Pairing: S/X
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Season 7 BTVS with alternate ending - Spike survived as did the city of Sunnydale.
Written for the absolutely spectacular Essene for the Spander Inquisition.
Disclaimer: Xander, Spike and anything remotely related to the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss and Co. The Library of Congress is cool. Go there if you are ever in D.C. Even if the name is not nearly as fun as the Dewey Decimal system.
Dedicated to Rubywisp for running the Spander Inquisition
Unbetaed because
1. I didn't want to delay any longer.
2. I am not about to read it even one more time.
That said, if you find errors or have constructive criticism, please comment!
Prompt at end of story.

Check It Out


Wednesday. 7:30 p.m.

Xander slouched in his beloved leather recliner. Upon casual glance, one would think that he was well on his way to a vegetative state. The only part of his body intentionally moving was his right thumb as he flicked the remote through random channels. One would think that he was exhausted from a long day on a hot construction site and was thinking no deeper thought than, "To scratch or not to scratch?"

One would be wrong.

In reality he was in hyper-awareness mode. His stillness was because he was listening for telltale sounds like the clump of Docs or a whisper of leather. Every Wednesday at 7:30 p.m. Xander went from reasonably confident, successful, settled man to insecure teenaged boy. Strike that. Make that teenaged girl.

His thumb froze on the "Up Channel" button as echo of leather and Docs came down the hall. Design shows, tell-all tabloid "documentaries" and sporting events rarely played on American soil flashed by at lightening speed. As he watched the platinum blond head out of the corner of his eye, he forced his rigid hand to relax, and the TV settled on Gilligan's Island.

Xander longed for the simplicity of coconut radios and trying to get a look down Ginger's dress.

Spike headed for the door, patting his duster pockets for his fags and Zippo. Xander tried to appeared aloof and uninterested. He failed.

"Where're you going?" Each and every Wednesday, Xander channeled a nagging housewife.


"When will you be home?"


Xander heard the door slam behind his exiting lover. Usually a departing vampire meant a goodbye kiss. Or a goodbye blow job. But on Wednesdays? Nothing. Not even a goodbye handshake.

Xander hated Wednesdays.


Xander spent most of the evening in his usual Wednesday night "my lover abandoned me" funk. He tried to rationalize Spike's disappearing act to distract from his depression.

He could be delivering pizzas, earning money to buy Xander a mint condition X-Men Volume 1, #1. Hey, a boyfriend could dream.

He could be volunteering at the Red Cross, passing out juice and cookies to civic-minded blood donors. Of course, he'd only be doing it in hopes of filching a bag of O-Neg.

Or. He could be out drinking and fucking some tasty morsel with big boobs and a small brain.

He tried to reason with jealous caveman Xander. He doesn't come home smelling like JD or cheap perfume. In fact he comes home smelling kinda musty and dusty.

Maybe he was having an affair with a Hoover.


There was a time when Xander wouldn't have given a flying fuck where the bleached menace was going, as long as it got him out of Xander's apartment. After closing the Hellmouth for good, and just barely saving Sunnydale in the process, life slowly got back to normal. Real honest to goodness normal. No vampires to speak of, no demons, no slime, bug eating or daily battle for good. Sunnydale became the town it's citizens had always pretended it was. Frankly? That was scarier than any apocalypse they'd ever faced.

It was also pretty boring.

Slowly everyone left. Buffy and Dawn went to Europe, ostensibly to track down new Slayers, but Xander suspected it was more a hunt for Italian designer shoes. Willow, Giles and Andrew set off for England to rebuild the Watcher's Council. Faith and Wood headed to the Hellmouth in Cleveland, which was relatively tame, considering all the new Slayer power in their arsenal.

Finally, only Xander was left. And, for some reason, Spike.

Xander stayed because if you were in the construction business, what better place to be than a city in need of major rebuilding due to extreme "earthquake" damage? He quickly became the General Contractor for the largest construction company in town. Business was booming. So was his bank account. He got a bitter taste in his mouth when he thought how happy that would have made Anya. If she'd survived.

Spike's continuing presence in Sunnydale, and more specifically Chez Harris, was annoying at best and infuriating at worst. Having saved the world (Xander never let him forget he did it not through strength or cunning but by wearing a freakin' necklace), Spike and his shiny new soul had no discernable purpose. He would have traveled the world trying to find recently called Slayers, but there were two problems.

1. It was a logistical nightmare to try to coordinate his travel around sunrise.

2. There was the language barrier: faced with an African Slayer who spoke only some remote dialect, how would Spike explain that he was a good vampire and therefore would she please get that pointy stick away from him?

Spike's inertia meant that he didn't even find a new place to live. He just stayed in his closet at Xander's and brooded. He called it, "meditation," but it didn't fool Xander for a moment. He was becoming more Angelic every day.

The tide had turned when Xander came home from a particularly heinous day to find the depressed vampire sprawled on the couch surrounded by empty bottles of JD and overflowing impromptu ashtrays that looked suspiciously like Xander's Babylon 5 collector's plates.

Spike didn't have a chip, but he was nonetheless no match for Xander's ire and taller, more muscular frame. Xander leapt over the sofa and rolled with Spike to the floor. They wrestled around, both trying every dirty trick in the book, including some moves Xander had learned from Harmony. They ended up with Xander, breathing heavily, pinning Spike down, dangerously close to the teetering coffee table.

Xander glared into ice blue eyes that flashed yellow briefly. He was so frustrated. He wanted to beat Spike to a pulp, to pick up his bony ass and throw him out the door, to throw him out the window. But all of that was too kind and generous. Spike deserved to suffer more than that.

So Xander kissed him.

The kiss was hard and bruising. A testosterone-laden display of domination and contempt. There was only one problem with Xander's genius form of retribution.

Spike kissed him back.

The clash of teeth and hard-pressed lips slowly gave way to gentle bites and licks and oh! sucking. Xander began to punish Spike by twining his fingers in gelled hair. Spike retaliated with lingering caresses over broad back, tracing muscles taut now with desire. The kiss became more and more gentle until it faded away completely, and they stared awkwardly into each other's eyes.

"Um, let that teach you a lesson fangless." The insult was rendered ineffective by the look of wonder in sparkling brown eyes.

Spike snorted. "Whelp, you know that I rarely learn my bloody lesson. You're going to have to do a lot more teaching if you want to teach this vamp a new trick or two."

Over the next year, they taught each other a lot of new tricks. Andrew and Giles even inadvertently audited "How to Have Fun with Whipped Cream 101" one night when they unexpectedly flew in from London on Watcher's business. They arrived at Xander's door and became alarmed at the sound of Xander's primal screams. They broke down the door in time to see Spike retrieving whipped cream from one of Xander's more personal orifices. Xander did not actually die of embarrassment, although it was a close thing. Giles was probably still polishing his glasses.

In this dramatic fashion, they were out to all the Scoobies. After a suitable number of proclamations of "ewwww" and "gross!" (with a "wow" contributed by Andrew) the far flung gang had accepted the fact that Spike and Xander were a surprisingly good couple. Their acceptance was made easier by the fact that they did not actually have to regularly witness the physical aspects of the relationship. Still, no one was going to ever be able to eat whipped cream again.


Xander's heart sped up during The Daily Show as he heard Spike's key in the lock. He entered and headed straight for the bathroom. No hello. No acknowledgement of Xander or of his return. Xander heard the shower cut on. He sniffed the air. Yep, there it was. The strangely sweet smell of mildew. It smelled familiar. The scent memory wafted around in Xander's head, but he couldn't place it. He figured it must be because he smelled it every Wednesday as the vamp stormed passed him on his way to the shower.

The "Moment of Zen" was just wrapping up when Spike reentered the living room transformed from the aloof Big Bad to the affectionate boyfriend he was the other six nights of the week. He was wearing an old pair of Xander's sweatpants that barely clung to his hips and pooled slightly at his feet. His bare chest sparkled with a few droplets of water dripping from his still wet curls. Xander steeled himself against the flash of lust that shot through his body at the sight of his lover. There was no way he was going to let Spike once again charm himself into Xander's pants. Except for the ones Spike was wearing, that is.

Spike looked at Xander with a predatory gleam accentuated by a strategic sway of his hips. He stopped in front of the recliner and in one fluid move settled onto Xander's lap, facing him and wrapping his legs around Xander's waist. Xander leaned to the left, pretending to look at the TV as he flipped automatically through the channels. He did his best to ignore the exquisite torture of Spike's erection pressing against his groin. His best wasn't very good.

Spike leaned in to kiss Xander's lips, but Xander avoided it by feigning interest in CNN Headline News. Never one to be deterred, Spike simply leaned in further and began nibbling and licking Xander's right earlobe.

Xander shivered as Spike whispered, "Hey, baby. Missed you."

The nibbles turned into little kisses on the sensitive place right behind his ear.

Xander's tone was stilted from anger and the struggle not to give in to Spike's assault on his person. "Where did you go?"

"Nowhere." It was the same answer every Wednesday.

Busy hands found their way under the brunet's t-shirt and lightly pinched sensitive nipples.

"What did you do?" Xander tried to pretend the groan that stole out with his question was a growl.


Spike's lips worked their way down Xander's jaw line, then slipped up to suck on his bottom lip.

"Mmmm. Xan. You taste so good. Gonna eat you up."

Xander fought valiantly against the onslaught as Spike teased his mouth until he gained entrance, all the while grinding their erections together lazily. Xander lost the battle and another Wednesday night ended with Xander carrying Spike, who was still wrapped tightly around his waist, into their bedroom and fucking him senseless.


Wednesday. 7:38 p.m.

The nagging housewife had transformed into crazy stalker girlfriend. Xander was glad he still kept an old pair of geeky gym shoes. Even supernatural vampire hearing was no match for the stealth of his Chuck Taylors.

He had a sinking feeling as he watched Spike walk down the street a block ahead. This was not the sexy lover who kissed his entire body until he could no longer remember his name. Or the friend who would spend hours arguing with him over who would win in a fight: cavemen or astronauts? Or the surprisingly tender boyfriend who drew him a bubble bath when he was aching and covered in gypsum dust. Or the soulmate--would that be resouledmate?--who murmured words of love and devotion while buried inside him, filling him in ways that made him realize just how empty he'd been before. This was not the person who shared his home, his bed, his life.

The man walking ahead of him was none of these. This was the Big Bad.

The Big Bad operated on the general principle of want, take, have. And Xander feared he was no longer wanted for taking or having.

He pulled up short behind a newsstand as Spike slowed and turned to enter a large building with an impressive marble façade. Huh. Not a seedy bar. Or a blood bank, or even a comic book store.

Xander tentatively approached the building and stared open-mouthed at the door Spike had entered. A smile began to form in the corners of his mouth. The smile transformed into a chuckle. The chuckle morphed into a guffaw. Soon passersby were staring at the pathetic one-eyed man leaning up against a wall, apparently sobbing over his sorry life. In reality? He was laughing harder than he'd ever laughed before. All because of the sign identifying Spike's illicit Wednesday night destination:

"Sunnydale Public Library"


Wednesday. 7:30 p.m.

Docs. Duster. Smokes.

Motionless Xander stared blankly at the TV screen as Gilligan prepared to fuck up yet another of the Professor's pseudo-brilliant plans.

"Where're you going?" Had Spike actually been paying attention he would have heard the subtle difference in Xander's tone. Not nagging housewife. More like the cat that ate the canary. Scratch that. The cat that was going to eat the canary.


"When will you be home?"


Xander heard the door slam. He counted to sixty. Then he put his plan into action.


Thirty minutes later Xander retraced Spike's path. Even his cocky gait echoed the vampire's bearing. Of course that might be because of the tight black leather pants which were nearly cutting off his circulation. However it was a small price to pay. He knew that his ass, and even more importantly his cock, were shown off to perfection by the supple black leather. A shiver ran through his body when he remembered the reaming he'd received in the dressing room when he finally gave into Spike's browbeating and tried them on. They had gotten banned from the store--but not before buying the pants that might as well be marketed as vampire Viagra.

Xander was aware of the picture he painted as he walked down the street: Tousled, dark brown hair; mysterious black eye patch; warm golden skin; broad, muscled shoulders set off perfectly by a tight, blood red silk t-shirt; come fuck me black leather pants; and…grungy Converse All-Stars. Okay, so they didn't match the "ensemble," the girls would have admonished him. But he needed to be stealthy and had to sacrifice fashion for function.

He smirked as he pulled open the heavy glass door to the library. This? Was going to be fun.


He was hard the instant he entered the marble lobby. There it was, the smell that lingered on Spike every Wednesday night. Like Pavlov's dick, he was ready for "C'mon, Xander, don't be mad, let's have a fuck" apology sex.

Xander had only been to the public library a few times when he was young. He had been dragged along by Willow and her mother. Going to the library was nerdy enough, but even more unfortunately Mrs. Rosenberg had this idea that reading should be "educational." After too many Saturday afternoons spent reading about migrant workers and biodiversity instead of dump trucks and dinosaurs, Xander began finding excuses not to participate in these character building afternoons. In High School they'd had their own library and librarian. No need for even a library card.

With a flash, Xander realized why that smell had always been so familiar. He'd spent a majority of his formative years breathing stale library air.

Xander looked around the marble lobby and tried to figure out where to start looking for Spike. Occult? Naw, Spike wasn't even into that before he got his soul. Sexual development? Probably not. Spike was definitely fully developed in that regard. And then it hit him. He knew exactly where he'd find Spike. He asked at the information desk, and then followed their directions up the stairs to the third floor.


As he slid through the door into the stacks, Xander was hit by a wall of silence. The books muffled the slight squeak of his sneakers against the tile. He studied the Library of Congress numbers (Dewey Decimal was so much more fun, he thought) on the nearby stacks and then headed left into the depths of the shadowy shelves.

PT 178 - Medieval German Literature
PS 832 - Colonial American Literature
PS 430 - Wit and Humor

Xander slowed down when he reached, "PR 3394 - 17 and 18th Century English Literature." He stopped and peered around the next stack. He wanted to hum the theme to Rocky, but that would have ruined the whole furtive thing he had going.

There, his head buried in a dull red book with faded gold lettering on the spine, was Spike. Leaning up against "PR 2848 - Renaissance English Literature." More specifically: Shakespeare's Sonnets. Ponce thought Xander affectionately.

He silently walked down the aisle toward his lover. He might as well have been singing the Rocky theme. Because Spike was clearly in another world. Xander was ready to bring him back to Terra Firma.

Xander drew up behind the smaller man, freakishly aroused by the scent of the decaying book Spike was engrossed in. With a deep breath he pushed Spike forward, pinning him painfully to the stack of books, his face pressed into Secrets of the Shakespeare Sonnets, by Roderick L. Eagle.

Xander licked the outer shell of Spike's ear, before hoarsely whispering in it, "Whatcha reading?"

"Fuck, Xan." Spike's words were muffled against the stale books. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Shhhhh." Xander bit lightly at the earlobe he was nuzzling. "This is a library. You're supposed to be quiet."

"Get off me, you git," the vampire protested ineffectually.

"I'm going to get off, all right." Warm hands burned through Spike's tight black jeans as Xander snaked his way to Spike's fly and began undoing the buttons.

"So this is where you go every Wednesday night." Xander's conversational tone contrasted sharply with the hand almost painfully squeezing Spike's freed cock. "I thought you were seeing someone else. I just didn't realize he wore a ruff around his neck."

"Ha bloody ha. So you figured me out." Spike gasped as his lover milked his cock, which was already leaking. "You've had your fun. Now let's just go home."

"I don't think so."

Spike growled. In his best Master Vampire voice he commanded, "Xander. We. Are. Going. Home. Now." His display of dominance was undermined by the whimper he gave as Xander raked his fingernail over the slit.

"No, William. You've worried me sick all these nights, wondering who you were fucking that wasn't me. Thinking you might not even come home. And when you did? Not a word to me about what you were doing." Xander bit Spike's neck hard where it met the collarbone, sucking up a mark that was pretty, even though it faded way too quickly. "I think I just have to show your namesake who you belong to."

Xander used his chest to press Spike's torso to the shelves, freeing his hands to roughly slither Spike's jeans down to his knees. He brought his hands up under Spike's duster and palmed his ass. The action pressed Spike's erection painfully against one of the shelves, causing the vampire to hiss.

"Who does this ass belong to?" Xander demanded.

Spike snorted. "Me."

Pushing even harder, Xander tsked. "No. Try again. Who does this ass belong to?"

"Not gonna say it, so you might as well fucking stop it right there, whelp."

Xander separated the cheeks of Spike's ass and abruptly thrust a thumb into his unlubricated hole. Spike gave an unmanly, and certainly unvampirely, squeak.

"Two strikes. Last chance. Who does this ass belong to?" He forced his thumb in as far as it would go.

Spike shifted into gameface. Xander knew that the pain was a powerful aphrodisiac to the vampire. He added a twist as he continued to fuck Spike dry, palms squeezing the firm flesh as he held Spike open.

Spike ground back against Xander's probing digit. "Yours….Fuck…Yours, Xander. Your ass. Now fuck it."

"Quiet." Xander removed his hands to unzip his fly. His weeping dick sprang from the confines of the leather, trying to leap into Spike's hole. "Wouldn't want a librarian to come up here and see me fucking you against English literature. Then again," Xander paused a moment to spread pre-come over his erection before beginning the exquisitely painful process of entering Spike.

"Then again, I'd love to show them what a pretty little thing you are." Both men groaned as Xander was finally seated in the tight, cool passage.

Xander rarely gave in to Spike's request for him to enter him with no preparation. He didn't like the violence of it, even though his lover made it clear that the violence and pain were exactly the reasons why it was such a turn on. But he had to admit, he wanted to mark Spike. Make him sore. Make him think next Wednesday before he left Xander without so much as a kiss. Plus Spike was right. This was fucking hot.

Xander ruched up the duster and Spike's t-shirt. He pulled them both backward until Spike was bent over, clutching the shelving for balance as Xander drove in and out of him in a punishing rhythm. Their breathing reverberated like thunder in the blanketing silence of the library.

Xander shoved Spike's back down with his left hand. He leaned back and watched his cock disappearing into the puckered hole. He nearly came from the sight of Spike stretched wide. Although only a small amount of their skin was revealed, Xander felt more naked than he'd ever felt before. And fuck, Spike's alabaster skin was gorgeous against the black leather of Xander's pants.

Shit. He wasn't going to last much longer. Keeping the pressure on Spike's back with his left hand, Xander took hold of Spike's cock with his right. He tried to pull Spike in rhythm with his fucking, but he had no rhythm anymore. He was just plunging wildly into the pulsing hole, seeking his completion.

In a voice so quiet it couldn't be heard by anything except vampiric ears, Xander said one word. "Come."

With a strangled cry Spike thrust twice more into Xander's fist then began to climax, spraying the books in front of him with milky fluid. His fluttering muscles clenched in sync with the shots of semen exploding from his cock. Xander could hold out no longer and buried himself in Spike, holding his hips still as he poured scalding come into Spike's raw, aching ass.

Xander thought he might have passed out for a moment. When he could finally move again, he slid out of Spike with a grunt. He reached his hand down to soothingly caress the tender rosebud, nearly coming again at the feeling of his essence pouring out of Spike's hole.

He gradually moved away from Spike, leaving the blond sagging against "PR 2754," his pants binding his knees, come leaking down his inner thighs, shuddering in the aftershocks of his orgasm. Xander didn't bother cleaning himself off. He merely zipped up his fly and straightened his eye patch, which had gone askew sometime during his exertions.

He startled Spike when he once again lifted a flap of his duster, slapping his ass firmly with a sticky hand. "See you at home, blondie."

With a chaste kiss at the nape of Spike's neck, he turned and strode purposefully back toward the stairwell. As he reached the end of the aisle, he heard Spike quietly call his name.

He turned, raising one eyebrow in the way that his lover had taught him. Okay, so he cheated by having the other eyebrow covered, but he knew he still looked blisteringly hot and mysterious.

"What, baby?"

Spike raised his eyebrow and leered at Xander. "Nice shoes, pet."

So much for hot and mysterious, the brunet chuckled. "Nice ass, Spike."

And with that, Xander left Spike to his reading.

The End

Prompt Calla requested:
Two things you definitely want included in your fic: Dirty talk. Public sex.
One thing you definitely *don't* want to see in your fic: Wuss!Xander/viscious!Spike; torture

There is sorta dirty talk and figuratively public sex. Xander is kinda wussy, but gets better. And there is no torture, but some consenual pain.

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