More Interludes


by
Witchway



Talk About Death Again
(and other sensitive topics)

A wet face was kissing his face, kissing his wet eyes, making his eyes wetter, cheeks wetter. Someone was panting and struggling for air, only one someone. In time Xander realized that someone was him.

He moved towards his lover to ask a question (was someone crying just now?) then cried out in pain. His lover hissed and sat up, straddling him, producing a key and removing the handcuffs with supernatural speed. “Oww,” Xander complained, putting a hand to a pulled muscle in his arm, and cool, strong hands began to kneed and sooth it. Xander appreciated the cool hands with a silent smile.

The crypt was completely silent, the only noise was his breathing now. He opened his eyes to check – yes, Spike was still there, his face serious, his hands on Xander’s sore arm. Then he took Xander’s wrists in his own hands, face showing obvious concern. Wetting a few fingers from the alabaster box, the silent man began to tenderly massage the liquid into the swollen skin on Xander’s wrists. The tingling, both cool and heated at the same time, instantly distracting him from the damage he had done to himself.

“I really don’t want to know what that is, do I?”

It was the first words spoken in the echoing crypt. Spike only raised an eyebrow, but was silent.

When he was done with his ministrations Spike pulled him into an embrace. They lay together, forehead to forehead in the dark room. Xander’s face had been wet – tears had actually squeezed out of his eyes during his violent orgasm, plus the mark of Spike’s mouth. He dried the wetness left on one cheek with his hand, and Spike did the same to the other cheek. Then, curious, Xander reached out to Spike’s face (hadn’t that face been wet as well?) but Spike pulled away from the touch.

“When are you going to let me watch you come?” Xander whispered petulantly, pouting, but Spike still did not speak, nor moved forward to catch his pouty lip in a kiss, no matter how far Xander poked it out. “I guess next time I’ll have to ask,” he teased, trying to get something out of his lover other than that silent stare, but failing. Xander held his gaze in the stillness, forehead to forehead, Spike’s fingers caressing his face, Xander’s hand stroking the pale chest, until at last his eyelids became heavy and he began to doze. He started awake once, opening his eyes to see the look on his Vampire’s face hadn’t changed, eyes still watching him, solemn, longing. “What are you looking at?” he whispered but got no response. Spike stroked his eyelids closed and he left them closed for a few moments. Spike shifted position, and when Xander fought them open again he saw Spike’s head propped up on one hand, again studying his face intensely. He returned the gaze wordlessly, until finally, stroking Xander’s lips with his fingertips, his lover spoke.

“I’m going to miss him,” he murmured in the quiet tomb.

Xander looked at him in honest confusion. “Miss who?”

“My virgin,” replied the low voice, moving in for a kiss, a kiss disrupted when Xander smiled.

“I won’t. I won’t miss him at all.”

Some time later he awoke, alone, shivering. He looked for Spike and, failing to find him, looked for his clothes. He managed to get his shirt buttoned despite trembling fingers when Spike, still nude, came back down the ladder, carrying another blanket. “There you are, I was afraid you went searching for another virgin,” he joked through chattering teeth. “I’ve got all that I can handle right here,” Spike grinned and spread the heavy blanket over the heavily covered bed, then stopped, thought for a minute, and lifted the first blanket up to sweep the rose petals away. Xander took the moment to run off into the cold to use the facilities.

“The facilities” meaning a spot in the tunnel where Spike had told him he could take a piss on the wall, just far enough away from the crypt not to smell but not so far as to be out of the reach of the candlelight.

On the way to and from his spot Xander noticed he was in pain.

The pain was nagging and in a strange place, almost enough to make him walk funny. Putting on his jeans for warmth made it even more noticeable, and when he bent over to pull on his socks he moaned a little.

“All right, love?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Leaving?”

“No, just freezing.” Now clothed he climbed under the covers and into the arms of his lover who made a noise of approval, then looked concerned when Xander winced and adjusted the seat of his pants.

“What?” Spike asked, sitting up a little.

“Nothing,” Xander said again, unable to explain. It wasn’t a sharp pain, just an irritation in an unexpected region.

Spike reached for Xander’s denim-clad bottom and caressed. “Does it hurt?”

“Kind of, it kind of burns…..” Xander admitted, a little bewildered.

Spike stopped massaging his ass and took Xander’s hand in his. He put it on his own head, on the back of his scull, and held it there. Xander looked on, confused.

“Nothing,” Spike said finally, shaking his head. “The chip doesn’t seem to mind. ‘Hoped so. Since it didn’t hurt you when it happened the chip didn’t activate – if it hurts now, the chip won’t care.

“Makes sense,” he mused while kissing Xander’s hand. “When I punched that new witch in the noggin it hurt like hell, but if it bruised or got swollen up later, it didn’t hurt me. Good,” here he kissed Xander on the head. “That means it worked.”

Xander looked at him, baffled. Spike grinned, mistaking Xander’s confusion. “I told you, pet, I’ve been thinking this through.”

“So, it didn’t hurt when you DID it because….”

“……of the Lover-come-Lately. And no, I can’t give you any more tonight. You absorb it through your skin, and you’ve had too much all ready. Too much‘s not good for you.

“I could have been gentle,” he said, pulling Xander closer and massaging his jeans-clad ass again. “I could have showed you all kinds of things. But you wouldn’t have it. I believe your exact words were…….’Fuck me into the bloody floor?’ “ he grinned. “What?” he asked, stroking Xander’s confused face.

“Is it supposed to hurt this much?”

Now Spike looked baffled, and propped up on one elbow, studying the boy’s face.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, when ………..when men ……….make love,” (and now the stuttering, ignorant child was back. Dear god, Xander, ‘make love?’ Seriously??) “I mean, when men have sex, is it………I mean does it always hurt like this?”

“It can hurt a great deal, pet,” Spike said seriously, studying his face. Then he caressed Xander’s hair as he spoke: “Much worse than that if a bloke doesn’t treat you right, that’s why you have to be careful what kind of bloke to be with. Only pick a fellow who knows what he’s doin’.”

Xander began to blush, his eyes screwing up in embarrassment. Spike seemed to pull Xander into his embrace for his own reasons, and if he felt the burning face of the boy hiding in his chest under his chin he didn’t comment. Instead he was holding Xander close and stroking his back, perhaps talking to himself as much as he was to Xander. “Spike’ll show you things. Spike’ll show you lots of nice things. Not tomorrow night, though, the next night. Spike’ll make you feel good.”

But it was too much. Making an ass out of himself (well, making a FOOL out of himself) bled any desire he had to stay longer, so he disentangled himself from Spike’s ministrations and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to put on his shoes.

“ ’s wrong, pet?” Spike asked cautiously.

“I have to go soon, anyway, might as well leave now before I say anything else stupid.”

“You worry too much, pet.” Then, after a moment, Spike spoke in a low voice, that ‘come-hither’ voice, and Xander didn’t dare turn around or he would certainly be coming-hither in an instant. “I thought you liked, me bein’ your teacher. I know I like you bein’ my student.” Xander might have replied in the affirmative, but tying his shoes was quickly proving to be impossible, and he flung the wayward footwear to the floor in disgust.

What? Xander……” Spike flopped back into the bed in frustration. “I thought you knew it would hurt….isn’t that what you were afraid of? Isn’t that why it was so hard to ask?”

“No,” Xander said, his face burning. “I was afraid my ignorance would be obvious and I would embarrass myself, which I just did.” He stood up to retrieve his first shoe and locate the mate. He sat on the bed again, all without looking at Spike. He was suddenly in a terrible mood and didn’t want to be comforted. But he couldn’t put his shoes on now -- he had to leave soon, but he didn’t want to leave like this.

Then Spike spoke again.

“So, are we finished now? Now you’ve checked everything off your list?”

Xander turned at looked at him in surprise. His Vampire was laying on his back, one hand under his head, glaring at the ceiling, a pose Xander knew well. “What list?” he started to say, but what was the point? There were times Spike could see straight into his head, and now Xander hung his head in shame.

But Spike had heard the question, and answered. “Your bucket list,” he said calmly. “The list of things you want to do before you die? Are we done yet? Are you ready to die now?”

Xander tried to answer, he did. His mouth opened, and his tongue was moving, but nothing was coming out. Spike made an irritated noise, and Xander wanted to explain that too…. how Spike had always said their time was short because the rain would come, how the list wasn’t so much of a Bucket List as a hurry-up-and-don’t-miss-your-chance crap-the-world-is-ending list, and was Spike even mad? But speaking, someone once said, requires breathing, and breathing would have to wait until……until……

When Xander was in third grade he had felt just like this, leaning over his desk after the Valentine Party and praying to whatever god the only way he knew how, by begging “Please don’t let this happen please don’t let this happen please don’t let this happen.” But it did. Xander barfed and everybody laughed at him, and Mrs. Shaw was disgusted with him and sent him in disgrace to the nurses office (where the nurse Miss Reynolds took charge of him, stroked his head, showed complete sympathy and gave him cold water, making him forever a sucker for Strong Blonde Women.)

He was there, now, sitting on Spike’s bed in Spike’s crypt, leaning over and looking at the floor, praying. “Please don’t let this happen please don’t let this happen please don’t let this happen.” But it did. Xander was crying.

Wiping away tears quickly, it turns out, doesn’t make them stop coming, and holding your breath doesn’t make it stop hitching, and refusing to speak doesn’t make your throat less constricted, tensing your shoulders doesn’t make them stop shaking, and gritting your teeth, well, it just makes your jaw hurt. Spike was up and standing in front of him in an instant, stroking his head and apologizing and insisting he was a bad, rude man and begging Pet not to take on so. And Xander was laying his head back into strong hands and looking up at the sky (at the god who never answered little boy’s prayers!) and grimacing at the impossibility of his own tears, and yet they still came. Soon he was sobbing without restraint, tears streaming down his face and patiently allowing Spike to frantically kiss each one.

This went on for a few minutes when a funny thought occurred to Xander, and he laughed freely. “Are you tasting me?”

“Oh no, love, I just can’t stand to see……I mean it breaks my heart to……ok yes I’m tasting you. You’re salty and delicious” Spike went back to kissing, even licking his tears up with a will, explaining between kisses ….. “Everything about you tastes alive and warm and amazing; your tears,” (kiss) “your come” (kiss) “the inside of your mouth” (kiss) “and you’re lucky it’s so damn cold in here, because if you sweat in my bed I would be licking you from head to toe all night.”

“Oh, that sounds nice” Xander laughed helplessly, allowing Spike to push him back down to the bed and embrace him, rubbing his back and shoulders, but not speaking, allowing him to cry.





PREVIEW of what will be Part 3, The Beginning of the End

They came together one more time after that …. one more time before Xander called it to a halt. There was no more bucket list for Xander, with Spike as a teacher, his boy was thinking, that list could be endless. So far, in Xander’s head, the list looked like this:

Kissing: Yes
Heavy Petting: Yes
I make him come: Yes
He makes me come: Yes
He goes down on me, swallowing: Yes
I go down on him, swallowing: Well no swallowing allowed, but I could be waiting on that one until long after the world ends.
Me inside Him: Yes
Him inside Me: Oh HELL yes.

Were they done, then? They had done all the basics, but was there more to it than that? His long experience with Anya had proved that the basic insert-tab-A-into-slot-B pretty much covered it, once you had done the basics you had done it all, and all that was left was to do it all over again. Somehow Xander sensed that Spike had a lot more artistic attitude on such things ….a more innovative approach, perhaps? Maybe an appreciation of the art of lovemaking that was more …inventive? Without any more experience than their short time together, with instinct that could only come from the bloodclaim, Xander was sure this was the case. And if he allowed Spike to make the list FOR him, well, they would be here forever.

But he didn’t have forever, that much was certain.

So maybe one more time – maybe one more thing. Spike had promised something two nights ago. When he gave up being embarrassed by his ignorance and stupid questions (Spike, after all, didn’t seem to mind) he had been savoring those words for a while now.

“I could have been gentle,” “I could have showed you all kinds of things.

There had to be, after all, some middle-ground between the gentle way Spike had touched him the first time and the dirty things he had demanded last time. More importantly, now that Xander had said out loud, excuse me, DEMANDED out loud, and loudly, the most extreme request he had treasured in the most hidden secret recesses of his mind, well, surely asking for anything else now would be easy.

“Spike’ll show you things. Spike’ll show you lots of nice things.”

Oh Lordy how he enjoyed it when his Vampire made promises. And spoke of himself in the third person. He enjoyed both.

So with a six-pack of longnecks and a good excuse to be gone for the night, Xander made his way trippingly through the cemetery in his new billowing black coat with a whole new list of requests and a song in his heart.

But Sunnydale (as Xander so often discovered) had other plans.

In the whole time they had been together, Xander hadn’t come to fisticuffs, hadn’t engaged in ANY act of violence, even refused to argue with Anya, even refused to break up a fight between his own boys at work for fear of receiving a blow. When the end of the world came, he’d be ready, of course, but until then he was Mr. Pacifist. He couldn’t feel too guilty about it – Buffy was so jonesing to beat up anything she appreciated the extra work (not that there was much, the demon and vamp population seemed to be dwindling, as the rat population often dwindled in a sinking ship.)

So why was there a Fyarl demon following two drunk frat boys into his cemetery at night, interfering with his much-more-pleasant plans? To his credit, while Xander certainly considered abandoning the frat boys to their fates, it was only momentarily.




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