My Sweet Prince


by
Pirate Purple



Part Six

I was hard. Really, really hard. Spike hadn’t even touched me – well, you know, there, and I already ached. My brain was singing the Hallelujah Chorus. Little Xander had been in hibernation for months. I wanted to tell Spike, but all that would come out were these little hungry sounds.

Apparently, however, words were unnecessary. Spike picked me up and practically threw me onto the bed. I lay there, watching him strip out of his jeans. If I were honest with myself, I’d say that I had noticed that Spike was hot pretty much from the first time I laid eyes on him. But I had only seen him naked once before, and he had a sheet then.

“Daaamn…” He kicked his jeans off, and smirked at me.

“Like what you see, pet?” He put a hand across his stomach, and ever so slowly it drifted up, until he was playing with his nipple.

Watching Spike touch himself is an aerobic activity, did you know that? I couldn’t answer him. I was panting for breath, my cock weeping clear fluid, and my balls drawing up. If he didn’t touch me soon, I was going to come without his help.

He seemed to get that, because he knelt between my legs, and just breathed, his lips millimeters from the tip of my cock. “Oh, gods, Spike, please!” I gasped, squirming a little bit. I leaned up on my elbows. Looking was probably going to make me come in half a nanosecond, but I couldn’t not look.

Spike grinned, looking up at me through his eyelashes. The tip of his tongue peeked out from his lips, and my cock jumped in anticipation. He touched it to the wetness pooled at the tip. Another grin, and a flash of golden eyes, and I was coming. I fell back onto the bed, moaning. “Fuck, Spike…”

“I was thinking more the other way around, actually.” Spike said, amused. I moaned again.

“You’re going to kill me." I spread my legs, gasping a little as a cool, wet finger slid over the flesh behind my balls. I groaned as he entered me, one slow, careful finger at a time. For the shortest possible amount of time I wondered at his gentleness, but then his fingers slid over my prostate, wiping all thought from my mind.

He soon pulled his fingers from me, and was pressing in, so slowly, and I was getting hard again, and it was too soon, and it ached, but it felt so good. “Oh baby, fuck me,” I looked up at Spike through my lashes, and bit my lip. His turn to groan.

“Yeah, gonna fuck you, gonna make you beg for it, gonna make you feel so good, Xander.”

Xander. Huh. I was pretty sure he’d never called me that before. It made my cock throb. He continued whispering filthy beautiful things in my ear, and fucking me slowly until I was arching up into each thrust desperately and whimpering.

“Let me hear you beg for it, Xander,” he purred. “Tell me how much you want me to fuck you. Tell me you like my cock inside you.”

“Gods, Spike, please…” I practically sobbed, and he changed the angle of his thrusts, hitting my prostate over and over. I grabbed the headboard and used it for leverage, thrusting back for all I was worth. A cool hand wrapped itself around my overheated flesh as Spike snarled, demon-faced, and came. I was only seconds behind.

Spike used a sheet to wipe us both off. He spread himself out along my left side, and we just lay there, both of us just breathing, until his tapered off.

“They didn’t tell me Khallia was an aphrodisiac, you know.” Spike looked ashamed.

“Do you regret it?” I asked, cringing a little.

“I don’t bloody think so!” he said, and I relaxed a little. “I just didn’t want you to think I took advantage of you.”

I laughed. “Spike, if anything, it was the other way around.” I pulled the comforter around us, and pulled him close, and we slept.





Part Seven

I woke some time later to a familiar hunger, and the sound of Spike breathing in his sleep. Sometimes that meant nightmares, especially after the Initiative, but Spike seemed peaceful. I just watched him sleep for several minutes, matching my breathing to his and watching the play of moonlight across his features. Then I got up and closed the shades on my way to the bathroom. I didn’t turn on the lights.

When I came back to bed, Spike was awake. He had turned on a dim lamp beside the bed. “You closed the drapes.”

I had intended to get back into bed, but felt awkward now. “Um yeah, you know, vamp dust is bad for my allergies. Though I hear you can snort it.” I started to shiver. It was cold outside the blankets.

Spike grinned at the joke, but didn’t say anything for several moments. He just looked at me, standing naked in the dark room, and I wondered how we had gotten here. Then my teeth started to chatter. “You bloody fool! Get back in bed before you catch your death!”

I obeyed, getting under the covers, but not touching Spike. “Spike…” I began, trailing off when the words wouldn’t come.

Spike’s eyes went flat, and he got out of bed and pulled on his jeans. “Look, Xander, I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t bloody well want to do. I get that I shouldn’t have done it while you were high, but I'm not a fucking saint!”

It hadn’t even occurred to me that Spike didn’t have the perfect right to fuck me. I was flustered by his response, but I got that he was leaving, and I knew I didn’t want that. I grabbed his hand, turned the palm toward my face and pressed my cheek to it. “Please, Spike, don’t go,” I whispered. Internally I cringed at how needy that sounded. A tear rolled down my cheek. Gods, being high would be so much better than this right now.

Spike froze at the feeling of my tear rolling over his palm. He closed his hand around it, but squatted down in front of me, wiping it from my cheek with his knuckles. He sighed deeply. “What do you want from me, Xander?” he said quietly, rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth across my cheekbone.

“It’s just…” I stumbled, trying to make the words come. “All that time I was in Africa, I thought you were dead. Buffy said she saw you die. And I felt so bad for being such a shit to you. I never really gave you a chance. And you died to save us all anyway.” I clamped down hard on the babble I felt coming. “I guess I was just wondering why you were here, instead of reaping your rewards somewhere that souled vampires who save the world go. And why you didn’t come looking for Buffy, or tell any of us you were alive.” My throat closed up a little, and my voice got rough. “I would have been glad to know you were alive.”





Part Eight

Spike actually fell backwards a little, until he was sitting, instead of crouching. He stared at me.

“What?” I asked, defensively. Oh, I know he’s going to laugh at me. Xander the lackbrain getting emotionally attached to the vampire. Joke of the freaking century.

The tears were a surprise. His eyes welled up. “Don’t you just say the damnedest things,” he whispered.

We sat there, awkwardly, both of us near tears and neither wanting to cry in front of the other. I had to say something to break the silence, but the only words that would form were something I had no intention of saying to Spike ever. I was leaving in the morning, going back to my princes in Mozambique.

It came out anyway. “Can I stay?”

Spike looked at me, weighing something in my features, and I could see something fragile in his eyes. He looked down before I could quantify it. “Yeah,” he said, taking my hand and pulling himself up and into the bed. We lay there for a while, all the things we couldn’t say between us, both of us too broken to bridge the distance.

When I woke the next morning, Spike’s forehead was pressed against my collarbone, and my arms were around him. My veins burned, and it nauseated me to breathe. I moaned and Spike was instantly awake. I curled into a ball as soon as he pulled away enough to allow it. I heard him swear softly, and rummage through the stuff around the bed before there was a familiar piercing of my skin. I blessed him in six languages for the warm bliss that followed the puncture. Waves of pleasure rolled out from that tiny pinprick on my arm, and I smiled.

Spike grinned back.





Part Nine

We went on like that for a while. Spike learned to know when I’d need a fix before I knew, and I was comfortable. I learned to talk to the Scoobies while high, without letting them know. They didn’t understand why I was staying with Spike, but they learned to deal. Spike and I had sex, tentatively at first, each of us afraid to touch the other, but more frequently as we learned to touch without flinching.

I was happy, in a way. I gained some weight back. The Khallia wasn’t as hard on my stomach as the morphine. We went out clubbing a bit, and sometimes patrolling, but only when some demon was trying to hone in on Spike’s territory. I taught Spike all the Ndebele and Tswana I had learned in Africa, he tried to teach me Fyarl. We spoke bad French at each other.

So it came as a surprise when Spike came home one day and sat beside me on the bed where I was reading, and said, “Pet, we have to talk.”

This is where he tells me to get gone. I knew it was too good to be true. “Sure, Spike. What’s up?”

“I was reading up on the effects of Khallia in humans, Xander. This shit is going to slowly shut your body down. We need to get you off the stuff.”

Oh, was that all. “Okay Spike. I'm sure I can find a morphine supplier out there in the big city somewhere” I smiled at him.

He did not smile back. A small frown creased his features. “I'm not sure that’s such a good idea, pet. We can wean you off the Khallia, then maybe you should give your body a break for a while, yeah?” He took my hand and rubbed his thumb across my knuckles.

I pulled my hand back. “Why, Spike? I'm better off dead than sober. Sober means nightmares and bad feelings and memories I don’t want to deal with alone.” I started to get up.

“Xander, you’re not alone. I'm not gonna kick you out once you’re sober. Said you could stay, and I meant it.” He caught my arm and pulled me down into his lap, manhandling me until I leaned back against him. “Whatever it is you’re not talkin’ about, Xan, you can tell me. I won’t leave. I don’t make promises unless I intend to keep them, pet. You can trust me, yeah?”

The tears well up in my eyes as I think about the last promise Spike made, and the terrible summer when he kept it.

“Her name was Tshepiso, meaning promise. She embodied that word in every possible way. She was 14 when I found her, newly called to her powers, and had just been married. She opted to stay and protect her people, rather than go to England. Her husband wouldn’t let me train her, and I was run out of the village practically on a rail.”

“Still, I came back through the area a few weeks later and went to check on her.” The words that had come out in a torrent were stopped on a sob as her face came clear in my mind. “No-one would even acknowledge she had existed. I searched the village for her, and the surrounding countryside. I found her at sunset. ” Spike’s arms tightened around me as the words got caught in my throat. “They had tied her – arms over her head – to a tree near where the hyenas were sleeping, and then made cuts in her legs. The hyenas had stripped her flesh as high up as they could reach. The vesper birds were perched on her, singing.” I pressed my hands to my face as several more sobs choked their way out. “They had given her some sort of herb, I think, to keep her from bleeding out, because she was still breathing when I got there.”

“I got her down, and drove straight to the nearest hospital, which was 24 hours away at top speed. Still, she hung on until we got there. But the infection and fever took her a few days later. She was begging to die, by that point, Spike. She died because of me. Because of the spell that Willow cast. I don’t deserve to live, Spike, and I'm not brave enough to die quickly. So the drugs are going to have to do it.”

“Shh… pet, what did I say about dyin’ on my watch. Not gonna happen.” Spike stroked my hair, pulling it back from my face. “We’re gonna get through this, just like we got through everything else, yeah?”

I just lay limp in his arms. I wasn’t so sure.





Part Ten

I lay there, contemplating sobriety with a feeling of cold dread. Harris family men weren’t meant to be sober anyway. This was all going to be a huge mistake.

“Spike…”

“What, pet?” Spike was cradling my head in his hand – I could feel my pulse beat against the base of his thumb. It was hot in the bedroom. The vesper twilight was muggy. I could feel each of Spike’s cooler fingers against my scalp.

I really didn’t want him to let go.

“Nothing. Lost my train of thought.”

“You sure, Xander?”

“Yeah… yeah. I'm just a little high still is all.”

“ ‘Kay.”

I should get up. We’ve gone way past a manly amount of cuddling. Instead I curl into him, and he lets me, pulling me closer so I can bury my face in his neck and smell the sandalwood soap he bought from a street vendor. He hums something off-key and we sit like that, with his right hand stroking my left shoulder, for over an hour.

For eternally-babbling me, and someone who used to be the poster child for vampiric ADHD, we have a lot of silence like this. We both crave it, simple touch. Yeah, sometimes it becomes sexual, we’re guys. Today it doesn’t though, as my rumbling stomach breaks the mood.

“Didja eat while I was gone today?”

“No, I was…” I stop myself from saying high, because I know that will make him frown. “I was reading.”

“Well, let’s get something in you, now. What do you want?”

“Something cool… ice cream?” I'm ever hopeful.

“Real food, git. Got leftover Chinese, could make some pasta, Got cheese and bread, could have a grilled cheese?”

Spike makes really good grilled cheese. “Ooh, that, please!”

Spike smiles at me again. I had been waiting for that. I smile back. I look away when tears prick my eyes. I'm gonna let him down.


Spike puts a plate in front of me, interrupting my reverie. “What’s up, Xan?”

Xan? A slow grin spreads across my face. I have a pet name! “Nothin’. Just thinkin’” Oh, yum, crispy bread and melty cheese.

“About what, git!”

I swallow and raise my eyebrow. “About what I'm going to do to you when I'm done with this sandwich.” I take another bite.

Spike swallows his blood, distractedly missing the counter several times as he tries to put his mug down. I openly stare at his zipper, and he adjusts himself.

“Right. I’ll be… ah… brushing my teeth, then.”

When I hear the click of the bathroom door shutting, I do a little in-chair snoopy dance. That’s the first time I’ve ever made anyone want me just by using words. Then I get busy finishing my sandwich.




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