comics references, but a really old vampire did? Then again, Spike *did* watch a lot of TV. "Ever have a treehouse?"

"No." Xander sat down heavily on the couch's arm. "Wanted one, though. For *years*. Kinda still do, actually." Larry Blaisdell had had the world's best treehouse: trapdoor in the floor that you climbed up through, two bunks for overnights, shelves full of all the Ewok crap he'd been so addicted to for a while, a periscope that went through a hole in the roof, and a whole network of pulleys for hoisting supplies and food up from the ground. "What about you? Did they *have* treehouses in the Dark Ages?"

Spike blew a light raspberry, more an acknowledgment than a real reply, and cocked his head. "Had a playroom," he said. His finger moved down Xander's cheek, around, the curve of his cheekbone. It felt shivery, not quite real, like when you're still waking up and can't tell if you're still dreaming or really thinking yet. "Up in the attic of the house in town. Dormer windows, lots of toys."

"Nice." Right, he wasn't going to get jealous of some Victorian kid, was he?

Spike smiled and tapped Xander's nose. "Liked the linen closet better. Drove my mum batty, the way I'd never play proper."

Xander tried to picture that. Then he realized they were actually having a conversation; sure, there was touching, but he didn't have anything against touching. But they were talking, too. Several jokes came to mind about playing proper, and closets, but they were in his head the same way the formula for triangles was. Just floating there, useless and easy to ignore. Right, so little Spike and his mum. Was it sick that, for whatever reason, he was seeing Buffy in that duchess costume from their first Halloween shaking an angry finger at a kid with punked-out hair dressed in velvet knickers? Definitely sick.

"Had this space in the wall," Spike was saying, "right to the back, behind the molding. Kept all my treasures back there."

Warmth--literal and soft as steam--flooded Xander, spilled down his legs and swirled around his chest. "No fucking way!"

Spike leaned back, scarred brow going up. "Ev'rything all right there?" Despite the classically snarky face, he was voice was still quiet.

Giddy and hot, all fizzy like--there probably wasn't carbonated hot chocolate, but that's the only way Xander could describe how he felt. He wanted to do the Elaine Benes 'Get *out* of here!' shove of disbelief, but he was grinning too hard. "Yeah! Just, just-- Holy shit, Spike. Could kiss you--"

Quiet and patient: "What're you waiting for, then?"

Xander yanked Spike's face close and kissed him, hard and eager. Giddy and nearly-hyper; he couldn't remember kissing anyone like this since Cordy. And that had been out of pure hyper excitement over kissing *anyone*. This was just pure happy kissing. Spike's cool soft tongue on his, slurping and sucking, and it was like he was laughing but instead of sound, the laugh was this kiss poured into Spike. He dug his fingers into Spike's hair, gasping, weak, feeling gravity break up, dissolve like Alka-Seltzer, until he was about to tumble backwards.

Spike steadied him and broke the kiss gently. "Like that, yeah," he said. Xander's face was hot and stiff from grinning and kissing. "What's so funny?"

"I had this--" Xander stopped and pulled Spike back up against him, wedging his fingers into the belt loops on Spike's jeans. He didn't want this rollicking fizz to die away, and knew without having to think about it that only contact, a clear close-up of Spike's face (highly amused, he was pretty sure), and the taste of Spike's spit smeared over his lips could prolong it. "This closet, when I was little. Probably used to be the linen closet. And I kept stuff in there, right? Under one of the floorboards. Like-- pennies I found. Rocks. Gary Carter's rookie card from the Expos-- he's got the coolest 'fro there." He paused, realizing that Spike was frowning suddenly. "What?"

Spike glanced up. "What? Nothing. Go on. Hoarding stuff?"

"Yeah. Like-- like secret stuff, right?"

"Exactly." Spike gave him a grin. Xander ran his tongue over his lip, tasting Spike, and grinned back.

"You too?"

"Yeah," Spike said. "Could point out probably every little kid does that. But I won't."

"Sure. But--" Xander squeezed his eyes shut until Spike pinched his cheek. "I'm not every little kid, though. You know?"

"I know," Spike said. Xander wished words were his friends, the way they were for Spike. Spike could say exactly what he meant, make it clear, and it was always efficient and simple. Maybe it was just because Spike took words seriously, so he could hear 'you know', which everyone said, it didn't really mean anything, but he could answer confidently. He *did* know.

"Thanks," Xander said. "And you know what else?"

"What's that?"

Spike was being really patient with him. Xander liked it, so he didn't want to think too hard about why. He looked away, over Spike's shoulder, squinting until the picture on the wall fuzzed all the way out of focus. "Thanks for not making the obvious comments about closets."

He heard Spike chuckle and ducked his head.

"Which one?"

"Huh?"

"There's two, far as I can make out. There's the come out, come out, wherever you are closet--" Spike brushed the side of his hand back and forth over Xander's crotch and his cock responded instantly, twitching rapidly. Xander sighed; he really wanted to concentrate on this. "Or there's the hide the psycho vamp in the closet and call it his room to humor him closet."

Xander tried to wiggle out from under Spike's hand. "The second one," he whispered. "Sorry."

Spike pressed his lips against the hair falling over Xander's forehead. "Perfectly understandable, pet." He stroked Xander's cock again and it reawakened. "Yeah, called you pet. Get over it."

"Still sorry," Xander mumbled, but he felt his smile creeping back, along with some of the calm. Spike's hand skated upwards, over his waistband, tickling his belly button, and settled around his ribs. His thumb rubbed Xander's nipple. Xander glanced down. "Still, um--" He looked up, but since his head was still down, he could only see slices of Spike's face between clumps of hair. Spike looked back at him and drew his thumbnail lightly over the base of the nipple. When Xander inhaled, it felt like he hadn't breathed in a really long time. "Still want to?

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Spike wanted this; couldn't remember *not* wanting anything this much, not recently. But wanting was a starkly different thing from needing. Let alone getting.

"Sit down, okay?" Xander said, and Spike let him lead him back into the bedroom. He really was a sorry excuse for a soul, let alone a fucking demon.

Xander pushed him gently down onto the edge of the bed and sat next to him, legs folded up, leaning forward.

Spike passed his palm over his eyes. Wished they could just be kissing again, not processing whatever load of guilt he'd managed to come up with this time. Everything was out of proportion: somehow Buffy's voice hurt just as much as remembering that he used to go through Xander's box of secret stuff down in the basement.

"Hey--" Xander said and touched Spike's knee. "Not a big deal, okay? This gets to be a big deal, we're both screwed."

"Or *not* screwed, actually," Spike said.

Xander regarded him, eyes moving slowly over Spike's face, hand resting on his calf. A smile spread slowly over his face -- widening his mouth, crinkling around his eyes, knitting then raising his eyebrows.

"Good one," Xander said. Spike watched his face, watched the way the light striking his eyes made the brown go brassy. Saw how thick the black ring was around the pupil, how it faded into charcoal, then ash, when it met the white of the eye. Xander leaned and knocked Spike's shoulder gently with his own -- the typical guy-among-the-guys gesture of impressed acknowledgment for a quip well made. Only very slow and soft.

"Didn't mean to go all blushing virgin back there," Xander said as he rocked back. "Sorry 'bout that." He slid his hand under Spike's and pressed upward, so their palms rose together.

"'sall right," Spike said. He tried to clear his throat, suddenly conscious of how close and dry it felt. He succeeded only in rasping out a shallow cough, and thumped pointlessly on his chest with his fist. "To be expected."

Xander grinned. "Not listening. I *apologized*."

"Yeah."

"Spike. Said I was sorry. Shouldn't have put it all on you."

"Erm?"

Xander looked impatient and embarrassed as he licked his lips and squeezed shut his eyes. "It wasn't fair," he said slowly. "So I'm, you know, sorry."

Spike shuddered as the breeze picked up through the open window. "Fair enough. Though I'm the--"

"Grown-up?" Xander grinned. "You're not pulling the whole age technicality on me, are you?"

"What? No." Jesus, he felt about as quick on the draw as his beloved sire. Xander could scramble anyone's brains, he'd known that for a long time, but prided himself on a relative immunity. Remove the boy's clothes, however, snog him fairly regularly, and apparently Spike himself was just as susceptible as the rest of the world.

"Good."

"Yeah?"

Xander nodded enthusiastically. "Not a kid, Spike."

"I know that." He was well and fully, arse-up, knickers blowing in the wind, scrambled shit for brains *confused*. Xander had him worked into a corner he never would have dreamed had existed. "What're we talking about again?"

"You being an old man," Xander said. He fell backwards, tugging Spike by the arm down on top of him.

"Old?" Spike knew this usually required a growl of some sort in response. He was distracted, however, first by the latest turn taken by Xander's ever-surprising mind, and now by the lovely view spread out below him. Full lower lip, tongue-tip peeking from the corner. Shadow of stubble of in the dent over his chin. He shook himself. "Old man?"

"*Dirty* old man, yeah." Xander scratched his fingers up the length of Spike's back, shivers catching the sultry voice he was attempting to use. Spike grinned and decided to wait this one out. "Corrupting the young and innocent."

"You're not innocent."

Xander batted his lashes. Absurd as it was, Spike found himself enjoying the sight. "I'm *very* innocent. Pure as the driven snow."

"No," Spike said, shaking his head. "Sorry, sweetheart."

"I am!" Xander shoved his shoulder and Spike just held still, matching his grin.

"No innocent gives head like you," Spike said. Surprise, then embarrassment, then a sudden flush of pride passed over Xander's face as quick as water flowing. "Trust me."

Xander took a breath, and Spike settled in for a long wool-gathering session on the pup's part. So he was pleasantly surprised when Xander caught his eye a moment later. "Told you. I'm a fast learner."

Spike nodded. "That's right, you did. You are."

"Yeah," Xander said. He tightened his hold on Spike, resting his hands on the small of his back and pulling him closer. "So. Teach me something else, old guy."

The sultry voice worked this time.





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