Rating: PG-15, I'd say.
Part: 1/1 (Oneshot)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. Nor do I own Roger Miller. Or Jack Daniels. Well, okay, I own a bottle of Jack Daniels...
Summary: Xander and Spike get a little sloshed during a power outage. Spike learns a few things.
Author's Note: Written in one night (in a post-thesis haze), unbeta'd. Please, I beg of you, do not slay me on spelling or grammar. I get enough of that in class.
“… Hell, I thought we might actually get caught in the sun that time. There I was, worried sick, runnin’ my soddin’ balls off lookin’ for her, and here she’d just gone off and found herself a toy. Brought it home to share.” Spike sighed in a way that was partly wistful, but mostly drunk. “Lord, boy, you have no idea what Moroccan whores can do to you for the right incentive. This one was just—”
“Yeah, gagging for a good time, right?” Xander snorted, taking a swallow from the bottle of Jack Daniels they’d been passing back and forth for the last two hours. “Swear to God, with the amount of chicks apparently willing to do back-handsprings for a taste of your dick, it’s a wonder you aren’t one of Cosmo’s most eligible bachelors.”
Grinning ear to ear, Spike watched the boy take another healthy swallow, eyeing the muscles of his throat as they convulsed around the drink. They were sitting on the floor, a candle and two bottles of Jack between them, one already almost empty. It was surreal. Just two hours ago they’d been sniping at each other as usual, Xander making cracks about the chip and the soul and the crazy; and he himself busting on Xander’s lack of steady job, or fighting abilities, or girlfriend. It was the normal routine, and they were comfortable with it, totally willing to keep at it all night until Xander went to bed and Spike crashed on his couch.
And then the power went out.
They’d been in the middle of a movie, too. Rambo III. Not that they hadn’t seen it a million times, but it was on, and the one thing that usually distracted them from the insults before they got too brutal was Xander’s TV. Could be anything, could be a bloody infomercial, and they’d watch it because they didn’t feel like hating each other anymore. Because, honestly, they didn’t. Not really. And pretending they did was too exhausting.
So they were watching Rambo get his second wind back in the stick-fight scene, and Spike had just mentioned something about how his footwork was all bloody wrong, when the lights flickered and the TV shorted out with a muted ptt-! sound, and Xander’s newly acquired cellphone rang. It was Willow, informing him that, while attempting a simple focus spell that should’ve helped her and Tara hone their abilities, she’d somehow managed to pull all the electromagnetic energy in Sunnydale (and possibly California) into Giles’ wristwatch (“But don’t worry! I’ll fix it! I will! Just… Just stay where you are, okay? And don’t touch anything metal!”).
Funny thing about Xander and Spike’s hatred for each other: When things deviated from the script, it tended to disappear.
Like now, for instance. When he’d hung up and explained, Spike had simply gotten up and went to the kitchen, grabbing an old jar candle Xander had kept for just such an emergency and the case of beer from the fridge. And Xander had informed him that if they were going to drink, they were drinking the good stuff tonight. Thus, the beer was replaced with the Jack, and the candle was lit, and they settled themselves on the couch, fully intent on drinking in silence.
But that never worked for either of them. Both of them hated silence, loathed it more than they’d ever loathed each other, so when Xander kicked his foot and asked him how he knew Rambo’s footwork was faulty, Spike told the story. Which folded into another story, and another, and another, until he and Dru were in Morocco, and Dru had gone out and come back with a lovely bit of entertainment…
“Who ever said it was a girl, Harris?” He leered, smirking at him with malicious glee. “Hasan. Naughty little thing. Probably the tightest ass I’ve ever had, but that might’ve been the position.”
But instead of being disgusted, the boy simply rolled his eyes and let his head fall back against the seat of the sofa. Somehow in the last half-hour they’d migrated to the floor, and now he was all folded up, one knee propped and the other sprawled off to the side, forming a loose sort of ‘T’ at the ankle. His elbow rested on his knee, and the bottle dangled from his hand, and he looked so relaxed that Spike wanted to say Hey, evil vampire here, you could at least look tense you dolt. But he was buzzed, so he didn’t care.
“Oh, of course. I forgot. Vampires: The Original ‘Easy Lover’.”
Spike chuckled, sliding a hand over his slicked back hair. “Well, blood tastes better when you lot are all fucked out. Tastes best when you’re coming.” He smirked, licking his lips with the memory. “Can’t blame us for seasoning our meals.”
Shrugging a little, Xander passed the bottle back to him and stretched, fingers linking and arms rolling back high above his head. “Nope. And I’m sure Hasan left happy. What with you being all… You know… Capable. Or whatever.”
“You calling me a slut, Harris?”
“Ta’ very much.” Accepting the bottle, Spike took a long swig and tapped the ash from his cigarette into the tray on the coffee table above him. That emptied that bottle. He reached for the other, but found Xander already opening it. “Had a few young men in my time. Always liked ‘em big and brawny, had a thing for brunettes. Dru liked to watch. She said it reminded her of her Daddy…” He trailed off for a moment, jaw clamping shut as his thoughts floated to a darker place. Apparently the boy knew more than he let on about Sire-Childe relations, because he immediately offered him the bottle without a word. He swallowed a healthy gulp and moved on. “In any case, once we left Morocco we wound up on a flight to Austria, of all places. And Dru wanted to see the mountains, so—”
“So you went to the mountains, and you met this guide, and the guide took you halfway up before Dru got bored and ate him, and you had to find your own way back down.” Xander recited as if he’d heard it before, rolling his eyes again. “Am I right?”
Raising an eyebrow, the vampire dropped the bottle to the floor and gave him a look. “How—”
“Because that’s usually how this kind of story goes. All your legendary exploits are basically you killing people, fucking people, or figuring out how to get yourself out of a tight spot Dru or Deadboy put you in.” Taking the bottle back, Harris took a sip, and then another, before setting it in his lap and letting himself relax against the couch. “You’re like your own action movie franchise.”
Scoffing at that, slightly offended, Spike leaned back on his hands and gave him a hard look. “Right. And your life’s been so full and meaningful.”
“Me?” Surprised, Xander frowned at the implied slight, but didn’t seem to want to deny it. “I’ve got stories. I mean, you were there for most of them, but hey, for a human-”
“No, no,” Spike smirked, snatching the bottle from his lap and feeling the slight wobble in his lean that signaled he’d reached the point of Vampire-Tipsy. Which actually didn’t stop him from being curious. “Do tell. The Legend of Droopy Harris. I’m all ears.”
Snorting with the phrase, Xander let his head fall back and drawled in a faux-Texas accent, which sounded pretty amazing the way he slurred it. “Well, I’m the seventh outta seven sons, My pappy was a pistol, I’m a—”
“-- Son of a gun.” Spike finished for him, giving him a look that probably wouldn’t’ve been so funny sober. “Go on. You don’t wanna hear about me. Let’s hear about you. What’ve you ever done to earn your bloody share of oxygen?”
The question was serious, and as such it packed a whole lot of punch. In a mean way. The kid’s body sagged against the couch, eyes closing, probably trying to compartmentalize the hurt of it for later. He was good at that, even drunk. “Absolutely nothing. Grade-A Zeppo, that’s me. Been a bad-luck kid since birth.”
Taking another drag from his cig, the vampire sighed, blowing out the smoke lazily. He waited for Xander to elaborate, and when the silence stretched too long he looked at him again. The boy's face had gone pensive, which was a new look for him, and to be honest it gave Spike… the ‘wiggins’. Or whatever they called it now. ‘Jiggins’? ‘Jinkies?’
Whatever. It was killing his buzz.
“Right.” Taking another sip and passing it back, he sprawled out a little under the guise of a stretch. Really, he just wanted to move into Harris’ personal space. Make him uncomfortable. Easiest way to get somebody to stop thinking is to make them uncomfortable. “Really believe that, do you?”
He was silent. For one hellishly long moment, he was dead silent, that look frozen in his eyes like the fossil of some long-dead feeling just unearthed. And just when Spike was growing restless, he closed his eyes and took a long, unrepentant gulp. When he drew the bottle away, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and smiled. “Nope.”
Spike found himself grinning. “No?”
“No.” Slowly opening his eyes, he turned, meeting Spike’s grin with a wry one of his own. “What? You expect me to believe the shit everybody tosses at me? Like some self-pitying chump? Come off it.” He snorted, setting the bottle down again. “I’ve never been a genius, but I’m not stupid.”
Grabbing his long-cold mug o’ blood off the coffee table, Spike shook his head at the words and proceeded to candy the blood with Jack. “Yeah, figured. Ye’ve never exactly taken it serious-like. Save my best insults for you, I do, and you’ve never once been properly offended.”
Snorting loud and derisive, the boy grabbed the bottle and pulled it into his lap. “You ain’t said nothin’ my old man hasn’t said, that’s for sure. You wanna faze me, you’ll have to come up with something I haven’t heard, because honestly man, by now I know what I am and what I’m not. Nothin’ anybody says can change that.”
“Right.” Spike nodded with respect. Well, something like respect. He wasn’t sure if it actually was. It felt too familiar. “Invaluable knowledge, that. Got one level head on your shoulders, Harris.”
“Doesn’t help much when he’s kickin’ the shit outta you, though, does it?”
Xander stiffened, eyes falling to the bottle, then slowly sliding to Spike. He looked… Caught. Like this was some big secret. Spike gave him a caustic stare.
“C’mon, boy. Lived in your little basement hovel for a while. Smelled the blood, saw the locks on the doors. Three locks that lock from the inside, Harris. How daft do you think I am?”
Shoulders slumping, the boy let his head fall back against the couch and sighed. “Don’t tell Willow.”
“Right, like I’m gonna break that news to Red.” Scoffing at that, he swallowed a gulp of blood and winced. Cold. Yuck. “At any rate, s’over now, yeah? Got your own place. What’s to tell?”
For another long, heavy moment, there was silence. Because Spike knew it wasn’t over, and it would never be over, not for him. Even if he did manage to rise above this shit cerebrally, one could never leave the flames of hell without feeling cold for the rest of their lives. Harris was no exception.
Neither was he.
Finally, he swallowed the last of the blood and poured Jack into the mug, filling it up about halfway. “So. Story time, Harris.” He prompted, hand feeling around for his pack of cigarettes, looking for another. “Go on. M’bored.”
Rolling his eyes, Xander took a swig from the bottle and placed it in his lap again. His actions were way more sluggish than they were about a half-hour ago, and it occurred to Spike through the haze of alcohol that he should probably take the bottle away. “Seriously, Captain Peroxide. You win. My life is significantly less adventuresome than yours. Yours is epic. Can we drop this now?”
“No.” Spike answered shortly. Because he was curious, now that he realized how little he actually knew. Hell, this kid knew most of his unlife in stories already, and he knew nothing beyond the one or two times he’d tried to kill him. “C’mon now, boy. S’time to entertain ole’ Spike.”
He sighed, looking very put-upon, before sitting up a little and running a hand through his hair. Pretty hair, all wavy and dark like that. Spike watched in fascination. “Well,” He began finally, his voice much softer than it was before. “Did anybody ever tell you about the hyena?”
Frowning a little, the vampire shook his head ‘no’, eyes trailing down from his hair to his face. Nobody ever told him anything about Harris, actually, let alone something involving a hyena.
“Sophomore year. Got possessed by a hyena spirit. Tried to hump Buffy. Ate a pig.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust, shaking it off with a small shudder. “God, that was gross. Never will I ever eat—”
Snorting out loud, Spike leaned back on his hands and grinned at him. “How in all fucking hell did you wind up possessed by a hyena? Of all things!” He laughed, unable to believe it. “What, they’re carving up hyena corpses in biology class these days?”
Xander smiled a little at the joke. “Actually, it was at the zoo. And there were these asshole kids sneaking into the hyena exhibit or whatever, and—”
“The zoo?” All that amusement fell away. Immediately. Spike’s body went cold as he tried to process this in his booze-fuzzed brain. “The hyena was alive? Like… Like Primal magic?”
Xander frowned back, giving him a confused look. “Yeah. Primal, possession, same diff. Anyway, so by the time the rest of the gang figured out what was up, I’d kinda gone through this crazy badass phase. You should’ve been there, man. You would’ve kicked my ass.” Spike was still staring. Jaw to the floor, actually. “Okay, seriously, what?”
“You were taken by a Primal?” Spike asked again, his mind barely able to put the two together. “Jesus, a Primal Hyena? How’re you still alive?”
Shrugging a little, the boy took another sip and turned away again. “The gang managed to put my soul back in control.”
There was silence again, so loud it hurt their ears. But it only lasted a moment, because Spike knew he had to ask.
“But it’s still there, innit?” He asked quietly, knowing the answer already. And now that he knew, it seemed so obvious, so fucking right there in front of him, he felt stupid for not seeing it.
Reclining against the couch, the boy nodded, resting one hand behind his head and closing his eyes. And Spike felt slightly nauseous thinking about it, because he knew what it was like to have a demon screaming in your brain twenty-four/seven, hungry and greedy and full of the worst intentions. The fact that Harris was keeping his locked down, functioning around it instead of letting it loose, well. That was a miracle right there.
“Fuck, boy.” He muttered, shaking his head, looking him up and down in slow examination. “You must be completely mad by now.”
Scoffing a little, Xander picked up the bottle, swirling its contents as he stared off. “‘We’re all mad here’.”
“Oh, cheers to that.” Spike scoffed, slowly coming to grips with this news. He raised his mug, and Xander tilted the bottle a little to let them clink together in a slightly off-target toast. And then they drank. Spike finished his mug in a gulp, and Xander took a long swig of that bottle, more than he needed. He was sloshed already, on his way to the hangover from hell. He thought again about stopping him, but hell, Harris was a big boy. He knew his limits.
The silence that reigned now was all dust settling. It felt like the aftermath of some attempted apocalypse, like they’d been running toward a cliff, only to stop themselves at the edge. Looking down at what they’d almost fallen into. So it lasted for a long, long time. Longer than the others. Because neither of them could explain this feeling, and neither of them wanted to let go of it, and they were both way too drunk to do things that they didn’t want to do.
And, honestly, Spike was starting to get nervous about the things he didn’t know.
On to safer topics.
“So,” Smirking a little, the vampire pulled out his lighter and lit up, flicking it closed. “Women.”
The kid scoffed, rolling his eyes. “No. We are definitely not talking about that. All the women in my life have been—You know…”
“Products of the Hellmouth.” Spike laughed, feeling cheerful because this was one part of the legend of Xander Harris that he could easily guess. “Big nasties in miniskirts, yeah?”
“Kind of, yeah.”
“S’your own fault.” Spike smirked, and when the boy turned to him with a lazy sort of glare, he blinked, all innocence. “What? It’s true. Practically buzz with it, you do. Got this energy to you, hot and bright, drives us all insane. I tell you, s’your own fault if I take a bite outta you one day, chip or not.” The chip crackled a little, and he brought a hand up to his forehead, highly annoyed that he couldn’t even think of the finer things in unlife. “Fuck.”
The boy raised his eyebrows, giving him a slightly wary look. But he didn’t move away or anything, so Spike guessed it wasn’t for anything more than show. “Okay, I’m going to pretend you never said that. Unless you do take a snap at me, then I’m reserving my right to stake you, sans-guilt.”
“M’serious, though.” Waving his cig at him for emphasis, Spike vaguely realized that he was probably going to wake up staked if he kept along this line of thought. He looked away and took a drag, blowing out the smoke after a moment and trying not to say the things he knew. Like a walking, talking ray of sunshine, Boy. Not in the annoyingly-cheerful sense. Just… in the way you feel. Warm, full of good vibes, like a lamp among moths. Beat themselves to death trying to get to you, ‘cause they’re so cold, and you’re so warm, and that light is the prettiest thing they’ve ever seen.
If Spike was still in any way honest with himself, he’d admit to being one of those moths.
But he hadn’t been honest with himself since he’d lost his mind. So.
“I guess the whole ‘demon-magnet’ thing is for real, then?” Looking a little annoyed (but not surprised), Harris set the bottle on the coffee table, leaning over Spike to do so. Spike’s eyes went directly to his throat. “Figures.”
Smirking a little, the vampire snuffed out his cig in the ash tray above him, along with the urge to press his nose into the hollow of the boy’s neck. “Don’t seem too broken up about it.”
“Hey. At least now I know I’m a legitimate freak. Besides, makes slayage a whole lot easier. ‘Gee, there’s something running around town, ripping out human kidneys and eating them whole. Has Xander been seeing anyone?’"
Laughing out loud at the joke, Spike turned onto his side, lounging as he watched the kid’s expressive face. Too handsome for his own good. The looks didn’t help, now that he was thinking about it. Just made him a stronger magnet.
“Besides,” Xander continued after a moment. “Can’t exactly turn it off. Might as well enjoy myself while I can, dang me.” Smirking a little, he faced Spike and lounged back, mimicking his posture.
On a whim, the vamp reached out and touched the boy’s pulse. It was slow and relaxed, heavy with booze. It didn’t change, even as Spike’s finger traced the outlines of his veins where they pressed up through his skin. But Xander’s eyes followed every movement without much threat, and he dragged his thumb over his wrist and said, “You mean ‘damn’.”
“Thought I shouldn’t press my luck on a Hellmouth. Besides, the song's been in my head all day.” Xander smiled a little, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. The sight was one that brought all sorts of thoughts to mind. Pain, ecstasy… Then he started humming. Spike knew the words.
Dang me, Dang me,
They ought’a take a rope and hang me,
High, from the highest tree…
Woman, would you weep for me?
"So," Spike interrupted, reaching for the bottle and saying it again, just to see if he could get him to talk. "Women."
"I'm not talking about women with you, Spike."
Devious mirth lit Spike's eyes, and he let his fingers trail from his wrist, up the inside of his arm. The boy's pulse quickened a little, he could hear it, feel it... Hell, he was suffering a head rush already with the way he smelled, like sawdust and cemetery dirt and something... else. Probably some sort of pheromone cocktail to aide the demon magnet in him. Set his fangs on edge, at any rate. Made him hungry. "Well, if we're not talking about women, then I guess we're talking about men."
He paused. Froze beneath his fingers, pulse suddenly quickening, bubbling through his veins hotter and faster than it had been all night. Spike's eyes widened, pupils dilating to pinpricks, and his mouth watered with the very thought of that gushing blood. But still more intriguing was the thought of what was making his pulse pick up, his heart beat like mad.
"... then I guess we're talking about men." He'd said.
As a joke, of course.
Or maybe an invitation.
He wasn't expecting...
His eyes darted up, meeting Xander's head-on. He was staring at him with a mixture of apprehension and grief, all muddled up nice and tight in those lovely eyes. Jesus, he was a treat when he let a little bit of darkness come out to play. But that didn't matter right now, not at all. Because the vision of Xander… Oh God… With men…
"Are there men to talk about, Harris?" He murmured, soft and throaty, slightly strained because in his mind, the boy is currently naked, sweaty, and pounding away at some lucky fool’s ass. And if that fool just so happens to have Spike’s face, well. It’s his brain, isn’t it?
Face crumbling into a determined lack of expression, the boy slowly reached around him, their bodies brushing breathlessly close. Spike’s fingers closed around his wrist, suddenly gripped with the fear that he was going to leave him. But he wasn’t. He stilled for a second as Spike took hold of him, but instead of pulling away he leaned closer, reaching above them both to the candle on the coffee table. They were a breath away from each other, and Xander’s eyes fell half-lidded. But before Spike could even think to close the distance, he’d picked up the candle and pulled away, licking two fingers and snuffing out the flame.
“What’d you do that for?” Spike asked, slightly dazed by how close he’d been, how easy it would’ve been to just…
But the boy wasn’t even looking at him anymore. His fist was curled around the neck of the bottle, and he wiped his lips, and the vampire realized that he’d just knocked the Jack down to half-way gone while he’d been lost in thought. “Don’t wanna to look at you while I think of him.”
It felt like a kick in the gut. Swallowing hard, he peered through the darkness at the boy who now seemed a thousand miles away, with this look on his face that wasn’t just sadness but full-on guilt, and suddenly he knew. It wasn’t about him.
“Drained, was he?”
“Turned. Then staked.” He took a shaky, miserable breath and swallowed another mouthful of Jack. “My stake.”
Sadness bled through his bones, and for a moment he sat limp, unsure of what to do. He didn’t normally let himself feel these things, kept himself detached from the Slayerette issues, but this time his emotions caught him off-guard. Harris was just so… So light. The thought of him wading through such dark waters made him uncomfortable. He let his eyes close in sympathy, wishing he could offer… something. Anything. Anything to pull him away from the darkness that was making him cold.
Reaching out a slightly uncoordinated hand, he touched the boy’s shoulder to offer comfort. It immediately stiffened. Of course not… His mind supplied bitterly. He pulled his hand away. But when he dared to look at the boy again, he found him swallowing tears, breathing heavily as though he didn’t know how.
“Want the Legend of Xander Fucking Harris, Bleach Boy? Here it is. Take notes.” He choked out, trying to sound tough, even though he had to know Spike could smell his tears. “Once upon a time, there was this kid who lived in a town he thought was normal. His mommy didn’t give a shit, and his dad beat his ass if he looked at him wrong, but he had friends who thought he was funny, so it was okay.” He breathed out slowly. “And when he got older, his friends got older too. And while he loved both of them dearly, he… he loved one of them in a very different way.”
Pausing for a minute, the boy reached up and wiped his eyes, cursing under his breath.
“This friend taught him things. Taught him how to win at poker, how to skateboard. Taught him that a faggot was just another thing that he was sometimes, and hey, guess what? Sometimes his friend was a faggot too. And one day, they were going to get out of this town and be faggots together.” He smiled a little, a brittle smile that cracked and crumbled with his next breath. “Then this girl came to town. And she was smart, and pretty, and fun to be around, but the thing was, she came with a whole lot of bad luck. Suddenly this town wasn’t so normal anymore. And his friend wasn’t so human. And by some act of fate, or whatever, the kid’s stake wound up in his friend’s chest, and right then he knew he wasn’t getting out of this town.”
“Jesus…” Spike muttered, barely audible, because just the pain in his voice made him sick.
“So the kid stuck with this girl, and his other friend did too, because apparently there was something more powerful than them at work. But it turns out to be not so much, because his other friend isn’t exactly normal either. So there are vampires, and demons, and magic, and his life just falls into this tailspin, and suddenly he wakes up one morning and realizes that he’s the last fucking human on this rock, and as such, he’s about as useful as a sack of shit. And he’s having a panic attack because he was raised by two lunatics in a house with no real light, and he leeches off his best friends for protection, and he really fucking loves killing things sometimes because it’s the only time he can fight back, and the only person he’s ever really loved, who’s ever really wanted him for something other than sex or donuts or demonic procreation, is dust in the wind; So he’s realizing that he’s a lot like the things he’s killing—”
The words stopped, because Spike made them stop. His hand clamped down on the back of Harris’ neck and dragged him in, covering his lips with his own to cut the babble at the source. And Hell, his skin was blazing, like touching daylight without the nasty side-effects, and it made the vampire want nothing more than to pull him down on top of him and be smothered in it. Everything he’d always thought it would be. Not that he’d ever thought about it before. Not that he’d ever think again. Because this kiss was something his body had done without him, and if all of his body’s decisions were this good, he was going to let his instincts do the thinking for a while. A long while.
For a minute the boy didn’t move. Spike’s lips rolled forcefully against his, his hand stroking down his neck in an attempt to calm whatever fears he may have had. But apparently he had none. His mouth opened beneath him, head falling back and body relaxing against the couch, and the kiss resumed with new intensity. They moved to fit each other, lips connecting and meshing apart as the boy let his tongue drag almost reverently over Spike’s teeth, and Spike let him in. It seemed only right. Harris breathed in, and he felt his pulse kick up, and he knew then that he’d realized what was happening, what he was doing. Good. At least they were on the same page, even if they’d stopped reading the script a long time ago.
This was much better than the script.
He moved. Pressing his tongue into the boy’s mouth, curving it slyly against its partner, he pushed up off the floor and let his hands fall to hold him there, straddling his sprawled out legs. The boy’s fingers flew up into his hair, digging their nails through the gel and into his scalp, and he heard himself growl with the aggression. It felt good. And soon they were both in action, Xander’s legs sprawling out a little wider, his fingers tugging him closer, Spike’s hands roving over this sunlight incarnate, trying to remember if it ever felt this good when he was alive. Then the kid sunk his teeth into Spike’s lower lip, and he moaned, yanking himself away to look down at him, wondering why he suddenly felt the need to breathe.
In the darkness, he could see his eyes. They were burnt brown, blackened with this… God, whatever this feeling was, and he was staring at Spike with the kind of focus that says I want to remember this in the morning. He rolled his hips down, feeling him half-hard already, and swallowed the taste of booze and tears with every intention of tasting it again.
“I don’t want to hear the ending.” He whispered, not sure why he said it. Not sure why he meant it.
Breathing in, Xander leaned up and whispered in his ear, hands falling from his hair to his shoulders to his hips… “Good. There isn’t one.”
Spike smirked, but it wasn’t a real smirk. More like a smirk that was trying to hide a smile.
It didn’t really matter. Whatever it was, Xander’s lips covered it, allowing him to deny its very existence. He was strangely grateful for that.