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href="non90.html">90Sajinn
No, they aren’t mine. I wish they were, but they aren’t. They belong to their creators. No money is being made. I just take them out, put them in pretty dresses, and make them fight each other. No harm, no foul. Feed the writer. Review.
Happy Belated Birthday, Zafra.
Spike woke to the sound of retching. He rolled out of bed and stumbled towards the bathroom, tripping over the shoes he'd left on the floor earlier. That had been when he'd gone through his and Xander's luggage, searching for the small medicine kit he was sure they'd packed.
Why? Because Xander was sick. A handful of hours before, the young man had woken up to the excruciating sensation of his intestines rebelling. He'd barely made the bathroom before the first wave of cramps hit, and since that time he'd spent four of every five hours on the commode, usually cowering over a small garbage can at the same time.
Spike had failed to find the medicine, but the cruise ship was well stocked with medicine for 'stomach flu', as they called it. Xander had been put on a strong dose of whatever they'd prescribed, along with as much Gatorade as he could keep down. Actually, Spike was a bit suspicious as to why the ship's crew was so well prepared for Xander's illness, but he said nothing. All his time was spent taking care of the poor boy.
Which brought Spike back to why he was stumbling out of bed. After five days of this illness, Xander had seemed a bit better. Therefore, they'd piled up in the bed, with the covers somewhere else. Xander was so warm from his sickness that he hated the idea of fabric over him. Spike's cool body became his personal air conditioner. However, at some point during the last few minutes, Xander must have gotten worse, since he was now in the bathroom again. Spike figured that the reason he didn't wake up immediately was that he was exhausted. After all, even demons needed sleep occasionally, and the last few days had been hell.
"Xan?" Spike whispered, leaning against the bathroom door. "Need more meds?"
"Yeah."
•••
"Wow, there really *is* a sky," Xander whispered as he walked out onto the deck. "I was beginning to have my doubts, you know."
Spike smiled weakly, trying to enjoy Xander's humor. The young man had spent the past two weeks pretty much incapacitated, taken down by what was probably a simple virus. The illness gave Spike more cause for worry than his lover's discomfort, however. The incident really hit home the fact that while Xander was now immortal, he wasn't invincible. His eternally young body could still get sick...or injured. Spike knew that such facts were just part of what they would have to go through to stay together, but that didn't make him feel any better.
Xander leaned against the railing, listening to the dim sounds of water and people. He could tell that Spike was subdued, probably because he'd been so sick. Xander knew he'd feel the same way if the situation had been reversed. However, the young man actually felt good and had a little energy. He didn't want to spend it being Spike's therapist, walking the vampire through the rougher aspects of associating with the vulnerable.
"So..." Xander murmured, counting stars, "I heard there was dancing tonight after dinner..."
"Ballroom dancing," Spike clarified. "Waltzes and the like."
Xander grinned. "Sounds great! Do we have anything to wear?"
•••
"Here's hoping the music is better than the steak," Xander whispered as they wandered into the ballroom. His meal hadn't been anything to write home about, which was saying a lot when his recent illness was factored in. Spike had tried to eat a little, but found himself wishing there was a potted plant nearby he could use as a trashcan. He'd have thought of a dog under the table, but he had more respect for dogs than that.
Spike listened to the opening strains of the next song and offered his hand to Xander. The vampire led them through a waltz, followed by a tango. Dancing was something both men enjoyed, particularly after Spike taught Xander the more traditional ones. Xander was hell on wheels when it came to modern club dancing, but it took a classically educated demon to get him to appreciate more formal exercises.
"Have you noticed how you always lead?" Xander inquired as they floated across the dance floor. "I never get to."
"You don't know how to lead," Spike replied. "And if you tried, we'd end up in the water, the boiler room, or the kitchen."
Xander smiled ruefully. "Yeah, I know. Still...it might be fun sometime, just to try."
"And the next time we're dancing in the middle of a wide open place... say, a desert, you may lead to your heart's content," Spike conceded.
It was several minutes before Xander spoke again. "Do you think we could bribe the band to play the Time Warp Dance?"
Spike abruptly decided that it was time to return to their cabin.
•••
"So..." Spike began as he ushered Xander into their cabin. "What do you want tonight?"
Xander shrugged. "Chocolate, a back rub, ten dancing gnomes in string bikinis..."
"Tell me you're joking," Spike replied fervently. "Lie if you have to."
Xander backed Spike into the bed, pushing the vampire down. "Yeah, joking," He murmured. "But there is something I would like..."
"What?"
"A kiss," Xander said distractedly. He was focused on seeing if he could remove Spike's shirt with his teeth. "Maybe something else. Up to you, I'm good here."
Spike simply lay on the bed for a few minutes, letting Xander's mouth distract him. Warm skin snaking across his chest, nipping here and there. The vampire was almost content enough to let Xander continue as he was.
Almost.
Xander felt Spike reach for his clothes, but found the blonde's seeking hands minimal distraction. He loved the way the flavour of Spike's skin bloomed on his tongue, like the steady roll of whisky across his palate. By the time he got Spike's shirt off, the vampire had him similarly disrobed. Cool lips touched him, searching for what he wanted.
Spike floated in a tangle of limbs and teeth, moaning as silk met satin, both covering rich blood. He wanted so much, nothing really. Just everything he could sink his fangs into, to hold on forever. Demonic ridges brushed against living warmth, but Xander just turned into the caress. Razor sharp ivory begged entry and was received. Blunt fingers dug into alabaster, clasping hardness, milking away lingering fear.
Spike tasted the first drop of blood and found nothing but his lovely boy. No lingering illness, no weakness--just that impossible happiness and strong thread of innocence. The second drop held lust, and the third affection. When Xander took him in hand, Spike returned the favor, even though the gesture was unneeded. Time drove them higher than hands could, the separation of illness more effective than any aphrodisiac.
When Xander lost himself, it was in Spike's arms. The young man held his vampire when Spike slipped away, keeping them together throughout. But Xander was tired, exhausted and in need of sleep. Spike cleaned them quickly and poured blankets over their bodies, knowing that sleep was all Xander needed.
"Seventy-three," Xander said sleepily, smiling into Spike's shoulder.
Spike just grinned.
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