Summary: Annoyed with Spike and Xander’s constant bickering, Willow uses a spell to separate the two. But it turns out the boys need each other more than they ever thought they did.
Warnings: Sexual content, Alcoholic!Xander
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, and I make no profit from this story.
A/N: Takes place after Spike slept with Anya, but according to my muses, Anya left after that. Don’t know what happened to her. She’s just not in the story.
Obviously, they’d both lost their minds.
Spike didn’t mind. He’d lost his a while ago. He wondered if Xander did too.
Every night that week he’d come back. First stopping by the Box to see what was happening with the stupid spell (no luck, but they were working on their Kleibiitian linguistics), then wandering the cemetery in a vague attempt at patrol (almost too distracted to stake a fucking fledge), then finally making his way to Harris’ building. Where he’d find Harris, standing on his terrace, trying not to look like he’d been waiting.
He didn’t know why he came in the first place, let alone why he kept coming. That first night, the scent of the boy had made his mind up for him. He wanted to see him, catch a glimpse of him at least, even though he knew Harris didn’t want to be seen. But when he came out on that balcony, shirtless and looking half-dead, Spike felt his body seize. He was sober—two days and two nights sober—and he was losing his shit already. The night made him look so pale, only illuminated by the light from his apartment, and he was so unlike the caricature of himself he always displayed that Spike almost couldn’t believe it was him.
Their eyes met across a busy street, and he felt that strange tension that hung between them connect, just like it always did. He’d thought it was just the animosity between them. Apparently it wasn’t. Because there was no anger in those dark eyes, just… understanding. Or something like it.
It was like he knew. He knew why Spike was there, even though Spike couldn’t figure it out himself.
He let his eyes examine his sun-kissed skin, bruised and battle-scarred all over, and sucked on his cig because he wanted to see more. He wanted to see him up close, map out that tapestry of wounds… Xander Harris had a fascinating body—one he wouldn’t mind exploring. Big, warm, and full of stories.
He couldn’t get it out of his mind.
And worse still, those eyes…
Maybe that’s why he kept coming back. He didn’t know. All he knew was that his feet brought him here on their own, every night, and every night Xander was out on his terrace waiting for him. He’d changed spots, crossing the street and pressing his back to a carefully trimmed tree outside the complex, wanting to be closer. Xander was never shirtless again, back to his loud Hawaiian prints and awful plaid, and that haunted him because it felt like a tease. He could almost hear him. You had your free show already, Fangless. Except there was no teasing glint in those eyes. In fact, there was no glint at all. Spike was starting to worry that he’d never see the old Xander again.
So he lounged against that tree and watched Xander watch him, like some twisted scene from Romeo and Juliet, except that even if they dared speak (which they didn’t, because who knows when the spell would decide that even this interaction was too much and bounce one of them somewhere), Spike wasn’t going to start by comparing Xander to the sun like a great nonce. And Xander probably wasn’t going to ask him to renounce the Aurelius line and run away with him. And they definitely weren’t in love.
Definitely… Spike’s mind sighed as he took in Xander’s latest fashion atrocity, a t-shirt with some logo on it, garish red and full of holes. He looked like death, but his eyes were wide awake for the first time all week, and that made the vampire grin. He grinned even wider when Xander grinned back.
He was still pale. Still a little sluggish. But he was alive again. Thank Christ.
Lighting up, he settled himself against the tree and met the boy’s eyes, irrationally glad to see the old spark that made them so wild. Their gazes stuck, held on, and heat slid through his bones as the boy challenged him. Dared him to say something, to break the silence that held them apart.
But, God, he couldn’t risk that. What if this was all they had?
His eyes flicked away and he took a drag of his cigarette, relishing the taste. But after a moment he let them slide back, this time tracing the soft cupid’s bow of the boy’s upper lip, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the tiny peeks of skin that whittled through that shirt…
He must be going mad.
But Xander straightened a little, letting him look, and he exhaled his smoke, eyes drinking in the sight.
Then his vamp hearing picked up a phone ringing from inside the place, and the boy jumped about a foot, before casting Spike an apologetic look and wandering inside.
“Hello? Yeah, Wills.” He heard him say. Stiffening against the tree, he took another long drag on his cigarette and sighed out the smoke. “Yeah, I’m a lot better now, thanks. I think it was this stomach bug that’s been floating around work. Wasn’t really feeling up to slayage.”
The lie made him smile. Stomach bug…
“So, any progress on the—Oh.” That oh was a sad sound to hear. Like a penny, clattering to the bottom of an empty wishing well. “But I thought you said—No, wait, Wills, I thought you said you could fix this.”
“No, Willow, there has to be a way. Call somebody—get Giles to call somebody—I don’t care. We can’t keep bouncing each other all over the world forever. I need to—”
The silence that filled the air then made Spike sick. No… He dropped his cig to the pavement, heading for the building. No, you can’t mean this is forever.
“I get it, okay? I get that you’re sorry, but I need you to fix this. Please.”
The phone clattered down somewhere above him, and he heard him move. Fast. Down three flights of steps, through the lobby, to the main doors. His face floated into view, and Spike met his eyes through the door’s window, and God, that glass was the only thing separating them. He looked frustrated, angry, scared, and the spark in his eyes was ten times brighter up close like this, and it was hell not being able to touch him.
Fucking Hell, I want to touch him…
The thought made his own eyes widen, their blue fixed completely to Xander’s brown. It was not the first time he’d had such thoughts—kid wasn’t bad looking after all. But it was the first time he’d had one with such insane clarity. And the first time he didn’t give a damn about just what he would touch. Give him a chance to run his fingers down that broad, battle-scarred chest, and he’d take it. Give him a chance to trace the muscles in that lovely bronzed neck, and he’d take that too. God, give him a second to drag a touch through those dark brown waves, and he’d take it.
Even if it was just his breath, warm and even against his skin…
Touch me… Those eyes seemed to beg, dark as sin and full of such despair that it made the demon in him hungry. Touch me, please, I’m begging you…
His fingers reached for him, pressing against the glass, uncertain. Everything in him wanted to open that door, but seeing him, torture though it may be, was nothing compared to not seeing him at all. If this was all he could get…
Xander’s teeth sunk into his lower lip, and Spike had to suck in a breath at the sight. It felt like his heart was beating, like his blood was rushing, like he was somehow alive again. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t be.
Then the boy slammed his fist into the door, shouting “Damn it!” and turning away again, heading back to his apartment.
Spike stood there, mind still dizzy with the thought of those eyes, those lips…
That Touch Me…
Then his stomach fell through him, and magic swept him away, and he thought But he’s not here—
And landed in the Magic Box.
Xander’s hand was still throbbing when he landed in the Magic Box. But when he opened his eyes and saw Spike standing there, five feet away, with nothing but air between them, that didn’t matter at all.
Nothing mattered. Just that look in his sharp blue eyes and the smell of cigarette smoke that clung to him always. His heart stuttered, skipped, like it didn’t know whether to stop or speed up. Knock it off… He told it. Don’t you know he can hear you? But that didn’t matter either, because he knew what he was thinking was all over his face. Nothing was between them now. No doors, no walls… He could reach out and touch him all he wanted. If he wanted.
He almost did. His breath left him with just the thought, but his hand moved of its own accord, reaching out, almost—
“Oh good. It worked.”
His hand dropped, and he spun around, blinking dumbly at Buffy, Willow, Tara and Giles. The sheepish smile on Willow’s face brought him back to earth a little. “You guys okay? You’re not feeling, like, cannibalistic, are you? Side-effects apparently include a sudden craving for human flesh.”
Xander blinked. Oookay. Back to Sunnydale Normal.
“No more than usual.” Spike replied smoothly, eyes sliding back to him, feigning nonchalance but pinning him with some seriously dangerous blue. “Harris?”
He swallowed, eyes darting to him, trying his best to keep up with that blue, to hold onto his stare without giving in and reaching for him. He felt like he was doing pretty well, considering. But Spike’s eyes just went darker, and his stomach dropped through the floor, completely unaided by magic that time. “Um… Nope. Not in the mood for a delicious hunk of human. Not craving pig either, in case you’re wondering.” Or booze… His mind voiced rebelliously, eyes locked with Spike’s. Just you.
As if he’d read his thoughts, the vampire in question stepped closer, eyes slowly drinking him in, running over his body with intent.
He looked back to Willow, clearing his throat and shifting a little. “So, um. How’d you fix it?”
Willow looked uncomfortable. “You said to call someone…” Her eyes shifted to Buffy.
Angel… He sighed, looking to Spike again, who looked just about as happy as he was to owe Deadboy a save. “Huh. Alright then.” Unable to help himself, he turned to face Spike completely. “Guess all that hair gel really does help things stick, huh?”
“Be surprised what that bastard remembers.” Spike muttered, shaking his head at the thought. “Right then. If you lot are done here, we’ll just be on our way.”
Xander blinked, turning to meet his eyes and feeling his whole body tremble with the command behind their blue. “We will?”
Giles broke in, looking a little bewildered. “You will?”
“Um…” Willow was frowning as well, eyes flicking between the two of them nervously, like she thought they might try to kill each other any minute. “Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, you look…”
“… Weird.” Tara finished for her, ducking her head a little.
“Fine, fine.” Spike waved them all off, stepping even closer to him. So close that he could feel the static between their skin, the feeling of an almost-touch. Touch me… “Got a lot of catching up to do, don’t we? Been savin’ up some brand new insults, just for Harris here.” His hand landed on Xander’s shoulder, rough and full of false camaraderie.
It was like a brand.
The heat of that touch made every nerve in Xander’s body go loose, boneless, and he almost let himself collapse against the stronger man’s grip in sheer relief. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted to feel him all over, to have that touch everywhere, and to touch him in return. The thought made him bite his lip in sheer desire, and he felt Spike’s grip tighten, and he knew right then that he wasn’t the only one craving this.
Spike’s eyes were on his lip. He let it go, dragging his teeth along its soft flesh and licking over the self-inflicted damage.
“Be a shame to waste them, yeah?” The vampire murmured faintly, steering him toward the door, not even looking back at the perplexed Slayerettes watching them go. Xander didn’t look back either. He had other things to worry about—like keeping the heat between his legs from swelling into a full-on boner before he even got out the door.
He really didn’t want to walk all the way home with a hard-on.
But Spike didn’t seem to care about that.
Rough and preternaturally strong, the vampire shoved him into the neighboring alley and backed him up to the wall, hands clasping his jaw between his palms and dragging him in for a kiss that drove heat straight through him. Every other feeling went away; the pain of slamming his head into the brick, the shakes that accompanied his every move lately… All of it was consumed by Spike, who was licking into his mouth, tasting his tongue and letting his hands roam his body as though it belonged to him. Light, possessive fingers slid down his neck, past his shoulders, down his back. And every move made Xander want to get closer. He found his back arching up against that touch, his thighs spreading to accommodate his aggressor’s knee which rolled up against his groin to rouse that hardness quickly forming there.
By the time Spike pulled back, licking his lips and staring down at Xander’s, he could feel the tent in his jeans rocking up against his thigh. And he knew Spike could feel him too.
“F’yer gonna say no, say it now.” He murmured hoarsely, hands pausing at the small of his back, teasing a tiny strip of skin between his t-shirt and his jeans.
Xander licked his lips, tasting cigarette and growing obsessed with it. “Do I look like I’m gonna say no?”
Spike’s own lips formed a lecherous smirk, and his fingers moved, hooking into old wear-and-tear holes in his t-shirt and dragging it up just a little, just enough to see his stomach rise and fall beneath. His stomach clenched, muscles quivering with anticipation. “No.” He whispered, sounding so evil that Xander lost all temptation to be good. “You look like you’re gonna beg.”
This is a dream. His logic informed him from somewhere in the depths of his brain, as those long, pale digits pushed beneath his shirt and began to trace every tensing muscle with delight. I’m going to wake up, and I’ll be straight again, and it’ll be just like it was, with me hating his guts and him not caring about me whatsoever.
Then Spike ducked his head and placed his lips in the juncture where his neck met his jaw, and bit down with blunt, human teeth, making his whole body quiver and his head fall back with a delirious moan.
But I’m still gonna want him to touch me like this. His logic finally conceded.
“Maybe.” He gasped, breath hitching on the word as that knee pushed up against his growing cock. But then Spike pulled back, twisting that shirt in his fingers and dragging him with it, pulling him down the street toward his apartment.
“Oh, trust me, Harris. You will.”
I know I will. Xander grinned, and let himself be dragged.
“I have to close the blinds.”
“That would involve moving.” Spike sighed, tracing a finger over one of the boy’s dimples and watching it curve as he grinned. Kid had a killer smile when he smiled for real. All that light in him, all that warmth; it just shined, wild and free, like nothing could touch it. Made Spike want to wrap around him and stay.
And he was wrapped around him, nice and tight, legs tangled together, bodies still slick with sweat and spunk. He shifted, and the unusually large cock still seated inside him made him groan a little—even flaccid the thing was a monster. He’d almost dropped to his knees in shock when he saw it. Instead, he’d asked “Christ, Harris, how the hell do you walk?” and scrambled to grab the lube and get himself half-way stretched before his prize could have a big-gay-freakout. Which, as it turns out, never happened. Interesting…
“Would you rather be dust on my bedspread?” He asked, his big, work-rough hands dragging their calloused fingers down the bumps of his spine, making him shudder for the first time in years. Then he shifted again, and the lazy roll of his hips did something to him that knocked out the entirety of his slowly reassembling self-control, and he cursed out loud in spite of himself.
That’s it: He’s doing that on purpose… “Done this before, have you?” He growled, leaning down to lap over the hickey he’d left on that tanned, deliciously sun-kissed throat.
Xander’s breath hitched, hands sliding down to cup the ass that had spent the last half-hour riding his cock and squeeze it. “No! I mean, there was this kid I- we- me and Willow used to hang with, and we- me and him- we…” He closed his eyes for a second, looking pained. “It doesn’t matter now.”
Yes it does… Spike’s conscience whispered, knowing the look on Xander’s face meant it mattered all too much. But he decided to let that go. “I was talking about this—” He hissed, clenching down nice and tight on that fat, twitching member and watching with delight as Xander’s head fell back in a completely unrestrained vision of ecstasy. Pure, perfect ecstasy. ‘Gelus should be here… The vampire’s mind whispered, remembering the old days when such a look on a human’s face would drive his grandsire mad with the urge to bite. And Harris was the stubborn type, too; just the type he’d loved torture… On second thought, bloody pouf better stay in L.A…
“This?” Harris finally breathed, laughing a little as he shifted his hips again, forcing Spike to lean forward and clench his fists into his shoulders. “C’mon, Spike. This was Anya’s Saturday Night Special.”
The name seemed to settle between them, hard and heavy, killing the mood almost immediately. But there was no more anger there, and upon searching Xander’s eyes he found no sadness either. Slowly, he pulled himself off of him, wincing a little at the burning pain that flared with the move, and the emptiness that followed it. He rolled to his side, fingers twitching as he suddenly craved a cigarette.
“Hey.” Xander’s voice was soft, and it made him pause, but it was his touch that froze him completely, those hot knuckles stroking down his back nice and slow. “I don’t care anymore. Okay, Spike? I said my peace. In fact, as I recall, I said it about a thousand times. I even got to take a little vengeance thanks to the fucking spell. So I’m done hurting over it. It’s over.”
Rolling over slowly to look him in the face, feeling that touch slide over his ribs to the taut muscles of his abdomen, Spike leaned a little closer and attempted to read the boy he’d already grown addicted to. He found his eyes hot with mischief.
“’Sides, can’t exactly fault her for sleeping with you anymore, can I?” He grinned, those dimples winking at him from the corners of his lips.
He found himself grinning back. “Christ, Harris. Here I thought you were ramping up for a big, gay freak-out.”
Raising his eyebrows, the boy pressed his fingers into his chest, nice and hard, as if feeling for a heartbeat they both knew wasn’t there. “Um, you’ve slept with Buffy, Anya, Harmony, and according to all those dusty books Giles keeps in his office, you’ve probably slept with Deadboy once or twice. If we ever stop screwing, I can always chalk it all up to your universal appeal.” His gaze flicked away for a moment, guarded. “What’s your excuse?”
I’m a mess… Those eyes seemed to sigh, deep brown and longing, but not at all hopeful. You know I’m a mess. What the hell are you still doing here?
Smiling a little, the vampire touched his face, tracing the curve of his lips.
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” He whispered, sliding back into Harris’ arms breathing in the scent that had driven him insane for the boy in the first place.
Xander’s lips found his throat, and his hands gripped his ass, and they resumed their mutual quest to touch every inch of each other—neither planning on disappearing anytime soon.