Xander couldn't watch; he'd seen enough. Spike stayed very still, but his mouth kept working as if he was talking, and sometimes his arm would shoot out, curl around the air, and drop back into his lap.
Xander stood beside Anya, his eyes closed, chin resting on his chest. Nothing about this was right. It was just like something Riley and his asshole buddies would have pulled, except they had much more hygienic conditions with lots of floodlights and restraints from the 20th century instead of those medieval ones he'd just hooked up. But when you got right down to it, it was the same thing: shove something in the chained animal. Watch it writhe; see what happened.
Afterward, he went upstairs. Checked on Dawn and made nice with Anya and listened to Andrew chatter about something. The whole time, his stomach roiled, hot and sour, and he wanted to get back to Spike.
When he did go back to the basement, though, he didn't know what to say.
Xander tried to stay still. His fingers kept drumming along the cement wall and he kept scuffing his toes through the dust on the floor. "So you're staying here?"
Spike glanced around, almost like he was trying to make up his mind. "Appears so. Dank, dark, none of the amenities. Suits me."
"I could talk to--"
"No."
"Okay," Xander said quickly, finding the edge of the table behind him and grabbing on.
"Guys?" Buffy on the stairs; when she hit the landing, she pushed the hair out of her eyes and smiled tightly. "Right. So surreal, not seeing the two of you going at it."
"Wha--?" Xander said, straightening up instantly, just as Spike demanded, "'Scuse me?"
Buffy looked back and forth between them, almost amused. "Because you've always been such *good* friends."
Spike snorted and stretched out one leg. "More on earth than's dreamed of in *your* philosophy."
Buffy crossed her arms and smiled for real this time. "That's it. You quote any more poetry and the chains are coming back out."
Xander raised his palm. "He'll be good!" Glancing at Spike, seeing the raised brow, he added, "Sorry. Better. He'll be better."
Buffy leaned back against the post and squeezed the bridge of her nose. "Look, I'm not a jailer."
Xander tried to do one of Spike's snorts. It kind of sounded like he was choking, but Buffy looked up anyway. "I'm *not*," she said. "Except for Andrew. And he could leave at any time. He just--"
"Doesn't," Xander said.
"No. Why is that?" Buffy asked.
Spike chuckled. They both turned to look at him and he shrugged. "Lad's got a crush."
Buffy shook her head. "Ew. Andrew?"
"Not on *you*," Spike said. "Harris here."
Xander swallowed. He really hoped Spike was bullshitting, but something told him he wasn't. But Andy? Annoying kid brother Andrew? It was like thinking about Dawn having a crush on a girl -- except, right, she did. So that didn't work.
Buffy's mouth worked a bit, puzzling it out, before she spoke. "No. No way."
Spike smiled. "Didn't say he had good taste."
"Okay--. No. Double no," Buffy said.
Xander watched Buffy's face set, the way her lips tightened when she made a decision. "Hey! I'm crushable." They both looked at him, and he knew someone was going to make a crack about his love of concussions, so he spoke more quickly. "Crush-worthy. Crushatonic?"
Spike shrugged and looked him up and down. "Sure you are."
"Xander? Xander." Buffy looked like she was actually giving the thought another chance. "Sorry. No. Still not computing."
"Hey!" Xander knew he could summon a bit more of his old, spluttery outrage. He was sure it was in there somewhere.
"So I'm staying here," Spike said. "That how it goes?"
Spike sounded completely weary again, and whatever energy Xander had been trying to find fled him now. He sagged back against the table and tried not to look interested.
Buffy rubbed her hand over her cheek. "I'm a...general. Not a jailer." She sounded as tired as Spike, which was probably pretty true.
"Isn't that lover, not fighter?" Xander asked.
Her smile was small and sad, and Buffy ducked her head for a second. "Never quite worked like that for me."
Spike coughed, making sure they were both looking at him before he grinned. "Seem to remember--"
"Shut up, Spike," Xander said. He knew all the lines by heart; he should have been able to take comfort in that. Everything lately was getting weirder and more fucked; something as reliable as needling Spike and defending Buffy's honor should have wrapped him up like a nice warm blanky.
Buffy smiled: Also part of the script. Except the expression was empty, her eyes narrow and unreadable. "All I'm trying to say is, not keeping you here. Don't think I could. I'm not going to try."
Spike braced his hands on his knees and stood. He and Buffy withdrew against the wall. He tipped his head down, standing really close. "Not going far."
Buffy gazed up at him. "No?"
Spike shook his head slowly. "No."
Xander turned away.
He found some doodad, the name of which he ought to know, on the table and fiddled with it.
Everything was different; it kept changing and falling out of place. He knew he should want it to go back the way it was, since he wasn't exactly winning any awards in the adjustment sweepstakes. But it'd be cooler if there was a third option, something totally different.
Plus, there was the whole grand romantic inconceivable-to-mere-mortal-carpenters love thing going down over there. He'd never been all that comfortable around that, whether it was the way Willow and Oz kind of gaped at each other like they'd never seen a human face before, or Angel and Buffy constantly whispering against each other after he got back from his summer break in Hell. It had taken Xander long enough to accept, however provisionally, that there was something like love between Spike and Buffy -- which wasn't to say that he still didn't have moments where it freaked the shit out of him, made his stomach roll acidly, made him question just what exactly love was if it meant getting the shit beat out of you and nearly raped.
So, maybe there was History, not Love, between them. Same difference. They knew each other in a way he couldn't imagine, good and bad, and he'd prefer to be upstairs, or outside, or anywhere else. History meant time, and he didn't have time. Wouldn't know what to do with it, anyway. He was here for the short-term. Always had been, even if the short-term had been going on seven years now.
"So just go to Robin's, okay?" Buffy said.
Xander dropped the screwdriver he'd been twirling between his fingers. "What?"
Buffy looked at him curiously. "Robin's going to watch Spike 'til you get back from work. What?"
"I thought he--. Why can't he stay here?"
Spike pushed away from the wall. "Buffy's right. I'm not staying anywhere near Dawn. Not after today. You go to -" He raised a brow and Xander held his breath. "'Work' and pick me up when you get off, yeah?"
Dawn was the trump card; Xander couldn't argue if it meant Dawn would be safe. Safe was an incredibly relative term, but still. "Sure, okay."
*
They didn't make him wear chains. Spike half-hoped they would. But they did lead him around, pass him from hand to hand, like an animal.
*
Xander spent the entire afternoon very, very carefully not thinking about love. Or sex. Especially not love *and* sex.
He cleaned, because there was nothing like scrubbing out the tub with half a can of Ajax to clear the brain of any and all thought.
He waited until dark before driving to Wood's house. Halfway there, he passed Spike. Walking alone, hands buried in the duster, traditional sneer on his face. He stopped in his tracks and didn't move until Xander stopped the car and backed up.
"Hey, buddy--" he started to say before Spike turned around. Something in the set of his jaw, the flat mean squint to his eyes, shut up Xander faster than anything ever had before. Xander reached over, opened the passenger door, and waited.
Spike didn't speak for five more hours.
"Love your mum, Harris?" he said finally, well after Xander gave up hope of ever hearing him talk again. He was sitting on the couch and Spike stood in front of the big picture window, forehead on the glass. He hadn't moved since they got back.
"Huh?" Xander twisted around. "What?"
"Simple question."
"Yeah, I guess so. Don't like her much, but--"
Spike turned around, arms folded. "Not much to like."
"True." Xander nodded. "Why, though?"
Spike shrugged; he still hadn't looked at Xander, and Xander knew there was no point in getting up and moving closer. He did anyway. The only way he was going to have a normal conversation - or what verged on normal for him these days - was if he pretended it was normal.
"It's always there, you know," Xander said. He leaned against the window, imitating Spike's posture, and sighed. "Underneath everything. You want to know what you did wrong. And then you want to figure out just how you could have done something wrong anyway. Since you were, y'know, only three. Or twelve. Whatever."
"Never did anything wrong," Spike said. "Not me, not then."
"So we're talking overcompensation?" Xander slapped him on the shoulder. Snaked his arm around Spike's shoulders - comfortador in action again - and squeezed, drawing Spike against him. "Makes a lot of sense. Makes a lot of things a lot, you know. More sensible."
"Fuck you, Harris." No heat there, nor did Spike draw away.
Xander rubbed his chin against the side of Spike's head. "That's where we were going, right? Eventually, that's where we always end up."
"Well, yeah, but--"
"But nothing," Xander said. Spike twisted out from under his arm and moved away. "But what?"
Spike rubbed his fist over his head like he could loosen out the thoughts. "Wanna tell me what's going on here?"
"Don't know," Xander said. Fairly cheerily, too, considering. "Think it's got something to do with prostate stimulation. Could be wrong, though."
"Right." Spike nodded. "Can do that. Not what I'm talking about, though."
Xander knew, pretty much, what he *was* talking about. Not really talking about so much as referring to. Glancing at, circling warily around: lion, chair, whip. Only it wasn't quite exactly something Xander can address either. He tried to once, or several times -- okay, over and over -- with Anya, and look how well *that* turned out in the end. Love and sex and the sting of Ajax under his fingernails.
"Um." He drummed his fingers on his thigh, so obviously buying time that it had to be endearing. "Maybe you should talk to someone? Like Giles, or --"
Spike snorted and pushed off from the wall, launching into a good hard pace. "Rupert? Last man on earth and so on."
Xander sighed. *Fuck*. "Yeah. Sorry 'bout that. Wasn't thinking."
"Not your fault--" Spike waved his hand and Xander felt like the annoying fly buzzing around.
"But see?" Xander asked. "That's like reason number one I'm not the guy for this. This, whatever. Talk."
"No?" Spike moved in close. Really close; hairsbreadth, that close. "Why's that?"
Xander backed up against the window. "Teeny brain," he said, trying to look away. Failing. "With, you know. Faulty wires. To a really big mouth."
"That's not it," Spike said, one fist running up and down Xander's side, knuckles rubbing and skipping over ribs. "Is it, Xander?"
"Isn't it?" Squeaky and breathless. He'd thought he liked hearing his name in that pebble-rough voice. He needed to reconsider. "See? Dumb guy, not following."
Spike's fist opened, flat of his palm slipping around between the window and Xander's back, fingertips stepping slowly up Xander's spine. "Not even close, no."
"Maybe a hint?" Xander was beyond dizzy; he passed dizzy as soon as Spike got in his face. Now he was new Jello, just in the fridge for about five minutes. Looked and felt quivery-solid, but that was just the skin. Really? Actually just liquid. He curled his fingers around Spike's waistband. For balance, he wanted to insist, to hold himself up. Spike gave out a little breathy groan and Xander did too because whatever the original intention, however noble or innocent he'd thought he was being, he seemed to have brought their cocks right up against each other and Spike's face against his neck.
"No hints," Spike breathed. "You're a smart boy, Harris. Work it out."
"What were we talking about again?"
Spike's head tipped back and he smiled slowly enough that it could qualify as a smirk. Xander couldn't decide. Too dizzy, flashing hot and warm in big hang-ten waves up and down his body, to work it out. "What's going on here. Question mark."
"Right. And why I'm not your guy. Not qualified at-- whatever."
"But you are," Spike murmured.
"But I hate you!"
Spike's brow went up just as his palm dipped down to squeeze Xander's ass. Xander sighed and rubbed slowly against Spike's crotch.
"I mean, I'm supposed to hate you. You know."
"Keep going." Spike squeezed again. Like that was supposed to be reassuring? Try distracting as hell. "Might be onto something here."
"You said no thinking," Xander said. "Remember? First night. And that was great. Loved you for that--"
"Really?" Spike drawled out two syllables into a long ribbon of sound, ironic and sexy all at once. "Intriguing. And here you were hating me a minute ago."
"See?" Xander said weakly. "Dumb guy. Little brain, big mouth."
"Mm-hmm. Nice, big mouth. Big, wet, *hot* mouth."
"Spike, what are you *doing*?"
"Thought we were working that out."
"No. Or yes. I don't know. Just you're all like predatory one second, then cuddly -- okay, not cuddly so much as gropey. Highly-- Ah! Gropey. Then talking. You know I can't follow."
"Think you can," Spike said. "Know you can."
*
Thing was, Spike *didn't* know what was going on. Whole fucking problem with the soul, wasn't it?
He knew enough to ask Xander because the lad obviously had something about him. Something made people trust him, and it wasn't superpowers or demonic possession or a good head for magic. He'd taken a millennium-old demon and turned her into a pretty good version of a human being. So he had *something*.
Hands on Xander's waist, he pulled the boy forward, walking them back to the couch. Xander's eyes roved, wide and wild, like a horse's. Spike could wait for an answer; he had enough time for *this*.
Spike let himself fall back, over the arm of the couch, pulling Xander on top of him, smelling everything Xander had felt all day long - worry, anger, lots of lust, and...bleach? A lot of chlorine - as he kissed his neck. Drowning in it.
"This-" Xander said but Spike kissed him on the mouth, stopping the words, earning a moan. Xander kissed back, tongue and teeth snapping against Spike's, one hand in his hair, tugging back his head. Spike felt Xander's knee nudging his legs apart and he let it happen. When Xander braced his hand beside Spike's head and rose a little, reaching down first for Spike's fly, then his own, Spike felt himself clutch Xander's shoulder, following him upward, desperate, unable to break the kiss.
Xander's tongue scoured Spike's mouth, his groans growing louder as he tugged out their cocks, grasping them firmly as he lay back down, covering Spike from face to ankles, thrusting against him, into his own hand, rubbing against Spike's chest faster and faster as their legs entwined. Spike held on to Xander's shoulder, sliding his hand down the hot, flexing muscles of Xander's back, grasping one asscheek and pushing Xander closer, as close as he could.
Xander buried his face against Spike's shoulder, groaning, his teeth closing on the flesh as they ground their hips together, trapping Xander's fist. Spike clutched ever-harder, sinking into the cushions.
Their eyes were open, staring at each other as Xander raised his head again, driving hard against Spike's thigh. Xander's cheeks were flushed, hair in his eyes, and Spike dug his nails into the back of the boy's neck, pulling him back down, kissing him hard enough that he nearly choked.
Far, far past the time to get clothes off, and they both knew it; Spike just arched his back, clinging furiously to Xander's heaving torso, and thought - for a flash, half a second before that mouth slid off his and skated over his cheek - that he could well be hanging on for dear life. It made him laugh, uproariously, hysterically, as he twisted his hips against Xander's arm, fucking himself into the boy's hand and skin like he could grind himself away. Mortar and pestle, he thought, one more time, before he felt his spine drop several stories and his balls tighten past bearing.
Spike drove his head back into the cushion, thrusting up, coming all over Xander's hand, as Xander shook above him, teeth on Spike's ear, shudders contorting his body until he, too, stiffened and shot.
"*Fuck*, Xander -" Spike said.
Gasping, Xander lapped messily at the bite mark on Spike's shoulder. "This is what I'm good at. Good for."
"I know," Spike said. "Why I'm here."
Each just assumed that the other knew what he meant.