Chapter 4

"So ... this is my place, huh?"

There was an awkward moment when they arrived at Xander's apartment. Spike was appalled to realize that their approach to the doorway had a distinctly end-of-the-date feeling to it. Something was coming to an end, and the transition was uncomfortable.

As they stood in the doorway, Xander seemed hesitant to step inside the unfamiliar abode.

"It looks big. I must make pretty good money."

"Look. Are you gonna go inside or not? 'Cause I'm not standing here all night chatting about the flat."

"Oh. Uh. Right." Xander stepped inside, looking around him in some confusion. "I wonder if I have any food. I really could eat a llama."

"Doubt you have one in the fridge." Spike followed Xander into the living room, pointing the way to the kitchen and closing the front door behind him. "In fact, probably won't be anything much in there, but the magnet from the pizza place is on the door."

"Mmmmmmm. Pizza. Sweet tomato-y goodness, you shall slake my manly hunger!" Xander already had the cordless phone pressed to his ear as he stood on the kitchen linoleum, reading the Pizza Hut delivery number off the magnet on the fridge door. "Hey, Spike! You want anything?"

"Nah. I'll get some blood later."

When Xander had finished placing his order, he came back into the living room and hung up the phone. Awkwardness filled the room again. Spike started edging back toward the front door.

"All right, then. You're home, all safe and sound. Should phone up your friends, let 'em know you're back."

Xander's eyebrows went up. "Spike, I'm not gonna call some people I don't even know."

"If they've realized you were missing, they're gonna be out of their heads..."

Xander shrugged. "Hey, if you want to call them, don't let me stop you."

Rolling his eyes, Spike strode over to the phone and dialed.

"Hey, Red. You all good there? No. Well... Yeah. He's here. Now, wait, see, there's this problem. No. No. No. Not an apocalypse, Red. Just a problem. See, the whelp got hit on the head, and he's got a bit of a concussion. No. No. Bloody hell! It wasn't me! No, I didn't take him to the hospital, because we've been in a bloody cage for the past two days! Yeah, well, I would've told you if you'd shut your gob for twenty seconds at a stretch. Yeah? Fine."

Spike held out the phone toward Xander. "She wants to talk to you."

Xander shook his head, backing away. "I'm gonna have a look around. You tell her what's up. I don't want to talk to strangers right now. I'm tired, and I just want to eat, and have a shower, and go to bed. No talking. No explaining. Please?"

Spike tried not to show it, but the "please" melted his resolve. "Grr. Fine." He pressed the phone to his ear again as Xander wandered away, opening doors and cabinets curiously.

"Red? He doesn't want to talk right now. See ... Wait ... No ... He's just tired. Can't it wait for tomorrow? He'll ... we'll ... I'll ... uh ... talk to you tomorrow, eh? Yeah. That'd be best." After hanging up the phone, Spike tiredly rubbed his forehead. Bloody kids're more trouble than they're worth.

He walked through the apartment, hands in the front pockets of his jeans, looking for Xander. The boy was peering into the bedroom closet, idly fingering the fabric of one of his gaudier shirts. He looked up when Spike came into the room. "Do I really wear this stuff?"

"Afraid so, pet. Look, if you're all set here, I'm gonna head out."

"Um. Yeah? I was kinda ... kinda hoping you might stick around. I mean, you probably know this apartment better than I do ... and you're the only person I know ... and I'd kinda rather not be alone right now, you know? It's just all kinda freaky, and having you around makes it ... less freaky."

Spike hesitated a long moment. The boy wanted him here? It'd been a while since anybody actually said they wanted him around. Well, the Nibblet, but that wasn't the same. "Uh, sure, I guess so."

When Xander had devoured a large pepperoni pizza and Spike had drunk some blood they'd found in the refrigerator -- "See? This isn't friendship? How many of your non-friends keep bags of blood in the fridge?" "Well, there's this one git in L.A...." -- they both lay sprawled comfortably on the couch, half-watching an episode of "Law & Order."

"You know," drawled Spike, "every minute of every day, this show is on somewhere in the world. Taking over the bloody planet, I tell you. Mark my words."

"Somehow, I can't bring myself to be big with the caring. The idiot box is lit up. The pizza is digesting. I'm not currently imprisoned by any sadistic cowboys. By my definition, all's right with the world."

Xander stood and stretched, muscles rippling distractingly beneath his t-shirt. Spike eyed him with obvious appreciation. The kid really did have a decent body on him these days, and memories of the closet, and their later kiss, caused his jeans to grow uncomfortably tight. He turned back to stare at the television, feigning sudden interest in bland courtroom melodrama.

Xander stretched his neck to either side. "Jeez. I feel like crap. Kinda like I've been sitting in a cement cage for two days, sleeping on some rank ancient mattress. ... Oh, wait! That's because I have!" Xander stretched his back again and then pulled the gray t-shirt over his head, carelessly tossing it onto the floor. "I think it's high time this escaped prisoner indulged in the hygienic bliss we mortals call 'showering'."

"Uh ... yeah. I'll just be buggering off, then...."

"Want to come with?" Xander was smiling mischievously.

Spike raised an eyebrow.

Xander shrugged. "Hey, you've gotta be yearning after the cleanliness as much as I am, right? And ... I just thought..."

"Bad idea."

"Okay." Xander paused a moment. "Why?"

Spike's face was grim. "I'm not getting staked later when you remember you hate me. Not getting blamed for taking advantage..."

But Xander interrupted. "Wait a frilly pink second, there. If I hated you before all this happened, then why was I drinking with you every night, huh? And what about the ... the thing ... in the closet?"

"Don't have to like a bloke to fondle his dangly bits." Spike was looking away, refusing to make eye contact.

Xander nodded slowly. "So you don't want..."

Spike's eyes flew to Xander's face as if against his will. His voice was quiet when he said, "I didn't say..."

"Look. I don't know what was going on before. But I know that I trust you. I mean, you're the only person I trust. We've been through stuff together. And I'm ... uh ... you know ... I'm ... attracted to you. After that kiss in the cage, I sorta thought you were ... you know ... too." This new Xander, this amnesiac Xander who apparently didn't remember a lifetime of being mocked, was a lot more confident, more open, more ... courageous, maybe. And with that bare chest ... Spike wanted to grab him. But he didn't.

"Yeah, and you remember what's what, I'll be filling an ashtray."

"Fine. You don't want anything with me, that's cool. I just thought..."

"You offering a no-stake guarantee?" Spike looked hesitant, but trying to hide it. His expression showed a strange combination of cynicism and hope.

"Spike, I don't think I'm going to lose my mind when I find my memory. I'm not going to forget that I wanted this."

"You sure?" Spike hadn't moved from his place on the couch, but his body was tensed now.

Xander smiled. "You know, it's weird, but ... yeah. I'm sure."

Slowly, Spike stood and walked to where Xander watched him from the center of the room, stopping when they were face-to-face, close. He'd always thought Harris was pretty tall, but they were actually near the same height, only a couple inches different. Their eyes were almost on a level. After a moment of hesitation, Spike licked his lips and then leaned in very slightly, hands still at his sides, to press his mouth to Xander's, waiting cautiously for a reaction.

The boy didn't disappoint him, immediately returning the kiss with obvious eagerness. Within moments, they were pressed together, their mouths hungrily sliding against each other, tongues thrusting and stroking, hands clutching at each other's bodies, trying to get closer. It was as if they'd returned to their kiss earlier in the day and simply picked up where they'd left off.

Then Xander pulled away slightly, his breathing shallow and fast. He watched Spike with eyes dilated by passion, but his mouth quirked up in a slight smile. "Shower now, okay? Because I can smell my manly prison stench, and it is so not a turn-on."

The shower was warm and wet and soap-slippery, magnifying every touch, so that the simple brush of Spike's hand against his hip made Xander shudder with want.

But the intensity of the sensation also caused them to slow, to focus more on exploratory touches, to kiss more languidly, to run soapy hands over biceps and shoulders and collarbones, to watch with fascination as suds cascaded across firm flesh, to lean and taste fresh water from a hardened nipple, to twine fingers into wet hair and tug slightly, to assiduously wash each other probably more thoroughly than either had ever been washed before.

When Xander wrapped a soap-slick hand around Spike's hardened cock, they both grinned on a quick pleased breath. Xander squeezed and pulled, enjoying the sight of Spike's wet eyelashes fluttering, his eyes closing, his mouth opening slightly in another gasp of pleasure.

After a few firm strokes, Spike took Xander's left hand and made sure it was soapy before pulling it behind himself, resting the boy's fingers between his buttocks. Xander paused a second, uncertain what exactly he should do, but then tentatively stroked his finger along the puckered flesh, making Spike moan.

"That ... feels good?"

"See for yourself, pet." Spike soaped up his left hand and reached around the boy to run his fingers along the outside of Xander's hole.

Eyes opening wide, Xander gasped, "Wow. Never felt that good when I washed there."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet," smirked Spike, manhandling the boy to turn him toward the shower wall, kneeing his legs apart.

"What...?" Xander began to ask, but stopped when Spike sank to his knees behind him. What's he doing back there? Then he felt hands grasping his buttocks and pulling them gently apart, water cascading against his back, washing soap away.

And then he nearly fell down. Instead of soapy fingers, a tongue was touching him down there. At least, he assumed that's what it was, because he couldn't see it, but it felt smooth and firm and ... agile, twisting and flicking and circling until Xander thought he might scream. Occasionally, it slipped inside, and those were the times when Xander groaned out loud, resting his forehead against the shower wall and arching his back to raise his hips, trying to give Spike even better access. The tongue slipped in more, and suddenly the skin on the inside of his ass was one of Xander's favorite places on his body. It was almost as intense as having his cock touched, but different. More ... diffuse. Like he felt it all over his body. He shivered and spread his legs a bit wider.

Spike pulled away and Xander made an unhappy sound, starting to turn, but Spike only held him in place and chuckled. "Don't worry. Not stopping." And then a wet finger was probing Xander's asshole, just lightly touching the outside, which had softened and widened with all the tongue action. Gently, the finger pushed inside, further than the tongue had gone, making Xander moan and arch his back again.

"Want to fuck you," Spike purred as he moved his finger in and out in a slow rhythm, letting Xander get used to the intrusion. At his words, the boy's heart rate sped up even more, his legs widening just a bit more, his back arching further. When Xander seemed ready, he inserted a second finger and pumped steadily, murmuring, "Slide my cock inside you ... feel you hot and tight around me..."

Xander tensed very slightly, a frown creasing his forehead. This seemed familiar somehow, but he couldn't quite figure out why. Like he'd heard these words before somewhere.

Me stroking you like this while my cock drives into you, filling you up, thrusting into you, making you beg for it, making you whine and thrust your ass back to meet me...

Spike carefully inserted a third finger and Xander gasped at the feeling of fullness, the feeling that Spike was touching him everywhere inside at the same time, that the stroking fingers were turning him inside-out with the intensity of sensation, that he might cry or laugh or something else equally embarrassing. Reaching down with a shaking hand, he began fisting his cock rapidly, knowing that he was going to come soon, even if only from Spike's fingers and words

And Spike was still talking in a low voice. "You'd like it wouldn't you? You want it. Want me to come in your ass, want me to take you hard, make you beg. Yeah, you'd beg me for it, wouldn't you?"

Yeah, you'd beg me for it. Slick me up in your mouth and beg me to bend you over ... beg me to slide in, all hot and wet and tight. Beg me to give it to you. Beg me for more. Beg me to fuck you harder...

And in that moment, Spike's words flipped some sort of mental switch, and Xander suddenly remembered. Remembered everything. The closet at the Army base. Willow. Drinking with Spike at the crypt. His third grade teacher, Mrs. Kretsinger, and her fascination with President Chester A. Arthur. His carpentry job at the construction company. His break-up with Anya. Buffy's death. Doing the Snoopy dance every Christmas.

Everything. Everything came rushing in all at once.

And at the same moment, physical sensation overcame him and he bucked and cried out and came all over the shower wall with Spike's fingers still in his ass.

Xander rested for a long moment, his forehead against the wall, his legs still spread, his mind racing, as Spike rose to stand behind him. Turning only his head, Xander stared at Spike in recognition, in disbelief at all that had happened between them, in horror at what this might mean for his life.

So, what, I'm gay now? I'm a gay vampire-lover? I just let a guy vampire lick my ass. And I liked it.

And, in the instant after their eyes met, in the instant that Xander's shock and horror registered, Spike's expression went from warm and hungry to cold and distant. "Right," he said abruptly, stepping out of the shower with no further discussion, dripping on the floor. "Fucked some sense into you, did I? Remembered everything? Guess that's my cue to bugger off."

Somehow, Xander couldn't bring himself to say anything. He knew he was probably acting like a prick, but he just couldn't help wishing that none of this had ever happened. He wished he could go back to what his life was before they'd ever gone to that stupid Army base, before they'd ever hid in that closet, before he'd ever kissed Spike and ... wanted him. Because he didn't want to want Spike. Numbly, he just watched the vampire in question quickly towel himself dry and stride nude from the bathroom.

Xander turned off the water and got out of the shower, wrapping a towel around himself and following Spike into the bedroom, where he was already pulling on his black jeans with some difficulty because of his still-damp skin. His movements were jerky with some emotion, anger or frustration or something else even more complicated ... like hurt. Or maybe betrayal. He wasn't looking at Xander. Xander just watched.

When he'd gotten all his clothes pulled on, Spike stood and smiled sardonically. "Cheers for the hospitality, mate. Guess I'll be on my way."

And then, with a slam of the front door, Spike was gone.

And Xander sat on the bed and stared dazedly into space, wondering what the fuck he was supposed to do now.

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