Domestic Bliss Drabbles


Road Trip

Xander had been guilted into ferrying a rare book and a fractious vampire out to Angel in LA.

"God, whelp, don't you listen to anything but crap?"

Xander tried to hold on to his temper. "If you don't like my cds, then turn on the radio. Or pretend you're something not totally loathable, like a German Shepherd, and stick your head out the window."

"Fuck you, Harris."

"Only if you lobotomize me, first."

"Short work, that. Once they managed to get a saw through that thick, oversized skull of yours."

A beat.

"I fuckin' hate you."

"Feeling's more than mutual, believe me."

A few miles later:

"He knows she's dead, then?"

"Wills drove up to tell him two weeks back."

"Oh." Beat. "Won't be too pleased to see me, I reckon."

"Is he ever? Is anyone?"

Another beat.

"Uh... I think maybe I have some Guns 'N' Roses in the backseat..."

"Just drive, donut boy. And shut up."

Interlude at the Hyperion

It was the silences that made him think.

Not that the silence of the Hyperion had increased, but the quality of the silence had... changed since Angel had left.

Now, the hotel was much less silent since the arrival of the Slayer’s friend and the vampire known as “Spike”.

The two hadn’t stopped bickering at each other long enough for Wesley to inform them of Angel’s absense. Or to inquire as to the reason for this lovely visit.

Gentlemen,” Wesley interjected with a pause rather too long to be called polite. “Why are you here?”

I’m here to see the poof. The why is none of yours, Percy.” Spike glared as if Wesley didn’t know he was currently incapable of doing damage to humans.

“And I’m just here to drop off this book. And this bag-o’-useless.” The Slayer’s friend shoved the vampire forward. Spike swung on the young man, then collapsed to the carpet, holding his head and moaning.

Xander chuckled. “That never gets old.”

“I’m sorry to tell you this but Angel is no longer here and we’re - uncertain when he’ll return. I’m sure you’ll want to return the book and, er, Spike, to Mr. Giles’s capable care.”

Xander’s jaw dropped. “No-no-no! I drove hours to get here - with an ungagged Spike - and, damnit, the book and the vamp stay here! End of discussion!”

Wesley simply laced his fingers together and smiled.


Cold sweat, fear of monsters and a twinge of wildly inappropriate, swiftly stifled, forever-to-be-denied lust...

The leit motif of Xander’s life. The pattern, if you will. Pure, simple and unchanged.

Unlikely to change.

“Can’t believe you let Percy end-run you like that!” Spike is laughing at him, as usual. “Not only do you still have the ars apocalyptica and yours truly, but he gave you the Spear of Grugnir to boot!”


“Silly sod.”


“If I hadn’t seen you cave with my own eyes -”


Something in that tone made Spike risk a wary glance at Xander, who was pulling the car onto the shoulder.

“What, Xander?”

Not whelp, or Harris.


“I may be totally off base here, but -” Xander flushed under his tan, but looked Spike right in the eye. With the saying of Xander’s name, the sneer and snark had seemed to fall away. Spike looked tired, lonely and so human. “I mean -”

Xander suddenly had a lapful - and mouthful - of Spike.

Spike tasted like smoke and copper and regret and -

- and maybe patterns could be changed.

After Careful Deliberation

It took awhile, but Xander finally found a way to break the pattern that was his lovelife:

Fucking Spike.

“Okay, admittedly a solution like that may feel better than it atually is. Yeah...” Xander smiles, imagining the pouty, perfect lips and wicked, talented tongue -

“Great. Now I’m sporting wood in a cemetery. And not the kind I can stake a vamp with. Well, maybe certain vamps - and since when am I cool enough with the man-lovin’ side of Xander that I can make jokes like that?”

The boneyard gloom offers no answers. Xander turns away from Spike’s crypt, really and truly meaning to go home, take a cold shower and read his mom’s Bible. Twice.

“Pure thoughts, that’s the key.”

Strong arms slide around his waist and Xander yelps. Then moans as a hard chest presses into his back.

“You been out here muttering for an hour. Getting tired of waiting.” Cool puffs of air and a voice like sex caress Xander’s neck.

“Spike -”

“Got a pressie to give you, pet. Don’t you want it?” the voice purrs; accompanied by very naughty grinding.

“Spike, we -”

“Never thought I’d say this, luv, but you’re thinking too much. Stop it.”

A cool hand is slipping into Xander’s cargo pants, past his boxers. Squeezing.

“Yessir.” And Xander is going into a crypt to have sex with a demon.

Pattern nicely broken.

A Vampire's Love

“Spike, can I have a word with you in the kitchen?”

Xander makes his way to the kitchen, leaving Buffy in Willow’s capable hands. When the door swings shut behind Spike - who’s already leering, bless his one-track mind - the vampire herds him to the back door.

“Let’s go back to the Basement of Doom and get ‘groiny’ as you so quaintly put it.” Spike’s pushing Xander out the back door, one hand down his pants.

“Spike - wait - Spike!”

Spike’s leer turns into a knowing frown. “You’re thinking too much again, luv. Thought I’d trained you out of that. Now that the Slayer’s back from Shangri-La or wherever you’re not gonna start some ‘let’s just be friends’ nonsense?”

Xander lets out out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. “I was about to ask you the same thing, Spike.”

“Told you, luv, you’re mine. Have been since that bloody-awful trip to LA. I keep what’s mine.”

“I don’t wanna be the consolation prize since you can’t have Buffy. I want to be - “ Xander can’t say what he wants to be. It’s scares him.

“Want to be my only? You are, pet. Want to be the one I think about when I wank? You are that, believe me.” Spike smiles gently. Xander doesn’t think any of the other Scoobies have ever seen this smile. That thought makes him bold.

“M-maybe I want you to love me.”

Spike goes very still against him, no longer doing that sexy shimmy-thing he does when he wants to fuck.

“Are you ready for my love?" Spike slips into gameface. "A vampire’s love?” He lunges at Xander’s neck. Xander makes a strangled noise, trying to pull away, not relaxing even when Spike only nuzzles his neck before letting him go.

Sparing a confused and frightened glance at Spike, Xander stumbles mindlessly up the porch steps. Towards the light, towards the Slayer.

“Not ready yet, luv."Spike says softly. "But it was a nice thought."

Then he’s gone, a dark blur disappearing in the balmy night air.


“Tell me again what happened to your crypt, Spike.”

“Who are you, my crypt insurance claims adjustor? Told you, already; there’s crawlies all over it. Some kinda demon cockroach-slug. Flies around trailing slime everywhere. Nasty. Crypt’ll be unliveable till the exterminator gets here.”

The Slayer frowned at Spike, tiny, lethal hands on her hips.

“I don’t know why you think you can hide stuff from me, but it amuses me when you try.” Buffy hurled Spike to the side and opened the crypt door. A deep, strangely accented voice drifted lazily out.

“Spike, liebling? Did you get the flavored lube? And the handcuffs?”

The Slayer turned deathly pale and looked at Spike.

Flavored lube? Who -?”

“What? A bloke can’t have a first date? Don’t see where it’s any of yours, Slayer.” Spike pointedly squeezed his crotch.

“You’re a pig!” The Slayer glared and stormed off. Spike went into his crypt, shutting the door; he grinned at his ‘date’.

“Luv... you’re a bloody genius.”

“I try. So? Did you remember the flavored lube and handcuffs?”

The Secret

Clem hates keeping secrets. They make him nervous.

When Spike asks him not to tell the Slayer or any of her friends about taking one of their own as consort, Clem’s first reaction is to cringe and try to get out of promising.

“And anyway, she’s the Slayer, Spike. Who’s to say she won’t sense it?”

“If she senses it, she senses it. But don’t you go giving Special Edna any extra help, mate.”

“Why not tell her now, get it out in the open. Better sooner than later, my gran used to say.”

“Bugger your gran, Clem,” Spike says, almost gently. “We’ve got our reasons, Xan and I do. And you’re not to tell anyone, especially the Slayer. Got it?” Spike’s eyes are intense and cold; they’re the eyes of William the Bloody. Clem shivers.

“Alright. But if she beats it out of me -”

“Then all’s forgiven; but I doubt it’ll come to that.” Spike takes one more deep, ponderous drag on his cigarette before pitching it into the gloom of the cemetery. “Willie’s back room, wednesday night?”

“Mordechai’s bringing all his tabbies.”

“Correction: he’s bringing all my tabbies. I’ll see ya later, Clem.”

“Bye, Spike.”

Clem still hates keeping secrets.


“Tell me again what happened to your crypt, Spike.”

“Who are you, my crypt insurance claims adjustor? Told you, already; there’s crawlies all over it. Some kinda demon cockroach-slug. Flies around trailing slime everywhere. Nasty. Crypt’ll be unliveable till the exterminator gets here.”

The Slayer frowned at Spike, tiny, lethal hands on her hips.

“I don’t know why you think you can hide stuff from me, but it amuses me when you try.” Buffy hurled Spike to the side and opened the crypt door. A deep, strangely accented voice drifted lazily out.

“Spike, liebling? Did you get the flavored lube? And the handcuffs?”

The Slayer turned deathly pale and looked at Spike.

Flavored lube? Who -?”

“What? A bloke can’t have a first date? Don’t see where it’s any of yours, Slayer.” Spike pointedly squeezed his crotch.

“You’re a pig!” The Slayer glared and stormed off. Spike went into his crypt, shutting the door; he grinned at his ‘date’.

“Luv... you’re a bloody genius.”

“I try. So? Did you remember the flavored lube and handcuffs?”

The Reason Doors Have Locks

“Xander?! Please tell me this is one of your lame-ass practical jokes.”

“Oh, crap -”

“Gonna fuck you so hard, pet, you’ll be color-blind when I’m done.”

“Xander! Make him stop!”

“Yeah, luv, tell me how much you need it.”

“Spike -!



“Buffy -”

“Oh - for fuck’s sake, Slayer, either join in or get out. Me an’ the boy have some business needs takin’ care of.”

“I - Xander -”

“Out, Slayer, before you see somethin’ you oughtn’t.”

Both Slayer and Vampire looked at Xander expectantly.

“Buffster - put away the stake. And Spike -gah! We only do that when we’re alone!”


“Maybe you should learn to knock, Slayer.” Spike sneered at Buffy and didn’t stir himself from Xander’s lap.

“Spike... don’t upset the prettiest, most best-est Slayer ever when she has a stake pointed at your, um - there. I consider that part of your anatomy important to my continued happiness.”

Buffy made a face, but lowered the stake.

“Oh, get over it, Buffster.” Spike taunted.

“Xander- I just came by to let you know there’s meeting at Giles’s in an hour... and you’ve got a lot of ‘splainin’ to do, mister!” The Slayer turned and marched up the basement stairs.

Spike and Xander looked at each other.

“At least you don’t have to be there for another hour, yeah? And what an hour we'll make of it, pet...”

“You are - gah! - officially evil, Spike.”

Meant to be Broken

“The rules are simple, really.” Buffy said when Xander took the proffered stake.

“Always have a stake handy and don’t fuck around with demons. At what point did the confusion start?”

Xander took a deep, but uncalming breath. They stood on Giles’s porch, just after nightfall. The Scooby meeting had degenerated into small-scale pandemonium when Xander straggled into the meeting out of breath - and thirty minutes late, thanks to Spike. He’d been instantly barraged with Willow and Giles’s not unwarranted concerns, then finally allowed to escape for some fresh air nearly one, tense hour later.

“You know, I could ask you the same question.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed warningly. “Not the same thing, Xan.”

Kinda the same thing, Buff. Well, no. I can give my boyfriend a happy without him trying to kill me afterwards.” Xander snapped, and instantly regretted the hurt look in her eyes.

“I just can’t talk to you when you’re like this.” She was suddenly in full Slayer-mode.

“Ditto.” Xander stepped off the porch into the night. Behind him, Giles’s door slammed shut.

At least he still had his trusty stake.

A Moment of Reflection

I didn’t know I loved him... until I saw him like that.

Fall-down drunk, he was, barely hanging onto his stool at Willie’s. Even for a human the boy can’t hold his liquor. It’s pathetic, really, seeing him so thoroughly pissed after just his third something-or-other-with-an-umbrella. Gotta admit - he’s the sorriest thing I’ve ever seen. Well, that Angelus hasn’t played with first, that is.

He’s mashing up peanuts with a chipped ashtray, trying very hard not to cry over how the Scoobies're treating him lately. They treat him like the soft-headed sod he is, no doubt; too stupid to come in out of the rain, just stupid enough to fall in love with a vampire.

When I still had my bite, I wouldn’t’ve bothered eating such a complete and utter git.

“Spike... could we go home, now?” And those bleary, pretty brown eyes roll up into his head. I’m just fast enough to catch him before he slides to the floor.

He’s a stupid git.

But at the end of the night, I get to go home with him.

Love’s Bitca

Xander woke feeling sore in odd places.

“Spike... why was I asleep in the torture-chair?”

“Didn’t want you puking on me or the bed, luv.” Spike sounds marvelously unconcerned about Xander’s discomfort.

“Ah.” The only thing on Xander that isn’t thudding is his head. Too busy pounding to give good thud, alas.

When Xander's eyes clear enough to permit sub-normal, hangover vision, he sees Spike reclining naked in bed, like an alabaster god. A god that was currently flipping through some seriously disturbing German porno mags - no doubt bought with Xander’s credit card.

“Had to carry you outta Willie’s and all the way here, like some swooning bint out of a bodice-ripper.” Vivid blue eyes met Xander’s own. “Looked a right ponce, I did. The indignities I subject myself to for you, pet.” Spike went back to his porn.

Xander mulled that over for a full minute, then held out his arms. His face tried for cute but fell short by several degrees of magnitude. “Carry me to the shower?”

Spike rolled his eyes and sat up, tossing the skin mag over his shoulder.

Showdown at the Doublemeat Palace

“Oi! Slayer! A moment.”

“What do you want, Spike?” Buffy doesn’t look up from the batch of lard-soaked death-'taters she’s currently deep-frying.

“Look - I know you’re not keen on the boy and I -”

“His name is Xander.” Buffy’s lips are pressed together and pale under her lip gloss.

“-Xander and I bumpin’ wrinklies, but -”

“You so don’t wanna go there when I’m wielding hot grease.” Buffy warns.

“We’re together, Slayer. He and I. Since just after you - since last summer.”

Buffy frowns. “Seven months?”

“Six. Give or take two weeks and four days.”

Buffy finally looks up at Spike, who’s busied himself with stealing from the take-a-penny cup on the counter. “Not easy for him, having you lot mad at him. Freezing him out.”

“We’re not -”

“It stops now. Learn to respect his choices or learn to do without him. But I won’t let you continue to hurt what’s mine.”

As Spike strides off, Buffy realizes her fries are burning.

Toads and Shovels

“The first ring was a bracelet of bruises; a circlet of purple and green that lingered for days.

“It was around his upper arm, just barely hidden by his t-shirt. It wasn’t the last. We were just four and I knew that not all parents were nice, right? But - I didn’t understand how some parents could hit their kids. Mine were barely around to hug me, let alone punish me like that.

“I promised myself that when I was strong enough, I’d never let anyone hurt him again. And I will keep that promise. I don’t mean to be all, you know - grrr... argh! - and threatening violence, but I just thought you should know. I will beat you to death with a shovel if you ever make him cry. If he ever has a non-sweaty-fun-related bruise I will turn you into a toad then beat you to death with a shovel.

“Any pain he suffers will result in you being beaten to death with a shovel, Spike. Are we clear?”

Spike blinks at Willow who, after serving him hot chocolate and Fig Newtons in her dorm room, has delivered the shovel-speech/resolve-face Xander had mentioned.

It was both shovel-y and resolve-y.

“As Waterford, Red,” Spike says, knowing she’ll sense a lie, so not giving her one to sense. Even supposing he could escape the wrath of her shovel, Spike doubted a toad - even a vampire toad - would last very long on the UC Sunnydale campus.

“Well... good.” The resolve-face resettles into something less threatening. “Now that that’s out of the way, we can move on to more pleasant stuff. Ooh! Like Friday night double dates! Do you like foreign films? The Orpheum is showing a movie Tara wants to see called Amelie -”


Every time they met, Giles’s eyes went first to Xander’s neck.

He knows it makes the boy uncomfortable, makes Spike snarky and belligerent - in other words, has no appreciable effect - but he finds he can’t help himself. Observing and noticing parallels is in his blood, had been bred into him over generations.

He observes Xander and in observing him, sees... parallels.

There is tragedy in every loving glance that passes between them - Giles has no doubt that Spike loves Xander as much as the boy is obviously devoted to him - every possessive touch from Xander, every disconcertingly considerate gesture from the vampire.

For Giles, every parallel is a miniature tragedy.

Every new similarity that allows Giles to predict - with sadly growing certainty - the probable outcome of this relationship, breaks his heart. Resisting the urge to grab the boy and shake some sense into him is an exercise in self-control. He knows, oh, he knows, that youth cannot see the pitfalls in a love between two such fundamentally disparate natures, only sees the fleeting bliss.

He also knows that such a love usually ends in subversion or death.

Giles holds out no hope for simple subversion in this case. There is no evil in the boy and, despite his choice in lovers, there never will be.

Thus, whenever they meet, Giles’s eyes will always go first to Xander’s neck. In Giles’s observation - in his experience, death of some kind is inevitable. Because of the parallels.

It’s really only a matter of time.

Alone Together

“It lived under the mattress.”

Buffy looks up from the Magic Box’s inventory and at Xander. Things have been better between them over the past few weeks, though they’ve been careful to always have Willow and/or Giles there as insurance they’ll stay civil. Buffy hasn’t come to terms with Xander’s choice. Not like Willow and Giles have (despite the non-covert peeks at Xander’s neck).

She and Xander have to relearn to be alone together.

“What lived under the mattress?”

“The scariest monster in the world. He was warty and smelled like our basement. And he lived under my mattress. I was four years old.”

“Sounds like you coulda used a Slayer.” Buffy smiles a little. Remembering the grossness that was under-Xander’s-bed, she could see why any discriminating monster would prefer under-Xander's-mattress.

“I got something just as cool. I got a Willow. The monster went away, not long after. Then, when the monsters were real, I got a Buffy and she made those go away,” Xander swallowed.

“My Buffy didn’t make my Willow obsolete, just - made me feel even more safe and loved. Now, I’ve got a Spike... and my Willow and Buffy are more important than ever because I’ve gotten kinda used to feeling super loved and stuff, and - I’d hate to have to do without any of them.”

Buffy didn’t know what to say for a moment, then sighed, the last of her anger replaced by fierce protectiveness.

“Xander, I - as long as I’m alive, you will never be Buffy-less. I won’t ever stop protecting you from anyone or anything that threatens you, but I’ll - learn to be more respectful of your choices.”

Xander’s smile - much missed over the past few weeks - is like a benediction.

Versatile Solutions for Modern Living

Xander looks around at the various heaps of... things that had somehow managed to appear inside their apartment in the short hours he’d been out.

“Uh... honey, I’m home,” he calls, stepping over an old-looking steamer trunk. The livingroom of their new apartment is a disaster of partially opened boxes, trunks and hastily stacked books that have William-ish overtones.

“Spike?” Xander carefully makes his way to their bedroom; earlier that afternoon it had held nothing more than a new-ish futon. Now, Xander is in a Victorian paradise, complete with canopied bed and -

“What the heck is that thing?” Xander wonders, standing in the doorway.

That is an armoire, luv.” Spike steps around Xander, stealing a kiss. “Was a time when no home was complete without one.”

“Come ‘ere.” Xander pulls Spike close for another, longer kiss. “You did all this while I was gone? How -?”

“Got connections, don’t I? Took some of my old things out of storage and got some new stuff that conveniently fell off a truck.” Spike grins.

Xander chuckles, leaning his forehead against Spike’s. “I don’t wanna know, bleach boy.”

“Probably better that you don’t. Anyway, sod all that and tell me what you think?” There’s a note of anxiety in Spike’s casual, don’t-give-a-shit voice.

Xander walks them over to the bed. “I think I can’t wait for you to fuck me in this bed.”

In the Kitchen With Xander and Spike

“I know you want everyone to know that you cooked...”


“But isn’t this going too far?”

“How so, pet?”

“Well, okay - what does the apron say, Spike?”

“It says 'bugger the cook'.”




What, Xan?”

’Bugger the cook’!”

“Oh, don’t mind if you do, luv.”


“Well, why the bloody hell do you think I bought this stupid thing?”


“Of course you take bleedin' hours to twig to it. Tosser. My subtle brand of ingenuity is utterly wasted on you - Christ! Xan - what -?”


“What are you doing?”

“Should be pretty obvious -”

“Oh, hell, luv -”

“ - that I’m obeying the apron.”

“I’m suddenly feeling like the apron wasn’t - fuck! - a total waste.”

“For future reference, I’m the only one who gets to see you in this apron.”

“And out of it.”

“Speaking of...”

Fantasy #107

Xander stared blankly for a moment and then laughed.

The pizza and beer fell to the floor forgotten. Spike’s leer turned into an arctic glare as Xander snorted and clutched his sides.

What was so chuckle-worthy? Why, the bleached menace posing in Xander’s workboots, hard-hat, tool-belt and nothing else. Sexiness aside: Spike plus manual labor equals laughter-induced death for Xander.

“Fine. Laugh it up, carpentry-boy. See if I ever indulge any of your fantasies again!” Spike stalked into their bedroom.

What wasn’t so chuckle-worthy? The very interested twitch of Xander’s cock at the clumsily scrawled “drill here”, complete with directional arrows - in case Xander somehow missed the single entendre - written just above Spike’s ass.

The bedroom door slammed shut.


“Spike? Sweetheart? Light of my life? Sorry..?”

In Front of Company

“... I get home from work and she’s all packed and ready to go. Off to her momma’s to wallow.” Roy sighed.

“Aw, jeez. I’m sorry, man.” Xander patted his friend’s shoulder.

“Like my daddy always said: women ain’t nothin’ but trouble with a capital T.”

“A little secret: men are no prizes, either,” Xander muttered, remembering Spike’s pointed silences throughout the evening.

Oi, tosser! I heard that!” Came from the kitchen, followed by Spike with a beer in one hand and a bottle of Jack in the other. He handed Roy the beer with a tiny bit of a smile, not noticing when Roy thanked him. All Xander got was a narrow look that neither human could interpret. Then Spike strode into the bedroom, shutting the door. Almost immediately, the Sex Pistols began blaring at top volume.

The two men exchanged a look of total commiseration, then Xander shrugged.

“That time of the month?” Roy mouthed with a grin.

Xander returned the grin ruefully. “Something like that.”

The Letter

The letter spent two days locked in the top right hand drawer of the desk before Spike confronted him about it.

“I know it’s from Drusilla, luv. I can smell her like she was here in the apartment.” Spike says into the utter dark of their bedroom.

Xander’s heart-rate picks up but the sigh is one of pure relief.

“There was a phone number; that’s it. Somewhere in Seattle. 425.666.0136 ext. 13.”

“Gee. Think whoever it is is evil?”

Xander’s laugh is strained. “He went to evil medical school, anyway. Dr. Cranston Alhazred. The voicemail says he’s a thauma-neurologist.” A rustle that was Xander turning in his arms, warm face suddenly pressed into Spike’s shoulder. “Some kinda magical brain doctor, isn’t he?”

“Think so, pet.”

“How does she know you’re chipped?”

“Miss Edith? Angel? The stars? This is Dru we’re talking about... I didn’t tell her.”

“I know, Spike.” A tense pause. “I think you should go for it. I should have told you as soon as I got the letter.”

“What else did it say, pet?”

“Other than our address, the only other writing was ‘to my darling grand-childe, love, grandmummy’. Your ex is a freakin’ loon.”

“Yeah.” Spike’s arms instinctively tighten around Xander, who relaxes at last. He’s half asleep when he mumbles: “I’m going with you.”


Spike shudders.

Things to do in Seattle When You're Dead

Now the chip was history, it would be so very simple to install himself as Master of Seattle.

They’d kill every person in this motel. Spike wanted nothing more than to watch his gorgeous childe slip from room to room like death incarnate. Starting with the idiot currently pounding on the adjoining wall behind the bed, yelling, “Hey, homos! Keep it down!”

Then they’d find and kill the current Master of Seattle, some ponce named Vittorio, of all things. Once that’s done, they’d start their own nest far from Sunnyhell.

He’d miss this warmth, of course. Being in Xander’s body is like fucking a velvety-tight furnace. Spike knows that he’d never have that again. He growls in frustration, shifting into gameface.

“Now, Spike...” Xander’s eyes meet Spike’s even as he bares his throat.

“Can’t, love. I can’t.” Spike is thrusting on auto-pilot, now. Has to bury his face in Xander’s neck if only to hide from the soul that shines out of those eyes. It’s coincidence that his fangs rest just over Xander’s jugular.

“’S okay... I’m - ready for your love, and - it’s okay... I want you to.”

“I do and you’re gone. Nothin’ left but a demon that looks like you. I can’t.” The one flaw in Spike’s favorite fantasy.

Xander cradles Spike’s head and bucks forward, driving Spike’s fangs home.

He should’ve fed before they got into it. Xander’s blood, this close, this attainable is too much, too much. One tiny trickle and Spike cant stop. He’s weeping as he comes.

And Xander whispers his love as Spike leads him into darkness.

The End

Unlife in Seattle

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