Anyssia (anyssia) wrote in bloodclaim,

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Fic: Something Has To Make You Run

Title: Something Has to Make You Run

Author: anyssia
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Teen
Length: one-shot, 1005 words,
Date: 12/2008
Summary: They had both been left behind.
Author’s Notes: Beta’d by debris_k, and I can’t tell her how much I appreciate her hard work! ^__^
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns them all and no money was made with this

Something Has to Make You Run

After living more than a century, involving yourself in others’ lives became kind of tiring.

At least that was how Spike felt these days.


Spike had learned early on to be silent in Harris’ house. Not that the whelp was a danger. But now that he was leashed with this godforsaken chip, the boy’s father was another story.

Which was why he wasn’t kicking at every flowerpot and rock that he came across, just to spite the moron.

Not that it would do much; if the drunken noises coming from the living room were to be believed, neither adult would be waking up for hours yet.

Spike stopped a few meters away from the basement door and lit one last fag for the night. Another bloody pleasure banned from the Harris’ house.


One hand on the handle, Spike stopped and listened for a few seconds. No loud noises coming from the inside weren’t unusual, but most of the time Xander still had the telly on quietly.

Spike listened harder and smiled. The boy was playing some depressing music so low that he had missed it.

Seemed like the rumours were true. Word was that the ex-vengeance demon girl had finally left him for some disgusting – but rich – European demon. Some claimed that the new guy wasn’t that new. Apparently, he had known of her reputation during her demon days and had tracked her down when she had lost her powers.

Every bloody demon woman in the community was all but weeping over how romantic that ending was.


Spike crushed his cigarette in the bowl Xander left hidden behind some faded flowers, and finally crept in as silently as a ghost.

The basement was dark, only illuminated by the street light and a small, lone lamp. He still spotted the boy right away, of course, huddled on the couch. He was sitting in the corner, arms wrapped around his legs, feet up on the cushions and head resting heavily on his knees.

The scent of tears surprised him and he froze, uneasy. For all the boy’s cursing and moaning, he never saw him cry, whatever crazy situation he had found himself in that day.

Maybe it was a noise or a scent or maybe even instinct that made Xander aware of him, because the boy jumped to his feet with a start and frantically dried his face, facing away from him.

The moment was awkward at best, and Spike almost felt embarrassed.


The door closed with a loud thunk and both men froze, their eyes turning to the ceiling as they listened for a reaction from upstairs.

When neither of the two drunks awoke, Spike shook himself. Times like these made him loathe what he had become.


Xander turned around and looked at him for a long minute. They stared at each other silently, and by the time Spike realized he hadn’t made a cutting remark or two, the moment had passed.

A new song began and Spike shivered when he recognized it. It had been in the music player in the lair he had taken over when he had come back to Sunnyhell, after his breack up with Drusilla in South America over the Chaos demon, and again the next year when she had left him that time for a Fungus demon. He had listened to this particular song many times during his shameful depression, too weary to even change the CD.

He now found it vapid and gushy, and yet the melody was still kind of beautiful and the singer’s voice had a sultry quality really pleasant.

Entranced, Spike walked slowly across the room and set the song on repeat.


Xander sat back down in the corner of the couch, legs folded under him. The small sofa was barely large enough for both of them, and Spike acknowledged the implicit invitation. He shrugged off his duster and gently spread it on the back of a chair, smoothing the worn leather delicately.

Spike moved toward the boy who was calmly looking at him, probably unseeing. So different, and still the same. Human or demon, a break up wasn’t any easier when one loved. Spike might be loud and brash, but he had still needed a lot of time to let go of his dark princess. That she could leave him just like that, after so many decades, had been terrifying.

Still was.


The boy was now realizing that for all her blunt ways and honest remarks, his demon girl had never told anyone – not ever her own lover, Xander – that she loved them. She had wanted orgasms and he had been available and easy. And then he had found a better deal and left without a backward glance.

The worst thing about breaking up, Spike had long ago decided, was the loneliness. You thought and thought and listed every single thing that had gone wrong and created you own hell. And still, the only truth was the empty place beside you in bed and the lonely hunt for diner.

The young man would learn soon enough that love was short-lived and that nothing could bind it. And most of all, that it was easier to have a relationship without the burden of love.


Spike let the quiet music set the mood, and carefully put a knee on the edge of the couch, right next to the boy. Xander lifted his eyes to his face, curious but not dismissive.

It was just a matter of calmly bending down and pressing cold lips to warm ones.


Spike pushed lightly on Xander’s shoulders until he was comfortably pressed against the backrest and slipped his tongue into the boy’s mouth.

He kissed him for a while, not trying to show any love or passion, just desire, building and warming. He didn’t have any need for making love nor enthusiasm for fucking. It was just two bodies sharing pleasure and comfort.

Xander wouldn’t be alone that night, and neither would he.

The End

Additional Notes: the song Spike and Xander were listening to was “Don’t Know Why” by Norah Jones.

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