Title: Having Faith 1/1
Rating: R for nudity, and some bloodletting.
Feedback/Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Summary: Xander believed they needed time away to be together. So did Spike.
Notes: Written for slashthedrabble challenge #73 - Faith, and at the prodding of entrenous88. :D
It was ridiculously simple to convince Xander that they needed a break away from the rigors of guarding the Sunnydale Hellmouth. He was just as sick of the Scoobies' 'false' concern for his well-being as Spike was of the barely veiled insults and repetitive threats of dusting. And if Spike let Xander see the occasional flinch when Buffy swung a menacing stake in his general direction, well, all's fair in love and war.
Xander believed it was all his own idea.
Spike let Xander make the big announcement, watching with silent glee as Buffy and Willow's arguments were brushed aside, overridden. Even Rupert hadn't been able to find a chink in Xander's armour. The 'weary soldier needing R&R' shtick really worked, especially overlaid with the bona fide limp from last week's farce of a battle against a pack of Hruk demons.
Dire warnings about Spike being evil, even with the chip, (Spike snickered) had only reinforced Xander's determination to take the time he thought they needed.
The fact that Spike sat still and patient, blank-faced and utterly unconcerned, had only served to drive their ire higher. It was a skill he had perfected under Angelus' watchful eye and Darla's constant admonition to 'Be seen and not heard!'
It was good to know he hadn't lost the knack.
Xander, it turned out, was a very cheap drunk, practically unconscious after three spiked beers. They didn't even leave the room - it was easier that way.
Spike wasted no time in stripping him bare, tasting each exposed inch as he went. He skinned himself out of his shirts and jeans and lay down by his precious boy's side, letting the sun's heat sink through his skin to his bones - for the last time.
Fangs popped through taut, tanned skin, and Xander barely even twitched, too drunk to notice. He surfaced briefly, much too late, one hand batting limply at Spike's head as he kept on drinking, systematically draining away every drop of life.
Spike's crisis of faith came six hours later, when Xander finally began to stir. He thought of Dru, mad as a hatter, of Angelus and his idiotic quests to destroy the world, of Penn's pseudo-religious, fanatical killing sprees. Even he was hardly a textbook vamp, a monster who slept with his food and loved obsessively. What hope did Xander have of coming out of this in one sane piece?