AUTHOR'S NOTE: So here we have another chapter, complete with smut. Aren't you glad? There are only 3 more chapters to go.
Last time in "Through the Looking Glass": Spike and Xander talked about vampires, they hung out with Frank and Luba, and Xander realized he had a big ol' honking crush on Spike. Big surprise, eh?
-o-o-o-
They liked to go to O'Malley's on the corner to play pool. The pool table was in a quiet back room where there wasn't much traffic because there weren't any tables, so they didn't have to worry about people getting in the way to mess up their shots. It was a nice change from places like The Bronze.
Out of old habit, Xander had ordered spicy chicken wings, and Spike looked very impressed after taking a bite. "We'll have to get more of these," he mumbled around a mouthful.
Xander grinned. "Yeah, well, you always did like them."
Spike raised an eyebrow. "Vampires eat normal food, then?" Somewhere along the way, he'd relaxed about the vampire thing, primarily on the evidence in the cemetery, though he still often expressed his suspicion of Xander's assertion that Spike had been a vampire himself. He'd at least stopped the annoyingly insistent use of "supposedly" in every sentence on the topic.
Xander glanced around to see if anyone was listening - Spike wasn't exactly being discreet - but no one was paying them any attention. "Most vamps don't, as far as I know, but you always did. You mooched from me all the time when you lived in my basem... apartment."
Spike was nodding thoughtfully. "Can vampires live that way? On food?"
Xander shook his head. "Nope. They still need to ... uh..."
"Kill people."
"Drink blood."
"So before this whole thing started, I went around killing people." Spike didn't usually get this direct and personal about the issue, so Xander was surprised. True to form, he couldn't help but start babbling.
"Well, you got this government chip in your head, so you couldn't hurt people anymore. And then you got your soul back. Of course, when you got your soul back, you went kind of crazy - guilt, I guess - and The First Evil brainwashed you. Got you to kill even more people."
Spike didn't even seem to have heard the confusing first part of what Xander said, he was so fixated on the killing. "Even more people," he repeated doggedly.
"Well, yeah, but you didn't mean to do it."
"How many people you figure I meant to kill, all told?"
Xander flinched. Talking with this Spike about murder just seemed wrong. "You mean..."
Spike's face was grimly determined. "How many innocent people do you think I killed? Total. Come on ... I really want to know."
"Hell, Spike! How am I supposed to know?"
Spike just waited.
Xander sighed. "Well, you were a vamp for at least 100 years before we met you, so ... I don't know ... lots?"
"I'm thinking thousands."
The silence was uncomfortable.
"Quite a prolific serial killer, don't you think?"
Xander didn't reply, having no idea what Spike wanted him to say.
Spike continued doggedly, "So that sent me 'round the twist, first time around, eh?"
Again, only awkward silence.
Gesturing, his face tense, his eyes dark, Spike demanded, "Why would I want to remember all that again? Maybe that's why my memory's gone, so I don't have all those horrors in my head. Maybe I don't want to remember."
Xander frowned. "So you're saying you don't..."
Spike slumped, defeated, looking away. "I don't know. I want to remember what happened to me ... who I am ... but if what you've told me is true, it doesn't sound like I'm anyone I'd want to remember."
-o-o-o-
They were just leaving the pub when Spike unexpectedly pulled him into the alley that ran alongside the building. It was narrow and dark and smelled rather pungently of the contents of two large garbage dumpsters. The fog was dense and wet around them.
But a moment later, Xander was pushed up against the wall and Spike was kissing him with a desperation that spoke of strong emotion redirected. Xander couldn't help but think this was really about the conversation they'd had in the bar, and so he reluctantly pulled away to look Spike in the face.
He looked frustrated. And really really hot, despite the lingering scent of wet garbage.
"Spike, I think this might be just because we were talking about..."
Spike silenced him with another long, deep kiss, complete with a bit of grinding him against the wall, their hips working against each other in slow thrusts and circles. Xander couldn't help grinding right back ... and he forgot all about the garbage.
But he pulled away again, worried. Not wanting to take advantage. Not wanting to do something that would have Spike storming out of the apartment again tomorrow, not coming back until who knows when.
"Spike, we should probably talk..."
"I don't want to talk, Xander." And then Spike's hand was cupping him through his jeans and Xander lost all interest in pulling away or having heart-to-heart talks. His eyes closed and he breathed out a husky sigh of pleasure as Spike's hand moved, stroking him through thick denim. And then nimble fingers were at the snap, at the zipper, and then a hand was sliding inside for a more intimate caress.
Xander opened his eyes at that, looking at Spike again. His face was intent, his eyes watching Xander as if soaking in every expression, every movement, every trembling response. Xander looked him in the eyes and slipped his hands inside Spike's coat, stroking his hands slowly down Spike's chest through the soft cotton of his t-shirt. He could feel the hard peaks of Spike's nipples, and so he pinched them lightly, and then - at Spike's encouraging noises - harder. Spike bucked against him, pressing him tighter against the brick wall, his hand pressed between them, his fingers tightening around Xander's cock, causing Xander to groan.
A moment later, Spike's jeans were open as well and they had pushed each other's underwear out of the way sufficiently to get skin on skin. Xander didn't care that they were in an alleyway or that Spike might be emotionally vulnerable because of their earlier conversation. All rational thought had been swept away on a tide of long-denied lust. Too many movie marathons with knees bumping, too many glimpses of Spike dishevelled and shirtless in the morning, too many nights watching Spike bend over that damn pool table ... he couldn't fight it now.
He stroked Spike's cock with a tight grip, feeling the foreskin move over the thick hardness, reminding him of how Spike had looked doing the same thing in the peepshow booth. The thought should have made him ashamed, but it only increased his excitement, feeding his current arousal with memories of that unforgettable night. Just touching Spike was almost enough to make him come, especially with the images playing in his mind, the memories of all the nasty things Spike had said and done. Xander stroked faster.
Spike was breathing heavily now, and his hand on Xander's cock was tight and quick, almost painful but not quite. It seemed that he, too, was looking for quick release, for whatever reason. He leaned in for a hard, thrusting kiss, his lips almost biting in their intensity. Xander gave as good as he got, and the kiss grew increasingly heated as their hands continued to move between them. Xander's free hand snuck up to clutch the back of Spike's head as if to keep him from escaping, as if to pull him impossibly closer than they were already pressed together. Spike's hair was damp from the fog, and at the touch he moaned into Xander's mouth and his hand sped up even more.
It was all Xander could take, and he found himself pressed flat against the wall, his head flying back to connect with the bricks in a way that would probably hurt later, but right now all he could feel was the orgasm tearing through his body as Spike's hand continued to stroke him.
As he slowly recovered, he realized that his own hand had stopped moving, but that Spike's cock was still hard in his grasp. Determined to return the favor, he resumed his stroking, whispering hoarsely, "I want to make you come just like that. So hard you can't see straight."
Spike moaned, "Yeah. Make me come. Like that. Faster."
And so Xander sped up his strokes, feeling Spike's body begin to tremble slightly, hearing his breathing become increasingly uneven. He leaned in for another prolonged kiss, never stopping the movement of his hand, and Spike stiffened. His cock began throbbing heavily in Xander's hand, and then he came, pulling away from their kiss in order to groan loudly. When his orgasm had finished, he slumped forward, his forehead coming to rest against Xander's shoulder. The moment of weakness was brief, though, and soon he was upright again, and they were pulling their hands out of each other's pants, tucking their cocks away, and looking for something to wipe their hands on. They both ended up having to settle for their shirts.
Spike was having trouble meeting Xander's eyes, which suddenly made Xander even more certain that this had been a bad idea, and that Spike was most likely regretting the whole thing and planning to leave the apartment for days - if not weeks - on end.
But then Spike stepped forward, keeping his hands at his sides, and kissed Xander slowly. When he pulled away, Xander smiled at him, relieved, and stepped forward himself to slide his hands back inside Spike's coat to enjoy his warmth and the feel of his muscles beneath soft cloth. He initiated a langorous post-orgasmic kiss that sent subtle shivers all through his body.
When he pulled away this time, Spike was smiling, too.
"All right, then," he said smugly.
And then they walked home.
-o-o-o-
They were lying on the lush grass at the park after weeks of the unrelenting drizzling fog, lying out in a brief afternoon of sunshine, when Xander finally asked something that had been nagging at him. They weren't talking, just lying there gazing up at a brilliant summer-like sky, so the question sort of came, literally, out of the blue.
"Why do you work there?"
Spike turned to look at him, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, his hair almost white in the sunlight. "What ... the library?" he asked innocently.
Xander could feel his face burning as he grumbled, "No. The other one."
"My, aren't we coy? 'The other one,' eh? Well, I've gotta earn money somehow, put Cheet-ohs on the table and whatnot."
"But why that?"
Spike shrugged. "Not a lot of jobs'll hire blokes without the proper paperwork, all official-like. Best I've got's a fake I.D., and that won't get you far."
"So ... wait ... oh ... you don't have a social security number or anything, do you?"
Spike touched his nose and pointed at Xander. "Got it in one."
"That's why you work there?"
Spike puffed up his chest a bit. "That and I'm good at the work."
Xander looked away, hoping to hide a guilty expression that might betray his knowledge of how very true that statement was.
Xander took a deep breath and let it out. It was time to do something he'd been dreading. He looked at Spike again.
"What if I knew somebody who could help out with the paperwork thing?"
Spike looked at him, then lowered the sunglasses to peer over the rim. "You offering to make up some unlawful identification materials, good little Xander?"
Xander frowned. "Well, it's just ... I know somebody..."
Spike grinned and shrugged. "I'm in." Then he settled his sunglasses back on the bridge of his nose and lay back on the grass again, gazing up at the sunny blue sky.
To be continued ...
