Rule Number One
When he could move again, when he could think again, when the senselessness caught up with him, what he felt was the cold chill spilling through his veins.
It was like a sickness. He felt ill, he felt fevered, he felt like he was teetering on the point of death, and oh what a feeling that was.
//Just a few more steps, Xander.//
They mocked him.
//Try not to trip.//
He was suffocating in his own pathetic desperation. His whole being was caught up with keeping him right were he was, or maybe a little further up, if he could pull himself that far.
Well, most of him was, anyway.
There was a small part, however, that had another agenda in mind. The part that was writhing in ecstasy to be standing on the edge of No Return and preparing to topple over the edge.
It was intoxicating, really, to be co close. If he slipped just that tantilising bit further...
Well.
Well, then, up wouldn´t be an option anymore. And down? Down would be that much sweeter.
And the thing about down is: There is always more.
Rule Number Two: No one is going to save you.
There was a shrill ringing noise clattering inside Xander´s skull. It took him a long, painful moment to realise that it was not the bell tolling for his soul, but the phone.
He stumbled to his feet, his muscles stiff and sore, and only just avoided tripping over his own feet on the way to the couch and the phone. His head spun with dissiness and his vision swam.
Apparently, he mused to himself, fucking a vampire into the carpet of your living room didn´t qualify as a cure for inebriation. Funny that. He´d have to cross that one off his list of remedies.
//Oh, how droll, Xander. How very, very droll.//
He sank into the couch, laid his neck along the back of it, as if across the girth of a guillotine. He picked up on the fourth ring and cradled the reciever close to his ear.
There was a long silence.
Then, "Xander?"
"Willow," Xander sighed into the phone.
"Oh good you´re there," she went on cheerily. "I called earlier but there was no answer."
"Earlier, I was..." Xander trailed off. Earlier, indeed? What were you doing earlier, Xander? Drowning yourself up to your eyeballs in Jacky Dee? Begging to be fucked? On your knees with a dead man´s cock shoved down your throat?
Violence, despair and degradation? The options are all so succulent.
"...busy."
"Figured," Willow bubbled happily.
A quote rose unbidden in his mind:
´She walked on the sunny side of care.´
"I was just calling to check up on ya," she went on. "And to see if you´d still be getting with the busy later tonight, because if you´re not..."
´But I was burdened and could never meet her there.´
"...we could really use you."
Use. Oh, what an appropriate word, eh Xander?
"Willow," Xander began again. For one stupid instant, he wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to gather up all the filthy pieces of himself and dump them in her pristine white hands. He wanted to say ´help me´. He wanted to say ´put me back together´ and ´please´.
All the kings horses and all the kings men.
How did that quote end again?
´And so I walked alone.´
She wasn´t going to save him.
She was wearing her shining white, unmarred armour and filth like him just bounced right off, without even leaving a dent.
"I´ll be there at eight."
Rule Number Three: Take what you can.
His skin was cool, not frozen ice–cold like Xander´s insides, but slightly cool.
Refreshing.
His skin was cool and he had fallen asleep where Xander had left him: Fucked senseless and sprawled haphazardly across the living room carpet. His bleached blond hair was badly ruffled. His lips were puffed and swollen and his perfect marble skin was marred with deep red scratch marks that were already had begun to fade.
He barely shifted the first time Xander touched him.
He looked like a stain, Xander thought, as he gazed hungrily at him. He looked as though he had been spilled onto the carpet. If Xander peered at him the right way, it even looked as though he was going to spread.
He looked as though he was going to leave a mark.
The second time Xander stroked a finger down his cheekbone, he gasped.
It was a breathy sound, all too human. It was a sound that shouldn´t belond to one like him. It was movement, it was change, it was alive – all things he had no right to.
When Xander grasped his face firmly in his hands, his eyes shot open.
The baby blues darted up to meet dark eyes. His pink–flushed lips moved as if to form a word for a moment, but the moment past and no sound was made.
"Don´t speak, Spike," Xander ordered him. Spike immediately opened his mouth to be contrary, but something in those dark eyes warned him against it. His mouth flopped open, his jaw loose.
Xander drew in a hissing breath. He swung around and in an instant he was straddling Spike´s shoulders. His broad hands clutched the back of the vampire´s head, the bleach blond hair wadding between his fingers. He drew that soft, wet, cool mouth up to meet his freed cock. The head of his cock hovered on those lips.
"Suck me," he ordered Spike, a dreadful parody of the vampire´s early words. "Suck my cock."
Spike opened his mouth further to protest, but Xander shoved his cock down his throat before he could speak. Spike wrapped his lips around it instinctively. Blue eyes turned to ice as they met dark, and Spike began to suck.
Xander gasped, his head tilting back in ecstasy. His hands tightend in the blond hair, and his hips rose up, thrusting his cock further down Spike´s throat. It met with no resistance.
"Fuck yeah," Xander groaned through clenched teeth. He pulled back and thrust back in just as hard. Spike hadn´t even paused in his ministrations.
The angle was difficult, but the slight ache in his back, made Xander´s pleasure all the more sweeter. His thrusts became desperate, vicious. He fucked Spike´s face and Spike let him. Spike took it all, sucked up every last drop.
And if, when he came, his index finger ran down the side of Spike´s face tenderly, it was nothing. It was all apart of the sick, twisted fairytale he was acting out.
Xander stood without a word and zipped himself up, while Spike watched them. He walked over to the kitchen table for his keys.
"There´s some blood in the fridge," he told the vampire over his shoulder.
He grabbed his jacket on the way to the door.
"Have a shower before you leave," he added.
There was a blur of motion and suddenly Spike was in front of him, between him and the door.
"What about this, mate?" he demanded. He grabbed Xander´s hand and pressed it against his own hardened cock. "Pull me."
Xander smirked at the vampire. He tightend his hand around Spike´s cock. Spike groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. Xander leaned back a moment and then backhanded Spike hard across the face, sending him sprawling to the floor.
"Too late, Spike," he muttered, pulling on his jacket. He pulled open the door, pausing a moment before he left.
"Take what you can," he said. "It´s all you´re going to get."
The End
