The Path of Least Resistance

by
Asenath33


It had all begun, of course, when Buffy had uttered those fateful words: “I’m not having sex with Spike, but I’m beginning to think you are.” The words kept coming back to haunt him, as did the description of Spike that had provoked them, sometimes with embellishments. But he did not think of Spike that way. Or indeed any way other than that he was an irritating, snarky wanker, to use a semi-Spikism, who seemed to exist mainly to make his life so much more annoying than it needed to be, given how stressful living in Sunnyhell was anyway. Yet his thoughts kept drifting back to Spike’s physique. His smooth, white skin that looked petal-soft, his muscles¸ and then his startlingly blue eyes, his… before Xander managed to drag himself back to reality with memories of Spike’s insults, snarls, put-downs and his all-too evident to desire to hit Xander. But he still couldn’t help watching Spike, staying as close to him as he dared, in spite of Spike’s disdain that seemed to border on hatred.

And no he didn’t have fantasies about those occasional encounters where Spike got close enough to bite him. Fantasies in which instead of biting him, Spike kissed him and moved even closer so that Xander could feel his erection pushing against his thigh. And, godammit, the ones where he did bite him, his eyes dark with lust, and his cock thrusting insistently against him. And those fantasies didn’t, definitely didn’t, make him hard, so hard that he had to think of Anya, Cordelia, even Giles, on a really bad, desperate day. Anyone but Spike, while he jerked off.

And he certainly didn’t think about having sex with Spike.There was no way he was letting anything up his arse, especially not something as large as Spike’s cock – or as large as it had become in his imagination. There was no way his train of thoughts was going down that path. After all, he knew he didn’t like that kind of thing. He’d experimented with a Q-tip once. It had felt funny, but had done nothing for him. The ice popsickle stick incident had just disgusted him. When he’d extracted it, it had had a dark stain on it. And when Anya had produced a finger-sized dildo – well that had been the beginning of the end of their relationship.

So no naughty thoughts about Spike at all. And if he were to have any, he would resist them at all costs.

Completely.

Utterly.

It was all so ridiculous. Even if he really did want to jack Spike off, bring him to orgasm by taking his cock into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the head before swallowing him down (which, by the way, Xander could never do. He had a really strong gag reflex which he had amply demonstrated by throwing up over his doctor the last time he’d had his tonsils examined) Spike would never let him do any of this. Most of Xander’s erotic dreams about Spike ended in Spike laughing at him. And his dreams were doubtless more realistic than his not-fantasies.

It was getting unbearable though. Buffy kept pairing him with Spike when they patrolled, which was good and so not of the good. He tried his best to hold his own, so to speak, but time and time again Spike had to rescue him from some inadequate fledge, always making it clear that he only bothered for Buffy’s sake. So enough was enough. He had to run, no, get, away. Ok his ‘car’ was only just roadworthy, but he didn’t really care. He just had to escape. Follow paths new and all that. Besides, he was sick of failing to help save the world. They could find some other loser to fetch snacks, supply discount pizzas and need saving when more needy things needed saving. So he packed a backpack, left a note - not that anyone would read it – and shoved his bag onto the back seat of his wreck-mobile.

“And where do you think you are going, whelp?”

Shit. Just his luck.

“Er, to the laundromat?”

“Harris you live in a bloody launderette. It’s called your parents’ basement.

“Yes, but… mom’s threatening to charge me to use the washing machine. It’ll be cheaper for me to use the laundromat.”

Xander was quite pleased with the plausibility of his explanation.

“And you’re going in the car?”

“Vampire proof, blood breath. Don’t want to be found drained with a load of dirty washing about my person, do I?”

“Yeah, right.”

Silence.

“I’m coming with you then, mate.”

“What? Why? No way. And I am not your mate.” Although there was a (corny) sense in which he very much wanted to be. From the look on Spike’s face he was going to take some convincing to avert him from his decision to take a ride with Xander, and Xander had no time to do any persuading, as far as he was concerned. “Look Spike, the truth is I’m getting out of town.”

“So?”

Xander sighed. Spike never made anything easy.

So, you won’t want to be coming with, will you? You’ve got Buffy and the world to save, ugly demons and fledges to torture, and other Hellmouthy things to do, or at very least mouthy things to do, and I am needed for none of the above.”

“Yes you are, actually, but everyone can do with a little break every now and again and a road trip with my best mate sounds like just the thing.”

Xander snorted, but also inwardly cringed. Stuck on the road with Spike. Both nightmare and dream of the nice variety come true. Either way it was not going to happen.

“Just fuck off Spike. I’m out of here.”

“Ok let’s go then.”

“On my own. Which part of ‘fuck off’ did you not get there, Spike?”

“Well the ‘off’ bit I got, but it kind of dropped off the ‘fuck’ part. Selective hearing and all that. Vampire trait.”

“Crap.”

“Whatever.”

“So you’re not going to let me go on my own?” Xander knew that he couldn’t really stop him.

“Nope.”

“Ok I’m not going then.” He tried hard not to sound petulant.

“Fine. Let’s just hang around your ‘mom’s Laundromat’ then.”

Xander sighed. “Please Spike, just leave me alone.”

This was just fucking typical. When he wanted Spike around, he buggered off, or at best gave him the brush off, and now, when he wanted to be alone… Spike clearly just enjoyed torturing him.

“Why? Why would I want to give up the possibility of being shut up in your ‘car’ trapped with the delicious aroma of your pheromones, all directed at me,” Spike asked without an ounce of ingenuity about him.

But it silenced Xander for a moment. Just a moment, though.

“No, NO pheromones. Pheromone-free guy here, and if there were any they would definitely not be directed at you.”

“So how is it that you’re always watching me, and whenever you do they come on full blast?”

“I am not, and they do not. Anyway, that stuff about vampires being able to detect pheromones is a load of rubbish isn’t it? Something vampires made up to worry humans.”

Well that gave Spike pause for thought.

“Alright, I admit, it may be a tiny bit of an exaggeration, but how come whenever I walk in the room your pupils dilate, then?”

Pause. Xander’s this time.

If they do, and that’s a very big ‘if’…”Xander floundered, briefly. “Buffy! It’s Buffy!” Unwarranted relief flooded through Xander’s body momentarily. “You’re always in the room together.” But Xander knew he was treading on very thin ice here.

“Me being alone with you in your so-called apartment aside, you know that’s bollocks. You got over your Buffy things ages ago.”

“No one ever gets over a ‘Buffy thing’. Ask Angel. No. Nope. Buffy is my first and only love. Apart from Anya and, and…”

“Face it mate you fancy me like hell. You’re virtually gagging for it. You want me.”

“I am not and I do not. I most definitely do not want you, and I certainly don’t want you in my car.”

“It doesn’t have to be in your car, pet,” Spike leered.

“Spike. I AM NOT INTERESTED. Gah. Why am I even bothering to have this conversation with you?”

“Pheromones Xandeeer…”

Loud sighing yet again.

“So, assuming you can detect pheromones, what teenager doesn’t want sex all the time?”

“Good point. Hmm let me see. Willow: tick, although she’s getting it, so a tick with a mellow aura.”

“What? Who with? Oz left…”

“Glinda, you daft git. At it every night they are. And who can blame 'em. Ah the wonders of young first lesbian love. Well, in Willow’s case, at least.”

Xander was speechless.

“Buffy: half a tick.

Anya: 3 ticks

Giles: a tick in brackets.

You: ...”

“Hang on, “why does Giles only get a tick in brackets?” Xander interrupted, evidently slightly getting lost in the details of Spike’s argument.

“He’s a Watcher mate. Wants it, but feels too guilty and responsible to have it with the whelp he wants it with.”

Xander looked confused, then shocked. “You don’t mean… Don’t be an idiot.”

“Why not? You’re a good looking guy and he’s not the only one who swings both ways.”

“Alright,” Xander said, suddenly wanting to change the subject, and evict the unpleasant (kind of) idea that was now threatening to squat in his head, thanks to Spike. “What about Buffy? How come she only gets half a tick?”

“Well, half a tick, because she’s still pining for Peaches, believe it or not - seems like captain Cardboard lives down to his nickname - but knows she can’t have him. But then thinking about it, in half a tick she’d be at it like nobody’s business, so maybe 5 ticks, her being super-strength slayer and all.

And back to Anya,” he continued, ignoring Xander’s feeble attempt to interrupt. “Well, you’d know more about that than me.”

Xander sighed “ ‘Orgasms. Now! I want more’. Give her 6 ticks.”

“And as for you, Xander. You’re off the scale, mate.”

Xander scowled.

“And what about you, fangless?”

“So am I. Vampire remember.”

“As if I could forget.” Xander sighed yet again, and slunk into the driving seat, defeated and not even bothering to protest when Spike jumped in next to him. After all, resistance was futile, he thought wryly, cursing his brain for being so hard-wired to sci-fi.

“So where are we off to, mate?”

“No idea,” Xander replied. “The idea was to get away from you, but it seems like it’s like trying to escape from yourself. Wherever you go, you’re always there behind you.”

“I think that would be your shadow, Harris.”

Xander shrugged. “Whatever.”

Spike grinned evily.

Xander turned the key in the iginition.

At some point, Xander must have begun to fall asleep at the wheel and Spike must have taken over the driving, or so Xander hoped. When he woke, they were somewhere dark, and cold and Spike was very very close next to him.

“Spike!” Xander squeaked (in a very manly way) as soon as he’d emerged from sleep sufficiently to register that what he’d thought was a weird dream was, in fact, real. “Where the hell are we? And why are your arms and legs wrapped around mine?” Ok, that sounded stupid. But it was a valid question, an answer to which he was half keen to hear.

“In a cellar, love. Sorry, basement. Legs and arms just making sure you kept still when you woke up properly so that you don’t try and bolt and open the trap door and let the light in.”

Okay… sort of. Although it didn’t entirely ring true.

And the hard cock pressed against him was what? Apart from a fantasy scarily being acted out. Why did Spike have to make things so difficult? Xander thought yet again. Why did he have to torture him like this?

“Give in Harris. You know you want this.”

“No, I don’t!” Xander lied. Just because I have, er, fantasies, it doesn’t mean that I really want anything to happen in reality.” God, had he really said that out loud?

“Oh yeah?” Spike said squeezing Xander’s denim-constrained erection, to make his point to the contrary.

“That’s irrelevant,” Xander protested. I was having a dream about, about…”

“Me,” Spike said emphatically.

“Maybe. It, it still doesn’t mean… oh God. Oh God…”

Spike had unzipped his jeans.

Resistance was futile. Pointless, and in spite of the deafening warning bells that declared an imminent abrupt end to the hard, persistence movement of Spike’s hand up and down his cock and/or ridicule at the way Xander was responding, he really couldn’t, wouldn’t, tell Spike to stop.

“Spike, I…”

What he really wanted to say was something along the lines of 'if they did this, whatever ‘this’ was, he didn’t think he could bear it if it was a one off. And if it was more than a one off, he didn’t just want sex, didn’t just want to satisfy the desires of an omnisexual dead… dead being (was there a contradiction in terms there?) or worse still whims.' But fortunately, his few thinking cells fused at this point and no words came out of his mouth as Spike, who had shifted position, swallowed him down whole, and began to tease the opening to his arse, gently probing, preparing him for the thing he most feared and wanted, easing slick fingers inside him. (Where had the lube come from? Xander wondered very very briefly.)

It hurt, it burned or felt as if it did, and Xander didn’t believe for a minute any of the contrastingly gentle and kind words that Spike whispered as he slowly pumped in and out, stretching Xander wide, sending a tingling sensation throughout his body, that made his stomach flip, followed by a dull ache that gradually built into something more urgent.

“I’ve wanted you for so long, Xander.”

“I’ve wanted you like I’ve wanted no human in fifty years.”

“I want you to stop hurting.”

 “I want you, I want you, I want you…”

Perhaps just what Xander wanted to hear.

So Xander still didn’t believe any of it for a second. But nor did he object. Acquiescence seemed to be theme of the day. The road to hell might be paved with good intentions, which was a bad thing if they weren’t carried out, but right now he didn’t care, as the path of least resistance appeared to be meandering off towards heaven. And if that meant bad intentions, what the hell.

They slept on and off throughout the day, slumber punctuated by more sex, until finally, exhausted, Xander slept solidly for at least four hours. When he woke up, Spike was already dressed. Xander panicked, but felt a wave of resignation crashing over him at the same time.

“Spike?”

“Yes pet?”

“You going?”

“No.”

No?

“It’s still light out.”

Oh. Of course it was, and they were probably stuck in the middle of nowhere for all Xander knew.

“We’ll go when it’s dark. Where shall we go next?”

We? Xander was depressed by how eagerly he leapt at the tiny morsel of hope that that monosyllabic word tossed his way engendered.

“Back to it all, I suppose,” Xander said, crushing that hope.

“No, pet. Not yet. And then when we do it’ll be different. I promise, love.”

Love?



The End