by Abbie


Gentle teeth tugged on Xander's earlobe, once, twice. A quick tongue brushed against his skin, raising goose pimples, but in a good way. Xander moaned and turned his head to the side, giving his imagined lover more access to his neck. Ah, this was good--perfect--the way only dreams could be. A lover who knew exactly when to nip, when to kiss, when to lick. A solid palm rubbed his belly in light, teasing circles, dipping lower with each rotation, the side of the hand brushing against the tip of his cock.

Xander groaned and arched up, seeking more contact from the enticing hand. Teeth took a fold of skin on his shoulder and bit down in warning. Xander stilled. He was good at following a lover's games. The insubstantial weight of the body draped along his side bounced slightly, a silent chuckle. After another moment, the strokes and kisses continued. Xander tried to keep himself immobile, and after a few more teasing caresses, found himself rewarded with slender cool fingers wrapped around his length.

Oh--full contact. Xander sighed, happy. Even though this was only a dream, it was still a fantastic way to wake up. He hadn't realized his imagination could be so good. Fingers slid up and down his shaft, pausing now and then to tickle, pinch, and stroke the bundle of nerves just below the head of his cock. A talented mouth now suckled at one of his nipples, tonguing it down into his chest then drawing it back up. The bliss deepened, building in the pit of his gut, that place where he felt fear most often, now overflowing with pleasure.

Fingers from one hand fondled his balls, stimulating them and rolling them from one side to the other in his tightening sack, before walking back up and more firmly stripping his shaft. Other fingers danced patterns across his neck, forcing shivers of pleasure through his core. An infuriating mouth alternating between sucking locations on the inside of his elbow, that juncture where his hip met his waist, and random places on his torso.

Xander climbed on top of the mounting wave of sensations and clung there greedily for as long as he could. His butt cheeks clenched, his thigh muscles tightened, his chest solidified as he rode on the knife edge of orgasm. But as perfect as this dream was, it couldn't last forever. He arched off the bed and came with a shuddering moan of delight.

Xander sank back into the bed, the warmth of his come quickly cooling the front of the boxers he'd slept in. The body next to his disappeared. Groaning, he released his fingers from where they'd gripped the sheets.

Wow. What a dream. But it was time to get up and face the music, see whatever it was that the day decided to throw at him. He blearily opened his eye.


The naked figure sat cross-legged on the bed next to him. Blue eyes flashed at him, and a long, slender tongue licked pale fingers.


A smirk and a cocked eyebrow answered him. Slowly, the figure rocked forward onto his knees and one hand, while holding the other out to Xander. Frozen in fear, Xander couldn't stop the finger that found its way into his mouth, the taste of his own seed seeping across his tongue.

Just a dream, right? Hellmouthy, but just a dream, Xander told himself as the apparition of Spike slid the finger in and out of his mouth. He couldn't control his dreams, right? Or how his cock twitched at the sight of Spike's hungry eyes boring into his?

After another moment, Spike sat back. With a final lick across his own palm, the ghost exploded into ten thousand golden dust motes and scattered around the room.

Xander lay panting for long minutes, unable to move, unable to gather a coherent idea or plan of action. Finally, he realized that a thought had indeed surfaced and managed to fight its way through his paralyzing panic.

What the hell had that been about?


"So, is my favorite witch ready for lunch?" Xander asked, sticking his head into the small office the Watcher's council provided for Willow, one of their new American consultants.

"Just a sec," Willow said, typing madly on her computer. "There," she said, pushing herself up and walking over to Xander. "So, where do you wa--"

"Ak! There he is!" Xander interrupted, jumping back and pointing with a shaky hand.

"Who, Xander?"

"Please, Wills," Xander pleaded, grabbing the witch and putting her between himself and the apparition. "Tell me you can see him."

"See who, Xander?" she asked, stiffing under his fingers.

He tried to relax his hold, knowing he was scaring his best friend, but he was unable to stop himself. "Spike." The word sounded rough even to his ears.


The high pitched tone in Willow's voice enabled Xander to control himself. "Yeap. The bleached menace himself," he said, finally letting go of her arms. The Xand-man could cope, must cope, for her.

"What's he doing?" Willow whispered over her shoulder.

"Nothing. Just standing there. Staring."

"Where is he?" Willow asked, her voice more normal, her curiosity obviously overtaking her fear.

"There," Xander said, pointing at the figure leaning on the four-drawer filing cabinet in corner of the office.

"Uhm, hi Spike," Willow said with a quick wave.

The apparition didn't respond. It continued to stare at Xander.

"I don't think he can see you Willow," Xander said.

"Oh. But he can see you?"

"Yeah," Xander said. The blue eyed gaze held him captive. No, the *pain* he saw there held him--hunger, want, longing, mixed together with great loss. Emotions radiated in waves from those depths. Xander found himself drowning, unable to draw himself out.

A restraining hand finally pulled him free. Only when Xander came back to his surroundings did he realize he'd taken several steps toward the figure.

"Okay mister, now you're freaking me out. You really see something there, don't you? And this isn't the first time, is it?"

Xander dropped his head and stared at the floor. "You're right," he said, barely breathing out the words. He'd seen Spike once more since that first freaky dream. Xander had come out from the bathroom after a shower one evening only to find Spike standing, fully clothed, complete with duster, in the center of his bedroom. The ghost had crooked his finger at Xander, then whirled, coat billowing, and stalked out of the room. Xander had followed, reaching the living room just in time to watch the figure wrench open the front door and walk out. After hurriedly dressing, fixing his eye patch, equipping himself with weapons, and exiting the already open door, Xander had found his neighbor being munched on by two vampires. Xander had dispatched the attackers, listened to extravagant thanks, but not seen the blond vampire again.

Warm fingers ran down his arm. Xander looked up. Deep ache in blue eyes caught him again before he could look at Willow. The totality of the vampire's gaze convinced Xander like nothing else could that Spike only saw him.

Something stroked Xander's arm again, what, he could no longer tell, too ensnared by what he saw before him. Memories of other strokes, cold ghost fingers on his cock, soft tongue on his chest, seized him. An answering lust threaded through the vampire's eyes, mingled with the continued sorrow.

Quiet chanting prodded the edges of Xander's awareness. Grief threatened to overwhelm him. Tears pooled in his own eye, and his throat started to hurt.

The vision disappeared abruptly, and only the memory of the anguish remained.


Xander stretched his arms up above his head while at the same time pointing his toes and tensing every muscle in his body. He relaxed abruptly with a sigh and a slight yawn, not wanting to drag himself out of bed, as usual.

He didn't notice the weight resting on his wrists until he tried to pull his arms down. Startled, he opened his eye.

An amused blonde stared down at him.

"Spike! Get off me you freak!" Xander bucked his hips, trying to dislodge the ghost. Though the apparition had very little weight, it also clung better than plastic wrap to the body underneath it. Xander tried again, only to realize that driving his hips up brought further contact of naked pieces of flesh that had starting to grow interested in each other. Why hadn't he worn boxers to bed last night? He hadn't thought about it at the time. Had he been secretly wishing for the ghost to show up again?

Xander forced himself to be still. The face above Xander's was so close his lack of depth perception was no longer an issue. Lust poured from the cerulean gaze. Xander's breath caught at the intensity of it. He stopped moving, trapped by the emotion he saw. Then ghost lips pulled at his, sleek and soft and tender and oh so sexy. The other's mouth sucked in Xander's bottom lip, nibbled at it, then a cool tongue touched Xander's.

Voices inside the human screamed at him, telling him in no uncertain terms just how very wrong this was. Not because it was a guy--losing an eye and that last apocalypse had convinced Xander to accept his wayward libido and admit that he could be turned on by men as well as women. His time with Anya had taught him that he liked the whole butt thing, both giving and receiving. And the clubs in LA had broadened his horizons even further.

Besides, Xander argued with himself while opening his mouth more fully for the determined tongue above his, this was just a dream, right? Okay, so he had opened his eye and seen Spike. So maybe it wasn't a dream. That didn't change the fact that Spike was a ghost. The vampire had died saving the world. This was just a freaky haunting. Nothing that Xander could control.

Xander pushed himself harder against the insubstantial body covering his, commingling the bits that had grown more than just interested in each other, while viciously drowning out the voice in his head that still chanted, "Liar."


Xander smiled as he checked his bank statement. Getting paid for saving the world. About time. Between the relief checks that had come from the government for the hole that had been Sunnydale, the checks from both his parents and Anya's life insurance policies, and being on something called "permanent retainer" with the formerly evil law firm of Wolfram and Hart, he had a decent balance in his account--even after purchasing a house in LA and outfitting it with all the electronics he'd ever lusted after.

Contentment filled him as he wandered from the living room to the kitchen. His new place was such a long ways away from the Basement of Doom. He searched the fridge for a soda, contemplating the day ahead. He didn't have to put in another appearance at "work" for a couple of days. No apocalypse threatened, no doomed prophesy loomed over them. He decided he could get into some quality sofa time, vegging in front of the wide screen TV, lazing in his space, no one and nothing making demands of him for a while. It would be perfect.

He ruthlessly suppressed the "but something--or someone--is missing" feeling that always came at times like this.

The hairs on the back of his neck raised suddenly and goose pimples raced across his shoulders, telling him he was no longer alone. Fear beat through him. Xander grabbed a bottle of beer and raised it as a weapon before he whirled around.

It was merely Spike, if the word "merely" could ever be applied to the ghost. Pain and hunger filled the blue eyes staring into his.

"What do you want?" Xander asked. The words tumbled out without thought.

The vampire continued his intense stare.

"Beer?" Xander asked, half joking, holding out the bottle to Spike.

Nothing. No reaction. No change in the ache or longing pouring from the ghost.

Xander's anger snapped hard enough he figured even Spike could hear the click. It wasn't bad enough that he was the only one to see the ghost. He was also the only one to be bathed in the vampire's pain.

"Fuck. I don't need this today." Xander slammed the beer down and stalked out of the kitchen. He didn't need to look to know the ghost followed him. Xander walked to the large French doors in the living room and deliberately stood in the sunshine spilling through them. The ghost stayed behind him, out of the bright light. Xander felt the stare like a solid point of fire burning between his shoulder blades.

Having Spike in his bed, that was one thing. That was a dream, a sex fantasy come true. But when the ghost just stared and made Xander, well, feel things, it wasn't the same. It wasn't good or exciting or anything Xander looked forward to.

Xander pushed open the French doors and stepped into the sunlight before he turned around. The ghost looked at him sadly for a moment before it did its gold mote disappearing act again.

Fine. Xander would just work on his tan today.


"I think you should talk to him," Willow said, pausing between bites of her salad.

"Wills," Xander said. "Don't--don't do this again."

"But Xander, it might help."

"Talking would imply a conversation. You know, where two people say things to each other. But I'm the only one who speaks in this little drama of ours. All he does is stare." Xander's fork stopped half-way to his mouth while the memory of Spike's aching gaze stabbed at him.

It had been six months. Six months of heaven and hell--all the doors to all the pleasure palaces ever built flung open when Spike was in Xander's bed (or on the floor, or in the kitchen, or over the back of the couch,) and all the torments and tortures devised by man or demon when Spike's silent eyes bore into his.

Willow had tried everything she could think of: devocation spells, revocation spells, and exorcisms; structural, flesh, as well as spiritual cleansing spells; protection pentagrams, protection circles--Xander thought Willow would try a protection square dance if it would work.

But nothing did. Nothing stopped the apparition. Xander continued to be haunted by Spike the "friendly" ghost. Hence her new tactic of convincing Xander to talk to the vampire.

"It isn't *my* fault he decided to haunt me," Xander said, more harshly than he'd intended. The pasta he shoved in his mouth tasted of too much oregano--a little bitter for his tastes.

"Oh no, not blaming you, no blame here, blame free from this corner," Willow said, holding up her hands in the traditional "I give up" pose.

They ate in silence for a moment. When Willow was in town, taking a break from recruiting slayers for training in England, they made a habit of eating dinners together, either at her place or his. Tonight it was her kitchen, with pasta, salad, and bread slathered in extra garlic butter.

"It might, you know, help *you*," Willow said, not looking up from her plate.

"What do you mean?"

"You, you sometimes seem so conflicted over Spike and this. And maybe--regretful. He did save the world."

"Yeah, I know. And I treated him like the asshole he was the rest of the time. He is--was--an evil vampire." With the most talented tongue--no, not going to go there. Not going to think lusty thoughts about Spike at Willow's house.

"Have you ever considered apologizing?"

"Give it a rest, Wills." Yes, Xander had thought about saying he was sorry, on more evenings than just the ones Willow brought it up. Apologizing for all the mean, hateful things he'd ever said or thought about the vampire, if it would help. Sometimes he was willing to do just about anything to end Spike's pain.

"Please Xander."

"I--I'll think about it. Okay?"

"You'll do the right thing Xander. You're a good man."

"That's hitting below the belt," Xander said, forcing himself to grin at her. She wouldn't consider him a good man if she knew the things he and his vampire did together.

Maybe they should stop. Xander's guilt reared its ugly head and butted it against Xander's. He wasn't using Spike, not really. He couldn't be, not from how enthusiastically the vampire enjoyed their coupling. And besides, at least half the time Spike jumped him.

Maybe he should try talking to the ghost though.

On the way home from Willow's, Xander picked up three bottles of tequila and the sweetest margarita mix he could find. He tended to stay away from whisky and gin; the smell brought back too many bad memories of drunken arguments floating down from the ceiling. Once home, Xander set himself up in the living room, resting against the back of the couch with glasses (he always put out two, even if Spike couldn't take one,) ice in an ice bucket, the tequila and mix beside him. In front of him was a blank expanse of wall. Spike never sat down with Xander unless it involved some kind of sex. But the vampire would lean.

Xander had just started the second bottle when Spike appeared. The vampire made no move toward the human, just stood, resting his head against the wall, staring down at Xander.

And Xander talked. He let Spike know that while Spike was an evil vampire, and had been soulless for most of the time they'd known each other, Xander did finally get it. The vampire had not only helped the Scooby gang, he'd fought hard to protect Dawn. By the end of the second bottle Xander could even bring up Buffy, admitting how much she'd abused Spike. And that Xander had been something of a bigot.

Things grew hazy for Xander after that. Well, more hazy. He kind of remembered arguing with the silent apparition that redemption wasn't just for poofy, dark haired vampires, that love was possible for everyone, and that maybe Xander had a kind of love for a bleached someone who had once been his worst enemy. He also had a vague recollection of the vampire finally leaving the spot where he'd been holding up the wall, taking Xander's spinning head in his cool hands, and the feeling silken lips against Xander's once more . . .

Everything grew much more muddled after that.

Xander didn't get out of bed until after 1 P.M. the next day, and even then seriously thought about not going to see Angel and the gang. But Angel and Gunn had been training him, getting him accustomed to fighting and protecting himself with his new mono-vision.

Showered, shaved, caffeinated, and somewhat coherent, Xander stumbled into the new hotel where brood boy had set himself up. After a mumbled greeting to Fred sitting at the reception desk, Xander walked down to the training room.

"Hey," Xander said, entering the room. Gunn and Angel turned to greet him, then stared.

"What?" Xander asked. Had Spike shaved Xander's head the previous night and had Xander somehow not noticed through the fog of his hangover?

Speaking of Spike . . . the prickling feeling Xander always got from the appearance of the ghost skittered across his back. He looked over his shoulder. Yeap, there was the vampire. Staring, as usual. Xander turned back toward the others.

"Oh my god," Gunn said. Both of them were doing the same kind of strange, slow approach towards Xander, almost sidestepping their way across the room.

What was going on? What was wrong? Xander looked behind him again, then back at Gunn and Angel.

It finally clicked. "You can see him . . . "

"Yes," Angel said, finally drawing up next to Xander. "But all he sees is you."


"Why me?" Xander asked, leaning against the wall of the training room, looking down at the bottle of water in his hand.

Angel shrugged. "He always watched you, marked where you were, what you did."

"Huh?" Xander whipped his head around and stared at the dark haired vampire. Out of the corner of his eye he could still see the blonde watching him. Spike now showed up every time Xander was in Angel's presence. Xander wondered if Spike did it to annoy Angel, even though the bleached ghost's gaze never left the human.

"I don't know why he tracked you like that," Angel continued as if he hadn't heard Xander. "Maybe because he admired your sense of loyalty. Maybe he thought you'd be the easiest to kill. Maybe you smelled good to him. Or maybe Dru had a vision, and told him to."

"Again with the huh?"

"Xander," Angel said, then paused. "Does it matter why?"

Xander had no answer to that.


The pain started in his thighs and quickly moved up to the base of his spine. Xander started to shake. His arms ached, his gut throbbed, and his feet felt like they'd been replaced with lead slabs. He fought to keep his breathing steady.

It had sounded easy. Just five minutes. Five minutes of standing with his eye closed, legs slightly bent, arms out in tree-hugging position, and just breathe. Really. How hard could it be to stand still for five minutes?

"Why do I have to do this again?" Xander inquired after exactly one minute and sixteen seconds of excruciating misery.

The sigh of exasperation that came from beside Xander made him wince. Since the drunken talk with Spike, Xander had been working on not aggravating Angel deliberately. The human had even given up most of the nicknames he had for the brooding vampire, at least when Xander spoke to Angel directly.

Could he help it if he was a little slow sometimes?

"It will build Chi, as well as help you get in touch with your body," came the measured reply.

Heh. I'd rather Spike got in touch with my body.

A growled word startled him. "What?"

Xander opened his eye and looked over at Angel. The vampire no longer stood in the pose he'd dictated for Xander, but with his hands at his sides, fists clenched, as if holding himself back.

"Uhm, did I say that in my out loud voice?" Xander asked, backing up. He glanced over to where Spike rested against the wall, staring at Xander, the pain overlaid today with what looked suspiciously like boredom. He could expect no help from the bleached menace, as usual.

The way Angel shook himself reminded Xander of a fighter trying to throw off a hard blow to the chin. Then the dark haired vampire smiled at Xander, lips pressed together tightly. After another minute of uncomfortable silence, made worse for Xander by the sweat trickling down his sides, Angel drawled, "So, Spike does more than just look."

"Maybe? Sometimes?" Xander said, no longer inching toward the door. It looked like Angel was just going to laugh at him, and not yank his spine out through his nose.

Angel peered at Spike for a moment, then returned his burning gaze to Xander. "You know he wants something from you, don't you? The haunting will only stop when you figure it out."

Xander bit his lip to prevent his exclamation of "Duh." Willow had tried everything, even going so far as to make Xander wear some pretty scary smelling talismans, but nothing had worked.

Angel shook his head as if he'd heard Xander's statement anyway. "You're not listening. He wants something from you. *You* need to do something, or say something." He smirked, and Xander saw traces of Spike's familiar crook of lips in the older vampire's expression. "If he's doing more than staring, I'd bet you have to say something."

Xander didn't want to acknowledge Angel's words, but he knew the vampire was right. "Do I have to do more of the standing meditation today?" Xander asked, trying to deflect the conversation.

"No, let's start form," Angel said. "Heels together, weight balanced, knees bent, and breathe."

"You know how weird that is, you telling me to breathe."

"In some ways, being a vampire makes me a better teacher. I don't have to pay attention to my own breathing, so I can better listen to yours."

The soft pride in Angel's voice surprised Xander. He hadn't expected the vampire to want to teach him at all, let alone to want to the job well.

Xander followed Angel's soft instructions, though he knew at least this part of form the best--the shifting of weight and opening of his stance, the invoking of his raising wrists, the way his fingers stretched and all the joints in his arms released. Sometimes at night he'd just do the first few moves of form, over and over again, because of the sense of peace it gave him.

Of course, it was harder than it looked. Who expected that breathing and moving at the same time could be so difficult?

Xander stared in front of him, trying to find the awareness that Angel talked about--the Tai Chi stare--focusing on nothing yet seeing everything.

Unfortunately, that kept bringing his gaze across Spike. It didn't matter which direction they began doing form in, even if they started with Spike behind them. The blonde always moved to lounge against the wall they faced, particularly when they weren't going through the entire form, but just focusing on a few moves.

Every once in a while, and especially more recently, Xander found he could lose himself for minutes at a time in the flow--the pace of his breath, the opening and closing of his limbs, the energy expanding and retracting.

Today was not one of those occasions. Every time he saw Spike, Xander's guilt jabbed him. He should be searching more diligently for the words that would free the ghost. But Xander feared losing what they had, losing the companion who graced his lonely bed, even if it was just now and again.

Xander didn't know if the vampire was frustrated with the half life he led, never truly here or there, while wracked with such intense longing and anguish his eyes fairly shone with it. Xander suspected Spike was not only growing impatient, but angry with the human for not finishing the haunting, not fixing whatever was wrong.

"Breathe," came the quiet reminder.

At the end of form they just stood, slightly expanding and contracting their hands and hip joints, energy spiraling up and down through the bottoms of their feet, Xander breathing, Angel not.

For a moment, staring at the blonde, relaxed and in tune with his body, Xander loosened his hold on the physical now. He felt drawn out of himself and into a dance with ten thousand dust motes. They coated his skin, charged it with pain and glory, making him feel everything all at once: the joy of hot blood; the terror of murder pressing down on a newly restored soul; lust for dark haired beauties; as well as sorrow over everything that might have been, loves, home, and place all lost.

"What do you want?" The words seemed trivial compared to the deluge of emotions Xander drown in. But he didn't know. Not really.

He didn't care about what Angel, or anyone else, thought at that point. Xander stepped forward and brought his hand up to Spike's cheek, cupping it, willing himself to feel the flesh beyond the dust--ash--that he knew made up the vampire's existence.

"What do you want?"

Spike tipped his head, as if pushing into Xander's palm. Blue eyes filled Xander's being. An unknown amount of time passed before the vampire slowly faded away.


Silken lips caressed his skin. Light, almost-there kisses scattered across his forehead, nose, chin, finally lulled Xander to consciousness. He reached up, brushed the backs of his hands against angular cheekbones, forced his fingers through stiff gel, and pulled those lips more firmly against him. Xander shivered when a cool tongue brushed against his. Then he pushed his way in, craving the cavern above his, the pearllike texture of Spike's teeth, the moist goodness of the vampire's mouth. Languidly Xander thrust into his partner's mouth, then they switched, and a wicked tongue traced exotic patterns of its own.

Contentment filled Xander. The sweetness of this wakeup, the gentle persuasiveness of his lover's tongue, the slow fire building in Xander's groin--this was all so right. Nothing had ever felt this good. This was home, something he'd never thought he'd feel.

It wasn't real though. Nothing with an actual partner felt like this. This was the zipless fuck, the perfect coming together with a dream lover you never had awkward moments with. It was like the first time, when Xander had thought he'd just had a particularly erotic wet dream. But every time was like the first time with ghost Spike. It always felt this wonderful, this consuming, as if nothing else existed in the world but this lover above him, this mouth on his, this longing for more. As if nothing else was important or relevant.

Soft fingertips brushed against already Xander's stiffened nipples. First one, then the other, was pinched lightly. Xander's moan broke the silence, broke the kiss, and made him open his eyes.

Spike gazed down at him, blue eyes laughing and joyful. Xander had never seen Spike look like this when he'd been alive--er--dead--uh--of the not ghost variety. The ache always present in the vampire's eyes was barely discernable; lust overlaid all the other emotions Xander read.

What did the vampire want? And did Xander, selfish beast that he was, want to give it to the ghost, if it meant losing this?

Xander pulled on Spike's head, trying to bring it back toward his. His ghost lover squirmed out of his grasp. Xander's internal voice supplied the running soundtrack of British wit that the ghost never made. "Tut tut, luv, impatient, aren't we?" Xander swore he felt the laugh his partner made.

Soft nips trailed along his jaw line. Xander stretched his head, shamelessly giving the vampire better access to his neck. He loved it when Spike was like this, playfully exploring Xander's skin with touch, taste, and gentle teeth. He also enjoyed the other moods of his lover: when fast and furious lust over took them both; when they delved into restraint and dominance with ghost ropes and games; or even when it was just slow and lazy and gentle, almost too calm for either of them to reach completion.

Xander let himself moan again as Spike ran his tongue along his collarbone, encouraging another silent chuckle and a harder nip. Xander forced his head up to watch his lovers sneak a broad lick across his chest, followed by another, then another, as if Spike were taking his time demolishing an enormous ice cream cone. Mischief sparkled in blue depths.

And pain.

Xander's lust faded faster than dew in desert sunshine. He reached out for Spike, pulling his lover up his body, brushing his lips gently, and asking the question he always asked, "What do you want?"

Cocky Spike appeared now, one eyebrow raised, a smirk across thin lips. "If you don't know, I'm not gonna tell you," Xander's internal voice supplied. Spike placed a more aggressive kiss on Xander's lips, and stronger bites now made their way down his chest.

Xander sighed. "I wish . . . "

Stillness. Blue eyes locked on Xander's for a moment. Raw need flared. Then smug Spike came back, and a raspy tongue licked across the tip of Xander's penis.

"You want me to wish for something." A long lick up the underside of Xander's cock was his reward.

What did Spike want Xander to wish for? What did Xander want to wish for?

Once Spike had brought Xander to orgasm, the ghost would fade away and not return for a day or more. Did Xander want the apparition to stay? Leave blood-stained mugs in the sink, dirty socks in the bathroom, and another set of ichor covered clothes when they came back from fighting the good fight? Did he really want the snarky debates and screaming fights that were sure to come? Xander knew he was no prize to live with--and Spike was even less so.

The dream sex would vanish. His lover would sweat, and sometimes smell, and maybe object to kissing him first thing in the morning without teeth brushing first. Clothes would get in the way, as well as fights and history and other people.

But there would be someone there, all the time. Someone to cuddle with, someone to watch bad TV and conduct running commentary with, someone to hold him when the demons invaded his sleep--maybe even someone to fill the empty places in his new house.

Or in his heart.

The moist mouth now nibbling on Xander's cock threatened to drive all thoughts from his head. Glancing down, Xander was drawn in by the lust clouding fair blue eyes. But he knew he needed to do this now, before he'd been granted another release, without the implicit bribe of another mind-numbing orgasm.

He tugged at Spike, trying to get his partner to stop. Xander groaned as his cock was released, but continued to pull Spike up so they could be face to face. Xander chastely kissed his lover, once, twice, three times, as if he was casting some kind of spell, before he spoke the words.

"I wish for this to be real."

Golden haze swirled around the edges of Xander's vision, but he refused to look anywhere other than his lover's eyes. Wide, sparkling azure oceans of amazement threatened to swallow the human. Unnecessary breath snaked into the mouth above his. A cool body, with actual weight, finally settled onto his own.

The kiss that followed spoke volumes of love and companionship.

As well as of coming home.





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