I told kimberly_a I'd write her something hurt/comfort, angsty, with a happy ending.
Um. I'll have to try that again, because this isn't exactly that.
Post Hell's Bells
smut & angst
It isn't as rough as Xander thought it would be. Spike is (almost) tender with him, preparing him, letting his teeth and tongue run down the small of Xander's back, where Xander's already sweating. There's no words, no kissing -- just harsh breathing and an occasional groan that builds up in Xander's chest, where he tries to hold it prisoner until it escapes and echoes in the crypt. His cock feels like it's on fire, he's so hot and hard, but he tries to ignore it.
He doesn't know why he's come. Whether he's doing this to punish himself or because it's something he wants. The self-loathing and the lust seem to go hand in hand, though, both building and pushing one another until he's caught up in a tornado of hate and need, and Spike's the only one who seems to understand.
Xander's thought about this before. Imagined, fantasized, even while pushing it all down deep inside where he didn't have to deal with it. But in those (harmless? natural?) thoughts, Spike had always been talking, pushing him, goading him, reducing him to nothing but a pitiful, begging boy who'd do anything Spike told him to do.
But it isn't like that at all. Spike isn't speaking. Xander isn't begging. They haven't said a word since Xander showed up in his dirty, half-unbuttoned tuxedo shirt and pants, barefoot and alone. All he said to Spike was, "Can I come in?" and then there was this.
This, this moment, where suddenly Xander realizes that Spike's pulled his fingers away and now there was something larger and blunt pushing its way inside him, hurting him just a little (not enough), burning him, filling him slowly, then backing up and pushing in again.
Xander cries out, and he doesn't know if it's because of pain or hate or pleasure, because it's all the same now. It's just need and more need. And Spike is running a hand down his thigh, then up and over his back to clasp his shoulder, like any guy friend would do to show a little comfort. Is it comfort? Xander doesn't have time to think about it, because Spike's harsh breaths are joining his own, and he's deeper now, and harder and fuller and bigger and more. More than Xander's ever felt in his life, enough to make tears join the sweat on his face, and still he doesn't know if it's pain or hate or something else.
He comes, and it's so intense it hurts. Or maybe it just hurts because it's over. Spike is done, too. Xander can feel the cock slip out of him and the warm stickiness trickling between his thighs as he collapses to the bed. Spike is standing, Xander can almost feel him there, and Xander turns his head so there's no chance of making eye contact.
But then -- then when it's over and done with and Xander is still shuddering a little -- Spike is there, right in front of him. Xander feels the cool breath on his face a split second before he feels soft, gentle lips on his. Xander doesn't realize it was a kiss until it's over, it was so quick, and when he opens his eyes Spike isn't anywhere to be seen.
And then comes the clear (horrible) thought that this is it, this is all there will ever be. Because Spike loves Buffy and Xander loves Anya, and this is just a passing moment, an aberration, and as soon as Xander finishes cleaning himself up he'll go on home to the empty apartment and drink beer -- until his eyes are too blurry to see he's alone and his mind is too numb to process the fact that Anya is gone and it's all his fault.
Author's Note: I haven't written anything in a while, and this is not beta read, and I know I'm rusty so PLEASE be gentle. And I appreciate comments
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