Title: Breaking Out
Pairing: S/X as always
It took him a while, but Xander finally found a way to break the pattern that was his love life. No more finding a pretty girl or woman, falling for them and then finding out they were a demon or had plans to use his entrails in some bizarre ritual meant to raise a hellgod or three. Nope, this time he had it all figured out. This time he was asking out someone he knew was evil, someone who had already tried to kill him, and, just to make sure, his choice this time wasn't even female. It was Spike.
Dark and Dangerous
Spike was stunned. Yet again a dark-eyed brunette wanted into his unlife, and he really wasn't sure he was ready for that. Angelus had taken him under his wing after Dru's attempts; had nurtured him, taught him what it really meant to be a vampire. And then suddenly Angelus was gone, and Spike had been left, responsible for a sire as mad as a hatter. But it had been okay, they'd soldiered on, and made a family of their own, just him and Dru. Her leaving had almost made him greet the sun. And now Harris had professed an interest...
Eventually another pattern was established. Advance. Retreat. Advance. Retreat. And everyone watched, with varying degrees of disbelief, as Xander slowly eroded Spike's determination not to let himself be caught. Xander countered every argument against him with his own. Tit for tat. Thrust and parry. Every game of pool a victory, whether he won or lost, if Spike was there and not avoiding his advances. A claim to prefer blondes was laughed away with "Buffy? Harmony? A deathwish maybe, yeah, but not a preference." And finally, with care, determination, and a never-to-be-mentioned regular supply of human blood, Xander won his prize.
New patterns replaced old. The daisy chain of marks around Xander's neck that never quite faded, but that everyone learned quite quickly not to mention, for fear that Spike would feel obliged to demonstrate just how he made them. Again. The way that Spike no longer allowed 'his' Xander into battle without training, and even then never out of sight. An implied insult to one now garnered growls and threats of violence from the other. As did misplaced smiles and someone flirting with their mate. They were each determined not to lose the other. Pattern broken. Third time the charm.
The lines were fading now. Soon they'd be gone. He didn't have much opportunity to tan, not with a partner who'd combust in direct sunlight.
But still Spike traced the lines. With eyes and lips and tongue he worshipped every slight delineation; tried to suck the sunlight back out of his boy and taste its spice.
If Xander woke up early, he'd slither out of bed and tiptoe out onto the porch and stand there, naked. After soaking up the residue of heat and light as dusk approached, he'd slide back in and cuddle up close to Spike, and wait...
Hop, Skip and Jump
The phone calls always came at dead of night, no matter where they were. The magicked phone would ring, and they would know, but still they’d answer it. And then they’d make their way, as fast as possible, back to say goodbye, or, if they were too late, then to the graveside where they’d stay a while and talk, until the smell of dawn forced them away.
Angel asked them once why they lacked pattern in their travels. India, then Mexico; Peru, then off to see the Russian Steppes before they toured Spain. They laughed and said he wouldn’t understand.