Rating: Adult NC17
Warnings: M/M sexual situations, adult language, reference of violence.
Disclaimer: The Bee owns nothing in this world but her own peace of mind.
I have no claim on any of the characters or products named and make no profit
from my stories.
Summary: AU (Human? Vampire?)
This is the simple tale of a successful psychiatrist with a busy practice.
Dr. Alexander Harris lives and works in the rich and colorful area of the Florida Keys
and everything about his life seems right on track. Then, one day a man comes to
him for help. He is troubled with a history of violence that he hopes therapy can
teach him to control. Clear cut? Maybe not.
As always, thanks to the wonderful Petxnd for the amazing banners and loyal friendship
Xander scooted a green bean around his plate with his fork, trying to look generally
"You did. Several times."
Spike just shrugged.
"Sorry. I used to know someone named Alexander and that was what we called him.
Xander. It's a nice name. Does it bother you?"
Something about the look on Spike's face told him that there was more to this story
and suddenly, Xander wanted very much to hear it.
"No, I don't mind. In fact my friends and family used to call me that when I was young.
Were you and your Xander friends? Were you more?"
For a long time Spike did not answer. He studied the man across from him and he
wondered about the wisdom of delving into this now. Maybe he could tell part of it.
Skirt the depth and the details that someone like Alex was unable to fathom.
Finally, when Xander was beginning to think no answer was forthcoming, Spike sat
back and he began to speak. As he did, his face went slack and there was a far away
melancholy look in his soft blue eyes.
"It was years ago. There was a small band of us engaged in a sort of a military action.
A war. We were up against an enemy a thousand times stronger than we were and,
in our hearts, we knew we didn't stand a chance. The battle had been raging for days
and we were hold up in a bunker. Some of our group had already been lost and we
were just trying to hang on and pray for a miracle. The leader of our group was a
female and I was her second in command. Xander was a foot soldier. A man of no
particular talents or strategical abilities, but he was maybe the best of us all. He was
pure of heart, solid, decent, all the things I never could be. For years, we were part
of the same troupe but we really had no relationship. We both served the leader. We
both fought for the cause. As the final battle escalated, we found ourselves spending
more and more time together. Although we all expected to die, those were the best days
of my life. Two weeks before the end, he and I started to talk. Ten days before the end,
we kissed. One week before the end we slept together. Our last night together, we
professed our love. We held tightly to each other and we promised to survive and spend
the rest of our days together."
Xander fists were clenched tightly together and found it hard to breath. The air in the
room was thick with sorrow and dread. Xander didn't want to hear any more. He
prayed Spike would stop and not finish the story but before he could stop himself,
"What happened. Why aren't you together? Did he die?"
Spike shook his head.
"The final fight was brutal. Most of our troupes were killed or wounded. In the last push,
we won but the victory came at a great cost. I was, ah, captured and held for a long time.
When I was released and returned, he had gone."
"Didn't you try to find him?"
Spike squeezed his eyes shut trying to find the right words.
"Our time had passed. The war had taken a terrible toll on him and he needed to move
on. I was a reminder of the bad time and he deserved better. He deserved to be left alone. Because I loved him, that was my gift to him."
When Spike finally looked up, he was shocked to see tears running down Xander's
face and dripping onto the table. The therapist was visibly distraught.
"You should have gone to him! You two made a commitment and you let him go. He
thinks you are dead and you don't care! How could you be so cruel? Maybe he still
loves you. Maybe he is suffering!"
Xander's voice had gone up an octave as his agitation grew. He had no idea why this whole situation felt like a steel rod shoved through his ribcage, but suddenly he was no longer able to find his professional detachment.
Like a heroine in a cheap paperback novel, Xander had an overwhelming urge to rush to Spike and beat his fists against that solid, masculine chest, cursing and berating him.
Before he could, Spike moved first. He hurried to the other side of the table and he
dropped to his knees where he carefully and gently swiped his thumbs across Xander's
face, wiping away the salty tears.
"Shhh. Xander, don't cry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I shouldn't have told
you about that. It's all in the past and life goes on. Please, don't cry."
Xander snuffled miserably. He knew it was ridiculous. He listened to stories of failed
relationships, lost loves and misery every day of the week. On the surface, this was
just one more. Yet, somehow it was different. This one was physically painful. This
one tore at his heart in empathy for two people he barely knew.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."
Spike smiled and brushed the hair back off Xander's forehead then let the palm of his
hand drift down and cup his cheek. Xander sniffed and leaned into the hand that no
longer felt cold and forbidding.
Time stopped. Their faces were a cool puff of air apart as the two men stared deeply
into each other's eyes. Spike's were full of longing, need and a barely controlled restraint.
The pupils of Xander's dark brown eyes were blown wide in shock, confusion and a large
dose of unexpected arousal. His brain tried to find reason as he told himself that Spike
was only trying to console him. He had too much to drink. Spike had been a patient
and ethically, remained off limits. Xander hadn't been with another person sexually in
far too long.
Still, as the long list of excuses marched through his mind, Xander let them continue
on to fall off a cliff like so many lemmings. Meanwhile, his body surged and his need
raged hot and desperate.
Before he could weigh the advisability of it, Xander lurched forward and slammed his
lips against Spike's and despite the fact that he knew the others would kick his arse for
this, Spike responded. He needed it. He deserved it.
Clutching frantically to the larger man, Spike gave the kiss all he had. He moaned and
Xander answered with a whimper. Both mouths opened and Spike's tongue slid in hot,
slick and hungry. Xander's own tongue curled around the invader and he sucked,
tasting the beer, the steak and something deep and dark.
Close was not close enough. Hands groped and clutched as the kiss pressed on. Xander
pulled back fractionally to gasp for air before diving back roughly. When he did, his lip
was cut on Spike's tooth and the pain shot his craving even higher.
Spike's tongue swept the inside of Xander's cheeks, It danced off the roof of his mouth
and finally swiped the drop of blood off the inside of his lower lip. When the taste of
the blood hit him, Spike recoiled and backed off.
The blood was tainted, bitter and it reminded him of why he was here. The blood told
the story. The blood brought him back to his senses.
"Wait. Xander, wait. This has been a crazy day. You're tired and have had too much
to drink. I don't want us to do something you will hate me for later. I need to go,
Xander. I need to leave."
Xander wiped the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand as his brain tried to
think. He knew Spike was right. He wished he wasn't. He looked imploringly, his
voice quiet and pathetic.
"Will you come back? Will you come here tomorrow?"
Spike backed up till his butt hit the door knob. He needed to run. He needed to kill.
"I will. I'll come tomorrow night and we can talk again. Go to bed, Xander. Get some
Before Xander could respond, Spike was gone.