All About Spike

Say Yes
By Annie Sewell-Jennings

Sequel to Orange Crush

SUMMARY: The morning after, and Xander's less than happy.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This song title is ripped off from Elliott Smith's "Say Yes".

TIMELINE: Sometime post-"Hushed" but before "Doomed"

Lemon squares.

Fresh-baked lemon squares. The kind Buffy's mom used to make. That's what he's dreaming about right now. Right out of the oven, all soft and gooey, yummy and delicious. And there's the smell of happy home, and kids laughing in the background, and he's got his mouth stuffed full of lemon bars and-

Xander wakes up in the basement and winces. He's still kind of in dream-land at this point. Smells something stale in the background. Something not bad and kind of nice. Sleepily opens his eyes, takes in his surroundings. Busted Too early. Turns his head to the side. 11:30. No, not early. Late. Should get up. Instead, he turns over and-

There's a vampire in his bed. Sprawled out on his back, one hand tucked under the pillow, the other resting on his still chest. Naked vampire. Long pale limbs, some of them a little bruised now, and come to think of it, Xander feels kind of sore, too. Spike's sleeping. He looks extremely dead. Black eyeliner all smudged and faded around his dark eyelashes. Pale lips slightly parted, but he's not breathing. It's like waking up next to a corpse.

A corpse he fucked last night.

It all comes rushing back in a horror show of memory, wiping away the innocence of the morning. That is Spike, naked in the bed next to him, and they had sex last night. A lot of sex. So much sex that the ping-pong table is now broken and leaning heavily to one side. Xander seems to recall Spike having some interesting ideas about the paddles.

Oh my fucking God ...

There's a bruise on Spike's neck. Right there, on the edge of his jaw. A little spot of broken skin. Xander did that. He bit Spike. He thinks he remembers that, when they were all tangled up on the beanbag chairs, his legs wrapped around Spike's narrow waist, thrusting their cocks together until they both came all over each other.

And the kissing! This wasn't just some kind of I-really-hate-you fucking. There were kisses, too. Lots of hungry, needy kisses that turned tender in something that might resemble afterglow. They'd fallen asleep in the same bed together. He thinks he kissed Spike good-night.

Oh, God. He's going to be sick. He did depraved and naughty things last night, with a vampire, with Spike, and now he's dirty and unclean. He's bad and wrong, and this is bad and wrong, a big mistake, and maybe if he kills Spike really quick no one will ever have to know about it-

Then Spike opens his cool blue eyes. Eyelashes all drooping down over the color, still heavy with sleep. He turns over onto his side, a candy-sweet and boyish smile tugging at his lips. He trails one finger down Xander's shoulder, so lightly that all his hair stands up on end. "Morning, sweetheart," he purrs.

Oh, shit!

Mortified, Xander leaps out of bed, desperate to get away from the vampire with the mushy eyes and the wandering hands. He manages a little squeak when he realizes that he, too, is naked, and quickly grabs a pillow from the ratty couch.

Spike, of course, finds all of this terribly funny, and immediately starts laughing at Xander, doubling over in the bed with vicious cackling. "Oh, I know that'd scare the fuck out of you," he howls. "Look like you were about to shit yourself."

He should be pissed off, but instead, he's too disgusted by what he sees around him. The basement is completely trashed. There are chairs tipped over everywhere, and apparently, they broke the beanbag chairs while they were all over each other. There are little tiny beans under Xander's feet. There's a new dent in the washing machine, and a couple of new broken springs in the mattress.

"Oh my God," he says queasily. "I think I'm gonna throw up."

This only serves to make Spike laugh harder, and he squirms a little in the bed, resting his head in his hands and smirking at the boy. Scrunches up his nose like this just tickles him pink. "Look at you," he grins. "All blushing and cute. Startles me, after a night like the last one. Certainly weren't blushing then, now were you?"

Xander doesn't think he's blushing. As a matter of fact, he wouldn't be surprised if he were green. Sickly, about-to-hurl green. "We ... we actually ..."

"Fucked?" Spike supplies helpfully.

Xander moans. They did. They really, really did. Several times. In various positions, in various places, saying dirty, nasty things he didn't even know he could say. They'd kissed and stroked, and licked and nipped, and sometimes, they'd even laughed.

It was the most incredible sex of his life. And he had it with Spike.

"This can't be happening," he whispers. "This is all a dream. A very bad dream."

"Want me to pinch you?"

Xander scowls. "No, I don't! I don't want you to touch me! You'll do naughty things to me."

Spike did some pretty naughty things to him last night. Like he tied him up in that chair, put him in his place, naked, and ran his hands down Xander's thighs until Xander begged him to touch his dick. And when he did finally touch-

Xander shakes his head, his eyes still so wide it hurts. "This is bad. Very very bad. So bad that I have to make up a new word to describe it. Gizzer. That's what this is. This is gizzer."

Spike's still laughing at him. All casual and relaxed, like there's absolutely nothing wrong with anything they did earlier. Of course he would think that. He doesn't have a soul to nag at him. "I can't believe you're getting this worked up about it. It's just sex, Xander. Yeah, it's some pretty bloody amazing sex, to tell truth, but it's sex."

But that's not it at all. The sex is puzzling on many, many different levels, but that's not the basis of all his panic. No, it's what happened after the sex that bothers him. He remembers finding himself plastered to Spike's back, arms wrapped tight around the vampire, kissing the sweet nape of his neck. That's something that frightens him.

Xander gives a watchful eye to the vampire as he picks up his boxers and carefully steps into them. He has to do something about it right now. Before this gets any worse. Take a firm stand, Xand, and see if you can hold your own against the naked vampire with the really great dick. "I have to kill you now," he announces. "Yeah. That's what I have to do. I have to kill you."

Spike doesn't really seem fazed by this idea. Just the arch of that really wicked scarred eyebrow and a spark in his big blue eyes. "Oh, so that's how you repay a fellow for giving you a great shag," he says. "See how many more orgasms I give you, then."

"No more orgasms," Xander says firmly. "Not ever, ever again." He runs his hands through his hair. His heart's racing, and he groans again at the sight of the apartment. "God, this place is wrecked. And shit! Buffy's supposed to come over this afternoon! I can't let her see this!"

A blink. "Why, because you don't want them to know that you're gay?"

"No!" Xander retorts. "I'm not gay! Not that there's anything wrong with that."

"Oh, of course you'd think that. Because you're gay."

It's way too early in the morning for Spike to be screwing around with his mind. His head hurts, and he's tired, and he just wants all this to go away. He shakes his head miserably. "For the last time, no. It's not that. It's because you're a psychotic serial killer and a member of the evil undead. That's why no one can ever, ever find out about this."

Spike snorts. "Oh, yeah. Right. Just lie to them for the rest of your life. That'll work out just smashing."

"I swear to God, if you ever tell anyone about this, I'm going to kill you."

"Thought you were gonna off me anyway."

Xander grits his teeth. "Well, yes, but still! No telling!"

He's getting freaked out. No, he is freaked out. This is what it's like to freak out completely. He can't think straight. Gah! Yes, he can! He has a girlfriend. He likes boobies and panties and girls. But last night ... and Spike ...

Spike yawns, stretches out in the bed. It's horrible, watching him. Like a big cat, all lean and supple. Not an ounce of fat on this guy, and delicious pale skin that makes Xander think sweaty thoughts. Slender limbs, slender wrists. Almost delicate. Skinny, this guy, all wiry and slim. The sheet inches down his waist as he kicks his feet out, and there's the very palest line of honey-gold leading down from his belly button down to-

Oh, shit. No, no, no. This cannot be happening. Xander starts hyperventilating, feels his palms itch as all the blood rushes south. His cock stirs in his boxers, aches for Spike's cool, white palms. One night was bad enough. Last night can never happen again.

Even if he wants it to.

"I have to kill you," Xander repeats. His voice is a little shaky. It doesn't bode well. "Because you're a sick, perverted asshole who made me do bad and evil things, and you're no good for me anyway."

One of those dark chocolate chuckles drifts across the room and goes right for his cock. Spike's giving him his most winning smile. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong, pet," he laughs. "Truth of the matter is, I'm exactly what you need."

He won't let himself think about how true that might be.

One more stretch of that sensual body and then Spike sits up. Swings his legs over the side of the bed, and of course he doesn't bother to do anything decent and grab a sheet. Just stands up, like being naked around another guy is something he does all the time. And maybe he is -- honestly, Xander doesn't know what kind of lifestyle the guy lives. But damn, some of the things he did last night ... Spike's really, really good.

And when he keeps talking, he's really, really bad.

Casually, Spike leans over and picks up his jeans from the floor. "You see, Harris, fact is, you need someone like me in your life. Keeps it from getting boring." He steps one leg at a time into his jeans, and Xander has to restrain a whimper when he tucks his half-hard cock into his fly. "You need someone who'll take your bullshit and shove it right back in your face when you need it. 'Cause you're a self-destructive little shit, and that's all you've learned in your stupid, sad life."

It hurts, hearing that. Hurts because maybe, okay, some of it might be true. Maybe that's what he craves in his lovers. Someone to beat him down with too much honesty and constant insults. That's what his parents gave him, that's what Cordelia gave him, that's what Faith gave him, and that's what Anya promises to give him if he keeps letting her come around.

Maybe all this getting kicked in the face, all this bad luck, is his own sorry fault.

Xander hates Spike. He's always hated him for being so cool, for being so cocky and self-assured, and, well, because he had a thing about murdering innocent people. But now, he hates him more than ever, for the simple fact that Spike is proof of a terrible, vicious pattern Xander's probably doomed to follow for the remainder of his life.

"Get out," he hisses. His fingers curl up into fists. "Get out of my sight, right now."

Another gleeful, evil laugh from Spike. A jeering look on his pretty face. "Oh, or you'll kill me? There's your other problem, Harris. You're the ultimate decent bloke. The kind of guy you easily sucker at pool. Bet you even hand out pennies to homeless people, too. And because of that, you'll never fight back against guys like me. And that's exactly why you need me so fucking bad. And furthermore-”

But Spike doesn’t get that far because Xander’s kissing him.

Hard and rough, like a challenge, like an argument. He forces him up against the wall, pushes his hands on the vampire’s stomach and pushes hard. Spike makes a strangled, startled noise against his lips, but Xander doesn’t care. He’s angry, and he’s hurt, and it’s all Spike’s fault, so he’s going to kiss him until the vampire shuts up.

And then, something strange happens.

Spike moans. Frail and desperate, and all the tension and resistence just falls away. He wraps his hand around Xander’s neck and opens his mouth to the kiss, making these soft, needy noises in his throat that only heighten Xander’s arousal. Hard flesh against hard flesh, hard mouth against hard mouth, and soon all the anger peels away, and all he’s left with is lust. Pure, animal lust.

With a gasp, Xander pulls away and looks into Spike’s wide blue eyes. Dilated pupils, so the black almost consumes all that pure, crystalline blue. Heavy eyelashes fluttering with want. Xander smiles a little, his voice hard when he speaks.

“So maybe you’re right,” he says. “Maybe I do need you. But why do you need me?”

Spike doesn’t say anything. Just gapes at him, his eyes all wide and blue, and then he starts to laugh. Not that wild, arrogant laughter he’d given earlier. This is a little higher. A little weaker. A little more desperate and shaky.

“God help me,” Spike rasps, “but I’ve got no bloody clue.”

And then Spike’s kissing him again, and even though Xander knows that this is bad, this is wrong, it doesn’t matter. He needs this. Needs the way that Spike kisses him, those elegant hands so cleverly touching every sensitive spot Xander owns. And kissing turns to other things, and other things turn to heaven, and then they’re right back to where they started.

Xander and Spike. Side by side, naked in the bed. Xander stares up at the ceiling as his brain starts to regain its senses, and Spike reaches over across the nightstand for his pack of smokes. “Well,” the vampire drawls as he exhales cigarette smoke, “don’t know about you, but I definitely needed that.”

Xander feels spaced out. Like everything’s moving too fast, and he has no idea how to catch up with the rest of the world. “I don’t know what I need,” he whispers.

A silky chuckle, like devil’s food cake, and then a kiss on his lips that tastes like ashes, and, strangely enough, lemon bars. “I know exactly what you need,” Spike murmurs. “You need me.”

A despairing little laugh as Xander turns his head to the side and strokes Spike’s cheek. “Yeah,” he croaks. “And you need me.”

Then the rest of the world falls away, and all they need is each other.

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