Slim, soft, surprisingly strong hands pushed against his chest.

His back hit the painted wall, hard, and the air in his lungs was expelled in a whoosh.

He gasped for breath then froze as the tip of a cool tongue began to move invitingly over his still-parted lips.

Eyes widening, he opened his mouth slowly, experimentally. The fleshy tip slipped inside and proceeded to explore, slowly at first, then more demandingly … more thoroughly than he could have believed possible. His gums, teeth, palate were treated to a forensic examination that made his heart thump and his pupils dilate.

The first stirring of his cock came as a surprise. This was supposed to be damned disturbing, not arousing. Why the hell was he letting this happen? Why was it a huge turn on when the mouth moving against his turned slightly to gain better access, sealing their lips, and a pair of strong arms wrapped around his body possessively and pulled him tight against a hard body.

He gasped again when a hand snaked down between their bodies and began to rub his cock, rapidly bringing it to full erection. His zipper was pulled down and his prick jumped out gratefully, eager to be fondled and stroked and ...

Oh, fuuuck!

Someone else's hand. His own hand he could deal with. Hell, he was so accustomed to his own five fingered attentions it was embarrassing.

But his own fingers had never been this clever, this sensitive.

This was so good. Unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Cordy had talked big but always chickened out when it came to the actual touching stuff. Faith hadn't been much interested in foreplay. Or afterplay that didn't involve his premature demise. His other 'lovers' ... Well, his sensitivities hadn't been forefront in their minds.

Those clever, knowing fingers stroked his shaft, using his own pre-come to lubricate their journey. Up and down, around and about. Over the head, down to the balls, back to ...

Oh, fuckety fuck, fuck!

Another hand had joined the first and a finger was playing gently across his perineum and stroking softly against his pucker.

His balls tightened and with a shout he came, semen shooting generously across the body still plastered against his, the only thing holding him upright.

Four simple words cut through his post-orgasmic haze.

"My turn now, pet."

He shook his head and focused on the blue stare drilling into him.

Rousing himself, he thought carefully for a moment then sank to his knees.


After all, fair was fair. He felt wanted and cared for. Someone cared about him. He wanted to show his gratitude.

He opened his mouth.

Part One

Spike stared at Xander, bemused.

"What do you mean, you think we should take a break?"

Xander shuffled his feet, staring at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but into those hurt blue eyes.

"I just mean, I'm not sure this is working out for me."

Spike frowned. "Having the best sex in your miserable history of crap sex isn't working out for you? Having the best sex you'll ever have isn't working out for you?" He was rapidly working himself into a fury. "You have the best lover in the entire world fucking you on a regular basis and it isn't working out for you?!"

"Well, that's the thing." Xander straightened and finally looked at the pissed off vampire. "You always fuck me. I just feel like any warm body would do it for you." He thought for a moment. "Or any room temperature body, come to that."

His sense of ill usage grew. "You don't care about me. Just about getting off. If you cared about me even a little bit you'd let me fuck you every once in a while. So we could be, like, equal partners in this ... whatever it is."

Spike climbed down from his snit and furrowed his brow in puzzlement. "I thought you liked what we were doing."

"I do, Spike. I love what we're doing. I just want ... more."

"What's that s’posed to mean? More what?"

Okay, so Spike wasn't going to make this easy for him.

Xander waved his hands about impotently. "More relationshippy stuff. More snuggles. More ... more me doing you. Even once. Maybe I don't always wanna bottom. Did you ever think about that? Huh?"

Spike stared at him in something akin to horror. "Boy, I'm a Master Vampire. Just because my fangs have been pulled, metaphorically speaking, doesn't mean that's changed. I top. Every time. End of story."

Xander's shoulder's slumped. "Okay. I guess that is the end of this story. Shame. I kinda wanted to see how it turned out." He turned and started to walk away but stopped when a pale hand landed on his shoulder, gripping almost hard enough to hurt.

Spike spun Xander around to face him. "You're serious, aren't you? You'd really say ta-ta, thanks for the fish, no more for this little soldier ..."

"There are fish? Where are the fish? Spike, what the hell are you talking about?"

Spike sighed heavily. "Bloody Americans. More culture in a pot of yogurt."

Long fingers began to stroke caressingly up and down Xander’s bare arms. “You know you don’t mean it, pet. We’re good together, we are. A bit of fun, a few laughs …”

Xander pulled away sharply. “That’s it? That’s all it ever was to you?”

Spike was shocked to hear a slight tremble in the boyish tones. He frowned. “Well, yeah. I mean … what else was it supposed to be?"

Xander’s heart shattered very slowly, the sharp fragments seeming to pierce his chest, as he processed the vampire’s words.

Spike wasn’t supposed to call his bluff! He was supposed to hold him, hug him, tell him he was right -- that they had a relationship and they cared about one another and …

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. Spike was supposed to pull him into his arms and comfort him and tell him he … he loved him.

Unrealistic, naive, dumb as shit?

He suddenly understood the full, ridiculous extent of his self-delusion. He’d been kidding himself for weeks now that they had something special, that Spike was beginning to care as much for him as he cared for the vampire. He should have known he was fooling himself. Should have taken the hint when Spike was so careful to treat him with his usual dismissiveness when they were around the rest of the gang. Even when they were alone, it was an event if Spike kissed him. Fucked him, yeah, but kiss him? Not so much.

What the hell had he been thinking? Of course Spike was only using him. He'd never pretended anything else. No declarations of love, just the same old snarky insults.

He almost laughed at himself but managed to stifle the sound, afraid it would turn into a sob. He had to get out of this situation with some dignity. He wasn't going to fall apart in front of Spike. Later would be time enough.

"I think you'd better go, Spike. It's over. If I didn't know it before, I do now. You're a cold, heartless, evil --"

"Well, yeah, pet. I'm a vampire. Cold, heartless and evil kinda comes with the territory."

Spike had no idea what the fuck was going on. Why was the boy giving him grief? Not like this was some big romance or nothin'. It was just a way to pass the time. Not as much fun as slaughter and mayhem, maybe, but he'd enjoyed the sex-on-tap and didn't much want it to end. Not until he said it should, anyway. Maybe a bit of distraction was called for. He'd always prided himself on his powers of seduction.

He placed his hands on broad, bare shoulders and pulled Xander towards him. Wrapping his arms firmly around the brunet's waist, he tucked his head into the crook of Xander's neck and swiped a broad, wide, wet lick up his neck then sucked an earlobe into his mouth and nibbled gently. He grinned when he heard Xander's deep-throated growl. Got him! No more insane talk about ending this --

"Stop it!" Xander pulled out of Spike's embrace and stepped back a long pace. "Didn't you listen to a word I said? For God's sake, Spike, show a bit of respect for me, will you?"

Spike's anger returned ten-fold. How dare this ... human talk to him like that. Didn't he remember who he was dealing with? He should be flattered a Master Vampire had even deigned to touch him, never mind bothered to lube him up before fucking him.

He arched an eyebrow. "You want respect? Maybe you shouldn't bend over for the first guy who asks," he said nastily.

Xander's eyes widened. They were much too bright but Spike was too furious to notice, never mind wonder why. "Yeah, I guess that was my big mistake. You should be proud of yourself, Platinum Wonder. You took a normal, straighter 'n' straight, All-American guy and made him your fuck toy. Congratulations. Now, go bask. I wanna go to bed. Alone."

Spike realised that he'd made a tactical error. The boy was chucking him out and he'd spend the night alone in a cold, dank crypt rather than wrapped around Xander's luscious warm body, covered in clean sheets, with the prospect of waking with a hot mouth wrapped around his cock.

"Xan," he wheedled, "don't be like that. You know I didn't mean it."

Xander laughed bitterly. "Of course you meant it. You think I'm dirt under your feet. Well, this piece of shit is finally standing up for itself. Fuck off!"

Spike pulled himself up to his not very impressive full height. "Fine. You don't have to tell me twice." He raised a hand as Xander opened his mouth to speak. "Okay, you have told me twice. Well, you don't have to tell me again. I'm out of this dump. And don't think you can sweet-talk me into coming back. Ever!"

He turned on his heel and wrenched open the door. He couldn't resist a parting shot over his shoulder. "And tell the next guy your blow jobs need work." Then he was gone, the slam of the door echoing around the suddenly too empty apartment.

Xander turned blindly, heading for the bedroom. The bedroom he'd been sharing with a gorgeous, blue-eyed, blond vampire for the last month. He stopped in the doorway, staring at the rumpled sheets, then slowly sank to the floor, the tears finally falling. He crawled across the floor on hands and knees and pulled himself onto the mattress, hauling the covers over his shaking frame. It was a relief to finally give way to his overwrought emotions, and he sobbed uncontrollably until his exhausted mind and body shut down and he slept.

Part Two

Spike paced agitatedly from one side of the crypt to the other, wearing a track in the beaten earth. What the hell had just happened? What had gone so wrong? He and the boy had been having fun, hadn't they? No messy emotions, no jealousy. Just a good time being had by all. No harm, no foul.

He stopped in his tracks. Maybe the whelp was interested in someone else. Maybe all this had just been an excuse to break up with him. He'd always been suspicious of the lad's close relationship with the red-headed bint. No such thing as a platonic friendship between a man and a woman, he figured. Never happened. Hell, look at When Harry Met Sally. Went to prove the point.

His eyes narrowed. Bloody moron. What'd she have to offer that he didn't? He was smarter, better looking, better in bed than any female.

She was soft and round and curvy. He had abs you could bounce a penny off and a thick cock that just begged to be rubbed and sucked and shoved into a grasping arsehole. There was no comparison.

Well, it was Xander's loss. He wasn't going to lose any sleep over the boy's stupidity.

Two hours later, Spike was still pacing and still trying to figure out why a good thing had suddenly gone pear-shaped.


Xander woke the next morning with a crashing headache and a leaden lump in his chest. He snapped off the alarm clock and dragged himself into the shower. The hot, stinging spray helped bring him to alertness and the aspirins he knocked back with strong black coffee would alleviate the throbbing in his head eventually. He hoped.

Well, that'd teach him. He'd taken a risk and lost. Would he change anything? Fuck, yeah!

Pride was seriously over-rated. He'd rather wake up with Spike any day than with this sinking feeling of regret and the certainty that he'd spend the rest of his life alone, no matter how many people, male or otherwise, shared his bed. That stupid, insensitive, beautiful vampire was the love of his life and he'd never truly be happy with anyone else. He'd tasted heaven and let it slip away. How could he have been so dumb? So what if Spike had shown absolutely no sign of wanting commitment -- Xander could deal.

At least now he could be more certain of staying non-vampirey. He was pretty sure that when Spike got his bite back he'd have been first in line for the turning. Or the killing. Must remember to tote stake at all times, in case of irritated, bite-enabled vampire on the loose. He snorted. Yeah, like he could ever dust that particular vampire. He'd shoot himself first. Must remember to carry gun at all times, in case of sudden need to shoot self.

He sighed and scrabbled around on the bedroom floor, looking for some relatively clean clothes to wear to work. Laundry had been taking second place to an undead bleach blond for quite a while now.


Xander trudged into the Magic Box, lattes in one hand, a box of pastries in the other. A hard day of sawdust creation had done nothing to alleviate the tightness in his chest but he was trying very hard to pretend that everything was fine and dandy. The rest of the team had never known about him and Spike so at least there wouldn’t be any awkward questions.

He suddenly felt even more depressed. Spike hadn’t wanted them to know. He’d been ashamed of him. He looked around surreptitiously, but the blond menace was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, Xan,” called Willow from her perch on the counter. She marked her place in the book balanced on her lap and set it down beside her. “Ooh, food. And coffee!”

“Yeah, a guy bearing caffeine is always welcome,” grinned Buffy from her seat at the research table. “Right now, a demon bearing caffeine’d be welcome.”

Xander walked over to the table and set down his cargo. Coffees and donuts were rapidly claimed by his friends.

“What’s shakin’, fellow destroyers of things that go ‘grrrr' in the night? Another apocalypse, maybe? It’s been … um, months since the last one.”

Giles smiled primly. “Very amusing, Xander. There’s no fresh apocalypse in the offing, to the best of my knowledge, but there have been reports of a teenage gang on PCP raging through the cemeteries, so …”

“So, there’s a new nest of vamps in town. Damn, you’d think they’d be smart enough to stay away from the Slayer’s home turf. Why don’t they ever go to Santa Barbara or Abilene or New York or ... anywhere but Sunnydale?”

“Really, Xander,” chided Giles. “You know perfectly well that they are drawn here by the presence of the Hellmouth, which is precisely why Sunnydale is Buffy’s … er, home turf. In any case ---"

He was pulled up short by the sound of the front door being kicked off its hinges. A game-faced, platinum blond vampire stood in the damaged entrance. A furious growl echoed around the room.

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