Pairing: Spike/Xander
Fandom: Buffy
Rating: PG for now
Words: 299
Feedback/Concrit: darkhavens @
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Summary: "There are none so blind, as those who would not see..."
Notes: Written for [info]stagesoflove 2006, Round 2, 'Exploring the Relationship Through The Senses', challenge #1 - Sight.

Wilfully Oblivious


Part One - Sight

They weren't particularly subtle about any of it; anyone who cared to stop and look could clearly see what was going on. Only Giles and Tara actually noticed.

It was just small things at first - knees knocking together beneath the table during research sessions, elbows clashing in a battle for the final jelly donut. Even the way they couldn't manage to keep quiet for five consecutive minutes shifted to reflect their new communion.

Sniping insults turned to teasing, flirting pokes and prods. Demeaning nicknames either disappeared or were transmuted.

It was… almost sweet, Giles admitted once to Tara as they cleared away another meeting's rubble. Sweet and somehow mildly disturbing to watch a boy - a boy who stated often just how much he hated vampires - grow, and yes, bloom, beneath William the Bloody's careful care and muted courting and protection.

Eventually, neither could resist the urge to touch in earnest. Fingers brushed and caught under cover of trading weapons; hips bumped together as they walked out on patrol.

A close call with a pack of Rogash demons nearly threw their secret under the Buffy-Willow high-powered spotlight.

Xander bounced twice before he rolled to a halt at the foot of the Walburn-Williams family crypt, and lay there gasping, and Spike lost it.

Dropping the demon leg he'd been using as a viciously spined cudgel, Spike dodged easily though the milling, battling throng and checked on Xander. Once assured that he was still breathing and unbroken, Spike dove back in and let his inner psycho out to play.

Ten minutes and a dozen demons later, Spike had Xander patted down, each bruise and scratch and ego dent precisely catalogued by gentle fingertips.

Giles and Tara kept their charges looking elsewhere while Spike and Xander shared their first kiss.

Part Two - Hearing

Ring-ring, ring-ring, ring-ring. Click.

"Hi, this is Xander Harris... well, his answering machine. I'm either too busy to come to the phone or I'm off slaying… laundry or delivering pizzas or something. Please leave your message after th…" Click. Beeeeeeeeeep.

"Hey, Xander, I'm just calling to invite you to another fun night of research at the Magic Box. Something ooky is stealing people's pets down around South and Vine and it's leaving the bones in weird little piles in the park. We need to find out what it is before it starts stealing babies. Come by about seven, Giles is springing for pizza. Oh, and Giles says to ask you to let Spike know if you see him, but it's not like you're friends or anything, right, so I don't know what that's about. Seven o'clock. Don't forget!"


"Spike?" Yawn. "Was that Buffy on the phone?"

Bedsprings creak.

"Don't know, luv, and I don't care. She's probably wanting you to go out and get yourself beaten senseless again for no good reason except to keep her new shoes clean."

"Hey, we agreed. No dissing the…"

"Personally, I’d rather fuck you senseless, but if you're not up for it again so soon, I suppose I could burn off all this excess energy killing demons for her royal Buffness."

"No, no, I think I can force myself to… Oh! Oh, yeah, Spike, that’s… Just right th-ah!"

~~~~~Two days later~~~~~

Ring-ring, ring-ring, ring-ring. Click.

"Hi, this is Xander Harris... well, his answering machine. I'm either too busy to come to the phone or I'm off slaying… laundry or delivering pizzas or something. Please leave your message after th…" Click. Beeeeeeeeeep.

"Xander? While I'm fairly certain you're not in any immediate danger, even if you are doing what I think you're doing with Spike, and please God may I never have cause to think that again… Ah, where was I? Oh, yes. While I don't imagine you're lying in a bleeding, broken heap on your kitchen floor, Willow and Buffy are not so easily convinced and are therefore on their way to save you. I'm sure that you and Spike would rather be dressed and vaguely vertical when they burst in to rescue you from - I believe giant mutant killer roaches won the straw poll, despite my abstention from the vote. Well, I just thought it advisable to warn you they were on their way, fully armed and-"


"Oh no… Spike? Spike, wake up! Damn clingy vampire! What are you, part octopus? Let me go! Wake up and get some pants on before Willow and Buffy get here. Did I mention I gave Willow a spare key, just in case? Come on, come on, get up already!"

Thud thud.

"Xander? Are you in there? Are you okay?"

rattle rattle clink…

Part Three - Touch

Buffy doesn't see the rumpled hair, the half-zipped jeans, the crumpled shirt with buttons mis-aligned; she just sees the livid bite mark on Xander's neck.

It doesn't register as a hickey, it can't, not when there's a vampire at his side. It's a visceral reaction, no brain required, a soul-deep Slayer's instinct - bite mark equals vampire equals must protect friend.

There's no personal animosity behind the blow - no hate, no 'Xander isn't gay', no 'Gods, not Spike!' Just bite mark equals vampire equals must protect friend.

She's completely unprepared for Xander to step into the blow, to deflect her killing rage from Spike onto himself. She's not prepared, but her reaction time's amazing, and she manages to pull the punch before it smashes through his chest.

His ribs creak in protest as he doubles over gasping, and then Spike is tugging him back and out of danger, moving to intercept the next swing that never comes.

Buffy stares at her still clenched fist, at Xander's pain-glazed eyes, at Spike's blue-yellow accusing glare.

"I… You…" She frowns and suddenly looks young and lost. "Xander?"

Willow's the one who sits them all down, fetches ice for Buffy's knuckles and scotch to soothe the furious vampire on the sofa. She sees the way that Spike can't keep away from Xander - hand on knee or nape or shoulder, thigh pressed tight against thigh. She sees the caring, the want, the love in every easy touch. She suddenly sees what Tara's tried to make her see for months now, with subtle phrases, careful whispers.

She wonders just how long she's been blind.

Part Four - Smell

Buffy has walked in on them, had them admit the truth of the relationship to her face, both of them proud and defiantly determined - which was disturbingly cute - but, in the end, it's her nose that convinces her.

For as long as she has known him, Xander's always used the same shampoo, the same soap, the same detergent on his clothes. He's always worn the same cologne, a new bottle bought and wrapped by Willow, every year, for his birthday.

But no more.

Now he carries with him the slightest hint of musk, and Buffy thinks that maybe that's the real, unperfumed, him. He uses scentless soaps and lotions and he always looks well scrubbed. She's half-convinced that Spike has got him cleanse-tone-moisturising, and it kinda freaks her out.

Sometimes he comes to meetings dragging Spike along behind him, shrouded in the faintest haze of cloves and fresh tobacco smoke. She wonders if he tastes of it too.

He always smells of leather now, something she tries hard not to notice, unless he's got his jacket on - the strangely new, perfectly tailored leather jacket that Spike swears he won at kitten poker. She doesn't ask.

At other times, Buffy tries to keep her distance. The rumpled clothes, the hair in disarray, the sweat-sheened skin - she knows he'd smell of sex.

She got too close, just once, early on, and now she tries to stay away - the mental pictures drive her crazy. No one should have to think about their friends like that, too many naked limbs and fingers in odd places. It isn't right.

Sometimes she wishes she could catch a cold and keep it for a week or two, just to give her brain a break. Instead, she plays keep-away.

Part Five - Taste

Xander's been trembling on the verge of an apocalyptic orgasm for over an hour now. Spike won't let him come. He keeps whispering 'Soon,' and 'Trust me, it'll be worth the wait,' but Xander knows that Spike just wants to hear him beg. So he does.

"Please, Spike! It hurts, I gotta… Oh! It's… I… Ah!"

So near, and yet so far.

Every time he's about to lose control, seconds away from that powerful, sweet release, Spike stops him - grabs his balls and tugs down just enough to pull him back from the edge.

Spike whispers dirty, teasing, evil-minded words into Xander's ear as he stills his hips and leaves his cock embedded in Xander's ass. Xander begs some more.

"Sweet jeez… Spike, I can't hold… Oh! Oh, fuck, please… Please! I'll… Anything!"

And, apparently, that's the magic word.


Spike licks a broad, wet stripe the length of Xander's neck, nuzzling into the hollow beneath his ear and nipping gently.

"You know what I want," he whispers. "You've always known." He pauses to tug on Xander's earlobe with blunt white teeth. "You think I don't know how much you want it too? It's in your eyes every time you look at me. I hear that hitch in your breath when you see the demon. I've memorised the way you lick your lips, like you're trying to find a taste that isn't there."

Xander shudders around Spike's cock and tries to speak, only managing a short, pleading whine.

Spike thrusts hard, just once, and Xander's head rolls back, his throat arched in a tempting curve.


It's all the encouragement - permission - Spike needs.

He starts to move over in around Xander, pushing him ever higher into a realm of pure sensation. A sensory overload designed to blur the boundaries of pleasure and pain, enough so Spike can steal a draught without reprisals.

He sees - seizes - the moment when it finally arrives - that look of absolute bliss as Xander's body tries to arch into his, to lose cohesion, to shake apart. His fangs slide into flesh that’s hot and trembling, exultant at the lack of searing pain.

That first taste is - incredible. He doesn't know how he's survived this long without it. He knows he never could again.

It burns a fiery path from tongue to throat to belly, energising every cell it touches on the way. He feels suddenly alive, aroused, ecstatic, drunk on Xander's essence, on his life-force.

Spike comes, his mouth, arms, head, heart full of Xander, him in Xander and Xander in him. It's sweet enough to make a vampire weep. Well, almost.

It stops him drinking, at least, too terrified of losing what he's found to take another drop. Moderation in all things is the key. He starts to laugh, and Xander's dazed expression - befuddled satiation - makes him laugh even harder.

He wonders if he'll ever stop.

The End

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