Fic: Odi et amo, excrucior Spike/Xander NC-17

[Kyrie ane]

Title: Odi et amo, excrucior. (I hate and I love, it hurts)
Author: Kyrieane
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Fandom: BtVs
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: Lovers find each other again and have sex that starts off slow
and soft but escalates quickly, getting intense as they discover each
other again.

Random Disclaimer: If I owned the bois, do you really think i would be
wasting time writing about them? As if!


Xander sat heavily on the bed, one loud gush of air telling him that
all the oxygen had fled his lungs, and the pretty stars and colors
that followed told him he needed more. Somehow this just didn't seem
possible. The phone tumbled from his hand, landing on the carpeted
floor with a soft thud. Andrew's frantic voice was still coming from
the receiver, but frankly, Xander really didn't give a damn if the
idiot was going into full-blown panic attack. Pulling his tongue out
with a pair of tongs, and cutting it off slowly with a butter knife
just became the number three priority on Xander's very short list of
things to do. Right behind never have sex again, and do his very best
to get killed every single day. The sex thing was easy, he hadn't had
an erection since the night Spike had locked them both in his lonely
apartment and fucked him silly. A lot.

Spike died the next day, so did Anya. Xander had mentally moved their
names off the 'still animated list' to the 'dead and buried list'.
Right below every other person he had ever had sex with, or wanted to
have sex with. Faith didn't really count, that wasn't sex in anything
except the base meaning of the word. More like strangulation with
ejaculation as a side thought. When the news came about Cordy, Xander
packed his sex drive far away, put a lock on the box, and carefully
blocked any memories of using his cock for anything other than
emptying his bladder.

And now, sitting in some tiny, cockroach laden hotel room somewhere
south of Ecuador, Andrew has to call and say Spike is alive. After a
whole fucking year, Andrew has to call. Not Spike, not even Angel,
Andrew.

The colors flashing in his head started to go dark, and the nice bed
had decided this was a good time to just reach up and wrap right
around his head, and the room became a lovely black velvet color with
Spike's voice telling him to <i>sleep pet, everything would be shiny
and new in the morning.</i>

Morning found Xander standing next to an airplane that seemed to have
been made from several pieces of Double Bubble bubble gum, about a
thousand straightened paperclips, and a prayer. But it was this, or a
mule named Bobo to get to the next airplane with a real engine, as
opposed to two jazzed up guinea pigs and a rubberband. Xander wondered
briefly if the pilot would be serving cocktails on this flight, as his
sense of humor was slipping into the dangerously coherent point.
Obviously the rum that had been the bulk of his breakfast was wearing
off. And that would be a no, the only things he would be getting from
this flight was a seatbelt that really didn't hook, and a packet of
peanuts that expired right around the same time Nixon was getting
kicked out of office. Yum.

Switch planes, and thank God for flight attendants and their never
ending supply of mini bottles. The flight took seventeen of them, in
fact. That he could count that high at this point scared him just a
bit. And no, mister customs guy, there isn't any more luggage, yes I
came from Ecuador with one bag full of dirty laundry, no there isn't
any fruit. Unless you count the man holding said bag of dirty laundry.

The cabbie didn't even look at Xander funny when he gave the address
to Wolfram and Hart, but did sneer a bit when his fare was paid in
several rumpled and torn ones, cash wasn't really a priority in the
jungles or the dirty little villages. But he could barter a mean
chicken if it came down to it.

The cold, processed air hit his flesh, and Xander was sure on some
level it felt good, but now that he was here everything important was
numb. Except for that little flashing arrow right smack dab in the
middle of his forehead that said <i>Spike is here</i>.

For some reason, Harmony was the only person not stupid enough to try
to stop him from barging into Angel's office.

Angel sat at his desk, jaw as open as it could get. Wesley had stopped
mid-stride, mid-word, gaping at Xander. Spike looked at Xander, eyes
going comically wide, then he looked at Wesley, and then he looked at
the floor.

Three things clicked for Xander at once. Yes, Spike was alive. Spike
was sleeping with Wesley. Xander didn't belong here.

He nodded once to Angel, smiled a bit at Spike when he glanced up from
beneath his lashes, and whispered to Wesley. "Be good to him, please?"
Then left as fast as he came.

<i>Part 2</i>

The knock came later than he had expected. Xander knew Spike would
find him, follow him. Xander didn't try to hide. When he opened the
door, Spike just stood there on the threshold, hovering. Xander
stepped aside, giving Spike enough room to slip in, and let his
confusion show when Spike stayed in the hallway.

"It's a hotel room, Spike. You don't need an invite."

"Not the point Xander."

And Xander understood, in that way that he always did, without
actually needing the explanation. Spike wanted to know if he was
welcome.

"Spike, please come in." And poof, there it was. That stupid silly
grin Spike got every once in a while. The one that said, I have a
place here. The one that made Xander's heart flip over and do the
tribal rumba on the inside of his ribs. So here they stood, toe to toe
and eye to eye, for the first time in over a year, and neither said a
word. Just...looked. A thousand questions flooded Xander's brain, a
thousand times a thousand, but none of them were really that
important. Only...

"Does he make you happy, Spike?" and before he could stop, one hand
just floated up and touched the side of Spike's face. Just one little
caress of that ultra fine skin, the sharp contours of his cheek, the
swell of his jaw. Every single emotion that he had carefully processed
then locked away came flooding back. Love and lust, agony and grief.
And everything in between.

"Wesley gives me...comfort." Spike leaned his head into the caress,
eyes fluttering closed for the barest moment. Xander smiled, something
sad and tiny, then pulled away. He walked away, flopping down on the
bed next to his bag, leaving Spike glued to his spot on the carpet.

"Why did you come here Xander?" Spike used the same voice to comfort a
brain-sucked Tara once upon a time. Just one more tug on Xander's
heart.

"I had to see you for myself. See if you were whole, happy. All that
stupid 'only Xander' kind of stuff. Does he?"

Spike crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed next to Xander.
"I'm whole. Does he what?" he toyed with the edge of his duster,
watching Xander's hands toy with the hem of his shirt.

"Does he make you happy?" Xander imagined he could see his heart and
soul pouring out with the simple question.

"I don't understand what that has to do with anything." A curl of
frustration wrapped itself around Spike's stomach; he didn't know why
Xander was here, after all this time. Or what he wanted. Or what
happened to the young man that couldn't keep his mouth shut to save
his life. The man sitting next to him was quiet, tired, all the shine
and sparkle that made him so unique in the first place was just gone.

"Is it so hard to believe that there is somebody in this world who
loves you enough to want you to be happy? Just...happy?"

Spike's entire view of the world narrowed down to one little, tiny,
word. Loves. Xander loves him. Fuck.

"You love me?" just for clarification.

"No, not love...in love...I'm in love with you Spike." And it's
clarified all right.

"Since when?"

"Does it really matter?"

"I'm not in love with you back."

"And that makes you different from my every other relationship how?"
Xander lay back on the bed, covering his eyes with one long arm.

"So now what?" Spike turned enough to keep Xander in his line of
sight, eyes locked on the tense and play of his stomach muscles.

"Now I leave." He didn't know where he was going, but staying here
wasn't even close to an option.

"You came all this way to drop that on me, and now you're gonna turn
around and leave?"

Xander moved his arm enough to look at Spike, then gave him another
sad, tiny smile.

"No, I came all this way to see you with my own eyes. To see...to see
if you were ok. Seems to me that you are, now I can go." He sat up,
looked tiredly around the room. Maybe he would go to some remote
village, wear a banana leaf skirt all day and eat boar roasted over an
open fire. Or find a cave high in the mountains, become one with the
Sherpa's.

"Do you need anything?" Spike's voice knocked Xander out of his
musings. He looked at Spike for a long moment, then shook his head no.
The sad smile vanished, and his eyes go dull and flat with anguish.

"Oddly enough, I have too much respect for Wesley to ask for that."
Xander got up from the bed, leaving Spike to process that statement.
He walked into the bathroom, turning on the cold water and splashing
his face. The soft touch on his shoulder doesn't really surprise him.

"What do you need, pet?" Spike's voice hovered just behind his ear,
soft puffs of breath making the hairs on the back of his neck ruffle.

"Stay. Give me one more night?" And that's all it takes. Spike wraps
his arms around Xander, pressing the full length of his body against
Xander's back. Soft lips and blunt teeth begin nibbling and stroking
the soft flesh on the nape of his neck. Spike slowly walks them
backwards, shifting so they fall side by side on the bed.

Xander realizes a few things, through the heat and desire. Spike has
shed his duster and toed off his boots already. He knew what Xander
was going to ask before he asked. This was his chance to do all the
things he didn't do the last time they were together. Touch and taste
and feel. To say all the things he would never get the chance to say
again. And to remember every murmured word and flickering caress.

His fingers pluck at Spike's shirt, desperate for flesh on flesh
contact. Spike seems to understand, and quickly tugs the t-shirt over
his head. Xander fumbles with the buttons on his, until Spike brushes
his hands away, and slips the buttons free. He presses his lips
against the exposed skin, poking his tongue out to dance over crisp
hair and hard nipples. Xander arches up into the contact.

He's drowning in the sensations, brain leaving for that place between
heartbeats and the world narrows down to the next kiss, the next
touch. What starts as an indistinct rumble becomes Spike's voice.
Words tumbling out to stroke Xander's soul as much as his fingers
stroke skin.

"Couldn't forget the taste of you, couldn't get it out of my head, my
mouth. How you felt under me, over me, around me. Couldn't forget how
it felt to sink my cock inside of you, feel your ass clenching and
milking me dry." On and on went the words, the caresses. Xander gave
up everything to the sensations. Hands and mouth and tongue and teeth.
He felt his cock slide deep into Spike's mouth, felt the flutter from
the back of his throat. Xander let his thighs spread, the muscles of
his hips and ass wrenching softly in protest. Spike's fingers dance
across his sac, lightly trace the crease of his thighs, and then probe
the tiny pucker between his ass cheeks.

Spike kisses and licks his way back up Xander's body, trying to taste
every inch he can reach. His fingers are slick, and they slide
effortlessly into Xander's body. Seeking out and stroking the bundle
of nerves hidden deep inside his warmth. It was exquisite, and tender,
and passionate. It wasn't enough.

Xander <i>felt</i> Spike's flesh give way when he clutched and dug at
his shoulders. Heard the sudden intake of breath and watched as his
pupils dilated and flashed burnished gold.

"More, Spike. I need more." The desperation came out as hoarse gasps
and rough words. Spike knew though, he always knew exactly what Xander
needed.

The kiss started brutal, lips puffing and swelling from the pressure,
tiny droplets of blood welling up where Spike's teeth dug and chewed
on Xander's tongue. Teeth clicking and clacking and
<i>breathcriesgasps</i> swallowed before they escape into the air.
Strong fingers pressing deep into willing flesh, Xander felt the
bruises forming. Spike's teeth are scraping down the side of his
throat, they draw blood when Xander wraps his hand around both their
cocks and jacks hard. His hand is pushed away, and Spike rears back,
twisting the hand still buried inside of Xander.

"Mine." And Xander is. Spike pulls his hand away, then digs his
fingers into the cradle of Xander's hips, flipping him onto his belly
in one smooth motion. Xander arcs his back, pushing his hips off the
bed. Spike pulls him up onto his knees, stuffing pillows under his
chest and against his thighs. Xander gives himself over, letting Spike
tug and manhandle him into whatever position he wants.

One hand on Xander's hip, the other on his shoulder, Spike holds him
in place. Fingers clutching bruising owning. Xander screams when Spike
buries himself balls deep. One, two, three hard strokes, and Xander is
climaxing against the pillows. Spike drags his hand down the valley of
Xander's spine, leaving four long welts on his flesh. Sinks his teeth
in the curve of Xander's neck, orgasms when Xander lets loose a primal
howl.

Xander slipped out of the hotel room before the sky turned from false
dawn to fire red sunrise. Spike had mumbled a bit, clutching blindly
at the bed until Xander shoved a pillow under his arm, and mumbled
back about 'human' and 'bathroom'. He still didn't know where he was
going, but gave serious consideration to sending a postcard when he
got there.