Title: To Die For
Rating: R, for sex and undeath
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
"Oh, ew! I'm gonna be sick!"
Reflex. Action/reaction. Move/countermove.
Spike desecrates food and is immediately reassured when Xander feeds back the expected (almost requested) response.
A double act. A comfortable relationship. A bond. Though either and both would deny its existence and any enjoyment of the same, it is there, hiding beneath the surface of every interaction. And they like it.
Spike believes he thinks in terms of Pavlov's dogs when considering Xander's typical reactions. He'd deny with every breath he doesn't have that he is equally conditioned to respond to bodily functions and dysfunctions with a scarily similar 'ew'.
"Xander, are you okay? You look hot. Do you have a fever?"
Maybe that would explain why his skin is suddenly two sizes too small, and why his manly bits have filled with blood and are thinking happy thoughts about a certain undead roommate.
It's not that he's attracted, because he isn't, not really. It's a fever, a spell, or maybe a demonic ray that somehow turned him gay? He's just been watching Spike take out some fledges. Watching those agile moves and limber leaps and kicks, and suddenly he's seeing Spike naked, moving over him, in him, in bed.
Sickening For Something
Droopy-boy's been acting weird now for a week. Moping around the place, looking like his kitten just died. He's not eating properly either, well, not for him. And he keeps giving me looks, all full of guilt and hurt confusion, and damn me but I'd swear I get a whiff of bloody pheromones every morning before he scuttles off to work.
But when Xander surprises Spike, just out of the shower and barely covered by a towel, the vampire finally figures out the truth. The boy is horny, for him, and he's drowning himself in guilt because of it.
Maybe there's a spell gone wrong or something in the air, 'cause every time I look at him now I wonder...
He's so damn eager to please, just like a puppy doing tricks to earn affection. He throws himself at everything, no holds barred, no thought to consequence, just wants to be a part of it, to help.
I wonder if he'd bring all that enthusiasm and loyalty to bed. He's so damn young, and hot... and innocent, I'd bet, at least in that regard. He'd probably taste sweet with all the sugar he gets through.
Maybe just a taste...
"Gah! Spike, what are you...?"
"Spike? What the...?"
"Surprised, Harris? You shouldn't be. You've been thinking about this for weeks now, haven't you? And you got me thinking too. What if I suddenly did this..."
A squawk, a flail, and a human heart almost stops dead from shock. Not pleasure, you understand, just shock. Yeah. Shock.
"That's what I thought."
A hard, cold kiss moves the event from some demonic gameplay into the realms of... something else entirely, though neither would admit that they were lost, adrift and floundering.
The planned surprise for one has caught them both.
"Stop it! Gods, just the thought of you together makes my skin all itchy."
Scratching motions are applied to make the point, as Buffy still cannot accept the idea of 'overkill'.
It's been a month and she still reacts like this whenever they touch, or hold a look for just that moment too long. Spike thinks it's fun to wind the Slayer up and watch her go, while Xander wants acceptance, like the Willow/Tara organism received.
But Buffy scratches on and makes a fuss, and Xander knows that if she really had a problem he'd be going home with dust.
He'd seen it coming; recognised the tension in the air. Hidden glances, longing looks and wistful what-if stares, had told a tale of lust he recognised from long ago.
There's nothing like a bad boy on the prowl to get those juices flowing. At least he'd been the badder boy back then, maybe not black of heart, but badly stained.
So Giles watches, worrying, while Ripper views with glee, the union of innocence with evil. And both say prayers to keep the ending calm, not filled with malice and betrayal and revenge. But wonder if an end will truly come...
"You're sure it's not a spell, or a thrall, or maybe a wish gone bad?"
"Willow, it wasn't that sudden. I've been... w-watching them now for weeks. And they were w-watching each other too. The only m-magic involved is w-what they've m-made themselves."
"They're in love, Willow. If you'd looked you w-would have seen by now."
"Xander's my best friend, of course I've looked! I've..." A frown and a bitten lip are joined by a shame-filled expression. "I've just been busy."
"Too b-busy with your m-magic to notice your c-closest friend's in love. This obs-session is unhealthy, sweetie. See?"
"Spike. The doc said I was lucky Pat dropped that rebar on my head. Without that we wouldn't have known until much too late. Now, with proper treatment to keep the tumour from growing so fast, I've got maybe a year left instead of weeks. He's really sorry there's nothing they can do to get it out, but surgery's not an option with where it is. At the very least I'd be blinded, but the odds of that are small. More likely I'd be paralysed or... gone. So it's drugs and radiation and a steady fade to black, unless..."
Giles and Wes spent many hours communing on the phone, discussing gypsy curses and the like. Willow played happy families with Xander, while Buffy tried to slay away the pain. Tara watched.
The soul curse was successfully restructured. Xander spent his last day in the sun. The others were sent home to wait; this final act was personal, too intimate to share.
So tears and sweat and seed and blood were spilled. A banquet for the starving, each drop as harsh as lye. Death seemed a little extreme as a cure for cancer, but it worked.
"Thank you, Spike. Sire."