So, here it is, my first try at Spander fic ... don't shoot me *Hides and peeks out from cover*. Oh, and this is not my normal writing style, but my muse kinda had ADD or something cause POV kinda keep changes but I think it works out. Hope you like it :)
Warning: Contains mild language and allusions to M/M sexual activity
Disclaimer: I do not own anything except the computer I'm typing this on and am making no money. The characters all belong to their respective creators and owners who *are* making money off them. I'm just doing this for my own fun and entertainment, in general, if you recognize something, I don't own it.
Beta: NONE! Any mistakes are mine, sorry
Summary: Spike and Xander have had cravings for years, it's about time they finally accept them.
He had admitted to himself long ago that food was his friend, and the sweeter and richer and worse for you it was, the better. Then as he got older, he discovered the wonderfulness that is caffeine and thought he'd just gone to food and beverage heaven, especially when he discovered espresso brownies and mocha frappucinos, all his favorite stuff wrapped up in two handy dandy, easy-to-carry, if horribly overpriced, packages.
And, really, was it any wonder he turned to food for comfort? His parents had entered the full-on alcoholism stage by the time he was in grade school and big enough to pull a chair to the kitchen counter to make his own food. They were never physically abusive when he was younger, but neglect carries its own special type of pain. So, every chance he had, he was over at Willow or Jesse's house and, like clockwork, their mothers would take one look at him as he entered, pity flashing in their eyes, and ply him with cookies and milk, as if to clear their consciences that they had done something to help. Of course it wasn't until his teens that he realized this. As a kid, he simply knew that his friends' homes meant comfort where his own was severely lacking and sweets were a part of that comfort. Luckily, he was an active child with a good metabolism or he would have looked like a beach ball.
Then, after Buffy came and he learned that the things that go bump in the night were real and Jesse's subsequent final death… well, it was a good thing there was plenty of new stuff to learn and patrolling to do otherwise he might have eaten himself into a sugar coma. Of course, after that, there were all the late night research sessions and patrols and cleaning up after the monster of the week oozed all over them while still trying to study for school so he could at least pass because he'd be damned if he'd be a high school dropout and have to listen to the verbal abuse heaped on him by his dad get worse. And living on the Hellmouth, that damned part might actually happen. But all this led to his caffeine addiction, from the syrupy sweet, straight black coffee first thing in the morning, to the sodas all day, to the specialty coffee drinks loaded with more sugar and whip cream and chocolate sauce after school with a side of jelly doughnuts. Then he threw work and doomed romances into the mix, and once again… well, it was a good thing there was lots of patrolling and running and fighting practice because otherwise, yeah…beach ball again.
And if the others looked at him strangely and laughed about his eating habits, that was fine, they had their own coping methods after all. At least he wasn't following in his parents' footsteps, drunk all the time and raining verbal and, occasionally, physical abuse on his "loved ones."
And if, after Spike joined their merry little band, he happened to acquire a fascination for blue raspberry flavored things as well, it was just cause he liked the color, it reminded him of something, stuff wasn't nearly sweet enough for his normal tastes, the flavor sharp, demanding attention and in no way mellow, and it didn't blend well with other flavors either. Yes, he'd found a new addiction and he always had a lollipop or something with him.
Yes, he knew he used sweets as a crutch, but right at that moment, he didn't' care and he's day he'd give anything for some, but that was never a good idea, but he'd eaten his last Twinkie at lunch, and he was bone tired after chasing the latest batch of evil demonic things with the new batch of Slayers, and he'd had his last soda at breakfast 'cause he was out of coffee, and he'd had his last lollipop during patrol, and he was alone 'cause he couldn't tell anyone he dated what he really did at night without them calling the psych ward, and it was two in the freaking morning and he had to be up in four hours to report to Giles, and it was pouring down rain again, and somebody was ringing his freaking doorbell… repeatedly.
Not bothering to check who it was, he yanked the door open, words spilling from him in the process, "This had better be good!" and looked straight into bright blue eyes the color of his favorite lollipops and was hit by the scent of the holy trifecta of chocolate, sugar, and coffee.
He didn't consciously know when he'd become fascinated with the whelp, maybe it was the first time they met when Peaches had tried using him as bait and he'd fought and joked and struggled even though he was scared, and even through the delicious fear scent, was the smell of cinnamon and cream. Every time they met after that, even in the heat of battle, he would catch that cinnamon cream scent, get a flash of chocolate brown eyes or hair the color of doctored coffee and, if only for a moment, he'd be distracted by thoughts of "what if".
Then he'd gone and teamed up with the bloody band of white-hat do-gooders and he was inundated by the sensations to the point he could swear he could taste the rich, spicy-sweet taste. Was it any wonder he drank and smoked so much? Had to distract himself from it somehow, didn't he.
He couldn't help laughing every time he heard Xander talk about what a demon magnet he was, either. Well of course he was, he was bloody well dessert on the hoof to those with demonic senses. He knew the only way Angel had managed to hold out on sampling the wares while he had the chance was simply 'cause of that great poncy soul of his and his firm belief that he was meant to suffer. Angelus sure didn't seem to have that problem going by all the colorful threats that spilled from him when he was fixated on all the lovely tortures he had in store for Buffy's white knight.
Even after he'd done the ghost bit and then finally gotten his body back in LA, he hadn't been able to pass the break room or a coffee shop without flashing back to his favorite memory of the boy, just home from a day at the beach with the girls, smelling of sea and sunshine and cinnamon cream and the frou-frou coffee drink he'd had on the way back home, shirt off, revealing well defined arms and torso tanned a nice golden brown. In other words, absolutely edible.
Yes, it had been a couple years and several pending apocalypses since he'd last seen him, preparing for the worst before the battle with the First, but he'd tried to keep track of the whelp, just for curiosity's sake, he was a demon magnet after all, and trouble was sure to find him. And if he just happened to hear a phone conversation between Peaches and Buffy, and she just happened to mention how miserable her little white knight was looking recently in the nasty English weather, and he just happened to decide to take a much overdo vacation to the old stomping grounds…pure coincidence.
Coincidence, too, that there was an all night coffee shop just down from the flat whose address he'd found in the phone book. Bloody convenient, that, much better than having to track down the stuffy ol' Watcher and answer a million questions about why he wanted the information.
So, here he stood at two in the morning, ringing the doorbell and carrying a coffee thing he wouldn't drink in any of his lifetimes, looking like an utter ponce, hoping he had the right address because he really didn't feel like dealing with an irate tenant right then. But then the door was opening and the voice dripping with irritation he'd had directed at him so many times in the past was griping at him once more and he was looking into a pair of chocolate brown eyes and breathing deeply the scent of rain and sweat and, most importantly, cinnamon cream, and it was all worth it.
"Spike?" A confused look, but not unhappy.
"Xander." Calm and cool and not worried thankyouverymuch.
"You have coffee." Still confused, but incredibly hopeful.
"It's for you." Embarrassed? No, couldn't be.
"Wow, thanks it's just what I was craving." Gratitude and longing, fingers brushing together and chocolate staring into blue raspberry.
"Yeah, same here." Heat and longing, fingers brushing a damp cheek and blue raspberry staring into chocolate.
A silent question asked and answered.
"Would you like to come in, Spike?"
"I'd like nothing' better."
Ringing. Something was ringing and shouldn't be at, he peeked out from under the blankets, oh gods, six o'clock in the fucking morning and he'd just gotten to sleep two hours ago. Slipping a hand out from under the covers, he batted at the alarm clock but it still rang. Oh wait, that was his phone… which was in the living room where his pants got tossed last night, well this morning.
Grumbling, Xander disentangled himself from the clinging blonde leech, giving him a sappy smile as he automatically moved into the warm spot he'd left behind, and padded into the living room, shivering as the cooler air brushed over his bare body.
Finally finding the phone after it had stopped and started ringing a couple times, he punched the button, not even bothering to look at the caller ID. "Yeah, Giles?"
Two cool arms slipped around his waist and an equally bare and, apparently, very happy body pressed up against his back, human teeth scraping teasingly over the bite mark from earlier and sending chills through him. Leaning into the embrace, he tilted his head and sighed before finally cutting Giles off. "No, I'm not gonna make it today. Just get the reports from the Slayers and I'll give you mine later. No, everything's fine. Just…"
"Oi, Watcher, he's got a couple cravings to feed, he'll be by tomorrow." Spike grabbed the phone and punched the disconnect before tossing it back into the pile of discarded clothes. "Come on, nummy treat, I'm not done with you yet."
Xander laughed and turned in the embrace to face his new favorite addiction. "Nummy treat, huh?"
"Yeah, been bloody well fighting this craving for years. Don' have to now, do I." He snagged the abandoned cup of coffee, taking a sip and wrinkling his nose at the taste. Tasted much better on his boy.
And then there was kissing and tasting and chocolate and coffee and cinnamon cream begging for more, and smoke and alcohol and blue raspberry who reveled in commanding all of Xander's attention.
And in a lavishly appointed office, crammed with books, Giles sat staring at his phone, the disconnect sound blaring through the headset and resisted his own craving for a really good scotch as he purposely did not think about what cravings Spike and Xander could be satisfying together.