Request fic for PiratePurple

Rating: R to be safe, nothing really hardcore here
Summary: Xan sees a ghost. The ghost seduces him.
Warnings: Er... da lady wants schmoop - da lady gets schmoop. This might seem a little disjointed - it's supposed to! - I figure that our Xanpet's brain feels pretty scrambled *grin*
Spoilers: S7 BtVS, dunno what that makes it for AtS.
Disclaimer: Not mine, naturally. The characters belong to Joss, and the songs are pure Sex Pistols.
Author's Note: I issued a blanket offer for requests, and this is the answer to one of them.
A personal note to piratepurple: Dear woman, I have not seen the final two seasons of Buffy, nor any Angel past the third episode of season 1. I'll do what I can to fulfill your request, but please be gentle with me when any details come up that I might miss. *lol* On a happier note, when doing my search for Pistols lyrics, I found two that were perfect for this story on the very first page. Hope this suits your fancy.

piratepurple: Hrmmm... Post season 7. How does Xander find out that Spike is reanimate? Up to you whether they end up together or not, though you probably know what my preference is. :)
(I'm such a schmoop monster)Spike should sing the Sex Pistols at some point, if you can work that in.

Second Time Around


He tried. Really. Ten years for his girls and Giles, dusting vamps and getting slimed and being treated as bait. But there's only so much a man can stand, and his girls don't need him anymore. There are hundreds of SiTs to do his previous job, and that suits him pretty good. When everyone moved to Cleveland and England, he let himself be dragged along. But that's over, and his feet have that itchy 'wanna go' feeling.

Goodbyes are easier than he expects. Buffy's happy and (finally) calm, getting married next summer. He promises to fly back for the wedding, and to see Dawn graduate the following year. Willow and Giles and Andrew have their hands full and lovin' in with the new watcher's council. Everyone has everyone else's cell numbers and email addresses - the age of technology laughs in his face once again - and makes promises of keeping in touch. He doesn't have high hopes of that, but is willing to be mollified.In the end, only Willow takes time to see him off at the airport. There are tears and hugs and last minute memories. It's only when she starts playing the 'should've been' game that he turns her around and pushes her gently back toward the parking lot.

He travels the country as he's wanted to do for years. New England, where the changing of seasons is a tourist trap. Boston, just for the clam chowder. New Orleans for the bands and Mardi Gras. Big cities and small, enough to say he's seen them before moving on again.

Eventually, all he wants is to go home... back to California. Only Sunnydale isn't there anymore, and the thought of Oxnard makes him laugh til tears wash his face - that voyage of self-discovery was such a bust. He doesn't have to make up his mind til he gets back to his home state anyways.

Los Angeles is one of his last stops, and probably the hardest. He doesn't want to talk with Angel or his crew. Has avoided the lot of them since before the final showdown with the First, letting Buffy or Willow or Giles handle whatever interaction was necessary.

But it's the last stop on his tour before deciding where to settle.

Wandering around an indoor strip shopping center, he finds a music store. One of those places that deals with vinyl more than CDs, where you can sit and chat and swap with other throwbacks. Older people who refuse to acknowledge the death of real punk and heavy metal and good country. His kinda place.

He browses the front racks, taking in titles and letting memories wash over him. No piped music in this shop - they've got someone at the back of the store singing Johnny Rotten, and he has to grin. Even dusted, Spike's memory remains through his musical tastes.

'Didn't they fool you
they wanna be you
Gimme world war three
we can live again'

Wiping the corner of his eye, he scolds himself for getting all emotional. The bleached wonder isn't even here to appreciate being missed.

'You didn't fool me
but I fooled you'

Three years since his friend - and one-time lover - exploded in a massive flare of sunlight, saving the world. Doing the job that should've fallen to others, and doing it without regret.

He's developed a taste for the vamp's favorite songs in recent months, and starts singing along with the anonymous baritone.

'And now is the time to realize
To have real eyes
Down down down down
And I'll take you down on the underground
Down in the dark and down in the crypt
Down in the dark where the typewriter fit
Down with your pen and pad ready to kill
To make me ill
Down wanna be someone you wanna be someone
Ruin someone
Make it as someone you wanna be me ruin me
A typewriter god a black and white king
PVC blackboard books black and white
I wanna be me'

As the last line draws to a close, he feels cool hands on his shoulders, gently propelling him around and into the blue stare he's missed more than he ever thought possible.

They exchange grins - one incredulous, the other openly happy - and move toward the back where Spike has a table set up with smokes, coffee and invoices. He pushes the younger man into a tape-patched vinyl chair, still drinking him in with his eyes.

Finally the mortal's brain catches up, and he's off the chair and pulling his friend into a hug that would snap ribs on a human. Muttering Spike's name like a holy mantra.

"No one told me. Why didn't they tell me? Gods Spike! How? When? What the fuck? And why didn't you call or something?"

"Woah, slow down Harris. Which question you want answered first, eh?"

He looks around the shop, noting where the one or two late morning customers are with cool indifference. Seeing nothing to distract their reunion, he taps out a fag and lights up.

"I don't care, you're back! And you must have one helluva story. Who all knows?"

"Yeah, 'bout that... Not many, outside of the poof's goon squad an his pet lawyers. Kept it hush-hush, yeah? 'S hard enough dealin with everythin without-"

"Without having to face Buffy, huh."

"Somethin like that. Shoulda called, or had Fred do it. Told you an Red."

They're silent for several long minutes, just studying each other's face. Changes in the human are more evident, from the longer hair to his more fitted cloths.

"Fuck this. Spike, can we take off for awhile?"


"You'll tell me or not, and I won't be able to drag answers out of you. But we can go somewhere more private, get some take-out and alcohol, just, y'know..."

"Be couch potatoes?" Snickering at him.

Smack to the arm. "Been over three years since you went *woosh*, so sue me for wanting to have some alone time with my favorite vampire buddy." And to prove his maturity, Xander sticks his tongue out at his friend.

The old Spike would have either a) used the gesture to ridicule his age and mental capacity or b) taken it as an invitation. This new Spike simply raises an eyebrow and offers a hand up.

Calling toward the back of the shop, he says, "Oi Julian, getcher ass out here and watch the shop. Gonna go out for a bit." Without waiting for a reply, he leads the brunet toward the underground garage nearby.

In the dark recesses of the concrete crypt'o'cars, Xander gives in to his need to feel that this is really real. Pinch and stroke and pet and handle every inch of the blond's body. He doesn't get far before he's pulled into a tighter embrace, lips sealed against his, sucking out his incredulity and sudden shyness.

Eventually drawing apart for air, Xander puts both hands on either side of that sculpted face he's seen in both dreams and nightmares for almost half his life. "It's really you," voice so soft, even vampiric hearing can barely pick it up.

"Really me, pet." Tenderly mussing the taller man's hair out of his eye, Spike grins impishly. "We still on for the post-apocalypse shagfest?"

Xander gulps audibly, but nods fast several times. "Most definitely."

Something Xander has found out about the differences between men and women - men do, women talk. There are so many things he wants to know, but given the option of groiny time with the blond he's willing to forgo discussion indefinitely.

The beloved DeSoto went down with Sunnydale. Apparently Spike managed to find a fair duplicate, complete with painted windows, tape deck and CD/mp3 player. As the engine turns over with a primal roar, one of the brunet's favorite 'vamp songs' cuts in midway through the first verse, and both men join voices with the Pistols.

'And I fell in love with you
I love yer mortal sin
Yer brains are locked away
But I love your company'

Suddenly Xander starts laughing, loud enough that it drowns the screaming music. Lowering the volume, Spike gives his friend a sideways glance.

"Y'know, I finally got why you love that band so much." Through his hysterical hiccups, the brunet grins over. "Every song of theirs coulda been written either for or by you. Egotist."

There's no censure in the comment, just genuine fondness.

Spike returns the grin with a smirk. "Heh, always knew you weren't as dumb as your blinding shirts, Harris." He can tell there's more behind this little display, but he waits. The boy he knew wouldn't pass up a chance to expound on anything.

He doesn't have to wait long.

"I missed you. Crazy, huh? Anya's dead, and all those girls. Willow will never be the same. Buffy finally got her normal life. And Dawn... she's doing great, all grown up now. But you. You kept me sane those last few months, even when you were doing your Drusilla impersonation."


"Not saying you didn't have the right. Hell, if I'd have gone through that shit, I woulda been loony too."

"Damn straight."

A dry laugh. "Not anymore. Your fault, you undead corruptor."

The old Spike would have preened, taken it as a compliment. This new Spike... preens and takes it as a compliment.

"Good to see you've gotten back to normal."

They share another grin just as the low-riding tank pulls into a driveway. Xander hasn't been paying attention to the road, doesn't have a clue where they are. They've arrived at a house set back from the residential street, half hidden by trees and shrubs. Blackout curtains hide the interior's view from the drive.

Pulling under the covered carport, Spike shuts down his beast and leads the younger man inside.

"Come in to my parlor."

"Oooh, your cryptkeeper voice! Wow, do I rate or what?"

Shrug. "First visitor I've had here. Figured you should get the full treatment."

"Man, I feel special now."

Snort. "Special ed?"

Back to the comfortable routine, and it seems to soothe some tension for both men. But that isn't what either needs and they draw together once more. Lips claiming, arms crushing, legs tangling, raw and powerful. The cliched affirmation of life - or unlife, as the case may be.

Xander can't keep his hands still, covering every inch of the body he barely had time to learn before the showdown that cost so much.

Clothes are quickly discarded in favor of flesh on flesh. An end table and the contents of one bookcase fall victim to their staggering journey as the pair gropes blindly down the hall. Finally the bed hits the back of Xander's knees and he lets himself fall, bringing Spike down with him. Replaying their first time.

There's been no other man since the blond, and he doesn't have to tell Spike for the vampire to know. More preparation is needed than their first - thanks mainly to the mortal's roller coaster emotions. Soon enough they're moving together, relishing each sensation and drinking in the sights, sounds and smells of their lovemaking.

It doesn't need to be said, not just yet. The numerous 'missed you's' and 'really here's' are enough for both men, verifying their mutual need for each other.

And isn't that the greatest irony? So many women drifting in and out of their lives, yet they find what's needed in each other. Compassion, devotion, the need to love and be loved, to take care of and be cherished.

This first time can't last long, ending in an explosion of cum and random endearments that won't make any sense when they've come down from orgasm. And if the laughter has a hysterical edge, they're allowed.

They allow each other.

Xander felt the deep burn and tender bite marks a full week after their first time together. After the battle with uber-vamps and the First. After... his childhood was finally destroyed for good.

Now maybe he can begin to enjoy his adult life with a little help from a certain bleached menace that (thank all the gods of heaven and hell) just won't stay dusted.

So yeah, he's feeling pretty sappy and romantic about it. Doesn't seem to bother the cuddly undead snoozing at his side. Dragging black-tipped fingernails down his torso and across his hips. Warm fuzzies knock and he lets them in, shining a smile full of peace and happiness with the man who crept inside his life, his heart, without him realizing it until it was too late. And now that he has a chance, he sure isn't gonna fuck it up.


Turn the page and it's
The scoop of the century
Dont wanna be L seven I had enough of this
This is brainwash and this is a clue
To the stars who fooled you
Tell me why you can't explain
You're only looking for vinyl yeah
Didn't they fool you they wanna be you
Gimme world war three we can live again
You didn't fool me but i fooled you
You wanna be me yeah You wanna be me
You wanna be someone yeah ruin someone
Yeah, Didn't I fool you I ruined you yeah
Didn't I fool you I sussed you out
I got you in the camera and
I got you in my camera
A secund of your life ruined for life
You wanna ruin me in your magazine
You wanna cover us in the margarine
And now is the time to realize
To have real eyes
Down down down down
And I'll take you down on the underground
Down in the dark and down in the crypt
Down in the dark where the typewriter fit
Down with your pen and pad ready to kill
To make me ill
Down wanna be someone you wanna be someone
Ruin someone
Make it as someone you wanna be me ruin me
A typewriter god a black and white king
PVC blackboard books black and white
I wanna be me

I've seen you in the mirror
When the story began
And I fell in love with you
I love yer mortal sin
Yer brains are locked away
But I love your company
I only leave you when you got no money
I got no emotions for anybody else
You better understand I'm in love with my self
My beatiful self
A no feelings a no feelings
A no feelings
For anybody else
Hello and goodbye in a run around sue
You follow me around like a pretty pot of glue
I kick you in the head you got nothing to say
Get out of the way 'cos i gotta get away
You never realise I take the piss out of you
You come up and see me and
I'll beat you black and blue
Okay I'll send you away
I got no feelings a no feelings
No feelings for anybody else
Except for my self my beatiful self dear
There aint no moonlight after midnight
I see you stupid people out looking for delight
Well I'm so happy I'm feeling so fine
I'm watching all the rubbish
You're wasting my time
I look around your house and
There's nothing to steal
I kick you in the brains
When you get down to kneel
And pray you pray to your god
No feelings a no feelings
No feelings for anybody else
Except for my self
Your daddy's gone away
Be back another day
See his picture hanging on your wall

The End

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