Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Xander/Spike, guilty
Xander refused to meet Spike’s gaze. Those eyes, that gorgeous face, it would make him melt and then there’d be no going back.
“I’m telling you, it’s over.”
“Didn’t look like it was over to me,” Xander said, pulling clothes from the suitcase and stuffing them roughly into a dresser drawer. There was no semblance of order to the unpacking, and the clothes were getting twice as wrinkled this way, but at least it was keeping him from bashing his knuckles against the wall.
Spike sat down on the queen-sized bed, which was the only other piece of furniture crammed into the small room of the Scottish castle. He watched Xander for a moment, then began, “Pet—”
“Don’t call me that,” Xander growled, angrily flinging a stray pair of socks into a drawer that didn’t even contain socks. He looked up then, banking on the fact that his anger was so great, he could risk his emotions. “You can’t kiss her and then call me that.” He slammed the suitcase shut, which unfortunately made no noise apart from jingling zipper pulls.
There was silence then. The vampire couldn’t think of a thing to say.
Xander continued to unpack. He’d wanted to join up with Buffy and the others again. Africa has been a nightmare and he missed the part of saving the world that involved working with friends, with people he could trust implicitly, with people he would lay down his life in a second to protect. Maybe that was why he’d gravitated towards Spike when they’d run into each other in the field. Maybe that was why it felt so right when Spike took him to bed the first time. Maybe that was why the term ‘boyfriend’ didn’t seem as silly to him as it once had.
“You weren’t meant to see that kiss.”
“No kidding.”
“It was a farewell kiss.”
“Think I care?’
More silence filled by huffy unpacking. Xander was only one away from running out of suitcases.
“Xander?”
“What?” Xander replied angrily.
“Fuck me.”
Xander blinked. “What?”
“Think you heard me the first time.”
Xander blinked again. “But you always—”
“As I see it, you’ve got two options. You can hit me and kick me out and lose whatever we had over some bloody misunderstanding. Or you can fuck me and show me who’s really in charge here. Either way, make a decision soon, ‘cause I can’t stand this guilt trip.”
Xander still wasn’t sure he believed Spike about the kiss. But he wasn’t willing to punch him and give up their relationship just because of it. The fact that Spike felt guilty at all was more than enough for Xander. The old Spike wouldn’t even have recognized the emotion of guilt, let alone claimed to feel it.
“Fine.” Xander threw down a pair of underwear—he wasn’t sure whose—and tackled Spike. He ripped off their clothes, tossing them aside towards the clean clothes. Spike lay, sprawled and limp, as Xander touched him everywhere. The sex was urgent and rough at first. Xander chewed at Spike’s nipples and clawed his fingernails into the pale skin. But sometime between the point where he rubbed against Spike’s thigh and where he ran his tongue the length of Spike’s cock, Xander seemed to forget a bit of his anger. By the time he had rolled Snape over and had slid inside, his rhythm was smooth.
Spike was silent, Xander was panting, but they both yelled as they came, forgetting at first that they were in a castle, surrounded by slayers and friends who would hear. But then it occurred to Xander that Buffy would hear, too. And he thrust in deeper, hitting that spot that made Spike jerk forward and yell with pleasure.
Xander couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about that part, as he lay back on the bed, collecting himself afterwards. Seeing them together probably hadn’t been easy for Buffy, either. But Spike was in his bed, in his arms. Spike was his now. And he was Spike’s.