Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Author's e-mail: Kelandris
Disclaimer: Yes, practically everything I write involves characters originally
created by other people. Those other people will hopefully feel flattered. In
this case, those people are Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and anyone at WB. I'm
not worth suing, really.
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge found here
Spoilers: Touches only; Spike has the chip, Spike has the crypt, that's about
Summary: Xander's urge to take drunken Spike home has unforeseen consequences.
Author's notes: Man, this got weird and big and bad. Had *no* friggin'
idea this would go where it did. Oh, and Kira? This is five. DAMN IT.
Warnings: Lot of yelling, lot of hard driving sex, references to heavy drinking
and some Xander past abuse stuph. Not much. It's already NC-17, what did you
by Kelandris the Mad
Waiting in a cemetery at midnight. Christmas Eve. He could hear the church
bells of St. Michael's ringing in the distance; the town had more agnostics
than anything, but the Catholics there were in Sunnydale, were quite devoted.
He could see them all there, the women in their black veils and the men in
their holiday best, awestruck and fearful and bored in turns.
Those members of his family still able to move through intoxication would
probably be there, he thought. One reason why he’d agreed to take vamp watch
tonight with the Slayer.
Buffy, ahead of him, crunched her way through a patch of long-dead leaves, and
he heard a familiar growl in the bushes. He walked up behind her, pulling the
stake out of his back pocket and raised it, waiting for whatever was on the
other side. Buffy raised hers, looked back at him, tossed him a tense nod...and
reached into the bushes and tossed Spike out.
"*Spike*?" Xander said, shock in his voice. "When did *you* get
back to town?"
"Like you bloody care," he said, raising the bottle he held and taking a swig.
"Like I have to justify *anythin'* to the Slayer and her little pet."
"I am not her little--"
"No, not *you*, are you? Big strapping lummox of a man. Get out of my
way." He rose from his sprawl on the cemetery grass and staggered off between
two crosses, wincing at their proximity.
Something...stirred, something he didn’t have a name for, and he shrugged his
shoulders. Made him itch, whatever it was, move, like he wasn’t comfortable
tonight in his own skin. He shook his head, turning to Buffy.
"Hey, think you're on your own for the rest of the holiday--I gotta make sure
Fangless gets back to the crypt in one piece."
"I heard that, you bugger," Spike said. He sounded angry, mournful, drunk,
depressed--Xander was ready to deal with any of the above save for the drunk
part. He got enough of that at home, frankly.
But Buffy just nodded, pocketing her stake.
"Hey. Just get him home in one piece. We still need to find out where those
Initiative guys are."
"Absolutely. I could pump him for information...?"
"Pump anything you want."
They both blanched, and looked away. Buffy recovered first.
"I mean, I mean, hey, yeah, whatever. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Xander said, still twitching. "Tomorrow."
Turning, he ran a bit, jumping over a couple of low, black marble headstones,
making his way to Spike's side. He'd paused, sitting at the feet of a mournful
angel, drinking and looking up at the stars.
"So, what’s all the hubbub, bub?"
"I’ve always hated that expression," Spike said softly. He dropped the bottle
to the step just above where he sat. The liquid gurgled, the glass clinked,
and then Xander was moving the bottle to sit down. Not quite beside Spike, but
in the general vicinity. He watched the angles of his face under the moonlight,
twitching. He scratched the back of his neck. Shit. What *was* it?
Xander jerked, pulling back from his examination of Spike’s face. He blinked,
realizing that only the vampire's attention had turned to him. His face was
still turned upwards, counting stars.
"Do you even like me?"
Spike shook his head. "Nothin'. Should have known better. Should have my head
bloody examined. Maybe cut off. Get rid of the problem once and for all, eh?
Defanged by the government. Guess it’s better than a curse..." He rose and
reached for the bottle and stopped, blinking, as Xander wrapped his hand
"Nuh-uh, Bleachboy, you've had plenty."
"And you'd know this precisely how?"
"Well, this was full when you got it, right?"
"And how many other drinks did you have on your way to buy this?"
"Give it! Please--"
And the human grew cold, colder than even midnight in December tended to
allow. Had he ever, *ever* heard Spike say please? He couldn’t be sure.
"Need it to push the memories away!" Spike said, pleading. "Can't have them
and me in the same head, pet, I just can't, and I don't expect you to
understand, but I *do* expect you to hand over the damn bottle, all
right? Now just--"
"No," Xander said. His voice was low, almost a growl, and he'd had dreams like
this, but never anything in daylight. Guess it was a good thing it was night.
"Come with me."
Spike arched an eyebrow, but said nothing as the human stood and walked
quietly through the stone markers, making for the back row and the crypts. He
slowed, counting them off: MICHAELS, BLOOMBERG, GARCIA, and here was Spike's.
He poked a thumb towards the door, and Spike sneered a little, but went inside.
"Whatever you say, pet, as long as I get me bottle--well, hell, it's not like
I care, right? I have more bottles here."
"Yeah, but you're not going to touch them."
"What? Why not?"
"Because drunk isn’t the answer."
"Because drunk is never the answer. Believe me, I know."
"What, from being drunk?"
"I really doubt you’d ever catch me drunk," Xander said, and was that really
his voice? That low, dark tone, spun out like a guidewire from a far shore? He
couldn't remember. He didn't care. He still itched, but now, out from under
moonlight, away from Buffy's eyes, he could begin to calm the itching, soothe
the body. And watch Spike.
Spike, who was now pacing back and forth, cursing his name.
"Bloody interferin' whelp, s'not like I need *your* help now, is it? I
can be a big boy all by myself, but no, you have to ride in on your white horse
and say, no, alcohol is *bad* for you, alcohol *kills*...Well,
you know what, pet? I'm already dead. It doesn't get much worse than right
here, right now. And right now I need the bottle. So you can just piss off
with your sanctimonious--"
"Talk to me."
"Talk to me. Just talk. If it doesn't help, then...okay, I'll give you the
Xander sat down, putting the bottle on a low shelf behind him, and Spike
stepped close, kneeling on his haunches, staring up at him.
"I could take it from you, you know. I could. I bet I still could."
"You could," he said, watching Spike's face. Had his voice trembled? Had
Spike's? Someone's had. Was it important to know which it had been?
"You could," he repeated, "but I'd fight. I'd fight, and you'd have to hurt
me. And that would make the chip hurt you. Pretty bad, I’m thinking."
"Yeah. But...I could."
"Yeah. So why don’t you?"
Spike stood, stepping back, duster flying like a black cloak around his legs.
He shrugged it off and tossed it to over the ratty green chair he’d pulled into
the crypt from God-knew-what condemned zone.
"You think I won't? Think I don't have the stones to fight you, cripplin' head
pain or not? Don't *push* me, Harris--"
Those eyes, those burning blue eyes, flew to Xander’s face, and Xander really
doubted that Spike knew a third of what he was telling the human, right there,
in that look, in this moment. Not even a third of it.
And just like that, Xander relaxed. He knew what had caused the twitching, he
knew what and he knew when and he knew why. None of it helped him. It stopped
the jerking, but inside, his mind flailed for another answer.
**Can't,** he thought, over and over. **Can't do this. Don't want to
do this. Want to go home, call Anya, have her meet me for stocking stuffers and
cuddling and maybe some dismal re-run of 'It’s a Wonderful Life'...Don't
want this. Complications, annoyance, distance--don't want it. Don't want any of
Except--he did. He wanted it. He wanted all of it, *badly*. He wanted
Spike and he didn't know what he'd have to do to get him and he didn't know if
it was a good idea or if this was his conscience's way of finally letting him
go, letting him run to the dark side. Either way, he didn't care. Everything
slipped away in that moment, leaving only the harsh reality of his need and
his want and his care for this stupid peroxide addict, this blood-junkie on a
leash, this crippled, undead, *thing*...
And even thinking through it in those terms didn’t stop him craving. Craving
Spike. Craving Spike's touch.
"Come here," he said softly.
"Come here. Sit beside me. Sit and--" He looked at the puzzled, nearly angry
look in Spike’s eyes as he leaned forward, still sitting on his haunches.
"Fuck it," he whispered. He reached out, pulling Spike forward, and kissed
The lips under his were cool and twitching, and there was a long moment when
Xander had some *severe* pangs of doubt. Spike wasn't moving, wasn't
leaning forward any more, wasn't doing anything other than just...just...*let*
Xander kiss him. And what did that mean? Wasn't the first time Xander had
wondered how deeply wrong he'd gotten something. Maybe he'd misread this, too.
Then Spike raised his arms, wrapping them around the human, pulling him out of
the chair and onto his lap and kissing him back, kissing him, licking at his
skin and lips ardently. Each little lick felt like a dab of Tiger Balm on his
skin, first seeming to burn and then grow increasingly cold, the more time
that passed. Xander arched against him, wanting to feel more, moaning under
his breath, and Spike broke off the kisses.
Spike didn’t let him go, but he looked as if he wanted to. He opened his mouth,
the lips working without sound, and then he looked up, meeting Xander’s eyes.
"You...want this?" he whispered.
"I think so, yeah."
"Why do you want me?"
"Boredom?" He felt Spike tense, eyes flashing gold briefly.
**Wrong answer, wrong answer.**
"No, no, I didn't mean it, Spike, bad joke, bad naughty joke, we'll have to
spank it later."
Spike stared at him. His breathing started, low, rough breaths that made
Xander want to weep.
"No, Spike. No. With you 'cause I want to be. With you 'cause I don’t want to
be anywhere else. With you 'cause...maybe I need to be here."
"Don't," Spike said.
The vampire leaned forward, touching their foreheads together, and Xander
relaxed further. Why did this feel so good? Why would this ever? Why did it?
"Don’t tell the girls," he whispered.
Xander thought about that. Don’t tell..."Who?" he asked.
"You know. Your Red might cry, 'specially after what I did the first night out
post-chip. And Buffy...Buffy may never date you, pet, but somethin' in her
loves you desperate-like, and she'd be on her way in two shakes to come stake
my unlife away. And Anya...She strikes me she's the jealous one in this
equation. Best to keep them all far away and uninvolved, yeah?"
"Yeah. Maybe. But--"
"No buts," he said, pushing his lips against Xander’s neck. He felt the
vampire tremble against him, and wondered why.
"No buts, no nothing, all we have is here, all right? Next time you see me,
throw things at me."
"No, I mean it. Be mean, be cuttin', be...terrible, Xander. Be what they expect
you to be. Date the girl, share your daylight hours with the Slayer and her
mates, get up and drag yourself through the demon-slaying biz intact. And hate
me when you see me. Okay? For your sake. Hate me when you see me."
He sniffed loudly, and Xander knew he was crying.
"Oh, Spike..." He tilted that magnificently planed face up, trapping the cool
chin between warm fingers. He wiped the tears away with his other hand, staring
into blue eyes that threatened to consume him, now that he knew. Now he wasn't
trying to hide who he was. And here Spike was, asking him to hide. Asking?
"I won't hate you. I'll never hate you," he said softly. Spike shook his head
and Xander stilled the movement, staring into his eyes. Into whatever passed
for a soul that he had. Maybe into the heart of the demon inside him. At that
moment, he really could have cared less.
"Okay, okay. I won't hate you, but I'll insult you. I'll do what you want,
preserve the illusion, and if you push me far enough--if *you* push me
far enough, Spike--I might even start to believe some of what I'm saying. But
I'll never hate you. Okay? I can't do that."
"Because...I *do* like you, Spike. I don't know why, but I do. Maybe
more. Maybe a lot more. I...don't know yet."
And then he had to turn away, look down, drop his hands from Spike's velvet
skin, and think about that. He didn't know. That had been the truth. And he
did like the guy. Like? Maybe...love? Maybe...love a *lot*?
"Like me..." Spike said reflectively.
"Boy, this is *so* not the way I thought I'd be spending Christmas
Spike reached in, gently pulling his head up.
"I can't guarantee much, pet, but...you want to go downstairs?"
"Um...Sure," he said, wondering how his statement connected with Spike's. They
went over to a large hole in the ground, descended a sturdy wooden ladder, and
then Xander inhaled, shaking his head.
Upstairs...upstairs was dim, and dark, and cold, and everything he’d come to
expect of the lairs vampires usually lived in. He figured, what Buffy'd told
him about the Factory, well, that had been crazy Drusilla doing the decorating.
This, though...This was...
"Special," he whispered aloud, and that earned a slight smile from the vampire
in front of him.
"I...I do, actually."
Candles on every surface, strings and strings of little faery lights wound
around all the sculptures, all the sepulchers moved...somewhere else, wherever
one could find to put misplaced sepulchers, he supposed. The empty holes where
they'd been were filled with records and books and folded clothes, hair-styling
products and pieces of interesting art and wine bottles, racks and racks of
them. No wonder he said he hadn't needed the nearly empty bottle upstairs.
And behind the purposeful clutter, tucked into the back corner behind a
folded-back velvet curtain was...a bed. An actual bed. Xander smiled,
"I dunno, I guess I always thought you slept upstairs, you know, wrapped in
plastic or something."
"Funny." He strolled over to the bed, sitting down lightly on it, and looked
back at him.
"Sit?" he asked plaintively. Xander walked over and sat.
For a moment Spike said nothing else, just leaned down, unlacing his boots and
toeing them off. He set them aside, stuffed his socks inside them, and then
turned to Xander, staring at him. He brushed a strand of dark hair back from
Xander's brow, and it made him shiver.
Xander shivered too.
"Shoes?" Spike asked.
"Yeah. Right." He kicked off one, and then the other, pulling off his socks as
he went. He licked his lips, thinking. How far was this gonna go? How far did
he want it to go? How--
Enough thinking. Shrugging his shoulders, he dropped the red overshirt down
his arms, flinging it onto the floor, and then reached down, pulling his
t-shirt out of the waistband of his pants. He heard Spike inhale, and a moment
later, cool fingers touched his belly, and he yelped.
"God, no--but you’re so...cold."
"I am," the vampire said, and for the first time in over an hour sounded
mournful again. "I’m cold all over. Never get warm. Never *be* warm. Not
"Cold...*all* over?" Xander said, and that tone was back, that dark,
measuring tone that sent chills down both their spines. He leaned forward,
giving Spike enough time to back away, to change his mind, giving *himself*
enough lead-in to bolt if he needed to. Neither of them seized the opportunity
before Xander captured the vampire's mouth, tonguing it open with long,
leisurely strokes over his lips, into his mouth, across his teeth.
Spike moaned into his mouth, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him
"Got to get closer," he said, when Xander pulled back from kissing him. "Want
to get you closer..." Nimble fingers were on the zipper of his jeans before he
knew, and he heard the snap pop open, one hand stealing inside, inching down,
while the other unzipped.
"Cold," Xander gasped, when his fingers made contact. But God, he was hard. He
was harder than he’d ever been, and his head fell back.
"Yes, pet, just like that--"
One hand slid around Xander’s waist, bearing him to the bed to lie flat. The
other hand uncurled from around him, pulling down his pants, dropping them to
the floor, pulling down the black boxer shorts with the golden jingle-bells on
"Oh, my," Spike said.
"Say anything about those and you *will* get staked."
"Tell anyone how I saw them and I'll be staked anyway, love. Thought we
"We did. I meant--"
Whatever he had meant flew out of his head when Spike lowered his mouth to
Xander's belly. Those cool, cool lips, tracing patterns on his heated skin...They
almost burned, the sensation was so intense. Little nips and bites and licks and
Xander was ready to come right then, just from Spike's breath on his skin. God.
Then Spike leaned down, rubbing the side of his face against the human's
twitching cock. Xander yelped again, and Spike soothed him, stroking chill
palms down his thighs, across his hips. He relaxed, a little, and then Spike
sucked in the head of his cock, tongue licking over every inch, probing into
the slit at the tip, curling around him and *tugging*, and Xander
screamed, arching off the bed, summoning every mental image he’d ever used in
the past that would take the sharp edge of his arousal away.
"Stubborn," Spike breathed.
"Just so *good*," he moaned.
Spike swallowed him whole, and Xander came, shooting helplessly down the
vampire's throat. Something else he hadn't expected--for Spike to swallow.
Well. He’d never expected Spike to *want* to. To want to do *anything*
with him. In fact--
"A hundred and twenty-three years," he heard himself say aloud, "you could
have anyone you want. Why are you here with me?"
"Because you came with me."
And it made sense, didn't it, a kind of twisted and cold sense, but there was
a rationality to it that Xander couldn't help but appreciate. 'Why'd you hit
that guy?' the officer asks. 'Well, he was in the crosswalk, and he got
confused on which side of the street he should be on, so I hit him.' 'Oh, okay
Except it didn't make sense, and it wasn't logical, it was painful, and cold,
and he didn't want Spike to be cold ever again--
"And that logic is so inescapable why?"” he asked, not even knowing he would.
Spike stared at him. Long, painful, almost *hot* moment where Xander
waited for those blue eyes to turn gold, or the crypt to fall down around them,
or *something* cataclysmic to happen. Nothing did.
"What, you were just waiting for someone to walk by you could talk to, drag
home for a quick blowjob and more wine? I don't think so. You were waiting for
me. You were..." It struck him, suddenly, and he sat up, unaware of his own
nudity, staring in shock at the vampire not two feet from him.
"You were *watching* me," he whispered.
"Yeah?" Traces of attitude filled Spike’s face, but Xander saw through the mask
to the cold fear behind it. "What if I was?"
Xander didn't think. He leaned over and pushed Spike back on the bed,
"Oh, *fine*, go ahead, slap me around a bit, that's *why* I been
hangin' with the crowd I can *hit* these days--"
The human leaned down and kissed him, kissed the vampire, thoroughly, only
stopping when *he* had to inhale. Because Spike didn't have to, did he?
He wasn't alive. He never needed to fill lungs desperately starved for oxygen.
The thought made Xander's cock twitch again, filling with blood, tapping
impatiently on Spike's t-shirt-clad belly.
"Someone’s awake," Spike said lazily, looking down.
"Yeah. Me," Xander replied, and kissed him again, kissed him until he was
dizzy and spinning and nearly drunk himself from oxygen deprivation, gratified
to hear Spike taking huge, unnecessary, panting breaths to try and calm down.
It wouldn't work. All he had to say was--
"You heard me."
And suddenly, Spike was smiling. Smiling, leaning forward, pecking his cheek,
licking his earlobes, kissing the tip of his nose, in between flinging items
of clothing with abandon until he was as naked as Xander. All that perfect
alabaster skin revealed for the first time...
"Oh, then, you haven't hit the best one yet,” Xander said, and reached behind
the vampire for a knife that sat on a little table, next to an empty plastic
bag, dried rust-brown flakes caked in one corner. Where would be perfect--arm
or neck? Neck, sure, but Buffy would notice. Arm, though...He brought the knife
down on the inside of his left arm, high up near the elbow.
Spike dove for the blade. "Are you *insane*, pet, you think I want to--"
The smell of warm, fresh blood filled the air.
"Oh, bloody hell..."
"Yeah, Spike. I think you want to. I think you're *going* to." He
offered his arm to Spike and the vampire seized it, shuddering, staring at
Xander with eyes gone gold and forehead gone bumpy.
"I won't...I won't take too much, pet, I---oh. *Oh*." And he dropped his
head, drinking from the wound, fangs sinking in to widen the slice. And yeah,
it hurts, when has getting cut *not* hurt, when has getting bit *not* hurt?
But there's something dark and dangerous, even knowing Spike couldn't feed
without Xander's help, something that thrilled through him, *changed*
him. Something...inexplicably, undeniably, *erotic* about this act,
about feeling Spike's tongue moving over the slice, about hearing Spike moan
against his severed skin. God. Yes. *This* was what had been missing.
*This* was what he'd been wanting.
And *this* was making him dizzy.
"Spike, stop," he said softly, nudging the blond head aside. He didn't budge.
Slowly, the vampire surfaced, looking drugged, looking *open* on some
strange fundamental level, and then he was reaching for Xander, and Xander was
going willingly into those cold arms. Warmer now, slightly, warmed by his blood,
and Xander was pressed against him, thrusting against him, wanting more.
"Spike, you have any...um..."
An eyebrow quirked. "Lube, darling boy? Never thought I'd need any, now did I?
But yeah--over there, beneath the Fear tapes."
Xander looked, Xander saw, and rose, grabbing the tube and squirting some out.
Didn't think he needed to worry about a condom, and didn't think he'd bother to
ask Spike about it anyway. His hands and cock slick with the stuff, he leaned
back down, pressing a finger into the vampire, pressing hard until it popped
inside and Spike arched up.
"Oh--bloody--been so *long*, love, so *long* since--oh, don't,
"Not much chance of that." A little self-pity went a long way, and if Spike
didn't catch on that it was rue over his *own* actions, and not Spike's...well.
Let him wonder. Let him--
**No. Let me.**
One finger, two fingers, three, four--he felt like he'd been fucking Spike for
hours, just playing him on the tips of his fingers. Finding out where the
sighing spots were, where the spots were that made him yell and thrash, finding
out where he'd fit the best. Where he'd fit forever. It felt like it had taken
hours, and he was afraid once he got inside, once he was inside *Spike*...well,
that it would be all over in the space of time it had taken to think this.
And then it was time, it was time and the vampire was screaming at him to stop
fucking around already, and Xander just smiled, just smiled. He rose on his
knees and grabbed Spike's legs, looping a calf over each hand, and pointed
himself, rock-hard, towards shelter.
He popped in like he'd been cast to fit, and angled the first thrust to touch
the best places in Spike. Spike arched against him so much when he did that he
was sheathed in a single second, both of them panting, nearly sobbing with the
tight, hot feel of the human in the vampire.
"Oh--oh--so *good*, Xan, so *good*--harder, oh, harder--"
"Tight, so tight, Spike, *God* you're tight--"
It wasn't going to take long, it wasn't going to take long at all, it was going
to take seconds, *moments*, before he came--and he looked down and saw
Spike, straining towards him, straining to kiss him--
He didn't think it through, he didn't think at *all*, he just scorched
across Spike's lips with his, diving inside his mouth, tasting his own blood
and the warm and slightly bitter taste of his semen and Spike's own blend of
whiskey and cigarettes--
And like that he was off, hearing Spike whimper, hearing Spike beg, and kissing
down the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the pleasure building; kissing down
the tendon in his throat, feeling the pressure crest--reaching the junction
where neck met shoulder and just above that point, *just* above, feeling
Spike moan and gasp beneath him--
He bit. Xander bit. *Xander* bit a *vampire*, breaking the skin,
scoring a ragged gash with his blunt teeth, and some of Spike's blood hit the
tip of his tongue and he swallowed--
And Spike nearly bucked him off, screaming, thrashing, hands held tight to his
hips and Spike's legs wide, nearly thrown over his shoulder, *bucking*
against him, fucking *him* with cold and pressure and tight clenched
muscle around his cock--
Xander came, screaming Spike's name, pounding into him, panting like a bellows.
He pushed off Spike just enough to gain a little distance, hanging his head,
mouth hanging open, and it was a long, long moment before he could meet Spike's
Spike looked just as shocked as he felt, blue eyes like Delft saucers, breath
slowing, breath stopping. Xander thought he had maybe three seconds before he
completely collapsed. Probably *on* Spike.
"What..." Xander panted. "Is it always like that?"
"Don't know, pet." He still sounded breathless, even though he didn't need to breathe.
"Never been Claimed before."
"Don't tell me you didn't know what you were doing."
"I didn't. That was all...instinct. Or something. Just...wanting you. I didn't...What
did I do?"
"Bloody hell, Harris--now we're in for it."
"Tell you what. Explain to me when I've put a few hours of unconsciousness
under my belt, and maybe I'll understand what you mean." He slumped down,
resting his head on Spike's shoulder, and right before he passed out, he felt
Spike gently stroking his hair.
"As if I could deny you anything, my Consort. Happy Christmas, love."
"Mrgl," was all Xander said, and then he was gone.
Kelandris the Mad
"I was surprised. Were you surprised? I was very surprised." --Eddie Izzard