((A/N: Another late slashthedrabble challenge, wish I could get these done on time. The challenge was 'food'. It was a pretty open challenge. This was supposed to be only 200 words, but got carried away…

Words: 500

Pairing: S/X

Warnings: Slash, sort of implied sex. A little. ))

Sometimes, Spike wonders what Xander tastes like. At first he imagines the boy would be diabetes-sweet, because of all those candy bars he eats, and because of that saccharine smile on his face. Xander would taste like sugar and sunlight, and at night he dreams of it on his tongue, an echo of things he can't have.

Then he begins to notice the cracks in the smile, a hint of something dark and bitter beneath the humor. Spike smells his misery when the familiar scents of vomit and beer waft down from upstairs, and it somehow keeps him quiet when- not often, and very late at night- the bed next to him shakes just a little with silent sobs. He wonders, on those nights, if Xander would taste of something more familiar- salty tears and the desperate tang of lovehategrief that Spike cannot remember without thinking of Angelus. He wonders if the boy would cling to him for relief if he offered himself and, maybe, if he could let himself cling back.

Spike is watching more closely now. He sees Xander jog into the night with a weapon he doesn't know how to wield against countless demons he doesn't think he can kill, and then do it again the next night, and the next. He notices the way that the boy will always take an automatic step in font of Willow when he feels a threat, even knowing that she's far more powerful than he'll ever be. He knows when Xander has been hurt more badly than he wants to let on, and when they get home, he tows the suspicious boy to the bathroom and bandages the deepest cuts. Not, of course, because he cares- no, the boy is distracting, just amusing enough that he wants to keep him around. A part of Spike he can't quite silence points out how much like an excuse this sounds, and for the rest of the night he's unusually unpleasant. Afterwards, he dreams of a Xander who tastes like earth and blood and fear, bound together by some unfamiliar taste that Spike thinks might be loyalty.

He worries that some of his speculation has begun to show in his eyes, and it frightens him. He draws away for a while, disappearing from the Magic Box and the basement he'd called home. When he does encounter Xander, he snarks and throws insults at the boy like he used to- cursing himself first for having been so transparent before, and again for feeling a slight twinge at the barely hidden hurt on Xander's face. It quickly shifts to anger, and soon they're yelling at each other and over each other about pretend hatred and betrayal and indifference, until Xander takes a step too close and Spike has no choice but to press their mouths together.

He finds out that night that Xander tastes of sweat and cum and surrender, and maybe just a little bit like love. It's better than everything Spike had imagined.