::::::::::::::::::
Spike slapped Xander on the back. The boy started and looked at him wonderingly. "You made me quote fucking poetry to you, the least you can do is tell me your little wanking fantasies."
Xander visibly relaxed and Spike rubbed his back briefly before pushing him off the bed. "Right, then. Go wash up so I can kiss you properly, and then you'll tell me. Right?"
Xander nodded, standing up, and Spike echoed the nod. "Right." He pointed at the bathroom door. "You. Go wash. Come back. Got it?"
Xander's mouth opened, and Spike saw a thought struggling to form. "What is it, Harris?"
"I didn't make you quote anything," Xander finally protested.
Spike sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to slip into disappointed, patience-wearing-thin Watcher-mode. "Go wash, Xander."
Hearing his name, Xander grinned. "I like that," he said quietly. Spike glared at him and Xander raised his hands. "I'm going, I'm going. See? This is me going. I just--"
"Wash. Talk. In that order."
::::::::::::::::::
Xander liked to err on the safe side //Like fucking a vampire?// and gargled a fourth shot of Scope before scrubbing his face pink with steaming water and a generous handful of shampoo.
Was he really going to do this? He figured he preferred the no-thinking rule. It was a good rule, sensible and simple, straightforward enough for the densest Harris. Break this rule, and he wouldn't be responsible for what happened.
Or, no, he would be responsible. Which was a hell of a lot scarier.
Sing-songy and overly sweet, but urgent: "Xaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnderrrrrrrrrr." Nice trill of the last several Rs there, he could give Spike that much.
"Coming," he called.
"Not yet," Spike called back, and, really, could a laugh be said to leer? Apparently, yes.
::::::::::::::::::
Spike was leaning against the wall at the head of the bed, knees against his chest, arms circling calves loosely, when he heard Xander step into the room. "Leave the door like that," he told him and Xander shrugged.
He was unsure how to play this--he could go fully imperious and withdrawn to frighten the boy into falling into line, but he didn't want that. He didn't want to play this at all. Xander was sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped.
Spike cleared his throat. "It's more comfortable up here, you know."
Xander threw him a look, clearly confused.
"Just get up here, will you?" Spike dropped one knee and made space for Xander between his legs. Xander crawled up and Spike pulled him against him, nuzzling his jaw, licking away the sharp smell of minty antiseptic. He inched his hand over Xander's chest, tickling him lightly.
"Look over there," he told Xander, turning his head toward the mirror on the door. Showed him the dim reflection there of Xander alone, leaning against his wall. "See? You're alone, it's all right."
Surprised mirror-Xander.
He pinched Xander's nipple lightly and brought the boy's hand down to his cock. "See? Nothing to worry about. Just you--" he swallowed watching Xander's hand start to rub his cock. "--just touching yourself. Touching, and thinking..." He licked up Xander's neck and suckled on the earlobe. Xander trembled in his arms, and Spike tightened his hold, flicking Xander's nipple, running his other hand over the wrist crooked in the boy's groin.
"What are you thinking about, Xander?"
Xander moaned and tensed in his hold. Spike breathed into Xander's damp hair and drew insistent circles around his nipple.
"Look at yourself," he breathed. "You're hard. Mind's going a mile a minute."
Xander nodded. Gulping, twisting his head back, trying to kiss Spike's neck.
"Later," Spike told him. "Tell me first. What are you thinking about? What, Xander?"
He dropped his hand from Xander's wrist and squeezed one ball, pushing out a ragged sigh from the boy's lips. "Touch yourself, Xan. Please?" Spike twitched his hips once, pressing his hard-on into Xander's ass. "Show me. Tell me."
Xander nodded again, vehemently, and Spike watched as he stroked his cockhead with one finger.
His voice was quiet and hoarse. "That time--that time you took Willow? And I got in the way. Got bashed in the head and dumped in a bed while you--."
Spike licked the curves of Xander's ear and let his fingers drift over to the other nipple. Watched Xander's thumb circle the base of his cock and fingers run up and down the shaft.
"Ahhh," Xander breathed. "Always wondered why you dumped me in bed. Why not in the corner? On the outskirts of town? And how'd a nice clean bed get in the factory basement anyway? What was it, queen-sized? With fresh sheets? Didn't make any sense--"
Spike twitched his hips again and rubbed Xander's balls.
"Right, sorry. Off track there. I'm usually back in that bed when I--you know, when I do this. And what if the spell went wrong? What if you got Will so flustered she said the wrong thing? Maybe forgot to say 'Drusilla' and said 'Xander' and then you'd be looking at me. It could've happened. 'Cause Willow, back then? Not really as good with the magics as she--"
Spike kissed the hot skin behind Xander's ear and stroked the shallow cleft between the boy's tightening balls.
"--oh! Anyway, I think about that bed. About being, you know, in bed. And I'm hard, and you're there with me--. God! Do that again? Okay, and there's no one there anymore, I don't know, somehow Willow got away and you're undressing me. And somehow, there you are, you're kneeling over me, opening your pants--"
Spike growled reflexively, scraping his teeth on Xander's skin, watching the hand pull on its cock, Xander's thumb rubbing the precum back into the swollen head.
"--taking out your cock, and you're--hard. Really hard, like--"
Spike thrust harder against Xander's ass, working his cock into the tight cleft.
"Gah. Like that. Only in front of me, and you've got one arm braced on the wall beside my head and the other's pushing my head down towards your cock, right? And you're whispering to me--"
Xander's hand rising and falling on his cock as his voice went soft and dreamy.
Spike put his mouth over Xander's ear. "What am I saying, pet?"
"Like, telling me what to do, telling me to--. Telling me I make you hard, that it's me--"
"You do make me hard."
"Yeah."
Spike shifted so his cock nudged out from under Xander's balls. "Make me really hard, Xan."
"Telling me, telling me--" Xander's hand was a blur and Spike caught it at the wrist, stopped him cold. "What? Don't--"
"Just a minute." Spike soothed him, leaning to the bedside table, reaching wildly for the bottle of lube he knew the boy kept in the drawer. "Keep talking."
"But--"
Spike pinched his nipple out from his chest and twisted it. Balance was becoming precarious, but once he had the lube in hand, he shifted one leg up, raising Xander and tipping him forward slightly. "Keep talking. What am I saying to you?"
"Make you hard, so hard, have to lick it, suck you until you're really wet, soak your cock so you can--"
He managed to flip the top off the lube and crooked his wrist to squeeze a good portion over his palm. He made a fist and crossed his fingers, soaking them with the lube.
"--suck your cock till it's wet and straining, good and wet, because you're going to fuck--"
His hand dripping, Spike worked two fingers between Xander's ass cheeks, running them up and down the valley.
"--fuck my face until--. Spike? Can I touch you, can I--?" Xander's hand skated down his thigh, brushed over the wet head of Spike's cock.
Shuddering, Spike guided the boy's hand back to his cock and with the other hand pressed fingertips to Xander's pucker.
"No. But you can--" he wrapped Xander's fingers back around his own cock. "Keep talking. Tell me and jerk yourself off."
Xander groaned, the sound falling off into a whimper. Satisfied that the hole was wet enough, Spike corkscrewed his finger, working it in as slowly as his arousal would let him.
::::::::::::::::::
Cold hard finger inside him, Xander moaned and thrust back, feeling Spike's cock slide under his own.
"Say it."
Gasping, pushing forward into his fist and then back against Spike's finger, Xander couldn't speak. He knew that much. Spike rocked him harder, forward and back.
"Say. It."
He couldn't ignore the urgent, insistent tone and swallowed, trying to find enough strength to speak. "--suck you till you're wet enough. Fucking my face, and, and, and--Wet enough to fuck me, tell me you want me, only me, and you're going to take me--And you know I know because you know how I feel because I know you know I know and your cock--wet and hard. Because of me--"
"You," Spike said. Another fingertip begging to enter, drawing back, the finger inside twisting. "You make me hard."
Xander heard himself yelp and squeal as the finger thrust more deeply. Blue-white lights burst before his eyes and he was blinded until the finger held still.
"You're boiling in here," Spike told him. Husky, and Xander hated the mirror, couldn't see who was talking to him. He tried to twist in Spike's arms as he jacked his cock. Spike wouldn't stop him, he was obeying instructions. Mostly. "So soft, Xan--"
"Making me worship your cock, telling me how good you're going to feel, how you're going to come--come and come and come--" Xander's mouth closed somewhere on Spike's neck. "Make me come--wanna see me come when you--"
The second finger pushed in even as Xander clenched and pulled desperately on his cock. He sucked on Spike's skin, spasming.
"You're coming," Spike told him and crossed his fingers inside him. And Xander was, coming as he jerked up against Spike's arm, shooting up his chest, feeling Spike's cock jerk and twitch and shoot. Lost count as Spike squeezed him tighter. "I can see you coming."
Flash of himself in the mirror, writhing and desperate. "God--Spike! Com--" Xander bucked forward, Spike's arm falling away, as the fingers whipped out and he hit the mattress.
::::::::::::::::::
Spike was trembling all over, little bones and needles shaking just under his skin. Xander stretched in front of him, drawing one knee up, burying his head in the sheets: well and truly passed out. Spike carefully, shakily, pressed his back against the wall and lifted up, swinging his feet to the floor. He ran his fingers down the curve of Xander's back until his head cleared enough so he could stand up.
He retrieved a bag of blood from the duster on the kitchen floor. It wouldn't stay still in one hand, so he slapped it back and forth between palms, pseudo-juggling, as he nosed around the apartment.
Except there wasn't much to nose around in; nothing had changed, but, more strangely, no one had changed. Undisturbed upholstery; rug a little too smooth; bundles of unopened mail stacked on the table; and, when he wandered back to the kitchen for a mug for the blood, a thin film of dust on the three cups and fork in the dish drainer.
It was a ghost's flat.
He bit a corner off the bag and chugged the blood, praying his hands would hold still long enough to get it all down. Found Xander's half-empty Coke and drank that, too, swishing the last swallow around his mouth and spitting it into the dusty sink.
Harris wasn't the best housekeeper, but his place, whether basement or here, was always alive: blinking Christmas lights, shirts on the floor, awful music playing. And even without all that, there was always Xander, jumpy, pissy, sleepy, silly, outraged. Eager.
No one lived here any more.
Spike slipped back through the bedroom and into the bathroom. He found a washcloth in the shower, crumpled when wet, stiffly dry now. He soaked it under warm water and wrung it out, draping it over the sink as he changed the water and filled a cup.
He had stopped shaking, but this furious stillness felt even worse.
::::::::::::::::::
Xander was turned on his back. Didn't want to be on his back. He screwed his fist into one eye socket against potential light. Something wet and rough stroking his belly. Tried to twist from that. Hand on his hip kept him still. He frowned, shook his head. Soft voice over him.
"--der, wake up--You're gonna miss the bus--"
"Mmmm?" Not opening his eyes. Wanted sleep. "Oz?"
Hand on his hip shook him and slapped hard.
"Ow, hey--" He struggled up on one elbow. Spike glowered at him. "Just kidding?"
"Oz?" Soft and demanding.
Xander shook his head, hoping to fling traces of sleep daze off, away from him. "Oz used to do that. In the van."
Spike's lips twitched at the edges, and Xander realized how much effort it took him to maintain the glower.
"Yeah, in the van, Spike. You know, where we'd look at skin mags and jack each other off and just generally fuck like bunnies. Or dogs."
Spike narrowed his eyes.
Xander sighed. "Right. Jealous vampire."
Spike ran the washcloth over his chest nice and slow. "Not jealous." //Yeah, sure.// He swept the wet cloth around Xander's tummy again. "Go on. The van?"
"The van?" The washcloth scrubbed at his pubes and Xander smiled. "Yeah, the van. Oz used to do that when we got stoned. When I'd get sleepy and drift away."
"And?" Spike's hand was still and Xander felt himself getting hard again.
"And what? That's all."
"Good." Spike ran the corner of the washcloth under Xander's dick.
"What are you doing?"
"Cleaning you up." Cloth over his balls and down one thigh.
"You're strangely fastidious for a vampire, you know."
"Mmm?" The cloth was back up on his half-hard cock. "Probably the soul."
"Nah," Xander said, covering Spike's hand with his own, holding it there. "You always were."
He felt the doziness creeping up around him, licking at his edges, and struggled to focus on Spike. His downturned head, a tendon working between jaw and temple. Xander grasped the hand under his. "Spike?"
"Yeah?" Musing, distracted.
"You in there?"
Spike shook his head shortly and grinned at Xander. "Sorry, Xan. Here, take this."
Xander swallowed the water Spike handed him. "Um, you're not--. Are you mad at me? For before?"
Spike moved the washcloth up; it was cooling off, and Xander shivered as it touched his navel. "Why would I be mad at you?"
"I'm sorry," Xander said. "About talking about the Big Bad. I mean, you asked about the first time, so that was the first time, and I know you're different now, because, you know, you're here, so of course you're different but I don't want you to think that I liked him better than you now because I didn't and I don't, I like you here and now, and I only said because you asked and if I was honest which I was--"
"Xan?"
"Yeah?" Breathless; somewhere along the way, he had lost track of his own babble. He really was losing touch. "Oh, and thank you. I forgot to thank you. Thank you."
Spike was staring at him, wearing no expression, or at least one Xander had never seen him wear: slack mouth, eyes moving slowly up and down.
"Um, you're not mad, are you?"
Spike's gaze drifted back up to meet Xander's. He shook his head, and Xander watched him swallow, sharp Adam's apple bobbing briefly.
"So, it was okay? The, um, fantasy?"
Spike nodded, raking his gaze over Xander's face; it made him want to blush and look away. //Not looking away. Not looking away.// "Yeah, it was okay," Spike murmured. "More'n okay."
"Good. Phew." He mimed the toss of sweat from bow and waited for Spike to smile. "And--"
"And the thanks were unnecessary," Spike told him.
"Oh, but--. See, I wanted to, I really did, and I meant to, but then I kind of passed out there, and that was rude--" //Shut your trap, Harris.//
Spike leaned over him. He kissed Xander's brow so gently Xander felt a shiver rack his body.
"Is this what it's like?" Spike asked.
"What's what like?" Xander felt lost. At least when he was babbling, even if he didn't know what he was babbling, his mouth was working and he could be sure of knowing that he was going to keep talking. But now, now he didn't know what to say at all.
"This," Spike insisted softly. "Not knowing what's going to happen. Is this what it's like?"
"I never know what's going to happen," Xander admitted, inching his fingers around Spike's waist. "Except that I'll probably fuck it up. Other than that, no. Like what?"
Spike's eyes squeezed shut, and Xander thought he saw anger and frustration glisten over his face. Then he realized he wasn't scared. It wasn't about him, Spike wasn't angry at him, he wasn't frustrating Spike.
Finally Spike opened his eyes. "Being alive?"
