Disclaimer: Don't own em'. No copyright infringement is intended. I wrote this for fun, not profit.
Warnings: Mild violence, language, fluff, etc.
AN: Possible spoilers for all seasons of BtVS and AtS. Written for fall_for_sx.
Summary: Spike and Xander talk (and more) after a successful hunt.
"Nothing is wrong with me, Spike." Xander looked down at the shirt and jeans he was wearing. Sighed. He and the blond vampire had just finished killing a very large, very angry Ymick demon -- its dark blue blood had splashed onto his t-shirt, his pants, his sneakers...
There was suddenly a hand against his forehead, fingers running through his hair. "Spike!" shouted Xander. He jerked away; stepped out of the vampire's reach and scowled. "I said nothing is wrong. Geez. Lay off, already."
For a brief moment, Spike just eyed him. They both stood in the alley between a tiny Italian restaurant (Xander thought the fettuccine alfredo there was to die for) and a pawn shop and stared at each other. Silent. Unmoving. Then, abruptly, the blond shrugged; reached into his duster's right pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and his Zippo.
"Fine, whelp." He lit one cigarette, stuck it in his mouth -- put the pack and lighter away. "Nothing's wrong. Got it."
Surprised at the lack of argument, Xander frowned. Nodded. "Okay. Yeah. Good." He spun around to inspect the remains of the Ymick demon. The puddle of blue blood was spreading; the body was already caving in on itself, shriveling, decaying.
Spike said the body would do that, he thought. That it would... A gruesome thought hit him and cold fear slivered up his spine. "Its blood isn't, like, acid or something. Is it? It's not going to soak through my clothes and..." He trailed off, swallowed thickly.
"Naw," said Spike. He stepped around Xander and picked up the axe that he'd dropped by the trash bin when the demon-of-the-week had attacked them. "You'll be...fine." He smirked, flashing fang, and swung the weapon up so it rested on his shoulder.
Xander rolled his eyes. Two and half months had gone by since Buffy and the New Council had ordered him to Los Angeles. (The Council and the Slayer had insisted this order spawned from the need to have someone capable and willing to report back to them about Angel and Spike and any End of the World disasters they would no doubt get themselves involved in eventually...again). And for that entire two and a half months, from the moment Xander had showed up at the revived Angel Investigations' doorway, both vampires had been strangely...protective of him.
Xander was almost positive that their over-protectiveness was due to the fact that Buffy had been the one to order him to L.A. -- he assumed that the vampire duo wanted word of their good behavior to get back to their favorite Slayer.
"You know," said Xander as he stomped his sneakers against the asphalt in an attempt to rid them of gunk, "I haven't talked to Buffy in weeks. And I've been here for awhile now...so I'm pretty sure that she and the Council won't be checking in as often..." He trailed off, sure that the platinum haired vampire would fill in the blanks for himself.
Spike frowned at him. "What?" he asked after a moment. "What are you on about, whelp?" A pause. "Sure you didn't...?" He reached out, doubtlessly planning to comb his fingers through Xander's hair again in search of injury.
Xander let out what sounded embarrassingly like a yelp; shoved at the blond. The vampire didn't stumble, didn't budge at the force of the push. But he did pull his hand away. Lowered his arm.
"Are you not listening to me? Buffy. I said Buffy probably won't be talking to me as often. So you can lay off, cease, stop it already." It was his turn to pause for a moment. Then, "Okay?"
Spike's frown hadn't disappeared. He stared at Xander for a beat. Then, slowly, shook his head. "Buffy... I don't understand. What are you saying, pet?"
Xander pursed his lips, considered protesting Spike's latest nickname for him. Instead, he took a deep breath. "I'm saying the Council -- and Buffy -- probably won't be calling all that often anymore so you can drop this uber protective thing. Please. Drop it. Thank you."
Spike pulled the cigarette from his mouth; let it fall to the ground then stepped on it, ground at it with the heel of his boot. "What the hell are you on about? I haven't been protective-"
He stopped when Xander glared. "Fine. But what the bloody hell does the Slayer have to do with anything?"
Xander shrugged. "You know. I won't be reporting to her about you guys that often anymore so you don't have to be on your best -- and completely and obviously fake by the way -- behavior. Now, if you decide to go all fangy on me one day and eat me or something I'll-"
"What?" asked Spike, cutting him off mid rant. He looked upset and amused all at once. "You think I... Well, yeah, I can see why. You were always a little off."
Xander frowned at the vampire. Bristled with anger. "Wha-"
But before he could finish the blond was moving closer. He thrust out his arm (the one not balancing an axe on his shoulder); got a firm grip on Xander's shoulder and forced him back until he was flush against the brick wall. Until the vampire was crowding him, hovering.
And then the blond leaned in, brushed cold lips against Xander's warm ones. Pulled back a little only to lean in again a moment later and kiss him firmly on the cheek.
"I don't know about Angel -- prob'ly has something to do with his buxom Slayer, yeah. And his natural tendency to be a do gooder." He didn't move away as he spoke; his lips continued to brush Xander's skin as they moved. "But I haven't been protecting you, partnering with you, doing everything I've done with you and for you because of Buffy, pet."
Feeling dazed, Xander blinked. "Oh," he said. Yet another pause and then, "Well. You still have to stop the overprotective thing."
Spike opened his mouth as if to reply; to argue maybe or make some sarcastic remark. Before any snarky words could escape the vampire's mouth, however, Xander reached out -- wrapped his arms tight around the blond's waist before moving forward and kissing him. Hard.
"That's not gonna' happen, pet," said Spike when they -- well, Xander -- came up for air. The hand that had pushed him back was gripping at the back of his neck; grasping at him posessively.
"Yeah," said Xander. "I know. I guess...that's okay."
And it was.