Set Post-Doomed (slightly AU - Anya never came back)
Just a little slice of life. Xander is depressed and gets waaaaay to drunk to ignore the sexy vampire in his basement.
A little cute, a little gooey, and a little down and dirty on the basement floor... :-)
It’s easy. So goddamn easy that it hurts a little. Okay, a lot. The way the whiskey slides down his throat. He remembers vividly
He knows he’s an idiot, deep down. It wouldn’t be hard to pick up a phone and call the dorm. But it’s too depressing. The girls are never there, and the odd time that they are, they’re always on the way to some event or party.
They never call him, unless it’s to meet up at Giles’ house for a Scooby meeting. And even then, he feels that the calls are obligatory. Why do they even need him? It’s just an autopilot thing for them to call him. Stock weapons bag. Find relevant books. Call Xander. Grab a sweater. Just things that they do when leaving the house.
He knows he’s being deliberately morose, but he doesn’t really care. They just saved the world again, and it doesn’t even matter. He got to spend an evening with
Spike. Ugh, he can hear booted footfalls on the steps. He briefly hopes it’s a large demon coming to rip his entrails out. Oh, no. Just a not-very-big demon that couldn’t rip his entrails out if he wanted to. Which he probably does. Luckily, now that Spike knows that he can kill demons, he goes out most of the night and does just that. Xander wants to tell him that he’s actually *helping* the Scoobies, but he doesn’t have the energy. And since Spike’s back, it must be nearly dawn. Xander’s lost count of how many hours he’s been sitting here. Spike looks good. No scratch that. Not good. He wonders if he’s been lonely so long that Spike is starting to look something less than repulsive. Deciding distance is key, he stands up, surprisingly steadily for the amount of booze he’s consumed, and begins to shuffle towards the stairs.
“Harris,” Spike offers. Not really a greeting, but an acknowledgement, which is something, he guesses. “Spike,” he returns. An acknowledgement for an acknowledgement. He continues to make for the stairs. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with Spike’s snarky comments about his loserdom. He figures that he can escape into the sunny living room for a while and get some privacy. “Where ya goin’?” Spike asks, offhandedly. “Getting away from you. I’m way too tired and way too drunk to deal with you.” He says this with resignation, but tries to make it sound insulting, too. It obviously doesn’t work, as Spike continues to talk to him. “Getting’ pissed without me? Quit rude, wouldn’t you say? Didn’t your parents teach you any manners? Oh wait. They probably didn’t teach you much of anything, did they?”
Xander finds that he doesn’t have the energy to make it all the way to the stairs and flops on the couch. “No, Spike. I had to learn everything I know about manners on the street. And I just know that I got some misinformation there.”
“Yes. Yes you did. Especially the parts about sharing. Now give that here.” He takes the whisky bottle from Xander’s hand easily, especially since Xander forgot he was holding it. Spike tipped his head back and took a very long swallow. Washing down the guts of whatever he’d squashed tonight, probably. He looked funny doing that. Like he belonged in some nightclub in 1970 instead of Xander’s basement.
He shucked off his coat, and slumped on the couch next to Xander, cradling the bottle between his knees. His t-shirt and jeans were both much tighter than anything Xander would ever wear. Of course when you have the body for it. Ugh. Not thinking of the dead body next to him. Xander desperately wanted to tell him to go away, but again, he had no energy for anything except tilting his head back and listening to the sounds that Spike’s throat made as he swallowed, and the tinny sound of a chipped, black fingernail tapping at the bottle absently.
Xander reached for the bottle and Spike deftly moved it to his other side, playing a very low budget version of keep away. As if out of nowhere, Xander felt a sudden surge of anger at this man, this creature, who kept laughing at him at every turn. Stupid human. Just a toy to the mighty Spike. Well, damned if this wasn’t his basement, and Spike could play by his rules or he could get what was coming to him. He lashed out with an arm and belted Spike across the ribs. “Oi! What did you do that for, you git?” Spike snarled. “Give me the bottle,” Xander said, low and dangerous. He could *hear* Spike smirk. “Make me.”
Maybe it was the childish taunt. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was just to do something other than sit and get drunk, but he jumped on Spike. He straddled Spike’s lap and punched him hard in the face, three times. Well, one didn’t connect, but points for effort. Spike growled and pushed him backwards onto the floor. Xander’s head clipped the coffee table, but he was too drunk for it to hurt much. Spike was suddenly on top of him now, hands pressed to his windpipe, just enough for Xander to feel helpless, but not enough to hurt him and activate the chip, apparently.
“So you want a bit of a scrap, huh? I’m game. I’m always up for a bit of rough and tumble.” As he said this, he rolled his hips over Xander’s in a move that was less rough and more tumble. With a quick inhale through his clenched teeth, Xander mentally polishes his beer goggles and tries to see things a bit more clearly.
He’s been without a woman’s comfort for… Well practically ever. Once doesn’t even count, does it? At least that’s what he’s been telling himself on those nights when he likes to berate himself. Those nights have been coming with increasing frequency. And as he once said to good ol’ Cordy, who never threw him a bone, looking at linoleum makes him want to have sex. He hasn’t aged enough for that to be untrue yet.
And Spike looks a hell of a lot better than linoleum. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t though about it. Apparently, Spike had read his mind somehow. Or noticed the way Xander’s eyes strayed to him when he took off his shirt. Xander supposed it didn’t take Sylvia Browne to notice his interest. Very mild interest. Curiosity. Just a pondering here and there. He hadn’t thought about it to an extent where he knew what to do or say now that he had Spike sitting on his crotch. Rapidly making him hard, and he knew the smug bastard could probably feel it. Spike rolled his hips again, and Xander hissed a little.
“Get off me, you big homo. Not interested.” He figured denial was the best place to begin. “Pet, I think your body begs to differ.” He shimmied a little, and Xander wondered why Spike was doing this. Boredom? Maybe. Most likely Captain Impotent was after a power trip. Get the little almost-virgin panting for it in a very non-heterosexual way and then laugh at him. Definitely the likely scenario. He tried his best to be suave, although the whisky wasn’t helping. “Spike, I’m a teenage boy. It would probably feel good to have anyone doing that. Now give me my bottle back and let me resume my slow, painful death.”
Spike clucked his tongue in an extremely annoying way. Did he have any other ways? Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. Me, riding you like a pony. Making you beg and plead and sputter and come?” His voice was so silky and his words were painting a picture that Xander was liking a little too much. He turned his head away and concentrated on breathing normally, not in a horny, heavy-mouth-breathing, perverty way. It wasn’t going too well. He decided to be direct. “Why are you doing this? I doubt you’ve been carrying a torch for me, so what’s your deal?”
Spike smiled wolfishly. “Sometimes after a nice spot of violence, I like a nice spot of fucking. Don’t you?” Xander remembered Faith in that moment. How she’d gotten so worked up from slaying. Hungry and horny. Spike had better not be hungry, he thought wildly. “I’m not letting you bite me.” He said, as firmly as he could manage. Only after the words left his mouth did he realize what he was leaving unsaid. No biting, but what else shall I let you do, oh sexy vampire? Spike smiled victoriously. He knew he’d won.
He leaned down, covering Xander completely, which wasn’t an altogether unpleasant feeling. He kissed Xander’s lips very gently, as if Xander were a maiden in need of wooing. And he was in need of wooing. In need of something, anything. In need of feeling, of being alive, and in need of doing *something* besides flushing his life down the toilet. So he kissed back. Fortunately, kissing was something that he knew how to do. He wanted to let Spike know that it was okay to proceed.
Spike got the message and kissed him more deeply. Spike needed to release tension. Xander needed to feel something other than drunk and alone. And he suspected that Spike might want to feel something like that, too. It wasn’t the most romantic mix in the world, but it made for a splendid urgency that drove them onward without much thinking or talking. Just pushing and pulling and grabbing and licking and arching, and rubbing, and all manner of good things that didn’t need explanations.
Somewhere, somehow, clothes were removed and hands moved to more interesting places. Xander may have wanted to pretend that he wasn’t with Spike, wasn’t with a guy for cripe’s sake, but Spike made it impossible to forget. He kept up a steady stream of nonsense words. Sexy words. Words like, “yes,” and “more,” and “Xander,” and all of the pet names that he could think of. Yesterday, Xander would have had a much different reaction to Spike calling him baby, sweetheart, love, gorgeous. Now he lapped it up, finally getting the sustenance he craved. Sustenance that he couldn’t drink from that bottle of whiskey, but he could drink from Spike. Every touch of Spike’s hands, his tongue, his cock, poured nourishment into his bloodstream as if he were the vampire. Sucking validation from Spike like Spike sucked blood.
And not surprisingly, Spike sucked other things as well. Not that there was any basis for comparison, but he did it well. Too well. Xander grabbed Spike’s hair and thrust into his mouth as he came, much, much too soon. He groaned with a sense of loss. Spike re-straddled Xander, and reared up with a growl. Xander watched, unable to look away, as Spike pulled his own cock, once, twice, and shot on Xander’s chest. He collapsed, still muttering. It had been far, far too short. To quickly finished, and yet it had been ultimately satisfying.
Xander awoke a short time later, startled to find that he’d managed to fall asleep on the floor, covered in all sorts of gunk. Although, Spike was still next to him, arm slung across Xander’s waist in a proprietary fashion. Spike seemed to realize that Xander had awakened, and said, sleepily, “Hello, luv.” Xander smiled. Suddenly he felt full of energy. He stood up, not longer feeling drunk and sluggish. “I’m going to take a shower, and then I think I’ll call Will and Buffy and see if they want to catch a movie tonight. I feel like going out all of a sudden.”
He looked down to see Spike staring up at him dejectedly. Before he could analyze that, Spike’s face closed off, and he stood up quickly. “Right then. I guess I should be going. Don’t want to interrupt Scooby fun day.” Xander couldn’t quite believe it. Spike should be the one giving him the “I-can’t-stay-for-breakfast” speech, but he was acting like someone’s one-night stand. The wounded party who just wanted a cuddle but got shown the door. It hardly made sense. Spike had just been messing with him, right? Using Xander, not the other way around.
Years of being the used one gave Xander perspective. He realized in a flash that he didn’t want Spike to leave. He wanted him to stay and hang out. And maybe kiss him again. It wasn’t love, or even good strong like yet, but it was a tiny bud of something. And it had been so long since Xander had felt that growing feeling. That potential that maybe something could blossom inside him and fill at least a little bit of the void. This was about filling the void, right? Or was it about making Spike arch his back and growl again? Or pinning Spike down and finding out what it felt like to be the one on top. Or even figuring out what it was like to really have sex, when he was a participant instead of a blindsided observer.
He reached out his hand. Spike looked at him questioningly. “It may not be the Ritz, or even a Motel 6, for that matter, but I’m pretty sure that the shower here is big enough for two.” Spike looked dumbstruck, and Xander knew in that moment that they were two of a kind. Lonely, and in need of someone to just look at them instead of through them. Spike smiled. “Maybe you and the birds can pick out a movie that starts after dark.” Xander returned the grin “I’m sure we can.”
He kept himself from uttering any lines about the beginning of a beautiful friendship, but just barely. He dragged Spike up the stairs, feeling that growing thing inside him start to bloom. As he reached the top of the steps, he realized that for the first time in days, weeks, months, maybe even years, he had all the energy in the world. Enough to say and do anything. And he knew where he wanted to start.