Each Day Is Valentine’s Day - Beetle

Each Day Is Valentine’s Day


By Beetle

Pairing: Xander/Multiple
Rating: R through NC-17
Disclaimer: But don’t change a hair for me, not if you care for me.
Feedback: Stay, little Valentine, stay.
Notes/Spoilers/Warnings: All human AU in The Family!verse, incest, character death.
Summary: Ten Valentine’s Days in Xander’s life.
Author's Site: The Long Island Bug.



Thirteenth

“So. . . Sunnydale, hunh?”

“Yeah.” Jesse watches Xander swaying absently in the tire swing. His eyes used to be so easy to read. Before his mom died, before Xander himself nearly died.

Now, Jesse doesn’t know how to gauge his oldest friend at all. He feels compelled to add something, anything to make Xander’s eyes warm; he knows he’s destined to fail. Xander and his father look nothing alike, but they have the same cold, secretive eyes, now.

“My mom, you know, she hates Oxnard. She only moved back here to be closer to my gramma, but -”

“Your gramma died three years ago and it’s everybody out of the pool, I get it. She’s a good mom and she doesn’t want you to grow up in this shit-pit. Sunnydale is a pretty town. . . I remember it a little.” Xander's dark, stranger-eyes flicker.

“And the highschool has, like, the highest teacher-student ratio of any public school on the west coast. Second in the nation, actually. Number one is some highschool in Cleveland. . . guess I should be glad we’re not moving there. Midwest winters, man.” Jesse’s laugh sounds weak and lame.

Jesse feels weak and lame.

“You’re such a screech.”

"Only 'cause you're such a scuzz."

A laugh, but it isn’t Xander’s old laugh and so help him, Jesse’s glad he’s leaving, for a moment. Glad he doesn’t have to watch his best friend die by inches as his asshole father and this asshole town slowly kill that - Xanderyness that Jesse misses so much now -

“You sound like I used to.” Xander’s scuffing his raggedy sneakers on a rock. “Grades, blah, blah. Perfect attendance, blah, blah. It’s all just bullshit, man. Life’s too short, you can’t waste it on shit like school.”

If life’s so short, why are you letting this place win? Why are you letting it kill you? What the hell happened to you?

But Jesse can’t ask these questions. Can only offer guilt and discomfort as atonement for the betrayed look he should see in Xander’s eyes, but doesn’t.

“Once we get settled, mom says I can visit on weekends, if I don’t let my grades drop or my homework suffer.”

“Your mom’s nice. She loves you,” Xander says almost out of nowhere with the sad-lost smile that always makes Jesse’s mom call him “that poor, motherless boy”.

“Yeah.” ‘Cause what else is there to say?

“Think you’ll be coming back for, um, my birthday?” A little of the icy darkness in Xander’s eyes cracks and some emotion, desperate and young peeks out. “It’s on a Sunday, this year -”

“Mom already said I could come back for your birthday.” Jesse grins when Xander smiles, really smiles, for the first time in nearly a year. “I wouldn’t miss it, bro. Xan-the-man turns the big one-four.”

“Against all fucking odds.” A small, mirthless chuckle and the ice is back, though not as thick as before. Xander blinks at him curiously. “Be careful there, hunh? Sunnydale, I mean. I’ve heard some shit, remember some shit - that place gets weird after sundown.”

“My mom says that’s just stories the natives make up to keep out the undesirables.”

“Undesirables like us?” Xander’s laughing again. It’s harsh and unlovely and carries across the trailer park that Jesse won’t miss at all.

“Spies like us.” The old joke falls flat.

“You tell Parker, yet?”

“Nah, but he won’t care. He’s stoned all the time, nothing bothers him.” Not-so-secretly, Jesse’s never liked Parker that much. And that was before the little puke nearly got his best friend killed.

“That kid’s got a freaky-weird Xander-obsession, bro. Is it gonna get all Single White Female when I’m gone?”

Xander rolls his eyes. “You’re such a 'wipe.”

“Parker’s got a heart as big as all outdoors, my friend, and he wants to give it to you.” Despite his ribbing, Parker Abrams crushing on Xan makes Jesse's stomach churn.

“You want your going-away-punches now, or later, screech?”

The both of them are laughing again - at Parker’s expense - and it’s good. It feels good, it is good. Jesse’s suddenly sure of one thing: he and Xander are gonna be friends for the rest of their lives, even though he’s moving way-the-hell out to Sunnydale.

Distance is a state of mind, his mother liked to say. At least she liked saying that since deciding to move them out of Oxnard.

For the first time since she dropped the news on him, Jesse’s starting to believe her.


Fourteenth

“Wanna make out?”

Xander opens bleary eyes and squints through the haze of his room.

“Dude. . . you are so gay,” Xander giggles, exhaling thick, grey smoke in Parker’s pretty, stoned face.

“Yeah, well, I’m not the only one, fag-zilla. You let me stroke you off twice last week.”

“Yeah, and both times I was so out of it, I’d have let Mrs. Breen stroke me off. . . not till math class was over, though.”

“You’re a man of principle.” Parker wanders over to Xander’s door and locks it. Xander’d put the lock in, himself, not three weeks ago.

“Bet your ass, I am. Anyway, getting a hand-job is one thing, making out’s another,” Xander adds, because a guy’s just gotta draw a line in the sand. A line beyond which two dudes do not make out with each other.

“Xander. . . .” Parker’s at the other end of the room, one moment, then all over Xander’s bed - all over Xander - like a cheap suit the next.

“And on that note, I think it’s time for you to go home.” Normally, Xander can easily overpower Parker, push him away, but pot makes the little scuzz clingy and kinda strong.

The fact that he doesn’t want to push Parker away probably isn’t helping.

“Come on, we can’t - my old man’s gonna catch us. He’d kill you then me.” Xander shivers and it has nothing to do with Parker’s tongue in his ear.

“Your dad’s piss-drunk; he won’t wake up till morning and you know it.” Warm breath in his ear and on his neck and now Xander’s shivers have nothing to do with Tony Harris.

“We shouldn’t -” No real reason not to, but it nags at Xander’s for some reason. Another hit off the happy-pipe oughta cure that.

“Remember how good Graham said it felt when Lisa went down on him?” Parker’s eyes are suddenly right above his own, just as red and glazed-looking as Xander’s eyes feel.

“Yeah.” Of course he did. Parker’s older brother rarely acknowledged Xander’s or Parker’s existence, but the few times he did, he told awesome stories about sex and/or drugs.

“I can make you feel really good,” Parker breathes. He’s hard and it’s making Xander hard.

“I already feel good, man.” And why exactly is he turning down a blow-job?

“I’ll make you feel even better. I could - you know, go down on you, if you want,” Parker offers coyly. His crush so pathetically obvious, saying yes’d feel like conferring a favor.

“Jeezyou’reamanipulitivecreep!” Xander exhales explosively as Parker snakes a hand down his jeans and goes straight for the goods. He very nearly drops the pipe and manages to ash Parker’s wrist.

“Shit! Watch it, that hurt!” Yet Parker’s hand, warm, surprisingly strong, hasn’t stopped for a second.

“You puss, no it didn’t.”

“Gee, Xander, can I please suck your cock, now? Please, please?”

“The sarcasm might almost be brutal if you weren’t stroking me off,” Xander notes.

“What happened to ‘oh, no, Park, my dad’ll catch us, Park’?”

What, indeed? If there’s an answer, it went AWOL when the last of Xander’s brain migrated south.

“Either drop, or fuck off and lemme get some sleep.” And in case Parker isn’t getting the message, Xander flops one, barely responsive arm up so he can push down on Parker’s head. Big, sad, anime-eyes blink soulfully at him.

“Are you on, like, hand-job autopilot?” Xander’s guffawing and thrusting alternately. “Go, Speed! Go!”

“Why do you have to be such an asshat?” Parker is pouting and the stroking has stopped.

“Just drawn that way, I guess. Don’t stop.” Xander covers Parker’s hand, tries to make it move again, but no dice. There’s slight squeeze-age, but no stroke-age.

“Gimme a reason not to?” Parker’s actually pouting, now.

“What the hell do you mean reason? Just do it, come on, you promised!”

When Parker’s smug, he looks like a demented angel. “I will if you make out with me.”

The squeezing is good - fucking heavenly - but not enough.

“Fine, whatever,” Xander says with ill-grace. Parker immediately leans up kisses him, as if he’s kissed a thousand other guys and Xander’s no big challenge. There’s tongue-ing and licking and sucking; it’s slippery, wet and wonderful. It’s the first time Xander’s ever kissed anyone and if this is what Parker can do with his mouth while making out, how would it feel to have that mouth on his dick?

The quick mental image that flashes through his mind is more than enough.

“Oh, shit -!” And it’s all over for Xan-the-Man, thank you and good night. He’s shooting his last five, unbaked brain cells all over Parker’s hand and wrist.

When he can open his eyes again, is capable of rational thought again, he giggles at the surprised, frustrated look on Parker’s face.

“Jesus Christ, you’re such a jerk! You coulda waited for me - or warned me!” Parker wipes his hand on Xander’s shirt then stands up, disappearing from Xander’s view. The door to Xander’s room opens; a few seconds later, the door to the bathroom slams shut.

Yeah, whatever, Xander thinks as he snuggles down into his pillow and closes his eyes. But you’dve still dropped for me. You’re crushing on me so bad, you’d do just about anything I told you to do, isn’t that right?

Xander smiles. Every muscle in his body feels way more relaxed than it has in days and that all-over-tingle beats the shit out of pot, anyday.

Parker Abrams has his uses. . . .

Before he can finish that thought, Xander’s asleep. He doesn’t hear his bedroom door ease open or the lock on it snick shut.

Doesn’t even twitch when Parker crawls into bed next to him.


Fifteenth

“Xan, come on. . . we’ll go get a couple of burgers from the Doublemeat Palace, bike out to Ten-High Bluff and. . . . “ Parker trails off but it doesn’t take a cryptologist to figure what and is.

“I’m dead, man. Been up since four this morning.” Xander flops backwards on the bed and is immediately draped in a blanket made of warm, cuddle-y Parker.

“I stole some X from my brother,” Parker wheedles like the world’s worst Afterschool Special.

“One day he’s gonna catch you and cut your throat, like on NYPD Blue.”

“Dude, have you met Graham? He’s not that kinda dealer. Anyway, he knows I steal shit from him sometimes; as long as I don’t take too much, he doesn’t care.” Parker’s face hovers over Xander’s own. “Look, we don’t have to go all the way out to the Bluff. We’ll just chill out here. Get high, get some food, fuck around.”

“Ah, Friday night in the trailer park.”

“Fuckin-a, baby.” Parker sighs and snuggles closer to Xander, tucking his head into the crook of Xander’s neck. “Fuckin-a.”

*


Yep, Friday night in the trailer park, Xander thinks a few hours later. He can barely muster the irony that should go with the thought. They’d never stirred from Parker’s bed, just made out and dozed off.

We’re so motivated.

The pleasantly cozy Parker-blanket makes concentration impossible.

“You should spend the night here.” Parker’s a world-class-champeen cuddler; Xander’s hard and soft at the same time. They’ve only rarely spent the entire night with each other since they started screwing around. That’s another one of those lines-in-the-sand Xander will have to be dragged across, kicking and screaming.

“Mm. Nah, paper route again this morning.”

“Stay with me? Please?” Nuzzle-licks and the puppy-eyes-of-doom.

“Park -”

“Graham’s out all night and mom doesn’t give a shit what we do.”

Despite himself, Xander’s curious. “You sound like you’re about to die when you come. What the fuck does she think I’m doing to you?”

“She thinks you’re giving me the bad touch,” Parker whispers and pulls Xander’s hand to his crotch.

Then they’re laughing and kissing and groping around on Parker’s messy bed. Then dipshit has to go and ruin the mood.

“Xander - I love you.”

Lately, every time they get hot and heavy, he trots out the Xander-I-love-you wackiness. But If it’s not true - and likely it isn’t, everyone knows Parker Abrams is a dyed-in-the-wool liar - why does he bother saying it? He’s already leading Xander around by the cock, so -

It could be true-ish. . . and Xander’s not sure how he feels about that, other than mildly wigged.

“Don’t start that again, Park, please.” He closes his eyes as Parker's pushes up his shirt and kisses his chest.

“I don’t care if it makes me queer.”

“If?” Xander snorts. “You’re a citizen of three dollar bill country, buddy.”

“So? Nothing wrong with that.” Parker’s hands and tongue are working together in a tag team of naughtiness.

“If you live here, there is.” Hands and tongue both stop, causing Xander to open tired eyes. What he sees makes him groan: “Shit, not the puppy-eyes-of-doom, again. You do have more than the one facial expression, right?”

Parker laughs and kisses him. The kiss is surprisingly lacking in tongue, but it’s still. . . nice. “The hell are you so worried about? My mom knows about us, I’m pretty sure Graham does and they don’t give a shit.”

“That’s ‘cause they’re fucked up all the time. They wouldn’t care if their hair was on fire.”

“And your dad’s the picture of fucking sobriety?” Parker looks offended and ready to argue, which means no nookie and no sleep.

Time to run interference.

“No, he’s a drunk and a mean, evil bastard. He looks for reasons to lay into me and if he finds out I’m gay -” The concept is so scary it makes Xander shudder. Parker rubs his chest soothingly.

“You do realize you just admitted you’re gay, right?”

“I - you - fuck, just shut up and go to sleep.” Xander’s still half-hard, but too confused for sex. He wonders if he’s finally gone all-the-way crazy.

“You’ll stay with me? For the whole night?” Another glance into Parker’s eyes and the confusion somehow triples. Parker’s eyes aren’t lying, they’re - needing and wanting.

And if that thought - and the strange, warm-gooey feeling Parker’s anime-eyes makes him feel - doesn’t signal a mutual jaunt in three-dollar-bill country, Xander doesn’t know what does.

“Yeah.” Xander reaches up to brush Parker’s hair out of his face. “But only till four, then I gotta go, or Snyder'll have my ass.”

“Four’s good.”

There’s more kissing and even more snuggling, until they both yawn at the same time. By unspoken agreement, they lay off the naughtiness and just chill. After fighting the urge for a few seconds, Xander kisses the top of Parker’s head. His hair always smells nice.

Even with constant showering, how can a guy always smell so good?

“You just sniffed my hair. You are so my boyfriend. You know that, right?” Parker’s voice is more asleep than awake. He sounds all cute and sleepy and Xander’s feeling that warm-gooey sensation in his chest again. It could be heartburn or TB, but Xander holds out no such hope.

“Shut up and go to sleep, dipshit.”

Am I his boyfriend?

Three dollar bill country? Dead ahead.


Sixteenth

Spike glances at the coffee maker, willing it to move it’s arse, for Christ’s sake, when Xander clears his throat.

If Spike’d had his coffee, he’d have been startled. As it is, he merely grunts acknowledgement.

“Um. . . I know it’s kinda corny, Spike, but I, uh -”

Spike turns to look at the boy, has to squint through his lack of sleep and lack of contact lenses. Xander’s puppy-brown eyes are wide and skittery; he’s stuttering as if he’s done something wrong, though Spike can’t imagine what. The boy’s manners are better than anyone’s, save Rupert’s. In the months since Xander’d come to New York, Spike hadn’t had to discipline - there’s a bloody laugh, if I’ve ever heard one - him once.

Bounce-bounce-bounce, goes the little brother.

I haven’t even gotten a whiff of morning coffee, yet and the boy’s already all over the place, Spike thinks ruefully. We cannot be related by blood.

“Quit y' jittering, haven’t had m’ caffeine, yet, have I?” Spike tries to sound gruff, but can’t help the small smile that curves his lips. He’s smiled more in the past seven months than he had in the seven years preceding them. “Just spit it out, luv. You know I don’t bite. Much.”

Xander grins goofily and nervously; his blush is bright under the very last of his SoCal tan. Now, Spike’s really curious.

“I just - think you’re the coolest guy - the coolest brother in the world and, well, thank you for letting me live with you guys.”

Despite the early hour, lack of coffee - or cigarettes; Angel likely took their last pack with him when he left for work - Spike’s heart swells, like the Grinch’s and oh, yeah. He’s well and truly wrapped around the boy’s little finger. Which should bother him a great deal, but he can’t seem to care.

“Nothing to thank me for. I’ve told you time and again, pet, you’re family. Couldn’t let any brother of mine live with that drunken sod in that dank hellhole you grew up in.” Spike looks away, out the kitchen window. He doesn’t want Xander to see the helpless rage in his eyes. “I only wish I’d known about you before last year. . . .”

Wish I’d thought to look for mum, sooner. . . could’ve watched you grow up, could’ve had someone to take care of. . . .

A warm hand touches Spike’s left shoulder, another closes on his right arm, and he’s being pulled into a bear hug.

“Thank you,” Xander whispers softly, his breath warm in Spike’s hair. Spike shivers.

“Xan, didn’t I just say -?”

“Thank you for being real and for - for coming to save me. I love you.”

“I - love you, too.” The first time Spike’s said it since - Drusilla. The truth of it resounds in his entire being, the rightness of it. In that moment, he understands something he’d only grasped at before:

Xander’s his. He’s family in a way that Rupert isn’t, that Angel isn’t.

“I missed the first fifteen years, pet, but that’s over and done with. I will always be here for you. No matter what,” Spike says, stroking the boy’s back. There’s some shaking and shivering and Spike can’t tell which of them it is.

“Oh, man.” Xander’s letting go and backing away. His face is flushed and upset. “I - gotta go, don’t wanna be late for school.”

“Yeah, sure - you okay, Xan?” It’s too early for Spike, he can’t really process what’s going on, why Xander should look so distressed, why he should be swiping at his eyes.

“I’m cool, I’m just gonna go.” Xander snags his napsack and gives Spike a trembly smile. “I’m gonna stay at Damon’s tonight so you and Angel can have some Xander-free time, ‘kay? Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He’s out the door before Spike can formulate a coherent response. But at least the coffee’s done.

*


Leaning on the door to the apartment, Xander takes a deep breath and looks down at the red envelope in his hand. After a few moments, he tears it up and crams the pieces in his pocket.

Guys don’t give their brothers Valentine’s Day cards, anyway.

He runs downstairs before he misses his bus.


Seventeenth

“I think you should bleach your hair platinum.” Xander is slouching on one end of the couch, watching Spike watch tv.

Spike, drags his eyes away from the screen to look at his grinning brother. “Been there, done that, luv. Liked my natural color, better.”

“Blue is your natural color? What are you, a smurf?”

“Oi! Smurf you, tosser! Just so happens I prefer blue to m’ natural color, so there.”

“Whatever you say, Punky Blue-ster.”

“I have no problem with killing you in your sleep, whelp.”

Xander and Spike mock-glare at each other, then start laughing at exactly the same moment. When their quality, prime-time viewing comes back from a commercial break - The Real World, because Spike likes to poke fun at the yobbos they cast - Xander moves closer to Spike. By the time The Real World goes off, Xander’s half-asleep with Spike’s arm around him.

It’s good.

Then Angel gets home. He looks pissed-off and extra broody.

“Oi, poofter? Brought me a Valentine’s Day pressie, then?” Spike asks, not even glancing up from the tv.

“You’re not my wife, Spike.” Even the way Angel hangs up his coat is tense, choppy, angry.

“And I never will be if you keep forgetting me on Saint Valentine's Day, luv.”

Xander starts snickering and Spike swats his arm, but his own mouth is twitching suspiciously when he finally looks up at Angel, who’s ignoring them both. He goes into the kitchen, re-emerges with a beer, then disappears into his and Spike’s bedroom, shutting the door.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have laughed?” Xander looks at Spike apologetically.

“Don’t think you're what's eatin' at him, pet. Never fear, Spike’ll set things right.” Spike sighs and stands up, worried eyes on his bedroom door.

“You always do.”

When Spike turns to look at him long and carefully, Xander makes sure his eyes are glued to the tv, once again.

“Guess this is good-night, then.” There’s a question in Spike’s voice and Xander doesn’t look up.

“Yeah, hey, should I maybe go stay over at Damon or Ricky’s? It is Valentine’s Night and after the horrors of last year. . . .” Xander trails off and makes a face.

“Nah, don’t bother; if Angel’s in one of his moods, you’ll be legal before I see the long-nine, again,” Spike mutters, stalking off toward the bedroom.

“TMI, Spike.” Personally, Xander thinks that once Angel gets an eyeful of that loose-hipped saunter, all bets are off.

“Just furthering your education, luv.” There’s a chuckle in Spike’s voice that makes Xander smile.

“The noises that come from you guys’ bedroom continues to traumatize me.”

“Yeah, I’ll remember you said that when you bring your first boyfriend home, Xan.” Spike calls, opening the door to his bedroom. Angel’s voice, on the phone with someone, drifts out and Xander grimaces.

“Happy Valentine's Day, luv, see you in the morning!”

The door shuts gently.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Spike.”


Eighteenth

“Who is it?”

It’s 2:37 in the morning and he has to be up in less than four hours.

“It’s me, Angel.”

He closes his eyes and leans his head against his front door. Even with the tinny, poor sound quality, the need in that husky voice is enough to make him hard. He knows it’s wrong, knows that they said they would end this, stop torturing each other, but his body doesn’t seem to give a rat’s ass.

He unlocks the door then pushes the ‘talk’ button on the intercom

“Come on up, Xander.


Nineteenth

“Come on, Spike, harder. . . . “

God, he’s beautiful. . . Spike thinks, taking a moment to gaze possessively at the body in front of him: the back arched and pale in the soft moonlight, arms straining, hands planted on Rupert’s desk.

Manchester United, Manchester United, Manchester United! This little mantra has been the secret of Spike’s fabled endurance over the entire course of his sexual history, but it almost never works when he’s with Xander. He’s gonna have to come up with a new -

“Spike! Damnit, move!”

“Shh!” Spike hisses and bites Xander’s shoulder. “Wanna wake up the whole bloody house?”

The only reply he gets is harsh breathing and a demanding push back against him.

“You’re bloody aggressive for a bottom, luv -” one fast, hard push in and Xander’s groaning, shaking almost as much as Spike. The lamp on the desk shakes and rattles, but doesn’t roll, thank goodness.

“I’m gonna be so sore, tomorrow. Every time I move, I’m gonna ache and I’ll remember this, remember you fucking me over our father’s desk -”

“Fuck, pet!” Manchester-bloody-United! Manchester-bloody-United!

“Harder -”

Spike does his best to comply and is rewarded with fever-hot muscles clenching around his cock and ever-increasing groans. Those groans are rapidly turning into hoarse, choked cries.

He takes one hand off Xander’s hip and covers the boy’s mouth because no matter how good it is - damn good - the last thing he wants is for wicked stepmum, or God-forbid father, coming downstairs and catching them fucking in the study.

Xander’s lips are moving against Spike’s palm, whispering the same thing over and over.

Love you love you love you love you love you. . . .

Xander wants. Needs. Responds to Spike’s every touch with an intensity that’s intoxicating and addictive. Being in Xander is like coming home, like claiming his property, like salvation, like damnation - like dying, in a way.

Any claims to decency he’d ever had are called into question by every gasp he wrings from his brother’s shaking body.

When all is said and done, Xander is Spike’s, never been anyone else’s. And Spike knows, now, that he’s never been anyone’s but Xander’s.

Simple, really.

But only for as long as the afterglow.


Twentieth

“How is he?” Adam asks, stepping quietly into past the curtain.

Lorne leans back into Adam’s arms with a relieved sigh. “Cried himself to sleep about forty-five minutes ago, wouldn’t say a word. . . what do you think happened?”

Adam frowns and watches Xander toss and turn fitfully in the hospital bed for a few minutes before answering. “I imagine he and Spike fought.”

“What else is new, peach-pit?” Lorne freezes then looks back over his shoulder at Adam. The deep green eyes are wide and horrified. “Wait - no. Butch would never raise a hand to the kid, right?”

If Lorne is looking for answers and reassurance, Adam has neither to give. Simply holds him tighter, offering quiet support.

“The nurse said he staggered in just before sunup, bruised, sheet-white and delirious. Turns out he was short a couple pints of blood.” Lorne shudders in Adam’s arms, then turns to face him. “They think he was beaten, then stabbed in the neck with a meat fork.”

“My God.”

“Tell me about it!" Lorne hides his face under Adam's chin, breathin in the scent of aftershave, soap and sweat. "I haven’t been able to reach Spike on his cellphone, but Rupert and Ethan are on their way from London. I called them right after I called you.”

“Since we don’t know who did this, one of us should be here with him at all times, until he’s released. And sending him back to his apartment doesn't seem like a good idea. Perhaps he should stay with us.”

“Uh, honey-bunny -" Lorne glances at Xander, who, besides the rainbow-spectrum of bruises that covered him, looked exhausted and miserable. Even in his sleep. "He may wanna go home with Rupert and Ethan.”

“That is highly unlikely.”

“Yeah, you’re right. . . poor little lambkins. . . ." Lorne murmurs into Adam's shoulder. "But I’ve never seen a person as obsessed with someone else’s happiness as our bleached bad-boy is with Xander’s.” Lorne’s saying. Adam can’t remember ever hearing him this sound upset about anything, before now. “Spike could never do something like this. He’d die before he’d harm a hair on Xan’s head. You know that, I know that - Xander knows it, I hope.”

“Then why are our names on Xander’s emergency card instead of Spike’s?” Adam could categorically list a dozen different hypotheses on what could drive Spike to commit such an act of violence. But like Lorne, he finds it an unpleasant matter to contemplate. He settles for a sigh and: “People change, Lorne.”

“Not this much, cupcake. Not this much.”

Adam somehow refrains from stating the obvious; that maybe Spike had been a sadistic monster all along, and they simply hadn’t known.


Twenty-first

February thirteenth dawns sunny and unseasonably warm.

Xander and Jesse are the only ones to attend Tony Harris’s funeral, other than the reverend, Xander’s drunk Uncle Rory and Xander’s drunk Uncle Rory’s tipsy, sixth wife.

Afterward, drunk Uncle Rory and tipsy Aunt Mindy drive them back to the trailer park, then peel out, off to Lake Tahoe.

Cleaning out the sparsely-decorated trailer is easy, monotonous work. Xander doesn’t cry or even say much, just works steadily until well after sundown. Jesse’s pre-law, not pre-med; he doesn’t know what a silent-Xander signifies, if anything.

That night, they have dinner at the Doublemeat Palace, just off the Interstate. They keep the conversation light, inconsequential. There’s plenty of eye contact, always lingering. Xander jokes and flirts smoothly.

When Jesse’s hand covers Xander’s on the garishly-painted table, it stays there.

They walk back to the trailer, holding hands, not speaking. Instead of immediately unlocking the door, Xander looks at Jesse expectantly, grinning.

Seconds later, they’re making out on the front step.

“Some one’s gonna turn a hose on us, screech.” Xander is laughing between kisses, sliding his hands under Jesse’s shirt.

“Or beat the shit out of us, scuzz. . . we should take this inside.” Jesse nudges Xander’s legs apart with his knee and pushes him against the front door.

“I dunno, I kinda wanna find out how sturdy this door is. . . .” Xander pulls Jesse into a kiss, but slips the house keys into his hand. “You wanna spend the night?

“I - yeah, that’d be - Jesus, man, that’d be so great.” Jesse leans back just enough to look into Xander’s eyes. “Are you sure?”

Xander smiles and it’s predatory, more teeth than tenderness. “Dunno. Are you sure?”

“I am, actually, so - don’t mess with my head, Xan. Just - tell me you want me and mean it. . . or wish me a good-night.”

“I -” Xander’s smile turns self-mocking, sad, bitter; a little scared. “I want you and I mean that.”

Before Jesse can question, or voice his lingering doubts, Xander’s all tongue and hands and impatient grinding.

“Fuck me, Jesse.”

“Xan -”

“Do I have to get my ass notarized? I said I’m sure, now fuck me!”

So Jesse does.

He’s more nervous than he’d thought he would be and their first time together is over embarrassingly quick. The second time is much better, Jesse lasts a lot longer. He figures he’s doing something right if Xander’s moaning - liberally mixed with profuse and breathy swearing - is any indication.

It’s the best night of his life. Of course; he’s with Xander.

By 2am, they’re both exhausted, but stay up talking until the sky gets light, reminiscing about school and life and Star Trek. Tony Harris doesn’t come up, even indirectly, until they’re barely able to keep their eyes open.

“I’ve lost a lot in my life, it feels like. People that I've loved. Including you,” Xander murmurs into the comfortable silence. His face is warm and stubble-y on Jesse’s chest. “I can’t lose anymore, Jess. I think I’d go nuts.”

Jesse strokes Xander’s back, feels the tension immediately flow out of formerly tight muscles. Files that trick away for future reference. “Xan. . . .”

“Maybe wind up a mean, old drunk like Tony. I don’t wanna be like that, Jess. I can’t.”

In the face of that statement, Jesse’s doubts evaporate. He knows an impending kiss-off when he hears one. He also knows what he has to do. What they have to do.

“Come back to Sunnydale, with me.”

Xander sits up, shock and disbelief all over his face. He looks painfully young. “Whuh?”

“Come back with me. . . live in sin with me. Go shopping for curtains with me. Buy a toy poodle with me.” Jesse grins. “Fuck me nightly, or even hourly. Stay with me.”

“But - I -”

“You won’t lose me, I promise. And I don’t want to lose you, again, either.” It can’t be said any plainer than that.

Xander’s gaze is bright and intense, like the sun, but Jesse resists the urge to glance away. If he could handle the ice in that gaze all those years ago, he can handle the heat in this one, now.

Xander shudders, his eyes closing as he hitches in a deep, shaky breath. “Oh, God, Jesse.” And Jesse’s got got two armsful of construction worker, clinging to him and shaking like a leaf.

“It’ll be okay, Xan, I’m not lettin’ go, this time,” Jesse murmurs into hair the same shade of brown as his own. “You’re mine, now and I’m keepin’ ya, hear me?”

Xander nods and sniffs.

“Believe me, scuzz?”

Xander squeezes Jesse tighter, if that’s possible.

“Good. Get some sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Long after Xander’s fallen asleep in his arms, Jesse lays awake well into Valentine’s Morning, thinking, planning. Basking.

When he leaves the trailer park, it’ll be for keeps, this time.

And Xander’s leaving with him.


Twenty-second

In the chaos of the attack, The Bronze empties out like helium escaping a balloon.

Everyone, it seems, is either running from the vampires or from the tiny black woman with the weird accent and the sidekicks (The timid-looking blonde woman is hurling firebolts left and right and the the cornfed-looking guy in fatigues is staking anything with fangs).

The Bronze is in a state of fear and flux.

That includes Xander and “Jesse”. In a dark hallway, somewhere between the bathrooms and the stockroom, their own, much quieter drama plays out.

“Please. . . .” Xander doesn’t know what he’s pleading for; his back is to the wall and there’s nowhere for him to run. He’s not sure he would run, even if he could.

The vamp grins around a mouthful of fangs and Xander shudders. The ridges and yellow eyes melt away, replaced by the first face Xander had ever loved. The face he still loves, in spite of everything.

“Oh, Jess,” he whimpers, closing his eyes, waiting for the end. He hopes the demon makes it quick. The sooner it’s over, the sooner he can be wherever the real Jesse is.

“Xander, look at me. . . you know I’d never hurt you, right?” The vamp grabs Xander’s hand, pulling it up to cold and familiar features. “I promised you you’d never lose me, that I'd never let you go again. I’m gonna keep my promise.”

God, it even says things Jesse would say. . . Xander thinks as he automatically strokes the vampire's face. It nuzzles into the touch like a happy kitten, it’s eyes slipping closed in pleasure.

“I love you, Xander.”

“But you’re a vampire, Jess.” To state the obvious.

“Yeah, but I’m not a monster! I still think and feel and - want. God, Xander, I want.” When it’s eyes open, they’re flickering between yellow and brown. “I’m gonna live forever, and I won't be alone.”

“What are you saying?” But Xander knows. . . he knows. In the past few weeks, he’s gotten a crash-course in all-things-Sunnydale.

“You know what I’m saying. I wanna make you like me.” The flickering eyes settle on pale brown and the ridges that ripple under Xander’s gentle touch are barely more than a suggestion.

“I love Jesse and you’re not Jesse. You’re a demon, a thing. You’re - you’re not him and I don’t want you -"

But the vampire’s kissing him already; it’s mouth is cool, wet and tastes like pennies; tastes like Jesse. A slick, wicked tongue darts into Xander’s mouth then out, again, teasing.

“I’m gonna make you mine forever. Don’t you want that?” The vampire is kissing it’s way down Xander’s jaw, to his ear, then his neck. “I can give you forever. We’ll never feel guilty or unhappy ever again. Whatever we want - whoever we want is ours.” The vampire’s cool, solid weight pins Xander to the wall.

“Fuck,” he moans helplessly, betrayed by his body and Jesse’s. In the awful weeks since Jesse’s disappearance, Xander’s felt half-dead. It seems fitting the demon inhabiting his boyfriend’s corpse is about to take care of that pesky, still-alive half.

“You smell so good, Xan. . . wanna taste you so bad. Can I?” Jesse is hard and getting aggressive, like always.

"Y-yes. . . ." Xander knows he's chosen death. But life is the only thing Xander has left to lose, anyway.

"Gonna make you feel so good, Xan. Xan, Xan, Xan. . . ." He’s panting Xander’s name like always. Even the sharp pain and dreamy lassitude of fangs sinking in and draining Xander is - familiar, somehow.

Coming so hard it feels like dying? Also very familiar.

But actually dying? That’s new.

When Xander opens his mouth to say so, the world goes black.

Read another fic in this 'verse:

"Lost"
"Father"
"Son"
"Prodigal"
"Mother"
"The Ballad of Spike and Angel"
"The True Meaning of Family"
"Each Day Is Valentine’s Day"
"The First Move"

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