The End


1 Big Bottle of Bourbon

The very next night he returned, armed with a huge bottle of bourbon and six pints of blood, all O Positive (supposedly,) all expensive, but hey, who needs money when the world is about to end?

No, really this time. A dark cloud was looming over Sunnydale. The town was quickly filling up with crazy people. Tara was now being sent home in the care of Willow and Xander knew, simply knew that time was short.

Thus the big bottle of bourbon. It was time to get back to his life, for however long that lasted. He had purchased a diamond ring and a large bottle of bourbon. He was going to marry Anya. He was going to tell Spike they had come to The End.

At the crypt door he stood, the same way he had that first night after Glory had maimed his lover and left him to rot – literally. He did not knock at the door, nor did he open it. Instead he lay his head against the stone.

So many other time he came here he was in too much of a hurry to knock. Or else he knocked but was too jumpy to wait for an answer. Now he hesitated the same way he had the first night, blood in hand, rehearsing his speech, rehearsing his reasons, telling himself to GO.

Finally he went in. Because the Vampire could hear him, because the Vampire was listening for him. The Vampire was always listening for him, and the Vampire knew he was waiting.

But there was no Vampire in the crypt, much to his relief. The telly flicker in an empty room. Grateful for the temporary reprieve Xander went straight to the dumpster-diver mini-fridge which he stuffed full of blood, almost furtively, as if ashamed of the gift (and, to be fair, he was.) This was why he started so badly when he turned around to see Spike.

Spike was dressed to the nines, and Xander’s heart gave a leap. His hair was perfectly peroxided, no roots showing, his nails freshly painted. His clothes were new and smelled fresh – the same red-on-black combination, but looking sharp and crisp, newly stolen. His gold chain was in place and his eyes were lit up with excitement. He looked like a man ready to paint the town red (or fuck Xander blue, which ever struck his fancy.)

Oh God, this was going to be hard.

“Is that for me, pet? Did you bring me a prezzie?” he grinned, and Xander found his mouth dry, unable to speak. Spike helped himself to the bag and contents within.

His smile faltered when he registered the big bottle of bourbon.

His eyes slid over Xander, his deer-in-the-headlights look, then took in the open mini-fridge full of blood.

The fire went out of his eyes.

Xander gestured to the blood weakly. “Six Pints, O Positive. I know a whole person is, like, 10 pints, but I figured – hey, maybe its like a whole anorexic person….” He trailed off.

He had forgotten the speech, dammnit. He had forgotten the speech he had practiced all the way through the graveyard.

So, instead of speaking, he turned out his pockets.

“I didn’t bring the knife.”

There was a moment of silence.

“And my athame?”

Xander closed his eyes. Spike had noticed. Of course he had noticed.

“I left it on top of the Sanders’ crypt. I’m taking myself off the menu.

“You were right, Spike, I do have a ladylove at home, and she’s important to me and I’m going to …..and you, you have an amazing and extremely dangerous Slayer to obsess over. It’s time to get back to our lives.”

There was a moment in Spike’s eyes when Xander knew he made a mistake, knew he could never leave this beautiful man, this devoted, beautiful man. But then the look was gone and it was just Spike again – Spike with a big bottle of bourbon which we was placing on top of the mini-fridge.

“Fine then. Bye.” He gave a little waggle of the fingers in a mock wave.


“GoodBYE, mate. You said your peace, now go.”

“Spike, I…”

“Harris, just shut up. There’s nothing else to say now, and I mean it, if you try to say the word “friend” I swear I’ll………”

Xander kissed the hateful word right out of his mouth. He kissed him long and hard and desperately, his hands on Spike’s waist, pulling him close. In time, Spike put his hands on Xander’s arms, and tolerated the kiss passively.

It was intolerable. He took Spike’s hands and tried to lace them through his own hair, tired to force his Vampire to clutch and caress his head they way he always had before. He pulled the pliant body to him, wrapped him up in urgent arms, finally grabbing Spike’s ass and grinding up against him. By the time the kiss broke Xander was trembling, panting.

Spike was neither. His face, and his body remained passive.

Then a look of irritation crossed his features, and he frowned.

“So it's to be a pityfuck, is it?”

Understand dawned on Xander’s stricken face.

“Do…… do you think I'm pitiful?”

Spike snorted. “Hell yeah.”

“Then fuck me.”

Spike rolled his eyes. He turned around, walking away, leaving Xander standing alone.

It was only as he stood over the gap in the floor that led below that he turned back with a glare.

“Well? Are you coming?”

2 Well, ARE You Coming?

Xander had shed his coat, his shoes and socks and his shirt half-way unbuttoned before he noticed the changes to the underground room. The crypt was glowing, light coming from new candles.

Two. They were all arranged in sets of two.

Two sets of two framing the headboard, a set of two in each corner. In the center of the room, on a small table Xander had not seen before, burned two elaborate candles that he recognized from the Magic Box.

On the shelf beside the door to the Magic Box sat the display of decorative candles. Behind the unicorns and dragons were nude figures both male and female, all anatomically correct, but muted by their wax medium. There were male and female candles made to stand side by side, the curves of their bodies fitting into each other.

There was some significant power application to the candles (Willow insisted) that was very historical and authentic and empowering and earth-loving and not at all sexual, nor was it funny when Spike and Xander used the nude males to menace the unicorns. But all Xander could register now was that the crypt, and Spike, were especially decorated just for him. Two nude male candles, one white and one black, were placed side by side, one whittled down somehow so it was half a head lower than the second. They were facing each other and recently lit. By the end of the night they would be melted in to each other.


Xander suddenly looked for Spike. He was standing behind him, looking at him looking at the decorated room.

“What’s the occasion?”

“It’s our anniversary pet,” Spike explained, taking Xander in his arms and whispering the rest while undoing the rest of his buttons. "It’s been two weeks since you thanked me for taking your virginity.”


Spike gently removed the shirt, then pointed Xander to the new table bearing the male candles, where two boxes sat. He took the first one and handed it silently to Xander.

Any excitement Xander might have expressed over getting a gift – a real gift – was numbed by Spikes defeated face. Even his joke, “Is it a diamond ring?” fell flat.

“No it’s not a RING you pathetic poof!” Spike spat back, his anger finally showing. He proceeded to heap abuses of the cockney variety and Xander and Xander’s lack of intelligence and Xander’s lack of masculine demeanor and pitiful lifestyle choice, all while Xander opened the heavy jeweler’s box and stared, open mouthed, at what lay inside.

When Spike paused he tried to speak.


“NO, it’s a WATCH,” Spike started up again. “Blokes give birds a bracelet. Blokes give a bloke a watch. That’s how it’s done, that’s how it’s always been done since time out of mind, not a bloody diamond ring. A bloke gives a bloke a …..what? Don’t you like it?”

Xander was shaking his head. “No….I’ve… one’s ever given me anything like this before,” he was whispering, and it was true. It was not just that he had never actually held a pocketwatch in his life. He had also never be given such a valuable object before. His parents had given him nothing but room, boared and scorn, the first two reluctantly. Anya had given him many gifts, all of them of the practical, and affordable, variety. The single most expensive piece of jewelry he had ever held in his hand he had given to her as a promise of marriage, but now…..

“Read the inscription.” Xander turned the watch over and pretended to read the words there (which might have said “Alexander Harris”) but his eyes would not focus. Besides, if he stopped long enough to read the inscription he might have to stop and think about other things.

He put down the frighteningly heavy box to say his thankyous, which were given in a low voice with Spike’s mouth crushed under his. The shorter man put gentle hands on Xander’s waist and endured the kiss, then pushed him away firmly, indicated the other jeweler’s box.

Xander was afraid to open it. His heart was heavy and his brain was on fire. One more blow might make his forget he had all ready given the ring Anya and move all his stuff to the crypt tonight.

But what was inside the second box did not come as a blow at all, and he instantly knew what to do with the contents.

“No,” he said without hesitation, taking the handcuffs out of the box and handing them back to Spike. “No, not tonight. Tonight I’m going to touch you. Tonight I have to touch you.”

“They’re not for you, pet.”

Xander gaped.

“They’re for me.”

3 Bed

Xander couldn’t shed the rest of his clothes fast enough, but tried to take his time on the new, crisp shirts that his Vampire was wearing. He wanted to undress the man slowly, work his hand slowly up under clothing seductively and finger sensitive places, careful and controlling and confident. Hard to do when the other person in question had all ready removed all his other clothing, hard to do when he ALSO wanted to rip Spike’s clothing to shreds and eat him alive, hard to do when his hands were shaking, his brain was churning and he knew that EVERYTHING he did he was doing for the last time.

The most he accomplished was pulling off Spike’s shirt and placing his mouth solidly on one nipple, sucking it hard and thoroughly, something he had never done before (because Spike had never done it to him.) His Vampire responded by groaning a bit, then finding the handcuffs he had lost and handing them over.

“Not yet,” Xander breathed, taking them away and putting them back on the bed, then taking Spike’s hands and, once again, trying to comb the fingers through his own hair. Like this he went down on Spike’s erection, digging his hands under Spike’s ass and pulling the lithe body towards him, almost lifting him off the bed, taking the half-hard length into his throat as much as he dared……half-hard? How could he only be half-hard? Xander’s erection was making his whole body ache.

His whole-hearted blowjob earned him a few more moans, but no hands-on-head action (Spike NEVER held his head when Xander went down on him) and when he peeked up he was unhappy to see that Spike had his hands tucked under his head, assuming a relaxed repose.

Xander released Spike’s cock from his mouth (evoking no reaction from Spike) and crawled up to his head, putting extended arms on both sides of the blonde head and looking as demanding as possible.

“Tell me what you want.”

Spike raised an eyebrow and pointed to the handcuffs. “I thought I made that obvious.”

“Touch me first,” Xander growled, and when Spike rolled his eyes he dove down and bit the sensitive skin covering his ribs. THAT got a reaction, both verbal and non-, and soon Xander had as much touching as he could handle, as the two men wrestled and rolled and generally fought over who would be touching whom where.

But wrestling with a Vampire, even a playful one, is still no easy task as Xander quickly learned. Amorous licking in the hollow of a hipbone (in order to lure his opponent into a false sense of sensuous security) followed by a sudden attack (in the form of a bold bite) earned him a grin, a growl, and a sudden show of force that threw him completely off the bed. Without training from Giles in “how to fall” the move might have ended in a very non-sexual injury. But thanks to Giles (yes, let’s thank him later, Xander) Xander rolled twice and popped back up again gracefully, knocking against a shelf and sending two new candles to the floor with grace and suavity.


Moments later Spike with a huge grin was bound to the ornate headboard and Xander (now hugely relieved) was locating the tiny key from the discarded box and placing it on the sidetable beside the alabaster box. “What are you going to do to me, pet?” he asked with wicked eyes, which Xander avoided. This was one contingent he had never planned on (why would he? Every fantasy he ever had about Spike had involved those amazing hands) and he was trying to plan quickly.

“Anything I want, isn’t that the point?” he replied as dryly as possible. Picking up the alabaster box he removed the lid silently, dipping his finger into the tingling cream. Still avoiding his lover’s eyes (now looking slightly surprised) he casually drew a line straight across Spike’s chest, a line that took in both hard nipples, and grinned at the reaction. The curious fact that Spike’s nipples weren’t as sensitive as his quickly became irrelevant as Xander blew gently on the wetted skin, grinning at the obscenities now coming from his Vampire. His fingertips tingled and burned simultaneously, and Xander traced random patterns with the cream over Spike’s nipples and pectoral muscles while biting and sucking sensitive places on his chest; tracing casually, biting with a will.

Soon he had his lover panting and writhing beneath him, and with (what he hoped was) a wicked gleam in his eye he picked up the small box and moved to pay more attention to places below Spike’s waistline. “Oh no no no, love, no, it makes me numb…” the (no longer grinning) Vampire insisted as Xander turned his back completely. “Should have thought of that before you bought me handcuffs,” Xander said, grinning. He straddled Spike’s waist and sat facing the foot of the bed, so that he could focus completely on his goal at a hand, mainly, making his lover crazy.

It amused him that Spike had bound his hands for the sole purpose of forcing him to ask for his desires out loud. Spike, having no trouble talking about sex, was simply stuck enduring whatever tortures his younger lover could think up.

Spike had drawn up his legs, bent at the knees, as if to protect his sensitive bits. Firmly Xander pushed the knees apart (Spike complied) and when the legs were laying flat he began to draw lazy lines across the inner thighs, the join of the leg and torso, the buttocks. Sometimes he used the burning, cooling cream, sometimes only his fingertips, sometimes his tongue. As the man behind him was reduced to unintelligible cursing and outright moans, he placed the alabaster box back on the table and set about covering ALL available skin with a tongue or gentle teeth or both (carefully avoiding oral contact with the lover-come-lately as he had been taught) until he believed he had treated every inch of skin to a lick or a nip or a caress. When satisfied he then set out to see how much of Spike’s scrotum he could pull into his mouth at once.

What Spike had expected when the handcuffs came into the equation? Xander did not as yet know, but he was happy to imagine Spike did NOT expect a 69 tease, with Xander’s face buried in the lean, muscled groin while tantalizing the Vampire with his own available cock and balls, pushing them towards the chin and face and mouth, pulling away when said mouth got too distracting. Spike’s own cock was being held still by a flat hand as Xander insisted on giving each side of the goose-flesh covered ballsack equal treatment, over and over and over again. Only when he was ready (with no regard at all to Spike’s begging) did he go further and burry his tongue inside the tight, secret hole.

Spike’s cock was now pulsing and Xander pulled his hand away in hopes to frustrate his lover further (the whimpering noises that followed told him he succeeded) and he continued to plunge his tongue into the most sensitive recesses of Spike’s body for as long as he dared. Finally he came up for air and a look at Spike’s face with the plan of drawing this out as much as possible……

…….and was stunned, almost startled, by what he saw. Spike’s eyes were closed, his jaw set, a look of almost-pain that Xander recognized as a pre-sign of an oncoming orgasm. All other plans left his mind. Suddenly the only thing in the world would be keeping that expression in place….and watching.

Quickly Xander wet a finger with his tongue and massaged the sensitive hole, watching the face and it’s subtle reactions, reactions to more fingers, more pressure, more entry…..

….then Spike opened his eyes and saw his face, and the moment was over. Control appeared again, as well as a wicked grin and a suggestive raising of the hips. “Wanna fuck me, pet?” was the whisper. “Not just yet” was what Xander had planned to say, but when he opened his mouth the words were “HELL yes.”

Then, of course, he was committed.

Despite all Spike’s teasing (and begging and demanding) Xander took his time, loving the fact that, possibly for the first time, he was able to take Spike, was able to fuck Spike instead of getting himself into position and the stronger man doing all the rest. For the first time he got to do the “doing” instead of “being done”, and he congratulated himself for being “on top” for the first time.

And being in charge (oh glorious sensation) he gladly used his cock as a tool to inflict on Spike the wonderful things he had felt the night before, the “nice things” Spike had somehow (with Dru and littleman,) taught himself. Things that, despite all his impatience, soon had the more experienced man laying limply on the bed, head thrown back, eyes closed, chanting “love, oh love……”

“Yes, love,” Xander found himself whispering back.

First slicking up that impossible tightness (but not too much, knowing how much his lover enjoyed friction) then playing with/caressing/teasing that first tight ring of muscle over and over and over again. Then moving in centimeter by centimeter (pushing down the naughty body, demanding obedience with the threat of immediate withdrawal) until locating the secret bundle of nerves and caressing THAT over and over again, enjoying the sight of the deadly Vampire’s eyes rolling back into his head. Finally, not in response to the pleadings but only because the clinging tunnel was irresistible, finally burying himself inside. Spike raised his knees instantly to give him better access and Xander, lost impossibly deep in his lover’s body, knew he could not last long. He came quickly, fearlessly, shouting out to fill the echoing crypt full of secret tunnels with the sound of his voice, swearing and cursing and, when he could see straight again, blaspheming.

“Holy Jesus, oh Holy Moses, oh Holy GOD Spike,” he shouted, grinning when the Vampire hissed and showed his teeth. “Way to ruin the mood, Harris!” he spat and tried, apparently, to smack the top of Xander’s head with one foot. “Can’t help it, having a religious experience” Xander teased. He began to crawl towards Spike’s cranky face to kiss it, but when the Vampire tried to pull him closer with his knees Xander rolled off of him. “Nope, need some private recovery time…..what was that?” he asked, laughing, and the man who had just called him a ‘bitch’ under his breath.

“Nothing, love.” Spike said innocently.

“Oh good, I was afraid I was going to have to punish you.”


Xander laughed again. Lying on his back, trying to catch his breath, he thanked whatever god was in charge of playful sex (would that be Pan again?) that the mood had lightened, that Spike understood that he couldn’t leave him without one last night together.

Maybe this would be all right, after all.

“I’ll never forget you, Spike,” Xander sighed, relieved that he could say (at some of) the things he had planned. “Even if I live to be three, hell, even FOUR weeks older, I swear I’ll never forget you. I swear I’ll never forget.” There was a catch in his voice there at the end, and he wondered if Spike was getting his meaning….

…..if Spike was beginning to clue in that “I’ll never forget” might really be a Xanderism for “I love you.”

He glanced over at his bound lover. Said lover looked at him, then looked pointedly at his huge erection, then said “Looks like you’re forgetting SOMETHING here, love….”

Xander didn’t move. “Yeah, I got distracted by that delicious ass. now, where was I? Oh I remember….” Then in a single movement he rose, jumped on top of his lover again, again facing backward, and dove inbetween the legs, sinking his teeth into the tender flesh he found on there. Spike bucked and shouted and swore and promised all sorts of violent results of this unfair treatment, and Xander treasured every one.

Finally he pulled up and reversed his position, straddling the lean body in the correct direction. He leaned forward and seized Spike’s chin suddenly, and when he spoke he was surprised both by the forcefulness of his voice and the surprise in Spike’s eyes.

“I’m going to work my ass down onto that huge cock, now…” he started. Spike’s made a noise that might have been the beginning of a word, then was silent. “I’m going to take my time and enjoy myself, and you’re going to lie still, and if you DON’T lie still I’m going to stop. Do you understand?”

Spike’s mouth was still open, possibly gaping, and he nodded.

“You’re going to stay completely still, and if you move, even a little bit, it stops. Do you understand?” Spike’s mouth closed, his eyes flickered between Xander’s eyes and his mouth, and he nodded.

“Are you going to come for me?” Xander whispered, and Spike eyes flew up to his, and stayed there. He nodded.

“Are you going to let me watch?” he said again, trying not to whisper, trying to be commanding, and partially succeeding. Spike closed his eyes, and nodded.

“Say it.”

“I’m going to come for you, Xander.” was the strangled whisper.


“And I’ll let….” Spike swallowed hard, then opened his eyes. They locked on Xander’s eyes with the same knee-melting intensity Xander had seen before (but tonight, Xander’s knees were made of sterner stuff.) “I’ll let you watch.”


“I’ll try.”

Xander groaned and let go of the (trembling?) chin. “There is no try. There is do, and do not. There is no try. Will you do it, Spike?”


“Say it.”

“There is no try, there is only……bloody hell,” Spike growled in frustration, looking up at his bonds and jerking on them at the same time. His eyes turned back to Xander with a look that made him want to scurry away and put on some clothes.

“I’ll let you watch, pet, that’s what the sodding ‘cuffs are for. That’s what they were always for.”

Xander had actually pulled back a few inches, and now he held his position, watching Spike closely, trying to understand.

Spike sighed in defeat and closed his eyes. When he spoke, he spoke in desperation. “That’s why I ‘cuffed you up the first time, so you could be on your back, so I couldn’t flip you over when I c….when the show started.”

Silence for a minute. “But it was pitch black….” “Wanker. Had the candles ready, didn’t I? Had the lighter ready? As if I wouldn’t….wouldn’t be any fun if you couldn’t see…..” He deflated. The next breath (necessary, Xander remembered, for talking) was jagged and he continued, “I wanted to give you what you had been asking for. I tried, but when the time came….” again the defeated sigh.

“You knocked the candles over to make it dark again.”

Spike opened his eyes again and looked at Xander in resignation. “Didn’t know I’d done it ‘till it was all over. Even last night I tried…..and I’m sorry I….” the choking in his voice was too much and Xander silenced it with a swift kiss. A kiss, and a face pulled close and firmly to his own. More kisses. Finally a break, forehead to forehead, an attempt at words that would be forgiving, and encouraging, and mood-lightening….

“If at first you don’t succeed?”

“Try fucking again, pet, although, at this rate…..” Spike looked in pointed disappointment at his own turgid member, quickly wilting…

“Ooops, sorry” Xander quipped and quickly ducked down to engage in one of his favorite pastimes, i.e. fitting as much as Spike’s member into his mouth at once, as quickly as possible. The reaction he received from his Vampire was, as always, its own reward.

What happened next was somewhat of a blur… Xander enjoyed the hell out of the tip of Spike’s pale shaft caressing every sensitive centimeter of his previously been his virgin ass (two weeks ago? Was that possible??) he recalled that certain questions (such as how, when, where and whatthefuck?) at least on the hellmouth, were a waste of air. All he knew was that, impossible as it was, his Vampire’s beautiful face, frozen in a grimace of exquisite agony, somehow became something more than beautiful, something more than beauty-full, something divine, something sacred. “Stay with me, you won’t scare me, stay with me” he whispered (prayed, chanted,) as he heard the holy words called back to him in prayer “Just for you, love, just for you.”

Then came the hitch in the breathing, the look of surprise, the tremor, like steps in the pagan ritual, one after the other until the God appeared, and the human priest said the words of invocation, “Yes, love, let me in….”

Eyes closed, breath coming out in snarls and growls, ridges flashing and disappearing, face flexing until Xander felt his lover’s body let go and Spike threw his head back with a wordless cry that went on, and on, and on.

Tears squeezed from clenched eyes. Next a ragged gasp, a shaking body, an exhale that was also a cry.

The next struggle for breath, released in a sob.

A cry.


Tears continued, the chest was heaving, and each exhale was undeniably a sob.

Happy now?” asked the small, logical part of his brain as Xander, owner of the big (but not necessarily smart) brain gaped. Xander forced himself to close his mouth and then his eyes. The familiar sounds all came to him, sounds that came to him every time Spike had left him after an orgasm, the same sounds that came from the other side of the bed last night. The sounds that sounded like sobbing. Xander was straddling the shaking, trembling source of the sound, and when he opened his eyes again he saw his Vampire, hands bound to the bed, head trying to hid under one arm, crying without restraint.

He tried, he honestly tried. He tried to think of something, anything to say. Twice he opened his mouth, twice nothing escaped. Finally, third time’s the charm.

“Spike, what the hell?”

The breathing eased but the tears kept coming, precious diamonds, each one, falling freely and soaking into the pillow beneath him. “Taste them,” said that cold, cruel logical Spot inside Xander’s head. “Taste him, find out. Get back in his head, watch him be so nervous with the doxies, watch him hide in Drusilla’s arms, watch him laugh when Angelus takes him. Watch him make love with his well-dressed boys. You’ll see how his Dru rocked him afterwards each time, every time. You’ll see what kept the fit young boys devoted to him in the end. You’ve known. You’ve always known.”

He actually reached out for the last ones (he knew they were the last ones) to catch them, these rare things, these demon tears, but his fingers shied away at the last moment, shied away as if from a fire, as if from an altar candle. Touching would burn him. Touching would mean he DID know.

“Spike….” He tried to say, but choked on the word. He swallowed and tried again.

“Spike?” he asked, and the broken, defeated (and completely human) face turned to him, looking at him for the first time. “Will this go away? The bloodclaim? Will it go away? Will the rain wash us clean?”

“I don’t know,” was the whispered reply.

4 If you Ever Tell.....

Many things happened after that, certainly. There was the small matter of getting the cuffs off, with Xander’s hands shaking so badly he was in danger of dropping the tiny key, and Spike threatening death by a thousand paper cuts if he dared. Then there was the holding in iron arms (Xander’s) and promises to never forget (Spike’s) and spooning and long backrubs that turned into groping again. Then Spike begged to go down on him one more time (and who could refuse a lover’s request for one last meal?) but (of course) insisted Xander not do the same, assuring him the intimate act would be the directly undo the effects of “coming off the menu.”

Finally, when he could not put off the inevitable, Xander stood and dressed, carefully taking his new pocketwatch out of the jewelers’ box, hooking it to the beltloop to his jeans and securing it in his pocket. By the time he was done he realized Spike, lying on his back, head propped up on bedbathandbeyond pillows, was grinning, almost chuckling.

“What?” he asked softly.

“You’ll be back,” Spike said knowingly. “Few days from now you’ll need a thurough rodgering, then you’ll be back. World’s not endin’, not yet. Buffy will pull it off, I think. Got a feelin’ her show hasn’t been canceled yet.”

“Even so,” Xander said seriously, quietly. “I’m not coming back.”

“Had a few pretty boys say that before, love, including yourself, if I recall.”

“Yeah, and this time, I mean it. This was the last time. I’m off the menu.”

Xander straightened his belt, flexed his toes in his shoes, and admitted he was dressed and ready to go. He couldn’t deny that he had been here before, just like this, and had said words exactly like these.

“I’m leaving, and if you ever tell anyone about this…..”

Spike’s grin vanished. He rolled his eyes and looked away. “You’ll stake me, whatever. Heard it all before.”

“You didn’t let me finish. If you ever tell anyone about this…..” He leaned over onto the bed, up to his Vampire’s head and murmured, “You’ll tell them I’m hung like a horse, I fuck like a stevedore, I’m the hottest piece of ass you’ve had in a century and I can fuck circles around Angelus.”

Spike didn’t look at him, but his shit-eating grin returned. Xander smiled back before he turned to go.

“Well…’re not THE hottest piece of ass ….. it was a long century…..”

Xander looked at him one more time before he started up the ladder to the surface. Spike’s eyes were still closed, and he was still wearing that shit-eating grin.

“This is over.” he thought, fully aware that he had told himself that before. “But this time, I’m really not coming back.”

And he didn’t.

The next time he saw that shit-eating grin, Spike was wearing black-driving goggles and sitting at the wheel of their get-away vehicle, and they were, all of them, running for their lives.

5 Spike

Spike took the break up well, he thought, and why shouldn’t he? He had never had such lovely breakup sex before. No one ever brought so much alcohol TO the breakup sex before. Certainly no one had left him smiling all the while insisting they were never coming back. Not smiling because he knew they WOULD be back, smiling because, well…

…well, because Xander didn’t sound in the least bit ashamed of himself. Xander didn’t sound as if their love would be something important to deny and forget, something that didn’t fit anywhere into the world he lived in. Xander sounded like he WOULD remember all of this lovely affair after all.

He didn’t even get to the bottom of the bottle of bourbon (he drank the blood immediately of course.) He did drink quite a bit, but his mood was too good and things were happening too fast. No sooner was he above ground getting in formation when Buffy was back making requests…..would he fling himself into the fire to fight beside people who hated him? You bet he would. Would he get himself fucked up and possibly killed for Dawn who might die in the end anyway? Oh yeah, roger that. Spike was ready to bleed.

His thoughts had been turning to Tycho and Prague, although he couldn’t say why. He had hurt Tycho (but only when Tycho asked him to, he had ONLY hurt his boys when they asked him to.) Spike had left marks on Tycho that must have left scars. Only a few years had passed since then and, though he didn’t know why, Spike felt ready to do some penance.

And as for Alexander-Thanks-For-The-Watch-And-All-The-Great-Sex-Harris? Maybe he still had a few moves to impress the Californian-born Construction Worker – and maybe Dawn, maybe even Red, hell, maybe even the bleeding Watcher. Maybe he could impress them ALL.

Spike was done with the fucking. It was time for the fighting to begin.


Xander keeps the poems in his sock drawer, under his socks. They should be in a box of some kind, but it seems too girly. But really, where does one keep the verses his boyfriend, his Vampire boyfriend, writes? (Especially when they all seem to be about sex?)

Xander wishes he understood poetry better. Wishes he had paid more attention in English class. But then again, THOSE poems were never quite like these.....

The first one, To My Fellow Castaway, is the only one written on a regular piece of paper. The note on the other side (My place. Two hours before dark. Be there) had distracted Xander so much he didn't realize the poem was there until much, much later.

The second one, An Ode To My Victim he found written on the back of a viciously pink add for the Bronze, the kind they hand out around campus. The date on the flyer was old, but not very, and the paper was not nearly as faded as the other one, the last poem he found, penned on a funeral program so faint the name of the deceased was long lost.

That was From the Son of Night, the only one he wasn't given. Not that he was GIVEN the second poem directly.....he had found it folded up and hidden in his shaving case inside his apartment, meaning his lover had actually *broken in* to leave it for him to find.

But the last one, the last one he found among Spike's things long after his Vampire had skipped town. Long after he knew it was all over.

When it had been written he did not know, in what order compared to the other ones. But it doesn't matter much now, does it? It is the last one he will receive.

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