Truth Denied

Appropriate Ratings: NC17 overall but this chapter... R-ish
Warnings: Not much for this chappie, just... uhh... graphic descriptions? Kinda... sorta.
Beta: LJ User Tamakin


Comments keep my muse well fed.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He woke with a start in sweaty rumpled sheets, heart hammering in his chest so hard he could see his ribs vibrating with every beat. He rolled onto his back, eyes wide and unseeing while he tried to remember the dream, but it was already fading. He grasped blindly, trying in vain to pull the dream from the cobwebby recesses of his brain. Tears began to fill his eyes and he clenched them tight to keep them from spilling. He knew, deep inside, that if he could just remember, if he could just confront whatever it was that kept haunting him… it would stop.

He really really wanted it to stop.

Finally he sat up, drawing his knees closer to his body so he could rest his elbows on them while using the heels of his palms to scrub his eyes free of tears and sleep. He was more exhausted waking up than he’d felt falling asleep. If these dreams don’t stop soon I think I’m going to have to start drinking again. A lot of drinking. Enough drinking so I sleep and don’t dream anymore.

He stumbled to the bathroom and wondered, not for the first time, if his life really was worth living. Maybe enough drinking so I sleep and never wake up…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Xander was busy applying make-up in front of the bathroom mirror to cover his bruised cheek when he heard sounds coming from the master bedroom through the open door. “Spike, that you?” he asked loudly.

“Yeah, it’s me. Just picking my outfit, you finish up when you’re ready,” Spike replied just as loudly, nudging the door between them closed before Xander had a chance to see him. Xander frowned.

“Uhm, yeah… okay,” Xander muttered in reply. A flicker of concern tickled at him making him frown unconsciously, which pulled at the bruise and made him wince at the sudden throbbing. So much for Spike having no shame or modesty, he thought to himself before he turned back to the mirror to finish covering the already fading bruise.

He finished up and washed his hands, looking his cheek over critically one last time. “Hey,” he called out, “I’m done.” He got a soft grunt and a slightly strained ‘thanks’ in reply while he made his way out of the bathroom. Xander tried to reign in his rampant paranoia, but he couldn’t help but think Spike was just getting tired of seeing him. It was the only thing that made sense.

He rummaged about in the kitchen and made himself a fruit smoothie with bananas, apples and a few strawberries. He felt his mouth water at the bounty he was about to consume. After what happened at his apartment he was rather sure no one was coming after him for back rent so he’d splurged at the grocery store.

He had dipped into that lovely envelope and bought himself everything he’d been craving for the last few weeks… well… months, that he hadn’t been able to afford. Of course now the freezer was full of lasagne, frozen pizza, pizza pockets, McCain Deep and Delicious cakes, ice cream and a plethora of other tasty frozen tidbits he hadn’t been able to indulge in. He also bought several bunches of bananas, which he revelled in fairly regularly. He’d made a point of eating at least one banana per meal, possibly more, and each time he felt his toes curl in pleasure. He had missed bananas.

He left the kitchen only to be confronted with a solidly closed bathroom door. Whatever it was that was bothering Spike had to be big; he hated showering with the door closed. This went back to his vampire days and living with Xander, he’d learned the vampire hated how vulnerable he was under the water’s spray, it’s roaring almost totally covered the approach of anyone who entered the apartment with the door closed, so he obsessively left it open. It had sparked quite a few arguments between them, since Xander disliked it when the entire apartment turned into a muggy sauna from Spike’s long and scaldingly hot showers. Plus, naked vampire! All stalking naked through the apartment as he “searched for his smokes”. Like he couldn’t wrap a towel around himself before hunting for the damned pack? And why’d he always seem to hide the damned thing someplace that required him to bend over? Because he still wasn’t clear on that.

Anyways, this wasn’t his place, so he hadn’t complained in any way when he realized Spike’s obsessive behaviour hadn’t changed on that topic. And now he realized just how much that open door had comforted him. It let him know things were okay, normal, safe. He never thought for a moment that the now closed door was because Spike now trusted him enough to watch his back and to not attack him while he was exposed and vulnerable. He never once thought that it might be to protect him or that Spike had suddenly grown shy. All he could think was that Spike was finally sick of having Xander constantly in his life and in his face, so Xander started panicking.

Maybe I should have been looking for a new place a little more rigorously or something… because I don’t think I should stay here any longer. He wanted to preserve what goodwill they had left, but he couldn’t admit to himself why it was so important that some exist between them. He couldn’t even bring himself to wonder why it was important to him, he just knew he’d do whatever it took to make it happen.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Spike eased himself under the hot needling spray and turned his shirt covered back to the deluge. He couldn’t stop his shivering, even though the water was almost scalding against his skin. He hugged himself tightly, feeling the sobs trickle up his throat even though he locked his lips and didn’t let them spill; he was always an emotional wreck after a fulfilling session, this time was no different. Well, the only difference was this time he had a house guest who’d never understand.

After several minutes he peeled away the black t-shirt, feeling it catch now and again on barely released scabs, but generally coming away rather easily. He let it fall in a sodden heap on the bottom of the tub and barely saw the pink tinged water swirl away down the drain before running clear once more. He’d let things go too far this time, especially if he was expected to work out with Xander and go out on stage the next night.

What the bloody hell was I thinking? The problem was, he wasn’t; he was just reacting to the situation, like he always did. He was pushed to a limit and fell back on old coping mechanisms and now look at him! He’d have to use the last of the Corglank unguent, and that stuff was expensive to replace. Expensive and uncomfortable, what with having to go to the kind of store he avidly avoided these days… but needs overcame comfort and there was nothing mundane that did nearly the same thing. He’d be only partially healed during the practise, it was fast just not that fast, but that was better than nothing.

It still hurt, the guilt he carried inside him, but it no longer poisoned him; he could live with this glimmer that echoed inside. He felt the needle spray dig at the cuts, rinsing them clean of fabric fibres, his sweat and blood and another man’s stench gently swirling down the drain while the heat and sharp spray teased the cuts and abrasions left on his skin.

It felt good, cleansing. He’d been torn down and now he was cleaned out and he could move on this way. It was a coping mechanism, he knew that, he’d had it since the first time he was human, just not to this extreme. No, he’d been pushed to this extreme after his first death, and he knew who’d carved that into his psyche. Some scars never fully healed, no matter how long ago they’d been inflicted.

He quickly finished his shower ritual and awkwardly patted his back dry with a towel, knowing better than to rub it. Several minutes of even more awkwardly rubbing the unguent into faintly seeping wounds and the worst of the bruising that he could reach on his back and buttocks. They’d be gone before he went up on stage, he’d just have to be careful with how he worked with Xander or he’d let on something was wrong and the damned boy would never let up till he knew. White Hats always want to help those they think are in danger. Poor sap wouldn’t know how far from the truth that was and when he finally pulled it outta me he’d wish he’d never bothered. Boy’s good senses would be shocked!

He pulled on a sleeveless shirt he was careful to make sure covered the bruises and marks. He tucked the hem into a pair of sweatpants and gave himself another quick once over in the mirror. It was hard, looking at himself, seeing himself, his reflection returned after over a century of being without it. He swore it moved differently than him sometimes, that his reflection wasn’t always perfectly in synch but it always obeyed in front of witness’s so he’d dropped it, but he still wasn’t convinced everything was as it should be.

He used to try to avoid looking in mirrors but he hated blatant weakness in himself so he forced himself to put a mirror in each room; each room other than his office that is. His office was his dark little cave, windowless and devoid of any of the triggers that plagued him. It was his haven when his life and the world just became too much to bear. It was also the only room that was locked in the apartment.

His office was his haven, safe of anything negative or hurtful. The lighting was low and ambient, the soundproofing was extensive and easily the most expensive thing he’d invested into his home. The only electronic devices were his laptop which was always turned off and locked away and the lights, and that was how he wanted it kept. It was also the only place in the apartment he was territorial about, so it stayed locked with a numeric pad on both sides.

He eyed the door hungrily when he finally walked out of his bathroom. The promised cool comfort and sanctuary teased at him, pulling at him. He wished for a brief moment that he didn’t have the added responsibilities that came with taking care of the boy, but quickly squashed the thought down. He didn’t wish that, not really, and it wasn’t wise to tempt the fates. Any burden Xander pressed on him was nothing compared to all that he gave Spike.

He turned his face resolutely towards the kitchen, and nearly ran into the current focus of his thoughts. As it was they stopped so close to each other Spike could feel the heat from his skin and hear the shaky hushed gasp falling from those lips. He couldn’t help but hold his own in tense anticipation filled response. He wanted to touch that skin, he wanted to taste it, feel it slip and slide under his fingers while glistening with lust fuelled sweat. He itched, deep under his skin, and he wanted nothing more than to rub soothingly against that smooth skin; he knew it would ease his pains away.

The only thing that held him back was knowing it was the last thing Xander would want from him, for now at least. Maybe in time he could change that, but why bother? He just wanted a shag, a one nighter. He knew Kieran would want him to be happy, that he’d bless anything that made his heart lighter, but Spike could never bring himself to give more than his body to a partner. He kept things purely physical, sating his need for connection and closeness with almost anonymous sex with partners he never saw again. It let him feel real for a little while, but it always faded and left him just as cold and alone as before. That was alright though. He’d rather be alone than be that hurt all over again.

It never occurred to him that Xander was as well equipped, if not better, as he was to defend himself. Xander knew the truth and didn’t have to be lied to, Xander would never be stupid enough to ask two strangers into his home. He just knew he could never bring himself to bring someone close again, it hurt too much when they left. Even if they didn’t die, they always left him. He couldn’t deal with that again.

Spike shook himself out of his reverie and came back to the here and now, with Xander trembling right beside him, he shook so much they nearly touched. He wished once more that he had his old sense of smell. He wanted to know what the boy felt, when he was afraid or guilty or yes, even horny. He hated this not knowing, this restriction to body language and facial expressions. He knew he was good at spotting a lie, could tell when someone was hiding something, but that didn’t mean he didn’t second guess himself. It also didn’t mean that he could tell what a person was hiding, just that they were. But right now it was obvious just what Xander was hiding.

His pupils were dilated, his breathing so shallow it looked like he was consciously drawing in each breath and couldn’t quite figure out how. His lips glistened from when he’d licked them unconsciously and those warm chocolate brown eyes looked deep into his own and Spike had a choice. Either he tilted his face forward that fraction of an inch to press his lips to Xander’s or he could look deeper into those limpid brown eyes and see the panic barely concealed. He didn’t need his nose for that.

He did the only thing he could think of doing that would keep his friend. He stepped to the side and away, giving him room to catch his breath and/or run away, his choice really. A knot of tension melted when Xander just gave a shaky smile and sat down in the dining room instead of bolting out the door. Things weren’t broken, things were still okay. A thought flickered in his head, but he refused to admit he knew what it meant. It could mean anything ‘still have a chance’. Still have a bloody chance to kill him on stage or still have a chance to scare him away?

He may have been able to admit lust and longing but he refused to admit to anything stronger than friendship. It’s just… nice to no longer hide. It’s nice to have someone understand and it’s nice to have someone accept me. That’s it. I’m just… grateful, nothing more. Grateful and horny, but considering how long it’s been, can ya blame me?

He sighed wistfully to himself before trudging off to the kitchen to fix his own breakfast.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Xander slouched in the chair, feeling his skin catch and stretch on the smooth and highly polished wood. He felt boneless, boneless and aching. He was careful to keep his lap under the table, hiding his shame from view. The tears built in his eyes, unbidden and completely against his control. He was so messed up! He wanted Spike, wanted Spike in a carnal way, wanted Spike to want him back, but of course that would never happen. Not to Xander, not to the Zeppo, the donut boy.

He just wanted to be held, wanted to be coddled and soothed. He wanted someone to tell him things were going to be okay and actually try to make things okay. He wanted what he’d never had, a home. He wanted a loved one to come home to, to talk with and to listen to. He wanted everything he’d never had, and everything he couldn’t have, not him, not broken Xander.

He sipped his drink while he thought, his erection wilting while his depression grew. He was broken, unable to fulfil any of the urges that a normal human would indulge in. He’d never been able to cum with any of his partners, but he’d grown proficient at making them scream and beg for more; Anya was the prime example. She never even seemed to notice he didn’t finish, never seemed to care other than making sure she reached her own multiple releases. It was okay, he was used to being used as a tool, being taken advantage of… at least he had someone to come home to, someone to talk to and listen to. Even if he couldn’t love her, or love himself enough to be happy he had much more than he’d ever had at his parents place.

He didn’t mind settling, he was used to it now. He’d settle for friendship, no matter how much he didn’t think he was worthy of even that. He’d settle because he knew, deep inside, that he’d never get more. Not Xander Harris, Anthony Harris’s son; not the broken loser huddled in the corner. How could he ever get what he yearned for when he was just a shattered shell best left to rot in a corner? His father hadn’t just violated him, he’d bent and twisted and cracked and crushed him and nothing he did, nothing he could do, would ever change that. No matter what, Xander would still be the one who’d bitten clean through a pillow to keep his screaming from angering his father further, he’d still be the one who needed rescuing and who was sent out for pizza when anyone got the munchies. He was too broken to be of any good to anyone, too broken to love. He wasn’t stupid, and he accepted it about himself, he just wished it didn’t hurt so much.