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Part 75 |
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Xander was sneaking. Spike quite liked a sneaking Xander because it usually meant there was something good in it for him. Generally he pretended not to notice the surreptitious phone calls and the self-satisfied expression on his human’s face, waiting with an admirable amount of patience for a creature who declared himself to have no patience, knowing it had to be particularly special because Xander couldn’t wait until he was at work to make the calls. Xander openly sneaking was most entertaining and Spike was only sorry he hadn’t seen more of it in the past. The fact that Xander was trying so hard not to let Spike do any thinking about his suspicious behaviour had an additional advantage: the moment Spike tried to call him on it, Xander would become…distracting. Spike liked Distracting Xander even more than he liked Sneaking Xander. For obvious reasons. Spike was distracted all weekend. It was a good weekend. … Left alone with his thoughts on Monday, Spike deliberated over a little something for Xander. A token to confirm he was home, he was happy, he wasn’t secretively brooding and miserable behind Xander’s back, he was madly in love and all-consumingly in lust. That’s not to say he wouldn’t be happier if he had three mutilated corpses lying at his feet, or that he was at ease knowing he’d have to get Beth to come shopping with him if he wanted to get out of the house without a major panic attack, but for the main part he was content, even able to recognise that he was lucky. He couldn’t go the posh meal route, as Xander was still persisting with the Master-vampires-don’t-do-domestic mentality and would be thoroughly unsettled by any gesture of the nummy kind beyond phoning for take-out. Which was a pity because Spike unashamedly enjoyed watching Xander wolf down something he’d prepared for him, it was almost as good as bringing a screaming wench to your sire and making a gift of her blood supply. An image flashed through Spike’s mind of a vampiric Xander draining a buxom female; off to the studio to get that down on paper, and the distinct possibility – who was he kidding, the absolute certainty – of a quick hand job. Spike drew. Spike came. Spike scowled, unsatisfied. Not what he wanted: he was too spoilt to settle for solitary masturbation anymore. He pushed aside pad and pencil and reached for the computer, sending a quick e-mail with one word: Messenger. Minutes later a new window pinged up. Never give out your password or credit card number
in an instant message conversation Sexy_Lexy says what’s wrong? Big_Bad says I miss you. Sexy_Lexy says you okay
though? Big_Bad says I’d be more
okay if you were here fucking me. Sexy_Lexy says this would be
funny if i wasn’t in a meeting with the most homophobic man i know Sexy_Lexy says the most
homophobic man i know who hasn’t beaten me up Sexy_Lexy says in which
case, hey, this IS pretty funny. xxxxx
<-- kissing my baby in front of the nazi Big_Bad says I wonder what
he’d think if he knew I was under that desk a few nights ago, ready to suck you
off. Sexy_Lexy says i wonder what
he’d think if he knew i was picturing how gorgeous you look with your mouth
around my dick Big_Bad says Wouldn’t you
rather be picturing me on your lap with that lovely big prick of yours rammed
up my arse? Sexy_Lexy says you think pat
is telepathic? he’s looking over here
and doing that almost smirk thing of his.
why can’t i do that? you can do
it, he can do it, even dawnie can do it Big_Bad says Nothing would
surprise me about him. As in the
telepathy, not the smirk. You have your
own version of the smirk, but it’s not as pretty as your smile. Your smile is as pretty as your prick. I’m thinking of yours and rubbing mine. Sexy_Lexy says so not
helpful, thinking of you jerking off when i really have to pay attention to
this. can i call you later? Big_Bad says Now then,
what was I saying? Ah, yes… Big_Bad says Picturing:
you throwing me on my back and fucking me so hard I’m sliding across the
desk. I’m stiff as a poker, trying to
wait for you because I always come harder when I feel your hot spunk filling me
up. Sexy_Lexy says fucking hell,
spike, you have to stop it Big_Bad says I’m so hard,
thinking of us fucking, there, on that desk you’re sitting at. Sexy_Lexy says know
what? you are an evil evil creature Big_Bad says I hope so. Sexy_Lexy says what am i
supposed to do with you? Big_Bad says I think you
know EXACTLY what to do with me. Sexy_Lexy says uh-huh. ok.
may be early tonight. be ready
for me. ILY Big_Bad says I’m always
ready for you. See you soon. xxx Spike sat back with a heavy sense of contentment, satisfied with that scrap of contact, a soppy swell of love overwhelming his lust until he let himself remember the desk, being taken on it, having Xander pound into him so manically. Then he remembered Saturday morning, being woken by a hot mouth on his cock and made love to with such reverence it made his chest ache even now as he thought of it. In danger of being entirely happy, he registered phantom noises elsewhere in the house. A brief flare of fear was extinguished by the part of him that could now be entirely rational, and he inwardly thanked William for the speedy intervention. Rearranging himself, he buttoned up his jeans before turning his attention back to a gift for Xander, sitting up to the computer and clicking into the bookmarks folder. Flowers first, then the rest, Spike told himself. “Roses are red,” Spike murmured, “violets are blue. Someone gets fucked…” Completing the purchase, Spike glanced up to meet the water-colour eyes of Xander on the wall and sighed ruefully. “I doubt that it’s you.” … Tuesday, and this was the shopping expedition. Mid-morning, Spike was still trying to figure out if he could do this alone, if he had the courage to go to the mall by himself. It made him feel sick that he was still this neurotic, but not quite as nauseous as he felt when considering making the trip by himself. He picked up the phone, began to tap in a number, switched it off, slammed it down, angry and humiliated by his weakness. On his feet and into the hall, snatching up his duster and shrugging it on as he made his way to the garage. Into the Jag’s driver’s seat, key in the ignition, control for the garage doors in his hand. He squeezed the button, watching in the rear-view mirror as the light flooded in. Deep, deep breath. “I can do this,” he told himself, knowing he was lying. “Just…” After a pregnant pause he laughed humourlessly at himself as he dug his cell phone out of his coat pocket. “Feel like some company.” This time he completed dialling. Assumed fake cheerful. “Beth? … Hello, love, fancy a spree?” Simple as that. One call and company. Safety. The perception of. “Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!” … Later that day, and Xander came in happy until he found Spike in the kitchen preparing food as music blared. Xander snapped off the radio so he could talk. “Spike, I thought we agreed…” “You may have agreed. I didn’t.” “You don’t do this,” Xander protested angrily, snatching the knife away from Spike and roughly guiding him away from the counter. “I want to.” “No! You’re just pushing me into getting it wrong again, and then who pays? I don’t want you doing things like this, it isn’t right.” “I get bored, Xander, and this fills the time,” Spike tried a new tack. “That’s because you should be waking up about now, you should sleep through the day.” “My choice.” “Will you stop this?” Spike stared at Xander, waiting for the ‘this’ to be explained further. Xander sank into a chair, rested his elbows on the table, head in his hands. “I am so confused,” he confessed. “I don’t know what you want, how to treat you, I don’t… I keep feeling like I don’t know you well enough to judge.” “That’s bollocks. No-one knows me like you do.” “I thought that.” Xander looked up, drawing Spike to him with the sadness in his eyes. The vampire sat beside him and leant on the table, taking Xander’s hands in his and stroking. “I thought you were happy and it turned out you were angry and bitter. You hated me.” “No.” “I think you did. But it was nothing personal. You hated everything, for a time there it was everything. And I was part of that.” They sat in silence as Spike thought it over, saw that Xander was right despite being wrong. “Maybe.” “Yeah. Big maybe. Don’t want to go there again. So you be what you are and I’ll be what I am.” The paring knife lay on the table where Xander had dropped it when he sat. Spike watched as Xander picked it up and repeatedly tested the sharpness, apparently without thinking about it. “We were fine in Sunnydale. You had your life and I had mine…” “And now we have ours.” “Oil and water. If we’re going to stay together we need to accept…” Spike took the knife from Xander and tossed it across the room so it bounced off the wall and landed in the sink. Xander’s thumb was lightly scored, one of the shallow cuts showing red; at the sight of blood Xander blushed and turned his head away. “Did you mean to do that?” Spike asked, keeping his tone casual despite being torn between jumping or thumping his partner. “I didn’t realise I was. Nothing sinister about it.” Xander held his thumb out to Spike, who rested his lips on either side of the cut, let his tongue slip out to dab up the blood. Spike registered his partner’s heart rate speed up and slid his mouth over the whole digit, treating it to an expert blow job. It wasn’t long before Xander was pulling his hand away, twisting in his seat to kiss that teasing mouth. It wouldn’t have been the first time they’d fucked on the kitchen table, but Spike had other ideas and eased himself back from his lover. “Not yet.” “Why?” Xander asked as he launched a second assault, mouth on Spike’s neck, hands seemingly everywhere at once. “Because…” Yes, there had been a reason. Now, if Spike could just figure it out. He wriggled out of Xander’s grip and stood. “I went out today.” “You…? That’s great, you go by yourself?” “With Beth.” “That’s great too.” “You’re not…disappointed…that I…” “No, no, I love you having friends to spend time with,” Xander deliberately turned the focus away from Spike’s fears, and the vampire felt a fresh swell of affection. “You got to the mall?” “Yeah.” “Don’t suppose…” “Chocolate’s in the fridge.” Xander stood and crossed to Spike, taking him in his arms for a non-gropey hug. “Have I told you today how much I love you?” “Not pre-chocolate, no.” Xander chuckled and spent five minutes on sweet nothings that progressed to sweet kisses before letting Spike prise him away yet again. “I wanted…” Spike began, stopped, re-thought. “I need to show you…” Stopped, re-thought, shook his away. “I’ll just…” He went to a cupboard and brought out a box, offering it to Xander, who grinned, bit his bottom lip, then gave in to a laugh. “What?” “Gimme a minute.”
Xander left
the room, came back a few minutes later with a virtually
identical
box.
They sat at
the table and handed over their
gifts.
Xander
opened his first and brought out a mug with Spike “I belong here, Xander, I know that. I belong with you, that’s what I wanted to say. I know I’m part of here and you. You’re not getting anything wrong.”
Spike leant
over and nuzzled Xander’s cheek for a moment before giving it
a single
kiss.
Still
speechless, Xander pushed the other box toward
Spike.
Opened, it
revealed a mug that proclaimed Xander “The guy who does these… You must have got there before me.” “Come on, what did he say?” “Just ‘You two have it really bad.’ I thought he meant… I didn’t know what I thought he meant.” They both laughed now, staring at the mugs as they sat side by side, glossy black, red inside, red writing. “They’re so dorky,” Xander giggled, and Spike simply nodded his agreement before taking the nearest hand in his own and squeezing it.
They looked at one another, humour held in their eyes, and they looked for a long time. “Stop panicking,” Spike eventually said. “Yeah,” Xander agreed softly. “Nothing to panic about.” “No.” Their lips met in a tender kiss, a brief respite before squabbling over who was going to cook. … That night, awake but unwilling to leave the warmth of the bed, Spike watched Xander sleep and spent a while thinking over questions without answers, how they affected his partner, how they in turn affected him. Then he spent a while deliberately not thinking about the very same things, directing his thoughts toward harmless thoughts of christening the sofa, rearranging Xander’s study whether he liked it or not… What does this make me? The Feng Shui vampire? Stake me now. …christening the Jag to get the scent of their sex ingrained in the leather upholstery, and was no-holds-barred shagging possible in a coupe? Christening the kitchen, and why was Xander so strong now and why didn’t he realise he was so strong? Planting roses by moonlight, and why couldn’t Spike picture Patrick’s face clearly anymore when he wasn’t in his presence? New recipes that Angel’s drones had been warily suggesting, not quite able to believe this eccentric Master vampire was taking cookery tips, and why the house, the car, the money? Why the family, the too perfect family? Christening the new dining table, and why were these people as important to Spike? Why was he better for knowing them, more confident in their company? Angel had muttered a throwaway comment that made Spike want to try making wine, and he had never, never told Rafe his name was William. And until Xander had mentioned it he had never registered Rafe calling him Will. Because it was…natural. Spike groaned and tossed and turned and punched his pillow, threw off the covers and sat up, glanced at Xander and got back into bed. Responding to Spike’s movements, Xander rolled onto his back and threw an arm in the vampire’s direction. At the touch Spike relaxed a little, kissing every inch of flesh that he could reach without moving more than his head. He wondered when Xander last had a tan. Rubbing his cheek against Xander’s arm, he stared at the exposed chest that was presenting him with a tempting place to spend the next few hours. It was a memory that exuded comfort, being that close to Xander, night after night, welcomed and cherished and protected, William or Spike. Why wasn’t it as easy to do that now? If reconstructing Big Bad meant being too attitudey to cuddle up to Xander then maybe be didn’t want to be Big Bad anymore. With a smile Spike remembered Xander’s surprise when he’d climbed onto his lap on Friday. And Xander had just…done what Xander always used to do. So, if Spike could do that downstairs why couldn’t he do it here? Because he didn’t want to wake Xander up? Stupid thought. Spike’d spent a long time disturbing Xander in worse ways than this. Because Xander was naked and perfect and pure and Spike didn’t want to sully that? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… Spike gave Xander his arm back and quickly rose; straight to the shower. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… Scrubbing and scrubbing to get as clean as he could with the filth still inside him. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! It would never be any different, he’d always be contaminated by… Unworthy. He scraped his nails over his stomach, tearing at the area that was once a gruesome, unhealing wound, that was… That had been used. When he had been used. It occurred to Spike, not for the first time, how acutely one experienced other sensations when one could not see. Turning off the water, standing there dripping, shaking, trying not to scream with the memories, memories so fresh it could have happened an hour not a year and whatever ago. Spike refocused his senses, breathed in time with Xander, hurriedly dried himself so he could return to safety. Minutes later he was clinging to his human, laying on his chest and feeling arms encircle him immediately. A mumbled ‘sweetheart’ and Spike gave in to the comfort but fought against the purr. Purring. Big Bad indeed. Wriggling closer, Spike felt Xander start to get hard, a purely physical reaction to stimulation but one that Spike was happy to exploit. He gently played and pumped his lover’s body, barely waking him, sighing in relief when Xander came and semen sprayed, directed across Spike’s polluted body. Made it a little cleaner. As Xander sank back into deep sleep, Spike massaged every drop of fluid into the area on his stomach he had damaged with his nails. He absorbed Xander. He licked his hand. He risked a purr. … Spike pretended to be asleep when Xander went to work, loving to feel and hear the kindness of this man to his supposedly unconscious partner. The soft touches and kisses, whispered words of adoration, wishes for a good day, assurances of safety. Today the admission that he didn’t want to leave, that he wanted to stay and be there for Spike, almost as if he’d known what had occurred in the night. As the Merc drove away Spike stirred, mentally restless and physically lonely. Tired, so tired, and he knew that being tired made him susceptible to PTSD. He considered and dismissed the idea of taking a measure of Willow’s potion: induced sleep made him feel vulnerable. He rolled and buried his face in Xander’s pillow, inhaling the scent. Which gave him the idea. He went and rifled through the washing hamper until he found one of Xander’s workout t-shirts. It stank of his human and was exactly what Spike needed. As he pulled it on, Spike imagined the expression on Xander’s face if he could see him now; it brought a much-needed smile. Halfway back to bed and Spike u-turned, fetching another of Xander’s t-shirts so he’d have something to jerk off into, because he knew exactly what the intense smell of his lover would do to him. In fact, the effect had already kicked in, and Spike amused himself by using his erection as a hanging place for the second t-shirt as he found Xander’s aftershave and sprinkled it over himself. Back in bed, Spike easily came, easily slept, senses full of Xander. And when the man himself returned and found his lover covered and smelly and stained, he merely smiled, peeled away the material and replaced it with his body. … Finally, on Thursday, the Xander-sneaking stopped: he sat Spike in the living room and persuaded him not to take any surprise-busting looks, then went off to finalise whatever arrangements he was making. When he rejoined Spike he was positively vibrating with excitement. “I’ve got something for you.” Spike’s gaze dropped to Xander’s groin. “I’m counting on it.” A finger under Spike’s chin and Xander lifted his head. “Other than that. Come with me.” “I thought you said it was other than that.” “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.” Xander grabbed Spike’s hand and dragged him upstairs and to the bedroom door. “Okay. Go in.” Spike hesitated, looked to Xander with a cocked eyebrow. “Spike!” “Go in, shall I?” Xander groaned theatrically and Spike peered into the room. “What am I looking for?” Xander prodded his partner past the door frame and followed, standing in the doorway and waiting expectantly as Spike glanced about him. Everything seemed pretty much as it had been since he’d come home. He looked back to Xander, who just waved him on while trying his level best not to give in and bounce. Further into the room and Spike caught movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned in the general direction, and…saw.
Whatever Xander been expecting to see on Spike’s face, it had not been shock or horror. Or fear. “Sweetheart…” Xander took a step forward but a gesture from Spike was enough to keep the human at bay. He watched as Spike slowly approached the source of this consternation, reaching out with a trembling hand to touch his reflection in the mirror. Once, twice, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. And that was perfectly understandable. Again, and Xander felt the muscles around his heart clench. “How?” “Friend of Max. Very powerful warlock specialises in the impossible. Impossible when it doesn’t involve chips and brains before you ask. ‘Cause I did. Ambiguously. Naming no names.”
A long pause followed before Spike looked to Xander, eyes wide and full of… Xander couldn’t quite figure that out. “This is what you see?” Xander smiled, nodded, went to Spike, close behind him, hands winding around the narrow waist and transferring their warmth. “Exactly what I see. Well, no, not exactly. Mirrored. Anything else you’d like me to state the obvious about?” Spike was staring into the mirror once more, watching transfixed as Xander’s hands travelled over him. “Different from the photographs?” Spike nodded. “Like?” “I…I don’t know.” Xander looked crestfallen. “I thought…” Xander pulled Spike around to face him, hand cupping the back of the vampire’s head to stop him turning back to his reflection. “Ignore it, I’ll get rid of it.” “No, don’t.” “I’ll pull it in the attic.” “No. I’ll get used to it, I want to get used to it. It’s…” “Just another one of my dumbass ideas.” “Not dumb. Amazing.” Spike let out a sudden laugh. “I’m in shock, love. Vampire with a reflection, having a hard time. Be like you…” Spike groped for any kind of comparison. “…flapping your arms and flying. Against all the laws of whatever nature you subscribe to.” “You don’t have a reflection, I haven’t had anything done to you, I wouldn’t. It’s just the mirror…” “I know, I do get it.” Spike gave Xander a gentle kiss. “Would you leave me alone for a while? You mind?” “I don’t mind. I’ll go downstairs and…” “Kick yourself?” “Something like that.” “Don’t kick too hard, eh?” “You get to kiss all my owies better,” Xander smiled. “Then you better kick yourself in some interesting places.” Xander started to go, then paused in the doorway. “You okay, Spike?” “Go, love.”
Spike closed the door behind Xander with just a fraction of his usual qualms about being shut in, knowing that privacy was of far greater importance right now. And Xander was only a phone call away, he reminded himself. Now, left with himself, he took a deep breath and went back to the mirror, edging cautiously into place before it as his reflection – his reflection – copied his movements. His reflection. Only Xander… Spike touched the glass again, trying to make this real, and it was real, but it wasn’t real. Want Angel to see this. Want to see Angel see this. It was real and happening and there he was. Spike. What Xander sees. Who Xander sees. Spike looked. Looked and looked. Studied every visible hair on his head, his brows, eyelashes. The slightest variation of colour or texture in his skin; forehead, scar, eyelids, cheeks, chin. Lips. Lips that Xander kissed, and this is what Xander saw. Blue eyes that Xander gazed into, blue eyes that loved Xander, showed Xander love. Even now, after staring at Xander on the wall for a few seconds, Spike turned back to the mirror and caught his pupils full and black with libidinous appreciation. Swiftly contracting as he viewed something he liked far less. But he saw the diamond in his ear and smiled. He touched the small stone, and that was another experience entirely. Touching as he witnessed the touching. Fingertips that acknowledged the familiar while visual perception was fresh and brutal. He stroked his hair, eyes closed, eyes open; swept his hands over his face, dry washing, the same motions as wet washing, and everything was familiar and when he saw it was… Xander’s mark. Focused and felt it like an electric shock. Touched as he watched and his cock swelled as he brushed over the scarred flesh. He tore his clothes off. This was what Xander saw, what Xander knew, Xander physically loved. Spike studied his body dispassionately, turning on the spot, trying to see it all, what Xander saw. Back to the mirror he bent over, prised his buttocks apart, stared at himself through his legs. What Xander saw and touched and took. Shivering, wanting to come, he straightened up, turned again, grabbed his cock roughly as he stared at his reflection. “Xander’s,” he reminded himself hoarsely, hand withdrawing, back to simply staring as his cock twitched, leaked. “What Xander sees.” And he says I’m beautiful when I’m ugly and unclean and unworthy. Eyes shut he found the wound sites. Eyes open he examined them. He could still feel the filth inside him but he appeared deceptively clean. No wonder Xander couldn’t understand. Doesn’t understand because you won’t explain. Wanker. Frightened, dressed in seconds, Spike snatched up the phone and called Xander’s cell. No answer but Spike could hear Xander running up the stairs. There was the usual moment of horrified anticipation before the door opened, when, although he knew it was Xander, there was a chance it could be anyone, it could be a doctor, could be a soldier, could be a whole new torture, but… “It’s me, Spike, only me,” as the footsteps reached the door and it opened two inches and Spike could see Xander and he ripped the damn thing open and threw himself into welcoming arms, into his refuge, into safety. Xander gripped the trembling form tightly, shushing and comforting. “I’ll put it away, I’ll take it away.” Spike shook his head. “No.” “No?” “No,” Spike said firmly. “But…?” “I love it.” “You…” “Love it.” “But…?” Pulling back, Spike gave Xander a subdued smile. “I love it.” He kissed Xander, smiling into the kiss, abruptly laughing into the kiss. Xander nudged him away and frowned curiously. Spike just shook his head and laughed some more before pulling Xander into another hug. “And the bipolar vamp has me at his mercy, yet again.” … Friday. Chill out. Xander got home, found Spike in the shower and joined him, kissed him, sang to him, adored him. Chill out suddenly became boiling point when Spike presented himself to Xander wearing the gift he’d decided upon at the beginning of the week. After Xander had specifically described this particular leather strap after finding it on the internet it would have been impolite to choose any other. Xander continually took blood, took photographs, continually took the vampire. Two in the morning, record broken, Spike hovered for a moment in that blissfully peaceful state between satiation and sleep, thinking appreciative thoughts about supple leather, his flexible Xander, and the erotic wonder of enchanted mirrors.
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