Ahestele
FEEDBACK: Love some.
SUMMARY: You meet the damndest people at the airport.
SPOILERS: Through Season 6. Set fifteen years after Season 6 finale.
CONTENT/WARNINGS: Some four letter words
RATING: NC-17
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, Never were. All rights to Joss, Mutant Enemy and assorted capitalist entities.
NOTES: Unbeta-ed. All mistakes are mine alone.
LATER
He fought sleep, even though he didn't really know why. Spike lay tucked under his arm; leg thrown over his thigh, slim white hand resting possessively on his chest and the sense of contentment cloaked him like a cloud. He hadn't felt this comfortable with anyone in a long time. Comfortable enough to lay over the tangled comforter naked to the world, because embers still seemed to flicker just below his skin even hours after the kitchen table episode, and several more episodes after they came upstairs to 'rest'; as if his heated skin couldn't cool down. His hands seemed unable to stop touching Spike, long, slow, repetitive, strokes: down over shoulder blades and smooth line of spine, up over muscle and skin, stroke through silken honey curls, down again. A steady purr vibrated against his chest and Xander hadn't teased the vampire about it because he didn't want it to stop. He didn't want any of it to stop, which should have been scary, but wasn't.
A yawn worked its way up and he stretched through it, cuddling Spike closer, eliciting a throaty murmur, a shift deeper against Xander's body, like a puppy seeking warmth. He smiled and rolled the lighter man on top of him, grinning at the sleepy blue eyes blinking beneath floppy curls. Spike felt like a smooth, cool blanket and his hands dipped to the curved swell of hip beneath the muscular back, fit his fists into the indentations there and felt an answering hardness that made him groan, head turning into the pillow.
"Oh, man, I can't. I've got work tomorrow. One more time and I won't be able to walk."
"Whadja expect, hm?" Spike asked, the picture of innocence from where his chin propped up on his folded hands, a lock of hair hiding one heavy lidded sky blue eye, whisky and velvet voice husky "Takin' liberties with a blokes privates like that."
"Okay, my bad. Hand action limited to strictly above the waist. Better?"
" 'Spose." Spike murmured, lids drooping dark lashes on a pale cheek. Xander ran both palms up the muscled back, molded the shoulder blades, buried his hands in the tousled hair. The low purring began again and he laughed lightly, pulling the waves away from the peaceful features. The hair was almost long enough to pull into a ponytail, and the direction that took him was not helping him not have a hard on. Spike looked so young with his eyes closed, face all sharp angles, a tarnished angel, and Xander wondered, not the first time, what the hell this creature was doing in his bed.
"You are so fucking beautiful." He whispered, unable to help himself; watched a small smile lift one side of the pink lips.
"Bet you say that to all the boys."
"Nah. Just the ones I wanna have sex with."
"Pillock." Spike intoned without opening his eyes and Xander laughed softly, continuing to card his hands through the silky strands. "Bet you 'ad a regular harem going. Xander's house of luu-uurve."
"Right." He scoffed. "Just call me big poppa. Or bi-poppa. Or whatever." He finished finally as Spike began to snuffle on top of him, and the sight of that smile, that open, delighted smile still made him reel, made his heart do a little flutter. "Not so much." He continued absently. "Dated a few guys, but I've been pretty anti-date the last year."
"Someone break your 'eart then?" Spike asked his eyes still calmly shut.
"Nope." Xander twirled a lock of hair around his finger. "I think the official Oprah phrase is 'emotionally unavailable.'"
"You or them?"
"Me."
Spike grunted in acknowledgement and it was good, the eyes-closed thing, because he hadn't meant to stroll down the memory lane of all his failed relationships, but ambling down the rocky path they were. Then again, in the quid-pro-quo spirit he could ask Spike some private dirt, but found himself reluctant to do so. The state he'd found the vampire in didn't exactly speak of naked freaky hijinks.
While he stroked through the bouncy silk the pads of his fingers grazed over a bump in the skull, hidden beneath all the strands. No, not a bump, a scar, puckered line of skin that began just above the last vertebra and continued up, fading as the rounded cranium began. Curious, he traced the imperfection.
"What's this?" The rest of the words cut off like the rumble of purring on his chest, abrupt and total, and Spike's eyes blinked open. They stared at each other in silence as awareness passed between them, gained purchase.
Spike flew off the bed so fast Xander's hands actually held empty air. His body had barely registered the loss of the cool weight, and Spike was suddenly across the room, pressed to the wall, the most awful look on his face. Xander could see him fighting for any other expression besides terror and failing horribly. The urge to run over and cover the blue eyes came upon him so strong he actually sat up, but froze when Spike took a step towards the door.
For long seconds they stared at each other without moving, the only sound in the room Spike's rapid breathing. Finally he whispered "Spike?" and saw the vampire jump at the sound of his own name. "Spike? Talk to me. I'm right here."
"'Course you're right there. 'M not blind." Spike retorted almost inaudibly, robbing the words of any toughness at all. The summer blue eyes kept darting away around the room, skipping away each time he got close to meeting them.
He slowly swung his legs off the bed and stood, never taking his eyes off Spike because if the vampire decided to bolt he might not be fast enough to stop him. Not after marathon sex and the state of total relaxation he'd been in. THEY'D been in, but every shred of that had disappeared, leaving the room electric with tension.
"What was that?" Xander asked quietly and Spike shrugged, a jerking, graceless move.
"Nothin'."
"Not nothing." Spike swallowed, he saw the delicate Adam's apple bob, and he stared unblinking into the wide, scared eyes. "How did you get the scar?" Spike tried to look away, he could see the chin turning, but he wouldn't let Spike's gaze go, not for a second. Part of him hated that he caused the panicked, deer-in-the-headlights look in those beautiful eyes, but most of him bore mercilessly into the frantic stare, through it. He tried again, kept his voice calm, low "How did..."
"No." Spike said as if he'd contradicted something. Fine tremors began to shake the slim body. "No."
"Just talk to me." He whispered, reaching out, heart breaking a little at the flinch on Spike's face. "Spike, come on..."
"No!" The world snarled from his lover's throat, ragged and inhuman, and Xander froze, watching aquiline features melt into ridges and fangs, ocean blue bled yellow gold glittered with murder. He stopped breathing, moving, anything, staring as the demon growled at him; the chip didn't matter one little bit, not a sliver, because he wasn't inside Spike now, this wasn't erotic or sexy, and Xander suddenly knew the gleaming incisors could tear out his throat in seconds. Any bets on American ingenuity overtaking two centuries of bloodlust, boys and girls? Going once, going twice.
Spike ran past in a blur. Xander moved fast, but not fast enough. The door closed and clicked shut as his fingers closed on the knob.
Fuck!
The sound of the first violent, messy retch reached him and he hit his head against the wood with a bang.
"Spike? Open the door," he said inanely. Spike couldn't open the door; of course, he was busy upchucking his lungs. Heave after heave sounded and Xander twisted the knob in his hand futilely, racking his brain to remember if he had a key. No, this kind of lock didn't have key. Screwdriver? What if Spike passed out in there? Fuck this, he bench-pressed his own weight, he'd kick the fucker down.
He'd just drawn back to do that when the tinny sound of the lock clicking reached him, and he flung the door open, stalking in
How utterly thin the vampire had become slapped him in the face like cold water. Yeah, muscles and triceps, but each rib could be counted, both clavicles pronounced and stark framing the deep hollow below Spike's throat. Jesus Christ how could he not notice that? How far up his dick had his head been, anyhow?
" 'F you're gonna stare get out."
Blush sprouted on his cheeks at the hoarse, tired voice, and he walked over to kneel next to the motionless figure on the floor. Spike's mussed, tousled hair fell around his cheekbones in slept-in waves from where the haunted blue eyes peered out. The brilliant color looked bruised in the harsh light. A husky twelve-year old could take him right now. Xander laid a hand on one bent knee but the vampire pulled away, resting both elbows on his legs and covering his eyes with his palms. He searched desperately for something to say that wouldn't be really wrong, or sound crappy, but he could feel himself crashing off the adrenaline rush and his mind was just not being quick with the supportive words there.
"Fresh out of the bullying are we?" Spike's voice sounded from the depths of his hands, still rough and exhausted. Ugly shame crawled up into Xander's belly and fought it because he knew a guilt trip when he heard one. He'd lived in the hellhole that was his parent's home for nineteen years and he'd learned from the masters.
"I didn't bully you, Spike. I just need to know what's going on."
"What for?" Spike said it so tiredly all he wanted to do was scoop the vampire up and take him to bed, tuck him in, and hold him. If he did they could not do this, this painful awkwardness, but he didn't have that kind of denial in him anymore. It stayed behind in Sunnydale along with his sofa bed, his Uncle Rory's car and the berating, belittling laughter of his father.
Instead Xander reached through Spike's arms to grip a cool chin, lifted it up out of the clutching hands despite Spike's attempts to move away, and looked earnestly at the red-rimmed eyes. "So I can help you." He said quietly.
"Don't need any soddin' help." Spike rubbed the heel of a hand over his temple and Xander had to struggle with the urge to draw the thin, hunched body to him, warm it and hold it. He couldn't let this go right now. He knew all about letting stuff go, and once you started it got easier to just not deal.
"No?" He asked skeptically. "I think you do unless vamp bulimia is all the rage. The junkie look is out, Spike"
A cool, detached look slipped into the blue eyes, and fuck, he could slap himself for the entire last sentence. "Just say 'no' next time, Harris. I'll respect you in the morning."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Calm, focused and calm. "How can you fix this?"
"Nice methadone place over Ventura Boulevard..."
He shook the slender shoulders in frustration, saw the slits of blue widen and his hands rub against bone. "I'm serious. What can you do to get better?"
"Think my HMO's expired."
"Damnit!" Xander gritted through clenched teeth and took several deep breaths while Spike watched him with apprehensive, silent eyes. "You weigh nothing, I can lift you with one hand and you can't keep anything down for longer than a few hours."
" 'Snot true." Spike insisted, and Xander recognized that mulish look, oh yeah. He and that look went way back. That look said 'can't make can't make can't make me.' "Don't happen all the time."
"Why is it happening at all? Something is wrong...."
"BACK OFF!" Spike snarled in a voice gone guttural, but Xander caught him before he moved away.
"NO." He looked right in the blue eyes trying to bleed gold and lay both hands on Spike's thighs. "No." He repeated, calmer. "I cannot just sit by and watch whatever this is tear you up. You're not here just because you give great head, do you get that?"
"No." The word gave him pause and he raised both eyebrows in question." I don't 'get that'. Maybe I'm just not like you, Harris." Spike's voice simmered with anger and the use of his last name couldn't have been more telling. "Maybe I don't piss my feelings all over the floor at the drop of a hat. Spend a bit too much time with the womenfolk, did we?"
"Go to hell. That's not gonna work." Xander's hands had fisted on Spike's knees as he tried to reconcile the grousing man on the floor with the one he held not twenty minutes ago. The brilliant blue no longer looked warm and tender, but as cold and impenetrable as a glacier. Shut down, lights off, closed "You will not play me to change the subject. I need to know."
"Sorry, luv." Spike's voice was soft, gentle, and hard as steel, and his eyes, his eyes had no more depth than a blank wall. "Just 'cause I got a soul don't mean I bare it on command."
Their eyes met, held, and Xander thought he sensed emotion behind the stonewalling, thought he could feel Spike holding on to this cold, detached countenance by the skin of his teeth. "So what are you telling me?" He said carefully. After long seconds of silence from Spike's closed face he answered his own question. "That my only option is watching you puke your guts out in my toilet every night and not do shit about it?"
Spike blinked, and tiny motes of panic seeped through the mulish stare on that beautiful face, he knew he saw them, because it sounded like an ultimatum as it hung in the air between them. It sounded like the next thing was a line to cross or not cross, and he hadn't meant that, hadn't meant to do that.
But he didn't retract it.
Then the sparks of feeling were gone and Spike tilted back his chin, resolve making the blue of his eyes as cold as winter. "Yeah."
"No." Xander shook his head, even as a part of him, the part that recalled vividly how Spike tasted, how it felt to be inside all that muscle and satin, the tenderness in his eyes after they kissed, howled in protest. "I can't do that."
"You said it was enough." Resentment and anger, and there, pain? Making shadowed appearances in the vampire's wooden countenance. He had, Xander realized, just today, uttered those words. Looking at the thin, stoic face, traces of sickness still lingering in the air, he knew he couldn't hold to them.
"I guess I lied." His voice was a whisper because he didn't trust anything stronger. Spike didn't move, his gaze never faltered, but something seemed to slump within him.
Giving two small, resigned nods Spike replied. "I guess you did." And he rose on his feet in one liquid move, and walked away from Xander out of the bathroom.
He didn't know how long he sat there, numb and still, listening to Spike get dressed in the bedroom, pick up the phone and call a cab. He needed fifteen minutes, no longer, and relayed Xander's address. It felt like shock after shock of frantic denial kept landing hard punches in his stomach but outwardly he could just sit cross-legged on the tile and stare unseeing at the bathtub Spike had been leaning against.
The shower curtain looked grungy. He needed a new one.
Finally the sound of a zipper reached him and he realized Spike had just zipped up his duffel bag and walked downstairs. Forcing himself to stand up he walked slowly to the bedroom, where he tried not to look at the rumpled bed and slipped on some jeans and a t-shirt.
A burning had begun in his throat and he breathed through his nose, ignoring it. Kept moving until he saw Spike, duster on, bag at his feet, looking out the window at the street. Crossing his arms when he really wanted to hug himself, Xander looked mutely at the man who had shared his home and his bed for two days and part of one night.
A thousand comments, reasons, words floated in his brain but he allowed none to find voice. Just stared at the vampire who wouldn't look at him, couldn't believe it could unravel this quickly, tried not to feel as if watching Spike leave felt like his chest was being ripped out with dull, cruel claws.
Headlights played across the window and two sharp beeps of a horn twisted Xander's heart so he thought he might, at the last minute, tackle Spike to the ground, inhale musk and ash and silk skin and never let go. Almost saw himself do it.
A fine boned pale hand gripped the duffel bad and Spike straightened, looking at him for the first time since the bathroom. He tried to read the brilliant blue eyes to see anything, but they were opaque and hidden. "Thanks for everything." And that voice, god, that voice would until the end of time be his undoing, and his own voice finally escaped his lips.
"Spike." Low, unsteady word.
The sapphire eyes glanced at him from the open door, sharp cheekbones throwing shadows from the porch light, caramel hair like sable, and so much sadness, unspeakable sorrow on those ethereal features. "Bye Xan." The door closed quietly.
Xander embraced himself as he walked on shaking legs to the couch, and stared vacantly in the direction of the TV.
He stared a long time.