Living Arrangements
My
arm stretches across the bed reaching for Spike. Encountering emptiness, the events of
yesterday slam into me. Recoiling in
horror, I curl into a tight ball in the middle of my bed. Spike.
My lover, my friend, my future.
Gone. All of it, just gone, and
then the betrayal seeps into me.
I
feel the burn of hatred receding with a more pressing emotion. Need like I've never known washes through
me. Scenes of Spike and I together crowd
my brain, his pale body covering mine. His lips and hands touching me
everywhere. I can't stop the whimper as
stolen blood courses through me engorging my cock.
My
body spasms from the tightly curled position into one of wanton abandon, face
down, spread eagle. My cock pulses as it
comes into contact with cool sheets.
With no conscious thought I close my eyes and picture the last contact
with Spike. Driving into him, his legs
spread wide as he opened himself for me while pleading words fell from his
lips.
Grinding
my cock hard into the mattress I wonder briefly if I should be embarrassed
about fucking an inanimate object. The
thought is quickly erased by the immense pleasure flooding my body as I pull
his pillow to my face and inhale deeply.
The
smell of him sends orgasm pouring through me.
I can't help screaming his name as I come. For a few brief seconds I let lethargy flow
through me. Disgust follows on its
heels. Disgust at myself, disgust at
Spike.
Stumbling
to the shower I try to scrub off his scent and send it down the drain with the
remnants of my orgasm. I don't remember
how long I stayed there, scrubbing, until the sound of Buffy and
"Shower."
I yell to them over the rushing water.
My
ears pick up the sounds of them settling themselves on the couch and turning on
the TV. Neat little trick there, being
able to hear so well. Neat! No, not neat, disturbing. It's getting harder and harder to hold onto
the anger. Harder still to remember why
I should hate Spike.
My
cock twitches at the thought of his name and I glare down at the offending body
part. What the hell is wrong with
me? Wanting Spike is not a new feeling,
but needing him like this is something I can't understand. My body is betraying my brain and I don't
like it.
Dressing
quickly I start into the living room only to be assaulted by fierce
hunger. I gasp as I realize I was eyeing
the pulse beating in
Okay,
small hole in the bag to release the air, forty-five second on...hmm, high or
defrost? Damn, why didn't I pay more
attention? He was my lover for God's sake I should know how to do this. The bag falls from hand as the word lover
registers in my brain.
Suddenly
I'm spinning off into a world of fantasy.
Black silk sheets, Spike glowing in candlelight as I dribble blood along
his torso. My mouth lowering to that beautiful
body as my tongue collects drops of scarlet.
"Let
me help you."
After
settling the bag in the microwave she turns to face me. I cringe even further from her.
"You
don't have to hide from me, Xander. I
don't want you to hide from me."
Her
hands cup my checks and turn my head until our eyes meet. She traces the ridges along my nose and
forehead with her fingertips. A sense of
calm settles within me and I feel my face shift back to human. I take a deep breath of relief and the scent
of Spike slams into me.
"Where
have you been since last night?"
The
tone of my voice startles her and she takes a step back. There's a part of my brain telling me that
this is
The
ding of the microwave draws our attention.
She turns away from me to grab a mug from the cabinet. It strikes me that she's very familiar with
where the mugs are. She never drinks
coffee when she's here, not even hot chocolate.
She always drinks soda, from a bottle.
Spike
is the only one who uses the mugs. How
many times has she been here with him alone?
How many times has she done this exact same thing for him while I was
out or at work? How is it that she's so
familiar with how to warm the blood she's so expertly pouring into a mug Spike
used frequently?
The
anger hits me from left field.
"You
didn't answer my question,
I
see her shoulders tense and I brace myself for the lie.
"At
home, with Buffy and Dawn."
She
doesn't meet my eyes when she hands me the mug.
She's lying. I can smell it on
her. The cloying thick scent of
deception burns my nostrils as I drink.
My eyes follow her every move making her nervous.
I
can tell by watching her that she's weighing her options. She pulls the corner of her lower lip into
her mouth as she thinks.
"S-Spike
came by last night. He-he wants to come
by the apartment tonight and get some things so he asked me and Buffy to take
you out."
"Really. He doesn't want me here? In my own apartment."
"He
thought it would be better i-if he did it alone."
"Well
that's just too bad. I'm not going
anywhere. I want some answers so you and
Buffy can just toddle along."
I
wince slightly at the harshness of my voice but for Christ's sake they're
conspiring with the enemy.
"Xander,
we're just-"
"Trying
to help. Yeah, I get it. I think you and Buffy should go."
"O-okay,
but you'll call us if you need anything?"
I
nod. I'm already distracted thinking of
the confrontation between Spike and I. I
didn't get the answers I wanted last night but I'll be dammed if he gets out of
here tonight without telling me what I want to know.
After
Buffy and