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Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Eh, Hard R, maybe?
For a FmK challenge. In "Beneath You", Nancy asks if any of the gang haven't slept together. Spike and Xander exchange a look. What's up with that?

A/N: Small bits of dialogue taken from BtVS episodes "Entropy", "Seeing Red", and "Beneath You". As usual, no infringement intended, etc...This is my first Spander. Be kind...honest, but kind. Title taken from Juvenal's "Satires", "Revenge is the abject pleasure of an abject mind."




                                
    Abject Pleasures of an Abject Mind


    “Is there anyone here who hasn’t slept together,” Nancy asked, tone rife with frustration. Brown eyes locked with blue, tangling briefly and then veering away, each refusing to acknowledge here, now, what that meant. Anya’s voice crackled and sparked over flesh, and the memories were pushed away. Down deep, where nothing and no one could touch them.

    It had taken awhile, for things to settle. Spike couldn’t be sure what was real anymore. He wasn’t real, he was quite sure. When the red witch and the Slayer had come to him, he had seen those brown eyes again. Eyes that warmed him and made him feel and he couldn’t wouldn’t shouldn’t feel. The Slayer and her boy, her boy, HER boy, not his not his not his. …and those memories rose up, huge and inviolable. He pushed them down again, refusing to see them. They weren’t authorized. Didn’t have the proper forms, did they? Wouldn’t do, not at all….


    Her boy? He was her boy, huh? So much for expecting Spike to remember. Xander flopped down on his bed, sighing emphatically. Spike. Here. Spike was here. A few short feet and a couple of hundred sanity points away, in the closet. Xander couldn’t figure it out. Why was he her boy? Shouldn’t Buffy be his girl? Or maybe, just maybe, he was HIS boy? Not that Xander wanted that, because no way did he want Evil Dead to want him. Except, maybe, a little?


    It was Nancy’s fault. Everything had been fine until she’d asked that stupid question. You’d think, two girls, two guys, pretty limited combinations in the sex department. If Spike had slept with Buffy and Anya, and Xander had slept with Anya and not with Buffy, why bother to ask if there were any other permutations? But she had asked and there had been that…look. Running a hand over his face, Xander let the memories surface.

      “I don’t want to know this. I don’t want to know any of this,” and he’d been off, running into the night. Stupid, really. Born and raised on a Hellmouth, you learn that dramatic nighttime exits just don’t work so well. He’d wandered for hours, trying to figure it out. Anya. Buffy. Spike.
He looked up, for the first time in hours. It had seemed so easy, so right. Damn it, he was justified. Everything that had been his, everything he deserved, stolen. Defiled, by that bleached blonde menace. Time to just…deal with it.

     He walked into Spike’s crypt, hands clenched around the stake. It was over. No more Spike, no more pain, just no more. He climbed down the stairs into the lower level and stopped, looking around.
Spike was lying on the bed. Not sleeping, not smirking, not jumping up outraged. Just lying there. Dead. Well, yeah dead. He was dead. Just a body. No soul, no feelings, not really. Just a body.


    Without a thought, Xander stripped of his clothes, dropping the wooden stake to the ground. It clattered, the sound abnormally loud in the stillness. The clankclankclank reverberated in the tomb, and still Spike didn’t move. Xander moved forward, climbing onto the bed. Nothing.

   
    “I hate you, you know that? I hate you, “the brunette hissed, fingers wrapping around the smaller wrists of the vampire. They felt delicate under his large hands, almost fragile. He snorted. Spike, fragile. Right.

   
    “She was mine. They were mine. I loved them. What did you feel, when you fucked them? Did you even feel anything?”

   
    Clothes coming off now, jeans wriggled and tugged down strong legs. Cool flesh underneath, soft and sensuous. Blue eyes gazing up, and still no words. No motion, no resistance, just…acceptance?

   
    Xander shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Spike, pinned beneath him, helpless. Was he raping Spike? Was this vengeance? Would this make it better somehow? Xander couldn’t think, couldn’t find words and suddenly, Spike’s arms were around him, rocking him.


    “Want to make it better, yeah? The hurt is too big and you need to make it better. What did I feel, Xander? I felt the hurt. Wanted someone to love, to love me back, to make me feel something other than hurt. ‘S why you’re here, hoping to find a bit of cold comfort. Bloody Scoobies!”

   
    “Spike, I’m…I just…wanted you to feel like I do, “ Xander muttered, trying not to snuggle into the iron bands around him.

    “I know, “ Spike replied simply. “Think that if you spread the pain around, it’ll be easier to bear. Not true, but believin’ it helps some. I’ve been used by you lot since I got this chip stuck in my head. Thought that maybe if I let you use me, it’d make you feel better. It won’t though.”


    Spike tipped his head down, raining kisses on Xander’s hair. Putting a slim finger under the boy’s chin, Spike pressed their lips together. Feeling Xander pull back, he made a soft crooning noise in the back of his throat and looked down.


    “Not afraid, sweet. Don’t be afraid. Won’t let you use me, ‘cause it won’t help. Gonna give you a little love, is all. That’s what you need right now. Bit o’love and some affection. Maybe it’s what we both need, “ whispered Spike.


    Xander thought about this. He did want love, even this kind. Someone to touch him, make him feel unbroken. Maybe Spike could put him back together again. Maybe?

   Xander looked up at Spike and what he didn’t see broke his resolve. No snark. No flickers of condescension or tolerance. Spike’s eyes were warm. Soft blue and warm, like a blanket. Xander let the tension in his spine melt and he sagged against Spike’s strong body.


    “I got you, luv. Got you right here. Make you feel so good, take your pain away, “ Spike moaned, as Xander’s hand ran up and down his chest.


    “Wanna make you feel good too, Spike. Will you…” Xander broke off, eyes cutting away. He might be a man now, but he was still boy enough to feel shy.

   
    “Will I what, pet? Show you how? Teach you, “ Spike’s voice got softer and Xander was on his back, “how to touch and taste a man? Is that what you want?”


    “Yesyesyes,” Xander agreed as those lips closed over his cock. Eyes closed as a talented tongue worked him over, suckling at the tip and swallowing him down.


    Xander couldn’t remember much, except for sensations. He never did get to touch Spike. Spike had been all over him, touching him, tasting him, and then on top of him, taking Xander’s cock all the way inside. Spike had been beautiful, all angles and shadows, riding him and whimpering. The words, filthy and loving, had cascaded over Xander, settling softly into old wounds and soothing them.


    Those words still aroused him, and his hand slid down to grasp his cock. He could hear it again, husky voice thick with desire, calling out Xander, pet, lovely, so good, filling me up, make me cum for you, want to cum, yours yours yours, all for you…Xander gasped, warm sticky cum splattering his belly.


    There hadn’t been anything else. Just those bodies, that night. He’d fallen asleep, Spike’s body curled around him, not exactly happy but better. Cleaner. Whole. Woke up alone, with a note. Words he still didn’t understand, but he got the message. Spike didn’t want him. Not for real. When he’d argued with Buffy, asked her if she though Spike would be all snuggles without the chip, he was asking for himself as much as for her.


    He knew now. Spike hadn’t tricked any of them, hadn’t used any of them. He’d offered them the only thing he still had…himself. Given up the best parts to help them out, his blood, his pain, his cock. And then he was gone.


    Gone and back now. Back, a few feet away and Xander didn’t know what to do. He hated Spike. He missed Spike. He wanted…wanted to stop this freaky mental train ride.

  
    Standing, he wiped himself off with a discarded shirt. He knew Spike would be able to smell him, and he didn’t care. He walked across the room and over to Spike’s door. A few seconds of mental debate, because Xander knew this wasn’t the brightest thing he’d ever done, and the door was open.

   
    Spike opened his eyes, and there he was, just standing there. Dropping his head down, Spike curled up and just wished the pain away. No hitting, no hurting, and that was something, he supposed.


    “Not goin’ to hurt you, Xander. Just want a bit of rest, yeah? Just want…” and the words slipped away. There were warm arms and warm lips. Spike flung himself towards the warmth, wanting this to be real. “Be real, be real, be real…need it need it need it, be real, pleasepleaseplease…”


    “I’m real, Spike. I’m real and I’m here. I don’t know, “ Xander’s voice cracked and he buried his fingers in Spike’s disheveled hair, “ I don’t know what’s going on. With you. With me. The Hellmouth. The economy or the future of cartoons. I don’t know. But, I’m real.”


    “I’m lost, Xander. Done so much. Hurt the girl, hurt so many people. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt you. Wanted to make you feel good, “ Spike confessed softly.


    “You didn’t hurt me, Spike. What happened...it...I felt good. Comfort, like you said. So, I’m going to make you feel good. Not like you did me, but just this. You’re safe. Here. With me,” Xander said, tightening his grip on the squirming vampire.


     Spike sighed, his breath ghosting over Xander’s skin. He stopped struggling and let Xander hold him. It was soothing, knowing that right now, he was safe. Nothing, real or imaginary, could get through the reassuring bulwark of Xander’s presence in his bed.


    “Spike, can I…why did you…I’m not Buffy’s boy!”


    “No, pet, you’re not, “ Spike answered sleepily. “My boy, my lovely boy, you are. Can still taste you on my tongue.”

   
    “You can? I am? What does it…is it…”Xander tripped over his words, trying not to sound eager or freaked or any of the million that things that skated along his overworked nerves.


    “Ssh, luv. Taste delicious. My boy…”came the mumbled reply as Spike tunneled deeper into Xander’s bulky frame.


    Xander gave up, and smiled. Spike was home. He was crazy, with a soul, and home. The Apocalypse was coming. He was Spike’s boy, in Spike’s bed, and this was never going to happen again. But for now, it was nice.

THE END
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