Author’s Note: Sorry about the long wait.
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PART 28 – Long Distance
(Spiiike, please... I need it... oh...
my... don't stop...)
The memories were clinging to him: That chocolaty taste, burning skin,
fingers gripping Spike’s shaft, pumping and stroking, hot lips surrounding his
cock, a tongue circling the sensitive tip. Memories of Xander. Of that
masculine smell: sawdust and sap so ingrained in sunburnt skin that it didn’t
completely come off any more, and just a bit of Anya, that was so much part of
Xander’s complex scent, that it would seem all wrong if it were absent.
But most of all…memories of breathless words uttered without thought.
(Spike... I want... you... Need you!)
Memories that sent a tingle through him.
No matter how hard he tried – or how much he drank – his thoughts
constantly gravitated to Xander and, to a lesser degree, Anya. When they had
gone off to work on Monday morning, he had crawled between their sheets,
letting their smells envelope him, slightly embarrassed at the pleasure it had
given him to just sense them and entertaining the hope that Xander’s suggestion
for a threesome might actually, unbelievably happen.
Pathetic.
Needy.
Stupid.
*No more!*
He dropped his half-smoked cigarette to the floor and crushed it with
his boot, then dialed the number from memory.
The phone was answered at the first ring. “Hello?” Xander’s voice could
be heard.
*That was quick.* Spike was leaning
against a wall in one of the quieter corners of the bar. There was an air of
menace emanating from him. A ‘don’t mess with me or I’ll rip your fucking head
off’ vibe. The cel phone he was using was stolen, and the Jack Daniels he was
drinking was paid out of a stolen wallet, not because he was broke – he wasn’t
- but out of principle. He took a swallow from the bottle, unwilling to talk.
“Spike?” Xander asked, sounding agitated. “Spike, is that you? Answer
me!”
“The one and only,” he said, trying to sound casual. But hearing
Xander’s voice had a strange effect on him. He felt like something was choking
him. He drank some more whiskey to wash it down, whatever it was. “What do you
want, Harris? Make it quick,” he asked.
“Um... so, Angel reached you, huh?”
Spike cradled the phone between shoulder and chin, and searched his
duster pockets for his cigarettes. “Was in this pub when this geezer comes up
to me and shoves one of Angel's business cards in my face, asking me to call
that number. So, yes, the Broodin’ Avenger told me to call you.” He lit his
smoke and inhaled deeply, realizing that he was prattling, prolonging the call
unnecessarily. *Get to the point. Find
out if everybody’s alright. Then tell him to fuck off. *
“Anything happen to Buffy or Dawn?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to
ask about any of the others. Or about Xander himself. He’d sound like he cared.
Which he did. But that was totally besides the point. It wasn’t like they cared
if he liked them or not. In fact, it still made them uncomfortable when they
couldn’t attribute everything he did to his well-known Buffy obsession. Hell,
it made HIM uncomfortable.
(We are not your friends.)
“No, they’re… everyone’s okay.”
“Well, what's so important, then? Another plot to bring about the end of
the world?”
“Um, no end of the world… , at least none that I’ve heard of, but I’m
sure there are several in the making, even now.”
*No casualties. No catastrophes. What’s he
want, then?* Another sip from the bottle. “Just as well. You’ll have to get used to
averting ’em without me.”
“What?”
“I said, …”
“I heard what you said. Does that mean… that you’re not coming back?”
Spike frowned. He hated talking over the phone. You couldn’t read the
other person’s face or his scent. He thought Xander sounded weird. Like he
cared. But he couldn’t be sure. It might just be the connection that gave the
kid’s voice a higher pitch than usual. Besides, what did it matter what Harris
– or the others - said or thought or did or wanted?
Except it did. It mattered. It mattered a lot.
Which was why Spike had left Sunnydale in the first place.
(Spike, you are a monster.)
(Spike, you’re disgusting.)
(I never want your opinion, Spike.)
He could still hear their voices. But they all seemed like a mere
prelude to the finishing blow.
He remembered the elation he had felt, talking to Anya on the phone. She
had invited him to her birthday party. Officially! Cordially, even. Like she
meant it. They had had a little chat, too, about totally inconsequential
things. Private stuff. Nothing to do with Armageddons.
(Hey mooch, what are you still doing
here? Does your crypt have termites, or something, or did you just forget how
to get back to that smelly, dusty, grave-type place you call home?)
It wasn’t the words. It was their delivery. The practiced ease of the
insult. Ingrained habit bypassing everything that had happened during the
weekend and firmly putting him back into the little box where he belonged. The
box with the label: “Evil love-sick vampire, temporarily defanged, do not
touch!”
He shook his head and took another swig from the bottle.
He had no future in Sunnydale.
“Spike!”
*What was the last question again? Oh yes,
am I going back?*
“You can all rejoice, Harris,” he said, with as much venom as he could
muster. “I won’t be botherin’ you anymore.” *No
more mooching. Or smooching, for that matter.* Again he felt like something
was choking him. He decided it was hurt pride, which was alright. Hurt pride
was something he’d learned to live with. *As
long as that’s all they can hurt…*
He was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to destroy something. He looked
at his whiskey in disgust and hurled the almost empty bottle at a wall, where
it literally exploded into tiny silvery shards. The sound attracted curious and
disapproving glances from other patrons, but nobody dared to comment.
“Spike? Are you alright?” Xander’s concerned voice came from the other
end.
Even now Spike found himself wanting the human. Hearing him, thinking of
him made him hard. A week of whoring and drinking hadn’t changed any of that.
“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”
“I thought I heard something
breaking…”
“Then you heard wrong. Listen, got to go. Say 'Happy birthday' to demon
girl for me, will ya? Or was there anything else you wanted from me?”
“I don’t get it. What do you mean, you won’t be bothering us? Don’t tell
me you went all the way to L.A. because… because of what I said?” Xander asked
hesitantly. “Cause if that’s it, then I’m sorry. I mean… I had a bad day and
then, you know… I know I shouldn’t have said what I said, but come on, hey,
we’ve called each other names before…”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Harris,” Spike scoffed. “The two sacks on your balcony? Those Collector
Demons had quite a few interesting knickknacks. Came here to hock ‘em. And now
that I have some dough, I don’t need any more hand-outs from you or the
Scoobies. So, why don’t you just fuck off!”
“Spike, stop being such an asshole! I’m trying to apologize here!”
Xander exploded.
“Oh yeah?” Spike was taken aback.
“Question: What is the difference between a faggot and a refrigerator?
Answer: The refrigerator doesn't fart when you pull the meat out.”
“That’s your apology? Very funny, Harris. You’re even weirder than I
thought,” Spike retorted. But curiosity was beginning to replace his anger.
“It’s not an apology, it’s what I had to listen to at work all day
Monday, hell, for weeks! Except on Monday it finally got to me. It made me feel
all bad about, you know, about what happened, about us, when it shouldn't
have.”
*’Us.’ He said ‘us’.*
“Spike? You still there? Spike? Spike!”
“Still here.” A tray with drinks was carried past him. He grabbed a
beer, threw a few dollars on the tray and took a sip.
“I mean, seriously Spike, you can’t turn my world upside down like this
and NOT expect me to freak. Hell, I’m STILL freaking out over the fact that I…
um…gave you a …you know…”
“You sucked my cock, Xander,” Spike interrupted him bluntly. *And it was bloody marvelous!*
A young couple was walking past him just then. They stared at him and
the girl blushed.
“If you can do it you should be able to say it,” Spike continued. He
gave them a cocky salute, before lifting the bottle to his lips. The young man
swallowed visibly before shepherding his girlfriend away.
“Okay, so I’m freaking out over the fact that… um… I sucked your …um …
cock. And over the fact that I want to do it again. For Christ’s sake man,”
Xander suddenly burst out, “I jerk off at night thinking about your cock up my
ass.”
Spike coughed and swallowed frantically.
“What was that? Are you alright, Spike?”
“Just choked on my beer, is all. Caught me by surprise, you did.”
“You think YOU'RE surprised? What do you think I am? Until a week ago I
considered myself - and you - to be as straight as they come. And now? Now I
can’t stop thinking about you. Just talking to you gives me…um… a hard-on.”
*Er, same here…*
Spike found himself wishing he could see the other man, smell him, touch
him. He pulled his duster around himself, hiding the prominent bulge in his
pants from the general public.
“Well, I've got news for you, Xander. I'm not your pet vampire, to pet
and fuck when you feel it’s convenient and to push away when you’re through.”
“I know that.” Xander said quietly. “But why do you think I asked you,
of all people, to be um... part of Anya's birthday present?”
“Cause you like my ass?” Spike suggested.
“Nuh. I mean, I do. Now. But then I didn’t. Or if I did, I didn’t know about
it. Um… but when I asked you, I thought you’d jump at the opportunity to have
sex with Anya. How could I know you were going to get me all confused and
stuff. I was, like, heading for Threesomeville and, without warning, found
myself re-routed to Gay City. Or rather Bi County. That was pretty disturbing.
Scary, actually…” he continued nervously. “And I’m beginning to sound all
Willow-y. So, say something before I embarrass myself any further.”
“So, why DID you ask me?” Spike asked.
“I asked YOU because out of all the guys on this planet you’re the
closest I’ve got to a friend.”
“Oh right,” Spike scoffed. “Must’ve missed
the memo.”
“Okay, so I never told you. It took me a while to figure it out. But
think about it. We fight side-by-side, play pool for money even though I know
you always win, but that way you don’t have to steal my money to pay for
drinks, and you’re always honest, in a painfully sarcastic but uncannily
perceptive way. Mind-blowing sex aside, that makes us pals, right? I mean, I’ve
seen buddy movies work with less.”
“Pals?” Spike said, dubiously. “You mean, when no one’s looking…”
“Sorry, Spike, the being-friends-thing is kinda official. I told Buffy
and the others. I wanted to make her go look for you. That’s how I found out
that you were in L.A.”
“Oh.” Spike nodded. “Right.” He smiled. He dug out his keys and briskly
headed for the exit.
“Yup. Doesn’t mean you’re not a pain in the ass. Sometimes.”
“Yeah well, that comes with the territory,” Spike said smugly, as he
stepped outside.
“So, Spike,” Xander said. “Now that you know…everything, what are you
going to do?”
“Er, get into the deSoto and break every speed limit?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“There’s just one thing I need to take care of first,” Spike said, his voice
smooth. Fortunately, the car was parked just round the corner.
“And that is?” Xander asked.
Spike opened the door and slid behind the wheel. “I’m going to open my
pants before my hard-on kills me.”