Secret Slasha – The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project
Secret Slasha – The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project

Better Than One
By Robin The Crossover Junkie
For A Secret Slasha Dropout

The windows were dirty, covered in muck or gunk or Xander-didn't-want-to-know-ever, but there were streaks of almost-clarity that he could peak through from time to time. Which he did, sometimes. 

He told himself he was just checking up on Spike, because for some reason Buffy cared about the vampire. The windows of the basement of the school should have been clean, but apparently the janitorial staff that had done such a bang up job of keeping the school clean while he'd still been a student had fled elsewhere when all their hard work was covered in soot and debris and giant snake parts that no one wanted to think about. Because it was, after all, Sunnydale. 

He knew Spike was living in the basement of the high school. They hadn't yet decided on a better place for him to go, and Spike seemed content to live there. Xander wasn't sure why they thought Spike being content was completely kosher, what with him actually being insane, and all, but...

He hated Spike. He did. But...he felt sorry for him, too. Neutered, tossed around, unrequited love of Buffy, which Xander knew all too well himself. Plus all that soul guilt, which Xander kinda thought he deserved. But he could still feel sorry for him.

Guess Xander hadn't spent too much time on the hellmouth after all.

Xander hunkered down, his left knee screaming and he wondered how he'd gotten to be so damned old when he was still so young, and he peered through the smudged glass into the basement.

There was Spike, as usual, hair bleached out again, clothing fresh and untorn again, but his cheeks were still sallow and hollow, his eyes were still shining with that little bit of unhealthy sparkle, his lips were still tight across his teeth. 

Of course, not as usual, Spike wasn't wearing any clothes. And there were two of him.

Xander blinked. And again. And again. Xander wondered if he'd been drinking, and wouldn't he know it if he'd been drinking? Wouldn't his mouth be dry with the aftertaste of beer, wouldn't the two Spikes in front of him be blurry, and wouldn't his face feel tight and warm and tingly and numb? And wouldn't he have had to drink something?

But his mouth wasn't dry, there was no beer, the two Spike's were clear, his face felt cool and dry and actually mostly just shocked, because the two Spikes that weren't wearing any clothes weren't exactly knitting together.

They didn't touch. Sat across the room from one another, eyes, not searching anything, fixed on that one point in each mirror image, which would have made sense if Spike wasn't a vampire that didn't have a mirror image. Xander looked from one Spike to the other and back again. Skin was tight across too-lean muscles, bony hands were gripping...

And that was the thing that had Xander so fixated. Those bony hands weren't static...gripping obviously hard cocks, stroking firmly and without elegance. A means to an end, as it were, and nothing special, but somehow the sight of two Spikes, facing one another, stroking, gripping, jerking off, was... Xander couldn't describe it if he tried, because his brain was still tied up in "Damn, that's hot, but wait, no, it's not because I hate Spike and he's a boy and why are there two of him, anyway?"

But there it was, somehow erotic, and there Xander crouched, unable to move or cast his eyes away as he watched.

They were talking, the two Spikes, as they stroked. Xander couldn't make out the words, only saw that their lips were moving, and wondered how it was possible, how it was happening. Tried not to think about the raging hard on in his own cargo pants, immediately rejected his brain's ever-helpful suggestion to relieve the pressure a little. 

Xander watched in awe as both Spikes sped up their hands, could almost hear them moaning, and it was like a train wreck; he couldn't take his eyes away. He watched as both Spikes, in sync but not, jerked their hips up and came, slick white spurts flowing over their impossibly fast fists. His lust addled brain threatened to shut down, till one Spike grinned more evilly than he'd ever seen Spike grin, and suddenly disappeared into thin air.

That's when it clued in. There were two Spikes there, but there was only supposed to be one. What the hell was going on?

Xander stood, moved around to the back door of the school and slipped inside, using his key on the padlock chaining the doors together. He moved to the basement, making sure his footfalls were heavy on the stairs to make sure Spike had enough time to put some pants on.

Spike was zipping his fly when Xander came around the corner.


Xander had to swallow hard. He could still see come glistening on the taut skin of Spike's abdomen. "Spike."

"What do you want?"

"There was...there was another you."

Spike stared at him. "Thought I was the token looney of the gang."

"No, there was. I saw him. I saw..."

"You saw that little floor show, did you?"

Xander didn't say anything. Couldn't.

"Thought I was the only one'd see him. No one ever did before."

"Wait, he's been here before?"

"Been everywhere. Yappin' at me. Never bloody shuts up. Sometimes...sometimes he sings."

Xander didn't know what to say to that, so he opted to just let Spike continue talking.

"Don't know where he came from. Know it doesn't make much sense, me hangin' out with myself. But he comes and he sings and he talks to me and..."

"And fucks you."

"No. Never touched him. Can't."

"You can't touch him? He a ghost?"

"He' Not a ghost. Maybe a ghost."

Xander sat on the bottom of the steps.

He and Spike remained in silence for a moment, before Spike sniffed his nose in the air.

Smirk. "So you enjoyed the floor show, too?"

Xander didn't say anything. Couldn't deny it; he knew Spike would know. But he sure as hell wasn't going to admit it aloud.

Spike sidled next to him, sitting an inch too close on the bottom step beside him. Xander stood, turning to face Spike and holding his hands up to fend off any further advances, but that didn't inhibit Spike's intentions. His hands were fast, deftly slipping the buttons on Xander's fly and popping out his hard cock, and it was halfway down his throat before Xander could draw breath to protest.

Then he couldn't draw breath to protest if he tried.

Spike's mouth was like heaven. Cool and wet and suction and deep, deep, deep, sliding the length of his cock knowingly, and Xander could only gasp.

It seemed that Spike's tongue knew exactly where to touch him, exactly how, and Xander's eyes were rolling back in his head. Only Spike's hands on his hips steadied him, kept him from falling to the cold, hard grown as that wonderful mouth continued to move up and down. 

"Jesus, Spike..." Xander murmured, unintentionally burying his hands in Spike's mussed hair.

Spike let out a moan when Xander's hands touched his head, fingers gripping into flesh more tightly when Xander's own grip tightened. 

"Oh God, oh God, oh God oh God oh God!" Xander was babbling, his voice on the verge of screaming as Spike's head bobbed faster and faster, low vibrations in his throat making their way up Xander's spine and back down again to rest in his balls, which were twitching, Xander's hips jerking, though he tried to stop, tried to make it all stop but then he didn't have a chance, he was coming, stars exploding on the back of his eyelids like fireworks, his legs trembling, his fingers almost crushing Spike's head in his hands, sound cut off and there was nothing here but coming.

Spike swallowed loudly, catlicks to Xander's cock, making him clean again, fly done up again and a swift pat on the bottom before Spike stood and walked around the corner, leaving Xander to stand in shock.

Later, he would put two and two together and realize that the First Evil was paying visits to Spike, and often. Now, though, he would breathe hard, try to refocus his eyes, and try not to think about the fact that he'd just come down Spike's throat, and especially not try to figure out why Spike had let him. Practically made him.

Now, he'd just try and mop up his brain from the cold, dirty floor.