< Bored now. >

Xander sat in the water. The dark, boring water. There were some random cars he could see the dark. Some skeletons with feet in concrete. Typical stuff.

< Spike did this for weeks? No wonder he sunk the first random boat he found. Among other reasons. No. No other reasons. He had no good reason for sinking that boat. Nope. I certainly had nothing to do with it. Things with I didn't do with Buffy definitely had nothing to do with it. Nope. >

Xander unbuckled his seatbelt. The door to the car wouldn't open. Xander knew from the blackness of the water that it was night time above. He didn't know what time though, and his watch was ruined by the depth of the water pressure. He scrunched up against the passenger door, the door closest to the bottom, aimed his feet at the driver's side window and pushed off, breaking the glass. He pushed out through the shattered window and made his way to the surface.

* * *

Spike woke slow. The dark around him was the dark of night. He heard the buzz of a silent television in the other room and the solid, sleepy breaths of a person, much closer than another room.

He rolled off his side, stretched his legs out, and turned his head. Riley slept a foot away on his stomach, head turned away from Spike, still dressed except for his feet, which were bare.

Spike hummed lightly as he lay there. Almost content, warm from the room and the body that slept sound beside him. Almost content except for the nagging suggestion of something. Except for the slight gnaw in his stomach. < Not hungry. For food, or for snacks. > He thought for a moment longer. < Sober. 'M bloody sober. > His hum turned into a low rumble into a growl. Events rather effectively numbed by his extended alcoholic episode tumbled through his head and his face shifted out of normal human passing into supernatural vampire rage.

The body next to him thrummed with life and Spike snapped his jaw at Riley. < Gotta get outta here. Don't wanna bite soldier boy. Rather not piss off Buffy that way. Or. Maybe I would. >

Spike rose from the bed. Stood and walked through the apartment to the door. Opened it to the chilly Iowa night. Turned back, found Riley's keys in a coat pocket, left the apartment and closed the door, heard the click as it shut.

* * *

Xander staggered out of the surf onto the shore.

He looked over his shoulder, up at the bridge, back to San Francisco. He left the place, walked up to the place where the bridge met the land and followed the highway further out of the city into the darkness, the early darkness as best he could tell. Stuck his thumb out and tossed his soaked shirt to the side of the road.

Shirtless in the dark Xander walked forward. His body lit up every time a car drove by. A trucker blared his horn at Xander and pulled onto the side of the road ahead of Xander. He climbed into the truck, noted the non-human origin of the driver, and sighed.

"You heard of Willliam the Bloody?" Xander said.

"Vampire, right? So?"

"I'm looking for him."

"You're not the only one then."

"How's that?" Xander said.

"That government unit, that got raided on the Hellmouth a few years back."

"The Initiative."

"Yeah, that. Word is, he's made his way across the country and back, left a bunch a bodies everywhere. Anyway, the government is on him."

"Whatever, man. The Initiative got shut down. I was there."

"So. You're Alexander the Great?"

"What? What did you call me?"

The demon revealed his real face, all horns and mucus, and glanced over at Xander.

"Look, guy, I'll drive you wherever you want. But the story is William the Bloody and Alexander the Great been tearing up this country seven ways from Sunday. I work for a living Mr. The Great. I don't want no kinda trouble."

"Right. So, what's the rumor, 'bout where we are?"

"Oh, well I heard you were in Pittsburgh for a week or so. That's the longest you stayed anywhere. Heard you were in Seattle at some point. All this has been in the last month, y'know. So where you been if you ain't with Mr. the Bloody?"

"San Francisco."

"Right, but, how come you don't know where your boyfriend is?"

"Boyfriend?"

"Well, Mr. the Great, you're boyfriends aren't you? Gay-vampire-Bonnie and Clyde?"

"That's a good one, actually. No, we had some trouble with a Gorgon, it's kind of a long story."

"Medusa, huh? That bitch."

"Yeah, that bitch. Cast me into the desert and Spike into the ocean."

"Spike? Oh, Mr. the Bloody. Got it."

"Yeah," Xander said, "Anyway, she did that, and I did something stupid, and Spike found me doing something stupid, and now he's in hiding."

"I don't know about stupid things you might have done, but I'd say he's hiding in plain sight. I'd say you're not looking hard enough. Or maybe you're looking too hard in the wrong places. I mean, the rumor is, you guys didn't kill people who didn't deserve it one way or the other. If he's out there killing regular folks, I'd say he's trying to get your attentions."

< Hello to the reading my mind. Don't. >

"Sorry. I forget."

"I didn't even think it was possible to read vampire's minds." Xander said.

"Uhm, two species can. I'm one of 'em. Sorry."

"Just don't. Where are you headed?"

"Sacramento, then back south."

"Eh. I need to get to the Hellmouth."

"Sorry. Out of my way."

"Fuck it. Drop me at the next stop."

"No problem, Mr. the Great."

"Call me Xander."

"Wow." The demon's face shifted back into human form and he blushed. "It's an honor."

* * *

Riley woke alone. Remembered falling asleep beside Spike, conscious to keep his distance, not to startle the sleeping vampire. He recognized the hurt on the vampire's face. The kind of hurt that she leaves on someone. He suspected nothing more or less. He didn't know he should suspect anything else.

The television was loud enough he could make out some words. Riley knew he hadn't left the sound on and sat up groggy in bed. He stood, pulled down the sleeve that had bunched up his arm, went to the bathroom, peed, came out.

Spike sat in the kitchen in one of two folding chairs around a card table.

"You didn't have a table," Spike said.

"So you bought one?"

The vampire held a beer in his hand, but made no move to drink from it. The cap was still on.

"I've been pissed for a month straight," Spike stared at the bottle in his hand, read Riley's face without looking.

"You've done that before, right? When Drus. when another girl messed you up?"

"Right. You pay pretty good attention, don't you, Finn?"

"Nah." Riley felt his face flush red.

"You slept beside me."

"What else was I gonna do?"

"Did you want me to bite you?"

Riley shuddered and Spike was up from the table and in his face before he could register the movement.

"Did you?"

Spike pulled Riley close to him, one arm around his back, the other tilted Riley's head and exposed his neck, the faded scars.

"Vampire bites never really fade away, do they? I've only seen a few bites on people who lived through them. Seen. fewer this close."

Spike licked Riley's neck.

"This isn't why. This isn't fair, Spike." Riley said. "You know, have always known, my weaknesses. I don't know yours anymore. Though I'm guessing it rhymes with huffy."

Spike pulled his head back. Read Riley's face as well as he could. The human smelled of fear but his face showed something else, respect, or understanding; Spike couldn't tell.

"What do you know about the Slayer?"

"That she can mess up a guy's head."

"And I'd wager you don't say her name anymore. Not aloud, not when you're thinking. Never."

Riley looked down, away. The television had some overpaid actors pretending to be friends on it.

Spike let go of Riley, went back to his chair. Held the beer in his hand again. The cap stayed on.

"So, you bought me a table?"

"What kind of demon would I be if I bought you a table?"

Riley rolled his eyes and pulled out the other chair, sat down.

"Don't look at me like that, Soldierette. I found it, right? Didn't steal it, least not technically."

"I really want to know. I really do. But I'd rather have a beer or five and go down for the night. Spike, I don't know what you've been up to. I did hear a rumor that you were on the loose. I heard a rumor about bodies, or whatever, that you've been leaving behind you. Can you say to your knowledge that's true?"

"Yeah, I can say to my knowledge. I don't think I've been killing anyone."

"Fine then. Stay here as long as you want. Talk when you need to."

"I don't need to talk to you, Finn. But if you're going to bed. I'm coming with you." Spike said.

A wave of arousal drifted across Spike as he said it, and he knew if he wanted his way with Riley Have < my way with what had its way with mine. > he could have it.

*****
Part 8: The Edge of Realization

The doors opened into a bright courtyard.

Only a few months away from it but the daylight seemed to bleed everything into white and Xander walked into it. The white, the daylight, the courtyard all found themselves focused in Xander.

Daylight for the first time. Daylight came and didn't take Xander with it. It stayed and watched Xander who stared back amazed. Felt the ridges of his brow. Walked through the bright to a fountain that sprinkled and ran slow in the middle of the courtyard. Walked up to the fountain, looked inside. Saw the ridges of his brow. Saw the demon in him and knew there was no demon.

Xander turned toward the doors he'd come through. Turned to the wall that had been doors. Xander looked back into the fountain and saw nothing but the water and the sky and the bright whiteness reflected there. Xander teetered on the edge of realization and felt it slide away like water though his fingers, through his hair and the light did that. The light fell from the sky funneled through his fingers, through his hair and ran into the fountain until all that was left around Xander was the courtyard and night.

The sky hung starless over Xander. The fountain trickled and ran slow still but without light it looked of nothing. Xander's eyes focused in the darkness and the sounds around him filtered in, the sounds of anger and rage a hint of fear, the sounds of beasts.

The dark shifted.

Xander watched the walls crumble into liquid and run away from the earth. The air around him changed its texture, beaded up on his skin, in his clothes, in his hair, clung to his form. The air around him changed to water and the courtyard melted into the sky and the world became blacker than it had been and Xander was inundated. Drowned but unencumbered. Sensed the pressure of the water on all sides of him crushing him but for his unnatural strength.

Xander felt something brush past him, felt himself naked, unbound. It brushed past him again. He shivered under the pressure and the tease and floated in the dark surrounded. Light eluded him but he could see, there was no light but there was an image in front of him. A maw gaped at him full of row after row of huge cerated teeth. Despite himself he moved around, dodged the huge jaws as they clamped.

Then he floated away.

The huge mouth, the shark, got smaller and smaller in the distance and in the darkness Xander grew aware, in the pit of his stomach, of a blond head moving along the back of the creature, but he couldn't place the shape before the image was gone.

* * *

3:20 a.m. Iowa time.

"You don't need to talk, huh?" Riley shifted from his stomach to his back, still dressed despite hours in bed and near sleep. He lifted his arms and crossed his hands behind his head.

3:37 a.m.

"Not to you I don't." Spike rolled from his back to his side, faced away from Riley.

3:49 a.m.

"So go to sleep." Riley smiled in the dark, colored the words through his facial expression. Slight change from sleepy to happy-sleepy.

4:11 a.m.

"You sodding go to sleep." Spike looked over his shoulder at the dozing but not sleeping former government operative who lay behind him. His words lacked the commitment of their meaning and he knew it.

5:03 a.m.

"Are you still awake?" Riley moaned. One arm dropped from behind his head. His elbow rested against the small of Spike's back.

5:04 a.m.

"Nocturnal. Getting a bit drowsy now though." Spike's words were clipped, short, he pushed backwards, moved Riley's arm and then scooted forward again, left the arm away from his body; away and not touching him.

* * *

"Xander? Xander, sir?"

Xander jumped at the hand that shook his shoulder.

"Hummunuhwhut?" Xander mumbled and his eye twitched. He shivered.

"We're at the first good stop. We were driving into the dawn, you know? You should get a room. I won't tell nobody you were in my truck."

"Thanks."

"Bobby. Bobby Gujungaranji."

"Right. Of course, Bobby." Xander hugged himself, looked out at the twenty dollar a night motel that sat in front of him and looked back at Bobby. "Can I borrow?"

"Okay, so I lied. I got you the room. Paid for two days and one night just 'cause. You really look like shit Xander. You smell like wet bones."

Xander smirked. "Thank you so much, Guju. Thank you for the wonderful compliments. And for the room. I am of course, eternally grateful. But I don't owe you anything, and you won't come looking for me if you know what's good for you." Xander snarled.

< Whoa. When I did I get so bitter? >

Xander's smirk stretched into a wicked smile. "And spread the word. Alexander the Great is tracking William the Bloody. Spread the word that Alexander the Great is on the hunt, and he's fucking hungry."

Bobby Gujungaranji squeezed as far away from Xander in that moment as he could. Xander reached across the truck's cab, pulled the room key out of Gujungaranji's shirt pocket, opened the door, leapt down, turned back to the open cab of the truck. Xander bowed, raised, curtsied, raised and stood up straight. His face and pose shifted from playful to business, the ridges emerged from his brow, and he straightened his shoulders.

A long low growl emerged from Xander's chest and Bobby Gujungaranji shifted the truck into drive and floored the gas, sped away as fast as he could.

Xander laughed. Tossed the key and caught it, walked toward the motel. Sniffed the air for a man to eat.

< Any man. >

* * *

< I am Hen-ery the Eighth I am. Hen-ery the Eighth I am, I am. >

"Damn."

Spike rolled up until he sat on the side of the bed. Perched there for a moment, ears tuned careful behind him, tuned to the sounds of a Riley well asleep for more than an hour.

Spike felt the sun outside, as he always did. Felt the crackle of atomies soaring and burning, plaguing the dark. He rose from the bed silent and slow. Moved into the living room and the kitchen.

He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer and < tongues, bodies, fuck. >

He shivered, opened the beer, sat down at the table he'd swiped for Riley.

< I am Hen-ery the Eighth I am... Bugger this tripe. >

He lifted the beer to his lips, poured it down, swallow after swallow, placed the empty bottle back on the table.

He was more tired than he knew. Tired from the binge that had gone on how long? Tired from the anger and the confusion. Tired from < fucking Iowa > Riley Finn finding him in the middle of his binge.

< Tired of not being looked for. >

He stood up again, moved back through the living room, stood in the bedroom door. Stared at Riley for a moment, thought about laying down beside him again. Going to sleep in bed with a man who wasn't Xander. < Xander. Commando Finn has no idea this is about you, you selfish, ungrateful prat. He, of course, thinks this is all about the girl. He doesn't even know that you and I 'ave been. What have we been? Galavanting? Navigating? Fucking, even. Bloody shagging. God knows. And god comes into this now? Silly, arrogant prig is god. What's he know? Look what you've made me do Xan. You've made me into this. I'm fucking praying for you now. Praying. This isn't praying. Don't make me pray. >

Spike's eyelids grew heavy as he stared at Riley. His hands shook, tucked half-into the pockets of his jeans. He cried, without sound, tears bitter as the ocean, on his face.

Riley shook once, moaned, blinked into awakeness, rolled over and fixed his eyes on the vampire in his doorway.

Spike froze.

"I was dreaming. About you. And you and her. And her and me."

"This isn't. This isn't about that."

"I know. I mean, I think I know."

"If this is. Ah, I don't know, Riley. I don't, effing, know. I want to go home. I want my lover back. I want to kill."

"Shut up, Spike. Sleep with me."

And Spike could feel the sunlight, felt it burn the world around him without even leaving a trace. The fading of paint on cars in parking lots. The slow peel and part of earth. Sweat on faces sunburned and loving it.

He could feel all that as he moved to the bed, lay down on his side, his back to Riley Finn, and felt the man's hot, thick arms move to him, one sliding under his neck, the other up and over his side, hands rested on the bed and the pillows of the bed that were not Spike's home.

*****
Part 9: Gujungaranji

Bobby Gujungaranji got on the horn. He let headquarters know his truck was busted (a lie) and that someone needed to come trade off the cargo. Another truck came, picked up Bobby's trailer, and it was done. Bobby Gujungaranji was going to the Hellmouth.

< Alexander the Great called me Guju, > the Lahtentai demon thought. < He gave me a pet name and spared my life. >

On some level Bobby Gujungaranji knew that the vampire had no real interest in him. He was basically a psychic ball of snot with horns who could make himself look mostly human when he really, really tried. Of course Bobby Gujungaranji knew this, but did Bobby care? No. He only cared about the rumors.

Bobby G. cared that two vampires with souls. < And how many does that make now? > the demon thought. That two vampires with souls who were lovers were both really scared of themselves and petrified of each other. That two vampires with souls were both on killing sprees, humans, demons, whatever stood in their respective ways, and there was no one keeping them in check. At least those were the rumors. Hot gossip they were.

And Bobby Gujungaranji knew a thing or two about rumors. The last time he'd been on the Hellmouth he'd gotten it on with a two-headed Basilica demon. Getting a demon with one head to keep its mouth shut was one thing. Getting two independently thinking heads on one demon to keep both of their mouths shut was, in fact, another.

And more than rumors there was one cardinal law of vampires with souls, one that he'd learned on birth in 1937, one that became cardinal law while still only in the form of a vague prophecy, and that law was: all vampires with souls are intimate buds with the Slayer.

Bobby G. wasn't sure that the Great actually had a soul, he couldn't really tell that deep into the vampire's mind, but the rumor was he had a soul, and Bobby knew rumors.

His truck trailer-free, Bobby Gujungaranji made his way south. Away from the Great's hotel, away from San Francisco, away from the rumors to find out the truth. Bobby G. was going to have audience with the Slayer.

And he'd be damned if he didn't at least see the Basilica demon again.

* * *

"Buffy?"

Giles called out from the kitchen. He scraped the last of the eggs off the skillet and placed it back on the stove top. He pulled two slices of toast from the toaster and put the toast, eggs, a glass of orange juice, and a jar of strawberry jelly on a tray.

He carried the tray up the stairs and called out to Buffy again.

"Are you awake?"

Giles stopped in front of Buffy's door, spoke to it as if it were the girl.

"Buffy? You've been in that room for days. You need to come out. It's been more than a month since you got back, and I'm never one to question your privacy. I never doubt that if you're avoiding me, or us, that you've got an exemplary reason, but, Buffy. This is somewhat extreme. You know you can tell me. Whatever it is."

He heard shuffles behind the door; the sound of bedcovers moved around and feet beginning to pace.

"Buffy, I."

The pacing stopped, immediately behind the door.

"I screwed up, Giles. I did something really bad."

"You can tell me."

"I know I can. I know. I know. But still, really not gonna."

Giles placed the tray in front of the door and walked away as the pacing in the room resumed. He called back over his shoulder.

"Food's by your door. I'm downstairs."

The door opened and Buffy peeked her head out, examined the tray. She grabbed the orange juice and the toast and closed the door, left everything else in the hall.

* * *

"Willy." Bobby slid up to the bar and smiled warmly through his snot and horns.

"Bobby Gujungaranji." Willy the snitch smiled back at Bobby and offered his hand in greeting.

The bar was slower than usual, or, to be accurate, slower than Bobby remembered.

"Rough times?" Bobby asked.

"Demons, they don't drink here anymore. There's a new place. Outside of town. I ain't been over there, I hear the owner's got a contract on me."

"Why?"

"Don't know. Try not to think about it."

"Willy, could it be that you supply the Slayer with information whenever she threatens to threaten you?"

Willy gulped and then laughed. "I don't know anything about giving any Slayer any information? What's a slayer?"

Bobby and Willy laughed together for a moment before the moment passed. Willy turned a pulled a bottle off the shelf.

"This is almost empty, Bobby, you want the worm?"

Bobby nodded and Willy poured a glass, shook the worm out of the bottle.

"So, what brings you back to the Hellmouth this year, it's been, what? Four, five years now?"

"Something like that. I need a favor. The kind that involves threats of threatening."

"I don't know how to get in touch with her Bobby, she comes around when she comes around. That's all I know."

"Bullshit, Willy. I know better. Where's she live?"

"What's this about? Aren't you a peaceful demon or some such? Make a real human living, don't you?"

"Willy." Bobby Gujungaranji pounded the bar, felt the hard wood crack under the pressure. "Don't tempt me."

"She lives on Revello drive, somewhere. That's all I know."

"That'll do." Bobby's face shifted into it's basically human form, he downed the rest of the glass and moved toward the door. He didn't stop as Willy called out after him.

"You're almost as good at that as she is."

Bobby called out over his shoulder, hitting the daylight, "You say that like I didn't already know."

And he was on his way to meet the Slayer.

* * *

"She's not talking to any of us."

"She doesn't feel she needs to."

"She's wrong."

"What could be so horrible that."

The doorbell rang.

Willow, Giles, Dawn and Anya stood in the kitchen dancing back and forth about who should try to talk to Buffy first. The doorbell rang again and Anya noticed.

She turned from the kitchen, walked through the dining room and opened the door.

"I need the slayer."

"Hold up, gnarly. I don't know you." Anya said.

She crossed her arms and stared down the man in the doorway.

"Come on. Anyanka, right?"

"You are walking some kind of thin line, mister."

"Gujungaranji."

Anya's eyes grew wider. "You're a Lahtentai demon. Why should I trust anything you say, weird psychic guy? And why aren't you covered in snot?"

"Oh, well, about a hundred years ago they perfected this wonderful thing called tissue paper."

"What do you need with Buffy?"

"That's for her to know."

"We don't keep secrets. Well, Buffy keeps secrets, but the rest of us are open books. I'm sort of a coffee table book about ancient disasters, Giles is like a reference book. It's kind of funny if you think about it, Dawn's like a book that starts on page sixty, and Xander's like."

"Xander." Bobby said.

"Well, he's like a runaway book. Oh, a pop-up book. And Buffy's like one of those choose your own adventure books: slay the vampire, go to page twenty; fight the polar bear, go to page seven; or kiss the boy, turn to last page. What was I talking about?" Anya stopped, scratched her head.

"I've seen Alexander the Great. He's look for William the Bloody. The slayer needs to go after him. Bad things are happening."

*****
Part 10: Setting Sun

Xander stared at the window of the hotel room. He stared at the curtains that immobilized the darkness in the room, kept him and furniture dark and cold as night even in the middle of the afternoon.

The demon truck driver said the government was after Spike, after Xander too. But why? Between time in the ocean or on it, and traipsing the country looking for Spike, Xander knew what he'd been doing that was so wrong: nothing. Spike, on the other hand, he couldn't account for, wouldn't dare to assume to know what his wayward, angered blond lover was doing.

The room began to grow cooler still and Xander knew the sun was going down. Somewhere inside him this knowledge seemed wrong, unsettling. He was hungry, and unsettled, and the sun sank slowly from the sky, hidden out in the world by four walls and thick curtains.

Xander picked up the phone and dialed in the numbers that he would never forget. The other end was a busy signal. He placed the handset back into it's cradle and brought his attention to the nightfall around him.

* * *

Buffy dropped the phone to the ground. Words, sounds flared out of the receiver as it dropped; words burned into her mind.

.She had finally come downstairs. There was a demon, said he'd seen Xander, said a lot of things. That he could read minds.

So she had finally come downstairs and started talking to the demon. Weird time, Sunday evening. The sky still blazed; a hint of darkness blurred the back edge. So she'd sat down, avoided all of the eyes in the room. Couldn't let them see, let them know. The demon, Gujungaranji, had talked. He was strong, very sure. Buffy was impressed. She cracked a smile when she guessed that Willy the Snitch had been even more impressed.

Gujungaranji had given shirtless, wet Xander a ride in the middle of the night across northern California, into Nevada. The pair had talked. The demon had mentioned the initiative, Buffy's ears had burned, < dry where I should be wet, wet where I should really be dry, > and she'd crossed her legs.

She had finally come downstairs and the government, her ex-lover, was after her best-friend and another of her ex-lovers and < oh god, is my best-friend an ex-lover now too. >

And then the demon had said the thing she hadn't thought anyone else could know:

"You leave 'em littered around like the ashes of vamps you've staked. You really should clean up messes before you make more."

She had slapped him and his demon face had been revealed. She'd slapped him again, and he'd started to laugh. She'd gotten confused and he had kept on laughing.

The others, the ones she couldn't look in the eyes, had gone into defense mode, Willow's eyes had done that 'I'm a powerful wicca' thing they did, Giles and Anya'd both reached for weapons. But the demon had stopped laughing and was looking Buffy straight in the eyes.

< I'm sorry. >

< You should be, you slimy. slimy thing. >

< How was I supposed to know you didn't keep your minions informed. Wait, I correct myself, how stupid could I have been to assume that you'd inform minions. >

< They're not my minions. And yeah. How stupid. >

< You've got to go find them, whatever they are to you, whatever is between the three of you, you've got to do something about it. >

"I know that."

They'd stared at each other for a few more minutes and, finally, Anya had spoken up. "You know what? All I know is you almost-people are having some kind of conversation and we're not in on it, and that's just."

"Rude?" Willow offered.

"Typical. But yes, rude as well. I once did terrible things to rude people. But I also did rude things to typical people so. What does that make me?"

"Afraid of bunnies?" Giles offered.

"Exactly. Cotton tail. Why have a cotton tail if you're not going dose it with chloroform and stick it in someone's face so you can have your way with their inanimate bodies?"

"You're completely frightening, Anya."

"You're completely British, Giles. Go drown yourself in a pint."

"Kids," Willow interrupted. "You guys are extra bitter today."

"Because you're so sweet all of a sudden," Anya said. "World eater."

Willow had made her shocked and exasperated face and before she could get out a witty retort (*Undead sleeper with-er* or *Bunny-launderer*) the phone had rung and Anya had darted for it.

She'd answered, "Hello. Oh my god."

Anya's face had dropped and she'd snapped her fingers to get Buffy and the demon's attentions. She'd covered the mouthpiece; she'd wanted to cover the earpiece, too.

"Buffy." The slayer had turned to look at Anya. "It's Spike."

* * *

Spike had never been one for Sundays. Sundaes with O positive and macadamia nuts on top were another thing. It was unusual for Spike to even move on the day, loaded as it was with dogma. The years at sea, the roaming years with Xander. < I hate the word, as I hate hell, all. Xanders. > had seen many Sundays come and go with the pair wrapped up in each other deep in the bellies of the boats. As a beast without a soul the demon hard-wiring hated the day, added to what the human had already felt about the day. William had thought of Sunday in only one way: a day to dote on mother without interruption, another day for everyone else to reject him.

This Sunday was no different. Morning, daylight, an invitation to bed, locked away from the whole of the world, from the sun, with his lover. < Not. My. Lover. > Locked away in the arms of a man who belonged, lock stock and barrel, in soul if not in body, to the woman who'd stolen what belonged to Spike.

Every moment in those mortal arms, weak in their humanity, weaker, at least, than Spike, was a moment his anger intensified. He'd been through the gamut. Run the gauntlet. Gotten pissed, gotten pissed, gotten hammered. Forgotten for a while. Even in his sleep, cradled, cuddled beside the clean, tall, warm < Nice, basically, I suppose > body, every moment he got more and more pissed. More and more likely to lose a little bit more control.

The sun was going down, Sunday was finally ending, or thinking about it.

Spike stirred in Riley Finn's arms and stretched his free arm down and away. He stretched his arm down and across the front Riley's pants and felt the reason the slayer'd fought so hard for him. Spike felt Riley's hardness and Riley ground forward unconsciously, Spike turned his hand around, from pressing the back of it against the front of Riley's pants to groping, pulling the front of those pants with the palm of his hand. Even as he tugged on Riley's pants, kneaded at the zipper, willed it to go down, Riley began to wake up and Spike realized his body was responding in kind.

Spike's lips etched into a crack of a frown, almost indistinguishable from a straight face, slightly harder, and he stared at Riley's closed eyes. He watched Riley's eyelids flutter as the unconscious grind surged forward, rendered Spike's hand moot, pushed the hardness in their pants together. Spike against Riley, Riley against Spike.

Riley's grip around Spike tightened and he drifted closer, leaned in to kiss the vampire. Spike broke the embrace, fled the room; Riley stared at the air in front of him, confused, alarmed by the speed. He heard shuffling movements in the outer room, listened to make sense of them, but couldn't.

"Spike?" He whispered, "Where'd you go?"

The answer came in the form of loud music, blaring, drowning out his question. He tried to speak into the space again, but couldn't even hear himself.

Spike reappeared in the doorway, barefoot, his shirt off, the button of his pants open. Riley stared, the music, the noise of it, seemed to create a fog, like he was peering past the sound into the future; he stared at the six square inches of denim from bare skin to where he wanted to be. Spike stared back at Riley, amused, aroused but detached from his arousal - hard outside, but not committed to it inside - as Riley peeled his shirt off of his body. Just as Riley's shirt went over his head, as eye contact was broken, his face covered, Spike pounced on Riley, held his hands over his head, arms and hands and face all wrapped up in the ocean of the white t-shirt.

Spike straddled Riley's lap, leaned down, their stomachs grazed, one sweaty in the hair that dusted it down low, down where no one ever saw anymore, one smooth and dry and well-used until now. Spike straddled Riley's lap, held Riley prisoner within his clothes, as he writhed over Riley's body, mock kissing Riley through the shirt wrapped over his head. He licked and sucked at Riley's lips through the shirt, soaking it into invisibility before biting, gently, gently biting at the fabric, ripping it just around Riley's mouth.

Spike could hear beyond the blaring music he had turned on. He could Riley's whimpers and sighs and as he straddled Riley's lap, felt the hardness of the man beneath him all he could do was stare at the mouth he'd revealed through the hole in the shirt. The mouth hung slack, shaping words like, 'want' and 'fuck' and 'Spike.' He stared at the mouth a moment longer, thought of all the perverse things he could do that mouth. Instead, he leaned down, pressed his own lips flaccidly to Riley's, felt Riley suck and kiss blindly, deafly against the body before him. Spike reached off of the bed with his free hand, moving more quickly than when he'd broken away from Riley; he came up, from his reach, with the handset of the phone. Then he dialed the numbers he (they, everyone) had memorized by now, and placed the phone face up on the bed.

He listened to, for, the ringing, knew that the soldier couldn't hear it. Opened his pants, and freed his hardness as he listened, rubbed it over Riley's lips. Felt tongue sneak out. Heard the answer, Anya's voice, "Hello?"

Riley licked again, spread his lips. Spike yelled, for the phone, for Riley, "Suck my cock, Soldier boy."

Anya's voice, again, ".Oh my god."

Spike closed his eyes, lost for a moment in Riley's mouth. Heard shuffling, knew Riley couldn't hear it, didn't know what was going, what this was about. Buffy's voice, small through the din, "Spike, where are."

"You give bloody brilliant head, Commando," Spike yelled, the old, vicious smirk returning to his face.

Riley could hear the yells, stopped sucking for a moment. Spike pulled back.

"Fuck me, Spike, please." Riley's voice was a siren call, pathetic, confused and hungry. A whale lost from its pod, a demanding tenor without a choir.

"Your wish, bint, is my deed," growled back, sure Riley couldn't hear, sure the Slayer could.

Through the phone, sobs sounded. Spike knew bitter tears, knew the sound of 'em. The Slayer was going to be really miffed when she got over the shock. Maybe she'd know how he felt. Either way, Riley's mouth opened back up, swallowed down, licked, sucked Spike's cock, worked his tongue under the foreskin, circled around, stop, reverse.

Spike leaned away again, faster still. Hung up the phone on the sobs and moans of the Slayer.

It was dark in Iowa.

*****