Xander On The Menu


Part 9
Bloodclaim, The Third Time
In which the bloodclaim is revealed and important details are discovered.

He DID come back forty-eight hours later, but only because of Dawn.

Tara had been deeply, fundamentally broken, and just thinking about it caused him pain. But Xander couldn’t fix that.

The Powerful Witch Willow was suddenly frightened, helpless highschool Willow all over again. But Xander couldn’t fix that either.

But when Dawn expressed guilt over Spike’s appearance, his broken, bashed-in face he had earned all for the sake of protecting her, Xander smiled.

THAT he could fix.

He had every intention of explaining his (very good!) reasons to Spike when he arrived at sundown, but he never got the chance.

He knocked at the crypt door and entered, finding his bruised Vampire lounging moodily in the moldy overstuffed chair, staring blankly at a silent telly. His whole demeanor looked depressed, but when he saw Xander he beamed (a real smile, not a smirk, and completely free of malice, but Xander would have to figure that one out later) and stood to meet Xander in the middle of the room.

Without speaking he started to unbutton Xander’s shirt from the center, examining the bruises he had left there. At the same time Xander pushed opened Spike’s unbuttoned black shirt and pulled the red tee out from the belt, raising it to the top of his ribcage and examining the ribs beneath. He sighed in relief. The Vampire’s face was still badly bruised, but his torso had healed considerably. He bent around to look at both sides of Spike’s lean body, saying “Good, good” (but he was talking about the healing wounds, not the alabaster angles, the smooth, lickable white skin and hard muscles and DONE WITH THIS THOUGHT NOW.)

“It’s good, love,” Spike purred, “It’s very good.” He had unbuttoned Xander’s shirt all the way and pulled on the waistband of his jeans, looking underneath at the bruised cuts there. Then he yanked off his own shirts and threw them to the floor. “Both lungs work fine. Can even smoke my fags, now.”

“Smoking will kill you.”

“I heard,” the Vampire grinned, leaning in closer and brushing the fading bruise in the center of Xander’s chest and over his right nipple. “Your lady-love notice these?”

“I picked a fight with her yesterday morning and now I’m banished to the couch for a week,” Xander bragged, trying not to notice how natural, how RIGHT it felt to have Spike taking off his shirt and throwing it into the pile of their discarded clothing. “Smart pet,” Spike said smiling, and, taking Xander’s hand, led him to the chair.

“Here?” Xander asked (ok, squeaked) as he lowered himself into the mildewed chair, looking at the crypt door nervously, but was quickly distracted at the sight of Spike kneeling at his feet.

“Do you have the knife?”

Xander dug in the pockets of his (suddenly too-tight) jeans, pulled out the pocket knife and fumbled with it. When he finally got it open, Spike put a trembling hand over his, and positioned the blade over the back of Xander’s other hand. There he made the same little cuts as before, and waited for a moment to watch it bleed. On his knees, holding Xander’s right hand in both of his, he looked for a moment as if he were proposing marriage, except that, instead of looking longingly into Xander’s eyes he was staring raptly at the hand itself.

Then, for a terrifying moment he did look up into Xander’s eyes as he closed his mouth down on the wound. Xander breathlessly closed his eyes against the sight.

They stayed in that position for a good ten minutes, and for Xander it was very much the same as before: weird, awkward and slightly boring. Xander stared off at the (unlocked!) crypt door. He absolutely did NOT look at painfully bruised face (and that reverently bowed head). He tucked his other hand under his leg (to avoid stroking those bruised cheeks or cupping said reverently bowed head) and waited.

And wondered how Spike’s two hands could convey so much emotion. They were not moving, they were only holding onto his hand – clinging to it like a drowning man would cling onto a rope, (or, to be more exact, like a man dying of thirst would cling to the saving canteen.) A groom couldn’t hold onto his bride’s hand with more veneration than Spike held onto him now.

Which, even in the World Gone Weird, made sense, so Xander ignored it. Instead he closed his eyes and laid back his head and tried to relax.

It felt so damn good to be here. It felt so damn good to be here, the decision made, the stupid “should-I-or-shouldn’t-I” argument that had been beating up his brains for the past forty-eight hours. He was here, and there was nothing wrong with it. He was here, Spike would be healed, and that was all right.

Until Spike lifted his lips, pinched closed the wound on the hand and set his eyes on the veins in the crook of his arm. Suddenly Alexander Harris’ head popped up. His lungs were empty, his throat was dry and his heart, as if eager to please the Vampire leaning against his knees, decided to pump blood at double-speed.

Xander squeezed his eyes shut again (maybe, if I can’t see Spike, Spike can’t see me!) but they flew open again as the feel of cool fingers traced a sensitive spot higher, on his forearm. He opened his eyes to the sight of Spike, trembling, investigating a series of scrapes and dark spots where he had bashed his arm at the construction site a week ago. “What’s this?” Spike asked breathlessly, and “Just work stuff,” Xander breathlessly replied. They were both whispering. With Spike on his knees, it felt as if they were conspiring to make love in a church. “Perfect” Spike whispered. He took Xander’s hand and showed him what to do, (and could it always be just like this? Could Spike just follow him for the rest of his life, holding his hands, showing him what to do?)

In the center of Xander’s all ready-bruised-bicep, they made the small cuts together. “Here it comes,” Spike whispered, his lips trembling. “Hang on, love.”

When Spike went down on the wound a jolt went through Xander’s body. He clenched his fists, not in anger but only to hide his fingers. His hands were throbbing with heat and he knew how they would feel on Spike’s cool, white, naked skin. His right fist was under Spike’s ribs (don’t touch don’t touch him don’t touch) and his left was practically tucked behind his back (can’t caress the Vampire if I’m hiding back here, nope nope nope!) He felt desperate and ashamed and defeated and out-of-control. In other words, he felt exactly like a confused teenager, his head full of Buffy Summers, begging his hands not to stray under the covers to his swollen penis and give him some secret, shameful release.

In those days, in every case, his hands won.

This time, his blood won. It was pumping frantically in his veins and trickling calmly into Spike’s healing body and nothing seemed more right in the whole world. Spike was moaning and clutching at Xander like a drowning man once again, and, why the hell not?? Xander decided to clutch back.

He curled his right arm under Spike’s torso, his hand deliciously spreading and stroking Spike’s smooth side, pulling him closer. As the Vampire clung to and fed from his upper arm, Xander wrapped his other arm around him, finally sliding off the chair and onto his own knees. His face was buried in the Vampire’s hair. They knelt together like that, as if in prayer, and anyone entering the crypt (and why were they up here, so exposed? They should be down inside the earth where it was safer, more secluded) might mistake them for two friends comforting each other after a devastating loss.

But there was no loss here – only Spike getting stronger and Xander, well….

….Xander was soaring, riding high on a tide of pure, prickly sensation. His body felt rock-hard and every hair on his entire body had risen – even the gooseflesh on his arms felt ridged. His skin was tingling in a delicious way, but at the same time strange pains were wracking his chest and his ribcage, and his forehead felt tied up in permanent knots. He was painfully aware of Spike’s skin on his, aware of every moan the Vampire made, aware of every movement. He threw back his head, sucking in a lungful of air and then found himself suddenly, solidly unable to exhale, waiting in painful expectation, waiting, waiting, while his heart thundered on until…..until….

…..until Spike released him with an audible gasp. They both fell – Xander back against the chair and Spike into his embrace, both panting for air. The illusion was over. Spike dug his thumb into Xander’s bicep and suddenly, painfully, Xander was right back in reality again.


Reality was him kneeling half-naked in a cold crypt with a cold, half-naked Vampire in his arms, and both of them were as winded as if they had been fucking like bunnies. This was weirder than weirder than weird. Even WeirdWorld had his limits.

“What the hell, Spike? What the hell?? Xander gasped, crab-walking backwards into the chair again, wondering if his heart was going to explode (and that would be good, then he would be dead and away from this insanity.) “It’s the bloodclaim, love, don’t fight it,” Spike was panting, whispering, as took up his position again, kneeling in front of Xander. He peeled Xander’s shoe from his right foot. “It’s just your blood in you talking to your blood in me. I feel it too, love, just let it happen. Let it happen.” He had taken the pocketknife and was making quick incisions on the top of Xander’s foot.

The room was spinning so badly Xander didn’t even notice the pain. Before he had even caught his breath Spike had curled over the foot cradled (lovingly, worshipfully) in his strong hands. “Here it comes, love” he whispered and then Spike’s mouth was on him, his hunger calling out to Xander’s pounding heart.

But this was good, good, yes, very good. His heart was pounding, hammering behind aching ribs, but it felt strong. It felt heroic, like he could tear down walls with his own bare hands. Even better, Spike was way down there (reverently worshiping at his feet like a saint at the foot of Jesus, enraptured in some sensual communion and that thought HAD to be breaking a commandment?!?) safely far away and very removed from Xander’s huge and completely undeniable erection. No bumping into Spike’s chin tonight, folks, oh no, not for very- hetero-ok-except-for-that-one-night-with-Larry-but-just-because-the-world-was-ending Alexander Harris. Absolutely no cock/face action for Mr. “I dated and cheated on Cordelia Chase How’s THAT for Hetero??” Harris, nope, not at all.

(Because it was that AMAZING thought that had sent him over the edge on two seperate times [ok three if you count the one in the shower] he had jerked himself off only thinking of his chin – the way the dripping head of his swollen cock had pressed into Spike’s chin over and over again, and how the Vampire didn’t even seem to mind.)

And now it was happening again – the pressure was building, the threat of a violent orgasm, and it was GOOD the Vampire was kneeling at his feet and completely unaware of the storm brewing underneath the tight denim…..

………..and then Spike reached up with one hand to grasp his thigh, and Xander instantaneously came in his pants.

He screamed out wordlessly, then yelped “Stop, stop STOP!” while kicking violently, unintentionally launching Spike a few feet away where he landed on his ass. “SHIT, Spike, “ he squeaked, “what the FUCK have you done to me?!?” He pulled up his legs, crawling into the chair, trying to crawl INTO the chair, or possibly into some crack in the wall where he could hide in the darkness and forget what had just happened. He buried his head in his arms and gasped for air, barely aware that he was crying. He was most certainly on the edge of hyperventilating.

Then Spike was kneeling beside him again. He cringed away from Spike’s hands on his legs, on his knees, trying to rub and sooth and caress his embarrassment away, but that hardly worked since Spike was touching him, and wasn’t that the problem? Spike was caressing him, panting “Don’t take on so, love, it’s all right, I feel it too. I feel it too, it’s just the bloodclaim…”

“It’s just the crazy Vampire sex-magic you’ve hexed me with” Xander screamed at him. “This is some kind of obscene spell, I can’t stop THINKING about you, I can’t stop WANTING you, I can’t stop jerking off, and I can’t stop thinking you KNOW about it. Is this what you do? Is this what Vampires do to people?”

A strange, startled look came into his bruised face, and Spike was suddenly silent.

Breathing heavily, Xander stared back. But when he put his feet back down on the floor he felt them growing wet, and when he looked down he realized why. “You're making a mess, love,” said Spike calmly, and took the foot in his hands, pinching the wound hard with one thumb for a moment, expertly cutting off the blood flow.

“You’ve done this before.”

“No, pet, I…..”

“NO.” Xander jerked his foot out of Spike’s hand and sat upright. There was blood on Spike’s hands and on the floor, but the Vampire didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were closed and he didn’t raise his head.

Xander waited until he could breathe again before he spoke. He was tired of squeaking. He needed his manly, Scooby-gang, I-kill-six-vamps-before-breakfast voice now.

“You’ve done this lots of times. You know exactly how many times to do it and how to stop the bleeding. Did you know this would put a whammy on me?” Silence. “DID YOU KNOW??”

“No, pet, I…”

“But you’ve DONE this before…..this is some kind of ……Vampire thrall thing and you’ve DONE IT before. You know where the veins are, and you know how many times before you make me …..WHAT did you DO to me?”


“Did you know this would happen?”

“Look, I wasn’t the one who came here suggesting…..”

“What did you DO to me?”

“YOU came to ME, Harris!”

“But YOU KNEW it would happen!”


A deadly silence filled the echoing crypt.

“It would never have happened to us if you didn’t come BACK.”

Spike’s teeth were clenched and his eyes were pleading, and Xander wondered if he would ever breathe again.

Slowly, slowly, he sat back in the old chair and closed his eyes. If he kept his eyes closed he could hide from everything, not think about Spike’s pained, pleading expression and his worrying hands and not think about anything that had happened or was happening or going to happen between….

“Us?” Xander’s eyes flew open and found he could hardly speak. “What? What’s going to happen to us?”


“YOU'RE LYING. What’s going to HAPPEN to us?”

“Nothing’s GOING to happen, Harris! It’s already happening. It’s already done.

“Your blood’s claimed me. You’re feeding me and you’re healing me and you’re taking my dreams from me. Everything you’ve been feeling is MINE. You’re feeling ME. You’re feeling that hot life inside of me and hearing that delicious heartbeat and hearing all the wanting that’s gotten inside my head. You’re healing my body and I can’t get you out of my brain.

Xander groaned. He slumped forward. Spike caught his head by curling his cool hand around the back of his neck and holding tight. Spike pulled him close. “You’re in HERE, pet,” he said, using Xander’s forehead to indicate his own head. “You’re inside of me and I’m inside of you. Our blood’s all tangled up. That’s why our bodies are calling to each other.”

“How long ……” He swallowed hard and started again. “How long will it last?”

“It’s nothing, pet. It’s nothing at all. As long as you keep feeding me we’ll feel it, but as soon as you get sick of me and stop it will all go away. You get knocked around, or knock someone else around, go fight some battle, go get a good kick of adrenaline through your system and you’ll be all clean again. All gone. No worries, love.”

He let Xander go. “I just…. I just have to stop feeding you?” The Vampire nodded.

“All right.” Xander rose, shaking, from the chair, stumbling around Spike, trying to sound as calm as possible. “Good. Good, then, I’ll stop. We’re all done, here. I’ll just….” He picked up his shirt from the pile of clothing and put it on as casually as possible. “You’re all healed up (he looked at the damaged Vampire, then quickly looked away) and you don’t need me anymore. All good. I’ll just be going then.”

“Put ice on the bruises” Spike was saying in a dull voice. He was still kneeling in front of the chair, his back to Xander, his head bowed. “Drink lots of liquids and be sure to eat….”

“Not necessary, I won’t be back. I’m done here. I’ll be going. I’ll see you ….. you know…. whenever. If the world ends, and all…..I’ll….”

He looked back again. Spike was still kneeling before the empty chair, as if venerating the place where Xander had been. His head was in his hands.

“Yeah,” Xander said, and went home.

He was half-way through the cemetery before he even realized he was only wearing one shoe.

Part 10
Spander Fantasies

At home in the dark (resisting the urge to light candles, two to be specific, just like the first time he was with Spike) Xander examined himself in the mirror. He was a mess – hollow-eyed, pasty-skinned. He hadn’t shaved or brushed his teeth in a week (but he was clean as a whistle from constant showering!) But more than anything, he just couldn’t reconcile the man he saw in the mirror with the man he kept seeing in his head.

He had felt so awkward and gawky as a high-school student. It was Larry, really, who had first convinced him what a sexy figure he cut in a bathing suit – Larry who had convinced him, for a short time, that he was quite a catch. But Larry was dead, and something strange had happened between the days of Larry’s catch and Anya’s main squeeze. Xander had grown up, filled out. He was heavier now, which was nice when throwing a punch, but not so nice when looking in the mirror after a shower. His long and lean days seemed to be over, which hardly seemed fair, since he hardly had time to enjoy them.

But in these insane fantasies howling like ghosts in his head, he was dead sexy.

You’re taking my dreams from me.

But that was ridiculous. Xander was dreaming about Spike, so unless Spike was dreaming about Spike, it just didn’t make sense. Every time Xander closed his eyes, he saw Spike….

…….well, to be fair, he saw Spike and himself. Together. Usually in an undressed state. And when he closed his eyes, the man he saw in the Vampire’s bed was a hell of a lot sexier than the guy standing in front of him. In his own pre-Spike fantasies, well, he just normally wasn’t that vain……was this what Spike saw in his mind? When Spike closed his eyes, what did he see?

You’re hearing all the wanting that’s gotten inside my head.

Xander examined his wounds in the mirror.
He could remember making each one, together, Spike’s hand on his. Four random diagonal lines, the third one crossing the other three. But they weren’t really random – three forward slashes, then one straight line always connecting all three, turning the first two lines into a sharp S, and the second line into, sort of, a crooked X.

S and X? Had Spike been writing “sex” into his body, over and over again?

Xander examined the wounds with dismay. Some were healing, some not. Many were still bruised, and the worst of them, when touched, sent a thrill through his body that went straight to his groin. The third-bite wounds were by far the worst – the one Spike had made right above his boxers, the one on his foot. Just putting on shoes had become embarrassingly erotic.

Everything you’ve been feeling is MINE. You’re feeling ME.

There was something fundamental that Xander had missed, something that Spike said the very first time.

It’s supposed to feel good. I feel it too.

That gave Xander pause. “I feel it too” Spike had said. That first night……Xander had tried so hard NOT to think about it, he had forgotten. Spike had warned him, sort of. Had told him to hold on for the ride. Said it was supposed to feel good (although the word “good” hardly summed up the experience. It was like describing a hurricane with the word “wet.”) Said “It’s supposed to feel good, I feel it too.”

I feel it too.

Xander shuddered and closed his eyes hard. Spike was OBVIOUSLY feeling good, with the panting, the whispering, the begging. He had been so desperate that the Vampire NOT know how he was feeling, he hadn’t noticed how the Vampire felt.

And how WOULD Spike feel? Maybe his ribs aching, his puncture wound itching, his brow creased with bruises, exhausted, distracted and horny as hell?

There had to be a way to find out.


When morning came and Anya had left for the Magic Box, Xander made the bed and sat in the middle with his legs crossed, in a meditative position, or at least, a position he assumed was necessary to meditate in. He closed his eyes and tried to think about breathing, knowing that this, too, was a meditation thing.

But there wasn’t much to think about when it came to breathing, since it was the sort of thing you did everyday without much thought. “Spiiiiiiiiiiiiiike, Spiiiiiiiiiike,” he tried to hum. Finally, feeling stupid, he gave up and fell back on the bed in defeat.

Then, on second thought, scooted to the left side of the bed, laying on his side, slightly curled, remembering how Spike had been laying down the second time he saw him, laying, fully clothed, looking frighteningly weak and vulnerable. Xander took the same position, and waited.

But waiting for what? He already knew exactly how Spike had felt. The aching ribs, the puncture wound on his right side just above the nipple, itching all the way through his torso to the other side, of course, because the puncture wound went all the way through, and both the entrance and exit wound were healing. And he was cold, too, but it was a good feeling, because being under the cold, wet ground was the safest place in the world. Safe from the sun, safe from the fight, safe from sodding bints who said they were gods crushing your bones until you make them angry enough to break your bonds for you. Safe from young, healthy men who offered you their blood willingly, but if they saw how their heartbeat and their bodyheat and their physical strength gave you such a raging hard-on they’d stake you in a second and wipe the dust off their coats without a second thought.

Xander’s eyes flew open (but drifted closed again, he was getting sleepy.)

When Spike had drank from the wound they made right under the waistband of Xander’s jeans, Spike’s chest was laying against his legs, but his lower body was not. His feet were on the floor, his obvious arousal hidden against the bed itself.

When Spike had drank from the wound he had made himself on Xander’s side, with Xander napping face-down, his bare chest was laying on Xander’s back, but his feet were also on the floor, again, using the bed to shield himself.

And when Spike had made the third bite way far away on Xander’s distant foot, he was completely curled up. Concealed, concealing. Because Xander was only a temporary ally, and that only because of what Spike had done for Dawn. The boy was strong and fearless and steadfastly loyal to Buffy, who still considered Spike a loathsome object, and that boy could turn on him in an instant. In his battered state, weakened in the body from the beating and in the mind from the bloodclaim, Spike would not be able to run. Wouldn’t want to. Hiding his desire from the boy was an important part of staying alive.

And if his whole body became alert when the boy entered the room, if every inch of his skin was aching to touch Xander’s skin and his mouth watering for the taste of him, if his jeans were threatening to burst because his rebellious cock was trying to raise a salute, well, in the darkness lit by only two candles, Xander probably wouldn’t know. Wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t stake him, wouldn’t walk away shaking the dust off his shoes.

“Spike.” Xander sat up suddenly, clutching the bedcovers, the pillows, the wall. He was in his own bed, in his own apartment, “Spike, I didn’t know, I couldn’t…..”

He lay back. Tonight. He would go to Spike tonight. But now he felt himself drifting away, and that was a good thing. Solid sleep he needed badly. And whatever strange dreams flickered through his head they caused him no discomfort, no matter how strange or fantastical or lurid they were. “Are you a Spike-dream? Or a Xander-dream? Or something both, a Spander-dream?” That was a funny word; Spander-dream. It made Xander smile as he drifted off to sleep.

Xander slept straight through until that evening, waking only occasionally to drink copious amounts of water, pee, then crawl back into bed. Once he even woke up enough to take one of every vitamin in the medicine cabinet, grinning, knowing Spike would be happy. He had no more intruding thoughts – no longer trying to hide from strange images made them less insistent. Now, whenever a bizarre fantasy started, his mind went back to his plan:

Because he had to talk to Spike, actually talk, and find out what exactly a bloodclaim entailed. But he had to get that message to Spike without actually seeing Spike, since each time he saw Spike he forgot what he was going to say. Sadly Spike had no answering machine or e-mail address, so face-to-not-face conversation was an issue. He would write a letter, but how to deliver it? Tape it to the door? Send it in as a paper airplane?

The details he would work out later. But every time he drifted off to sleep he wrote the letter in his head, knowing exactly what it would say.

Ten hours later, awake and refreshed, Xander found pencil and paper and wrote it down. The letter seemed to write itself, with very little thought from him.

But when he finished and had read what he had written, written almost automatically, without thinking, he shivered. He crumpled the paper and shoved it in the pocket of his jeans. He stood up and abruptly left the room.

He had clearly lost his mind, and he had to find Spike. Spike was the answer.

Dear Spike, I have to talk to you.
I need to talk to you, but every time I get near you
I forget how how to talk, which is why I am writing this letter.
When you get this, please know
we need to talk first. You have to tell me everything you know about this bloodclaim thing,
and why it’s hitting you so hard,
and how to make it stop frying my brain.
But after we talk, I’ll stay.
I won’t leave this time. I’m not afraid.
I guess I’m embarrassed, but I’ll try not to be. I’ll stay for you.
You’ve been in too much pain. We’ve all been in too much pain.
It’s time for the pain to stop.
I won’t hurt you again.

Part 11
Bloodclaim, Surrender

Just exactly when the feeding turned into straight-up sex was hard to say.

Years later, hundreds and hundreds of years later, in a world as different from Sunnydale as real life is from TV, as TV is different from a comic book, Xander Harris (the one they called Sir) stood atop a Scottish castle, grown-up drink in hand, looking over the moor, looking as dashing as possible with a Nick Fury pose, and contemplated his past.

Sunnydale had been so much simpler. It’s a crazy, mixed-up world we live in when those words would be in the same sentence, and yet it was true. Sunnydale HAD been simpler. And looking back on it now, the one they called Sir wondered why the hell he had been so reluctant in those days. He and Spike had shared fights, shared enemies, shared goals, even shared an apartment together, and even, for one horrible day, shared clothes. Why had it been such a leap to s hare each other’s bodies?

As for feeding the wounded Vampire, looking back, it seemed the obvious solution. Certainly he hadn’t been the first one to keep a cooperative vampire around for muscle. And when said creature was harmed, patching him back up was an easy (and pleasurable) task. The Vampire was hurt. You slash, feed, and thus comfort him. Hurt. Slash. Comfort. It was a very easy formula. Why had it filled him with such dismay the first time? And why had he been so afraid of the intimacy that would, quite naturally, come after?

Well, he had been younger, of course. Come to think of it, in those days he was still a virgin in that area. His experience with Larry hardly counted, since Xander had done all the receiving and Larry had done all the giving. Perhaps that had been the problem – the only man Xander had been with was dead (well, Spike was dead too, but Larry was dead in the not-coming-back-to-demand-strange-humiliating-and-probably-painful-sex-acts way.) That was what had caused all the conflict in Xander’s head the night he went back to the crypt. He couldn’t deny that he wanted Spike. The problem was, what do to with him once he got him?

The one they called Sir smiled at the memory.

Virgin Xander held a six pack of beer in front of him like a shield, the horrible note uncrumpled, folded, and tucked inside. The beer would make it clear, (if he forgot how to talk again) what he was coming for – just conversation. They would sit in front of Spike’s telly, share beers, and have a conversation. Talk about what was happening, who’s brain it was happening in, and what to do next. Xander’s lack of experience with men should come up in said conversation, which was making him VERY nervous, but so be it. Spike seemed to be in his head, (but Spike said Xander was in HIS head) and something, obviously, needed to be Done.

Xander knocked on the crypt door, but was too jumpy to wait for an answer. When he entered he found Spike sitting in the dumpster-diver chair, wearing the same clothes as the night before, making Xander wonder if he had moved at all.

When Spike saw him an overwhelming look of gratitude came over his face, but his look became serious as he stood and met Xander in the middle of the room. His voice was low and full of concern. “You can’t come every night, love. It’s not good for you.”

Mouth dry, lungs without air, Xander weakly gestured with the six pack. “Came to talk,” he managed, and Spike nodded. He took the beers and put them on the ground, agreeing, in all sincerity, “Sure…..yeah.” as he began to unbutton Xander’s shirt from the middle.

“We just need to have a conversation” Xander was saying, as he lifted Spike’s rumpled shirt off of his body, loving the way the Vampire raised his arms like a little child, loving the way the two shirts would lay on the floor in a pile of perfectly normal laundry. Why had he waited so long to come here? What had he been thinking?

OH YES …. the link between him and Spike. He grabbed Spike’s right arm and spun him around, more abruptly than he intended (Spike stiffened but didn’t fight the move) to look at the Vampire’s back. “It goes all the way through,” he hissed, putting his hand on the scar, “I KNEW it….that bitch.

“It’s all good, love,” Spike was saying, sounding breathless, trying to push Xander’s shirt off of his shoulders. “It’s all healed, only….”

“It itches like hell,” Xander finished for him. He was holding Spike’s face in both hands, forehead touching forehead. “Spike, what the fuck are we ….” but he had to move his hands, because Spike was insistent on taking off the shirt. He was examining Xander’s healing wounds, and his bruised forehead showed his obvious unhappiness at what he saw. “Love, I told you to put ice on these,” he said, stroking the tender mark on Xander’s upper arm. “I CAN’T,” Xander whispered back. “They’re too sensitive, and they’re getting obvious. Anya’s asking questions.”

Spike pulled back a moment, looking into Xander’s eyes. He seemed to decide on something, and he smiled a wicked smile.

“There’s a cure for that, you know.” Giving Xander a look, he turned and headed into the lower part of the crypt.

Xander followed.

After a look like that, Xander would have followed him anywhere.


Descending into the lower part of the crypt in complete darkness, he began to lose his nerve. Then he heard the click of a lighter. Spike was lighting the candles.

But just two. The same as the first time they had been together.

Filled with emotion, Xander crossed the floor in two quick strides, grabbing Spike by the back of the head and, pulling his head backwards (just like in the fantasy) and kissing him hard on the mouth.

Spike stood passively at first, his hands hanging limply at his sides. Then he began to kiss back, and fiercely, putting his hands on Xander’s shoulders and standing on tip-toes, trying to make himself as tall as the boy, leaning into his body. They kissed that way for several minutes, until Spike finally leaned his head back into Xander’s hand, lowering himself. When Xander opened his eyes, the Vampire wore an evil grin. “I was hoping you’d do that,” he said, then, with that look, he took Xander’s hand in his own and turned toward the bed.

Again, as before, Spike lowered himself onto the bed and Xander lowered himself onto Spike, holding his gaze, wondering what the hell he would do next. But Spike, obviously, had plans.

Reaching onto the side table, the one Xander had seen in his dreams, the Vampire presented him with an ivory-handled knife. Xander sat up to examine the familiar object – a carving of a naked woman’s torso. In his dreams he had seen Spike’s thumb placed directly between the tiny figure’s breasts.

“What is it?”

“It’s an athame, Red should have told you that. Every witch has to have two knives – one black-handled knife for cutting the mundane things, like wax and ribbon and bits of hair. But the athame can only be used,”

“……..to plunge into the holy chalice,” Xander continued, almost blushing, as he WAS quoting from a secret, shameful fantasy, one that he hadn’t quite understood. Now, as Spike held his gaze, comprehension was dawning.

Spike cut his skin in the exact center of his breastbone, three diagonal lines and a fourth one to connect them all. Blood drops formed around the incisions like black pearls.

Xander turned his head. It felt as if all the air and gone out of his body. “Won’t…..won’t this just make the bloodclaim worse?” But Spike laughed. “It doesn’t GET worse than this love, trust me. Last night, when we both came in our britches like a couple of horny schoolboys? Believe me, it won’t ever be that bad again.”

“Good,” Xander was saying, not sure if he was disappointed or relieved. He made a move towards the wound on Spike’s chest, then blanched and turned aside.

Spike scoffed. “Humans, you’re so squeamish” he said, touching the cut with finger, catching some of the blood on the tip. “But slice open your finger and where’s the FIRST place you put it?”

Xander took Spike’s finger into his mouth quickly, before he could think, sucking on it gently. It tasted no better and no worse than when he did the same with his own cut finger. Spike did the same with the second and third fingers and Xander, trying to keep his eyes closed, went down on the fingers eagerly – it was easy to do. He caressed them with his tongue in (he hoped) a sensuous manner, hoping, perhaps, to distract the Vampire from the crazy thing he was suggesting, but Spike was adamant.

“It’s all right, mate. It will heal all your wounds, it’ll make you strong, trust me. Just a bit, that’s all it takes.”

Drops of blood were falling down his chest now, leaving trails of vivid red on white. Xander took a deep breath, screwed up his face, then, remembering how good SPIKE’S tongue had felt on HIM, lapped up one crimson trail.

Spike moaned and arched his back, making it easier for Xander to repeat the action again. It tasted no better and no worse than having his own mouth fill with blood in a fight, minus, of course, the aching jaw or the rattled teeth. Finally, knowing how badly the pale man wanted it, he worked up the courage to put his mouth down directly on the wound…..

………and felt his head roaring in a violent tide of images and emotions. He was cold and weak and walking through the streets of Victorian England, mouthing poetic words that sounded so sweet when he had first spoken them, but seemed so abhorrent written on paper. He was hard and strong and utterly devoted to a mad woman who was saying they should still be friends. He was in a sick, sad dance with a robot who had finally come to the end of the program, the final surrender, but had ruined it by announcing the program would start again, and he was just coming to the hard and icy truth – he had her body, and her body was not what he wanted. Now he was in overwhelming agony, the pain held at bay only because he could still rile up the goddess of bad home perms….laughing at her minions who were promising the wrecked body of Bob Barker.

The insane wave ended with an audible pop as Xander pushed himself away from Spike’s body and collapsed on the bed beside him, struggling for air. He lay limply, almost unable to move, when Spike pounced on him, whipping off his belt and taking down his pants. The first bite was the mark just above the strap of his boxers, which Spike fell on with a vengeance, with Xander finding he could hardly move at all.

But by the second bite, (on the wound in the center of his chest) his skin caught on fire and he was mobile again. Brazenly he arched his back, pressing his growing erection into Spike’s hard stomach. Spike groaned in approval and lay his whole body directly on top of Xander’s, snuggling his own erection in-between Xander’s legs. They writhed together as Xander’s body tingled from head to toe. Spike’s arms were greedily wrapped around him.

Too soon it seemed, the Vampire pulled away, and Xander sat up on his elbows to look into Spike’s pleading eyes. Their heads came together and Spike’s lips were against his, and when he spoke, his voice was trembling. “Third bite, love. Please don’t stop me this time….. I think my brain will explode if you make me stop.” “I won’t,” Xander promised, cupping his cheek. “Just lay back, try not to…..don’t be embarrassed. Just try to relax. Let it happen.” Xander nodded breathlessly, and, laying back he found that he, too, was shaking uncontrollably.

But when Spike drew back all the way to the wound on Xander’s foot, the shaking stopped. He drew his foot, and thus Spike, towards him then reached out for the cold arms and pulled him closer. “I don’t want you so far away,” he said and, keeping their eyes locked he unbuttoned and shimmied out of his pants, and spread his legs.

Spike dropped his eyes, looking in amazement over Xander’s boxers. “Are you sure, pet?’ and Xander, not sure at all, only nodded.

Gently, Spike took the athame in one hand, then, using both hands, pushed Xander’s boxers, (and his manly bits) to one side as he examined the vein there in the innermost part of his thigh. Spike looked back to him, “This will hurt, love.” Wordlessly Xander gave him his hand, and together, they made two tiny cuts across the vein.

Xander clenched his teeth against the pain, then kept his eyes closed as Spike tried to find a comfortable position to feed, first laying his head on the wound and standing on the floor, then laying on top of Xander, upside down. Finally he lay his body to one side of Xander’s body, with Xander’s arms around Spike’s legs in an awkward hug, gripping him tight. As the hammering of his heart became deafening he lifted up his knees, spreading them apart to give Spike better access to the wound, then brought his thighs back together, shamelessly pressing his hard-on into Spike’s face. Spike moaned in approval, using his hands to hug Xander’s thighs against his head, then letting them creeping under Xander’s boxers, cupping his ass. Now they were both rhythmically moving against each other, and the growing sensation in Xander’s scrotum seemed perfectly rational, and knowing Spike knew just made it all the more reasonable.

Never had he had such a practical orgasm before.

Nor so anticipated…just before his moment Spike’s hand slipped into his boxers and caught him up in his hand, catching the moment, catching the fluid, catching the taste of him. While Xander lay back, panting, Spike devoured the precious drops lacing his hand.

Then, suddenly, Xander found himself picked up and thrown onto his stomach, held down by an iron arm across his shoulders, pinned down mercilessly while Spike jerked off, coming across his skin, sending chills down his spine as the chilly fluid rested in the small of his naked back.

Then Spike was gone, curled up on the other side of the bed.

Silence filled the crypt, marred only by Xander struggling for air. Then another sound emerged; a quiet, irregular sound. Xander turned his head and looked for the Vampire in the darkness. Finally he realized why he recognized the sound. The Vampire was sobbing.

He turned Spike around and drew him into an embrace. Spike did not resist, but his head was bowed and his eyes tightly shut. Xander molded the other man’s body against his own, even linking a leg around him to bring him closer; rocking, shushing, caressing, trying to reassure. “Don’t take on so, love,” was the best he could managed, but in time the clinging Vampire grew quiet.

“My god,” he said, kissing the wet face, kissing away the tears. “Is it supposed to be this intense?”

“No,” Spike whispered, before taking in a shaking breath. “Well, for you, yes. But not for me. But I was hurting so *badly* when you came. I was in pieces. Part of me,” here he took Xander’s hand and placed it on his lower ribcage, “this part of me was just rotting. But you came. You healed me. All this skin here,” he moved Xander’s hand to show him, “and these ribs, and all this part of the lung what was ripped up, this is all because of you. They grew back because of you.

“Now your heart, it’s still beating, so it gives me power. And it calls out to my body, that’s why you come t’check on it, see? To see if it’s doin’ well. And my body calls to you, it’s aching for you. It’s just longing. And it hurts.”

“So…..you’re lusting for me with your ribcage?” Xander asked, but Spike didn’t seem to think it was amusing.

Xander caressed the newly-healed flesh with pride and concern; pride because it was all there, intact, through some kind of magic he didn’t understand, and concern because the Vampire seemed to be in such misery. “What would have happened if I hadn’t come back the second time?” “Dunno, would’ve lived, I guess. I was doing alright.”

So it was a Xander mistake, once again. Surprised, anyone? He pulled away from Spike, from his responsibility, and lay on his back, head turned away. “It is my fault then. I shouldn’t have come back the second time. I’m sorry. I screwed it up.”

There was silence for a moment, then Spike, cat-like, came back for more affection. “Did you, now?” he asked, laying his arm across Xander’s chest, resuming the embrace. He pulled Xander’s face over for a kiss on the jaw. “You’re in the middle of a war. You were one man down, you got one man up,” here he rubbed against Xander suggestively, causing him to grin. “And what did it cost you? A few sleepless nights, some strange thoughts haunting your head, some bad dreams?”

“They weren’t all bad,” Xander admitted, turning back to his lover, enjoying soft, cool kisses along his jawline, a cool hand cupping his face, cool fingers stroking his hair. Softly Spike moved himself on top again, kissing eyes and lips and throat, licking, nibbling.

“Wait, wait, before you do that, there was something I was going to ask you.” Xander managed to push the amorous Vampire away a few inches, only to look into shining blue eyes and forget what he was going to say.

“Oh…..OH I remember,” he said, now wrestling with his lover completely content on covering his chest with kisses, “I need to know…..those crazy fantasies that I keep finding in my brain, are you saying those came from you?”

“The HOT ones were mine, I don’t know about the crazy ones.” Spike was saying, now showing particular interest in biting the skin covering Xander’s ribs.

“So, that long one where you were still living in my basement and you had nightmares,”

Spike froze, and his body went riged.

“And you grew your hair out and wore reading glasses and did crossword puzzles?”

With a loud moan, Spike threw himself to the other side of the bed, and as Xander continued to speak, he covered up his head and his face with both arms. “And you had nightmares and sucked your thumb in your sleep,” Spike moaned again, but the boy was enjoying himself way too much to stop. “And you got stabbed by an intruder and I think I bought you a bathing suit and we went to a waterpark….”

“I will PERSONALLY perform EVERY move of the Vampiric Karma Sutra on you right now if you will PROMISE never to speak of this EVER AGAIN,” Spike called out from his hiding place beneath his arms, causing Xander indescribable pleasure. “Of course, Spike, whatever you say,” Xander grinned, rubbing the small of Spike’s back. He began to arch and purr, then started, then pounced on top of Xander and lunged for his neck, play-biting with his (human) teeth and covering Xander’s mouth with one hand.

“OOO uumm um-om?” Xander asked, and Spike pulled up, sitting on him, and allowed him to talk.

“And what about that long, drawn-out one where I’m a Jane Eyre-type orphan in some horrible school…..”

Spike lunged, and buried his head into the pillow right next to Xander’s own. Xander wrapped his arms around the Vampire stroking him gently, whispering “And you were the mysterious Master of Thornfield,” (another moan from Spike) “and I was a lowly servant and searching Moor House for weird sounds at night, and even though you were married to some crazy chick you were trying to seduce me and I was trying to decide if that was even possible….

Another moan from Spike, which just prompted Xander to add "And all the religious people were hypocrites or so laid back they were falling over, but you were madly in love with me and when it was all over you said 'together we are as free as in solitude, as gay as in company' And after the fire....."

“NOPE!” Spike said, sitting up suddenly with a smile. “That one’s all yours pet, and pretty poofter of you too, if you want my take on it…”

Xander grinned. “You’re lying.”

“Prove it.”

“I have no fucking clue who Jane Eyre is.”

Spike rolled his eyes, then dove into a full frontal assault on Xander’s ribcage, pulling the boy on top of him, biting and licking mercilessly, until Xander was yelping and begging him to stop. In time the Vampire showed mercy and allowed Xander to lay on his back, mounting him and covering his chest with kisses while stroking and fondling below the waist. One of the candles guttered and went out, and Xander closed his eyes in the darkness, wondering how best to ask the man on top of him to take him by the hand and bring him to orgasm once again…..preferably in some clever way that didn’t involve talking? But a stray thought distracted him as the head headed downward and the cold kisses worked their way lower….

“Wait……what about the comic-book fantasy where I’m some awesome Storm God with sexy sunglasses and I can kill demons with my brain and you’re my faithful sidekick and you call me on the cellphone to warn me when a storm is coming…..

The Vampire raised his head with an startled, incredulous look. Xander hoped the darkness was hiding his blush.

Kidding, obviously!” His lover shook his head and went back to his ministrations

Spike's fantasies can be read in detail here, in a lovely tender story called "Tiny Smiles." This is the same place where you can find Xander's excellent fantasy, And Now For Something Different. These great stories are written by SaberShadowKat, who also wrote an EXCELLENT story called "The Dark Cavalier" that I wanted to mention, but I didn't think either boy could do it justice.

The Joss Whedon Ending

Xander entered Spike’s crypt, a six-pack of beer in one hand, a strangely poetic note in his pocket, a whistle on his lips, and song in his heart. He had whistled all the way across the graveyard, and was whistling as he pushed open the heavy crypt door.

He found Buffy inside, holding a broom and dustpan, sadly sweeping.

“What….why……what?” Xander blathered, as Buffy explained her perfectly reasonable reasons for Dusting Spike.

Xander fell to his knees and dissolved into tears. Spike! Spike would never read the note, never know what Xander had come to say to him, never know he had no reason to be afraid, never know, never know. And Xander would never be happy again.

The tragedy was complete, the world went black, and a single white word appeared, and the word meant “sadness.”

The End

We Now Restore Your Normal Programming!


The scoobies bought the story of Spike living in Xander’s closet.

That was certainly easier to understand than what WAS happening. But Spike and Xander, both, were looking for ways to forget about pain. In Xander’s bedroom, especially in Xander’s bed, there were many ways to forget.

Life was strange, but better. Mornings were the certainly the best. Spike in all his frowzy, bedhead, sleepy-eyed glory was a great sight to wake to.

Especially this morning, when the (actually growing out in it’s original color) blond seemed to have woken up amorous. Xander had been sleeping on his stomach.....now he yawned and stretched luxuriously, then moaned with pleasure as Spike, silently mounting his lover, planted kisses on the small of his naked back, working his way up with soft lips and gentle tongue until he nibbled at the center of Xander’s shoulder blades. Xander arched his back into Spike’s slender, muscular (and so naked!) form and was rewarded with a growl of approval from the vampire.

Xander turned his head to exchange kisses and look up into drowsy blue eyes. He smiled at the sight of what was quickly becoming his favorite face. “'Morning, Angel.”

Beauty transformed into a nightmare vision at the same moment Xander realized his mistake….. “Sweetheart, I meant SWEETHEART!” Xander yelped, holding off the suddenly-fanged attacker. “Sweetheart….baby……shookums……oh COME ON!” he protested. But Spike, his fangs at half-mast, ignored his pleadings and, with Vampiric grace and agility, yanked the sheets off the bed rolling Xander unceremoniously to the floor.

It was Xander who slept in the closet for the next three nights.

The End

Some Further Interludes

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