Wearing My Heart On My Sleeve
by
Jane Davitt
The crypt door was pushed open and Spike glanced up to see Xander
standing, irresolute and tense, in the doorway. His face was forced
into blankness and his hands were in front of him, gripping a wadded up
shirt so tightly that his knuckles were white.
Spike stared at him without speaking, his eyes unreadable. The silence
hummed until it filled the room and Xander took one step inside, the
scuff of his shoes loud against the stone floor. As he crossed the
threshold Spike twisted his head away, frustration etched deeply into
his face. When he turned back, Xander was already pulling his T shirt
over his head.
“So what’s going to be different this time?”
Xander ignored him, tossing the T shirt aside and pulling on the shirt
his hands had creased and crumpled, letting it hang open. He walked
towards Spike, all hesitation gone, his steps confident, even
swaggering. Holding Spike’s gaze he knelt beside the chair and leaned
in to kiss him. Spike tasted salt and realised that Xander had been
crying. It was that, rather than Xander’s hand on his zip, that made
him return the kiss, his teeth biting down gently, his tongue sliding
inside the warm, hungry lips. He cursed himself as he did it, cursed
the arousal and the need that made it impossible to push Xander away.
It was too late anyway. The damage was done. As Xander pulled him to
his feet, their mouths still fused, Spike wondered if it would have
really made much difference if he had said ‘no’.
Four days earlier.
“Harris? What’re you doing here then? Not like you to drop in and be
sociable.” Spike eyed Xander with genuine surprise. Not that the lad
looked in the mood to party, mind you. Spike had seen livelier corpses.
Xander’s face was pale, his hair tangled and he was wearing a shirt
that made Spike’s eyes ache. Xander’s choice in clothing had been a
never failing source of ammunition for the pointed gibes Spike crafted
lovingly and let fly, but even for him this was gaudy.
“I just did a spell,” Xander said, his voice as distant as his eyes.
“It showed me –”
“What the fuck are you doing messing with magic? Leave that to the
witches!”
“It wasn’t on purpose. There was a mirror in the shop...I read the
words on the frame; look, it doesn’t matter. I saw...”
“Spit it out, mate. Haven’t got all day.” He had, he really had, but
that was more than he was prepared to share.
“Us. I saw us.”
“Yeah? Was I dying of boredom by any chance because – God, was I dying?”
Spike looked up in swift alarm but Xander shook his head. “Not dying.
Much worse.”
“If I wasn’t dust, it wasn’t worse,” Spike said firmly. He stood and
walked over to Xander, taking in the flinch with a secret glee. “Tell
me before I beat it – oh, can’t, can I? Never mind, tell me anyway and
let’s pretend I scared you into it, just to make me happy.”
Xander gave him a look of tired loathing. “It shows you what you have
to do to save your loved one from dying,” he explained. “It gives you a
chance to save them. In this case, obviously, it’s Anya. The mirror
showed me fucking you, Spike. Wearing this shirt. I always said
I’d do anything for her but this... this is –”
“A nightmare?” Spike suggested softly.
“Worse. This is real.”
“There you go with your worsts again. Shagging me isn’t a fate worse
than - oh, bloody hell, now I’m doing it! Anyway; could be fun. Think
how grateful she’ll be when you tell her.”
Spike choked as Xander’s hands locked around his throat. “If you ever
say a word about this, I’ll kill you.”
Spike met his eyes, refusing to struggle. “This your idea of foreplay?”
Xander’s hands slackened and Spike laughed up into his face. “Because,
you know, it’s working.” He took one of Xander’s unresisting hands and
brought it palm-flat against his erection. Xander’s eyes went blank and
then his free hand slid behind Spike’s head and pulled him close. He
kissed him, ignoring Spike’s roving hands, kissed him until they were
both merged into one swaying, squirming shadow on the stone walls,
kissed him until it came time to do more than kiss – then shoved Spike
away, sending him to his back.
“I can’t – not you –I can’t!”
Spike watched him leave, sprawled on the floor, aching and hurt, body
and...well.
Present day.
Spike lay against Xander, his hand tangled in the boy’s hair,
memorising each scratch and bite on the tanned body. He had no
illusions; now Xander had done his duty, he’d be off, but he was going
to carry a message on his skin, one he could read every time he
showered or dressed for the next – Spike studied them with a
professional eye – week at least. Then Xander looked up at him with
drowned eyes and Spike wanted to kiss each and every one of them better
instead.
“Do you think it worked?” Xander whispered.
Spike shrugged. “Guess your little demon girl’s safe,” he said.
Xander looked away, silent and still. Spike frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Not sure we did exactly what the mirror showed...”
Spike lay still. “So we might have to do this again?” Silence. “There
is no mirror, is there? No fucking spell. You’re here because you
wanted this and couldn’t bring yourself to – oh, get out. Get the fuck
out of here.”
Xander struggled into his clothes, avoiding Spike’s scornful eyes. The
gaudy shirt lay forgotten on the floor as he mumbled something that
might have been an apology and fled. Spike sank down on the tumbled
sheets and cursed him in a litany of loving savagery.
Next day.
The door opened and Spike walked into Xander’s basement. Xander stood,
his face pale. Spike threw the shirt at him. “Put it on,” he said.
“Spike?”
“Now would be sensible.”
Xander bit his lip. Spike’s eyes were watchful and cold as a winter’s
dawn, his hands shoved down deep in his pockets. No clues. Reluctantly
he stripped off his top and pulled the shirt on, leaving it hanging
open.
“Button it.”
The buttons were too small for the holes, they had to be, but somehow
he managed it.
“Good.”
Spike took one long look and then pounced, ripping the shirt from his
back, drawing a cry of pain from him as the seams dug in, held, then
submitted.
“Never, ever lie to me again.” The voice was cold but the eyes had
melted to summer-blue sky and the hidden hands were out and touching
him gently, possessively.
And he knew he never would. Even if the lies had made the mirror vision
come true. Even if they’d given him his heart’s desire. He didn’t need
to lie anymore.
The End
| Feed the Author |
| Home | Categories | New Stories | Non Spander |