No Price Too High?


Not resisting the nudge that pushed him over onto his side, Xander thought that right about now, Spike would be being wheeled into the operating room. He knew they had had to work very hard on the anaesthetic to ensure that he stayed under throughout the operation and for a period of time afterwards. It was in their best interests – no one wanted him snapping back to consciousness just as the chip was removed and obeying his baser instincts.

He hissed in mild discomfort as his legs were tugged apart and wondered whether Spike was worried about them shaving his hair off. He'd cut it recently – Xander had sat in the bathroom, fascinated by his actions as he cut his hair over the sink, staring into the mirror at nothing. He'd done a pretty good job too although that wasn't a surprise since he'd had over 100 years practice. For a moment, just a moment, he was dragged back into his own body as he struggled to adjust to the invasion – only fingers for now, but uncomfortable nevertheless. Spike normally distracted him – talked dirty to him in that guttersnipe English accent, stroked his cock so that it stayed rock hard and leaking all the while his fingers were twisting and scissoring, opening Xander up for a bigger invasion.

They should have opened Spike up by now – be rummaging around in that amazing brain that constantly shocked Xander with the things Spike came out with. Their conversations while wrapped together in bed ranged from the latest soaps, sci fi, the things Spike had witnessed since his change in Victorian times to now. Xander loved to listen to him talk especially when he forgot the accent and spoke in that soft, warm voice that wrapped around Xander in twisting, winding tones until sometimes he felt like a kid being held tight and safe, being told a bedtime story.

He grunted, jerking his head away from the biting kisses that were being laid down his nape, anxious that there be no marks. That was part of the agreement – no external marks, nothing permanent – just the use of his body. He knew more was wanted – his participation. The sounds he made, grunts, groans and moans, entreaties for more, and yes, and harder. But he had been completely honest – had told him that there was just no way that was going to happen. He wouldn't resist – he had agreed after all – but he wasn't going to participate. He wasn't going to betray the most important relationship in his entire life by even for a minuscule infinitesimal moment in time allowing his body to respond. Strangely – considering the practised strokes to his prostate, the warmth of the body coming to lie on top of him – he felt nothing. No, not nothing. Indifference. That was the right word. His mind wasn't here with his body. His mind was with Spike. Spike who right at this moment in time lay beneath the skilled hands of the very same doctors who had inserted the chip who were now charged with removing it. Part of him wondered if he was making a mistake, whether he would be double crossed, but he had to trust in some of what he knew about him - that he hadn't been completely wrong. And the promises he had made if there was a double cross – promises that threatened things to make Angelus proud – he knew they held some sway.

A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table and he knew, all being well, they were carefully tweaking and pulling the chip out now. Large, warm hands on his hips tugged him up onto his hands and knees, and he was loathe to pull his face out of the pillow. But true to his word, he co-operated, bracing himself, stopping the instinctive jerk forward as hot flesh was pressed against him. He registered latex – a new experience as he and Spike had no need of it – then a grunt escaped as he was penetrated in one, long thrust. He set his balance, slipping down so that his forehead was resting against his folded arms, and allowed his body to be moved back and forth in a familiar rhythm with an unfamiliar partner. No pain, no discomfort – he had prepared his body beforehand, and despite knowing this, more effort had been put into stretching and lubing him so that there was no pain.

How much of Spike's head would they have to shave?? How quickly would it grow back? He kept meaning to ask Spike how come if he was dead that his hair and nails continued to grow, but whenever he got close to Spike questions like that were the last thing on his mind. No, when he was that close to Spike all he could think about was throwing him onto the nearest flat surface, taking that glorious, cool stalk of flesh between his lips and sucking hard, hollowing his cheeks and looking up the expanse of smooth white skin. He loved the feel of Spike's hand in his hair, holding him, stroking him, before cupping his ears and fucking his mouth. Loved it. Spike knew that – often laughed while he did it until Xander lapped and nibbled at that spot just beneath the head that always messed with Spike's rhythm, threw him off as he reacted to the extra stimulus.

A particularly hard thrust shoved him up the bed before a large, hot body was pressed against him; hands reaching down his arms and pulling them from their folded position so that their fingers could entwine. A hot, sweaty face pressed against the side of his neck, lips tracing the line of his throat as fingers clenched around his and the thrusting sped up. The slap slap of flesh hitting flesh was loud in the room but strangely it didn't feel like it had anything to do with him. Gasps in his ear, moans as the kisses against his neck became sloppy, and turning away he caught another glimpse at the clock. It wasn't meant to last long – open him up, take it out, close him up, then stand back and let the demon come to. Packets of blood warmed and left where it could be seen to satisfy any thirst, heal what needed to be healed. Surely it was over by now?

Eyes riveted to the clock, watching the second hand whipping round, counting off the seconds until they turned into minutes. The sound of a text arriving – the agreed signal that the operation was over – and he was being buffeted with strong, heavy thrusts. A hand in his hair jerked his head back and he closed his eyes, not wanting to see the person behind him, acknowledge his existence. How strange to have someone take possession of his body while ignoring their presence. Who knew he could disassociate that well? Harsh, loud groans and then a thrust that knocked him forward. Uncomfortably full, suddenly aware of hips pressed against his ass, the feel of a hot cock jerking inside him, spitting out warm come. Strange. Unwelcome. Spike's was lukewarm at his hottest so the feel of heat inside him was uncomfortable, disturbing. Deliberately putting those thoughts into the appropriate box in his head, he didn't resist despite the painful arch of his neck, the grip on his hips that threatened some bruising. Not a problem – Spike almost always left marks so a few more like that wouldn't cause comment. An exhalation then the body slumped on top of him, pushing him onto the bed and pinning him in place. He lay there, waiting patiently.

Another groan, then the body on top of him shifted and withdrew, the sounds of a condom being removed and tied off before the bed bounced as he got up and walked to the bathroom, no doubt to dispose of the evidence. Xander lay where he was left, legs splayed across the bed, head resting against his arms once more. The soft touch of a wet cloth between the cheeks of his ass, then he was being rolled over.

“I brought this to clean you off but – you didn't......” He shook his head. He had said. There was zero interest inside him – how could he respond sexually in this situation, with this person? No – there was no need for a washcloth. “Xander - “

“Can you check the message – make sure everything went alright?” A stunted nod, then he strode across the room to the table where his cell phone lay. He pressed various buttons, then was obviously reading.

“Everything went according to plan.”

“Did they check that it worked?”

“Yes. Allowed him to slap a technician while he was half out of it and zero response so they got everything out.”

“Good. Good.”

“Xander - “

“Can I go now? I mean, have they let him out?”

“I – yes, they sent the message to say he came round and is being released. As agreed, he's being dropped back at your apartment – or rather, the sewer access close to your apartment.”

“Good. Excellent. Can I have a shower? I mean – that was it, right?” A nod and he climbed off the bed, legs a little wobbly but nothing he wasn't used to. “I'll be out of here in ten. When are you leaving?”

“All units are being pulled out by 16.30. Xander, look, I - “

“Did you get the shower gel I asked for? The special one?”

“Yes. Look, will you let me - “

“Thank you.” Ignoring the pleading look that was being sent his way, Xander walked into the bathroom and got into the shower. As requested, the overly fruity shower gel was there and setting the water as hot as he could stand it, he lathered himself all over. Spike couldn't stand the smell of it – said it messed with his senses, made it impossible to smell Xander underneath all that fake fruit – which was why he had requested it. He would tell Spike it was a mistake at the gym – Spike would probably give him that indulgent look, then take him off to the bathroom and scrub him clean with the shower gel Willow made just for them. The one made with those weird herbs that smelled really good to Spike and pretty much always led to some hot shower action.

He scrubbed harder, smiling sadly to himself. Not long now. Rinsing everything off, he climbed out of the shower and towelled himself dry roughly. His clothes were in a neat pile and he dressed quickly, wincing only slightly as he dragged his jeans on. He was moving faster and faster, his body outpacing his brain as he struggled to maintain his disassociated state. He didn't want to think or feel – he just wanted to get back to his apartment. To Spike. Leaving the bathroom he headed straight for the door.

“XANDER!! I – It was a mistake, I'm sorry!! Please – I just – you never look at me! It's like he's the only thing you see and I wanted you to know there were other options – that you didn't need to accept him because - “

“Goodbye. Thanks for fixing Spike. I hope I never see you again.” He shut the door quietly behind him, not looking at him even once from the time he'd arrived to the time he left. The journey home was silent, his mind automatically directing and guiding his motions. His parking space was empty and he managed to avoid the worst of the rain as he ran to the lobby of his building. Waiting by the lift, mind scattered, he jumped as arms wrapped around him from behind.

“XAN! They did it – it's gone! I stepped on so many feet getting back here and not even a twinge!! Oh, Pet, you have NO idea how much this means to me!!!”

Joining Spike in the elevator, Xander said nothing, merely soaking up the joy of being back in his presence. Excited chatter led to kissing, which led to groping which led to their normal struggle to the door of the apartment as they refused to release each other long enough to open the door and get inside without giving the neighbours yet another show.

“God, you've used that ruddy fruity shower shit again – I've told ya, don't care how desperate you are – washing up liquid smells better than that stuff!”

The scent of the fruity shower shit didn't seem to put Spike off, and Xander allowed himself to be dragged to the bedroom, throwing himself wholeheartedly into their embrace as he worked to either empty that box in his mind or shove it as far back as humanly possible and hope never to see it again.

Spike took his tears afterwards as relief at the end of the chip or Xander merely being overwrought by sex with a demon that didn't have to hold back any more. And Xander let him think that because it was safer and easier all round, firmly pushing the lid down onto the box in his mind and shoving it as far away as he could. That was an end to it.


He waited. Daft really. You'd think they'd know better than to live somewhere that wasn't officially an individual's residence – no permission to enter required. Mind you, the military had proven time and time again to be pretty stupid. Tracking down where they had gone after being deployed had been pretty easy – just a case of listening in on Buffy and Willow discuss how far away they had moved, and how hard it was to get to see him. Funny how that talk had trailed off and now they didn't mention him at all.

The door opened and he looked up into that hated face and he knew for sure. Everything he had suspected – the sudden agreement to remove the chip out of nowhere, the lack of fond farewell, Xander's sudden need to be taken over and over again, reassured that he belonged to Spike – only to Spike. He knew.

A huge waft of fear pleased his senses as the corn-fed bastard went pale and staggered back. “Spi - “

Blood had never tasted so good.

The End