Title: Escape

Author: Juliatheyounger

Email: juliatheyounger@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine and have been merely purloined from the wonderfully creative mind of Joss Whedon, the rest of the Buffy writers and their associated companies.

Rating: NC17

Pairing: Spike/Xander

Spoilers: Up to Entropy in Season 6 of Buffy

Summary: Xander confronts Spike about certain events in Entropy.

Feedback: Yes please!

Distribution: Will be on my site at  http://www.geocities.com/juliatheyounger/fiction.htm

If anyone wants it, just ask.

Author’s Note: This is set post Entropy. Anything else in season 6 never happened, particularly Seeing Red.

Thanks once again to Wajoma for being my guinea-pig :D

Chapter 1.

“What do you want?” Spike didn’t even look up.

Xander stood at the door to the crypt and looked with undisguised loathing at its inhabitant. 

“I just want to know why,” said Xander, his voice still filled with hate. “Why they let you touch them, why they would even think of letting you touch them-“

Spike let out a low laugh, bitter, cold.

“Is that what you want to know Harris? Seduction tips from a monster?” He turned then and surveyed Xander. He could have told the boy a thing or two. Could have predicted the wedding disaster months ago if he’d been bothered. But Spike had saved all his perceptive analysis for Buffy. Xander’s self righteous anger, and his tirade and the beating a few days ago was just enough incentive for Spike now to share his pearls of wisdom. “Or is it something else. Why they’d come to me for comfort, you mean, and not you?”

“Shut up. No. I don’t know what vampire hypnosis crap you pulled, but you did something-“

“That’s it, isn’t it Harris?” Spike’s tone was full of triumphant surprise. “You always wanted Buffy and she’d never have you. And then you bollockst things up with Anya and she wouldn’t have you either.”

“Oh but they’d have you right Spike? Yeah that’s it - I’m so fucking jealous of you.”

“Let me ask you, Harris, what really upset you, the fact that Anya shagged another bloke or that she shagged me?”

“I think it’s the fact that you’re a vampire. An evil, disgusting-“

“Shut the fuck up.” The words were cold and suddenly Xander forgot that Spike was harmless.

Spike stood slowly.

“I know what I am,” he said and walked with deliberate slowness towards Xander.  “You’ve said you’re piece, now you’ll shut the bloody hell up and listen to mine.”

Xander glared at him. “I don’t have to-“

Xander didn’t even get to move. Suddenly Spike was in front of him, forcing him to step back against the wall.

“You’re a fucking git, you know that Harris. I might be a vampire, and I might be evil, but at least I’ve got the knackers to love a woman. And you can blame me for taking some comfort with Anyanka once you’d let her get away, but its not me that left her standing at the altar.” Spike pushed away from Xander. “And if you hadn’t noticed she’s a demon, not an ex-demon, a *now* demon. So don’t you tell her you don’t want her cause she fucked a demon, be a man and tell her you don’t want her because she is one and you can’t see past your own prejudices.”

“She’s a vengeance demon again?”

“I smelt it,” said Spike shortly.

“And why should I believe you? Why should I listen to you –“

“Don’t,” said Spike. “Don’t trust me, don’t fucking ask me to help save the fucking world, if that’s what you want.” Spike frowned. “You know, you never let it go, did you Harris. Nothing I did could ever make you look past the fact that I’m a vampire.”

“Yeah well Spike, I was right not to trust you wasn’t I? You screwed my girlfriend the first chance you got.”

“Ex-girlfriend you stupid git, get the bloody hell over it.”

Xander stepped forward, almost in Spike’s face.

“No Spike, I won’t get over it, I will never get over it, and I. Will. Never. Forgive. You.”

With massive force, Xander was thrust back against the wall. Spike’s fists bunched in his shirt, lifting him up from the floor. Spike opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly stopped, no words coming, no words enough to express what he needed. He just stood there, panting slightly, jaw clenched, and his eyes burning into Xander with something so fierce that Xander found his anger being stripped away; deflated and replaced with all the other emotions that had been burning beneath the boiling hate. He stared back at Spike, the silence stretching between them, twisting on their emotions, turning into something else.

“Why?” he asked quietly, his eyes fixed on Spike’s. 

“Because-“ Spike began, but the words died again, seemingly forgotten, as his eyes searched Xander’s.

Xander’s heart was beating too loudly and he felt overwhelmed by emotion.

“Because?” he heard himself prompt, but was too busy staring back at Spike, too close, too intimate, too intoxicating…

“Because,” said Spike firmly and their lips met.

The kiss was fierce and passionate. They both pulled back, gasping, staring at each other. Spike let go of his tight hold on Xander’s jacket. His hands dropped to his sides.

Xander swallowed hard.

“So that was us kissing,” he said, more to fill the silence.

Spike nodded.

“Still can’t stand you,” he said absently.

“Mutual fangless.”

It might have been Spike who took the step or it might have been Xander or it might have been both of them. Whoever moved first didn’t matter, in a moment the gap between them was closed and Spike’s lips crushed against Xander’s with the same ferocity and hunger that had been there before. And it was Xander who pushed Spike’s duster off his shoulder and it was Spike who pulled the buttons off Xander’s shirt as he tore it open. They ground together, lips seeking lips, pulling and pushing each other closer, devouring, taking, needing. Spike’s hand slipped down between Xander and his waistband. Lips soon left lips, briefly, with half whispered, half breathed questions and replies.

“Here?”

“Yes.”

And somehow Spike’s belt was undone and Xander’s jeans unzipped. And mouths and lips caught mutual groans. Lips pulling away from lips, as hips ground together, as hands stroked and touched.

“Like that pet?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

Lips barely brushing, foreheads resting against each other, cool against warm. Panting, lust, rising desire, passion, need.

“Do that, just like that,” breathed Spike.

“Haven’t done this before,” murmured Xander.

“I know love, me neither.”

“It’s ok though right?”

“Very ok, you?”

“Yeah, going with the ok. Ohfuck yes…”

More panting, heavier this time, and Xander’s hands gripping Spike’s shoulder, and Spike’s arm wrapped too tightly around Xander. And one, two more strokes and Xander was collapsing against Spike and Spike pumped another three times and groaned against Xander’s dark hair.

They stood like that for a moment, supporting each other, then Xander snickered.

And then Spike snorted.

“Get off me,” he said, but it wasn’t unkindly.

Xander stood up and stepped back, looking down at Spike’s cum covered stomach and now flaccid penis. Spike. His mortal enemy. A guy. A vampire.

Oh god. He felt so dirty.

He turned and walked out of the crypt.

*******

Spike sat in the dark for a long time after Xander left. He snorted and told himself that he should be used to this by now, the fuck followed by the disgusted exit, but it only stopped the dull ache for a few seconds and made him feel less foolish for only a few more. So this was what he was now, not dark terror, but a guilty, dirty little secret. He  wondered darkly how many more of the Scoobies would fuck him then spit on him. Something curled and twisted inside Spike. Dirty, nasty, filthy. Bad. Shameful. They didn’t even fear him, only used him. In so many ways, when they couldn’t even bear to call him a friend.

Why the fuck did he stand it? Why the bloody hell did he put up with it? Why? Why? Why? Spike pulled his knees up close to his body. He knew why.

“It’s because you’re pathetic,” he told himself. Pathetic, to want their company, to hope for their friendship.

To think he *had* their friendship. He’d waited, at first, for love. For love he’d stubbornly believed he could earn, could take, would somehow be given, after the sex, after the passion.

Spike buried his face in his knees.

Xander?

Bloody hell, he was pathetic.

And those chocolate brown eyes filled with lust and concern and those soft whispered caring words that made the dull ache stop for just long enough for him to make a bloody fool of himself.

Spike stood, he felt wrong, so wrong, he needed to get out of here. He had to leave.

********

One thing good about the incident, Xander thought to himself as he tossed and turned in his empty bed that night, was that he could totally relate to Buffy and Anya now. He cringed inwardly again thinking about what he’d done. Oh crap.

Spike.

Spike.

Evil. Bad. Had he mentioned evil? Spike.

And why was his cock reacting like that?

It had been…oh, a mistake all right. Big, bad, whopper of a mistake.

He wasn’t even gay.

So, ok, understanding Buffy and Anya…

What was worse, was that no matter how much he wished he could believe Spike had manipulated him, used him, he was annoyingly aware of how mutual the whole thing had been. Xander lay on his back and tried to think rationally about the situation. Why Spike? He still didn’t know. Definitely didn’t know how verbally tearing the guy a new one turned into kissing and mutual hand jobs. There was a twinge of desire in Xander’s loins at this thought so he resolutely blocked it out of his mind.

Why?

Passion. The thought flashed into Xander’s mind before he could stop it, so he took it on board. It was true, Spike was…so…pent up. Sexual energy coiled up, just waiting to happen, barely contained. Ok, that wasn’t helping. But that didn’t seem to be the reason, Xander knew heaps of sexy guys, and girls for that matter, with just as much sex appeal, he didn’t go around jumping them. Spike was different, had been different, Xander amended. It wasn’t a was. It was a had.

He remembered Spike’s face. And suddenly, in a rare flash of perceptiveness, he understood what it was. It was the need. Spike needed. It was in his face, it was in his actions. That was what it was. That was why.

The knowledge twisted up Xander inside – the memory of that need, written large on Spike’s face, the raw, pleading, desperate need…need for what? Love? Acceptance?

Him?

Anyone.

Xander thumped his pillow and reminded himself that he hated Spike and that Spike was evil, but it still didn’t stop him from feeling like a bit of a prick.

*******

Riding was good. Spike could concentrate on the road. Think about where he was going. And if he did that he wouldn’t turn back. It was an hour til dawn but he’d make it in plenty of time. L.A. wasn’t that far away. So close. Why hadn’t he done this sooner? So much sooner, before being *there* had reduced him to *this*, to this pathetic nothing. Spike stared ahead at the road. Well not for long. He’d get over *them* and he’d be himself again.

Spike forgave himself a single sardonic thought about *them*; he warranted he’d answered Xander’s question well enough.

********

The first thought Xander had when he woke the next morning was about Spike. He groaned, embarrassed, dreading seeing the bleached menace again. Then the thought hit him, why would he see him again? He wasn’t talking to Buffy. He had no reason to go to the Magic Box. Why would he need to see Spike? That would be good. So good, yeah, never to have to see him again. Ever, again.

Xander staggered into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. Oh yeah Buffy. Buffy and Spike. Doing the horizontal tango. Spike and Anya. Spike and him. The thoughts he’d had the night before, about ‘why’ came back to him. A surge of heat flooded his groin at the sudden mental picture of Spike’s expression – the need, so plain now that he’d recognised it for what it was. And at the time it had made it seem so right. The fire and the passion, everything Spike did making him feel so wanted, so needed. Xander vaguely wondered if he had seemed the same to Spike. He remembered the oddly pleasant feeling of almost camaraderie as they touched, whispered to each other, shared…Xander’s leaned heavily against the sink as an intense wave of desire flooded through him. The thought of Spike’s voice, murmuring in his ear, soft words, *kind* words, so unlike what he’d expected from Spike. No mockery, no disdain, just want…

“Do that, just like that.”

“Haven’t done this before.”

“I know love, me neither.”

“It’s ok though right?”

“Very ok, you?”

And just for that brief few minutes he had forgotten how much everything hurt.

Xander fingers gripped the bench tightly. He ached.

********

The memory of warm skin. Spike rolled over in bed, blocking out the thought. It had become so he wasn’t sure whose warm skin he was thinking of anymore. Buffy had blurred into Anya and Xander. A gestalt entity symbolising his humiliation and defeat in Sunnydale. And the desire he fought to crush, the need to return he denied every moment. And it was the fuel for his anger, his resolve not to go back, to make things better, to change…back.

He had an actual place to live now. Posh joint. It was amazing how you could earn money in L.A. It hadn’t been exactly pleasant, but still, he had enough dosh for rent and plenty of blood. Oh and the alcohol.

Because he needed that now. A lot.

Again the thought of warm skin. This time accompanied by the memory of a soft groan, a groan that he refused to acknowledge thinking about, a groan that accompanied chocolate eyes, and a look of such hurt and pain and anger that for a moment Spike had thought he could see his own reflection. Hurt and need. It had been like Anya…yet she hadn’t been about passion or pain that needed to be released, she had been about balm and comfort and being fairly drunken. She hadn’t been about anger and hate and something so unstoppable that something had to happen. *Xander* was the final act of despair that had started when Spike had beaten and been beaten and then fucked until a house fell down.

********

Xander knew he had to see Buffy eventually. He just hadn’t wanted it to be this soon. Not because he couldn’t forgive her anymore, but because he was ashamed, because now he could understand her only too well, because he didn’t want her to know that. But she had come round to talk to him because she didn’t want to not be friends, and Xander had sat and pretended everything was ok, but not too ok, and resisted the urge to ask about Spike and to ask about Anya and to just *tell* her everything.

Buffy had explained. Had told him how she and Spike had had a “thing”, but it was over now. She’d told Spike it was over. Up until that moment, Xander had resisted thinking about Spike’s motivations. Xander knew that what had happened had to have meant nothing to the vampire. Knew it was just the moment. But now, as Buffy spoke, Xander understood the need, because he felt that too, at night when Anya should have been beside him, as he walked alone along the street, felt it in the anger that had fuelled him and boiled in his veins. Spike burnt for Buffy. And he understood maybe a little about Anya and Spike too. And some of the resentment and hate he still bore towards Spike dissolved a little. It made what he’d done that night clearer, too. The desperate need, the seeking of something…comfort, some sort of release. They had both felt the same. Xander, was quite prepared for all these feelings. He wasn’t, however, prepared for the jealousy.  It disconcerted him and he was glad when Buffy left and he could stop feeling the weird sense of resentment that had formed deep inside him. Once more he found himself looking in the bathroom mirror, looking into this own eyes, trying to read his own expression. He saw his own need.

God he wished it would stop hurting. He missed Anya, he hated Anya, he hated Spike, he hated Buffy, but he didn’t, not, not really, not anymore. The hate had gone and all that remained was the hurt. He remembered the only time it had stopped.

Time went slowly. Xander went to work. Xander came home. Xander slept. Xander ached. He wondered if Spike hurt like this. And again felt guilty though he couldn’t explain why.

One night, when he’d woken up, hurting, trying not to cry, he got out of bed before he could think about it, pulled on some clothes and headed out into the dark. It was a long walk to the crypt, but Xander didn’t think about where he was going so he couldn’t change his mind.

Clem was surprised to see Xander walk through the door. He was pleased too actually, late night television didn’t have a lot to offer and he was a bit bored now that Spike was gone.

*******

end of part one. To be continued