Grateful Bastard

Title: Grateful Bastard
Author: ibshafer

Genre: Buffy

Pairing: Xander and… well, I can't tell you, it'd spoil the surprise

Rating: R

Disclaimer: the usual: I bow down to Joss Whedon, the great and powerful, by whose good graces I mangle (lustily, I might add) these fine…upstanding characters…
Summary: Someone's found a way to repay Xander for a favor and Xander's going to wish they hadn't… (Or will he?)

Grateful Bastard
by ibshafer

In the half-darkness of his basement, between last weeks' yet-to-be folded laundry (Spike was supposed to do that, but, can't count on a vampire to pitch in, even when he owes you...) and a stack of moldy board games Mrs. Harris hadn't gotten around to throwing away yet, Xander lay deep in sleep. Occasionally, he would moan softly and mumble something unintelligible under his breath, clearly having some sort of...pleasant dream.

Which was a big contrast to how he'd been feeling before he'd gone to sleep.

He and the Fangless Wonder had had another knock-down, drag-out nasty tonight, which ended with Xander flipping Spike the bird, yanking open the couch and pulling the cord on the lamp, leaving Spike to stumble around in the dark until his vamp vision kicked in. It was only a second or two, but the sound of him tripping and falling over the coffee table sent Xander peacefully off to sleep.

The fight had been the usual one: Xander was too cheap to spend a few dollars more and go to the good slaughterhouse for blood; Xander dressed like a big pouf; Xander left the cap off the tooth paste; Spike was a lazy, good for nothing; Spike just sat around all day watching the tube; Spike hogged the remote; Spike was an ungrateful bastard... William the Bloodless seemed to take the most offense at this last.

"Me mum and dad were married, ye stupid git! Do some research before you make an accusation like that!"

So, a soul-less demon retained some loyalty to his parents? Or was it just that he still possessed enough of his pre-vamp human pride to be bugged by being called a bastard? Whatever the reason, Xander made a mental note to use that one again sometime. The twitch over the Bleached One's right eye was priceless!

He was starting to think it was time to talk to Giles again about taking the supernatural freeloader back. Xander had done his time. And Giles didn't have to explain to his mother why a pasty-faced, punk-haired British weirdo was living in their basement. He'd pulled off some monster lies before, but he didn't think she was buying the 'He's in a band, Ma. I met him in a chat-room' line anymore. Sooner or later, she'd realize Xander didn't even have a computer...

Nope, Spike was no prize of a roommate.

He was rude. He was selfish. He was lazy. He never wore anything but black. And what was wrong with having palm trees and hula girls printed on your shirts? It was retro. It was cool. It was... OK, maybe his wardrobe could use an update...

As a vampire, Spike was pretty pathetic. Unless you could piss someone off to death and Mr. Impotence was certainly trying...

And then there was the annoying way that he was always there.

Didn't he know Xander was a healthy 19 year-old with a very willing, very hot former-demon girlfriend? Couldn't Spike find a crypt somewhere to play around in or maybe even a canyon to fall down into? Hey, he could draw him a map!

He understood why they were helping Spike. At least he thought he did. But did he, Xander, have to be the one to personally do the helping? Did his Scooby buds know just what they were asking?

It had been weeks since he'd been able to sneak Anya into the basement to spend the night on the foldout with him. His reluctant, belligerent, dependent house guest kind of put an end to all that late night nookie... Spike's presence also ruled out, avenues, as well.

It had been too long. Too, too, toooo long. Xander didn't think that kind of skin was supposedto be that color. No, not a particularly attractive shade of blue at all...

Well, let's hear it for dreams, then, which listen to our deepest desires and, if they're in the mood, cue the appropriate flicks onto the mind's wide screen (with Dolby Surround Sound) for your amusement and your pleasure…

In the thick of it, Xander shuddered and let out the smallest of moans.

He had no idea whom. He had no idea even where. And it didn't matter, either. All he knew was in some erotic, Xander dreamscape, someone was doing something indescribably wonderful to him -- the kind of something that made your toes curl and your brain start leafing through your personal Thesaurus for new ways to say 'Oh. My. God.'


Biiiig time...

Dream Xander tried to lift his head up to see who it was that had...attached themselves to him, but he seemed to have lost control of his central nervous system for the moment.

What the fuck?

Go with it.

He pushed himself up into that...OK, that mouth, noting absently that if his CNS were truly wonky, he wouldn't be able to move his hips like this, in and out and –oh, yeah – in again, and marveled at the way whoever it was' throat seemed not to mind the intrusion at all. 'Couldn't be Anya, then,' he thought ruefully – they were still working on that. Of course, this was a dream... A tongue was wrapping around him, poking at his underside now, and Xander started to feel the tingling in his...oh, were those fingers pulling on him there? He just bet they weren't blue anymore. (Or they wouldn't be for much longer…) Mouth And Fingers picked up its pace, trying, it seemed, to swallow him whole while performing some sort of deep, regionally located massage at the same time.

Xander spared a moment to wonder, with fear and not a little lustful curiosity, if they could come off that way. He heard some moaning coming from far away and it did not sound like his own, but before he had a chance to follow the thought anywhere, Xander reached his joy index, pushed himself completely into Mouth and exploded. On and on and on. And just when he'd reached his end, when the bliss was starting to fade, there was a sharp pain at the base of him, a pain that did not feel like that little signal that said it was time to stop the attention. The pain came again, this time sharper and it was followed by a gasp and – and did someone just mutter, "Oh, fuck!"?

Bathed in sweat and gasping, it was a moment before he realized he was no longer asleep. Not far behind that realization was another and this one was somewhat more unsettling: something was still attached to him! From underneath the blankets, he heard a muffled moan and yes, someone was swearing!

Someone not Anya!

Frantically, Xander groped around for the lamp cord, which seemed to take forever to find, and the room erupted in light. Blinking in the anemic glow of the 40 watt, Xander saw the huge lump in his bed and knowing, somehow, the who already, but still out of breath from his amazing release, it was a moment before he worked up the nerve to draw back the blanket and have a look.

Startled by the exposure, but still hunched over Xander's now spent self – was that little red spot blood?! – Spike was holding his head in pain and cringing.

Xander almost fainted.

"S-spike!!" he managed to gasp out.

Pulling himself off Xander, Spike wiped his mouth with a free hand.

"Right, then," he said evenly, his chip-induced pain apparently starting to ease up. ''And that'd better be the end of that 'ungrateful bastard' rot... "