Revelations

DISCLAIMER: All Buffy characters belong to Joss Whedon, 20th Century Fox, and to whatever other monolithic corporations that may have any sort of license for the show. I don't own anything about it. No profit made nor is any offense intended. Really.

A/N: This fic takes place early during the sixth season of BTVS, before all the unpleasantness with The Villains and Tara.

~~~~REVELATIONS ~~~~


Xander sat next to Willow, feeling totally numb. Worse than that even. He felt stunned, sucker punched and completely speechless. All of the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room. His mind had gone completely blank, yet he still seemed intent on speaking. As his lips worked soundlessly, Willow moved closer, throwing an arm around his hunched shoulders.

Her old mattress squeaked importantly to itself. Outside, a beautiful February day in Sunnydale was in progress: the sounds of kids playing, dogs barking, lawn mowers and muffled traffic wafted through the open window.

"Xan? Hey, I know you're in there," Willow prodded gently. "C'mon, big guy, talk to me."

Xander finally turned to face her. “I....I just don't know what to say. This is so unreal," he murmured softly. "I don't want to believe it, but I know you wouldn't lie to me, so..." he tailed off, turning to look out the window.

The heavy curtains billowed lazily in the unseasonably warm breeze.

"No, I'm telling the truth," Willow responded softly. "No more lies. I need to come clean about all this. About my addiction. That's why I had to tell you."

Xander blinked a few moments, roughly wiping the back of his hand across his puffy eyes. With a harsh intake of breath, he pushed off the bed and stalked over to the window, his arms hanging limply at his sides. "If all of what you're saying is true, there's one thing I don't get," he asked in a low voice, keeping his back to her. "How? How could you do that to me?" he finished, the first tinges of anger creeping into his voice.

Willow shifted uncomfortably, swallowing hard. "Because you begged me to," she whispered. "You wanted me to do it."

Xander whirled about, his cheeks flushing red. "I did? I begged you to screw with my head, alter my memories, change me?"

Willow's only response was a silent nod.

Xander glared at her for a moment before turning and moving to Willow's dressing table. He leaned on it for a moment before slamming both fists down hard enough to send a flurry of bottles and bric-a-brac scattering across the top of the table and onto the floor.

Silence hung in the room like an unwanted guest.

Xander stood there, his head hanging low, motionless.

Willow broke the silence. "I'm so sorry that this is hard for you. You're one of my best friends...well, the best, actually, and I love you. You have to know that, right?" she stammered desperately. "I just need to fix things, correct my mistakes. I need to shake this obsession with Magic once and for all. I've already lost Tara, and I nearly got Dawn killed because of it," she finished with a snuffle.

He just stood there, silent, so she went on.

"So that's why I had to come clean with you about the spell I cast. Please, Xander, this wasn't some whimsical, spur of the moment thing. You were so upset then, so frantic, and I couldn't stand to see you that miserable. This is hard for me too, you know."

"I still don't want to believe it."

"Yeah, I can totally understand, but I can prove it.”

As Xander slowly turned around, he watched as Willow opened the drawer of her nightstand.

She withdrew something, quickly closing the drawer and looking up to him. “Here. You need to read this. You wrote it to me, just before, well, before I did it," Willow murmured, holding up a well-worn envelope.

He could tell his eyes were probably red, as he felt the wetness of tears on his cheeks. Why the hell did he always have to be so emotional?

He walked slowly across the bedroom, stopping at the foot of the bed. He stared at the envelope for a long moment before snatching it from her shaky hand.

"It's your handwriting. You wanted some sort of record of what we did."

He carefully opened the envelope and unfolded the two pieces of spiral notebook paper. His eyes grew wider and wider as he completed the first page, going on to the second. He glanced up as Willow blinked away tears of her own.

He moved around the foot-board of the bed, plopping down heavily across from Willow. When he finished reading, his hand dropped, the letter nearly slipping from his loosening grip.

"Xander?"

"Yeah, Wil, what?"

"Say something, anything...please."

He sighed deeply, quickly folding up the letter and stuffing it back in the envelope. "What's there to say? I was, I mean, I am gay. I finally figured it out in junior year, and begged you to do something about it. You cast a spell on me, and from that point on, I've thought I was straight. End of story.”

"Well, there's a lot more to it than that," Willow replied, scooting across the mattress to lean her head against his shoulders. "You were absolutely miserable. You were in a panic the night you told me. You and Larry messed around, and you liked it. And then you got scared. You were terrified that your parents would throw you out if they found out about you. And Larry started hanging around, trying to get closer, and you freaked. I tried to help, I tried to tell you it would be fine, but...." She stopped abruptly, closing her eyes.

Xander sat up straight. "But what?"

"That's when your Dad caught you and Larry fooling around in your basement. He, uh, your Dad, he......"

"He beat the living tar out of me, right?"

"Yeah, he did. I was afraid you might actually do something horrible to yourself after that. And then you asked me to help you, to do something that would make you 'normal', to make you forget about being gay. So I did," Willow murmured, taking a deep breath. "It wasn't easy. I had to ask Amy for help. It took me weeks to find the right spell. Giles almost caught me practicing the incantation."

"I don't remember any of that stuff," Xander replied, slowly shifting about to face her.

"No, I made you forget all the bad things that happened. That was the first time I used Lethe's Bloom. I'm pretty good with that spell. Well, except for that one time, anyway," she finished, grinning sheepishly.

"Oh man," was all Xander could push out.

"I know how lame it all sounds, but you were really hurting. And I knew exactly how you felt. I knew about myself then, but I wouldn't admit who I really was, either. I did what I did partly because I secretly wanted to cast the same spell on myself. I didn't understand then. I do now," Willow finished, her voice soft but firm.

"There's nothing wrong with being gay, and I would never do anything like that now. But I was just so eager to do Magic, I thought it would help, and I got carried away. But it worked so perfectly! You went right after Cordelia, and you were the old Xander again."

"Fake Xander, you mean."

"No, no, no, it wasn't like that. The spell is very specific. It simply blocks your, uh, attraction to guys and channels it another way. You're still you."

"And what about Anya? Does all this mean I really don't love her?"

Willow shifted a bit, absently picking at the crocheted bedspread.

"You have feelings for her, I'm sure," she began carefully. "And you both work very well together. But the spell is...directing feelings you are having for, um, someone else and imprinting them on Anya."

"Great, just great!" Xander huffed, suddenly launching off the bed to pace the room. "I've proposed to an ex-Vengeance Demon who I'm not really in love with. Just wonderful!"

"That's another reason why I had to tell you now," Willow sighed. "I just couldn't let this go on any longer. Please, try to understand, okay? And remember, they prefer Justice Demon these days."

Xander paced to and fro, one hand rubbing his forehead while the other slapped against his thigh. He whirled about, eyes wide. "Who else knows about this?"

"No one," she replied quickly. "Not even Amy. I never told a soul about you or what we did. You made me promise, and I kept my word. I want to make things right, and I still want you to be my friend, if that's possible. I need you, Xander."

He stared blankly for a moment before nodding slightly. "Okay, so what will happen now? Will I suddenly have uncontrollable urges to watch Queer As Folk and listen to The Village People?"

"Yeah, as if The Backstreet Boys are ever so macho. And you already watch Queer As Folk.”

Xander snorted, a tiny grin cracking his features. "I guess this explains all those Donna Summer CD's. And QAF is a very popular, well-regarded program, I'll have you know," he finished, wagging a finger in Willow's direction.

With a sigh, he plopped down again. They sat there quietly, listening to the curtains ruffle softly to themselves.

A siren wailed off in the distance.

"So, what do you have to do to reverse the spell? Steal dragon eggs or milk a Lightning Demon or something?"

"No, nothing like that," Willow replied. "It's just a simple incantation."

"Do it then," Xander whispered.

She took a deep breath. "Are you sure?”

"Yeah."

“Really?”

“Yeah. Just do it.”

"Fintantada!"


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Xander sat on his sofa, taking in the ruins of his apartment.

Despite the fact that she was now fully human, Anya was still formidable when pissed off. And she had been in rare form this afternoon.

Honestly, he couldn't blame her for her reaction. Although he did think that trying to set the kitchen on fire was going a bit far.

He'd made what he'd thought to be a valiant effort to explain things reasonably, ducking flying books, glassware and small appliances all the while. Anya refused to listen, screeching and wailing like a banshee.

Finally, she'd gathered together a small suitcase and stomped away, setting out to find D'Hoffryn to become a Vengeance Demon once more.

Justice Demon.

She must have been seriously upset to walk away from managing the shop. Of course she'd be upset, after the bomb he'd just dropped. It was a good thing Giles had returned from England. At least they wouldn't have to worry about who'd run The Magic Box.

Xander sighed as he held up Anya's discarded engagement ring. The tiny circle of gold glinted innocently in the late afternoon sun. Wincing, he rubbed the spot on his forehead where the ring had struck him. Among other things, it seemed Anya would have made a good baseball pitcher.

She had a wicked arm.

Willow had called a few minutes before to check up on him and remind him of the Scooby meeting at the shop later that night. She still sounded upset, and Xander did his best to reassure her that everything was fine. Well, as fine as could be expected when you had just told your fiancée that you were gay and not really in love with her.

Or not enough in love with her. Or something.

He sure as hell didn't feel like dealing with anything other than a six pack of Bud Light and the Sci-Fi channel, but somehow he managed to convince himself that getting out of his apartment and out and about was probably a good idea.

Besides, there'd be even more hell to pay if he missed the meeting.

Rubbing his hands together, he stood up and began clearing the away the wreckage of Anya's hissy fit.


~~~~~~~~~


A few hours later, Xander found himself downtown, trudging toward the shop with his hands plunged deeply into his front pockets. The day had been gorgeous, sunny and warm. Not that he'd really enjoyed any of it.

Dusk had now fallen, and the first stars were appearing above the electric purple lining the horizon. It was really chilly now that the sun had lazily disappeared behind the low western hills. Xander put his head down and continued on his way. The beauty of the spectacular sunset failed to lift his spirits. His mind was completely focused on the various possible and surely unpleasant outcomes of Anya's wrath.

He only hoped that she wouldn't be able to find D'Hoffryn. Maybe her old boss was on a demon sabbatical or something. For all eternity.

Shivering, he quickened his pace, swinging briskly around a corner and smacking head-long into a dark shape walking in the opposite direction. He bounced off of the other unlucky pedestrian and fell backwards, landing squarely on his ass.

The shadow fell against the brick wall of the hardware store.

"Bloody hell, pull your head out, you clumsy git!" Spike spluttered angrily, standing up and straightening his t-shirt.

Xander just sat there in the gathering gloom, unblinking, staring up at the blond vampire.

"Hey, boy blunder, are you right?" Spike asked harshly, taking a step towards him.

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine.”

"That's a topic open for debate," Spike huffed sarcastically. "You best hurry or you'll be late for your little meeting. The blonde bitch is in a right nasty mood tonight.”

Xander remained where he was on the sidewalk. He kept gazing at Spike, locked onto his incredibly bright eyes, which seemed to almost glow in the deepening twilight. Had they always done that? If so, he hadn't noticed.

A nearby street lamp popped on, giving him an even better look at Spike's slim, muscular form.

He seemed to notice for the first time how tightly his black jeans clung to his long, muscled legs. His waist was remarkably trim, and Spike's trademark black t-shirt showed off his flat stomach and muscled chest quite nicely.

And then there was the nifty little scar thingy running through his left eyebrow.

Xander sucked in a breath at the realization that he found Spike to be, well, drop-dead gorgeous. He hadn't really noticed it before. Or perhaps he had; Willow's spell must have blocked it out.

How wild was that?

Then, he felt a slight wave of anger and disgust well up within him. This was Spike, for chrissakes! Not only was he a walking corpse, a dirty blood-sucker, but he was also a calculating, manipulative, scheming, brutal murderer. And Spike couldn't be trusted. Sure, he'd helped the gang out from time to time, actually saving their lives once or twice. But still...
Xander shook his head, trying to clear it.

He hated Spike.

Really.

Didn't he?

Of course he did.

Or was that another part of Willow's spell that she hadn't told him about? Were all the negative feelings he'd harbored toward Spike simply a result of the magic? It had to be something like that, because all he felt now was a deep, burning desire to get as close to Spike as possible.

As soon as possible.

Xander gulped as his eyes moved to the rather sizable and obvious package straining the front of Spike's jeans.

It was clear that Spike was now plainly perplexed. "Did you hit you head or something, Harris? Your expression is unusually blank, even for you.”

"It's Xander," he mumbled, groaning slightly as he attempted to get to his feet.

"What?" Spike sputtered, bending down to offer a hand. "I know what your sodding name is. I'm not the one acting like they've recently had a lobotomy."

Xander reached up and took Spike's hand. His skin was cool but not cold; his grip firm. Xander shuddered in spite of himself as Spike yanked him to his feet rather roughly.

"Whoa!" he gasped as he was jerked upwards.

Overbalancing, he fell into Spike. Instinctively throwing his arms wide, he somehow managed to bury his head into the crook of the vampire's neck, his hands encircling Spike's shoulders. He hung there, their bodies pressed together, for what seemed like a very long time.

He nuzzled his nose against the vamp's collarbone, closing his eyes and reveling in the nearly overwhelming sensation of being so close to such a buff, desirable man. Spike felt wonderful, all firm muscle and sinew. His musk was decidedly earthy, sweet almost, with a bit of Obsession thrown in. Xander took a deep breath, cupping the back of Spike's neck with one hand and caressing his shoulder with the other. He blinked upward, cracking what he hoped was his most innocent, winning smile.

Spike glared at him as if he were a Bog Demon. One of his eyebrows arched incredibly high. "What in bloody hell is wrong with you?" he drawled. "You look like you're high, drunk, hexed, or all three."

Xander grinned crookedly as Spike pushed him away. He finally righted himself, absently straightening his sweatshirt. Running a hand through his wavy black hair, he continued to grin widely at Spike.

This is really fun, Xander thought to himself.

He was actually flirting with another guy, and it felt completely natural. Great, even. And the more he did it, the more he wanted to do. How could he ever have felt that this was wrong?

And Spike really was pretty damned beautiful, sexy, and so absolutely, well, fuckable!

Now there was a thought!

The more he stared at Spike's nicely muscled form, the more he wanted to jump on Spike, kissing and nibbling and biting and sucking every square inch of that fantastic, heavenly body.

Oh yeah, this was totally fine, totally okay.

He felt light-headed, definitely giddy, as if tossing his inhibitions to the four winds had lifted some sort of vast weight from his shoulders. And the more he looked at Spike, the more he thought about what the vamp would look like without the clothes...well, he felt himself growing hard.

A definite stiffy for another guy.

Wood for Spike!

Xander came back to himself, fully aware that he was probably grinning like a total idiot.

Spike, on the other hand, looked completely confused. Or possibly annoyed. Or both.

"I'm certainly not drunk," Xander returned playfully. "A little high, maybe," he finished with a wink.

Spike actually flinched, taking a step backwards. His eyes widened comically as Xander moved two steps closer.

"Hold on, mate!" Spike warbled nervously, holding up both of his hands defensively. "You've been cursed by some evil bug or demon, yeah?"

"No, no, Spike," Xander growled seductively, continuing his advance, "I haven't been hexed. But I have been charmed. Now wait...I'm not sure 'charmed' is the right word," he paused, tapping his chin with a forefinger. “Blown away is more like it. Yeah, that's it!"

His surging hormones finally getting the best of him, Xander threw himself at Spike. The next instant, he found himself pressed tightly against the startled vampire, grinding his hips against Spike's and devouring Spike's mouth and lips with desperate, hungry kisses.


-------;@ * @;-------


So far, Spike's day had gone from simply annoying to completely off the charts.

He'd awoken to find an unnecessarily terse note from blondie, ordering him to report to the Magic shop ASAP. Which he'd done, despite the nearly insurmountable urge to remain in his crypt and have a good wank.

Buffy had been in rare form...poor, that is...nearly biting his head off in response to what he'd thought had been a perfectly polite and entirely cheerful “Hello, luv.” Not at all being a “morning person”, he'd thought that he'd made an impressive effort.

Not so, apparently, as things went downhill from there, with Buffy barking out orders like some sort of deranged drill instructor. He'd seen her in these moods before, of course, so he'd just let her rant and rave, nodding sagely whenever he felt it necessary to do so.

Which only seemed to enrage her all the more.

If he hadn't already been undead, he might have felt that he was in mortal peril.

He'd eventually gotten the gist of her tirade: go back to his crypt and wait for further instructions...which could have just as easily been communicated with another note. Or possibly the first one. He'd briefly toyed with the notion of mentioning this fact, but had decided that keeping his body in one piece was a more important consideration.

He'd easily dodged the heavy spell book she'd thrown at him as he'd made his hasty and overdue retreat; perhaps the cheeky salute he'd given her hadn't been such a good idea after all.

No matter; she'd be in a completely different...and hopefully better...state of mind when he saw her again.

So after that less than stellar beginning, Harris had slammed into him with such force that he'd nearly lost his own footing.

He'd been ready to issue one of his patented threats to Harris' life and limb when he'd noted the odd expression on the young prat's face. Harris wasn't one who tended to exist on the same dimensional plane as everyone else, but he'd looked even more detached and distant than ever sitting there, grinning up at him blankly.

It was then that he'd noted that it wasn't blankness, after all.

There'd been an odd gleam in Harris' eyes...and the way that they were literally staring at him; no, more than that. They were devouring him from head to toe.

Over the centuries, he'd seen that sort of predatory look before.

But from Harris? It was a ridiculous notion.

Insane, to be sure.

So he'd helped the kid up, simply out of politeness, and the next thing he knew, Harris had literally pounced on him, rutting like a demon in heat.

And then...

...the kiss.

No doubt about it. It was a totally bizarre day, and he'd been awake less than an hour.

So there he was, being thoroughly snogged by Harris, right there on the bloody sidewalk.

In public.

He attempted to speak, but his words were sucked away by Harris' desperate, hungry kisses.

By those mind-bendingly probing, arousing kisses.

By the best kisses he'd had in decades.

What the fuck?

And that's when it happened.

When he felt himself begin to grow hard.

For fucking Harris, for sod's sake!

Time and space tilted sideways as part of Spike's addled mind screamed to pull away while the other part demanded more. And Harris continued his assault, excitedly pressing and touching and rubbing and licking and kissing with an increasing fervor heretofore unknown in all of Spike's admittedly advanced repertoire.

Rational thought evaporated like a staked vampire brethren. The increasingly tiny portion of Spike's swirling mind that advocated retreat was surreptitiously drowned out by the overwhelmingly persistent portion that bellowed for complete nakedness and double penetration.

All of it.

Now.

Immediately.

Five minutes ago.

Yesterday.

Spike found himself responding to Harris' advances, actually pressing back with every available surface. Everything about Harris suddenly felt arousing, stimulating, desirable beyond words.

He ran his hands up and under Harris's sweatshirt, gasping and groaning at the smooth, warm skin he found there. His fingertips eagerly found their way over, across and around a surprising array of firm, lovely, and incredibly firm muscles. The hammer-like pounding of Harris' heart, the thrum of blood pulsing through veins...it all conspired to throw the last remaining shreds of his logic and reason to the wind.

His now throbbing erection found Harris' own, and Spike gasped in spite of himself as his hands scrabbled at the fly of the stocky kid's denims.

Stop!

Reality then decided to reassert itself with a vengeance. Gravity returned to its senses, and the Universe shrugged and righted itself once more. Time and Space chuckled to each other knowingly, and Spike realized that he was snogging Xander Harris.

Deeply.

On the sidewalk.

With a giant stiffy.

Bloody Fucking Hell!

Spike pulled his hand out of Harris' denims, shoving himself backwards and smacking against the brick wall of the hardware store. Harris leered at him crookedly, his brown eyes wild with desire.

"Let's slam on the brakes, here, mate," Spike spluttered. "You're obviously not yourself."

"I've never felt better, luv," Harris whispered hungrily. "And neither have you. Rooowwrrrrrrlllll!"

Spike swallowed as Harris moved in, placing both palms on the still warm bricks, bracketing him there against the wall. Harris pressed closely once more, leaning in to nuzzle his left ear. He made a half-hearted effort to move his head away, but Harris easily compensated, giving his ear lobe a firm and very thorough nibble. He heard himself moan like a virgin debutante as Harris moved down and suckled at the flesh of his neck. A second later, the kid clamped his teeth down, hard.

Spike yelped in spite of himself, pushing Harris backward and sliding away. "Shite!"

“Was that good for you , too?” Harrris growled, licking his lips in an entirely lewd manner.

Spike glanced about frantically. A lone car slowly passed by. Not a single other soul was in sight. The neon lighted marquee of the cinema clicked on, and he could make out movement in the ticket booth as the young attendant flipped the sign from “Closed” to “Open”.

Harris waggled his eyebrows, clearly ready to pounce yet again.

Spike backed away, circling around Harris and preparing to make his escape. He briefly debated dragging the demented git back into The Magic Box, letting The Slayer and her witch fix whatever was wrong with him.

And there clearly was something wrong with Harris.

Not that he'd paid that much attention to the kid before.

Besides, it was utterly ridiculous that he was intimidated by this hormone-drenched moron. He was a vampire, after all; a vicious, world-famous killer. He could dispose of Harris in an instant. He could consign the dark-haired, brown-eyed, nicely muscled, gorgeous young fellow to oblivion on a whim.

Sure he could.

Whenever he wanted.

But that would be a terrible waste, indeed. The kid wasn't bad to look at. And when had Harris gotten so buff? Must be all that hard, sweaty construction work. And that smile. Yeah, now that was a smile.

He was doing it now.

What the hell was he thinking?

Oi, and that basket. Something nice down there, to be sure...

Damn, damn, damn!

Deciding to exercise the better part of valor, he pushed past Harris and ran down the street.

After he was safe distance away, he spared a quick glance behind him. Harris still stood there in front of the hardware store, his hand on the front of his denims, smiling, watching.

Definitely a day that he should have stayed in his coffin.


-------;@ * @;-------


Xander sat quietly at the table as Buffy and Giles droned on an on about the doomsday-du-jour.

It wasn't the he had no interest in saving the universe and all that. He did, but his encounter with Spike out front still had his admittedly rankled brain in a quandary.

He'd actually kissed a vampire. Right on the street, for everyone to see. Okay, there hadn't been anyone in sight, but it was still significant, wasn't it? It had been like he couldn't help himself. He'd been on some sort of auto-pilot, even his dick acting like a kind of Spike compass.

And it had felt good. Damn good. Great, even.

He'd been disappointed when Spike had run off, but the last remaining shred of logic and reason kicking about in his head had somehow gained control. So he hadn't chased after Spike, and now, he sorta regretted that decision.

But it worked out anyway, because if he'd of missed the meeting, Buffy would've probably ripped his head off.

So he'd continued on to The Magic Box, arriving like two minutes late. It was a good thing that looks don't normally kill, as the one that Buffy'd shot him then could've turned him to dust in an instant.

Willow had looked predictably miserable, while Giles had simply rolled his eyes.

Dawn had been the only one to say hello as he sat down; he didn't even have time to respond before Buffy had launched into a long list of the recent demonic activity currently plaguing Sunnydale.

It was hard enough for him to pay attention under normal circumstances. While he'd calmed down somewhat, he found that all he could think about was Spike.

Tall, slim, muscley, Spike.

Shirtless. Yeah, that worked.

Wait..scratch that.

Tall, slim, muscley, naked Spike!

He must've had a really spacey expression on his face as Dawn kicked him under the table. She jerked her head slightly in Buffy's direction, urging him to pay attention.

He just grinned back at her, still holding on to an image of Spike in the buff while making a half-hearted attempt to listen to the ongoing discussion.

Something about unknown demons blah-blah-blah research this blah-blah Giles do that blah-blah Willow check into that spell blah-blah-blah whatever it is must be stopped blah-blah where's Anya blah-blah...

"Xander, where's Anya?!"

He jumped in his chair, looking round nervously.

"What? Yeah, right, let's go! Um, where are we going?"

Dawn rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair. Giles exchanged a glance with Buffy and commenced cleaning his glasses. Willow stared at him from across the table, silently mouthing the words 'Are you okay?'

Buffy leaned in right next to him, glaring down. “Earth to Xander! Welcome back to our dimension. How nice of you to join us."

"Uh, sorry, Buff, I was just thinking."

Giles harrumphed. "Good lord. The end is indeed nigh."

"Hey!" Xander and Dawn chorused.

"He's just got a lot on his mind," Willow offered, nodding hopefully at Buffy. "Isn't that right, Xander?"

"Uh, well, yeah, sure. That's it exactly. I'm a pretty mindful kinda guy," he finished, cracking a wide grin as he looked up at Buffy. It faded instantly as he was subjected to her most withering Slayer glare.

"Okay, maybe not," Xander murmured, folding his arms and slouching down in his seat.

"Well, perhaps you could manage to focus some of that mind power of yours on us for a few minutes. Would that be a problem?”

“Nope, no problem at all, Buff.”

“Great. Now, like for the tenth time, where's Anya? We could really use her help about now."

Dawn and Giles both looked to him, clearly waiting for an answer.

Willow's eyes went wide.

"Anya? Yeah, well, let's see," he stammered. "Um, she went to a conference. Yep, that's where she is."

Buffy scrunched up her face. "A conference?"

"She never mentioned anything of the sort to me," Giles added, taking a few steps towards him. "I'd need to know things like this. I simply cannot have my partner running off and leaving me with all the responsibilities.”

"She never mentioned anything to me either," Dawn piped up, looking from Xander to Giles and back again.

"What kind of conference?" Buffy asked stiffly.

"W-what kind?" Xander repeated in a monotone. "What kind, let's see, um, I-"

"Well?" Buffy cut him off, her tone threatening.

"A conference for ex-demons. In Cincinnati. She'll be gone a week," he blurted out, suddenly sitting up in his chair. "Yeah, a week. Or more. Probably."

"Cincinnati? For a week? Just lovely," Giles snorted, pacing away. “I simply cannot believe that she would not inform me of this in advance.”

"An ex-demons' conference?" Dawn repeated with a frown.

"In Cincinnati?" Willow murmured, furrowing her brow in thought. "Isn't that where they had all the to-do about flying vampire pigs or something?"

"That's in Illinois, right?" Dawn asked.

“What? The vampire pigs or Cincinnati?”

“Um, both. Either,” Dawn replied.

“Both are in Ohio, not Illinois. And the vamp pig scare was in Cincinnati,” Willow offered brightly. "There's a very large Wiccan population in Cincinnati. Plus a lot of werewolves. Ohio's just crawling with werewolves. It's not very well known, but over two hundred years ago...."

"Illinois, Ohio, South Dakota, what's the difference?" Xander bubbled enthusiastically. "They're all vaguely rectangular, and that's where Anya is. Right now. For a week. Or more."

Dawn turned to Willow. "Cool. But I always get Ohio and Idaho mixed up. I mean, they do sound alike."

"It's easy to separate the two," Willow replied. "Idaho's in the west, between Oregon and Montana. It's famous for potatoes.”

Dawn nodded. “Oh, yeah, now I remember.”

“Now Ohio's in the Midwest, near one of the Great Lakes. I did a report on Ohio in the eighth grade. The state's famous for its rubber and corn products, flaming rivers, dead Presidents....."

Giles cleared his throat loudly as Xander opened his mouth to speak. Buffy cut them both off, slamming her fist down onto the table.

"Look, in case no one's noticed, something really nasty is creeping around Sunnydale. And whatever it is, it makes Glory look like a Cub Scout den mother. We'd better get our act together right now, so enough with the geography lessons. I didn't come back from the dead to, well, to end up dead again!"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Nice freak out, Buffy."

"Dawn!" Buffy growled, placing her hands on her hips.

“Sorry,” Willow pouted.

"If I may make a suggestion," Giles interjected firmly, "I think it would be prudent to cease the useless bantering and conduct our investigations."

"But I've got a Geography test in the morning," Dawn whined.

"Okay, okay, that's enough!" Buffy fumed. "Giles, you can take Dawn home and go through the Tomes of Godric for any information that we can use. Willow, you come with me to The Bronze. We'll start looking for signs of our demon there. And Xander, you go hook up with Spike and patrol."

Everyone stood up but Xander. He remained seated, his eyes wide. Buffy stalked to the back room to stock up on weapons while Giles and Dawn collected the pile of volumes to be studied.

Willow moved around the table, bending down to whisper in his ear. "What's going on? Something's wrong, I can tell."

"You mean more than there already was?" he hissed angrily.

"Yeah. Sorry," she shrugged, making a frowny face. "So Anya's really in Cincinnati? Sounds like a conference like that could really do her a world of good.”

“I don't know where she is. That's all I could come up with on such short notice.”

“Oh, well, it sounded good to me. So then, what else is wrong?"

“I sorta ran into Spike on the way here.”

“Oh, yeah, he left a few minutes before you got here. What did he do? Try to bite you or something?”

“No, no. He was the perfect gentleman.”

Willow scrunched up her face. “I don't get it.”

Xander blew out a breath. “Let's just say that I'm the one that...attacked him. Kinda.”

“What?”

“You know, Spike? The blond vampire? The really good-looking one?”

Willow still looked confused.

"C'mon, Wil! Remember earlier today? Our little chat? Me, Spike, together, alone? And he's all I've been thinking about since? And right now, it's, well, kind of hard for me to stand up," Xander muttered, shifting in his seat. "Get it?"

Willow stared for a moment before her eyes fluttered wide. "Oh," she nodded. "Oh!"

"Yeah, oh," Xander sighed. "You didn't mention all the side-effects to breaking that spell."

Willow glanced about. Giles and Dawn were putting on their coats. "What do you mean? What effects? There shouldn't be any."

He blinked at her. "Wil, I nearly raped Spike on the sidewalk. I couldn't help myself."

"Spike?" she repeated.

"Yeah, Spike. The dead blond guy. Captain Peroxide. El Vamipro. Billy Idol of the Damned?"

"Spike..." Willow said again.

"Am I speaking English, here? And the really freaky thing is, he seemed to, well, sort of like me back." Xander paused, his head cocking to one side, a smile ghosting across his lips. "And he's one hell of a good kisser."

"He kissed you back? Really?"

"Oh, yeah," Xander nodded, smiling wide.

"Wow, I didn't think that would happen," Willow murmured, almost to herself.

Xander blinked. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Oh, nothing bad," she answered, shaking her head. "I did some reading up about it this afternoon, and in rare cases, when this particular spell is broken, the true object of the subject's affection can be flooded with a barrage of positive energy. They're sort of overwhelmed with a backlog of strong, erotic emotions. They can't help but respond to them, really. This is so fascinating! How cool!"

Xander paled. "I don't think I like where this is going."

Buffy strode across the floor of the shop, her large, black duffel slung over her shoulder. Giles and Dawn waited patiently by the front door.

Willow leaned in, whispering. "He's most likely the one, Xander. The one you've had feelings for all along. And now that the spell is negated, those true feelings are coming to the surface. And they're resonating in Spike, drawing the two of you together. That has to be what's happening."

Xander's stomach flopped. "You mean I'm in love with a vampire?"

"Well, yeah, maybe. Probably," Willow nodded, grinning widely. "Vamps, ex-demons, what's the difference? You've made more than a few comments about his hot, muscley body over the years, remember? And even though he's not my type, he is pretty nice looking. Way to go!"

Xander swallowed, closing his eyes. "Oh, brother."

“What's the deal, then? You said yourself it felt good.”

“It's all a bit much to take in, ya know?” Xander hissed, adjusting himself as he stood up. “Finding out I'm gay's been an adjustment enough. Now I'm a vampire groupie, too.”

Giles turned off most of the lights, plunging the shop into shadows. Dawn tapped her foot impatiently.

Buffy strode across the floor, half-turning around. Hey, let's go while we still have a dimension to inhabit. You two can talk about, whatever, after the bom-bad evil is put down, 'kay?"

"Sure, Buffy!" Willow chirped.

Buffy rolled her eyes and whirled about, yanking open the front door and stomping out into the night. Dawn flounced after her.

Giles made a wide gesture with his hand. “Come along now. Please lock up on your way out. Remember to set the security system. And be careful," he finished, turning and disappearing through the open door.

Willow leaned up and kissed Xander's temple. "Hey, I'm so sorry about all the mess. But everything usually works out for the best though, right?"

"Yeah, sure, I suppose," Xander replied sullenly.

"You'll be fine. Spike's changed a lot. Give it a chance, okay?"

Xander was silent for a moment. "He is pretty hot," he murmured finally.

"Atta boy," Willow said, her tone encouraging. “And if it doesn't work out, there's always Larry.”

“Nah. Larry's boinking Heath Loudermilk.”

“Really? He's on the football team, too, isn't he?”

“Yeah. Imagine all that locker room romance.”

The sound of Buffy's impatient voice wafted in to them through the open door.

"Now, while we're still young!"

"Let's motor," Willow whispered, grinning. "And I want all the gory details in the morning, you know," she finished with an uncharacteristic wink.

He remained seated long enough to ensure that his stiffy had subsided enough to allow him to walk somewhat normally. Slinging his knapsack over his shoulder, he followed everyone else out of the shop and onto the sidewalk.

He closed the front door, quickly punching in the security code on the tiny panel.

The rest of the gang waited there, scattered about, silent.

Buffy nodded at Willow, who winked again at him before they walked away towards The Bronze.

Dawn gave him a little wave, Giles placing a protective hand on her back. They moved off in the opposite direction, towards home.

Xander shivered in the chill air. Looking up, the nearly full moon revealed itself from behind the slivers of cloud. He stared at it for a long time, until he became aware that his feet were getting cold. He then moved off toward the cemetery and Spike's crypt.

As he walked, he turned over what Willow had said. It made a certain sort of sense. That is, if magical spells that made you believe you were straight made sense in the first place. He understood the theory of how his memories had been altered and blocked initially, and it naturally followed that once the spell had been broken, the altered memories might return as the false ones melted away.

Willow knew her stuff, and since she was rarely wrong about such things, he didn't see any reason to doubt what she'd said. The whole emotional projection thing seemed a stretch, but he'd certainly seen and experienced weirder stuff than that.

His mind was still aswirl with his previous feelings of intense animosity towards Spike. The more he tried to think about them, the more distant and fuzzy they became, as if they were systematically disintegrating as he tried to focus on them. Slowly, gradually, all the negatives were being replaced by positives. And the more he struggled to focus on those memories, the faster they changed.

By the time he was half-way to the cemetery, he could barely recall why he had ever hated Spike in the first place. He grinned in spite of himself as the considered the circumstances; the more he thought about it, the more natural the whole situation seemed.

He realized then that part of what held him back was that he was more concerned about what other people would think than he was about his feelings for Spike.

Those feelings he was totally certain of. He wanted to be with Spike. All he had to do was think of him now, and his entire body seemed to light up, to go into some sort of overdrive. It felt so damn good, so invigorating. He knew that it wasn't uncommon for vamps and humans to become romantically involved, so there was that working in his favor.

He decided then that is was really dumb to deny how he felt. Willow had said that his emotions were probably resonating with Spike, and after the encounter on the sidewalk, Xander tended to agree with her. So he was fairly certain that he had a good chance.

A very good chance.

The only thing that nattered away at him was the projection thing.

If it was a result of the spell affecting Spike, then it was possible that Spike couldn't help but to respond.

And wouldn't that effect eventually fade away, just like his false memories? So what if Spike didn't really feel anything for him?

Whatever the case, he'd just have to play the cards he was dealt and hope for the best.

Xander moved easily amongst the headstones, Spike's crypt only a few yards away, bathed in the cool, blue moonlight.


-------;@ * @;-------


"Balls!"

Spike slammed the top of the beat-up old VCR with his palm...hard. The machined whirred and clicked in protest at his onslaught. After a loud clunk coupled with a whine, the tape finally agreed to play. Backing up a step, he squinted at the snowy image on his battered television. Something was there, buried under layers of electronic fuzz and snow.

"Damnable device!"

Sighing, he reached around the back of the VCR, fiddling with the tangled web of cables. Blindly wiggling them around, he watched the screen for any improvement in the picture.

"Infernal...Bloody...thing!...Come...on...come...on!...Be...nice...to...ol'...Spike...c'mon...yeah!"

He smiled as the image on the screen cleared up.

Somewhat. Mostly.

Slowly removing his hand from the back of the VCR, he backed away towards his chair, never taking his eyes from the television screen. He lowered himself into the tatty armchair with a contented sigh.

As he flicked his lighter to light up a cigarette, the picture instantly dissolved into waves of fuzzy snow.

"Fuck!" he growled, rubbing his forehead. "Is it so bleedin' much to ask for a simple night in front of the telly? Is it?"

He threw his arms wide, looking upwards for an answer.

When he didn't receive one, he growled again. All he wanted was to relax and enjoy his favourite programme. After the way his day had been progressing, he felt that he deserved a little quiet time. At least before blondie blustered in with more orders, anyway.

Heaving himself out of his chair, he smacked the VCR repeatedly, a new curse punctuating each resounding bang.

The electronics conspired to confound him, the picture clearing of fuzz for brief moments at totally random intervals.

When that method of attack failed, he gave the side of the television alternating thumps, with the same maddening results: nothing.

"Cheap Asian crap!" he hissed, giving the VCR a final sharp blow before standing up, hands on his hips.

"Uh, it's all Asian crap these days."

He'd been so absorbed in assaulting his video equipment that he hadn't heard the door to his crypt open and close.

Spike spun about, instinctively striking a defensive posture.

"Whoa, it's only me," Xander offered calmly, his hands spread apart, palms open. "Having a bit of trouble with the entertainment system?" He shrugged off his back, dropping it to the floor.

Spike relaxed immediately, rolling his eyes and bending down to pick up his lighter and smokes. "What the hell do you want?" he spat. "More marching orders from blondie, I'd wager."

"Well, yeah, as a matter of fact. New evil in town, remember? Buffy and Willow are checking out The Bronze, Giles and Dawn are doing the research thing, and you and I need to patrol."

Spike huffed, turning to stare at his snowy television. "Fucking typical. I'm supposed to jump at her beck and call, eh? Good 'ole Spike. Do this, do that, go here, go there. And then when she's all pent up and needy, I'm there again. But what about when I want something?" He paused, staring across the candlelit crypt.

Of course blondie would send Harris to do her dirty work; far be it for her to actually lower herself to visit his crypt on mere business. She only came round for one thing...not that he found that at all unpleasant, mind, just blatantly shallow.

So here was the kid again, standing right behind him, no doubt smiling that stupid, wide, winning smile of his...

"Balls!" He banged on the VCR again.

“Doesn't seem to be helping,” Xander commented.

Spike whirled around. “Really? With such powers of deduction, I can see why Buffy depends on you so.”

Xander took a few steps closer, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans. “I might be able to fix that.” He nodded to the snow-filled television screen.

Spike growled again, advancing to within a few inches of Xander. "Listen, messenger boy, I don't require or desire...your help. And go tell your Slayer that I'm busy tonight!" He jabbed a pointed finger into Xander's chest.

Xander's nicely broad, surprisingly firm, gloriously muscled chest. He paused in mid-jab, his fingertip pressed against Xander's pullover.

Xander glanced down and smiled.

Spike yanked his hand away, turning to flop himself down into his armchair. "And don't let the door hit your arse on the way out. I'm trying to watch this program." He stared at the television screen, sparing a withering glance for Xander, his crooked grin still firmly in place. "Bloody mental midget."

"Yeah, yeah, I think I've seen this one. Fuzz and Interference: The Next Generation."

Spike steepled his fingers. “Was that intended to be humourous?”

Xander winked and moved over to the television, bending down to examine the tangled cables.

Spike craned his neck slightly to get a better view of Xander's bum, which appeared to be quite nice. If only the kid didn't wear such bleedingly over-sized garments. With a physique like that, Harris should be wearing tank tops and snug leather trousers...

Xander chose that precise moment to look up at him; Spike cleared his throat and pretended to study the stuffing poking out of the arm of his chair.

This was utterly ridiculous. Something was definitely amiss.

He'd spent plenty of time in Harris' presence over the years: stupefyingly dull meetings, endless patrols, the occasional mortal battle. And in all that time, he'd not at all been impressed with the kid. On the contrary, he'd found Harris to be just an average, run-of-the-mill teen-aged mortal. Nothing special nor noteworthy at all.

Worse than average, truth be told. Dull. Boring. Tedious. Less than unremarkable.

And that was the exact reason why his encounter with Harris earlier had been so...so surprising. No, almost shocking, now that he thought of it.

It'd been as if Harris had developed a personality overnight. There'd been no mistaking the fire in the kid's eyes, the desire beneath that smile. The kid's energy had almost been wafting through the air, like static electricity.

So naturally he'd been thrown by it all. Any sentient being would have been startled by such a change. It was completely understandable.

Perhaps that imbecilic wanna-be witch had cast some sort of love charm on the kid. That was a definite possibility, he mused, not that the kid would actually need any sort of charm to be attractive.

Harris was delectable as is, and not a bad kisser, either...

"Okay, I see the problem!" Xander called out triumphantly, holding up the end of one of the cables. "See here?" He pointed to one of the silver connectors. "This is loose, so you're not getting a firm connection."

Spike crossed his arms while Xander pulled off the connector, smoothing out the frayed filaments. Pushing the connector back on and screwing it down firmly, he held it up again and nodded.

Spike rolled his eyes, sighing.

Xander shrugged and reattached the cable. The picture on the television cleared instantly.

Spike sat up. "Hey, hey! That's it! Perfect!"

Xander peered over the TV, grinning. His pleased expression faded as he watched the images on the screen.

"What the hell are you watching?"

"Passions." He flicked his gaze to a clearly unimpressed Xander. “It's a very well-regarded program, I'll have you know.”

Xander pulled a face, nodding. "Sure it is. Right up there with Dynasty."

"Too damn right," Spike murmured, struggling to focus on his soap opera. He wished the kid would quit grinning and smiling so much...

After a few moments, Xander ambled over to sit down on the arm of the overstuffed chair. “What's going on here? Is the blond the bad guy?”

“Don't you have anything better to do?”

Xander shook his head. “Nope. And the blond is definitely up to something.”

Spike shifted in his chair, vaguely aware that his right shoulder was now in contact with the kid's thigh. The kid's warm, firm, muscley denim-clad thigh. He looked up, starting in spite of himself to find the kid staring down at him.

Smiling. That damnable, bloody smile of his.

And those lips. Had they always been so, so kissable?

So “come hither”?

Balderdash!

"What?" Spike asked roughly.

"What what?" Xander retorted.

"What are you doing?"

"Watching Passions."

"Listen, Buffy Boy, I've already told you, I'm off duty tonight. So, unless there's something else you want, sod off!"

Xander grinned crookedly, shrugging as he slid down the arm of the chair closer to Spike. “Well, now that you mention it, there is something else.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, leaning still closer.

Spike scrunched against the opposite arm of the big chair, which did nothing but allow the kid to press even closer. He attempted to watch the telly, finding it to be nearly impossible. The kid pressed against him, all firm and warm, the rush of blood through young, mortal veins deliciously palpable. “Listen, there's something clearly off here, kid. I don't know what's possessing you, but I'm sure your witch can cast a spell or charm to sort it all out.” He glanced up, hoping to all Hades that he wasn't smiling like a brainless git.

Xander met and held his gaze for a long while before responding. "I'm not possessed, Spike, at least not in the way you think. There's nothing wrong with me. As a matter of fact, I've never been better."

"Riiiiiiight."

"No, really. I've just realized some things about myself, and it's, well, kinda liberating. There's been so much right before my eyes, and I didn't even see it."

“I'm sure this is all very interesting, but I'm trying to watch my program." Spike stared at the telly, barely seeing the images on the screen.

Why didn't he just chuck the kid out?

Why didn't he just grab the kid by his incredibly broad shoulders, turn him around, his hands on those wonderfully muscled arms as he guided him to the door, holding him firmly as he pushed the kid down to the floor, ripping off that sweatshirt, revealing that delectable chest.....

Oh, Satan on a stick!

It was clear now that he was certainly going insane.

No doubt about it.

It was the only explanation for the thoughts that were swirling about his head.

Possibly it was linked to that blasted chip. It was somehow still affecting his mind. Filling him with these thoughts. These incredibly strong, vibrant, very detailed thoughts about that chest, those lips...about every bit of the kid's nicely formed body.

All of Harris, under his fingertips, without the benefit of clothing.

Xander tapped his shoulder. "Hey, are you alright?"

Spike jumped. “No...yes, I mean. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Dunno. You seem almost...nervous." Xander's big hand squeezed his shoulder.

The kid was right...he was nervous. For the first time in recent memory. How completely mortifying.

"Patrol, is it? Buffy has ordered a patrol, and that is exactly what she'll get." Spike tore his gaze away from Xander, jumping from the chair to frantically search the crypt for his duster. Naturally, the damned thing had hidden itself. He noted that Xander had stood up, a definitely bemused expression on his face.

“That's what I'm here for," was all Xander said in response.

Spike scrabbled about in a pile of clothing, flinging the garments in all directions. "Indeed? Are you sure? Because that's not the message I'm getting here, mate,” he replied importantly, still concentrating on the rapidly diminishing pile of laundry.

Xander pulled a face. “Why else would I be here?"

Spike had finished tossing his dirties all over the crypt. He glanced at Xander briefly before turning away, his fists planted on his hips. “Shite. Where is that damned coat?!”

"Um, it's over there," Xander said quietly.

Spike whirled about. "What is where?"

"Your coat," Xander smirked, pointing to the black leather duster, which lay draped over the huge vault near the back of the crypt.

"Oh, right."

Spike paused a moment before lowering his gaze and moving to collect his duster. He brushed past Xander, their shoulders touching. Xander pressed against him, but he continued forward. He felt a hand close around his right arm, pulling him to a stop.

“Spike.” Xander turned him around.

Spike stared for a long moment, at a total loss.

“Spike,” Xander repeated. “We need to talk.” He took a step closer.

Spike retreated from Xander's advance, whirling about to retrieve his duster. He then stood there, staring at the flagstones, the soft leather clutched tightly in his hands. “What is the meaning of all this?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Of what?”

He heard Xander's footsteps approach; then, the unmistakable body heat and thrum of pulsing blood. “Of you here, like this.” He looked over his shoulder to find Xander barely a foot away. “If this is some sort of prank-”

Xander's eyes went wide. “Prank? Or a joke? No. That's not what this is at all. Honest.”

"And Rosenberg hasn't cast some weird spell over the entire town?"

"Nope. She's on the wagon.”

"And we're not under the influence of some sort of demon?"

“Don't think so."

"Then tell me what's going on.”

"I told you," Xander responded softly, taking a few steps toward Spike. "Buffy needs us to patrol. The usual new-evil-thingy-in-the-Hellmouth sort of thing. It's what we do, remember?"

“That's not what I mean. Don't play coy, mate. You don't do it very well."

“Just add that to the list of things I suck at.” Xander shrugged and stepped closer. “But I'm not playing at anything. Probably for the first time in awhile.”

Spike relaxed a bit, as something in the kid's eyes told him that he was telling the truth.

There was no sign of chicanery of tomfoolery to be found in them.

So it wasn't a prank, then.

And that was somehow a very good thing.


-------;@ * @;-------


For the first time since entering the crypt, Xander felt nervous.

Initially, it'd been all that he could do to keep a straight face as he'd watched Spike struggle with his VCR. The guy really worked himself up if he couldn't watch his favorite show. It'd been too awesome that he'd easily fixed the problem cable...years of repairing and programming his parents' VCR had actually come in handy.

The weird thing was seeing Spike so...jumpy. The usually unflappable vampire at times looked ready to leap out of his own skin. Either that, or he was about to blow chunks.

If vampires could even do that.

He'd been planning on talking to Spike while they were out on patrol; he couldn't have asked for a better opportunity to get everything off of his chest. And yeah, he'd panicked when it had looked as if Spike might have run from the crypt as if his hair were on fire.

That'd been pretty close.

But now Spike seemed ready to talk, which was sorta confusing. He'd been having a rough time dealing with his own rollercoastery emotions, let alone the apparent difficulties Spike also appeared to be having. It was just too weird.

Xander felt queasy all of a sudden, his recent aura of confidence no where to be found.

And the way Spike was looking at him, all intense and serious...wasn't helping matters much. He only hoped that he didn't look as shaky as he felt.

"Look, I know how weird this must seem to you,” he began, his rehearsed speech completely awol. “I'm the one that's been under the influence of a spell. For a very long time."

"You were charmed? So what's that got to do with me?"

"Quite a bit, really," Xander replied, bowing his head and moving past Spike to lean against the huge granite vault. "It happened back when I was in high school, and I thought it was what I wanted. I begged Willow to help me, and she did. The magic changed me, or at least a part of me, and I was still myself, but not, sort of."

Spike furrowed his brow, moving over to his vault. He flopped his duster down on the cold stone. "I'm not following you."

"Sorry. It's kind of hard to explain, and I'm not doing a good job.” Xander laughed nervously. “What I'm trying to say is, the Magic made me act like and do things that weren't really me. It made me treat people differently; treat you differently. Badly. And I guess I want to say that I'm sorry about all that.

“So I'm sorry I was such an asshole to you for so long. I'm sorry I never gave you a chance. I'm sorry I never gave you any credit for all the times you helped or saved us. It was the magic, Spike, not me, not the real me. So for whatever it's worth, just know that I don't feel that way anymore. I'm glad you've been around, and there were times when I don't know what we would've done without you.”

Xander held Spike's gaze for a minute before staring down at his boots. Part of him felt great at unloading so much baggage, but the other part of him cringed with embarrassment.

He'd so fucked that up! He'd barely made sense!

No matter how easy something was, he'd find a way to screw it up.

He desperately wanted to say more, to try to explain his crappy explanation, but stopped himself, clamping his mouth shut. No sense in making things worse than they were already.

Yo, calling Captain Confidence? Hello?

He spared a quick glance to Spike, who didn't appear confused. Or angry. He sorta looked...well, thoughtful.

When another minute passed in silence, he took a chance and spoke again.

“So, there's that.”

Spike nodded, folding his arms across his chest. “So let me see if I'm getting this: Rosenberg spelled you, then.”

“Yeah.”

“Because you wanted her to.”

“Right.”

“And the magic changed your behavior. Altered the way you thought and felt, the way you treated and reacted to others. Namely, me.”

“Exactly.”

Spike leaned back against his vault. “So you don't think that I'm a dick any longer?”

Xander shook his head. “Nope. Well, not a total dick, anyway.”

“That's a plus.” Spike moved closer. “Was that all that you wanted to say? If there's more rolling about in there, might as well get it all out now, while we're at it.”

Xander swallowed hard. “Well, part of what I was hoping was that, you know, since the spell's broken and I'm myself again is that we...um...you know, we could...you and me, I mean-”

“Yeah, yeah, you and I what?”

Xander gulped again. He'd practiced this over and over in his head! Why was it so difficult? Just spit it out...

“Just spit it out,” Spike prodded.

“I thought that we could...hang out together. Get to know each other better. You know, stuff like that,” Xander finished lamely.

He was doing it again: screwing up a free lunch. Why did he have to be such a dork? He scoured Spike's features for any hint that maybe a tiny bit of what he was trying to say was getting through.

“Like mates,” Spike replied, sliding closer so that their hips were touching. “Is that what you mean?”

“No...I mean, yeah. Mates...friends is good. People should be friends first.”

“Listen, Harris-”

“Xander. You can call me Xander.”

Spike nodded. “Fine. Xander, what exactly did this spell of Rosenberg's do to you?”

“Have you heard of Leeta's Bloom?”

“Lethe's Bloom,” Spike corrected. “I've heard of it.”

Xander took a deep breath. All he had to do was tell the truth. Just the facts. Spike had already surprised him by being so interested, so why not go for broke? What did he have to lose, anyway?

“I realized that I was...am...gay. And I didn't want to be. Then, I mean. My dad would've beat the crap out of me if I'd told him or if he'd found out. Actually, he kinda did.”

Spike grunted, shaking his head slightly.

“So I begged Willow to use that spell on me. And she did.”

There. He'd done it.

The shadowy crypt seemed to spin a bit and he felt faint, but at least he'd gotten it out. He'd come out to someone other than Willow. It would have felt a whole lot better if he didn't feel like horking up his lunch.

Spike just stood there, looking as thoughtful as ever.

And then...he smiled.

“Interesting,” Spike replied. “I should have guessed as much, now that I think of it. I'd thought that there was something odd about you lately. A blankness, if you will. A sort of...flatness...that manifested from time to time and just didn't fit. Some sort of Magic, but I wouldn't have guessed the exact spell.” He shrugged. “It was either that, or you'd been pummeled one too many times and had gone all barmy.”

“Okay. But I didn't think it was that obvious.”

“Bah. It wasn't. I've been around for a long time, so after a fashion, I've a sixth sense about these things.”

Xander gazed at Spike. “So it doesn't bother you that I'm gay?”

“Should it?”

Xander shrugged. “Dunno. Hope not. Anya was pretty pissed off about it.”

Spike nudged him. “She's a Vengeance Demon, after all. I assume the wedding's off?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

“Good move all around. Worst institution humanity's ever come up with, if you ask me.” Spike stepped in front of him, their faces barely inches apart.

“Uh, they prefer Justice Demon, these days.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Typical of 'em. That's why I never get involved with that lot. Too damned fickle.”

“Yeah.” Xander inhaled Spike's musk deeply, the clean, earthy scent nearly knocking him over. Damn, but the vampire's sharp, blue-gray eyes were gorgeous. “So, that's all I had to say, I guess. We'd better head out to patrol or Buffy'll have a fit.” He paused a moment then made to move away, but Spike reached out and held him in place with one hand.

“Patrolling can wait.”

“It can?” Xander's head had cleared somewhat, but his heart still felt as if it might explode at any second.

Spike's grip on his arm was firm, but somehow not threatening. He watched as Spike sized him up with those penetrating eyes. He forced himself to calm down, taking deep breaths.

“It can, especially if we're to get to know each other better,” Spike replied. “Better than mere friends, that is.”

Xander was sure he gawked like an idiot. Had he heard correctly? Did Spike just imply something...something too damn good to be true?

“But a minute ago-”

Spike cut him off. “A minute ago, I hadn't sorted things out. Now, I have.”

“Do you mean what I think you mean?”

Spike smirked. “Is it so difficult to believe that I just might be into blokes, too?”

Xander didn't know what to say.

"Hey, vampire here," Spike said, poking himself in the chest with both forefingers. "We're into it all, mate. Haven't you ever read Interview with the Vampire?

"I didn't read the book. But, yeah, I've seen the movie with Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt. Man, those two were incredibly hot in that....but I don't get what that has to do-"

Spike rolled his eyes. "I weep for civilization! Read a book sometime, pet! You might enjoy it. Anyway, who do you think that maudlin mess was based on?"

"You don't mean..."

"Yup, yours truly. And that insufferable prat, Angelus."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"No joke, as you say," Spike beamed proudly. "Of course, the twat who wrote it changed the names, places and didn't get everything down correctly. She went overboard on the angst as well. Quite the annoying little creature. Always pictured herself as a great author, even when she was scribbling death notices for that Paris gossip rag. And I've never received one cent in royalties. As for that film, Cruise was completely wrong for my role. Too bloody short, as well as horrendously lacking in one critical area. But the essence of the true story remains, if one shovels enough to unearth it."

Xander shook his head. "Wow. You and Angel? Holy sheep shit! Does Buffy know?"

"No, she doesn't, and see to it that it stays our little secret, yeah? Our Slayer is messed up enough as it is."

"Even so," Xander began slowly, "that doesn't mean you'd have any interest in me."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "You shouldn't make assumptions like that, pet."

"I shouldn't?"

"No."

"Oh.” He must've looked more than a bit confused, as Spike instantly picked up on it.

“When you're not stumbling about, you're quite the looker...despite the lamentable wardrobe, that is.”

“Hey!”

“Now you want to ask me about blondie,” Spike stated around a smirk.

Of course he did. The fact that one of his best friends was intimately involved with Spike had been nagging at him from time to time throughout the day. He'd known that Buffy had been getting down and dirty with the vampire for some time, and that was part of the reason he'd been such an asshole toward Spike.

Or maybe all the animosity had simply been jealousy; he wouldn't have seen it that way, though, when he was still charmed. But now...it definitely made sense. With all the emotional re-direction and memory masking caused by the spell, it was a miracle he'd still known his own name.
So while at the time he'd been convinced that he'd just been looking out for Buffy's best interests, it was probably mostly just repackaged jealousy. Which wasn't what he was feeling now at all. He looked at Spike, who nodded knowingly.

“Because you're feeling a bit guilty about now, eh?”

How did Spike do that? He knew that some vamps could really glamour people, but could they read minds, too? Probably. “Well, yeah. I mean, aren't you boinking her right now?"

"Boinking? Bloody hell, and you Yanks complain about Brit slang! Please, never use that term in my presence again, all right?"

"Sorry. Shagging, then?"

"Much better," Spike breathed as he leaned in. "Yeah, and that's all we're doing. Satisfying each other's physical need. I don't think she's sure of her intentions herself, but I'm positive that she has no feelings for me. And even if she does, she'll never let 'em out."

That made sense, too. Buffy'd been quite a bit different since she'd come back. Apparently being dead was more intense than he'd thought. "And how do you feel?"

"Not really relevant, is it?"

“Sure it is. Buffy's one of my best friends, and I really care about her and all, but I can sort of see your point. You've gotta feel something for her. And it must suck that she doesn't return any of those feelings.”

Spike shrugged. “Worse luck.

"That probably hasn't happened to you very often," Xander continued. "I'm sure there's been no shortage of mere humans throwing themselves at you over the years."

Spike curled his arm about Xander's waist, pulling him in tightly. He grinned as he brushed Xander's bangs away from his face. “No, no I've never had a problem with getting sex. I mean, look at me!"

"Modesty thy name is Spike."

"But that's not the important thing, is it?" Spike mused, his voice barely above a whisper. "In all those years, all that time, there was only one. Only one who I was sure of. Only one who said that they loved me; that I could believe when they said it, that is."

"Really? C'mon..."

"Yup. I loved Dru, and she loved me. In all that time, that's it.”

Xander noted a slight bit of something waft over the vampire's face...not quite sadness but something close. “Wow, that's pretty heavy. And sad, too,” he offered, surprised that he'd actually said it out loud.

Spike shrugged. “As I said, worse luck. At least I've been loved...and knew it. Not sad, mate. Fortunate, really.” He leaned in. “So I think that pretty much covers the getting-to-know-you conversation, yeah?”

“Sure, okay,” Xander replied, holding his breath.

Spike inched in to lick the base of his neck. Spike's tongue teased the skin there, before slowly licking and nibbling a path upward. He started as Spike's teeth grazed him a bit more firmly.

“No worries, pet,” Spike breathed, “the fangs won't come out...unless you want 'em to.”

Xander nodded, relaxing into Spike and allowing his hands to slide around Spike's denim-clad thighs. His right hand moved inward, trembling fingers finding Spike's wonderfully large and firm bulge. His other hand now ghosted languidly over Spike's smooth stomach, lingering there for a few moments before finally tracing his fingers over Spike's chest. "Oh, God..."

"No need to bring Her into this," Spike mumbled as he gently nibbled away.

Xander pressed himself into Spike, both hands at Spike's sides and gasping as his own stiffening dick made contact with Spike's. He'd never thought that it could feel so good, even with the layers of clothing between them.

He'd fooled around with Larry a few times, and that'd been cool, but not at all like this. There'd been so much nervousness during their encounters, so much fear. They'd scrabbled at each other almost blindly, together but separate, each of them sort of lost in their own little world. And sure, Larry was nice and big, with large, meaty muscles for miles, which was pretty great.

But Spike was totally different: all firm, but not hard. Cool, but not cold. Calm, relaxed. In control.

And that tongue of his...it seemed to have a mind of its own as it licked his ear with incredible determination.

He slowly ground his hips into Spike, who'd somehow wrapped both arms around his waist. Spike's hands gripped his ass, kneading it like crazy. He returned the gesture, squeezing the vampire's tight butt with each new thrust of his own hips.

“Shit,” he gasped, “that feels too good.” If this lasted much longer, he'd have a mess in his shorts. “Sorry.”
He pushed Spike away, falling back against the vault.

Spike ceased his ear ministrations long enough to gently kiss Xander's cheek. “No worries, pet. We'll take this as it comes.”

Xander snorted at the perceived play on words. “You should know that I'm not...well, I've only been with
another guy-”

Spike silenced him with a firm kiss. “I said, no worries. Besides, surely you and Anya..”

“Yeah, oh, sure, like rabbits,” Xander spluttered, horrified as he felt another flop sweat coming on.

“There you go then. Trust your instincts, mate.”

“Okay, but-”

“Shhhhhhh.” Spike pressed a finger to Xander's lips.

“Um, can I say something?”

Spike arched an eyebrow.

“Would there be any way that I could strip you naked about now?”

“Funny, that. I was thinking exactly the same thing,” Spike grinned. “But not here. Someplace a bit more comfortable.” Spike hooked two fingers into the waistband of Xander's jeans. “This way.” With a gentle yank, Spike pulled him away from the vault before turning and heading toward the rear of the crypt.

Xander followed, his eyes remaining locked onto Spike as he easily moved through the dim chamber. The vampire's entire body was a mass of smooth, long muscles moving seductively beneath his tight-fitting black jeans and t-shirt.

Spike's musk enveloped him, the vamp's damp, earthy-sweet spice bringing back the light-headedness with a vengeance.

He'd never felt this way with Willow, or even Anya. It'd felt good when he was with them, that was for sure, but he'd never felt so hyped up, as if every nerve ending had been thrown into some kind of super-sensitive overdrive. The few times he'd been with Larry hadn't come close to this, either.

Was this how it was supposed to feel? Up, down, in, out and every which way in between? Or was it another side-effect of that damned spell?

Xander watched as Spike bent down and tossed aside a large scrap of mouldy carpet to reveal a sizeable hole in the stone floor. With a lopsided grin, he jumped through the cracked granite, disappearing into the darkness below.

Peering into the hole, Xander could make out the barest outline of what appeared to be a makeshift ladder extending downward into the shadows. A tiny light flickered to life down there, followed immediately by Sipke's clearly impatient voice.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Get that shapely arse of yours down here!"

“Okay.” Turning around, he located the topmost step of the ladder with his boot. Hunkering down, he carefully made his way along the shaky ladder, one rung at a time.

The ladder creaked and swayed under his weight, but before he had time to really worry about the entire contraption disintegrating, his boots touched the floor of the cave.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, and when they did, he found that the space really wasn't a cave after all. Not totally, anyway.

The space could almost have been some sort of ancient tomb, although why such a thing would be buried below Sunnydale didn't make any sense. But with the Hellmouth, all bets were off.

Some sections of the walls and ceiling were still intact, while other portions were completely destroyed or missing. The faint trickle and drip of water echoed from somewhere in the shadows. Large roots snaked in and out amongst the cracked stones. Rough hewn, circular columns flanked the side walls, dividing the ruined tomb roughly in half.

Xander could see a soft flicker of light from the rear half of the chambers.

Spike stepped between two of the jumbled columns. "About time." He gestured expansively. "Welcome to Shangri-La." He turned to disappear between the columns again.

Xander complied, finding himself in what was clearly a combination bedchamber and living room. He barely restrained himself from laughing out loud, as he'd never seen such a jumble of furniture from different eras or styles. Eclectic would have been far too polite; the room looked like something he'd seen in one of those magazines on how to decorate on a budget. Or, by scouring the city dump, as Spike had obviously done.

An uncomfortable looking armless chair, upholstered in what appeared to be bright orange burlap, squatted next to an old, moth-eaten wingback chair covered with a forest green sheet. A low, fifties-era coffee table, with a brick substituting for one of its missing legs, sported a huge collection of used candles.

A wide, Victorian sideboard lined one wall. On its top, a pair of mismatched oil lamps flanked a large, peeling oil painting that leaned against the wall. Squinting at the painting, he saw that the subject appeared to be a rendition of the Virgin Mary without her hands. Next to the sideboard, a rickety, particle board stereo stand supported a vintage record player. A tall wardrobe covered most of the opposite wall.

“Wow. Nice.” It was all he could think to say on such short notice.

Then the notion that Spike had been bedding Buffy here wafted through his muzzy brain. That visual image did nothing to enhance the mood.

Spike leaned against the foot of a huge, tarnished brass bed that dominated the back half of the chamber. “Not much one can do when decorating an old tomb, but I feel I've succeeded in creating a comfortable, inviting space. Accessible, without being pretentious. Unlike some vampires I know.”

“Yeah, yeah, it's...interesting,” Xander replied, feeling nervous again. He met Spike's gaze a moment before turning away and pretending to study the totally weird painting.

“I haven't had any complaints as yet,” Spike said from behind him.

Xander waited a few moments before turning around. Spike was right there, smiling.

“Don't be nervous, pet. This won't hurt at all. Unless you want it to.”

Xander gulped, struggling to completely squash that one nagging bit of his brain that was screaming for him to get the heck out of there. And most of him definitely wanted him to stay, especially his dick, which was once again getting hard. “Sorry. Can't help it. It's just that being so close-”

“Yeah, I can be a bit overwhelming.” Spike wagged a finger. “Quit sayin' you're sorry.”

Xander nodded. “Okay. Sorry. Shit! I didn't mean that. I did, but...shit.”

“You really are right bunged up, ain't ya?”

“Yeah, a little. Okay, a lot.”

Spike shrugged. “Seemed ready to have at it a few minutes ago.”

“I was. I mean, I am. It's just moving sorta fast, you know? It's okay to, uh, wonder, isn't it?”

“Truth be told, I was a bit put off at first as well. But now that I know you're not having me on...” He tailed off, stepping close enough to slip his fingers up and under Xander's sweatshirt.

“Spike,” Xander stammered, the rest of his sentence dying on his lips as Spike leaned up and kissed him.

Xander only waited a moment before responding eagerly, going for broke and pushing his tongue into Spike's mouth. Spike reciprocated, his hands sliding up Xander's torso and taking his sweatshirt with it.

Spike pulled away slightly, grinning as his fingers teased both of Xander's nipples. “Got to get you out of these clothes. Now.” He lifted the sweatshirt up while pressing his hips to Xander's.

Xander shrugged out of his sweatshirt, tossing it away. It landed on the coffee table, toppling over a good portion of the un-lit candles there and sending them to the floor. “Ooops.”

“No worries.” Spike took in Xander's bare chest for the briefest of moments before making to remove his own t-shirt.

“Here, let me,” Xander blurted, gently pushing Spike's hands away. He then slid his hands up and under the thin fabric, eager fingers grazing the vamp's taut stomach. “So nice,” he murmured, the feel of Spike's cool, firm skin whipping up his desire once more. With a swift jerk, he yanked the t-shirt up, taking Spike by surprise as it caught under his chin and left armpit. The unmistakable sound of fabric tearing caused Xander to freeze instantly.

“Shit! Sorr...um, I mean...shit.”

Spike extricated himself from the ruin of his shirt, balling it up and tossing it over his shoulder. He arched an eyebrow as he reached in and deftly released the button of Xander's jeans, then pushing down the zipper with practiced ease. His fingers slid inside the open fly, drifting languidly over the smooth fabric restraining Xander's erect dick.

Xander jumped at the contact, backing into the sideboard so hard that the oil lamps wobbled dangerously.

Spike ignored this, his eyes incredibly bright, deep...hungry. He stroked Xander once more before taking a deep breath and backing up a step. “Boots off now, yeah? Easier to get rid of the denims.” He waggled his eyebrows, removing both of his boots in what seemed like a second.

Xander realized that he'd been staring at Spike...how the vamp managed to look totally hot even when just taking off his boots...whoa.

“Whoa,” he breathed.

Spike smiled crookedly, one hand absently making small circles on his flat stomach. His exceptionally hot, tight six-pack of a stomach. Xander whimpered as Spike's fingertips disappeared inside the waistband of his black jeans.

“Your turn, pet,” Spike purred, licking his lips.

Xander easily toed off the first of his boots; it arced across the bedchamber, clearing the coffee table of any remaining objects. He struggled to get the second boot off with his sock-clad other foot; when that failed, he bent down awkwardly, attempting to keep eye contact with Spike. The boot refused to budge, and as Xander pulled harder and harder, he lost his balance. Careening forward and hopping madly on one foot, he gripped his uncooperative boot for dear life, struggling to avoid crashing into the coffee table. “Shit!”

Spike moved in with astonishing speed, catching him before he fell over..

“Uh, this must be the part they edit out of all the movies, huh?” Xander tried to laugh but it ended up sounding like someone had stepped on a cat.

Spike said nothing, quickly untying the laces and pulling off the boot. He dumped it to the floor as Xander stood up.

“Damn, I so suck at this.”

“Oh, I certainly hope so. But first, allow me.” Spike knelt before him, shoving Xander's loosened jeans all the way down. He lifted one of Xander's feet just enough to pull the first pant leg off.

Xander watched, fascinated by the totally gentle way that Spike worked to remove his jeans. He hadn't expected that at all; okay, what he'd expected and what really happened rarely if ever ended up being the same thing...

“There. That's sorted.” Spike met his gaze for a moment before grabbing his ass with both hands.

Xander took a deep breath as Spike leaned forward, still on his knees, his focus now on Xander's obvious erection, which threatened to pop out of his very tight (and somewhat small) bikini briefs.

Spike growled something before plunging his face into Xander's groin.

Xander gasped, Spike's unyielding grip on his butt holding him steady.

Spike nuzzled the base of his cock through the thin fabric, kneading his ass with strong fingers while Spike kissed and laved his way upward, his ravenous mouth worshiping Xander's entire length.

“Holy fuck,” Xander gasped, grabbing Spike's head with both hands.

Spike responded with a final, succulent pull to the head of his cotton-clad dick before standing up. The next instant, Spike's balled-up jeans sailed away into the shadows.

Xander barely had time to note that Spike went commando before the vamp was upon him, every inch of Spike's lean, stunning body pressed to his own.

Everything seemed to be happening at once: Spike's hands all over him, stroking his ass, his back, shoulders, neck; Spike's lips smashed to his, their tongues wrestling like crazy; and Spike's hard cock thrusting against his own, smooth and fast and electric.

Xander closed his eyes, both hands exploring Spike's tight, thrusting ass.

Spike broke the kiss, licking his way along Xander's jawbone. He laved a path down the side of Xander's neck, pausing to suckle and nibble at the throbbing vein there.

Xander tensed, almost expecting...no, wanting to feel that sharp pain, that stinging moment when those fangs tore into his flesh.

Spike lingered, his teeth taunting the surface of Xander's skin. The next moment he broke away, taking a shaky step backward.

Xander stumbled slightly at Spike's withdrawal. His eyes flew open, and he half expected to see that Spike had vamped out. At this point, Xander didn't think we would have cared, but Spike hadn't; he stood there, his chest covered in sweat and heaving as if he were out of breath.

Xander's hopped-up brain clicked, and he shoved his sweaty underpants down. His totally hard dick bobbed there, and he could have sworn that Spike's eyes grew larger.

Go for it! his brain screamed, and for once, he took the initiative.

He threw himself at Spike, crashing his lips to the vampire's and clamping him in a tight embrace. He walked them backwards toward the bed, straining to keep every micron of their skin in total, complete contact with each other.

When he felt Spike's legs meet the side of the bed, he slid his hands under Spike's ass and lifted him up with surprising ease. As strong and muscled as Spike was, he was shockingly light.

Spike wrapped his legs around Xander's hips, grinding their erections together with evident wantonness.

Xander launched them up and onto the bed, scooching across the fluffy coverlet until they were more or less in the center of the mattress.

Spike grunted, shifting around slightly and once again clutching Xander's ass with both hands. The next moment, he'd somehow flipped Xander onto his back. He rolled over to one side, one leg still thrown over Xander's lower body.

“Hang on, pet,” he gasped, reaching under the pile of pillows.

Xander felt ready to explode. He didn't know how much longer he'd be able to hold out. He craned his neck in time to see Spike pull a huge tube of pink lube from under the pillows.

“This'll speed things along,” Spike growled, licking Xander's cheek and popping the tube's cap.

Xander watched as Spike squirted a huge dollop of the goo into his palm and tossed the tube away. Spike then applied some of the lube to his nicely long dick before clasping onto Xander's erection.

“Gah!” Xander yelped as Spike fisted his dick, spreading the freezing goop over his entire length.

“Cold, yeah? I'll warm that up for ya.” He stroked Xander a few more times before climbing on top again. As he slid into position, he pushed his hand between them, throttling both of their cocks securely.

Xander gasped as Spike ground his hips, slowly at first, then with steadily increasing speed. The room seemed to tilt sideways and time splayed out of control.

Everything felt fucking awesome: sweaty skin on skin; Spike's dick gliding against his; Spike's musk filling his nostrils; Spike's hand holding them together...

He never wanted it to stop, never wanted it to end.

He pushed himself against Spike with every fiber of his
being, one hand wrapped around Spike's waist.

He groaned, white hot heat exploding from deep inside.

Everything stopped; the universe paused for a nanosecond and all the air left his lungs.

Nothing existed but Spike.

He suddenly remembered to breathe, sucking in a deep breath as he came.

His entire body went rigid, but Spike still continued stroking and thrusting.

Now Xander felt as if he might implode; he cried out for Spike to stop, to quit, as his dick was on fire, sweet, deliciously scorching flames that would devour him whole at any second.

Just when he thought that he couldn't take any more, Spike ceased his assault.

Xander felt Spike's body stiffen, and the next instant, the vamp's cool spunk coated his belly.

Spike gulped in several deep breaths before staring down at him. “Bloody hell,” he rasped. “I'll take that, any road.” He smiled as he scooted up to plant a kiss to Xander's parted lips.

“So it was good for you?” Xander asked, throwing an arm about Spike's shoulders.

“Of course it was, you berk. Don't I have an expression of extreme satisfaction on my admittedly handsome face?” He reached behind him to pull the coverlet over their lower bodies.

Xander snuggled closer, finding that he felt more awesomely comfortable than at any other point in his life. He adjusted the pillows as Spike lay his head on his chest.

“That's cool you liked it. I know I did.”

“Uh, Xander?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we save the debriefing for later? I'm knackered.” Spike sighed contentedly and closed his eyes.

“Okay. But there are a couple of things, important things, that I think I need to say-”

“Xander.”

“What?”

Spike lifted his head slightly, cracking open one eye. “I've gotta tell you that I hate talking after sex. Spoils the whole mood, yeah?” He cleared his throat importantly, closing his eye and lowering his head back onto Xander's chest.

“Oh, I see. Uh, Spike?”

“Whaaaaat?”

“So does this mean-”

“Just shut it and go to sleep.”

“Yeah, right. Good idea.”

There were a ton of things that he wanted to say, had to say, especially about the possible side effects of the spell, but it'd all have to wait.

He didn't want to push his luck and totally muck up the moment.

Xander settled into the soft mattress and watched the flickering shadows thrown by the oil lamps for a long while, the constantly moving shapes and steady plinking of water drops oddly relaxing.

Who knew a tomb could be so comfy?

With a huge yawn, Xander finally followed Spike's advice.


~~~~~ fin ~~~~~