One More For The Road

Remember the funky looking mansion? Xander fought down the hysterical laugh that wanted to bubble up inside him as he replayed the telephone conversation in his mind one more time. Yes, Buffy. I remember it. In fact, I've been going there every four weeks since Miss Calendar died for my monthly tune up and lube job. No, Buff. You don't want to know what that meant.

How could he forget it? The fact that this was the night, the night really didn't help the butterflies in his stomach as his good hand clutched the big rock he was carrying for self defense (please, no laughter from the peanut gallery) and marched toward the mansion with absolutely no idea what he planned to do.

Beg Spike to help? Maybe?

Sure. That'd go over well.

Hey, Spike. While you're back there fucking my brains out, can I ask a favor? How about helping us kill Angel?

Xander groaned, and resisted the urge to bash himself in the head with his own rock.

Hey!

That might not be a bad plan if he could knock himself out until the crazy, wacky, needy itch for Spike went away. He was going crazy. He was even starting to hallucinate the smell of leather and cigarettes and imagine another set of footfalls falling into step beside him.

"Fancy meeting you here."

"Yagh!" Xander dropped his rock, leaping backwards and colliding with a tree, staring at Spike with wide eyes as the itch spread into a tingle and flared into pure bone-melting lust when Spike closed the gap between them, looking him over.

Possessively. "That time of month again already is it?" Xander fought back a little moan and gripped the tree with his left hand, trying to resist the urge to sag forward until he could rub himself all over Spike's body, and- oh fuck, yes, like that. Xander let his head drop back against the bark, letting Spike scent his throat. Like he'd need to. Even Xander could smell the pheromones pouring off him, and then Spike touch-touching, and-

"Uhhh." There was something he was supposed to be doing. Besides getting his monthly 1500 mile debasement, he told his body, which ignored him completely.

"How the time does fly. I'm a bit busy tonight, but I suppose I've got time for one more," Spike said, words buzzing into the skin of Xander's neck along with the thwip-thwap sound of Spike undoing his belt and the shushing of his zipper. Then, he reached for Xander, turning him to face the tree and dragging his pants to his knees, pressing up against him, rough zipper and denim, cold, cold hard cock that made Xander's spine itch and arch and made him whine with need. "For the road, like," Spike murmured into the back of his neck, and bit.

Xander gasped, shoving back against Spike with needneedneed then shook himself roughly, trying to throw himself at the tree and away from Spike's dick as his brain delivered him a mental slap. "No! Wait! That's not why I'm here this time!"

"No?" Spike's hand crept around to Xander's belly, the cool worn leather of his sleeve almost indistinguishable from the brush of his palm over the weeping tip of Xander's cock. "Feels like you are."

Spike closed his fingers for a long, lazy stroke, matching it with a thrust, dry, against Xander's ass, the teeth of Spike's zipper a cold burn on his skin that had Xander thrusting back, panting. "Ahh. Dammit, Spike."

"Feels like you're all ready for me," Spike continued, that weird not-quite-breath tickling the hair at the nape of Xander's neck. "Waiting for me. Needing me." Two fingers thrust dry into Xander, twisted until he whined and spread as far as the pants around his knees would let him.

"I don't." Splinters of bark jammed and caught under Xander's clutching fingernails. He shook his head, trying to deny the way his hips thrust back against Spike. Wanted to impale himself on that elusive cold hardness, shuddering with each wet stripe Spike's cock painted over him. "I don't!"

Spike snorted, then let go, taking a half step back despite Xander's cry at the loss of contact. "Run, then."

Blood rushed to Xander's face when his body refused to cooperate, and scrambled instead to kick one leg free of his baggy pants, spreading wide against the tree, head down, arms braced. He shook with shame when the chill press of Spike's body behind him made him moan. "You bastard."

"You reek with want for me," Spike whispered into his ear, still but the slow rock and thrust of his hips against Xander's ass.

"I hate you." Xander closed his eyes, and pressed his forehead against the bark, trying to feel something, anything but Spike behind him and the burning ache inside that needed filling.

"Sweet pillow talk." Spike's voice held laughter and feral promise, and when he shoved in, it was quick, brutal, and all but dry, stealing Xander's breath from him with a throttled groan. "Let's make this quick, boy," he growled, and Xander trembled, feeling the ridges and sharper bones of Spike's demon face emerge against his throat, "I've got a promise to keep, and tonight, I'm on a schedule."

The cold ground almost felt good beneath the burning ache in Xander's ass, and he didn't know how long he'd been sitting against that tree, one arm around his knees, the other around his head when the sun finally rose.

The sun rising was good.

The sun rising meant no more vampires for another four weeks.

Unless you possibly counted Angel.

Oh fuck. Angel. Buffy!

Xander shoved himself to his feet, grabbing his rock, and scrambled through the trees and down the embankment to the road, staggering to a halt before Buffy.

"Xander?"

"The cavalry's here." Xander looked down, realizing how ridiculous that sounded from a shaking boy with a cast, a rock, and twigs in his hair. "The cavalry's a frightened guy with a rock," he admitted, and an aching ass and a vampire for a mate "but it's here." Then, Buffy shoved a stake at him, and for one insane moment, Xander was afraid he'd said the last part out loud, staring at the stake and trying not to feel the cold sick clench in his gut that told him there was no way he'd be able to shove that stake into Spike.

"You're not here to fight." Xander's head snapped up, and for a moment, he could look Buffy in the eye again as she went on. "Get Giles out, and run like hell. Understood? I can't protect you. I'm gonna be killing." She dropped the cloth she was carrying, revealing a long, slender sword to the morning light, and Xander's throat closed over as he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise with the hyena's urge to protect its mate from the Slayer.

"You know, that's a new look for you," he said, trying harder for casual than he'd tried since confronting Larry. Harder, and almost sagged with relief when Buffy answered.

"It's a present for Angel."

"Willow, uh. . . she told me to tell you. . ." kick his ass! Xander wanted to say, but trailed off, taking a sharp and sudden breath instead as the memory of Spike's cold hardness filling him spun vividly through his mind on curls of Marlboro smoke. Hypocritical.

"Tell me what, Xander? We're in kind of a hurry right now."

Xander licked his lips, and looked away, no longer able to meet Buffy's eyes. "Stall him." Xander forced the words out of his throat, looking away. "She's trying to put his soul back again."

Xander let the conversation wash over him, but in his mind, all he saw was the devastation of the empty mansion as he followed Giles through the halls and rooms looking for Buffy, the aftermath of the fight, the stillness of Acathla, the tattered lace hangings of Spike's bed. . . . The twisted wreck of the wheelchair.

And no Spike.

No Buffy or Angel either, so Xander guessed they'd- Well, he'd hope along with Willow that they'd gone off together for some quiet time. Until the police thing died down.

But hey, the world didn't end!

Great.

But the sick feeling of abandonment in Xander's stomach had already begun to throb and grow, and he wrapped his arms around him, half wishing the world had.