~~~~~***~~~~~

accomplished by Brynhild
Obsesso!verse series: Accomplished, Discontent, Worried, Distressed, Infuriated.

Xander sips on a cold soda, savoring the flavor as he celebrates. He's nowhere near close to where he wants to be, but today he's one step farther than he was yesterday. Oh, but last night... Xander smiles in remembrance. Last night Spike came over, and they watched a movie together. Granted, they were sitting on opposite sides of the couch, and the only real conversation was spent sniping at each other or griping about the acting and plotline of the flick, but Xander still thinks the evening went better than he'd hoped for.

The ashtray might've been a little too much, judging by the look Spike had given him when he saw it. "What?" Xander had replied, beaming innocence. "Friends don't let friends burn the furniture." And the fact that he got to spend the evening surrounded by the scent of smoke and Spike has nothing to do with the small black plastic bowl on his coffee table.

Xander tipped back his head, swallowing the dredges of the soda, before snapping the silver tab off, pocketing it, and then crushing the can in his fist. He stood and grabbed the now full ash-tray before heading into the kitchen. He dropped the can in the waste basket, then went to the sink. He carefully extracted each cigarette filter from the small mound of ashes, and placed them in a row on the counter, before rinsing the ashes down the drain and using a paper towel to wipe out the ashtray for future use.

He then got a small plastic baggie from the cabinet and labeled it with yesterday's date in black permanent marker. He took a moment to caress the seven filters, letting his fingers drift over the stubbed and twisted surfaces, before carefully placing them inside the baggie and sealing it up. Taking out another baggie, he also labeled it with yesterday's date, and set it on the counter. Turning to the waste basket, he opened it and began to dig. He pushed aside several soda cans, all crushed with their tabs missing, until he found the one he was looking for. Uncrushed, with the tab still on. This was the can that Spike drank from last night.

Xander held the can, basking for a moment at the nearness he felt to Spike, holding an object that had touched his lips. He slipped the can inside the second baggie, and sealed it, before taking both items to his bedroom. Inside his closet was a large box that was slowly being filled with Spike - several baggies of his cigarette butts, a Sex Pistols CD that he'd stolen from the crypt, the ropes he'd used to tie up Spike that first night, flakes of black nail polish that Spike had picked off and left scattered on the floor, and several other things. Sometimes when he was really lonely, Xander would take one of the filters out and place it between his lips, and then he could almost taste Spike for the next several hours.

He reverently laid the new bag of filters and the soda can into the box, and replaced the lid. He re-covered the box with stray clothes before closing the closet door, hoping that no one would ever find his box of treasures. He never told anyone about his collection, knowing that the girls would think it was wrong, that he was obsessed and disturbed. But they didn't understand. He wasn't obsessed, he was in love, and he wanted to be as close to Spike as he could be, at least until Spike was ready to go to the next level...

~~~~~***~~~~~

amused by Beetle
Title: Ties That Bind
Notes/Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilerish for AtS, set just Post-NFA.

"...yuck! Gonna hurl...."

A voice drifts in from the mouth of the alley.

The champion lays face down on a carpet of corpses, wounded and waiting to die, but he lifts his head slowly, pain-stakingly. He ignored the whines and growls of dying fiends, and squints through the heavy rain that seems to fall endlessly.

In Spike's blurred and doubled vision, two shadowy figures, backlit by flickering streetlights, step toward him lightly, from body to body.

Above him--and unnoticed--there's a gout of orange-green flame, followed by a triumphant roar. A few seconds later, the sheeting rain momentarily takes on a bitter, ashen tang, like old pennies and death. A dull throb of grief cuts through Spike's pain and exhaustion.

"Naughty dragons," comes a second voice, petulant and entirely too familiar. "Always making fire and chaos. Silly things."

"They smell real bad, too," the first voice adds. "Or maybe that's just all the dead demons we're stepping in. Oh, here's a stupid question: why are we here, again?"

"Because Daddy is gone; gone, gone, gone to a place where the stars can't see him...." the second voice sighs wistfully. "It's too late for poor Daddy. But not for my William."

To his left and out of the corner of his eye, Spike catches a brief glimpse of cobalt and pale in the red/mud/grey morass of bodies. Shuddering, he closes his eyes to regroup, to rethink, to breathe. But only one of those things comes easily, at the moment.

When he opens his eyes again, she's right there above him; a pretty bit of horror and madness that he once loved--still loves, after a fashion. Her eyes twinkle gleefully and she leans forward to put a warmish hand to the chilled, wet skin of his cheek. As if the will has been sucked out of him, Spike collapses onto the cooling demonic flesh beneath him, shuddering with numbed fright.

"Oh, no, oh God--someone help me...." he gasps, trying to crawl, to get away from the stench of dead demons and the lighter, more threatening scent of dead roses. His tired, non-responsive limbs give no more than a feeble twitch.

"Hush, now, pretty William...Mummy has come to help you, just like last time." The wet, black velvet of her dress hisses and whispers with her swaying and Spike shudders, filled--for the first time in over a century--with mortal terror.

"No, Dru...." he whimpers, afraid to look up and hoping that this is, at last, the end. That she'll let it be the end. "If you ever loved me, please, just let me die."

Indulgent tsking from Dru, and from the first voice...giggles, of a very disquieting nature.

"Sorry, pulse-boy. No can do."

A larger, rougher hand than Dru's grasps Spike's shoulder and he's turned over onto his back, to gaze up into a familiar face.

"You...." falls from Spike's numb, swollen lips.

Next to Dru, what's left of Sunnydale's white knight smiles engagingly. "Yeah, me. And if the lady wants your sorry ass around--for whatever reason--then around your sorry ass is gonna stay." A flash of merciless, golden humor in cold, dark eyes. "And guess who gets to do the honors?"

Spike looks from one dead, soulless face to the other--and back again--in utter disbelief--

"No--you can't be serious...."

--which once again melts into mortal terror.

"We're going to be a family again, my William. Just you, me and Kitten--and I get to be grandmummy!" Dru bounces and claps her hands in delight. Kitten giggles eerily, like a clown, or a hyena.

"Gonna be so much fun being your Sire, Spike." Faster than his newly-human eyes can follow, Spike's being pinned and straddled by Kitten's dead weight. "Well, fun for me, anyway."

Kitten lunges forward already in gameface and Spike tries to twist away from the soft lips and sharp fangs. It's no use; they're suddenly at his throat.

"No! Not you--never you! I'd rather die!"

"Spike... be nice for Daddy, or he shall be very cross with you," Dru advises like the world's worst case of deja vu, all over again.

"Yeah, Spike, Daddy might even have to discipline ya." The giggle that accompanies the chill whisper is hoarse with hunger and desire. Kitten's hands clamp down hard on Spike's wrists for agonizing eternities and he screams.

Under and above the pain and terror is Dru's laughter, like the pealing of small, silver bells.

"Please--I don't want this!" Spike sobs, as Kitten's razor-sharp fangs pierce his jugular. Blood is drawn from his body so quickly, he feels it rush through his veins, feels his newly-won heartbeat stutter and slow.

Pleasure, to the point of pain, to the point of pleasure again.

"Mummy's sweet boys play such lovely games," Dru singsongs. "Soon William will be William, Kitten will be Kitten and Dru will be Dru. And we'll all play together!"

"Don't let him do this! Dru!" Spike pleads as Kitten's body starts grinding down against his own, slow and insistent, knees pushing his legs apart. To Spike's own horror, the legs that couldn't carry him away from this doom, can wrap around Kitten's waist and urge him closer. What little blood remains in his dying body is attempting to flee south; incontrovertible proof of where his body's ultimate priority lies.

"Please...."

Spike's no longer sure whether he's asking for salvation or damnation. He's almost beyond caring when Kitten's fangs rip indelicately out of his neck.

"Don't--!" Spike's body jerks and spasms once, in a last, futile effort at a last, futile climax. It's the most wonderful, awful, frustrating thing he's ever experienced.

"Hush, sweet boy. Don't weep." Dru's voice is even nearer than the darkness that crowds out his vision. "Daddy and Grandmummy will make everything all better."

"Goddamn right we will, Dru. Hey, Billy-boy," another high-pitched giggle from Kitten as he sits up, letting go of Spike's fractured, useless wrists to bite into his own. "Who's your daddy?"

Blood from Kitten's mangled wrist spatters Spike's face and he clamps his lips shut, turning his face away. Unfazed, Kitten shrugs and pinches Spike's nostrils shut, settling in to wait.

After nearly a minute, strange, muffled sounds of despair ring off the alley walls.

Then there's silence, broken only by slurps and the occasional giggle.

~~~~~***~~~~~

angry by Cas

Xander waltzed into their apartment ready for alone time with his lover. The vampire's stony expression made him come to a sudden halt and give a tentative "hey..."

"It's late." Spike's tone was sharp. His words clipped.

"Uh..." glancing at his watch, Xander looked back at Spike standing at the wet bar cradling a glass. "Not that late. Just eleven thirty. What's up? I told you I was working late..."

"With Alex."

Xander almost winced under the steely stare of eyes that didn't soften even when he held up the videos. Whoa... what was with the cold vibes? "Yeah... with Alex, I told you we were..."

"Drinking."

"Yeah drinking...no...not drinking, working!" Xander frowned. "Okay, after we finished, we knocked back a beer but... hey, you're jealous?"

"Try again."

He could almost feel the anger simmering beneath the vampire's milky white skin. "What?!?" he asked in sheer frustration. "I can't have a drink?"

"With a vampire."

"Yeah he's a vampire, so what? He works for a living, needs the money, keeps his nose clean..."

"You don't go drinking with vampires." Spike took a step toward Xander.

"I don't? But you're..." he moved to the side and swallowed at the way Spike shadowed him.

"Other vampires," Spike bit out. "You don't go drinking with other vampires."

"I don't?" Xander swallowed. "Uh... you're not mad because he's good looking, and has all those muscles and works without a shirt, but you're mad because..."

"Because he's a bloody vampire, that's right."

"But.." Noticing that every step he took got him no farther away from the riled vamp, Xander stood stock still.

"No bloody buts, you're mine... any other vamp takes you for a drink, and they think it means you're free for the pickings, yeah?" Spike's palms struck the wall on either side of Xander's shoulders, making the think walls shake. "Is that what you want them to think?"

Xander pressed his back into the wall as Spike got in his face, crowding him so they were almost nose to nose. "Come on Spike...just had a drink..."

"There's no such thing as just a drink with a vampire. There's taken... and there's ‘claim-me.' And I already have..." Spike ground out. It irked him that he hadn't... wouldn't claim Xander the way a vampire should. If he left his mark on the boy, the others would take it as a warning to stay away.

"What is this? Some kinda weird vampire etiquette that..." the hard glint that entered Spike's eyes made Xander's heart skip a beat. There was more going on than he understood. "Look, if you just expl...mnph."

With a snarl, Spike joined their mouths in a ferocious kiss. Hard, and deep, he took what he needed, punishing Xander for his trespasses with that other vampire, punishing him for being off limits when it came to marking. It wasn't enough. He snaked his hand up the guy's back, caught a fistful of hair and dragged Xander's head back. "Never again with a vampire, unless I'm there," he said harshly, before bringing his mouth down hard over Xander's. His blood boiled at the thought of the boy with another one of his kind. Why didn't he understand? Why didn't he know it was wrong? He punished, and taught, and claimed with the kiss. "You understand. Never."

Seeing the wild, predator's gaze above him, Xander gave a meek nod and touched his swollen lips. "Y... yes."

~~~~~***~~~~~

annoyed by Cas

He was tired beyond belief. Hadn't had a wink of sleep in days. And nights. Those girls had him worked to the bone. Buffy, Dawn and Red. After all these years, they still didn't quite comprehend that vampires were meant to sleep during the day.

Then he'd helped Xander move furniture for his parents. When they'd returned to the boy's apartment, he'd announced he wasn't moving from the spot and would sleep here. Big mistake.

The sound of a merry melody being inexpertly whistled grated against his nerves. He raised his head off the pillow. "Knock it off, yeah? Trying to sleep here. Sleep."

Xander clapped his hand over his mouth and looked guiltily from the livingroom toward the bedroom. "Sorry..."

"Sorry my arse."

"Ah... yeah... whistling real low..."

"I'm a vampire. I've got vampire ears. How many times do I have to explain it to you?" Spike demanded through clenched teeth.

"Sorry." Okay, now he was being repeat-o guy. Too bad he'd taken his bedroom door off its hinges in order to repair it. Now he had to tip toe around in his own place!

A little later, on the verge of falling asleep, something dragged Spike back to full awareness of his surroundings. That something was the rustle of papers. He wouldn't say anything. Not a bloody thing, and it would go away.

But it didn't go away. And now he figured out it was a plastic wrapper crackling. With something crunchy in it. Something that was getting crunched very loudly. He tried to let it go... he really did. "For fuck's sake, Harris!"

"What?" Xander thumped his head against the kitchen cabinet.

"No papers rustling, chewing like a bloody cow, or hitting things."

"Hungry." He took one last handful of chips and chewed on them slowly.

The slow sound of crunchy food getting pulverized into smaller and smaller bits, followed by a gulping sound, was worse than the sound of Xander eating outright. Spike groaned and threw the pillow against the door.... only there wasn't any bloody door. He didn't even have he satisfaction of impact!

"Can I watch t.v.?"

"No."

"Radio?"

"No."

"With headphones?" Xander walked toward the bedroom.

"NO." Spike sat up. "Are you bored."

"Yes... finally, you get it. I'm bored-guy, need something to do," he said with relief.

"Is leaving out of the question?"

"Yes,"

Well no one could blame Spike, he really had tried. "I have an idea. You're good with your hands, aren't you?"

Xander nodded. The tip toeing around was starting to drive him crazy. If he had something to do... anything, Spike could sleep, and he'd be a happy camper.

"You have any rope?" Upon Xander's enthusiastic nod, Spike gestured toward the door. "Go on, go get it then."

A minute later, Xander returned and held the rope up. "This long enough."

"Yeah. Do you know how to make one of those knots... the sort that is impossible to undo?"

"Uh-huh, sure. You mean a slip knot." Wondering what the vampire was up to, Xander twisted the rope into a nice knot. And then he remembered the new t.v. program Spike was hooked on. "You gonna show me one of the magic tricks you learned from the Masked Magician?"

"Something like that, yeah." Spike's hand snaked out and wrapped the slip knot around Xander's wrists so fast, the boy had no time to react, before finding he was now tied to the bed post.

"What do you think you're doing? Yo... you're the magician, not me? Usually it's the magician that gets tied up and then escapes...oh shit, you're not sawing me in half!"

Seeing the boy's eyes go round, Spike smirked but put him out of his misery. "Teaching you to keep still when a vampire's trying to sleep. Now, how about some duct tape, any of that around?"

"Hell no."

"Right, I'll find some other way to keep you quiet then." Spike's gaze dropped to Xander's mouth.

"You wouldn't... I have a date and–"

Without thought or warning, Spike swooped down and stemmed the words coming from Xander's lips. Actually, Xander was still talking, so there were some muffled sounds, but each time he opened his mouth, Spike took advantage and delved his tongue a bit deeper. When he broke the kiss, Xander's expression was a cross between ‘huh' and ‘oh shit.'

"Duct tape?" Spike purposely dropped his gaze to the boy's mouth again, moving slightly toward him.

"In the drawer, over there," was Xander's rushed response, as he jerked his jaw toward the chest.

"That was easy." In a few strides, Spike was at the drawers. He dug through them and found what he was looking for. Tearing off a piece of tape, he smoothed it over Xander's mouth. Still stunned, the boy didn't even fight him.

Spike snagged the pillow off the ground, jumped on the bed next to Xander and rolled over to his side, giving his back to the boy. "Quiet at last. Sleep."

Silence. How he loved it's sound. A satisfied smile played on his mouth as he settled for a well needed rest.

The bed moved.

It shook. It shook again. Tension flowed through Spike's body.

Xander's throat constricted. Why? Why did his ankle pick this exact moment to itch? And why did his boots make a squeaking sound when he rubbed one against the other. And what were the odds that Spike would be so asleep... this little movement wouldn't wake him?

Spike's eyes flew open. Piercing blue eyes stared at the wall as he mentally counted to ten.

~~~~~***~~~~~

artistic by cricketpoor

Spike smiled as he brought the brush to the canvas splayed out in front of him. A low moan was heard from under the brush and Spike smiled.

Xander slowly opened his eyes and saw his lover dressed in a paint stained shirt holding a brush and some paint. It wasn't the first time he woke up like that as the other man had a strange habit of painting pictures of him in all sorts of moods and times. But today was different there was a smile on his lover's lips and then his belly was hit by something cold.

"Spike..."

The brush made another sweep over Xander's torso.

"Lay still"

Was the only thing that came out of the vampire's mouth. Xander did as he was told knowing better than try to interrupt his lover when he was in that particular mood. Instead he laid down and relaxed in his lover's touch. Half an hour later Spike looked up and saw Xander's still sleepy smile. Putting the brush and paint on the floor Spike leaned up and kissed Xander sweetly before saying

"I ran out of canvas"

~~~~~***~~~~~

blank by Leni

Xander crossed his arms on his chest; he was not giving up. Not this time. Not even Spike's 'you can't resist me' trademark pout could deter him.

But his decision obviously wasn't sinking in Spike's mind. "Come on, pet. When have I ever lead you wrong before?"

Xander opened his mouth to list all those instances, and they were many! But unexpectedly he closed it again, hard enough to rattle his teeth and graze against his tongue. In the next second he was tempted to bite it, anything to contain the moan escaping him.

"Were you saying?" Spike asked innocently, looking up at him from his position on the floor.

Xander's Adam's apple rose, then dropped forcibly. He tried to remember what could be so important that it was interrupting Spike's ministrations.

He came up blank.

~~~~~***~~~~~

busy by Beetle
Title: The Beginning of the End
Notes/Spoilers/Warnings: Post-NFA by five years; oblique spoilers for Ats S5.
Summary: The prequel to "A Place Where Time Isn't".

"Don't go," Xander whispers as Spike shrugs on his duster.

The pause is so infinitesimal; anyone who wasn't Xander would've missed it completely. "Have to, love. Have to."

"No, you don't. You could stay here, with me." Xander's tone is easy, reasonable. It's the last thing Spike expects and the thing he's least equipped to deal with. He turns to look at his boyfriend, shocked, as always, by the pallor and weariness stamped on the beloved face.

Xander smiles and there are tears in his eyes.

"Stay with me, William," he says one last time, a shaking hand extended for Spike to take, to hold, to keep.

With every ounce of willpower in him, Spike turns away. "I'll be back before dawn."

"I don't think you will." Xander's voice is soft and hopeless as Spike gently closes their bedroom door.

The club is a press of hormones, writhing, sweaty bodies and flashing lights.

Armored in a red silk shirt and painted on jeans, Spike slips easily through the crowd, his sneer and attitude parting the dancers as surely as a laser.

Once he's reached the the epi-center of the crowd--the place reserved for those who want to see and be seen--he closes his eyes and starts nodding to the music. Slowly, as if there's no one else in the world, the rest of his body picks up the rhythm.

The song changes once, twice. Spike changes with it. The press of bodies around him thickens, then thins.

By his fourth song, there's only one body close to his own... clad in silk and leather, a distinct chill wafts off it. In the flash and strobe of the lights, Spike can make out a pale face, cruel smile and eyes like holes. Large, strong hands touch his body--hips, thighs, chest, ass--pull him closer, turn him.

Spike leans back into the marble-hard body.

"You're very beautiful," a soft, mildly accented voice says, cool lips brushing his earlobe in an ephemeral kiss.

"And you're very dead," Spike returns, grinding into the hardness pressed against his ass. The hands sliding up and down his chest still for a moment, then resume their wandering. The buttons on Spike's shirt are slowly twisted off and cool hands flatten and spread across his chest.

"Ah," the vampire says softly. And: "I see."

"Do you?" Spike asks, shivering as icy fingertips brush his nipples.

"If you wish to be dead, as well, I would be honored to assist you." A mockery of humanity and solicitousness, this voice and the caresses turn into pinches that are just this side of painful.

"Death? Been there, done that, came back with some lovely souvenirs." Spike leans his head back on his dance partner's shoulder; sees a flash of dark, amused eyes before the vampire presses his mouth against the damp skin of Spike's neck.

"I could drain you in the middle of this club and my minions would dispose of the corpse before anyone even noticed you were gone," those cool lips whisper on Spike's jugular.

"You know what I want, Korely. You know I've been asking around."

"And what if I do?"

"Then you know I'm looking to make a bargain, mate."

Korely's amused chuckle is audible over the repetitious stylings of the house DJ. "You are beautiful, but beauty is very common coin in this day and age. You have nothing with which to bargain." Another soft, cold press of lips against Spike's temple. "So good-night, lovely one."

And just like that, Spike is alone, surrounded by strangers who'd instinctively kept their distance when Korely was on the floor.

"I can give you William the Bloody," Spike says to the sea of humanity that surges and shakes around him. But he knows this is a lie. Korely probably knows it's a lie, too... if he's even still listening.

Either way, Spike's rhythm is lost, now; he's merely being pushed to and fro by the mob.

Off to the next club, then.

This night, Spike gets home several hours before dawn.

He limps to their bedroom because his leg still aches from the throw-down earlier that night. He hasn't been able to take one alive--so to speak--and he's getting desperate.

Getting sloppy.

Xander is a still, diminished lump under heavy blankets, too weak to toss, some nights. Too tired to turn, others. It's painful to watch him sleep, but watch Spike does.

And after nearly twenty minutes of silently contemplating his mate, he limps to the bathroom, trying not to wince and groan at his myriad aches and pains. A hot shower helps somewhat, though Spike thinks one of his ribs may be cracked. Rather than go to the emergency room, he takes eight or ten aspirin--no point in keeping track, anymore--and crawls into bed next to his slumbering boyfriend.

"Spike," Xander sighs and almost smiles, snuggling instinctively against Spike.

"Shh, I'm here, pet. Safe and sound with you."

Paper-thin eyelids struggle open and dark, pain- and exhaustion-glazed eyes meet Spike's own.

"Sweetie-pie." Xander smiles sleepily at the face Spike makes, stretching like a cat under the assault of reassuring nuzzles and caresses.

"Only you could get away with that, whelp."

"All talk...."

"I'll show you all talk," Spike mock-growls and kisses Xander gently. He ignores the bitter taste of sickness and mortality, seeking the sweetness that is simply Xander.

He doesn't have to seek for long; he never has.

The kiss deepens, as it hasn't in what feels like years. Soon, Xander's hand is slipping down tentatively Spike's chest and abdomen.

"Don't, love," Spike pulls away, catching Xander's hand.

"I know I'm not exactly hot stuff right now. Or ever, really, but I need you, Spike." Brutal, naked honesty that makes Spike feel like exalted pond-scum.

He pulls Xander's hand up to his lips and kisses it. "You're beautiful, pet... but I can't. Don't wanna hurt you." Spike isn't crying, but they both hear the unshed tears of frustration in his voice.

"Baby--at this point, there's really nothing we could do that would make me any worse. It's been pretty down-hill, since this whole mess started. I'm not getting any weller." Xander's eyes twinkle with their old humor. "So, just close your eyes and think of England, old boy... make love to me."

"I miss being in you, miss touching you, miss tasting you." Spike holds Xander closer and smiles. "Miss that stupid face you make when you come--"

"It's not a--stupid face... it's... unique."

"--but I won't put you at risk just to satisfy my bloody libido."

"So, by us not fucking, what do we gain? An extra hour? Two, maybe?" Xander scoffs.

"Love--" Spike rolls away from temptation, sitting up. And despite what Xander may think, temptation's exactly what he is, even now.

"Okay--how ‘bout I stroke you off and lick my fingers when you come? I'm willing to compromise."

Spike shakes his head no; he has no doubt Xander'd just use that to twist him into knots till he got his way.

"Fine. Fine," Xander snaps. "If you don't want me, you should just say so, you know. A little rejection never killed anyone. Oh, wait a minute."

Spike tenses and the breath he'd been holding explodes out of him. For long minutes, they sit in uncomfortable silence. As usual, Xander's the one who's brave enough--dumb enough--to break it.

"Spike--I didn't mean--"

But Spike's already out of their bed and throwing on clothes.

"I'm sorry, Spike, I didn't mean that... I'm stupid jerk, just--don't leave me again," Xander pleads, though Spike leaving is a foregone conclusion.

"You know why I'm doing it, Xander. All of it." Spike winces at the harshness in his own voice.

"You already went out once tonight, Spike--God, you're covered in bruises and limping! Haven't you had enough!" Xander sounds like he's about to cry. Spike doesn't want to see, doesn't want to know, if he is. He laces up his Docs quickly.

"Doin' this for you." Which of them he's trying harder to convince is up for grabs.

"No, you're not! I told you, I don't want--"

"I can't live without you," Spike growls. "I bloody-well refuse to. The end of you is the end of me."

"Don't say that...."

"What? That when you're gone, there's no point in me hanging around, being miserable?" Spike snorts and stands up. Pats himself down, not for cigarettes, but the several small daggers he's taken to carrying.

Check and double check.

"God, you're a heartless bastard, sometimes."

If this is an argument, then Xander's broken voice has just declared Spike the winner.

Funny... he doesn't feel like a winner at all.

He shrugs on his duster, again, and turns to look at Xander. He's laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, tears running down the side of his pale, grey face and into his ear.

"Do you just--not want to be here when I. . . ?" Xander swipes at the sides of his face. "I understand if you can't be here when it happens, but please, don't be reckless with your life. Please come back."

Spike opens his mouth, wants to make a promise he knows he won't keep. Instead he makes the one he has kept for the past week. For the past century.

"I'll be back before dawn, love." The same gentle and implacable voice he'd used when Dru was at her worst.

"Stay with me, William. Please. It's... close."

Spike looks away. "Could get Red or the Slayer--"

"I don't want them, I want you!" Xander whispers fiercely, turning his head just enough to see Spike. "I can't live without you, either and I don't wanna die without you. Please... don't let me die without you."

"Before dawn," Spike promises again. Then he's gone.

It's been seven nights since Xander was infected.

Six nights since he had the near-orgasmic pleasure of putting an end to the bitch responsible.

But this is only the fifth night Spike's trawled the alleys and secret ways of the city.

He doesn't know if it's a leftover bit of sixth sense from before or if the man he'd been, once upon another century, had possessed a psychic twinkle, but he's still got a nose for the weird.

Whatever the explanation, Spike has used that sense ruthlessly over the past seven nights, nevermind the danger, nevermind the migraine building in his skull this very moment. Nevermind that his body is now one constant ache when he gets home.

Xander is awake when Spike peers into the bedroom.

"You're back early," he says, in a voice that's too neutral to be real. In the faint light from the hallway, his eyes seem to glow like coals in a forge.

When Spike steps into the room, his left arm in a sling and cast, the facade of neutrality falls away.

"Sweetie, c'mere!" Xander's shoving back the blankets, trying to stand up. Spike rushes to his bedside.

"No, don't get up, love. I'm--I'm alright, just got myself a busted wing. E.R. gave me some painkillers, so it doesn't hurt much," Spike lies smoothly.

Xander lets himself be pushed back into the pillows and turns on his bedside lamp. Bright, pain-filled eyes regard Spike's bedraggled countenance from bruised looking hollows.

"Oh, Spike... I wish you'd stop doing this."

"Don't start, pet, please...." Spike sits tiredly, but carefully on the edge of the bed, burying his face in dusty hands. Xander's fingers brush the nape of his neck, then settle on his shoulder lightly, tentatively. Spike can feel the unnatural heat of him through the duster.

It's still Xander-heat, so he loves it... there's just too bloody much of it and it's starting to look like Spike won't be able to do anything about it.

"Can't bear this," he whispers, shaking his head. "Hurts too much."

"Babe...." another too-warm hand, touches Spike's back and he's being pulled back into Xander's too-warm embrace.

"It needs a living body to possess... a soul to consume. If I coulda turned you, you wouldn't have either to give it. It would wither and die before it's even born."

This had, once upon a Thursday, been Spike's hope.

"The price is too high, Spike."

"You'd rather see your soul consumed than lost to you?" Spike demands angrily--more angry at himself than he is at Xander--turning to look at his ashen-faced lover. "I know what this thing will do. Seen it firsthand. Poor Fred...."

Xander's too-warm nose touches the crown of Spike's head. "Spike... I just don't believe this thing can destroy something that's infinite. How could it? How could it end like that? We helped save the world more times than I can count--it can't end like that for me or for you."

"Never say never, love."

"Just think," Xander exhales warmly, dryly in Spike's ear. "One day, we'll be in heaven, eating pizza and drinking beer and I'll be gloating over how right I was and you'll be calling me a wanker and hogging all the pepperoni...."

Xander sighs happily. "Heaven. We deserve nothing less."

"You may not deserve less, but I--" Spike shakes his head again. "I've done so many terrible things... don't think I'll ever get into heaven. I'd be lucky to slink my way into a bad neighborhood in Purgatory."

Another saharan breath stirs Spike's hair. "Well, you may not deserve heaven, Big Bad, but I sure do. And my idea of heaven involves you, naked and hard for eternity. Kinda impossible for me to be in heaven if you aren't there, too, hunh?"

Spike smiles sadly. "Doesn't work that way, pet...."

"Does, Spike. Does. Trust me on this." Xander's using that soft, unshakable voice Dru had used when the stars had been at her. It's a voice time has trained Spike not to discount.

"Trust you on everything," he admits. It feels like giving in; like sticking Xander with a death sentence.

"Then don't go out, tonight. Stay here with me."

Spike closes his eyes and lets Xander hold him as tight as his weak arms will allow.

"Alright."

"Sing it."

"What?" Xander's breathing had been so soft and even, Spike thought he'd fallen asleep.

Xander sits up a little so he can look Spike in the eyes, his own dancing. "You know what, faker. Sing it."

"Xan--"

"It's my last request, Mister. You have to grant it--"

--Buffy and Angel's wedding: Xander blushing, stammering, asking Spike if he could have this dance; the two of them ducking into the reception halls coatroom before the song even finishes playing;

a terse non-argument on the long drive from Los Angeles to New York City, Spike turning on the radio just to drown out Xander's calm, clipped voice and the song, their song is playing, hanging between them like an armistice;

this same song playing on their stereo when Xander opened up a package with no return address. Just a little wooden box with a snootful of dust is all it was.

A spring mechanism launched the dust into Xander's face and he gasped, inhaling it--

--then looked at Spike surprised, irritated.

Amused.

"That was the lamest practical joke ever. Spike, I've gotta say--you're slipping in your old age," Xander sneezed, then snickered. Spike had been frozen to the spot, newspaper slipping from nerveless fingers as Xander put the box on the counter and dropped the wrapping in the trash, already humming along with their song--

Spike blinks away the memories and glares at his smiling boyfriend. "You're a heartless bastard, sometimes."

"I learned from the best." That smile... it's the one thing that hasn't diminished; in spite of everything, it's still big, still bright, still beautiful.

The backs of Spike's eyes start to sting, so he looks away, at the clock. Four-seventeen a.m.. The last four-seventeen a.m. Xander will ever see, though neither of them have acknowledged that directly.

"At last," Spike begins shakily, his voice hoarse from weariness, heavy from the memories this song calls up. "My love has come along...."

Xander lays back down in Spike arms with a contented sigh, snuggling into his favorite position. He sings the second line softly, but with a different emphases than Etta had: "My lonely days are over...."

"And life is like a song...."

The end, when it comes, is bad.

It's really bad.

This--thing is hollowing Xander out, clawing its bastard way out of him. Though wracked with pain, the most Xander can do is silently toss, trapped in dreams that burn like fire.

He's brittle, and painfully hot to the touch, but Spike holds him, nevertheless.

Holds him till dawn. Then Xander opens his eyes and lets out his last, tortured breath. There's a smile on his face when he does.

Just like that, it's over. Xander has lasted far longer than Spike would've thought--and six days longer than Fred had--but not nearly long enough. And now it's over.

Not with a bang or a whimper, but a sigh and a smile.

"Fuck," Spike exhales, hugging Xander's poor body close, burying his face in hair that smells singed and lifeless. "Oh, fuck."

The sun's first rays shine through the window, promising a day too bright and California-perfect to be Xander's last. Spike turns them both, so his back is to the traitor-dawn. The body in his arms is heavy, hollow and unbreakable.

"You better wait for me, git," Spike whispers, tears running unnoticed down his face. "Don't go takin' up with some angel, or saint, or some bloke who actually deserves you... you just better wait for your Spike. Wait for me--"

Xander's body twitches once, violently. His eyes flutter and... change, from a soft, warm brown, to a virulent, glowing crimson. Crimson that flashes and spreads down the stiff, obsidian-hard body in Spike's arms, leaving bronzy skin and red-brown armor in it's wake.

Then Spike's flying through the air and hitting the wall opposite the bed at thirty, maybe forty miles an hour.

It hurts. Quite a lot.

Not nearly as much as losing Xander; Spike reckons few things would.

Consciousness decides it's not going to let Spike go just yet, even with the riptide of pain flaring throughout his body--broken ribs, shattered vertebra, fractured pelvis; it ain't pretty, but Spike doesn't care--so he starts laughing.

Blood bubbles and drools out of his mouth, but Spike is laughing harder than he ever has.

The creature that has appropriated Xander's body sits up, stands up and regards Spike curiously, tilting its head in an oh-so-familiar--oh-so-expected--way.

"Welcome back, your Highness." Spike is nearly giggling, now, blood running down his chin and neck in thick, sluggish rills.

"You are my Qwa'ha Xahn?" The interrogative in its bright, breathy, stolen voice is almost impossible to pick out. But Spike knows that voice better than his own; better than this thing ever will.

He smiles coldly. "See--that's the thing, mate. I'm not your little lackey. I'm just the bad, rude man that wrung the bitch's neck."

The thing frowns, as if it doesn't quite understand what it's just been told. Spike considers repeating himself slowly and using smaller words, but that turns out to be unnecessary.

"Why did you kill my Qwa'ha Xahn?" It inquires; not angrily, not anything but mildly perplexed.

Spike shrugs--feels rib and collar bones scrape some things, and pierce others. "Seemed like the thing to do, at the time. ‘Sides, you killed my Xander. Couldn't exactly pay you back in kind, but I did what I could."

It blinks, frowns; Xander's beautiful face, worn by an unkillable monster. Spike wonders if it's sifting through Xander's memories, or merely wishing there was a nice potted fern around for it to commune with.

"You will be my Qwa'ha Xahn, then," it decides, trying on a smile. Though it's a mirthless, anemic curve of the mouth, in comparison to Xander's smiles.

A sudden wave of grief overwhelms Spike, makes him moan.

It's smile grows bigger, sharper as it stalks over to Spike, dark and deadly in red and bronze. There's no compassion, no humanity in it. No gloating, even. As alien as Illyria had been, this thing is much, much stranger.

"You will be my Qwa'ha Xahn, Spike," it tells him, kneeling less than a foot away. This close, Spike can see the metallic sheen to it's skin is flecked here and there with bloody crimson light. The heat baking out of it is alarming. "I will heal you and you will serve me until I am familiar with this world again. Then I will send you to join your mate."

Spike no longer allows himself the luxury of hope. "Out of curiosity... what happens if I don't help you?"

The thing abruptly tilts its head to regard Spike from another, only slightly different angle. "There were once dimensions of torture, unimaginable by humans and half breeds. Places where, when the body died, the soul was held, outside of time and visited by agonies that were never-ending."

As the thing speaks, it's voice takes on a note Spike could almost call fond... wistful. All that keeps him from shuddering is his the extent of his injuries. "Cheers, pet. No place like home, is there?"

Comes that inhuman smile again; bright, wry, amused at it's Qwa'ha'zhon's bravado.

"Indeed, there is not. But I shall endeavor to change that."

Spike had been expecting this one to be as disoriented as Illyria had been, and for at least as long as Illyria had been. He understands, now, that he's been wrong. So very wrong. Instead of being unfocused and overwhelmed by the changes time had wrought, this thing came to town primed and loaded for bear.

God, if I was wrong about this, how many other things am I wrong about?

"Not a damn thing like Illyria, are you?" Spike's laughing again, and sobbing. "Not a bloody, damn thing."

Narrowed eyes flash a baleful crimson, but the smile is as sharp as ever.

"Illyria," it says softly, thoughtfully. "I put her in her coffin once. I will do so again, if need be."

"Just like someone once put you in yours, Majesty?"

A small, delighted laugh, as if Spike's just impressed the teacher. "I can seal the Deeper Well with a thought. I will not go back... sweetie-pie. And I will allow nothing else to come out."

The thing reaches out and touches Spike's chest. Heat flushes through him, first like a fever, then like being cooked alive from the outside in. As Spike writhes against the wall, he wonders brokenly if this is what Xander's last moments had been like....

When the heat slowly ebbs, Spike realizes he has been picked up, is being carried.

"I believe you will make an adequate Qwa'ha Xahn," the thing says, sounding immensely satisfied.

Dawnlight and a breeze hurts Spike's sensitive eyes, his sensitive skin--even his sensitive teeth. They've gone outside.

He whimpers.

"Yes. I, too, find the light of this middling star unacceptable. Perhaps... perhaps that will be the first thing I change," it muses.

Healed, but weak and dehydrated, unable to snark, let alone struggle, Spike closes his eyes. Almost immediately after he does, there's a sensation of falling and a rush of stingingly cool air on his scorched skin.

It's just stepped off the balcony of the apartment.

Lost in grief and pain, Spike can't even dredge up a thimbleful of anxiety for this disturbing development. He is, however, momentarily jarred out of his daze by landfall.

Sorry niblet, sorry Red... sorry Buffy... I couldn't do it. He asked me not to, and I couldn't....

It's stride is brisk and quite nauseating in Spike's current state. The only thing less pleasant is the song it's singing:

'Mid pleasures and palaces
Though we may roam....

This time, there's no Wesley to tame the beast, no Wesley to invent a clever ray-gun that can render this thing--mostly--harmless.

No Drogyn to talk some bloody sense into it.

Be it ever so humble,
There's no place like home.....

Most of Spike's hope had died with Xander.

All that's left now is the faintest dregs of hope that the time-bomb ticking away in his lover's corpse goes off, and kills them all before this thing gets a chance to redecorate.

Darkness swallows him then. Not the unconsciousness he desires so very much, but something else entirely.

The sun has just turned black.

~~~~~***~~~~~

calm by Beetle
Title: Little Voice
Burning!verse: Calm, Quixotic, Crazy.
Notes/Spoilers/Warnings: All-human AU (surprise, surprise). All in the same 'verse.

Everyone has that little voice in their head, the one that makes them say or do things that can't be taken back.

Mine caught me unaware, in a moment of post-coital stupidity.

"Tell me something about you, Xander. Something no one else knows?" He asked, last night.

So I told him something about me no one else knows and he promised it wouldn't change how he felt about me, wouldn't change anything.

I slept better than I have in twenty years.

But this morning--the morning after--two things have changed.

He's now a liar and I'm now alone.

~~~~~***~~~~~

cold by mirasol

Blood-orange flames chase bleached-bone moonlight. Shivers stretch, then shatter, the film of stolen sweat, making a billion tiny stars burn then gradually vanish as the tremors slowly ease.

Cold hearted? Cold blooded? Hardly.

Tightly clenching around that unyielding source of almost too hot-

-even for him.

"Ahhh... fuckyesyesyes..."

Whispers warm his ear before kisses cool his cheek. "Take it out, Xan..."

He twists, pulls, moans as the glass toy slips free.

So empty now...

Yet the heat within keeps him happily... frustratingly...

just there -

- until the first chill touch of the ice cube along his eager length...

~~~~~***~~~~~

contemplative by altyronsmaker
Title: Ill Gotten Gains part 2
Series: Sick, Contemplative.

It'd been a month since the demon attack that rendered Xander empathic, and what a strange ability that was. To know what others are feeling at any given moment? Not just guessing, but actually knowing? Having it confirmed in his own mind and heart as though he was the one feeling it? Very strange indeed.

It didn't help matters any that the rest of the gang were weirded out by him. Except for Giles. Somehow Giles always managed to take things in stride. But sometimes the strain of keeping his guard up around Xander was evident in the new lines forming around his eyes and the tired set to his jaw. To see those lines always made Xander a little sad. Giles was funny, though. Despite guarding himself against Xander's ability, to know Giles was to know how he felt. Giles was one of the few people in the world who actually acted the way he felt, and that was very refreshing. Kinda like relaxing in the knowledge that someone is exactly who they portray themselves to be. He might be standoffish, stuffy, and tweedy, but he was honest. And that was all that mattered to Xander.

The reactions that were most distressing to him were the ones from Buffy and Willow. It's almost as though Buffy shut down completely. Her emotions boiled under the surface, but she seemed to think that if she kept a stoney face and cold eyes, he wouldn't be burdened with her feelings. He wished he could tell her that was the case, but he was blasted with her need to protect them all, her driving fear that she would die at any moment, and her conflicting emotions concerning Angel. Worst of all was the burning loneliness that infused itself into her soul more with each passing day. That loneliness is what affected him the most. He ached right along with her, but to keep up her façade, he would pretend he didn't. It was what she needed.

Willow, on the other hand was the exact opposite. She was always cheerful when around him. He supposed she thought that by being always cheerful, she wouldn't telegraph the deeper, scarier aspects of herself. Like Buffy, her tactics didn't work. Xander felt Willow's confusion concerning her new feelings for Tara and her old feelings for Oz, which weren't as dead as she liked to pretend. He knew, just as she did, that Willow loved Tara, that they were perfect together. Yet, still something was missing. He could tell Willow felt a great discontent. There was something in her that lurked below the surface, itching to get out, that even she was unaware of. And that something terrified him.

Out of all the gang members - and how weird is it that he considered Spike one of the group now? - Spike was the only one that he couldn't get a handle on. But that might be because the bleached menace was nowhere to be found lately. After he nursed Xander back to health, which seemed to take forever, Spike left. Just up and cruised. Oh, he knew Spike was still in Sunnydale. He'd heard Buffy talk about seeing him about town, in the cemetery on patrol or at the Bronze. Places where Xander refused to go anymore because there were just too damn many people and feelings there, most of which were highly sexual and predatory. Those places gave him the shakes.

So, given the absence of his caretaker, Xander was curious. What was up with Spike that he stayed away from Xander? Only one way to find out.

~~~~~~~~~~

The door to the crypt swung open on a quiet squeak. Had he not been a vampire, Spike would have been surprised by the entrance of one of the Scoobies, so silently did they pass through his door. To maintain the illusion, he continued to sit and watch his show, sip his warm blood from the coffee mug next to his chair, and ignore the person standing in the doorway.

"Ahh, there you are, Spike. I've been wondering where you got off to. You never let me say thank you properly for taking care of me." Xander ignored his knocking knees and stepped cautiously further into the crypt.

"Had better things to do, mate. Telly, blood, mayhem. Not gonna sit around and nurse you all the time, now, am I?"

"Oh right. You're the big bad." Xander nodded, getting a little pissed at Spike's normal flippant attitude. "Got a rep to maintain, right?"

"Yeah." Spike finally turned to Xander. "What do you want?"

"Want to talk about why you've been all avoidy since I got well." Xander capitalized on the vulnerable, wary look in Spike's eyes. "Hell, you were around more when you were evil and wanted to kill me - us - Buffy."

"So?" Defensiveness crept onto Spike's face and into his tone.

"So, bleachy. What's up? Afraid of a little demon empathy mojo?" Xander laughed suddenly. "Afraid I might find out you like me?"

"What?!? I do not!" Eyes wide with indignation.

But Xander felt it, finally. His own eyes widened unrealistically. "You like me." He shook his head. "Holy Moses. Spike. Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Oh please." Spike scoffed, ignoring the knot that was forcing his stomach into all sorts of new positions. "First: don't like any o' you people. Second, like you even less than the others. Only saved you because....because.."

Xander grinned evilly as Spike floundered for a reason. "Yeah. Why was that again?"

"Hold on! I'm thinking!"

"Don't bother, bloodbreath. You've been outed."

"Shut your gob!" Spike rounded on him with a fury that had been absent for almost a year - a year he'd spent working with this lot, helping them fight Adam and other assorted demons on the hellmouth.

"You're scared. Hurt. Afraid of being hurt." Xander's almost trancelike stare startled the vampire out of his rage. He watched warily as Xander paced closer to him. "You're different from the other vamps. You feel things deeper, with more intensity. You love. You laugh. You enjoy being what you are, even chipped, and you're really hurt that we don't get you."

"Shut it, whelp. Or by God, I'll risk the fried noggin to shut you up myself."

"No." Xander finally looked into Spike's face. "You won't. We are your family now, at least to you. With us, you don't have to be alone. Because alone? Always sucks." Xander smiled a little. "It's the same for me. And here's a shocker, chipboy. I've missed you."

At Spike's gaping look, Xander grinned. "Yeah. I know. Astounding. One of the Scoobies missed you." He took a fortifying breath. "Got another piece of info for ya, Spike. I like you too. And, at the risk of sounding entirely like a girl: You don't have to be alone anymore, if ya don't want to."

"I suppose now you're gonna ask me ta move in with ya?" Spike scoffed, while reaching into is pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. "Well, you can put that on your list of things that Spike will never do. Live with a human? With the food? No. Don't see that happenin." Spike's bravado was almost perfect, but when the hand holding his lighter shook as he lit his cigarette, he knew he was done for. He expelled a smoke filled breath. "Fine. Crypt gets dank when it rains anyway."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Three Months Later

Xander woke to the familiar sounds of Johnny Rotten and Spike's voice in the kitchen. He rolled out of bed, pulled on some sweats, and walked gingerly to the source of the racket. Sliding carefully into the chair at the table – he was proud he didn't wince or moan out loud – he watched as Spike burned toast and spilled coffee on the counter without bothering to wipe it up. He grinned when he saw the cigarette hanging from the vampire's mouth.

"You know that's a health hazard, right, fangless?"

"Mornin, luv. Yeah, but what have I got to be concerned about?"

"How bout killin your roomie with second hand smoke, or ashes in his food?"

Spike laughed as he turned with a plate full of eggs and toast and a cup of coffee in his hand. He set them in front of Xander saying, "Eat up, pet." Then he took the cigarette in hand and leaned down to kiss his boy full on the lips, quickly pulling away to drink his own breakfast. "You're gonna need to get your strength back after last night, Xan. Which was stunningly hot, by they way. You, pet, are one kinky bloke. And comin from a vampire? That's a compliment."

All Xander could think was thank god for eggs and toast to occupy my mouth. And thank him even more that I went to the crypt that night.

~~~~~***~~~~~

crazy by Beetle
Title: Something No One Else Knows
Burning!verse: Calm, Quixotic, Crazy.

"Tell me something about you, William?"

My return to consciousness finds me bound to my chair and drenched in petrol, choking on the thick, cloying fumes.

My captor looms above me, matchbook in hand, face pale and expressionless. His voice is soft... barely audible. "Something no one else knows?"

One look into his empty, miserable eyes and the realization comes, as if it had been waiting for just this moment:

"I still love you."

I suppose they're the last words I'll ever say. Crazy thing is--they're perfectly true.

"Love you, too, Will."

Xander takes out a match. Lights it.

~~~~~***~~~~~

crushed by Beetle
Notes/Spoilers/Warnings: AU, set in S7, around the time of Sleeper.

Spike has perfect hands.

Marble-hard, smoke-soft, death-pale--these are the hands of a butcher, a surgeon, a poet. Shapely, precise fingers and a palm unmarred by the throb of living blood, these hands have twisted and taken, tortured and turned. They've inspired dreams of fleeting caresses and slow seduction in even the most red-blooded American male.

Curled gracefully around a flash of silver and orange, shrouded in smoke and leather--even in the routine dance of pat-down/light-up, these hands are fucking flawless.

Perfect.

Spike's hands, his beautiful... fucking... hands--

--are crushing my windpipe.

~~~~~***~~~~~

curious by Brynhild

God, the club was so dead tonight. Xander sipped the last of his coke and glanced around the room. He'd been half-hoping to score tonight, but even though his standards were relatively low, the few people in the club didn't come anywhere near to what he'd settle for. He paid his tab and left, pulling on a jacket against the chilly winter air. He was about three steps away from the club when he spotted a man walking towards him, passing out something-or-other to the pedestrians clubbing and Christmas shopping. As they passed, the guy pressed something into his hand with a smile. "Merry Christmas."

Xander did a quick head to ass check-out of the guy - curly brown hair, bright blue eyes, compact but lean. He usually had a tendency to pick blondes, but the bod looked good, and he could forget about hair color in a pinch. Before he had a chance to do more than smile, the guy had moved on down the street, still passing out something. It figured, Xander thought. You couldn't walk around downtown without picking up a few fliers for some club opening or mall sale. There was a trash can up ahead and he changed course for it, intending to throw away the flyer without even glancing at it. Halfway there he reconsidered. Even if it was just another advert for a club, maybe it wouldn't be as dead as his current haunts. He glanced down at the small piece of paper in his hand, and stopped walking. It wasn't a club advert. It wasn't even a mall sale. It was a hundred dollar bill.

Xander blinked, wondering if someone had slipped something into his coke when he wasn't looking. No way, no fucking way some guy had been passing out hundred dollar bills on the street. He turned it over in his hands, checking for a name or phone number scribbled on it, some clue as to why the owner didn't want it anymore. There was a small coffee shop still open nearby, and he strolled in and up to the counter.

"Excuse me, do you have-" The salesgirl handed him a counterfeit detector pen.

"You're the third one in here tonight." she said, as he took the pen. He made a mark on the bill and it stayed yellow. The bill was real. "Wish I'd been outside when he walked past."

"Yeah." Xander answered absently. What the fuck? Who the heck was that guy? He hurried out the door and back towards the club but he didn't see the guy anywhere.

For the rest of the week he spent his evenings circulating the clubs, looking for the stranger in vain. One morning he was on his way to campus when he caught a glimpse of curly brown hair disappear inside a small diner, and he swerved into the parking lot. Trying not to get his hopes up, he hurried inside the diner and scanned the heads of the patrons. There, in the back was a mop of light brown-hair spilling over a familiar face, and Xander headed towards it. Azure eyes widened as he slid into the booth opposite of the stranger.

"Who are you?" Xander asked.

The stranger lowered his fork back into the scrambled eggs, and pulled out his wallet. "I'm... Spike Tackett." He read off his driver's licence, as if he didn't know his own name, and put his wallet away. "And you are?"

"Xander Harris." Xander replied. "Why were you passing out money on the street?"

Spike smirked shyly. "Didn't want it." He said and took a bite of egg. "Long story."

Xander decided to blow off school today. "I've got time."

~~~~~***~~~~~

devious by Brynhild

Spike looked up from has spot on the couch as Xander limped in the door. Thank God, Spike almost whispered, leaping up to help Xander come in and sit down on the couch, careful not to jostle the boy and set the chip off. "What happened?"

"Got jumped." Xander muttered, fingertips pressed gingerly to his temple. "Oh, ow. Ice now, please." Spike fetched some and gave it to Xander.

"Vampires?" Xander nodded and Spike swore. "That's it, you're not going out alone after dark anymore. Will was right when she said you were a demon magnet; you keep getting attacked."

"I do not! I haven't been attacked for two months." Xander exclaimed. Spike sighed. The last two months had been the longest of his unlife. He'd been on edge the entire time, wondering if that night would be the night Xan came home beaten to a bloody pulp. "I'm a man, Spike. I can hold my own. I don't need an escort."

The boy's resolve to walk alone at night was stronger than ever, and Spike conceded. "Fine, whatever. At least let me help patch you up."

"Okay." Xander agreed. "I think I want a shower now." He tried to get up but Spike pushed him back into the couch.

"Oh no you don't. You stay still, relax and let the adrenaline settle down, and then you can shower." Spike went to the kitchen and poured a glass of orange juice, stirring it as he tapped two painkillers onto the counter. He watched Xander swallow both pills and all the juice before sitting down and turning the TV on. Two commercials breaks later and Xander was out like a light.

"Finally." Spike took Xander's glass and rinsed it out thoroughly, making sure all traces of the spiked juice were gone, before drying it off and pulling a short, extremely sharp knife from the cutlery drawer. Sterilizing it with a bit of alcohol, he dried the blade off and returned to the living room.

Spike gazed down at his nummy treat, pondering where to cut. Nowhere too obvious, definitely not the back of the knee like last time. Couldn't repeat himself and let the boy suspect that not all of his wounds were from the attack. He rolled Xander's body over so that he was lying on his stomach full length on the couch. There was a cut on the small of his back, barely big enough to sting. He used the blade to deepen the cut, enough to get a good trickle of blood going. Thanks to the ground Monicdem demon horn he'd mixed in the juice that acted like a date-rape drug for humans, Xander was feeling no pain and the chip had nothing to object to.

Spike knelt and tasted, tracing the wound with his tongue and coating his lips and the inside of his mouth with Xander's blood. Ever since he'd learned that he could bite drugged humans, he'd been the fangless wonder by day and feasting almost every night. He kept a low profile - wouldn't want to spoil the surprise when he was already such a fixture in the Slayer's circle. He was itching for the third notchn in his belt, but she was a useful tool for the time being, shame to get rid of her so soon. And Xander was such a delicious way to pass the time. Xander was a virgin in the men's department, and he still possessed enough innocence to make his blood taste so sweet. The fact that Spike was getting away with bleeding the boy under everyone's noses was a bonus. He just might keep this one, turn him once the business with the Slayer was finished.

Spike took care disrobing Xander and washing him up, cleaning dirt and blood out of the wounds and then, bandages affixed, bundling Xander into bed. The next day Xander would gripe about passing out like always, and Spike would just smile and say he was glad Xander got some rest.

~~~~~***~~~~~

dirty by frk_werewolf
Notes: Takes place before 'Horny', but can be read alone.

Spike wasn't the type to worry. He was paranoid, obsessive, and melodramatic. But he wasn't a worrier. Until one night Xander didn't come home.

The fact that it was bloody Xander Harris that he was worried about didn't even register. He'd gotten over that little problem months ago, after a nice round of anger-filled sex. Now it was all puppies and daffodils and shining sun light. Except it hadn't been very sunny as of late. Instead it had rained, hard, for the past week or so.

That thought only served to send Spike into another round of panicking as he stared at the clock. What if he had gotten attacked? What if he had gotten into a car wreck? What if he was kidnapped? What if some idiotic vampire tried to have him as a snack? What if there was some unknown prophecy that used delicious young men's bodies to end the world? What if there was some arcane ritual involving sex with someone as tasty and goofy as him? Spike wasn't about to let some crazy warlock touch his Xander's arse!

Jumping to his feet, Spike snagged his duster and ran out of the apartment to save his lover's life.

Xander wasn't having a good day. The construction site had been partially closed down due to the rain. While most of the workers waited for the water to stop falling, others were put to work measuring wooden beams and doing inventory. Xander, sadly, was one of those workers. The result of which had left Xander working late into the evening and when he noticed the sun going down? Well, he wasn't shocked to see a blur of pale vampire running down the street toward the partially built building.

Xander was thankful that the rest of the crew had left before him. He didn't want to think about what they would do if they could see Spike now. Most of his coworkers found the vampire strange and unusual. Or as Benny said: "Dude, that man lives in his own world of insanity." With a heavy sigh, Xander held his coat over one arm and exited the office trailer. It wasn't until he was treading through three inches of thick mud toward his car that he noticed something weird about Spike's appearance.

Spike was just reaching the entrance, about twenty feet away. His duster, once a worn-in color of black, was now deep brown with green speckles. His hair was no longer bleached blonde, despite the dye job Xander had helped him with two weeks ago. It took Xander a moment, but as Spike closed in on him, he realized the vampire was coated in nasty looking mud.

"Stop!" Xander demanded, holding out his hands. Spike came to a halt three feet in front of him. A distance that Xander knew was too close. "Don't you come any closer!"

"You're alive." Spike said in awe.

"What?" Xander frowned.

"Oh, pet, you're alive!" Spike repeated, his eyes looking far too shiny.

"Spike..." Xander said slowly. "You didn't eat what was in that package on the third shelf in the refrigerator, did you? You knew that was one of Willow's magic ingredients that I was holding for her."

"No." Spike said, looking away a moment. Xander watched, both amused and shocked, as a large blob of mud fell from Spike's nose to the ground in a deafening plop.

"Spike, why are you covered in mud?" Xander finally asked.

"Well, I had to save you, didn't I?" Spike asked defensively.

"From what?" Xander looked around, as though expecting some demon to come popping up out of the woodwork.

"Didn't know." Spike mumbled.

"Seriously, what happened?" Xander asked.

"I was running down Main Street - Don't laugh, it's not funny. - And this little old lady with a bloody shopping cart got in my way!" Spike growled. "I don't even want to know why she had a shopping cart in the middle of Main Street, but she did. I tried to bloody well dodge her, but I ended up tripping over the wheel of the cart and falling into the mud."

"Okay." Xander giggled. "But you are not-" Giggle. "-Getting into my car like that."

"Why not?" Spike whined. "You have mud on you!"

"On my boots, Spike. I don't have mud all over my body." Xander replied, then immediately regretted his use of words as Spike leered. "What? No!"

"Ah, come here, pet!" Spike grinned, reaching for Xander.

"No, Spike!" Xander yelped, darting away. The vampire, however, was faster. Dirt covered arms wrapped around his waist from behind, pulling him against Spike with a horrid 'squelch' noise. "Oh, gross!"

"Don't be such a girl, luv." Spike whispered into his ear.

"I am not being a girl." Xander glared. "Let me go, Spike. I'm getting all dirty!"

"That's the point." Spike replied. He maneuvered Xander around, easily dodging Xander's protesting arms. Their chests touched, the mud causing them to slip against one another.

"Well, now neither one of us is getting in the car." Xander said.

"Sure we are, pet." Spike grinned. "Just got to... Lose the mud, is all."

"Are you attempting to imply that we strip down to possible nakedness?" Xander asked, feigning shock. He wasn't shocked, though. That was exactly the type of thing Spike would suggest, after all. Spike didn't reply, instead he slipped one hand just under the hem of Xander's shirt. "No."

"Oh, come on!" Spike pouted. "It'll be fun."

"We are in a public place." Xander pointed out, wriggling slightly as Spike's hands traveled around to slip into the waist band of his jeans. "What if someone catches us?"

"It's after dark in Sunnydale." Spike said, giving him a pointed look. "We're more likely to be attacked by a bunch of bloody doves than get caught breaking the law."

"You shouldn't say things like that. What if it came true?"

"Then I'll beat the birds down and shag you like there's no tomorrow."

"You're planning on doing that anyway." Xander commented, allowing Spike to slowly push him backwards. Spike pulled his coat out his hands and tossed it behind them. Xander thought about protesting, but he knew Spike would somehow turn whatever he said into something sexual. His backside suddenly hit the front end of his new car and he couldn't help but wince as he thought about the mud that would no doubt be contaminating that polished hood.

"It's just a car." Spike whispered, his eyes flashing playfully in the low lights that lit up the small parking lot. His hand slowly slid into Xander's jeans and cupped his buttocks, giving each cheek a slight squeeze. An almost feral grin appeared on Spike's face when Xander moaned softly.

"You're an evil, naughty, dirty vampire." Xander told him, before pulling said vampire in for a deep kiss. Spike grinned against his mouth, before their tongues met in a dance that was both erotic and desperate. When Spike finally released Xander for a breath, the young man sent him a glare. "You're impossible. I can't believe you're making me do this."

"Not making you do anything." Spike insisted, nudging Xander back until he was sitting on the car's hood. More 'squelch' noises were heard as their bodies began rubbing against one another earnestly. "Just... Mmm... Want to have... Yeah, pet... Some fun, is all."

"You're impossible." Xander gasped out as Spike pushed his back against the hood and towered over him with a lecherous grin. Spike's hands removed themselves from his pants and deftly un-buttoned and un-zipped both of their jeans. "Do I want to know how you managed to get mud inside your pants?"

"Probably not." Spike replied with a cheerful tone. "Just think of it this way! Now we're all slippery and we can slide together." Spike reached inside Xander's jeans to pull out his erection. "Just like this."

"I really shouldn't be turned on by this." Xander moaned softly. "You're getting icky wet dirt all over Xander Jr."

"Yeah, but it feels nice." Spike pointed out, his hips jerking. "Shouldn't you be moaning and writhing under me about now, pet?"

"Probably." Xander said, before reaching up to pull Spike into another kiss.

As it often went, their passion attacked them like a tidal wave. Wave after wave of arousal and pleasure, with each thrust of a hip and glide of flesh on flesh. Xander made a move to slide his mouth across Spike's cheek to his ear, but encountered a pile of mud attached to the vampire's face. Pulling his head to the side, he began spitting to get the crud out of his mouth. Spike chuckled into his ear.

"You know." Xander said between spits. "You could pause our frottage long enough to let me get this taste out of my mouth."

"Got better ways to do that, luv." Spike said.

Their lips met in a bruising kiss, and soon the taste of mud was eliminated and replaced by that of Spike. Their tongue dueled, thrusting in tune with each move of their hips. Hard flesh rubbed against hard flesh. Fingers entwined with one another. One body gasped and breathed in heavy pants, while the other mimicked the hard breathing despite not needing the air.

"God, Spike." Xander growled, when their lips finally separated.

One of Xander's arms slipped underneath the vampire's duster, in order to wrap around his waist, while the other braced itself against the car to support the hard rhythm Spike was creating. He could feel the car bounce along with them, their activity causing havoc to the tires. Their lips met once more, Xander's teeth biting down hard on Spike's lower lip as pleasure struck him again and again like lightning. The slick feeling and sound of their mud covered clothes became a pointless worry and both parties arched closer to that perfect point of ecstasy.

"Love you, Xan." Spike said in a soft voice, before sealing his mouth over Xander's to muffle his own howl. Spike's completion only served to bring forward Xander's own.

"Good God." Xander panted, letting his head fall back against his car with a thump.

"Mmmm... Sure am." Spike mumbled, his face buried in Xander's neck.

"Oh, Spike!" Xander suddenly whined. "Now I'm covered in mud and your... stuff."

"You can't complain about it if you are unable to say the word." Spike replied, pulling back. He moved to stuff himself back into his pants and zip up, but Xander grabbed his hand. "Oh, ready for another go, then?"

"No. You're stripping down. We are both stripping down." Xander ordered, pulling off his shirt. Spike's eyes glazed over slightly. "Pay attention!"

"Well, how do you expect me to do that when you're undressing!" Spike exclaimed.

"Neither one of us is getting into my car covered in mud." Xander said firmly. "And I'm not leaving it here to get stolen by some wannabe punk or, worse, a vampire."

"Yeah, yeah." Spike waved a hand, before slipping out of his mud coated duster. Both men quickly removed their clothes and, completely nude, tossed them into the trunk. Xander took one look at his coat, before considering it unsalvageable and leaving it on the ground. He ignored Spike's leer and slid into the driver's seat, waiting for his vampire to follow. "Hey, pet? Ever have someone give you a blow-job while driving?"

"Yes. Fifteen times." Xander gave him an odd look. "Don't you remember? We kept driving the car salesmen crazy and was only allowed to drive around the car lot, since we didn't want him in the car with us? We went through fourteen cars before we discovered this one had enough room for you to maneuvered your head."

"Oh, yeah." Spike said, grinning. As they pulled out of the parking lot and head for home in their birthday suits, Spike gave a happy sigh. "This was fun. I should fall in the mud more often."

~~~~~***~~~~~

discontent by Brynhild
Obsesso!verse series: Accomplished, Discontent, Worried, Distressed, Infuriated.

Xander closed the door to his apartment with a weary sigh. Shrugging off his jacket, he hung it up on the hook near the door and locked the door. Patrol had been rough tonight. Apparently Spike had gone missing, and Buffy was afraid that maybe he was plotting some new evil scheme, so she'd called out the entire Scooby Gang for a long patrol, but no one had been able to find hide nor hair of the vampire in question. The crypt that Spike had been living in was gathering dust and most of his more valuable belongings were gone, but whether they'd been moved or whether the empty crypt had been raided by someone was hard to tell.

"Maybe he moved on." Willow had suggested to Buffy, "Sunnydale isn't that much fun for a chipped vampire, so maybe now that he knows he can fight demons, he decided to go somewhere else. Or..." She trailed off, but everyone knew what she was going to say. Xander and Willow had caught Spike trying to dust himself only a few days ago, so it wasn't impossible that he'd tried again and managed to succeed.

Buffy beat up Willie even more than usual, but the bartender continued to swear that he had no idea where Spike was, so the gang was at a loss of what to do next. Xander sighed, kicking off his shoes and padding to the bedroom.

"Hey honey, I'm home." Xander murmured, crawling into bed without turning a light on. Spike didn't respond, so Xander let his fingertips trail down Spike's arm. That elicited a shiver, and Xander grinned at the obvious sign of restrained lust. "Miss me, baby?" he whispered into Spike's ear, rolling over to straddle the vampire. When he'd seen Spike trying to impale himself on a stake rather than admit to the passionate feelings that were burning inside him for Xander, Xander knew it was time to go to the next level of their relationship. He had to protect Spike, even it it was Spike who he was protecting him from. This was the way it had to be to keep Spike safe.

But apparently Spike hadn't accepted this logical reasoning, because there were traces of blood from where he'd been struggling against the cloth and wire gag all day. Vampiric healing had already closed the wounds against the corners of his lips, but the paths that the blood had dripped across Spike's cheeks were dried and dark against his pale skin. "I wish you wouldn't struggle so much against what you know is meant to be." Xander said quietly, lowering his head to lick the dried blood away. Spike trembled and the shackles connecting his wrists to the head board made a soft tinkeling sound. Xander chuckled. "You know you want it. You don't have to fight it anymore." He gently untied the gag and took it off, setting it aside. He was tempted to remove the blindfold too, but he left it on. He'd learned from what he'd read that the blindfold was an essential part of the process - by cutting off sight, it helped the person to be able to concentrate on themselves and sort though their feelings, and then accept and cope with the results of their feeling sorting. As much as he wanted to gaze into Spike's breathtakingly beautiful blue eyes, he didn't want his own selfishness to impede the process. The sooner Spike processed and accepted his feelings, the sooner they'd be the happy couple Xander knew they were destined to be.

"Hate you." Spike muttered, voice broken. Xander knew he was crying, would be able to hear the tears in his voice even if he didn't see them soaking into the blindfold.

"You love me, darling." Xander replied, kissing a trail from Spike's lips to the curve where neck meets shoulder. "You just can't admit it yet. But don't worry...." He bit down sharply, causing Spike to cry out. "I'll help you."

~~~~~***~~~~~

distressed by Brynhild
Obsesso!verse series: Accomplished, Discontent, Worried, Distressed, Infuriated.

It'd been an accident, honest. Willow had been working on an art project for one of her classes, and knew it would be awesome if she used a bunch of those soda-can tabs in the project. And she knew which one of her weirdly quirky friends had a shoe-box in their closet full of tabs that they'd been collecting for years. Willow used to borrow tabs for art projects and for inventing weird games through middle school, and so she knew Xander wouldn't mind if she took a handful of them.

She'd knocked on his apartment door for five minutes before she'd remembered that he said he was working tonight. With a mental shrug - he probably wouldn't even notice that there were tabs missing - she used her key and entered his apartment.

She opened his bedroom closet and knelt, digging though a pile of clothes to find the heavy shoe-box of can tabs. Scooping up a few, she poured them in her pocket and was about to get up when she smelled something. It was almost like cigarette smoke, but why would Xander's closet smell like cigarettes? Xander didn't smoke... unless he was keeping a secret from Willow.

Curious, she lifted a few of the pieces of clothing to her nose, but she could tell right away that they weren't the source of the scent. Digging further into Xander's closet, her hand struck the edge of another box, this one much larger than the shoe box, completely covered with scattered clothing. She uncovered the box and opened it, and gasped at the contents.

Almost two dozen little plastic bags, all neatly labeled, most of them containing anywhere from one to nine cigarette filters. One held an empty bottle of black nail polish, and in a larger plastic bag was what used to be a black t-shirt, but was now the bloody shredded remains of a black t-shirt that she'd seen Spike wearing when it was shredded during a patrol. Another bag also held pages talking about 'William the Bloody' that had been torn from what must've been one of Giles' books.

She sat back on her heels, eyes wide and hands trembling. This wasn't good. She felt like she was in a horror movie, when you first see obvious signs of a stalker's obsession.

Willow shook her head sharply. Stalker? This was Xander! She'd known him forever. He was her best friend. There was no way that he could be some kind of psycho stalker.

Except that the proof was right in front of her. Deep in her heart she knew that if vampires were more photogenic, there'd be several pictures of Spike in the box too. Silently, she replaced the box and arranged the clothes over it, hoping that Xander wouldn't be able to tell that anyone had stumbled over his secret. With a heavy heart and a burdened mind, she locked up his apartment and left to think things over.

~*~

Spike had been missing for a week, and Willow knew that Xander knew where he was. He was almost nonchalant when they first realized that Spike was AWOL. She knew Buffy thought he was just showing his disdain for the vampire, but since finding that box, Willow knew better. Xander should be frantic without the subject of his obsession, but he was as calm as ever, so she knew the vampire hadn't split of his own accord. She wasn't sure where he was keeping Spike, but it couldn't be too far away.

Plopping down on the couch next to Xander during a research party, she let a silly grin blossom on her face. Her nerves were all jittery and the butterflies in her stomach were doing gymnastics, but she used the on-edge feelings and made it sound like she was excited and peppy. "Hey Xan!"

"Hey," Xander smiled at her, and she almost faltered. How could her bestest Xander-shaped friend be a kidnapper and a stalker?

Steeling her will, she said, "There's a bake sale on campus on Monday, and I already volunteered to bring cookies, but there's no oven at the dorms and Giles' oven is broken from when Buffy tried to make Thanksgiving dinner, so I was wondering if maybe I could come over and use the oven at your place?"

"Oh man, I'm sorry Wills," he replied, "But my oven is on the fritz too. Did you try Buffy's?"

"No," Willow replied, "I'll stop by tomorrow and ask Joyce." Liar, she though to herself. Xander never used his oven, so why would it be malfunctioning? And even if it was, how would he have figured out that it wasn't working? No, it was far more likely that Spike was in Xander's apartment. An icy chill worked its way down Willow's spine, but she tried to ignore it and play the role of geeky innocent best friend for the rest of the evening.

~*~

Adrenaline pounded though her veins as she drove up to Xander's apartment and parked. There was a fully stocked first-aid kit and a cooler with several bags of blood waiting in the trunk just in case. She hurried to Xander's apartment, pausing in front of the door. She whispered the words of a revealing spell, and felt slightly relieved when there were no protection spells or wards on Xander's door. She hadn't thought he was practicing magic, but then again she hadn't thought he was interested in Spike. She quickly unlocked the door and slipped inside, closing the door gently behind her. Xander was at work right now, a fact that she had verified right before coming over, but that didn't mean she wanted to dally or wake the neighbors.

Upon entering the apartment, one thing immediately stood out. Xander's bedroom door was closed. Xander never closed his bedroom door. Her heart pounding heavy in her chest, she approached the door and pushed it open.

She had been expecting it, but it was still a shock to see Spike trussed up like a turkey and chained to Xander's bed. Fear and nausea churned her stomach as she neared the bed. She took off the gag first, and then the blindfold. "Spike? It's me, Willow. Are you all right?" Spike didn't respond, glazed eyes staring into space. There were no visible wounds that she could see, and with only a sheet covering the lower half of Spike she could see quite a bit.

Willow turned to the bedside table where she saw a small silver key lying beside the alarm clock. Picking it up, she turned back to Spike and was about to unlock the chains when she heard Xander's voice.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

~~~~~***~~~~~

ditzy by Cas

Xander arrived at the almost empty bar and tossed his jacket on a stool. "Still haven't done it, have you?"

Elbows on the bar, Spike knocked back his drink and turned. "Tried. Person's a bit thick, yeah? Doesn't get what I'm going on about."

"I can't believe you get cold feet." Xander ordered a beer, and then looking at Spike, shook his head. "Must be someone pretty special."

"Yeah." Spike's heated gaze lingered on Xander's throat, watching it convulse as the guy drank. "You could say that."

"Who is she?" Xander hit the vampire's arm. "Come on, spill. I gotta know..."

"Mysteries are better sometimes." Spike started lifting the bottle to his mouth when Xander's hand blocked him. "What?"

"I'll help you." Okay, he'd never imagined those words coming out of his own mouth. Spike needing dating tips from the zeppo. Still, it had been so long since Spike dated, and he'd finally spilled about having a crush and not knowing what to do about it. How could Xander do anything but help?

"You will."

Xander broke the odd silence that stretched between them. "Yup... gonna be all helpful-guy and help you get the girl." Wait... was that a wary look that entered Spike's eyes. The guy had it bad. Really bad.

"You will?"

"Yeah repeato-boy, Xan to the rescue." Xander grinned and popped some peanuts into his mouth. "So what's she look like? Blonde, brunette? Redhead?"

"Brunet."

"Ah... dark beauty. It's a start. Long or short."

"I don't know I haven't seen...oh... you mean hair...right. Short, very short. A lot like yours."

Running his hand through his hair, Xander answered, "haven't had time for a hair cut. I'll get on it. So... brown hair, eyes?"

"Brown. Like yours"

Xander felt Spike's gaze on his eye, and self consciously touched his patch. "Can't be like mine, or she'd be all yo ho ho,.. not your type."

"A wide range of people are my type. You'd be surprised." Spike reached out and straightened Xander's patch. "Always did like pirate movies. Pirates are sexy, yeah."

"Okay let's get back to your problem," Xander moved his head away. "Hot bod?"

"Oozes hotness, yeah."

Huh? Was Spike comparing him to some girl? The way his eyes had roved over his body made Xander a bit uncomfortable. "Hot... hot's good," his voice was slightly squeaky.

"And tight." Spike openly stared at the corded muscles peeking out from under Xander's shirt which had crept up his waist when the guy leaned back against the bar.

"Right. This pirate girl, got nice wench breasts?" Xander licked his lips.

"No... no I wouldn't say that. Nice ass though. Very nice ass."

"Huh. Okay, don't tell her that." Xander took another swig of his drink. He was missing something. It was skirting on the edges of his mind, but he couldn't quite catch it. "Okay... pretty smile?"

"Smile for me."

"Huh?" Bemused, Xander did just that.

"Very pretty smile. Yeah... what next."

Xander blinked. "Well... you might try telling her you like her smile. No pressure, just strike up a conversation. Or let her know you like her, you know?"

"I think I got it." Spike leaned close to Xander's ear and whispered. "I like your smile." Dropping a couple of bills on the bar, he slowly strode out of the bar, never looking back.

"Huh? I mean... huh?" Xander looked at the bar tender. "He doesn't mean me. He means me?" Slowly, he turned to look at the doorway Spike had left through.

~~~~~***~~~~~

enthralled by Beetle
Title: Aftermath (4/4)
Series: Hopeful, Lonely, Predatory, Enthralled, Flirty.

You'd never know he's dead; he still breathes, even in his sleep.

I find myself enrapt by the smallest details of him: his hair flopping onto his forehead, no matter how many times I brush it away. The fact that he's actually starting to snore a bit. The way his gameface had slowly melted away, leaving the same innocent, untroubled face I spent many a basement night obsessing over....

After my little lesson, I'd bandaged his left arm with a piece of torn bedding then removed the right manacle. The left one comes off when I'm a bit more certain of him.

Now, I'm spooned up next to him, all cozy, one arm draped over his waist, the other serving as his pillow... I brush his floppy hair off his face yet again and kiss down the line of his neck.

His complexion is fading under what's left of his tan. The way the color's leaching out of him, Harris'll probably wind up white as scalded milk. Dunno if I like that; I've grown accustomed to his bronzy, SoCal looks and fishbelly-white vamps are so very last century....

Who'm I kidding? If the boy turned green, that wouldn't stop me watching him, wanting him.

Not that anyone would blame me. Harris was always pretty, with those big, dark eyes that begged the world not to hurt him, even as he cracked his lame jokes and smiled his idiot smiles.

Now, no amount of pretty can hide the what's underneath--not from eyes that can see such things. The harmless, boy-next-door face and sweet, silly smile--these things are a facade, a mask that hides an undead predator. The vulnerability that still twinkles out of his eyes? A bit of artifice that imitates life more completely than any masterpiece I've ever seen.

He's a natural born killer and I made him.

Which makes me bloody Picasso, I suppose.

I turn him onto his side and pull his right leg back over mine, sliding between his cheeks, brushing his opening, breaching him with just the tip of my cock... fuck, it'd be easy to just take him like this. I have every right to. He's mine now, all mine.

"But we've been down this road before, haven't we, pet?" I pull out of him completely, shaking with the effort that is self-restraint. "You sleeping like the dead--which you are--and me trying to wake you with a kiss... among other things."

No response from the undead boy sleeping in my arms; I'm hard enough to pound nails, been this way for hours--and I could've taken him any time because it's my right, and his duty to acquiesce.

But the remains of William the Bloody Victorian have a nasty habit of pointing out that I got the same treatment when I was new.

And I'd hated Angelus as much as I'd ever loved him, hadn't I?

Less than one night and I'm already addicted to the abject adoration in his gaze. Less than one night and I already want to be a better sire for him than either of mine were for me. I don't want our--relationship soured by bitterness or calculating hatred.

"Come on, pet... I know I took a lot out of you, but that's over, now, clean slate. I wanna make it good for you, love. Wake up." I hug my boy closer, nose pressed to his nape.

"This is your sire, Xander," I murmur into his hair. Can't really explain sire-voice--it's a cross between lover and drill-sergeant--but I've been hearing it roll out of me since last night. "Wake up."

Less than a second later, he draws a slightly deeper breath then lets it out in a long, contented sigh.

"‘Lo, pretty," I say, so low even I can barely hear it.

He sighs again, snuggling closer and turning to look up at me; his remaining manacle clinks softly with the motion. A soft growl that is a purr when a ponce like Harris does it, makes me want to barricade the door to the room and keep him in here forever, away from anyone and everyone else.

He looks into my eyes for a nearly a minute, not searching, just--looking. He's lost his soul, but there's still something bright shining out of him.

Bright darkness.

So much for my theory that my blood'd be too weak to give him any real power. His darkness could swallow me whole if I let it... I think with a twinge of something that isn't quite apprehension. Hell help us all, if Dru's powers were in her blood--our blood--and I've passed them on to him....

But the boy blinks and whatever thrall, if thrall it was, is broken, my suspicions chased away by a sweet, sunny smile; makes me want to kiss him, so I do. His lips are cold and soft, his mouth tastes faintly of blood and desperation.

"Spike." God, the way he says my name makes it sound like Sire and I want him so bad I don't how I've restrained myself this long. I turn him onto his left side and drag his right back leg over mine again. A quick moment to make sure my angle's true and I'm burying my cock in his cool, tight body. We both gasp, but neither of us move, save for the fluttering of muscles torn between fighting me and accepting me.

"Okay... ouch and oh, God, more!"

I bite his shoulder hard enough to leave a monster of a hickey, but not hard enough to break skin. "You alright then, pet?" Not what I should be asking, I suppose. If he was anyvamp's child but mine, that vamp'd be more likely to ask: lesson learned then, pet?

"Let's see... still manacled to the bed, laying in sheets that are still tacky with my own blood--still missing a few inches of skin, and taking it up the ass from a homicidal vampire? Actually, I've never been better in my whole life. My whole existence...." he laughs a little, his face turned away from mine, and further obscured by his damn floppy hair. "That's pretty fucked up."

"Be serious, pillock." As gentle as if I'm talking to Dru during one of her fits. If he can muster the energy to crack wise, he must be fine, but I want to hear him say it.

He glances back at me and smiles so warmly, looks so bloody human... he'd take my breath away if it wasn't over a century too late for that.

"I've been worse... but rarely better," he adds in a fuck me voice I'd never heard him use when he was alive. And as soon as I find some finesse, some sodding self-control, I'll be happy to oblige him.

"Is that so?"

He tilts his face up to mine for another kiss. I study him for a moment--the fading tan, still-kissable lips and sooty lashes framing half-closed eyes--before placing the chastest of kisses on the corner of his mouth.

"Like being disciplined, do you?" My voice isn't exactly steady, remembering the look on his face when I tore that swatch of skin off him; remembering that he came like he'd been fucked to a fare-thee-well, my name ripped out of his throat like a howl.

"When you're the one doing the disciplining? Oh, yeah," curls out from his lips like cigarette smoke.

"Well, you're just all sorts of surprises lately, pet," I tell him and he flashes me a half-arsed version of his idiotic zeppo-grin. But I know what he is, what's been hiding underneath that soul of his all this time. "All sorts of lovely surprises."

I take his hand and wrap it around his cock, encouraging him to stroke. By the time I let go of his hand, his cock's doing it's damnedest to lay flat against his belly and he's shivering.

"Anyway, at least you're not hurting me ‘cause you hate me... ." Uncertainty makes the bright darkness that radiates from him flicker and dim. "Or am I assuming too much?"

I shrug. "I guess you could call this non-hatred, yeah."

"Thank you, Sire." He glances back at me anxiously, managing to blush despite his lack of circulation. Bloody eery that he has that much control over his body and newly risen. "If you don't hate me, does that mean you, um, lo--"

"Do I plan on keepin' you?" I cut in before he can finish that endearingly stammered little trap. Just a week ago, it was so easy to forget that he could play at being the Zeppo seamlessly, wore that mantle like Superman wears Clark Kent. But it most certainly wouldn't do to forget now. "That what you wanna know?"

Harris nods. "Dunno. Suppose I just might, provided you remember how to behave around the ‘bit."

"I was stupid and disrespectful to you, and to Dawn. Dawnie," he says contritely. "I was wrong, Sire, wrong and stupid and I'll try to be a better childe. I won't ever make you sorry you turned me."

He projects such earnestness and honesty. I don't believe a damn bit of it, but I do believe he'll behave himself around the nibblet and that's good enough, for now. "Don't be too pious, love... might wanna discipline you every now and again." I pull out and drive right back into him, hard and fast, destroying this demonic Hallmark-moment before it draws out any longer.

"Oh, fuck, Spike!" Really, it's as if the boy finds a way to add ten extra syllables to my name. Bloody hell, what that does to me... what he does to me.

"Was there something you needed, love?" Like I don't already know every little dirty want or need that's making his cock twitch like a frog on a hot skillet. I put my wrist up to his lips for intensive nuzzling and licking and... nothing else. He's smart, alright. Smarter than I was when I was first turned. He learns his lessons quickly and well. "Alright, come on, boy. Out with it. Tell me what you need."

"Fuck, Spike--need you," he breathes meeting each and every thrust eagerly, apparently trying to tear himself apart on me. But the careful, nipping bites on my wrist don't even come close to breaking skin. "Please, Sire, please--I love you, please let me?"

Bugger, I couldn't dust you now, even if I wanted to... and you know that, don't you, pet? You manipulative little bastard... .

A growl and pull my wrist away; he freezes, then offers his neck, the picture of perfect, dutiful submission. Such a clever, clever boy. We're going to have such fun together.

"Can hardly say no to such pretty manners as that, can I?"

"No, say yes, please say yes, need you, need you--" he begs. He's shaking and thrashing so much, I have to turn him on his stomach and hold him down just to stay in him. Fucking him's like riding an unbroken horse.

I cover his body with my own and kiss neck gently.

"You are evil. Beautiful, manipulative, clever and evil...." dirty nothings I whisper in his ear as he writhes and shudders against me, calling me Sire and pleaseohpleaseharderohfuckohgodharder. "Think I will keep you, pet."

"Please keep me, don't let me go, I promise, I'll beha--"

I stop his babble the only way I know how. I bring my wrist to his lips again. "Go on, boy, it's past time."

Sudden as death, his fangs pierce my wrist like needles, rather than the mini-chainsaws I'd been expecting. He draws my blood slowly, steadily, doesn't guzzle it despite his injuries and hunger. This is the first time I've ever willingly let someone other than Dru feed from me.

But she's just a memory, now, another fading regret. A lovelier, darker pair of eyes has eclipsed her eyes; a harder, stronger form has burned away the longing for her angular softness.

He's my childe; barely out of the ground--so to speak--and already got me wrapped around his fangs.

The scary bit is how badly I want to be wrapped. Whether through guile, or thrall, or loneliness, what it boils down to is: love's bitch has gone and done it again.

Oh, bloody hell.

~~~~~***~~~~~

exanimate by Dancetomato

Xander had seen people come back from the dead, usually Buffy, and it was always pretty dramatic. Coughing up dirty water before kicking the Master's ass. Clawing her way out of her own grave then contending with Motorcycle Hell Demons. He hadn't actually seen her digging her way up, but the aftermath was dramatic enough. Having a bullet magically removed from her belly and waking up as if nothing happened.

Then there were the newly risen vamps. Teresa was perhaps the most startling, leaping out of a coffin to jump him and Buffy at her own viewing. He got an armful of Buffy that time, so maybe it wasn't her rising up out of the coffin that was so dramatic, but the rising of something else entirely. Although waiting in cemeteries watching for vamps to dig themselves out of freshly dug graves became routine for him (and wasn't *that* just a freaky thing), it was always something pretty dramatic. Dirt and claws and bloodlust and dust. Quite the show.

Perhaps that's why every day he hurried home from work to sneak in the apartment and watch Spike in his last moments of sleep. It was so strange to watch Spike go from dead--utterly dead, not his usual ADHD undeadness--to alive. One moment he was completely exanimate. No breathing, no movement, expressionless face. In the next moment there was liquid movement in Spike's limbs as he reached for Xander, murmuring good morning as his mouth curved into that familiar smile that existed for Xander only. Not the leer or the smirk or the downright evil grin. This was the smile that said Spike came to life in Xander's presence. The transformation, while sudden, wasn't violent or startling or spooky. But the shift from exanimate to ex-exanimate was the most dramatic thing Xander had ever seen. And he thought that if you asked Spike, he would say that in that moment, Xander also came back to life, reanimated by the touch of his lover's kiss.

~~~~~***~~~~~

flirty by Beetle
Title: On The Prowl
Series: Hopeful, Lonely, Predatory, Enthralled, Flirty.

He's hot and so out of my league.

Sitting alone at his table, pale and pretty under thick, dark hair, eyes as wide and dramatic as a Bollywood starlet....

He's probably here to meet a date, not get cruised or ogled by every loser in this place. Not that that's stopping any of us. I'm one of maybe a dozen guys having braingasms while mentally undressing him.

And I'm the only one brave enough--read: stupid enough--to approach him. Of course, by the time I get to his table, I'm giving my deodorant a run for it's money.

"Excuse me--" I turn on the old charm as he looks up at me. "Mind if I sit with you?"

The guy's obviously about to say no, he'd prefer to sit alone, when we make eye contact and I'm--

deepdarkwildbrightlovelydangerousohholygodhiseyes

--caught.

He blinks once, slowly, and I'm surfacing, like climbing out of a heated pool on a cold night.

"This place is a madhouse tonight, or I wouldn't impose." I plonk my Rolling Rock on the table and my ass in the best seat in the bar. The momentary glitch has thankfully passed; my brain is rebooting like a pro.

The devastating eyes scan me before glancing pointedly around the bar... at all the empty tables and seats still available. I grin and shrug, hoping he's one of those mythological guys that's not repulsed by goofballs.

"It's a free country." His voice is soft, rich; not wild with welcome, but he's not telling me to go fuck myself, either. When his gaze travels the bar again, I take another good look at the guy that comes with those eyes.

He's kinda muscular, confident and relaxed; wearing "distressed" blue jeans, a faded acapulco shirt over a white t-shirt and battered Converse All-Stars--a thrift-store hipster if ever there was one.

Not usually my type, but man, oh, man could I acquire a taste for guys like him... or maybe him in particular.

"Used to be this place wasn't such a meat-market, but I guess the times, they are a-changin'." God, that was a pitiful attempt at an ice-breaker. Not that I'm normally James Bond or something, but I haven't been on my game since we made eye contact.

He looks at me again, all calmly assessing eyes and wry smile, and I'm frozen, like a fly in amber. Turns out The Smile is just as devastating as The Eyes, spurring me to stammer on like a coked-up monkey.

"Not that I make a habit of coming to places like this... I'm not much of a cruiser, but sometimes I just feel like a night out--"

"You got a name to go with that line of bullshit?" He takes a sip of his Magner's, his eyes never leaving mine. Looking into his eyes is a little like getting vertigo, and he knows it, too. He's used to guys looking into his eyes and going all babbley and lame. It amuses him.

I sift my gaze to slightly above is eyes and that vertiginous feeling passes, but my mouth is already moving without my brain's dubious input. "Sure do! John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt, and you are--?"

At the hipster's quirked eyebrow, my face turns red--and probably blotchy, God bless my genes--and I immerse myself in peeling the label off my beer. "Sorry, humor's not only my defense against a cruel, uncaring world, but also the means by which I ensnare guys in my web of seduction. It might actually work, some night. Not tonight, but some night, is all I'm saying," I add at his incredulous snort.

"Yeah? Well, good luck with that, John," he says dismissively, standing up to walk away. Not that I don't mind the view of his ass--and what an ass, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what an ass--but I haven't finished working my mojo, such as it is.

"Wait, please--" I jump up, reaching out to touch his arm, but I don't quite dare when those gorgeous, disturbing eyes meet mine yet again. All of a sudden, I'm seventeen, sweating and stammering my way through asking Becky Slidell to junior prom.

"Look, can we just travel back in time to, like, before I nixed any miniscule chance I might have had with you?" I hold out my hand, but the hipster doesn't take it. "My name's Jesse... and you are?"

He still isn't taking my hand and he's gone extremely pale. A neat trick, considering he already looks like he might need a transfusion. I've seen primer with more color than this guy.

"Jesse?" That amused self-confidence has been replaced by a look of blank surprise that can't bode well for my chances of escorting him home tonight.

"Thatsa me. . . Jesse Rawlins, but people just call me J.R. Except for that dirty bitch my father married, she calls me the faggot stepson--which makes me wonder what she says about me behind my back--but the less said about her, the better." I'm grinning and yeah, it's hardly possible, but I'm making my chances even worse by turning this into free therapy.

Hey, maybe that time-travel line'll work twice... ah, who'm I kidding? It didn't even work the first time.

"Your name is Jesse?"

"Uh-huh."

"But everyone calls you J.R."

I nod. It seems like the wisest course of action. But y'know, if this was some freaky alternate universe where I got laid on a nightly basis--shut up, I said alternate, damnit--and I was some super-suave alternate me, I'd think he was some guy I'd already boinked and forgotten, only to try to pick him up again because I didn't remember him.

But this is this universe and I'm this me and I remember every one of the less than twenty guys I've done the mattress mambo with. I'd never forget this one, not in a million years.

"Jesse," he says wonderingly, looking me over like he's gonna devour me. I'm torn between squirming and coming in my pants. The story of my life.

"Look, if you wanna run off into the night screaming, feel free," I tell him. We've barely had an entire conversation and I feel like I've run a 10k. "Honestly, I get that a lot. Usually not this early on, but hey, I'm breaking my own record, so I should be proud, right? Go, me!"

I tip an imaginary hat to him, snag my beer and head for the bar. This night's going weird in a way that I'm rapidly losing interest in.

I'm halfway to the bar, chugging the rest of my bottle when a cool hand closes on my arm, sending a scalding wave of want through my body like electrical current. But I'm strong. I'm not gonna let this guy, no matter how hot he is, yank my chain back and forth.

"Wait, I didn't--it's not you, it's me--"

Now there's something I've never heard before, I think, turning to give him a sarcastic smile. He drops my arm reluctantly, blushing and looking anywhere but my eyes.

"I just--I had a friend named Jesse. And you... you kinda remind me of him, a little and it threw me for a loop." The way he's sneaking peeks at me and the noticeable quaver in his voice says maybe more than a little and for more than a loop.

It's like we've switched roles and he's the one who's off his game and desperate. If I wanted, I could turn his aloof-act back on him--payback's a bitch--and really make him squirm.

But fuck that, I don't play mind games.

"Was this other Jesse also a debonair and rakishly handsome man?" I ask, smiling a little.

Something like surprise--something like pain--flares behind his eyes, but he chuckles. "Uh, try funny and had a great personality."

"Ouch!" I cover my heart with my hand and stagger backward melodramatically, nearly spilling the rest of my beer all over myself. "You've wounded me to the core!"

"Jesse was also kinda obnoxious." The hipster is still chuckling, but that wounded look has left his eyes and they're bright again, with something that might be a distant species of--dare I say?--interest.

"Sexy-obnoxious?" I flash him my bridge-work.

"Maybe," he allows, taking me in with that slow, predatory, intense once-over that makes me feel both over- and underdressed. When I return the favor, he looks down at his hands with a shy smile.

"Maybe is good, maybe I can work with." I hold out my hand and this time he takes it without hesitation. His grip is firm and cool and I wonder if he's as cool inside as he is out. My chances of finding out are looking better and better. "I'm J.R. and you're awfully gorgeous to be so single."

The glance he shoots me is meek, almost coy, and he hasn't let go of my hand. "Xander. And what makes you so sure I'm single? How do you know I'm not here to meet my very possessive boyfriend, who's got a vicious temper and a really short fuse... who'd just as soon kill you as look at you?"

Yeah, right. A quality guy like Xander is gonna be caught dead dating a jerk like that? Nuh-uh, I don't think so.

"See, if you had a bruiser like that for a boyfriend, he'd probably never let you out of his sight," I say, tugging his hand so he'll follow me to the back of the bar and the relative privacy of a booth. "Not when some obnoxious, funny guy with a great personality could just sweep you right off your feet."

". . . and there I was, broke as a joke and up on a stage in front of dozens of screaming, predatory women, shaking my ass for the money they threw." Xander smiles self-deprecatingly and my heart beats a little faster.

Those lucky women, I think, wishing, not for the first time in my life--or even the first time this evening--for x-ray vision.

"Okay, I've been babbling about nothing but myself for the past hour," Xander says with a laugh. "Your turn, J.R. Tell me about yourself."

I groan, polishing off my fourth beer in as many swallows. "What's to tell? Boy from Anytown, USA, grows up, leaves the two-storey colonial in suburbia to pursue his dream in the bright lights and big city."

"And what dream would that be?"

"You'll lose all respect for me if I tell you."

His eyes twinkle at me in silent laughter. "I lost all respect for you half an hour ago, might as well tell me."

"And the wounding continues." I slouch in my chair, trying not to pout--not my best look--and failing.

"Come on, don't be such a whiner... tell me. I told you my stripping story, so you owe me, mister."

Imagining the mileage I'll get out of the mental images that story gave me, I guess he's right.

"Fine--I guess you could say I'm in showbiz... and I should be home right now, working on my act, but--"

"You're in stand-up, aren't you?" All kinds of bright light up those dark eyes and they're wider and rounder than ever. "Holy shit, you're a comedian!"

He sounds so impressed. Obviously, he's never met one of my ilk before. "Yeah, I'm a real laff-a-minute. Not consecutive minutes, mind, but a minute here, a minute there. I do alright."

"Wow." The look he's giving me makes me wanna fuck him, then tuck him into bed with a cup of hot cocoa. "I could never do that. I mean, stripping aside, I've got wicked stage-fright... do you ever get nervous? Get afraid you're gonna be heckled?"

I try to shrug off his surely short-lived awe and fascination. "Sometimes, the only laughs I get are the results of being heckled. But that's how it is, you know? Some nights you kill, some nights you get killed--the circle of life continues."

"Hakuna matata." Xander toasts me with his Magners, the same one he's been nursing all evening, and takes a sip. The waiter bustles over for my empty and leaves a full in it's place. For a few minutes, neither Xander or I talk, just stare at our drinks or at each other. His gaze is a strange mixture of nostalgia and desire, which gets me to wondering about this "Jesse" I remind him of.

"So... can I ask you something that's very personal and none of my business at all?"

I'm a sucker for his smile. I'm a sucker period. "Sure. I may not answer, but ask away."

"This friend of yours, this--other Jesse... were you and he--?"

The opposite of being offended or evasive, Xander smiles wistfully. "Jesse was my best friend. He was also straighter than a ruled edge, as far as I know."

"Was?" I ask, and there's that flash of surprise-pain in Xander's eyes again.

"He--Jesse's dead, J.R. There was an accident five years back...." Xander's mouth purses and he takes a swig of his cider. For a moment his eyes are old and cold, like ancient ashes. "Accident... yeah, Sunnydale has lot of those."

"Whoa, wait--Sunnydale?" I feel like a prime-A bastard for being nosy about Xander's dead best friend, but--"You're from Sunnydale?"

"Born and raised... what's it to ya?" Xander's gaze is cool, cautious.

"Man, you're from the original Twilight Zone, or didn'tcha know? Shit, you got any idea how many parapsychology theses are written on Sunnydale? How many textbooks have dedicated whole chapters to your hometown?" I have to laugh. "A Sunnydale native... fuck me sideways. This is like meeting a celebrity!"

"You're kidding, right?" Xander asks, all dark-eyed confusion.

"I kid you not, brown eyes. Your hometown is on the map. And that weirdcase of mass hallucination last summer?" I shake my head. "A whole town fulla people seein' dragons and vampires and demons and lights in the sky... you wanna bet shit like that'll make the six o'clock news!"

"Mass hallucination," Xander murmurs, rolling the phrase around his mouth, as if he's never heard it before, which is impossible, seeing where he comes from. "Is that what they're saying happened?"

"Yeah... no one's claiming anything else, actually. For once. Even the conspiracy nuts on the internet aren't saying peep that isn't government issue."

Xander's still smiling, but his eyes are angrier than any I've ever seen. Then they flutter shut and he takes a deep, deep breath, exhaling shakily.

"I've seen things happen, J.R.; things that'd make you shit your pants. I watched people I love die at the hands of things that shouldn't even exist. Mass hallucination? Bullshit. I could tell you exactly what happened, down to my last breath...."

When no details are forthcoming, I cover his hand with my own--paltry comfort, but all I can give since I honestly don't know what to say.

A small part of me wants to hear what he was going to say, hear what put the darkness in his eyes and the bitter edge in his smile. But a much larger part of me just doesn't want to know. I've never been to Sunnydale, but I've seen enough strange things in my short life to know there are some things I simply do not want to know.

It's a luxury, that not-knowing; a luxury not everyone has been afforded.

"I'm so sorry," I say, squeezing his hand gently. His eyes open immediately, startled. "Sorry you had to grow up in the Bermuda Triangle of North America, sorry it sucked your friends under... But I'm glad you're here and alive--glad you're a survivor."

For a moment, something cold and almost alien moves in Xander's eyes. "Yeah. Survival. That's the name of the game... and everyone's playing," he says distractedly, looking down at his hand in mine. He bites his fingernails, I've noticed. The tips look so raw and worked over, they've gotta hurt. I should be grossed out but I just wanna kiss his fingertips until pain of any kind is the furthest thing from his mind....

Shit.

"Hey, wanna hear a joke?" I blurt out, all the while kicking myself. Not only for putting myself on the spot, but for already being so invested in his moods.

"Um, sure." He looks up at me expectantly, his poor fingers momentarily forgotten. I dig through the vault of useless crap that is my mind and come up with a joke that always put a smile on my face.

"Why did the chicken cross the playground?"

After a few seconds to think it over--his nose wrinkles slightly when he thinks and damn, that's gotta be the cutest thing I've ever seen--Xander shrugs. "I dunno, why?"

"To get to the other slide." I finish with the kind of comedic timing and emphasis that comes only with practice or with being Don Rickles--but to a distinct lack of laughter or applause.

Xander's biting his lip and smiling as if he's trying to find the most tactful way to phrase his response.

"I think I may know why you've been getting heckled," he says finally.

"That wasn't actually one of my jokes!" It's not, but I'm still kinda offended, I mean, that's a playground classic, as American as guns and cheerleaders.

"Really?" Xander sighs in apparent relief. "Oh, thank heavens."

"I thought it'd make you laugh." I get a doubtful eyebrow quirk that only makes me jump to the defense of my borrowed joke. "It's funny!"

"Yeah, so funny I forgot to laugh."

"You're really taking a wrecking-ball to my ego, Xan."

He leans closer to me. "So are you gonna invite me back to your place, or tell me more bad jokes till I actually do run screaming into the night?"

"I'm telling you, it's a fucking hilarious joke--"

"Okay, you're so missing the point of what I just said." Xander rolls his eyes and leans even closer. Close enough for me to see how dilated his pupils are. "Invite me back to your place, J.R."

Oh.

"You're not just buildin' me up, buttercup, baby, just to get let me down?" Yes, I'm the king of cool, all bow before me.

"Or mess you around?" Xander's wry smile turns wistful again. "No, I'm 99.998% sure I won't be letting you down or messing you around. Hey-hey-hey," he reassures me, turning his hand in mine to stroke my palm and wrist. I swallow and it sounds louder than a gun-shot.

"Well, them's my kinda odds." I clear my throat and, in my best wish-I-sounded-like-Barry-White-instead-of-a-whitebread-tenor voice, ask: "So, baby, wanna come back to my place and look at my etchings?"

Xander laughs and for a moment--must be the beer--I could swear his eyes flicker as yellow as an alley cat's. But the moment passes and Xander's still stroking my wrist and oh, God, am I hard.

"I thought you'd never ask."

~~~~~***~~~~~

frustrated by Beetle
Title: The Unusual Story of Randal W. Satterwaite
Notes/Spoilers/Warnings: All-human AU. Very AU.

Indeed, how unusual could unusual be?

Could a hinky, middle-aged, pillbug of a man such as Randal Satterwaite possibly have a story worth the breath needed to tell it?

Sitting, day in and day out, in his tiny cubicle--peering myopically through his smudged bifocals at endless columns of tiny numbers, Satterwaite is not a man of hidden indiscretions, of subterfuge, of deception. This is, perhaps, at most, a man who dresses in womens' underthings beneath his starch and tweed.

Perhaps this is the life he hides from coworkers and friends--assuming he has any of the latter. And such a story, while interesting to those of a rather more prurient mindset than most, would not be worthwhile in and of itself.

Is it unusual that, in the eight years he's worked for Magnuson, Howe and Stearn, Satterwaite has yet to attend a company picnic or Christmas party? Is it odd that on casual Fridays, he wears his same twitchy, uncomfortable looking suits?

In the cubicle next to his own, works one Diane Neveau--she of the impressive cleavage and penchant for dresses with a revealing decolletage. Satterwaite doesn't even notice she's alive. Despite her ridiculous attempts to draw him out, make him want her as much as every other man in the office does, he remains oblivious to her unsubtle, overblown charms.

Satterwaite's coworkers allow that yes, this is unusual. Others take it further, still, concluding his lack of interest stems from homosexuality. A quiet few have gone so far as to suggest he's asexual, like a geranium, or a paramecium

Supposition aside, however, there's no real evidence pointing which way his proclivities lie. These people who have worked side by side with Satterwaite for eight years, know nothing about him.

But they sense, with the clairvoyance of any adult possessed of a working pair of eyes and at least two intermittently firing brain cells--that Satterwaite is a man living a life of quiet desperation. Living it anonymously and alone, with nothing but his secret to keep him company.

And if any of them had but an inkling of the life Satterwaite keeps hidden from them all....

Satterwaite isn't a frugal man, by anyone's definition, but he carries a sack lunch.

The money most would spend on fast food, or public transportation--or refueling their own out-moded automobile--is spent on other things, in his case. Thus, Satterwaite simply doesn't have the money for luxuries, e