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Cicirossi
Joss Whedon is God and owns all. It's still his world, although we like to sneak in the side door and cover Xander with chocolate sauce and whipped cream when no one's looking.
Before Buffy and Dawn left, Xander made them move him upstairs to a bedroom. No way was his talk with Spike going to be performance art. Some nervous giggling happened on Dawn's part, and much "That's icky," on Buffy's part, but they hauled him up there anyway. Willow sat with him while Tara went down and cleaned up the magical supplies, and when she tried to talk to him about it he just shook his head and told her he'd tell her everything, just like he always did, but after.
Not only was he not quite sure what to tell her yet, because he hadn't quite made up his mind what to tell Spike, but he was afraid Spike wouldn't come. Terrified, in fact, that adrenaline heart-pounding feeling, and hey if he hyperventilated maybe he'd finally pass out. The wait went on and on, and Xander had pretty much decided to give up and throw himself out the window when Buffy called out, "Got him!" from downstairs. The relief was more crushing than the worry, and Xander felt like he might expire any minute.
And lo, Buffy did have Spike with her, dragging along between she and Dawn, looking almost but not quite as bad as Xander felt. Well, vamp, you know. It would probably take the curse a lot longer to kill one of those than it would a human. Except Spike's cheeks were gaunt, and dark circles shadowed his eyes, and he shook hard enough to make things clink inside his coat. Buffy eased Spike down on the bed, and Dawn helped him slip off his duster, and the girls left without another word. Just worried glances on the way out the door.
"You came." It came out more accusatory than relieved.
"They said you asked." That came out petulant, and Spike stared at the pattern on the bedspread instead of looking at Xander.
"I did."
"Well, I came then."
"Right."
"Yeah."
The ceiling was as interesting to Xander as the bedspread was to Spike. Nothing at all like the ceiling of the basement of doom, no cracks or water damage. Not like the more vaulted ceiling in his apartment. And certainly not like Spike's crypt. Amazing how each one had its own distinct personality. Amazing the ways he tried to avoid the talk he needed to have. Might as well get it over with.
"You look like you're going to fall over. Why don't you get horizontal? This may take a while."
That got Spike to look at him finally. "Why?"
"What?"
"Why should this take a long while? Either you are or you aren't."
"What?"
"What are you, a parrot? Either you're wanting me, or not. You're happy, or you aren't. Pretty straightforward, pet."
If Xander could move, he'd smack the heck out of Spike right about then. It wasn't that easy. There was the whole never done that with a guy thing. And the whole evil dead thing. And if that wasn't enough there was the whole bite me even with the chip thing. And the dying thing. That was not of the good.
"Come here, Spike."
"Why?"
"Do you have to make everything so fucking difficult? Because I can't come to you, that's why. And since you're still upright, I'd say you can still topple over close enough for me to reach."
With a minute shrug, Spike toppled. Not very graceful or smooth, just sort of plonk and roll. But he was near enough now for Xander to touch. Close enough to see each individual eyelash, and the smooth, almost poreless skin stretched tight over Spike's cheeks. "Better?"
"Yeah. I figure there's only one way to get conclusive evidence."
Their noses rubbed. "Yeah? What would that be?"
"This." And Xander moved just enough to bring their lips together. Wasn't much of a kiss at first, what with the chattering teeth and shaking parts and all. But it got better. Much better, because Spike made a noise low in his throat, one of those not human noises, and deepened the kiss. And oh, it felt good. Like lemonade on a super hot day. Like lotion on a bad sunburn. Jeez, even his similes were lame these days, but it felt so damned good. So good that he stopped shaking for the first time in two days.
Pulling away, gasping for air, Xander rested his forehead against Spike's chin. "I don't want to want this." Even to his own ears his voice was small and miserable, and Spike put a hand on the back of Xander's neck and tilted his head up.
"Then just tell me you'll be happy without me."
"I can't. And how can you take this so well? You can't stand me."
"Don't mind you so much, these days. And I've never denied being love's bitch, have I? When I fall, I fall hard. Ce... Halfrek knows that, I suppose. But it's up to you, isn't it? You tell me you're better off without me, I go."
"Kiss me again?" Because, yeah, if Spike kissed him he didn't have to think. Those kisses made everything else go away, and there it was. The brush of Spike's lips over his, and the taste of Spike on his tongue. Cigarettes and blood and longing. Closer together, both of them moving to get more contact, and his head didn't hurt anymore. But his cock still did. So sensitive it was painful, and he rubbed against Spike frantically, burning it all away with the unbearable friction.
In between kisses Spike talked to him. The words meant nothing. He couldn't make sense of them, but the tone infected him with its urgency, and he clung tighter, kissed harder. The touch of Spike's hands on his body healed something in him, made the pain go away, and Xander arched into the feel of them. Into the ones that rubbed along his back and kneaded his ass. He had to breathe, or he would keep kissing Spike forever, locked away from tough decisions and whys and hows.
When Xander pulled back for air, they stared at each other, both wild with it, that thing between them, both needy and wanting things they shouldn't. Then they came together again, devouring, insatiable. Too much, too long apart and suffering. They moved with a violence born of despair, of almost lost it, and it wasn't enough. Wouldn't be enough even if Xander could crawl inside Spike's skin. And in that moment, with Spike's lips on his and Spike's tongue in his mouth and Spike's leg between his, Xander made his decision. Magic or no, stupid or not, he had to have this.
Pulling away from the kiss, panting, Xander shoved at Spike's shoulders. Spike looked at him, a terrible disappointment in his eyes that changed to shock when Xander tipped his head back and offered his throat. "Please, Spike. Now."
A low, possessive hum came from deep in Spike's chest, and his face rippled as he darted forward and sank his fangs into Xander's neck. That same electric charge hit him, like a fork in a light socket, and Xander couldn't hold it in. He wrapped himself around Spike and humped furiously, screaming as he came harder than he ever had in his life. He was only dimly aware of Spike's triumphant shout, and they collapsed together, so profoundly relaxed that they were both asleep in seconds.
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