pairing: s/x
rating: R for language and light humping
disclaimer: obviously not mine. i wish. actually i do, you too. you do wish it too.
a/n: estepheia's challenge "60 minutes" inspired this. thanx girl.
ladycat inspired the posting of this. thanx girl.



The hardware store is five minutes away. Is that five minutes before the hour starts or five minutes after? Xander frowned. Chains. I need chains. Also a saw. No. No saw. Chains.

“I hate you.”

“You’ve said that before, love.”

“I hate you.”

“Say it again. Hate sounds so dashing when you say it, mate.”


“You’re a feeble wanker, y’know.”

“I really hate you.”

“Ooh. Extra syllables. Two. You get an extra cookie.”

“I really fucking hate you.”

“And adult language.”

“This isn’t going to happen.”

“Wot? You say that like I’m looking for something to happen. ‘M not.”

“You're beavering me. Badgering.” Shut up. “Shut up. Don’t look at me like that you know what I meant.”

“You want me to beaver you, ‘s at it, ducks?”

“Yeah. Beaver me.”

“Fine. I’ll be your sodding beaver. Badger. Tree branch. Whipping post. Whatever. For one hour.”

“I hate you.”

“So you say. Prove it. Get it out. Maybe then we can both bugger off.”

Chains won’t do. Need. Paint. Turpentine. No. Bleach. He’d like that. Nylon rope? Nylon rope. Padlocks. Nylon rope and padlocks and posts. Fence posts? Too dirty. Bed posts. Xander winced. Too dirty.

I really think about sex a lot. And I’ve actually had it. Xander whimpered, eyes wide. I’ve had sex. I really have. I almost forgot about that.

Bedposts. Nylon rope, padlocks and bedposts.

“Look. Go, Colonist. Get what you need. Whatever will make you happy. When this is done, it’s the cadence to our conflict, understand?”


“Bugger all. The end, as in, the end of a musical phrase. The closing note. When this is done, this conflict is done, yeah?”


“Like sands through the bleeding hourglass…”

“I dish it, you take it?” Nod. “I say it, you do it?” Nod. “For the small price of tolerating you as if the blood between us were not bad?” Nod. “I’ll be back then.”

I’ll have sex tonight. That’s what I’ll do. He’s had sex with my girls, I’ll have sex with him. Somewhere my logic pie isn’t quite baked. Sex with my girls equals the crime. Sex with Spike equals the payback. Xander gripped the steering wheel.

Yes. Sex with Spike equals payback. Hmm. Good logic pie.

“Back so soon? Shall we?”

“I’ll go with, ‘what is “yes,” Alex’.”

“What do you want…”

“No talking. None of the talking. None of the speaking. None of the communication of any kind. Understand?”

Spike stared at him, still as stillness and neither nodded nor blinked nor spoke.

“You have your moments, don’t’cha Spike?”

Spike stared at him again.

“Xander says… Uhm, get on all fours.”

Spike moved onto the ground, back a straight line, hands on the ground, but his weight on his haunches.

“Xander says… Bark like a dog.”

Spike drew breath. “Raulf! Raulf!”

“Xander says… Uhm. I mean, bark again.”

Spike drew more breath, waited. “Ruuf! Ruuf!”

“Bark sexier, Spike. Like a good…” Did my voice just catch? “…dog.”

Spike breathed in, sharp… Did his voice just catch? …and barked, low, vampire growl snuck in underneath the sharp, phony sounds his vocal chords shook out.

“Good dog.” Oh god. “Good dog.”

He’s a right sick bastard, this one. No wonder…

“No thinking, Spike. Don’t fucking think. You’re just here to…” To what, Harris? What are you gonna make him do? “…suffer.”


“Yes, Anya?”

“Do you love me?”



“It’s a fancy human word, Anya. I don’t know what it means.”

“Oh, say it again.”

“In. De. Faggot. Ably.”

“That’s not what you said before, Xander. You have dyslexia.”

“Dyslexia is reading. Indefatigably. That’s what I said.”

“Yes, but it’s not what you said just then.”

“I do stutter sometimes. You do… never. Okay.”

“It must have been one of those Fraudulent blips.”


“It’s from psychology, which I don’t care much for despite all the cigars and stamens. Fraudulent blip, when you say what you mean but not what you mean to say.”

“What did I say?”

“You said, ‘In the faggot happily’.”

“Did I say that?”

“Xander, what’s a faggot? Why would you happily be in one?”

“A faggot is like Willow and Tara, but a boy.”

“You’re gay?”


She fucked you. We said marry and love and all that stuff you’re supposed to say. She fucked me for two years. Then I make one stupid Freudian slip and…

A tear welled up, Spike smelled, knew the time. Time poured away like sands through the hourglass.  

…And I knew it wasn’t some slip, and I couldn’t go through with it, and…

Spike heard a sniffle behind where he knelt on the floor.  

…And you couldn’t forgive me, and I tried to come back and you…

Spike heard knees hit the floor immediately behind him. His eyes lit at the possibility of some good old fashioned buggery…

“And you fucked her and not me.”

And Spike felt the hardness pressed into the cleft down the center of the bottom of him. He felt the warmth through two layers of denim and his own thick hide. He felt the body lean over him, the face pressed into his back. He felt the sobs and he wanted to turn. Wanted to break the conditions of the game. He felt the sobs on his back and the arms slide around his hip. He felt the hardness pressed into him and he felt the arms around his hips find the hardness stiff in the front of him.
Time poured away and Spike heard the cries… “Not me, not me, notme,notme,not…” trail off into nothing.

“I look at you and I feel sick. Because you had sex with that.”  

But Xander looked at Spike and sort of at himself though he was in himself and could only see this one looking at the ground and then the stake in his heart

“It’s good enough for Buffy.” Not much more than whispering, whispering to Xander to make it better for this one, but not for that one and not for Xander.

“Shut up and leave her out of…” That’s what he sounded like yelling. Yelling because he fucked her and not Xander.

“Buffy?” This one had to ask. To know if it was real. Had to swap notes if it was.

“Xander…” That one had to apologize, but could only say Xander’s name.

“I don’t want to know this…” The stake in his hand dropped; the stake in his heart stayed. “I don’t want to know any of this…”  

He rounds the corner before the tears fall and I don’t know when my life got like this. I don’t know when I stopped wanting to know what I know. I know so much. Then I say the wrong thing and I don’t know anything. And I don’t want…

They crouched there like that. Xander’s weight on top of Spike, Spike pliant, the good dog, under him. Spike knew the time. Could feel it in his bones. In his skin.

Spike heard a small moan. Felt Xander squeeze harder around his hips. Spike bit his own lip to stop his moan. Spike knew the time. Knew it had come. Knew it like Xander wiped his nose on the back of Spike’s shirt. Kept it inside, kept it in his own clothes. But evidence of Xander was still on him. His arms were sore. His legs were sore. Xander released him, rolled back instead of standing.

The bell in Spike’s head went off. Should I stay or should I go? London ain’t ‘sactly callin ’these bloody days, is it?

He stretched into a push up, and rolled one-armed, onto his side, crossed his leg. Looked back at the mess that was Xander. The smells that came off the boy the man.

Xander looked away from the stain that soaked through the front of his jeans long enough to make eye contact with Spike. He knew the time was done. Knew he’d cried on Spike’s back, humped him so slow it barely felt like more than walking, for most of the hour. Spike’s face perforated his self-pity, split it in half by a convenient line of dots, ready to be folded, creased, torn through.


Spike made no move. His face was stone, but something in his eyes warmed Xander.

“You know what I was talking about?”

Spike nodded.

“It would never be me. It never was. It would never be.” Spike made no movement. “Would it?”

A slow smile stretched across Spike’s face.  

“Why are you smiling?”

“How’s you social calender for the evening?”

“What you mean after the ritual immolation and sullied wardrobe burning?”

“Look, he’s still got the funny, lil bits.”

“So, what then?”

“How about another hour?”

Xander cocked an eyebrow, then the other; he was basically agape.

“What? D’you think I’m that bloody daft I don’t know self-blame and punishment when I see it?”

Xander coughed. Felt the tears start to…

“Shut up.” Spike barked. Spike straddled Xander’s legs at length, cupped Xander’s head in his hands. “Look. Another hour, right? One where you really take it out on me. Whatever it is, tell me. Let me be guilty, you know I prolly am anyway.”

Xander laughed soft, sniffled. Spike pulled up the front of his shirt and wiped Xander’s nose with it.

“You bring out me motherly side.”

“It could be me, maybe? Huh?”

Spike winked. “I don’t know what all this ‘could be me’ stuff adds up to. It’s all I’ve heard you say, silly wanker. Come on, buy me a round down the Bronze, right? We’ll talk it out there in a cozy corner or something.”


“And I’m not bleeding barking for you, ever, ever again.”

The End

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