Fic: Dropping Eaves (Spike/Xander, Softcore NC-17)
Title: Dropping Eaves
Author: Allyndra
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Soft NC-17 (naughty touching)
Disclaimer: I am not now, nor have I ever been Joss Whedon. Not mine.
Summary: Spike overhears a conversation that leads him to woo Xander.
Note: This was written for
entrenous88for
southernbangel's Fluff-a-thon. It is very, very, very late. EntreNous, I'm sorry.
Spike hadn't gotten to bed until nearly noon, so he thought he deserved a bit of a lie in. Of course, that meant Xander had to have the girls over for an obnoxiously loud, annoying as all hell movie night while it was barely dusk. Spike growled in their general direction and buried his head under a pillow to muffle the noise.
It didn't help. A pillow - especially the cheap, poly-fill type Xander could afford - simply wasn't up to the task of blocking vampiric hearing. In the living room, Willow made a joke about one of their classes that set Buffy off on a high pitched laughing jag. Spike regretted being physically unable to smother himself to death. Why couldn't Xander have male friends? Surly, silent male friends with deep voices who rarely spoke and never laughed like bleeding great dolphins. Spike piled another pillow on his head and pulled it down tight, a fluffy, ineffective shield.
Spike scowled into the dim whiteness of his pillowy cocoon. This was what came of taking up with humans. They disrespected you, they tried to change you, and they were inconsiderate when you were trying to sleep. But the fact was, Spike hadn't got anywhere better to go, a fact which sharpened his glare and drew a growl to his lips. His crypt had been overrun by slimy blue Potnez demons, and they'd managed to wreck the place before Spike had killed enough of them to scare the rest away.
Right now, Spike was feeling tempted to go have a kip in his slimy crypt if it would save him from the giggles and banter seeping under the door. He turned his head, burrowing his face deeper into the sheets. They smelled of Xander, as though they'd stored up Xander's scent while he slept at night specially to wrap it around Spike when he took the bed for the day. Once upon a time, the scent of a human so close would have been distracting, rousing him to hunt and feed, but now it was comforting. Safe. And bloody hell, that was annoying!
Spike was meant to be a demon. Master vampire and all that. But here he was, not only surrounded by humans, but comfortable with that. And the humans were comfortable with him, too, hardly ever remembering he was an evil demon, slayer of Slayers. A burst of laughter from the living room reinforced the thought, and Spike glared hard enough that he thought they just might see it through the layers of pillows and walls.
He twisted on the bed, turning his back to the door, and stuffed his fingers in his ears. Anya’s voice still managed to pierce his eardrums, and Spike thought bitterly that she could enact vengeance just as easily today as when she’d been a demon, just by opening her mouth and using that particular tone of voice. He tried to drown her out by humming, but the only song he could think of was “The Lights O’ London,” which was just not on. He refused to lie about humming music from his pathetic youth whilst wishing he could still tear people’s throats out. He stopped humming halfway through the verse and sat up, flinging the pillows aside. He’d had enough. If he couldn’t get any rest, he could at least make sure the Slayer and her back up band were as miserable as he was.
Spike looked around for his jeans and gave up on ignoring Anya's voice. It had taken on a wheedling quality that made Spike want to throw things. "Come on, Xander," she said. "He's just sitting in there, all alone and neglected." Spike froze with his jeans halfway over his hips. She said what?
"He is not feeling neglected, Anya," Xander replied in a long suffering tone that told Spike this discussion had probably been going on all through his humming and ear-plugging.
Spike nodded in agreement and tugged his jeans the rest of the way on. Too right, he wasn't feeling neglected. Of course, if he got out there and found that they'd eaten all the popcorn, he might change his mind about that.
"But I get lonely at night without anyone to cuddle," Anya protested.
"Hey, no! You broke up with me, thereby forfeiting all rights to the 'But I'm lonely' card. I get to play 'But I'm lonely,' while you’re stuck with nothing in your hand but 'I need to spend some me time.' And the dealer shakes his head sadly. 'I need to spend some me time' isn’t winning you any points tonight.”
Spike stepped closer to the door but didn’t open it. He stood there, staring at it and feeling a bit dazed.
“She has a point, though, Xander,” Buffy piped up. “It’s not like you’re using him or anything.”
“That doesn’t mean he's up for grabs," Xander insisted.
"You're mean," Anya accused.
"Yeah, well. I don't share well with others."
"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Willow taunted.
"So very mature," Xander said.
"You've shared lots of stuff with me. Toys, movies, clothes. That one year that Mom went kosher, you were my only source of cheeseburgers."
"Ooh, and CDs. You totally share CDs," Buffy added.
Xander sighed loudly. "Some things are more important than CDs. And he's one of them."
The conversation continued, but Spike didn't hear a word. Apparently, all he'd needed to block out their cacophony was the sense of shock and the curl of warmth flickering to life at Xander's words. Spike knew Xander didn't really mind having him around. He'd grumbled when Giles had asked him to "keep the vampire menace off the streets," but he'd given in quickly after minimal persuasion. But Spike hadn't thought Xander's willingness to share his apartment for a few weeks was the result of anything more than a mild case of loneliness and a serious case of White Hat syndrome. But now ... a slow, surprised smile spread across Spike's face. Xander liked him. Liked him enough to stake a claim to the birds about him, and that was more than anyone had liked Spike in a long, long time.
Mind whirring with possibilities, Spike pulled open the bedroom door and stalked out into the living room. Lately he often had to put some effort into his Big Bad persona, coddled into submission as it was by the Vampire Slayer's Knitting Circle, but tonight the sneer and scowl came easily. Bloody bints should know he wasn't a pet they could pass around.
"Spike!" Xander had been slouching against Willow on the sofa, but he sat up straight when he saw Spike. "Hey, I didn't know you were up."
Spike sharpened his glare. "Didn't have much choice, now did I? What with you lot caterwauling out here."
Xander raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Caterwauling? I think I would remember it if we'd been caterwauling. I'll admit to chatting, but ..." He shrugged.
"Louder than chatting," Spike grumbled. "Shrieking like banshees, you were."
Willow pursed her lips. "I reserve shrieking for frogs and those orange demons with the tentacles."
"Whatever you were doing," Spike huffed out, "Was too loud to sleep through."
Buffy rolled her eyes, but Xander smiled apologetically. "At least now you won't miss movie night. We have a tasteful selection of fantasy movies from our childhood."
"A night in with the kiddies. Sounds so tempting," Spike sniped, but sleep deprivation aside, it did sound fairly tempting. There was a space next to Xander on the sofa and a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. If he was just some bloke and not William the Bloody, he would have agreed in a heartbeat. Of course, since he *was* William the Bloody, he didn't have a heartbeat.
"We have Legend," Xander said in a singsong voice.
"The storyline revolves around a large demon determined to destroy all innocence in the world," Anya told him. "I may have dated him once."
"Come on, Spike. You can't say no to Tim Curry with horns and hooves."
Spike wavered for a moment, but Xander was right. Tim Curry. "Fine. But I get to hold the popcorn." He dropped onto the sofa next to Xander, ignoring the glare Buffy sent his way for jostling her against the arm.
Tim Curry was brilliant, and the little princess reminded him more than a bit of his Dru when she went dark and low-cut, but Spike spent a good portion of the film watching Xander. His eyes crinkled when he grinned at the funny parts and glowed with enthusiasm during the fights, and whenever there was a bit he especially liked he moved his lips, silently reciting along. Sitting pressed against his side, Spike felt an almost audible click of something right falling into place. It was like finding the perfect rhyme after weeks of searching for it.
When the girl saved the unicorn and Darkness was defeated, Spike didn't even mind.
***
After the film ended and the girls toddled off home, Xander bade Spike good night and went to bed. Ordinarily, Spike would have gone out looking for money or a row, but tonight he found himself sitting on the sofa thinking.
Xander clearly had a pash on him, and that ... was rather nice. It shouldn't be. By rights, it ought to be completely laughable: an innocent young human presuming to fall in love with a demon like Spike, who had killed and tortured for over a century. But somehow Spike didn't feel like laughing. He felt like smiling, his eyes soft as he thought about the last few weeks living with Xander, letting Xander's actions slot into this new perception.
Xander made faces over Spike's diet, but he always had a few spare bags of blood in the freezer just in case they ran out. He'd claimed it was so that Spike wouldn't have an excuse to mug pedestrians downtown, but Spike noticed it was always from his favourite butcher, even though there were others closer to Xander's apartment. Xander mocked Spike's wardrobe of red and black, but whenever he did the washing, Spike's clothes always wound up clean and folded, with two kinds of softness.
The more Spike thought about it, the more obvious it became that Xander had fancied him for quite a while. And it wouldn't take much effort to fancy Xander back. The boy had a sharp wit and was as willing to skewer himself on it as to point it at others. He was stupidly brave when his friends were in danger, despite publicly claiming cowardice. Though he was vastly ignorant of most of the knowledge Spike had acquired in his long-ago university days, Xander was intelligent, able to plan and organise, and learning quickly when he was interested in the subject. Witness his encyclopaedic knowledge of Batman comics.
He also wasn't hard to look at. Xander's clothes were rubbish, but the body under them was firm and strong. He never did anything with his hair, but the tousled mop suited him. Xander's eyes were really quite lovely, and his smile ... Spike suddenly realised that Xander didn't smile from happiness very often. He gave the appearance of grinning all the time, but most of his smiles were small and self-deprecating. When he did relax into a real smile, it was breathtaking, lighting his entire face with joy. Spike thought Xander ought to smile like that more often. Spike wanted to be the reason Xander smiled like that more often.
Spike nodded to himself. He and Xander could be good together. Now he just had to make certain they got to that point. Part of him wanted to just prowl his way the bedroom and up onto the bed, taking Xander by surprise. Taking him any way at all sounded brilliant, actually. But another part of him wanted to woo Xander. Dru had always accepted Spike's romantic leanings indulgently, as though they were foolish but harmless. Spike wanted to shower some of that romance on someone who might appreciate it. And Xander had enough insecurities that he would blossom under Spike's attention.
Rising from the sofa, Spike gather up a notebook and a biro and sat himself at the kitchen table. Brow furrowed in thought, he started scratching out a list. He'd never been much of a planner, but for Xander, he'd make an exception.
***
"Spike?" Xander blinked at him from the doorway, his toolbelt slung over one shoulder. His hair was still matted from his hardhat, and Spike wanted to run his fingers through it until it fell soft around his face as it was meant to. "What are you doing?" Xander asked blankly.
"Cooking, ain't I?" Spike gave him a measuring look. "You didn't fry your brain out in the sun today, did you? I always held that any place having this much sunshine couldn't be healthy."
Xander snorted. "Of course you think that. You're a vampire. And no, I did not fry my brain. I was just surprised. I didn't know you could cook."
Spike fidgeted with the spatula in his hand. "I never had much call to learn," he admitted. When he'd been human, his mother had always kept a cook, and after he'd been turned, Spike had no reason to cook foods he didn't need to eat. "Bobby Flay made it look simple, though."
Xander blinked again. "Right," he said slowly. "I'm gonna go catch a shower while you finish that. Try not to burn anything down."
Spike rolled his eyes. He nearly never burnt anything down by accident. He watched Xander walk toward the bedroom, still shaking his head in confusion. Catching himself staring off into the middle distance, Spike dragged his attention from picturing Xander in the shower and focused it back on his task.
The table had already been laid, and the supper was nearly ready. He eyed the peppers and onions still waiting to go into the pan doubtfully. He wasn't certain he'd got the right type of pepper. There weren't many grocery stores open all night in Sunnydale, and the one he'd gone to hadn't had an extensive produce department. Spike thought the peppers he'd bought might be a bit smaller than the type he'd seen used on the cooking show, but otherwise they looked quite similar. It oughtn't matter.
When Xander took a large bite of his meal and nearly collapsed, flushed and gasping and scrambling for water, Spike realised how much it mattered. Xander's eyes were streaming as he choked out, "What the hell, Spike?"
Spike took a bite from his own plate and chewed it contemplatively. The texture was appealing, with the vegetables cooked to tender-crisp and the meat nearly melting on his tongue. There was a bit of a bite to it, but Spike didn't feel the need to dive into his drink that Xander apparently felt. Good job, too, since Alton Brown said that water didn't help cool down spicy food. Spike went to the kitchen and poured a glass of milk, then returned and handed it to Xander.
"Too much spice, eh?" He grimaced. There was a reason most vampires didn't eat human food after they'd been turned. Spike personally rather liked it, but the flavours simply weren't the same when you were dead.
Xander emerged from his glass of milk with a watery glare. "You think?" he asked breathlessly. "New rule: vampires only get to cook for other vampires."
Spike pouted. "Don't want to cook for other vampires," he muttered.
By the end of the night, Xander's tongue had recovered enough from Spike's cooking to handle a bowl of porridge. Spike offered to cook it for him, but Xander had only looked at him disbelievingly.
Spike surreptitiously fished out his list while Xander was in the kitchen fetching the brown sugar. It was time to move on to Plan B.
***
Plan B involved rather more washing than Spike had anticipated. It took load after load of artfully destroyed laundry to rid the apartment of Xander's hideous shirt collection. Spike decided to leave the trousers for now, but he had hopes of getting rid of them in future as well.
The first time Spike "accidentally" ruined a load of shirts, Xander had given a loud, put-upon sigh and told him to be more careful. The second time, Spike got a glare and a lecture. The third time, Spike threw caution out the window and gathered up all of Xander's remaining shirts, destroying them in one fell swoop of bleach.
When Xander saw the wreckage, he heaved a defeated sigh. "Is this satisfying some inner need for destruction, Spike? Are you using my laundry as some Freudian way of unleashing your aggression without getting your head zapped? Because I'm all for the not maiming and killing thing, but I really can't afford for my wardrobe to be your therapy."
Spike gave his best dismissive shrug. "Didn't mean nothing by it," he claimed. "Besides, it's not as though it's any great loss. Ugliest things I've ever seen, and I've met Chaos demons." And no matter that he'd moved on from his lovely, wicked Drusilla, Spike would always, *always* hate Chaos demons.
Spike opened his mouth to tell Xander about the shirts Spike had bought for him, which were currently tucked away under the sofa, waiting to be brought out as a surprise. He'd chosen shirts in shades of green and blue that would make Xander’s skin glow and golden browns that would brighten his eyes. If Xander could manage to look such a treat in his usual garb, he was going to be stunning when he was dressed properly.
Before Spike could get a word out, though, Xander interrupted him. "Is that what this is about? You killed my shirts because they were *ugly*? God, Spike, that really ... That sucks. I mean, I know I'm not winning any beauty pageants here, but I bought my clothes myself. They're tacky and goofy, but so am I. You’re the evil undead, and I haven't asked you to change who you are.”
Xander hadn't asked it, but he'd been changing who Spike was all along. Spike left Xander sulking in the bedroom and slumped dispiritedly on the sofa, ignoring the box peeking out from under it.
***
Spike was waiting naked on the bed when Xander got home. He'd arranged himself in a loose sprawl that promised sin. He didn't know what Xander's reaction would be, but he expected more of a reaction than the mild, "Hi, Spike," that Xander tossed over his shoulder on the way to the WC.
Spike gaped as Xander closed the door between them. After a moment, he heard the shower start. Spike collapsed back on the duvet and stared at the ceiling. Maybe Xander had been so tired and grubby that he hadn't seen Spike in his haste to get to the shower. Maybe Xander assumed Spike always slept naked on top of the covers. Maybe Xander was a blind git who was more effort than he was worth.
Spike sighed, picturing Xander in the shower. He'd be all bronzed skin, relaxed from the heat and slick with water. Spike imagined lapping the water off him, sliding his chest against Xander’s broad back, winding his arms tight around Xander’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss, hotter than the stream around them.
All right, he might be worth the effort.
Spike stroked a hand over his chest and across his belly. He let it drift lower and lower on each pass until his fingertips drifted over his hard cock. He wrapped his fingers loosely around his erection and stroked slowly. It felt good, but he wasn’t trying to get off. He was just teasing himself, waiting for Xander to emerge from the shower. Even Xander would have to notice *this*.
Spike tensed in anticipation when he heard the shower cut off, tracking the tiny sounds of Xander stepping out of the shower and toweling off. His body thrummed with energy when he heard the door open, but he kept his hand moving lightly over his body. Spike knew the second Xander saw him. He would have been able to tell from the way Xander suddenly stopped moving or the way his heart suddenly started to pound, but he didn’t need either of those, because Xander was yelling.
“What the hell, Spike? You couldn’t have done that while I was at work?” Spike opened his eyes and was rewarded with the sight of Xander wearing nothing but a towel, still damp from his shower. His eyes were wide and almost panicked, and the hand clutching his towel closed was going white at the knuckles.
Spike took a deep breath. At times like this, he was grateful he only needed to breathe when it suited him. He could take the air in deep and hold it as long as he liked, letting it steady him like a dish of tea.
“Maybe I wanted an audience,” Spike said with a smirk, sliding his free hand up to toy with a nipple.
Xander took a deep breath of his own, but it didn’t look like it steadied him much. “If you want someone to play peep show with you, I’m sure you could find a playmate somewhere that’s not here.” His fingers fumbled with his towel and Spike was certain he saw something stirring beneath it. Despite the nearly angry look on Xander’s face, the evidence of his interest gave Spike the encouragement to continue.
“Don’t want to go anywhere,” he said. He stretched luxuriously, arching his back and watching in satisfaction as Xander’s eyes followed the motion. “I like it here. Nice bed.” He wriggled against it. “ Good company.” He stared Xander right in the eye, and it was one of the bravest things he’d ever done. Braver that stalking a Slayer through the streets of New York, braver than taking down the idiot Anointed One.
Xander swallowed hard, and Spike wanted to bite at his Adam’s apple as it bobbed. This was so new, wanting to nibble at a human’s throat instead of ripping it open. It made Spike feel reckless. He let his legs fall open on the bad, tightening his grip on his cock just enough for it to stop being a tease.
“You gonna join me, or do you just like to watch?” Spike asked archly, working hard to keep the tension out of his voice.
Xander swallowed again. “I … you … Really?” he asked finally. When Spike nodded in answer, Xander licked his lips nervously. For a moment Spike thought he was going to scarper, which would have been more than he could bear.
He didn’t have any plans left after this one.
But Xander didn’t run. He bit his lip, eyes huge and uncertain. Then he dropped his towel and took a step toward the bed. That was all Spike was waiting for. He surged up off the bed and closed the distance between them, plastering himself against Xander’s larger body. And then Xander’s hands and mouth were on him, all hot flesh and firm muscle, yielding to Spike’s direction.
Spike spared a moment to gloat as he licked his way down the column of Xander’s throat. People said Spike couldn’t plan! Ha. Then a big hand tangled in his hair, and Spike stopped thinking altogether.
***
They were lying sideways on the bed, tangled in the duvet and each other. Xander couldn’t seem to stop touching him, hands stroking down Spike’s back, cupping his arse, up his sides. Spike had never had a lover take such delight in him before, but he thought he could get used to it.
“So this is in no way a complaint,” Xander said, his voice rumbling under Spike’s ear. “But what inspired that.”
Spike tucked himself tighter against Xander’s body before he answered. “Overheard you talking to Anya the other night,” he explained.
“And …” Xander prompted.
Spike raised his head. “And what? Overheard you, thought about it, decided I wanted you.”
Xander’s brows came together for a moment, then smoothed out in understanding. “Oh, the part about being lonely at night?” Xander smiled. “Anya’s going to be so jealous. You’re so much better than Muffin.”
This time Spike’s brow furrowed. “What the bloody hell is muffin?” he demanded.
“My old teddy bear. The one Anya wanted me to give her.” When Spike stared at him in blank incomprehension, Xander wriggled out from under him and crossed to the closet. Reaching inside, he pulled out a fuzzy brown bear. He was just tatty enough to have been loved a great deal. “Anya said that since I wasn’t using him I should let her have him, but …” Xander looked down at the bear affectionately. “He’s mine, you know. Pretty much the only thing I kept from when I was a kid. Bears are so not shareable.” He gave the toy a little hug and put it back in the closet.
Xander came back to the bed and insinuated himself under Spike again. He pressed a kiss to Spike’s hair. “Thank you for keeping me from being lonely,” he whispered.
Spike considered telling him about the misunderstanding, telling him that Spike hadn’t even thought about shagging Xander until he’d believed Xander wanted him. Xander’s hand settled on the back of Spike’s neck, and Spike reconsidered.
“That’s what I’m here for, love,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.”
*************************************************************
ETA: The prompt was for a story with a grumpy Spike, a Three's Company-esque overhearing, and a Scooby movie night.
I just finished working on a training manual for our people in the UK at work, so I was halfway through this before I realized I was doing the British spelling thing. Since it wasn't a purposeful and diligent attempt, the spelling might be a mishmash of American and British.
Author: Allyndra
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Soft NC-17 (naughty touching)
Disclaimer: I am not now, nor have I ever been Joss Whedon. Not mine.
Summary: Spike overhears a conversation that leads him to woo Xander.
Note: This was written for
entrenous88for
southernbangel's Fluff-a-thon. It is very, very, very late. EntreNous, I'm sorry.
Spike hadn't gotten to bed until nearly noon, so he thought he deserved a bit of a lie in. Of course, that meant Xander had to have the girls over for an obnoxiously loud, annoying as all hell movie night while it was barely dusk. Spike growled in their general direction and buried his head under a pillow to muffle the noise.
It didn't help. A pillow - especially the cheap, poly-fill type Xander could afford - simply wasn't up to the task of blocking vampiric hearing. In the living room, Willow made a joke about one of their classes that set Buffy off on a high pitched laughing jag. Spike regretted being physically unable to smother himself to death. Why couldn't Xander have male friends? Surly, silent male friends with deep voices who rarely spoke and never laughed like bleeding great dolphins. Spike piled another pillow on his head and pulled it down tight, a fluffy, ineffective shield.
Spike scowled into the dim whiteness of his pillowy cocoon. This was what came of taking up with humans. They disrespected you, they tried to change you, and they were inconsiderate when you were trying to sleep. But the fact was, Spike hadn't got anywhere better to go, a fact which sharpened his glare and drew a growl to his lips. His crypt had been overrun by slimy blue Potnez demons, and they'd managed to wreck the place before Spike had killed enough of them to scare the rest away.
Right now, Spike was feeling tempted to go have a kip in his slimy crypt if it would save him from the giggles and banter seeping under the door. He turned his head, burrowing his face deeper into the sheets. They smelled of Xander, as though they'd stored up Xander's scent while he slept at night specially to wrap it around Spike when he took the bed for the day. Once upon a time, the scent of a human so close would have been distracting, rousing him to hunt and feed, but now it was comforting. Safe. And bloody hell, that was annoying!
Spike was meant to be a demon. Master vampire and all that. But here he was, not only surrounded by humans, but comfortable with that. And the humans were comfortable with him, too, hardly ever remembering he was an evil demon, slayer of Slayers. A burst of laughter from the living room reinforced the thought, and Spike glared hard enough that he thought they just might see it through the layers of pillows and walls.
He twisted on the bed, turning his back to the door, and stuffed his fingers in his ears. Anya’s voice still managed to pierce his eardrums, and Spike thought bitterly that she could enact vengeance just as easily today as when she’d been a demon, just by opening her mouth and using that particular tone of voice. He tried to drown her out by humming, but the only song he could think of was “The Lights O’ London,” which was just not on. He refused to lie about humming music from his pathetic youth whilst wishing he could still tear people’s throats out. He stopped humming halfway through the verse and sat up, flinging the pillows aside. He’d had enough. If he couldn’t get any rest, he could at least make sure the Slayer and her back up band were as miserable as he was.
Spike looked around for his jeans and gave up on ignoring Anya's voice. It had taken on a wheedling quality that made Spike want to throw things. "Come on, Xander," she said. "He's just sitting in there, all alone and neglected." Spike froze with his jeans halfway over his hips. She said what?
"He is not feeling neglected, Anya," Xander replied in a long suffering tone that told Spike this discussion had probably been going on all through his humming and ear-plugging.
Spike nodded in agreement and tugged his jeans the rest of the way on. Too right, he wasn't feeling neglected. Of course, if he got out there and found that they'd eaten all the popcorn, he might change his mind about that.
"But I get lonely at night without anyone to cuddle," Anya protested.
"Hey, no! You broke up with me, thereby forfeiting all rights to the 'But I'm lonely' card. I get to play 'But I'm lonely,' while you’re stuck with nothing in your hand but 'I need to spend some me time.' And the dealer shakes his head sadly. 'I need to spend some me time' isn’t winning you any points tonight.”
Spike stepped closer to the door but didn’t open it. He stood there, staring at it and feeling a bit dazed.
“She has a point, though, Xander,” Buffy piped up. “It’s not like you’re using him or anything.”
“That doesn’t mean he's up for grabs," Xander insisted.
"You're mean," Anya accused.
"Yeah, well. I don't share well with others."
"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Willow taunted.
"So very mature," Xander said.
"You've shared lots of stuff with me. Toys, movies, clothes. That one year that Mom went kosher, you were my only source of cheeseburgers."
"Ooh, and CDs. You totally share CDs," Buffy added.
Xander sighed loudly. "Some things are more important than CDs. And he's one of them."
The conversation continued, but Spike didn't hear a word. Apparently, all he'd needed to block out their cacophony was the sense of shock and the curl of warmth flickering to life at Xander's words. Spike knew Xander didn't really mind having him around. He'd grumbled when Giles had asked him to "keep the vampire menace off the streets," but he'd given in quickly after minimal persuasion. But Spike hadn't thought Xander's willingness to share his apartment for a few weeks was the result of anything more than a mild case of loneliness and a serious case of White Hat syndrome. But now ... a slow, surprised smile spread across Spike's face. Xander liked him. Liked him enough to stake a claim to the birds about him, and that was more than anyone had liked Spike in a long, long time.
Mind whirring with possibilities, Spike pulled open the bedroom door and stalked out into the living room. Lately he often had to put some effort into his Big Bad persona, coddled into submission as it was by the Vampire Slayer's Knitting Circle, but tonight the sneer and scowl came easily. Bloody bints should know he wasn't a pet they could pass around.
"Spike!" Xander had been slouching against Willow on the sofa, but he sat up straight when he saw Spike. "Hey, I didn't know you were up."
Spike sharpened his glare. "Didn't have much choice, now did I? What with you lot caterwauling out here."
Xander raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Caterwauling? I think I would remember it if we'd been caterwauling. I'll admit to chatting, but ..." He shrugged.
"Louder than chatting," Spike grumbled. "Shrieking like banshees, you were."
Willow pursed her lips. "I reserve shrieking for frogs and those orange demons with the tentacles."
"Whatever you were doing," Spike huffed out, "Was too loud to sleep through."
Buffy rolled her eyes, but Xander smiled apologetically. "At least now you won't miss movie night. We have a tasteful selection of fantasy movies from our childhood."
"A night in with the kiddies. Sounds so tempting," Spike sniped, but sleep deprivation aside, it did sound fairly tempting. There was a space next to Xander on the sofa and a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. If he was just some bloke and not William the Bloody, he would have agreed in a heartbeat. Of course, since he *was* William the Bloody, he didn't have a heartbeat.
"We have Legend," Xander said in a singsong voice.
"The storyline revolves around a large demon determined to destroy all innocence in the world," Anya told him. "I may have dated him once."
"Come on, Spike. You can't say no to Tim Curry with horns and hooves."
Spike wavered for a moment, but Xander was right. Tim Curry. "Fine. But I get to hold the popcorn." He dropped onto the sofa next to Xander, ignoring the glare Buffy sent his way for jostling her against the arm.
Tim Curry was brilliant, and the little princess reminded him more than a bit of his Dru when she went dark and low-cut, but Spike spent a good portion of the film watching Xander. His eyes crinkled when he grinned at the funny parts and glowed with enthusiasm during the fights, and whenever there was a bit he especially liked he moved his lips, silently reciting along. Sitting pressed against his side, Spike felt an almost audible click of something right falling into place. It was like finding the perfect rhyme after weeks of searching for it.
When the girl saved the unicorn and Darkness was defeated, Spike didn't even mind.
***
After the film ended and the girls toddled off home, Xander bade Spike good night and went to bed. Ordinarily, Spike would have gone out looking for money or a row, but tonight he found himself sitting on the sofa thinking.
Xander clearly had a pash on him, and that ... was rather nice. It shouldn't be. By rights, it ought to be completely laughable: an innocent young human presuming to fall in love with a demon like Spike, who had killed and tortured for over a century. But somehow Spike didn't feel like laughing. He felt like smiling, his eyes soft as he thought about the last few weeks living with Xander, letting Xander's actions slot into this new perception.
Xander made faces over Spike's diet, but he always had a few spare bags of blood in the freezer just in case they ran out. He'd claimed it was so that Spike wouldn't have an excuse to mug pedestrians downtown, but Spike noticed it was always from his favourite butcher, even though there were others closer to Xander's apartment. Xander mocked Spike's wardrobe of red and black, but whenever he did the washing, Spike's clothes always wound up clean and folded, with two kinds of softness.
The more Spike thought about it, the more obvious it became that Xander had fancied him for quite a while. And it wouldn't take much effort to fancy Xander back. The boy had a sharp wit and was as willing to skewer himself on it as to point it at others. He was stupidly brave when his friends were in danger, despite publicly claiming cowardice. Though he was vastly ignorant of most of the knowledge Spike had acquired in his long-ago university days, Xander was intelligent, able to plan and organise, and learning quickly when he was interested in the subject. Witness his encyclopaedic knowledge of Batman comics.
He also wasn't hard to look at. Xander's clothes were rubbish, but the body under them was firm and strong. He never did anything with his hair, but the tousled mop suited him. Xander's eyes were really quite lovely, and his smile ... Spike suddenly realised that Xander didn't smile from happiness very often. He gave the appearance of grinning all the time, but most of his smiles were small and self-deprecating. When he did relax into a real smile, it was breathtaking, lighting his entire face with joy. Spike thought Xander ought to smile like that more often. Spike wanted to be the reason Xander smiled like that more often.
Spike nodded to himself. He and Xander could be good together. Now he just had to make certain they got to that point. Part of him wanted to just prowl his way the bedroom and up onto the bed, taking Xander by surprise. Taking him any way at all sounded brilliant, actually. But another part of him wanted to woo Xander. Dru had always accepted Spike's romantic leanings indulgently, as though they were foolish but harmless. Spike wanted to shower some of that romance on someone who might appreciate it. And Xander had enough insecurities that he would blossom under Spike's attention.
Rising from the sofa, Spike gather up a notebook and a biro and sat himself at the kitchen table. Brow furrowed in thought, he started scratching out a list. He'd never been much of a planner, but for Xander, he'd make an exception.
***
"Spike?" Xander blinked at him from the doorway, his toolbelt slung over one shoulder. His hair was still matted from his hardhat, and Spike wanted to run his fingers through it until it fell soft around his face as it was meant to. "What are you doing?" Xander asked blankly.
"Cooking, ain't I?" Spike gave him a measuring look. "You didn't fry your brain out in the sun today, did you? I always held that any place having this much sunshine couldn't be healthy."
Xander snorted. "Of course you think that. You're a vampire. And no, I did not fry my brain. I was just surprised. I didn't know you could cook."
Spike fidgeted with the spatula in his hand. "I never had much call to learn," he admitted. When he'd been human, his mother had always kept a cook, and after he'd been turned, Spike had no reason to cook foods he didn't need to eat. "Bobby Flay made it look simple, though."
Xander blinked again. "Right," he said slowly. "I'm gonna go catch a shower while you finish that. Try not to burn anything down."
Spike rolled his eyes. He nearly never burnt anything down by accident. He watched Xander walk toward the bedroom, still shaking his head in confusion. Catching himself staring off into the middle distance, Spike dragged his attention from picturing Xander in the shower and focused it back on his task.
The table had already been laid, and the supper was nearly ready. He eyed the peppers and onions still waiting to go into the pan doubtfully. He wasn't certain he'd got the right type of pepper. There weren't many grocery stores open all night in Sunnydale, and the one he'd gone to hadn't had an extensive produce department. Spike thought the peppers he'd bought might be a bit smaller than the type he'd seen used on the cooking show, but otherwise they looked quite similar. It oughtn't matter.
When Xander took a large bite of his meal and nearly collapsed, flushed and gasping and scrambling for water, Spike realised how much it mattered. Xander's eyes were streaming as he choked out, "What the hell, Spike?"
Spike took a bite from his own plate and chewed it contemplatively. The texture was appealing, with the vegetables cooked to tender-crisp and the meat nearly melting on his tongue. There was a bit of a bite to it, but Spike didn't feel the need to dive into his drink that Xander apparently felt. Good job, too, since Alton Brown said that water didn't help cool down spicy food. Spike went to the kitchen and poured a glass of milk, then returned and handed it to Xander.
"Too much spice, eh?" He grimaced. There was a reason most vampires didn't eat human food after they'd been turned. Spike personally rather liked it, but the flavours simply weren't the same when you were dead.
Xander emerged from his glass of milk with a watery glare. "You think?" he asked breathlessly. "New rule: vampires only get to cook for other vampires."
Spike pouted. "Don't want to cook for other vampires," he muttered.
By the end of the night, Xander's tongue had recovered enough from Spike's cooking to handle a bowl of porridge. Spike offered to cook it for him, but Xander had only looked at him disbelievingly.
Spike surreptitiously fished out his list while Xander was in the kitchen fetching the brown sugar. It was time to move on to Plan B.
***
Plan B involved rather more washing than Spike had anticipated. It took load after load of artfully destroyed laundry to rid the apartment of Xander's hideous shirt collection. Spike decided to leave the trousers for now, but he had hopes of getting rid of them in future as well.
The first time Spike "accidentally" ruined a load of shirts, Xander had given a loud, put-upon sigh and told him to be more careful. The second time, Spike got a glare and a lecture. The third time, Spike threw caution out the window and gathered up all of Xander's remaining shirts, destroying them in one fell swoop of bleach.
When Xander saw the wreckage, he heaved a defeated sigh. "Is this satisfying some inner need for destruction, Spike? Are you using my laundry as some Freudian way of unleashing your aggression without getting your head zapped? Because I'm all for the not maiming and killing thing, but I really can't afford for my wardrobe to be your therapy."
Spike gave his best dismissive shrug. "Didn't mean nothing by it," he claimed. "Besides, it's not as though it's any great loss. Ugliest things I've ever seen, and I've met Chaos demons." And no matter that he'd moved on from his lovely, wicked Drusilla, Spike would always, *always* hate Chaos demons.
Spike opened his mouth to tell Xander about the shirts Spike had bought for him, which were currently tucked away under the sofa, waiting to be brought out as a surprise. He'd chosen shirts in shades of green and blue that would make Xander’s skin glow and golden browns that would brighten his eyes. If Xander could manage to look such a treat in his usual garb, he was going to be stunning when he was dressed properly.
Before Spike could get a word out, though, Xander interrupted him. "Is that what this is about? You killed my shirts because they were *ugly*? God, Spike, that really ... That sucks. I mean, I know I'm not winning any beauty pageants here, but I bought my clothes myself. They're tacky and goofy, but so am I. You’re the evil undead, and I haven't asked you to change who you are.”
Xander hadn't asked it, but he'd been changing who Spike was all along. Spike left Xander sulking in the bedroom and slumped dispiritedly on the sofa, ignoring the box peeking out from under it.
***
Spike was waiting naked on the bed when Xander got home. He'd arranged himself in a loose sprawl that promised sin. He didn't know what Xander's reaction would be, but he expected more of a reaction than the mild, "Hi, Spike," that Xander tossed over his shoulder on the way to the WC.
Spike gaped as Xander closed the door between them. After a moment, he heard the shower start. Spike collapsed back on the duvet and stared at the ceiling. Maybe Xander had been so tired and grubby that he hadn't seen Spike in his haste to get to the shower. Maybe Xander assumed Spike always slept naked on top of the covers. Maybe Xander was a blind git who was more effort than he was worth.
Spike sighed, picturing Xander in the shower. He'd be all bronzed skin, relaxed from the heat and slick with water. Spike imagined lapping the water off him, sliding his chest against Xander’s broad back, winding his arms tight around Xander’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss, hotter than the stream around them.
All right, he might be worth the effort.
Spike stroked a hand over his chest and across his belly. He let it drift lower and lower on each pass until his fingertips drifted over his hard cock. He wrapped his fingers loosely around his erection and stroked slowly. It felt good, but he wasn’t trying to get off. He was just teasing himself, waiting for Xander to emerge from the shower. Even Xander would have to notice *this*.
Spike tensed in anticipation when he heard the shower cut off, tracking the tiny sounds of Xander stepping out of the shower and toweling off. His body thrummed with energy when he heard the door open, but he kept his hand moving lightly over his body. Spike knew the second Xander saw him. He would have been able to tell from the way Xander suddenly stopped moving or the way his heart suddenly started to pound, but he didn’t need either of those, because Xander was yelling.
“What the hell, Spike? You couldn’t have done that while I was at work?” Spike opened his eyes and was rewarded with the sight of Xander wearing nothing but a towel, still damp from his shower. His eyes were wide and almost panicked, and the hand clutching his towel closed was going white at the knuckles.
Spike took a deep breath. At times like this, he was grateful he only needed to breathe when it suited him. He could take the air in deep and hold it as long as he liked, letting it steady him like a dish of tea.
“Maybe I wanted an audience,” Spike said with a smirk, sliding his free hand up to toy with a nipple.
Xander took a deep breath of his own, but it didn’t look like it steadied him much. “If you want someone to play peep show with you, I’m sure you could find a playmate somewhere that’s not here.” His fingers fumbled with his towel and Spike was certain he saw something stirring beneath it. Despite the nearly angry look on Xander’s face, the evidence of his interest gave Spike the encouragement to continue.
“Don’t want to go anywhere,” he said. He stretched luxuriously, arching his back and watching in satisfaction as Xander’s eyes followed the motion. “I like it here. Nice bed.” He wriggled against it. “ Good company.” He stared Xander right in the eye, and it was one of the bravest things he’d ever done. Braver that stalking a Slayer through the streets of New York, braver than taking down the idiot Anointed One.
Xander swallowed hard, and Spike wanted to bite at his Adam’s apple as it bobbed. This was so new, wanting to nibble at a human’s throat instead of ripping it open. It made Spike feel reckless. He let his legs fall open on the bad, tightening his grip on his cock just enough for it to stop being a tease.
“You gonna join me, or do you just like to watch?” Spike asked archly, working hard to keep the tension out of his voice.
Xander swallowed again. “I … you … Really?” he asked finally. When Spike nodded in answer, Xander licked his lips nervously. For a moment Spike thought he was going to scarper, which would have been more than he could bear.
He didn’t have any plans left after this one.
But Xander didn’t run. He bit his lip, eyes huge and uncertain. Then he dropped his towel and took a step toward the bed. That was all Spike was waiting for. He surged up off the bed and closed the distance between them, plastering himself against Xander’s larger body. And then Xander’s hands and mouth were on him, all hot flesh and firm muscle, yielding to Spike’s direction.
Spike spared a moment to gloat as he licked his way down the column of Xander’s throat. People said Spike couldn’t plan! Ha. Then a big hand tangled in his hair, and Spike stopped thinking altogether.
***
They were lying sideways on the bed, tangled in the duvet and each other. Xander couldn’t seem to stop touching him, hands stroking down Spike’s back, cupping his arse, up his sides. Spike had never had a lover take such delight in him before, but he thought he could get used to it.
“So this is in no way a complaint,” Xander said, his voice rumbling under Spike’s ear. “But what inspired that.”
Spike tucked himself tighter against Xander’s body before he answered. “Overheard you talking to Anya the other night,” he explained.
“And …” Xander prompted.
Spike raised his head. “And what? Overheard you, thought about it, decided I wanted you.”
Xander’s brows came together for a moment, then smoothed out in understanding. “Oh, the part about being lonely at night?” Xander smiled. “Anya’s going to be so jealous. You’re so much better than Muffin.”
This time Spike’s brow furrowed. “What the bloody hell is muffin?” he demanded.
“My old teddy bear. The one Anya wanted me to give her.” When Spike stared at him in blank incomprehension, Xander wriggled out from under him and crossed to the closet. Reaching inside, he pulled out a fuzzy brown bear. He was just tatty enough to have been loved a great deal. “Anya said that since I wasn’t using him I should let her have him, but …” Xander looked down at the bear affectionately. “He’s mine, you know. Pretty much the only thing I kept from when I was a kid. Bears are so not shareable.” He gave the toy a little hug and put it back in the closet.
Xander came back to the bed and insinuated himself under Spike again. He pressed a kiss to Spike’s hair. “Thank you for keeping me from being lonely,” he whispered.
Spike considered telling him about the misunderstanding, telling him that Spike hadn’t even thought about shagging Xander until he’d believed Xander wanted him. Xander’s hand settled on the back of Spike’s neck, and Spike reconsidered.
“That’s what I’m here for, love,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.”
*************************************************************
ETA: The prompt was for a story with a grumpy Spike, a Three's Company-esque overhearing, and a Scooby movie night.
I just finished working on a training manual for our people in the UK at work, so I was halfway through this before I realized I was doing the British spelling thing. Since it wasn't a purposeful and diligent attempt, the spelling might be a mishmash of American and British.