Part 2




“Oh, my god.  I should be shot.  Or sent to prison or. . .  Angel’s going to kill me.  Oh, god.”

The cocoon around Spike shifted, and he made a ‘Mrrrrrrrrr’ sound.  Which loosely translated to 'I’m fucking asleep.  Go away.'

“Oh, fuck.”  Spike looked utterly adorable asleep and, oh, right, what the hell had he done last night!  He’d had sex!  With Spike!  He’d ordered sex to have Spike with him!  Spike to have sex with him!  Spike was a guy!  And—and—“Fuck.”

Spike remembered the mouth noise from the night before. He unwound himself from the blankets and rumbled, sliding into Xander’s arms and nuzzled him.

“Oh, f—” He just barely remembered in time to stop, but it was so damned hard to think when Spike’s pliant and friendly body was against him.  He let Spike nuzzle him, and wondered how to tell everyone that Spike can learn new commands.  You know, if there was mind-numbing pleasure involved.

Still rumbling, Spike pushed Xander down, licking and sucking at warm skin.

Oh, god.  ‘Fuck’, even.  He had work, which means he needed to get up.  Which means he needed to stop Spike.  But—he glanced at the clock—he didn’t need to be at work for an hour.  He could be late. . .  Spike moved over him like the predator he always was and it was such a fucking turn on.  Xander waited until Spike’s mouth was level with his cock, closed his eyes and ordered, “Suck.”

Spike hummed softly, took Xander’s cock into his mouth, sucked gently, bobbing his head up and down, making soft sounds of pleasure.

Xander couldn’t think when Spike did that, and didn’t even try.  Just lay there while Spike expertly sucked him. . .  except, that wasn’t a good thing, was it?  Not only because a vampire with severed vocal cords and a tongue nearly cut off shouldn’t have things in his mouth—he’d definitely healed up enough for this kind thing.  But to let Spike, who they were pretty sure had been abused sexually as well as everything else, do this by himself?  Uh uh.  Sitting up, Xander ran his hands down Spike’s body, as far as he could go, tugging and pulling to get Spike’s lower body close enough that he could reach Spike’s hard cock.

Moaning, Spike sucked harder making soft sounds of pleasure and need.

This was wrong, this was so wrong. . .  Xander timed his strokes with each bob of Spike’s head, working to keep them as even as he could possibly make them.  Groaned at the sounds Spike was making around his cock.

Spike enjoyed the feeling, and the anticipated release, something he’d needed and had been prevented from taking until now.

There was a way to rationalize this, Xander was sure.  Spike was a hunter, and had been reduced by the chip into a creature of fairly basic needs.  Food.  Fighting.  Fucking.  Food was covered, and fighting he got from Buffy.  But fucking?  For the last week or so, Spike had managed to get everyone into a position where he could hump them, like a horny puppy, and usually with the same result—ews and being pushed away.  So he was pretty sure that this was the first time Spike’d gotten off since he’d crawled on to their doorstep, the literal cat who always came back.  And that was a good thing, right?  Spike finding something he needed?  Because Xander sure was, his orgasm building inside him like raven wings, fluttery and dark and sharp.  He stroked harder, wanting Spike to come with him.

Moaning, hips jerking a little bit, Spike sucked hard in pace with what Xander was doing.

He babbled out something as he came, stripping Spike’s cock ferociously to force Spike’s orgasm.  And god, Spike was swallowing him.  Anya never did that, just held it until she could spit it out. . .

Spike came, licking Xander clean and humming to himself.

“Got that one down,” Xander whispered, staring at the sheets he was now going to have to wash.  Climbing to his feet, he told Spike, “Stay.  Sleep.”  Then he went and showered, getting ready for work.

Spike muttered a little, but curled up in the blankets, and slept.

Xander checked on Spike again before he left, knowing the vampire was going to wake up in a few hours and no way to explain the whole ‘Xander would be back at sundown’ concept.  Although, actually, sundown was when Buffy was arriving to take Spike out for some exercise.  He probably wouldn’t see Spike until closer to ten that night, when Buffy let him off the hook.  Which didn’t at all explain why Xander leaned down and kissed Spike’s cheek before heading off to work.

Spike arrived that evening, Buffy in tow, and nearly bouncing off walls.  He “greeted” Xander by nuzzling him, then bounced around some more. His clothes were muddy and bloody, and he stank.

Buffy smiled a hello.  “Um.  Why do I feel like the aunt that gets her nephew hopped up on sugar?”

Xander’s day had been long, and the good vs evil morality play in the back of his head hadn’t done much for his concentration.  Which explained why his day had been so damned long and frustrating.  “Because you’re evil and you hate me,” he deadpanned, waving her inside.  “You want munchies, or are you homeward bound?”  He could hear Spike in the kitchen.

“Munchies are good,” Buffy said, “and I might as well help you with Spike wrangling.”  Peering into the kitchen, she added, “Especially since he’s gotten into the peanut butter.”

Xander went to remove the jar from Spike, trying to offer a mug of blood instead.  He did need to eat and. . . and it was really easier to let Buffy just do most of it.

Buffy controlled Spike with hard taps on his head to get his attention, and pointing where she wanted him to go.  She only occasionally used command words.  “I really feel guilty for sticking you with Spike, Xander.  Spike, shower, now!  He’s really a handful.”

Spike hissed at her, but went into the bathroom. The shower ran.

“Yeah, yeah he is but—I am the most logical one to do it.  And with Angel helping to kick in the rent, I can afford to do it so. . .”  He gave her a wan smile.  “No big.  Thanks for letting him run around.  He gets ancy, cooped up all the time.”

“I still feel guilty.”  Buffy nosed around in the kitchen, grabbing herself a soda.  “Patrol was really tough, a lot of the time he’d go off, and I’d have to rescue someone’s poodle.”

Something crashed in the bathroom and they both started.  Xander rubbed his eyes and gave Buffy a smile.  “Then you did your good deed for the next few weeks, and now it’s my turn.  I’m getting Karma for yearsout of this.”  He gave her a smile, hoping he wasn’t sounding as abrupt as he thought he did.  “I’ll go check on him.  You can stick around if you want, but if you leave, just make sure you lock the door before you go, okay?”

“Sure, no problem,” Buffy said, smiling cheerfully.  “And, Angel says that if you need to talk to him, just call, or send him an e-mail.”

“Great, thanks.”  Xander gave her a quick hug and then went into the bathroom.  “Spike?  Hey, Spike, you okay?”  It was so steamy he could hardly see, condensation rain-forest thick and heavy in his lungs.

The shampoo bottle was on the floor, towels everywhere, Spike having fallen on his ass getting out of the tub.

He damned near tripped on Spike before he saw him, then grinned at the forlorn tangle in front of him.  “Hey.  You okay?”  Xander offered both hands.

Looking mortally offended, Spike scrambled to his feet, hissing at the shampoo bottle as if it were at fault.

“Yeah, okay, we’re back to hating Xander.  I get it.”  He helped Spike dry off, deciding that soaked counted as clean and tugged on the pyjama bottoms, just in case Buffy stuck around.  Although it took nearly ten minutes to get those simple things accomplished, so maybe not.  “Blood?” Xander queried, heading back towards the kitchen—he’d clean up later.  “Hungry?” he asked, noting with relief he didn’t like acknowledging that Buffy had gone home.

Spike headed into kitchen, standing by refrigerator and glancing at the cabinet where the peanut butter was.

“Gross,” Xander told him, heating the blood and deciding to humor Spike by mixing in the peanut butter.  The blood was mostly paid for by Angel, so he could waste it this one time.  Handing over the mug, he hoped like hell it wasn’t going to get thrown at his head in disgust.

Spike drank the concoction, made a face, then finished it anyway.  Grumbling noises.

“Hey, you wanted the peanut butter.  I’m not letting you play with the jar and make a mess again.”  Feeling guilty, he prepared a half-cup of blood sans peanut butter.

Spike made a whining noise, and drank the half-cup of blood.

Great, he’d really annoyed Spike.  Tired and feeling dejected because of it, Xander cleaned up the kitchen and made a cursory attempt at the bathroom before turning to Spike.  “Okay, Spike.  I’ve got a couple hours—what do you want to do tonight?”  And please, could it be simply tossing a ball around?

Spike wandered into the living room, sat down on the couch. Something like a smile on his face.

“Oh, god.”  He’d conditioned Spike.  He hadn’t meant to, but. . . he’d conditioned Spike.  Numb, he went into the living room and sat down next to Spike.  Turned on the tv automatically, but made sure he avoided the porn channels.  He remained tense the entire time, flipping when things got too boring, sitting in the very corner of the couch.  Because it was safest there.  They watched until close to midnight, when Xander was yawning and barely conscious before he finally turned it off.  “Bed, Spike.”

Spike headed into Xander’sroom.

Uh.  Weird.  “Right, okay, I can deal with this.”  Changing into his own sleep clothes, Xander slid into bed next to Spike, careful to make sure they weren’t touching.  “Good night, Spike,” he said, and turned off the light.

Spike stole the blankets. Again.

“Good thing Sunnydale is warm,” Xander muttered, feeling bereft and a touch lonely without the blankets covering him.  But Spike wasn’t his new sex slave, so with a much lighter heart, Xander closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep.

Through the night, Spike gradually migrated so that he was curled up against Xander, humming and mumbling under his breath.

Thank god tomorrow’s Saturday.  It was a litany through his half-awake mind, twisting and turning and it was supposed to be a comforting though, but it really wasn’t.  Not when Spike was curled up against him, making cat-noises and sounding comfortable and happy.  And warm, since he brought the blankets back with him.  It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, and Xander knew that at some point Spike would go back to normal.  Angel said he would.  And when he did, he’d accuse Xander of all kinds of things, and he really, really needed to sleep now.  Really.

Humming, Spike nuzzled against Xander’s neck. Slept.

Spike’s nose was in his neck, but there was no fear of sharp teeth.  Maybe there should have been.  Xander’s eyes eventually closed and he slept, those two thoughts giving him dark, edgy dreams.

Spike snuggled closer in his sleep, almost wrapping around Xander.

The dreams made Xander toss and turn, or try to, noises of distress coming from him, as he burrowed into Spike’s body.

Spike heard Xander’s distress and awakened, alert for any sound of danger. Confused now, because there was nothing there. Just Xander, whimpering in his sleep. He nuzzled and licked, trying to comfort him.

The dreams grew worse—nothing definable, just angry and hurting, and frightening.  His body wanted to curl into a ball, the presence of Spike preventing it, and that almost made it grow worse.

Unable to find the problem, Spike screeched in Xander’s ear, then jumped out of the bed.

Xander popped awake, rubbing his ear and frantically searching for Spike.  “What!  What’s wrong!”

Spike was looking for whatever it was that had been disturbing Xander. Apparently his screech had scared it off.

“Spike, what’s wrong?”  He was muzzy from the dream he couldn’t remember and lack of real sleep.  “Come back to bed, Spike.”

Muttering a noise under his breath, Spike went on a tour of the apartment, looking for the Thing.

Bleary-eyed, Xander trailed after Spike, waiting for the vampire to assure himself that there was nothing in the apartment but them.  “Safe, Spike,” he said.  “Tired.  Come back to bed.  Sleep.  Mm, sleep.”

Spike followed Xander back to bed, tucking himself around Xander, and went back to sleep.

Xander fell asleep before he could comment on the extreme oddness that was Spike.

A few hours later, Spike wiggled free, and occupied himself by playing with his Nerfball in the livingroom.  Bop bop bop.

Xander woke up slowly, head overstuffed and muzzy from a night spent in restless dreams—a feeling he recognizes from too many nights spent exactly like this, when he only really slept for the last hour so, and was still exhausted.  Freeing his face from the mashed up pillow case, Xander followed the sound of something soft and squishy hitting the wall.  “Morning, Spike,” he said, yawning.

Spike bounced ball off of Xander’s head, went to stand by refrigerator. Tapped it, and gave Xander a look.  “Mrrraaarrrrrraow.”

“Ow.  Okay, you want breakfast.”  Opening the door, Xander hip-butted Spike playfully out of the way.

Spike wrapped his arms around Xander’s waist, and tucked his face into the crook of Xander’s shoulder and neck. Hung off of Xander a little bit. “Mrrrrraaaa.”

It was complicated, warming the blood while Spike hung off of him, but it was kinda nice, too, so Xander didn’t fight it.  “You’re in a good mood,” he said, juggling Spike and mug carefully.  “Must not have woken you up too bad, then.”  Echos of conversations with Anya, although she never hung off of him after a bad nightmare.  Usually she was too busy scolding him for keeping her up.

“Mrrra’aa aaaa aaaa mmmm” Spike said, sniffing, and made a reach for the blood. “Mmmmaaarrr.”

“Hey, lemme out first,” Xander cautioned, ducking out from under Spike’s arm and twisting, so that he was facing Spike when he handed over the bottle.

Spike drank the blood, chewing on the bottle nipple.

“Hey, Angel said the bottle only until I was sure you wouldn’t spill, so, prove to me you won’t spill anything.”  His head still weighed an extra three tons and he rubbed absently at his neck while he watched Spike eat his breakfast.  Only Angel could suggest a bottle—and then a way to make it feasible for a vampire.  “So what do I want?” he asked.  “Eggs?  Cereal?  A shot of whiskey in my coffee?”


“Yeah, that sounds good.  Whiskey-less cereal it is.”  Cereal was easy, anyway—bowl, milk, pour, eat.  He got maybe three or four bites down before the tension in his neck reminded him that food wasn’t a really wise thing right then.  Because it could be tension in his belly very quickly.  Sighing, he placed the bowl in the sink—then rinsed it out and washed it.  Might as well get into good habits, in his new place.  “Speaking of, I believe it’s time to do cleaning.  Or laundry.  Something domestic.”

Wandering around the apartment now, Spike disappeared for a moment into his bedroom and came back with Xander’s old legos, which were now his legos.  Dumping the little blocks on the floor, he started sorting them by some alien, uniquely Spikely pattern.

With Spike mostly content in the living room, Xander cleaned the apartment. There had been some vague threats of Angel doing spot checks. (A bluff if he’d ever heard one.) Still, he should be neat. Spike did a good job of creating a mess, so no reason to contribute to it if he didn’t have to.

Spike meanwhile, built towers and buildings, accompanied by vague, tuneless humming. Watched Xander. “Hhhhmmaaa?”

“You can stay here and behave while I go downstairs, right?” Xander asked, hating how damned rhetorical it was.  “I just need a few minutes. . . damn.  Can’t risk it.  Spike?  Sit.  Stay.”

Spike continued playing with blocks.

“Close enough.”  Xander hurried downstairs, cringing when he saw the stained bedsheets, and set the washer.  Ran back upstairs, praying that the five whole minutes he was gone wasn’t going to cost him too much.  His energy completely disappeared when he saw still happily playing with blocks, and he sank onto the couch and just watched.  Spike was so. . . innocent, sometimes.  All the time, really, but it was hard to picture the Spike Xander knew and still feared, a little, with this childlike creature.

After a while, Spike crawled over to the couch, grabbing the remote and pushing it toward Xander. Sat on the floor by Xander’s feet. “Ner.”

TV.  Ever faithful companion to keep away boredom and drudgery.  Xander flicked it on and wished he could show Spike how to flip channels himself.  But Spike would probably break the remote and this was a snazzy one, with sliver coloring and pretty red buttons.

Spike leaned his head against Xander’s leg and watched the images flash by. Cartoons caught his attention, but then so did an animal program involving a pride of lions stalking a zebra.

Saturday cartoons had lost the charm of Transformers and Bugs Bunny, so when Spike started making appreciative noises at the Animal Planet show, Xander put the remote down.  Let his head fall back against the plush support of the sofa and didn’t even try to stop his hand from wandering into Spike’s hair.  The stroking was more for him than Spike, anyway.

Spike sat like that, enjoying the hand stroking him while he watched. Became involved in the program, and began to stalk around the room, mimicking the actions of the animals on the screen. 

He was kind of like his very own tv show, like this, and Xander purposefully found other shows on the discovery channel, just to keep the stalking, predatory movements going.  Spike stopped looking like a brain-damaged half-child while he was acting like that, body silk and washed steel, powerful and completely in control, and Xander could admit that it was hot as fucking hell.

Sniffing, Spike turned. Almost smiled, then stalked toward Xander. He pounced. Nuzzled into Xander’s neck, and made soft, pleased sounds.

“Hey, whoa!”  Xander put his hands on Spike’s shoulders, exerting enough pressure that he should get through to Spike.  He wanted this, god did he, with his body telling him just how happy it was to have Spike close again—but he wasn’t going to do this, this taking advantage of Spike.  “No, Spike, don’t.  Watch tv.”

Spike growled, whined, pulled a sulking face, but sat back down at Xander’s feet.

“Good, Spike,” Xander whispered, playing with Spike’s hair again.  He didn’t know how to gel it, so it lay in soft, wavy curls that slid through his fingers easily.  “Good.”

Still sulking. After a while, Spike started petting Xander’s leg, reaching under the pants to stroke the sparse hair and skin.

He should tell Spike to stop, of course.  This was just a sneakier way to do what Spike clearly still wanted to do, even if the edge of heat in Xander groin had long since faded.  But it felt good, what Spike was doing, even with no body-heat to smooth down his own skin.  So he watched tv and tried hard to pretend that this was fueled by an innocent desire to return the simple caress.

Spike crawled up onto the couch, tried to lay his head in Xander’s lap, making a soft rumbling sound.

Spike was damned near purring and, well, his pants were still on and zipped, so maybe he just wanted to curl up the way a real cat did?  Regardless, Xander was already lifting his arm so Spike could settle down, resting his elbow on Spike’s shoulder so he had the perfect angle to pet Spike’s hair some more.  His head was getting heavier, but this was softer than before—warm like sleepy down covers.

Spike lay there, half dozing for a while, watching the tv, and making sleepy, wordless comments.

Xander almost fell back to sleep like that, Spike a solid, comforting weight on him, remembering at the last second the laundry in the basement.  “Damn,” he muttered, looking at the curve of skull and delicate shell of ear in his lap.  “I gotta get up, Spike.  Stay here and be good while I’m gone, okay?”  It was damned hard to extract himself—and not because of Spike’s weight.

Spike whined, but remained on the couch, muttering sleepily to himself as Xander stood. Curled back up as Xander left.

Xander remained in the basement after transferring the laundry, dreading making it back upstairs and falling back into that comfortable daze and having to come back down, so. . . he could leave Spike alone, right?  He’d been good all morning. . .  The dryer took thirty minutes before the clothes were dry enough, and by then, Xander couldn’t decide between being worried or being too tired to expend energy worrying.

Spike woke up, and noticed a lack of Xander. He grumbled to himself, and yanked the couch cushions onto the floor, and dragged them into his room. Hid under them, with a rude sound. If Xander wasn’t here, he’d just hide from him.

There was no Spike in the living room, which gave Xander a moment of fright when he returned from the laundry room. The couch cushions were missing, which calmed Xander. Spike had played this game before, sulking and hiding in his “cave,” which meant Xander had to “find” him. Not that that was actually hard to do.  He folded and put away his laundry before heading into Spike’s room. “Hey, you okay in there?”

Spike burst out of the cushions. “Grrrrrraaaaaah!” he cried, jumping out at Xander, but didn’t actually connect with him. Stopped short, and there was that almost-smile again, before he was wrapping his arms around Xander for a hug, nuzzling him.

His arms were closing around Spike before he could tell them to do so—not that he minded, since, well, Spike was hugging him.  Being playful and affectionate, and who could resist that?  Grinning, Xander nuzzled into Spike’s hair a little.  “Missed you, too, I guess.”

Spike pulled Xander toward the cushions, and attempted to bury him under the pile, making a sound deep in his chest that vaguely sounded like laughter. He wiggled and squirmed, wrestling.

Xander laughed, gasping as a shoulder collided with his mid-section, just barely finding a place to dig his weight in before he grappled with Spike.  It was like practicing for patrols only way more fun.  And, more, he was positive that the weird, breathy noise Spike occasionally made was laughter.  It was too happy for it to be anything else

Spike pinned Xander, straddled him, arms held about Xander’s head. Sniffed along Xander’s neck,  just under the ear. Rumbled softly to himself. He wanted and didn’t want to be put off again.

Xander cursed when he realized that Spike wasn’t playing so much as setting him up, of course.  Because Spike always got what Spike wanted, he remembered that clearly from high school.  “Spike, let me go.”  In a second or two, he’ll be firmer about it.  Really.

Spike, rubbing against Xander, didn’t pay any attention to the noises he was making, because they weren’t the right noises.

“Dammit, Spike, I don’t—”  Not that Spike was listening, now that he’d got Xander where he obviously wanted him.  No.  This wasn’t going to happen, dammit.  “Spike, stop.” he ordered, voice commanding and angry. “Stand up.  Now!”

This time Spike made a real, angry growl, and snapped up onto his feet, and into the ‘ready’ position, feet apart, shoulders back, hands clasped behind back. Looked furious, not the usual blank expression.

There was a way to fix this.  There had to be, because Spike was pissed at him—and had every right to be, in a way.  Xander had given in, that first night, and it was cruel of him to take it away now.  So he ordered Spike to follow, picking up the cushions before setting up couch before collapsing onto it.  Ordered Spike to sit in his lap.

Sulking, Spike obeyed.

“Good,” Xander praised him, deftly undoing Spike’s pants and shoving them down enough to free the vampire’s cock.  Turning on something random, Xander settled back onto the sofa and started to, well, play.  Touching Spike, stroking along his belly, a single finger painting patterns on his sac, occasionally actually touching Spike’s cock.  He kept it random and gentle, but not purposeless.  He wanted Spike to get hard.

Spike whimpered, squirmed with his head thrown back on Xander’s shoulder, hips moving. Wordless noises of pleasure.

When Spike was hard, Xander stroked him, the rhythm slow and steady and relentless.  He continued teasing Spike’s sac, reaching back to tickle the bit of skin right behind it, closing his arms tightly to keep Spike wrapped up and feeling warm and safe.  He hummed tunelessly as he worked, his eyes fixed on the tv screen.

Moaning, wordless babble spouted as Spike writhed and moaned, soft, pleading sounds.

“Sh,” Xander soothed.  “Good boy, you’re a good boy.”  He tightened his grip, hoping the increased pressure and pain would finally do what it did—get Spike off.

Spike came in spurts, wailing, straining upward, before falling back against Xander’s chest.

“See?” he told Spike, reaching for the tissues to clean him up.  “I’ll take care of you, Spike.  Just be a good boy and I’ll take care of you.”

Spike squirmed, rumbled, tried to twist around to get to Xander, wanting to nuzzle against him.  “Mrrrr.”

“No, Spike.  Stay.”  He didn’t add the ‘command’ voice, hoping the words alone would be enough.  He locked his arms around Spike’s waist, just in case, petting whatever his hands could touch in a vain effort to keep Spike calm.

Whining, Spike sulked. Lay stiff and still unhappy in Xander’s arms. Refusing to be consoled, he slipped free at first opportunity, and stalked off for the bedroom.

Xander stared at his hand, still damp with Spike’s release and laid it back in his lap, loosely curled into a fist.  “Yeah.  That worked.”  Listening to Spike mutter in his bedroom, Xander closed his eyes and, well, sulked.  Somehow sulking turned into sleeping, and it was almost three when Xander opened his eyes again.  At least, so said the digital clock on the wall, since his time sense was totally screwed up, at this point.  Stumbling to his feet, Xander paused by the kitchen, deciding against food.  He still wasn’t hungry, just tired and out of sorts, so he went into his own room and crawled under the blankets.  He wasn’t going to worry about Spike being unusually quiet.  He was just going to take advantage of it and sleep.  Really.