Who Wants to Live Forever


Part Three

Spike had known where this was going. As he milled through the room of happy congratulations and blessed be’s, as toast after toast was announced and applauded. As he swept Dawn around the outdoor parquet dance floor and relinquished her finally to Bill. His heart squeezing and wringing with love and loss. Some part of his mind had followed Xander. Holding him at arm’s length as something he would not allow himself until his duties of the evening were done. Spike wasn’t given much to self-delusion. He knew he still longed for Xander, knew also the self-loathing and recriminations that rapidly followed if he gave into those longings. But he knew he would still seek Xander out this evening, that the knowledge that Xander was even in the same building as he was the opiate that swirled around him, making the pain of Dawn’s leaving feel temporarily distant and manageable.

He told himself he would allow himself this indulgence. Because he deserved it, and because tonight he needed it. He would allow himself to be with Xander, and pretend. But when Spike finally let himself walk over to Xander, the location of whom he had been hyper aware all evening, he found himself half dizzy with fear. He tried taking deep breaths, the 21st century vampire’s substitute for cigarettes, but with Xander, even half-drunk Xander, he could not allow himself the weakness of human behaviors. “…just an animal…” He could not let down his guard for even a moment. “…but you aren’t are you, you’re just a monster..” To himself he could pretend but he couldn’t forget, or let Xander think he had forgotten, what he was. “…fucking heartless freak…”

He’d realized how drunk Xander had already become earlier, and as he walked up behind him and heard him giggling, it occurred to him that the drinking might have become more of a problem since Xander had left. Alcohol had been an occupation, an excuse, and a convenient lie for both he and Xander for years. On some deeply depressing level, Spike knew that without it he would never have gotten to first base with the man.
But he had never seen Xander let the booze become more important than the people and responsibilities around him. Xander seemed to have spent the greater part of the evening alone. Willow and Dawn the only people in the room he'd had more than passing words with. Spike had to remind himself that he hadn’t seen Xander for five years. The violent pull he felt towards the man, which was as strong as it had been the night he had left, made Spike feel as if nothing had changed between them. But of course that was Spike. Eternal unchanging victim of time. Xander was a human. Humans could change.

So even though Spike expected and accepted that he would be hurt, when Xander looked into his eyes and touched him, Spike felt more fear than he had thought possible. There were limitless possibilities here. This man could hurt him in ways Spike had not yet considered. But Xander’s hand on his shoulder, like a forgotten favorite song, threw a wave of emotions through him with a strength and erotic seduction he had forgotten they possessed.

He was a vampire in thrall. He felt himself start to pant. With fear, and with arousal. He saw Xander’s eyes pleading. That deceptive vulnerability that always undid Spike. That apparent emotional neediness that was really just lust. Xander’s eyes said, “love me..” but Xander’s mouth said “yeah, like that, yeah Spike, just like that … “ Xander’s mouth said it meant nothing. Spike managed to stand again, unsteadily. Reluctantly removing the hand that had magically taken all the pain out of his body. He couldn’t do this again, he realized. He had forgotten how hard it was. Forgotten how deeply Xander could move him, how raw he could make him feel.

“Spike.” Xander’s voice husky and needy. It zinged straight to Spike’s groin. “Spike, please.”

Spike felt himself on the edge of something. Somewhere in his memories he knew he had been here before. Precipices and falling. Damage. Everything in his heart wanted to give Xander whatever he asked for. Give Xander what he needed, even if it meant immolating his own feelings and self-respect in the process. Because while Xander needed him, he would exist. Spike longed to see himself affecting this man on a primal level. He needed desperately to hear the passion in his voice, to hear him say his name again and again. He allowed himself to touch Xander’s hair. He felt himself step over the edge. And like the man who steps off the cliff, his last thought was, “Oh shit this is gonna hurt…”


Xander had forgotten how cool Spike’s lips could be. Cool and smoky and tasting slightly of tin (that would be blood). It was a taste he had missed without realizing. A taste he had been seeking in the bottom of highball glasses and at the back of young men’s throats, for five years. He leaned towards it and gasped, nearly falling, when Spike pulled back. For a moment the room did a quick sideways shift. Xander heard the music again, became aware of the people around him. He froze and stared at Spike. Spike looked terribly sad and very ancient all of a sudden. His eyes had gone a steely blue. They flicked briefly towards the stairway and then speculatively up and down Xander’s torso. Then without a word, Spike casually turned and headed for the stairs.

Xander watched Spike disappear upstairs and nervously glanced up and down the bar. No one seemed to have noticed the exchange. Not the only drunk in the room for a change, Harris. He waited a decent interval, then casually eased himself away from the bar and made his way to the stairway.

This time Xander’s feet were not co-operating. He had to force them down the hallway. At the doorway, they suddenly urged him to turn and run, but he exerted control again. The door was closed but unlocked. He rapped his knuckles over it briefly, by way of warning, and eased himself inside.

Spike had not turned on any lights. He knew that Xander would prefer the dark. He had carefully removed and hung up the tux. He didn’t want to explain anything to Dawn or the rental place. He pulled on an old pair of boxers that he never used and stood looking out on the balcony, waiting for Xander. He stared at a circle of white moonlight on the pavement outside and deliberately suppressed what he could not bear to remember just now. His entire body was thrumming in expectation like an overtuned guitar string. He heard Xander coming slowly down the hallway, heard him pause at the door as if changing his mind. For a moment Spike thought he might, and for an even briefer moment he hoped he would. Maybe, just maybe, that hard ground Spike felt rushing up to meet him would turn into an inflatable mattress. Maybe.

“Hey.” Xander eased through the doorway. He stared at Spike. The door to the balcony let a stream of full moonlight run over the edges of that strong angular body. Muscles shifted silkily under flawless white skin as Spike turned slightly towards Xander. His face was shadowed and its expression hidden, but the obvious bulge in his boxers stood out in silhouette against the moonlit door. Xander felt his own cock harden at the sight of it. He made a low involuntary noise. This was the body Xander had dreamed of for five confused years, waking sweating and ashamed in his own wet spot. Filled with self-hatred. Telling himself that it was a nightmare, a bad dream about monsters. Or a very good dream about monsters. He felt the need to touch that body everywhere, in every cell of his skin. Not just with his hands, which were shaking violently, but with the skin of his chest, the surface of his thighs, his belly, everything in him burned to press against that cold white torso. He pulled clumsily at his clothes, walking as in a trance towards Spike. He managed the shirt, vaguely aware of buttons popping away. All he could think of was to get rid of any impediment between his skin and that perfect white body. Spike was still silent, expressionless. Perfect. He moved towards Xander and when Xander’s hand fumbled over his belt buckle, Spike’s came helpfully down to assist him. His hand bumped gently against Xander’s hardening cock, and Xander felt the contact like a shot of heroin. He made yet another unintelligible noise, louder this time, and grabbed Spike roughly, holding him tight against him. His mouth wildly searching the dark surface of Spike’s face until he found his lips, open and welcoming him in. The tongue greeting his desperate and wet. He reached as far into Spike’s mouth as he could, drinking in that taste that he had forgotten and yet not been able to forget, his hands violently kneading and squeezing, gripping Spike, eliciting moans that excited him so much he could barely stand. He pulled back fractionally, unwilling to release even an inch of this body. “Bed,” he said in a low harsh voice. “Now.”

Spike pulled back but Xander did not release him, pressing him backwards until Spike fell against the edge and collapsed onto the mattress, Xander falling heavily on top of him. Xander felt Spike’s hands wildly pulling at his trousers, and he lifted his hips enough to let the material be shoved down. He felt his cock, heavy and throbbing, sliding next to Spike’s through the boxers and began immediately grinding against the vampire. Shaking his head with inarticulate need, back and forth. “Yeah. Yeah. God. Yeah.”

Spike was shoving his hips up against him, his hands moving over his back rapidly, fingers running over the muscles as if trying to touch everywhere at once. His head arched back as he focused his entire being on the body writhing on top of him. He felt Xander’s hands grab his head and bring his face down. Xander’s mouth fastened on his again, ferociously devouring him. Xander’s tongue rhythmically stabbing into his mouth in time with the thrusting of his hips. Spike pushed frantically at the elastic waist of Xander’s boxers, managing to just push them below his cheeks, then grabbing those muscular globes and moaning helplessly into Xander’s eager mouth.

Xander raised himself fractionally and pushed the boxers down, his cock falling heavily against Spike’s thigh. He tore at Spike’s boxers mindlessly, his fingernails gouging the soft flesh of Spike’s lower abdomen as he viciously ripped them down, grabbing Spike’s thick shaft and yanking it free to rub against his own. The sensation was overwhelming, and he tore his mouth away from Spike’s to stare down at the unbelievable vision of himself rubbing the swollen head of Spike’s cock up and down his own aching shaft. He wrapped his hand around the foreskin and pulled it up to cover the head, lifting himself yet further to rub that long smooth cylinder against his balls.

He pushed Spike’s cock down and heard the vampire cry out, “Xander! Ow, Xander, hey! Doesn’t really bend that way, mate!” But Xander was heedless, kneading and grabbing mindlessly pursuing these erotic sensations. Spike was becoming more and more uncomfortable. His cock was so hard he thought he could come any minute. Xander was alternately stimulating him and hurting him, not always a bad thing for a vampire, but Spike could feel his demon trying to surface and he knew what would happen if it did. But thankfully, Xander lifted suddenly off Spike’s body. Spike’s hips arched up seeking the lost contact. He felt Xander’s knees settle into the mattress on either side of his shoulders, Xander’s fingers grasping his hair. Then Xander’s heavy, dripping, beautiful cock was pushing insistently at his lips. Spike happily opened his mouth and took in the man he had missed for so long. The musk and sweat, the particular Xander taste. He rolled his tongue over the head of Xander’s cock, relishing it. Letting himself remember now, because these memories were good ones. The spongy head twitching at the roof of his mouth. The stream of precum pooling over his tongue.

But Xander didn’t want nostalgia, he wanted release. Now. He grabbed Spike’s head more firmly and thrust forward, trying to get his cock to the back of Spike’s throat. He knew he couldn’t really hurt the vampire. Spike couldn’t choke or suffocate. He felt the softness of Spikes throat close around the head of his cock and thought he would go insane. “Yeah, good. Yeah like that. God so good. So good. Yeah. Yeah. Do that,” Xander chanted, as he thrust over and over into that amazing mouth.

Spike struggled against the angle at which his head was held. He wanted to see Xander’s face, overcome with the pursuit of his orgasm, twisted in the agony of release. Xander’s balls tightened and Spike knew he was close. “Say it, Xan,” he pleaded in his mind, “just say it.” He reached down and grabbed his own cock. Squeezing it in time with Xander’s thrusts. He was so close. So close. He just needed to hear…

“Spike. Spike. Spike.” Xander gasped out his name and Spike felt Xander’s voice strum through his body and into his balls. He fell into that sound, that affirmation. His entire body wired to the voice above him, great waves of sensation lashing through him with every repetition. “Spike. Spike. Spike.” Xander’s voice became gritty with desperation and Spike felt himself driving this man to the brink of madness. Glorying in the power of that, he arched his head back to an even more impossible angle, trying to allow Xander’s cock yet further down his throat. He abandoned his own needs to reach up and grasp Xander’s ass with both hands. Kneading the tight muscles as he felt them jerk and spasm with more and more out of control thrusting. Then Xander suddenly froze. Spike felt the delicious cock jump and swell. He moaned around it, knowing what the vibrations would do to the man above him. Xander screamed out his name once more, “Spike! Aaah!” then grunted and thrust and Spike felt hot streams of cum gushing down his throat. Cold sperm was splattering across his chest as his own orgasm hit him as from some great distance.

For a long moment Xander kneeled above him, Spike’s face clutched to his groin, his own head thrown back as the waves of his orgasm rippled from his balls and down Spike's throat. He grunted once more as the last surge of sperm was released, but then fell silent. Xander paused for a moment as his cock softened in Spike’s mouth, then released Spike’s head and pulled away from him. He shuffled back from the vampire's body, flopped down, then rolled onto his side at the edge of the mattress, facing away from Spike. He didn’t speak.

Spike lay where he had been left, the sensations still running up and down his body. He felt the distance between his and Xander’s bodies, but knew better than to reach across and try to touch. He could hear Xander breathing evenly and rapidly, not yet asleep, but knew better than to speak. He felt the enormous satisfaction of physical and mental fulfillment gradually fading, and the sudden press of tears against his eyes. He turned his face away from Xander and wondered why this act always made him want to cry.


He was having one of those dreams again, Spike knew. He recognized it as one of his least bad dreams, and felt a kind of relief to know that, but the dream was still a bad one and he struggled against it, wishing he could find the door to wakefulness before it took him. He found himself in the same cemetery where Buffy and Joyce lay, but an older and more neglected section. His girls were in an area where the plots were attended with some regularity. Holidays and religious holy days saw new flowers and whirly gigs adorning the sites. In the dream, however, he always found himself in the place where lay the forgotten. He wandered amongst the stones, always searching for a particular stone but never sure what the name on it was supposed to be. As happened every time he had this dream, he came across a tall granite marker that had been broken in half, the split in the stone separating the dates of birth and death. The other half of the marker lay in a piece nearby and Spike struggled, as he did every time he entered this dream, to lift the fallen half and join it with its other part. In the dream, he wondered why he cared to do this. Upon waking, he always felt an ache that he had failed yet again. The marker should have been easy enough for him to lift, but in his dream he was lacking vampiric strength and actually seemed to be weaker, even, than a human. As he struggled, he heard voices coming towards him and felt that familiar longing. The part of him that watched the dream always tried to wake at this point, to distract the dream-Spike from the voices, but the dream-Spike could not resist and drifted towards them hopefully. He saw that they issued from a gigantic carnival, full of people, sprawling over the cemetery. Many of them were people he knew. They had stalls with toys and pastries, flowers, hats. He wandered amongst the festive decorations happily. Finding a familiar face, he stopped and asked her what was going on. “It’s the birthday next week,” said the woman, vaguely frowning at him, “but you won’t be there. You’re dead.” She looked past Spike and waved to someone else. “Yeah love, I’m dead,” said dream-Spike ruefully, “but …” The woman wasn’t listening. He turned to a booth with a young man in it who was a friend of Dawn’s. He was surrounded by young people his own age that Spike hadn’t met. “Hey mate,” he approached the young man, Eric? “Eric, mate, introduce me!” Eric looked at him seriously. He turned to the other people. “That’s Spike,” he said dismissively, “but he’s dead.” And he turned his back on him. Spike looked around and noticed that people were looking through him or past him, but no one was looking directly at him. A huge emptiness seemed to form around him like a bubble. He wandered amongst the familiar and strange faces, bereft and depressed until the dream released him and he woke, his face streaming with tears.

Spike lay where he had fallen asleep. His face turned towards the balcony. He turned his head to look at the spot where Xander had been lying when he fell asleep. The young man was gone.


Xander lay curled on his side with his back to Spike and stared into the pitch black. He could feel Spike go completely still beside him and cursed himself. He imagined the vampire lying there immobile, neither speaking nor asking for any kind of acknowledgment, out of fear of Xander’s reaction. Because I have him trained, thought Xander, and the thought made him feel angry and sick and bewildered. He could not recall now, whether while he was using Spike to achieve his own orgasm, that’s right Xander, using him, using his mouth like a fucking inflatable doll you bastard, he could not recall if Spike had come as well. But he knew that even if Spike were laying there with a killer hard on, he would not move to find his own release because he was afraid of what Xander might say. Of what Xander might do. Xander wanted to roll over and look at Spike, just see if he was satisfied, if he was okay. But he ran the last few minutes through his mind and was so disgusted with himself, selfish bastard, that he couldn’t bear to look the man he had just abused in the eye. Thinking about what he had just inflicted on this partner, whom he had dreamed of romantically all night, imagining words of friendship and affection, imagining forgiveness. Thinking of what his filthy perverted body had just inflicted on his old friend, Xander was horrified to feel a stir of arousal. Spike’s eyes looking up at him, dark and pleading as he shoved himself, shoved himself, down his throat. The thought sent a throb of desire into Xander’s already well-satisfied cock and he writhed with self-disgust. God, how deep does this sickness go, Harris? And then he realized. He hadn’t even thought of protection. Yeah, he couldn’t give the disease to a vampire, but had he even thought about that? Had Spike’s well-being, his friend whom he loved’s, well-being even occurred to him? If he weren’t a vampire would he have just gone ahead anyway? Taken his pleasure, and everyone else can go to hell? Xander lay in the dark stoking the fire of his own self-hatred. I didn’t deserve this, he told himself angrily. Even this one night, even though I burned all over just wanting his arm over my shoulders, that smile again. Even so, I didn’t deserve it. I never have. I never even asked him how he’s been, he realized, gleefully finding more and more to despise about himself. Hey Spike, haven’t seen you in five years, hey guy just lay back and let me fuck your mouth, there’s a good vampire. And his mind now created a Spike who lay on the bed next to him, not immobile with obedient fear but with affronted outrage. Xander’s mind clenched down around itself, and he allowed the fear that drove the self-loathing to take over.

The room remained utterly silent. Xander could hear nothing but his own harsh breathing. He desperately tried to still himself, to stop his shaking and get a grip. He could still taste the stale alcohol in his mouth and, achingly, the taste of Spike. The air moved slightly over his naked torso and he shivered again violently, longing to pull blankets over himself, longing for some kind of comfort. He heard a stifled noise behind him and tensed, both fearing and craving contact. But nothing more happened and Xander stared into the darkness, at an impasse.

After some time, Xander steeled himself and rolled over. There was a conversation that needed to be had between he and Spike. A conversation so long in coming. “Spike,” he whispered, his voice shaking.

Spike lay apparently asleep. Lying there like a corpse which he was. Spike looked so utterly young and vulnerable, his face turned slightly away from Xander, a sliver of moonlight across one arched brow. His sooty lashes lying still on ethereal skin. “An immortal,” Xander whispered to himself. Awed and amazed that just a moment ago he had been allowed to touch, more like grab and bruise, you bastard, this beautiful creature. He saw the way the moonlight glinted on Spike’s high cheekbones and realized that his face was wet with tears. I made him cry, Xander said to himself. And the thought made him want to cry as well. He felt like he had the first time his father had made him shoot a rabbit. Afterwards running his hand over the impossibly soft fur, hiding the ache of tears in his throat, trying to be as emotionless as his father. He felt like he had the first time he had staked a vampire. Like he had the first time he had flown into a rage and struck a girl. Like a dirty, filthy man who broke beautiful things. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t because he was a dirty, filthy bastard who didn’t deserve this. He was an asshole who used people and walked away and left them to deal, he told himself brutally. He didn’t deserve any of this, he reminded himself angrily. Not the sex, not to lie here with Spike, not to touch, not to share soft words in the dark. Xander rose shakily and carefully from the bed so as not to disturb Spike, gathered his clothes and slunk from the room.

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