cordelianne
Rated R Spike/Xander
It's like Xander's living Reality Bites but without Jeanne Garofalo to liven up the twenties angst. His best bet for a new roommate is to pull some random guy in off the street.
beta'd by savoytruffle
See Disclaimer of Ownership here
The thing about having Spike as a roommate is he’s kinda unpredictable. You never know if you’ll come home to find him yelling advice at a teen soap character or lying on the floor stoned out his mind watching his hand move back and forth in front of his face.
Always entertaining and always around.
Except now he’s not.
Xander hasn’t seen Spike since their impromptu Christmas celebration two weeks ago.
He sees evidence of Spike: cigarette butts, empty beer bottles, wet towels. But no Spike.
The blue lights remain, guaranteed to cause stumbling and/or flailing on a daily basis and serving as a constant reminder of their architect’s absence.
Xander finds he doesn’t just miss being able to lust after the hot guy who’s sitting right beside him. He misses Spike.
When he shares this with Oz, there’s an even longer silence than usual. Xander literally bites his tongue because he’s pretty sure Oz is deep in thought.
He decides his burger will be tastier and bites into that while waiting for Oz to reveal one of his brilliant insights.
Oz takes a sip of his Coke. “Maybe he’s busy.”
“What? Busy? You’re supposed to help me! That’s all you can come up with? A five-year-old could have figured that one out, what with New Year’s being big money night for bartenders and all. Okay, maybe not a five-year-old with the whole not being allowed in bars thing, but still.”
Oz pushes his straw around the glass and Xander starts to get suspicious.
“What?” he asks, abandoning his burger.
“What?” Oz straightens his fork and knife.
“There’s something you don’t want to tell me, isn’t there?”
Oz sighs and removes his hands from the table. “You won’t like it.”
“Hey, I’m not a ‘shoot the messenger’ kind of guy. I’m more about hugging the messenger.” Xander gives Oz what he hopes is a charming grin. “Lay it on me.”
Oz rolls his eyes but smiles. “He’s seeing someone.”
This is the perfect ‘D’oh’ moment but Xander goes for the hitting his head on the table option instead. Okay, he only pretends to hit his head but it still feels like the right reaction because, “I’m an idiot.”
“No, you’re…” Xander lifts his head raises both eyebrows at Oz (he’s never been able to master the one eyebrow lift). “You want to be with him. Of course you didn’t think there was anyone else.”
“I do. I so do. And now I’m the lamest gay guy ever. It’s been like three months since I had sex. The other day? I heard Ben talking about a week being a long time. A week? Do you know how many weeks there are in a month?” Fortunately, Oz chooses to take that as rhetorical. Xander takes a breath. “And why? Because I can’t get up the courage to put the moves on a totally hot guy I see every freakin’ day. Sure the whole ‘don’t have sex with your roommate’ rule was a factor, but only for like a week. My hormones vetoed my brain.”
Oz pushes his soda across the table to Xander and he takes a refreshing gulp of syrupy sugary goodness.
“Why couldn’t my stupid hormones be less with the whiny and more with the proactive?” And this time, Xander does let his head thunk onto the table.
It’s actually not bad to sit there with his face pressed into the sticky surface of a fake wood-grained table. It reminds him of elementary school when teachers would make him have a time-out. He always liked time-outs – you never had to worry about having the wrong answer.
Xander’s a full five minutes into his self-imposed time-out when Oz breaks into his oddly nostalgia-filled breakdown.
“It’s not too late, you know.”
And time-out is officially over. Xander yanks his head up so fast, he’s relieved he doesn’t get whip lash. “Really?”
Oz has that Oh Xander, must I spell it out for you? look on his face.
Duh, Xander flashes back.
“Makes a move. So what if he’s seeing someone? Could be non-monogamous or just friendly fucking.”
“You’re so smart!” If only they’d taught Gay Dating and Sex Tips in school. That’s a class Xander would have stayed awake for.
Oz leans over and grabs the soda back, taking a drink. Even though his head is down, Xander catches a hint of red on Oz’s cheeks.
“You know,” Xander says, holding up a now luke-warm French Fry, “I don’t even think I’d ever heard the words ‘non-monogamous’ before moving here – let alone knew what it meant.”
“Toronto’s an educational city.”
“Right you are, my friend, right you are.” He takes a huge bite of his burger and savours how well grease goes with meat.
If only Spike and him were as easy as grease and meat.
And that’s probably not an analogy he should share.
Not exactly poetic, even to a guy like Spike.
Fortified by food and encouragement, Xander swings open the apartment door ready to woo Spike over.
Note to self: never use the word ‘woo’ again.
But to woo or not to woo really isn’t the question.
The question is whose pair of boots are those sitting beside Spike’s, taking over Xander’s half of the shoe mat?
Xander glares at the interlopers as he yanks off his own boots and dumps them on top of an old Now. He takes a breath and walks into the living room. Which is empty.
And somehow, that’s not at all reassuring.
Food. Food is what Xander needs. Xander can say with certainty that food has always been there for him when no one else was.
But who, Xander might ask, was there for him when food was not?
Nobody. That’s who.
Especially not the whos that Xander finds when he walks into the kitchen. They may be there, but they aren’t there for him.
If Xander had had to come up with one who who he would’ve said was the worst who who Spike could possibly have had over, it would definitely have been this who.
“Angel.” Xander pulls himself out of his not-quite-Dr. Seuss-level thoughts to manage his ex’s name.
Angel nods. “Xander.”
Well, at least they still know each other’s names.
“Hey.” Spike’s leaning back in his chair, the picture of casual and cool, like this isn’t a big deal and Xander isn’t standing there staring at them like some kid on his first visit to the zoo.
“Hey?” Xander repeats. “Hey?”
Spike frowns and shrugs. Angel shifts in his chair.
Xander burns with good old-fashioned rage. “Here I don’t even see you for weeks and then when you finally waltz in, you’re waltzing with the guy who’d be my personal pick for People’s Most Unwanted Man.”
“Uh, love, don’t you think –” Spike starts.
“Love? Love?” Apparently rage makes Xander repeato guy. “Don’t even try to sweet talk me. I’m mad and I’m staying that way.”
Angel stands up, but doesn’t approach Xander. “I feel really bad about this.”
Xander snorts.
Angel takes a step forward and reaches out like he’s going to touch Xander’s arm, but quickly pulls it to his side instead. “I’m really sorry for, um, you know, what happened with us.” He looks down. “You were right to say I was an asshole. But I’ve changed.” He looks up and meets Xander’s eyes. “I’m not that guy anymore.”
Xander rolls his eyes. Spike sighs and takes a very long drink of beer
“It’s okay,” Angel continues. “You don’t need to forgive me, or even believe me. I just wanted to apologize.”
It turns out that apologies create those long awkward silences that Xander’s had more experience reading about than experiencing and he’s kinda wishing that he wasn’t getting the real thing.
During this time Angel sits down, Spike lights up and Xander opens the fridge door.
And stares.
And the silence continues.
But Xander’s not good with silences. Or with forgiveness – his best friend in elementary school, who he ignored for two months for trashing his bike, can attest to this.
In situations like this you might as well play to your strengths.
He harnesses his rage (which may bear some slight resemblance to his pent-up sexual frustration) and turns on Angel. “You know what? It’s great that you’re a new and better person and all, but I kinda needed that new and better guy three years ago – you know, back when I was nineteen and just coming out? Right now, though? Pretty much moved on.”
Angel opens his mouth, then closes it, looking enough like a fish to normally make Xander laugh, but he’s still busy with the righteous anger. Even if he has no claim on the righteous anymore.
“You, though!” Xander points at Spike. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me!” It’s possible he’s yelling. It’s also possible he doesn’t care. “You avoid me for weeks and then finally reappear parading around some guy I hate and who you know will make me jealous as hell.” He paces, slams the fridge door and paces to the wall then back again, meets Spike’s very wide eyes. “What the fuck are you playing at?”
Xander thinks he may have veered off rational a few exits back. But, hey, irrational now. Helps with the whole not caring.
The sound of Spike’s chair legs hitting the floor rings through the now all too silent room.
Spike stands up. “Listen Harris…” He looks down at his boots and kicks at the table leg.
“Wow, your poetic prose just bowled me over there.” But Xander’s not up for listening, even if Spike were actually talking. He throws a hand in the air, embracing the inner drama queen. “Whatever.”
And with that last brilliant witticism, he leaves.
A slam of his bedroom door completes the jealous-bitch-with-no-right-to-be temper tantrum.
A knock comes on that door. Xander’s still lying on the bed where he flopped himself ten minutes ago. Or was it thirty? Xander’s mastered not caring.
He doesn’t move.
Through his emo haze he hears a sigh and, “Fine. Be that way.”
Xander’s glad he doesn’t have a small bladder.
Because he’s never leaving his room again.
“Just ten more,” Buffy barks. ”You can do it!”
Xander groans and grips the barbell tighter, willing himself to make it through.
“Good job,” Buffy barks (in a slightly less scary tone) when he collapses.
“You’re a sadist, you know that?” Xander gasps for air, secretly triumphant at his success.
Buffy snorts. “Guess that makes you a masochist. You came to me.”
“Got me there.” He stands up and wipes his face with a towel.
He’s communing with his water bottle – he’d forgotten just how good water tastes – when Buffy corners him. “So how’s the post-confession avoidance going?”
“Wha–” Xander chokes on his water and coughs. Buffy hits him on the back – hard. “Ow! And how?” His brain catches up. “Oz.”
“Our lives are boring.” She shrugs. “We need something to entertain us.”
“Happy to oblige. Maybe I should start a blog ‘How Not To Score Guys dot com.’”
“I’ve got post number one for you: Avoid the guy.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re subtle?”
Buffy gives a little bow. “It’s a skill.”
Xander grins. “And to answer your question: very well. I think I have a future in roommate avoidance. It helps to have a long history of saying embarrassing things.”
“You know…” Buffy taps a finger to her lips. “What you said isn’t embarrassing.”
“Really?” Xander feels his face get red. “Did Oz forget to mention the yelling? And the lashing out? Trust me – not my prettiest hour.”
“You did out-drama both her Majesty the Queen and Queen. And you can’t even claim annus horribilis – it’s been done.”
“The Queen, dramatic? Really?”
“She lives in a castle.” Buffy gives Xander her don’t argue with me face, then stoops down to retie her shoelace. “Anyway, before continuing I want it noted that I am still against the whole roommate relationship thing. But putting that aside, my point is that it was good to tell Spike you’re interested.” She stands up. “Now maybe you should, you know, try it without the yelling.”
“Easier said than done.” He shakes his head. “Especially if you’re a big spazz like me.”
“You’re not a spazz – you’re more an effusive hot-head.”
“Oh thanks! I feel loads better.”
Buffy wraps an arm around his waist. “What are friends for?”
As part of his complex avoiding Spike plan, Xander stops for a coffee and bagel before work. Okay, not so much complex as it is simple: avoid home at all costs.
Which is why he’s squeezing past the fifty-somethings in their Goodwill coats doing their usual coffee drinking, smoking and gossiping to get into the Country Style.
They’re like an episode of Queer as Folk, only less articulate and way less sexy.
Food and almost-as-good-as-a-Tim-Hortons-double-d
Everyone’s flailing around, trying not to fall.
Plus, winter’s the great leveler. You can’t tell how hot anyone is when everyone’s all bundled up in huge winter coats with scarves covering half their faces and toques covering the rest.
Xander can wipe his nose on his mittens and no one will recognize him.
“Xander!”
Doing it in front of your work? Not very stealthy.
And then his stomach sinks like the Titanic when he recognizes the voice.
He can run but he can’t hide, and he might as well face the music before he uses another cliché.
He turns around and it feels like he’s seeing Spike for the first time. Like how did he never notice those sharper-than-the-wind cheekbones and how clear those blue eyes are and… Xander stops himself before he resorts to things like ‘swoon’ and ‘devilishly handsome.’ He decides to go with, “Spike,” ’cause he doesn’t know what else to say.
“Now who’s avoiding who?” Spike asks with a half-smile.
“This is where I work, I’m not avoiding any – hey! So you were avoiding me.”
Spike shrugs and holds up his smokes. “Got a couple minutes?”
As peace offerings go – god, Xander hopes it’s a peace offering – it’s exactly what he needs.
They end up standing in the same place they were standing when they agreed to be roommates and Xander really hopes that this isn’t a full circle thing. The overflowing dumpster a few feet away isn’t exactly adding a positive vibe – or smell – to the atmosphere.
Spike lights up his cigarette, closes his eyes as he inhales. Xander’s about to ask for a drag – or his own – but then Spike opens those eyes and they lock with Xander’s and his brain shuts down.
A nervous smile flickers over Xander’s face as Spike continues to stare with an intensity never before directed at Xander Harris. And then Spike’s hands are on his jacket, pulling him closer, and Spike’s lips may be cold but so are Xander’s and Spike’s breath is warm and there’s a hint of cigarette that is harsh and sweet at the same time and it tastes good.
This is the peace offering Xander didn’t dare dream about.
Spike presses closer and Xander’s heart beats so strong he’s sure Spike can feel it even through all the layers of leather, down and wool between them,
They pull apart, but not that far. Spike’s warm breath brushes against Xander’s cheeks and lips. He realizes he’s gripping Spike’s coat and doesn’t let go.
“Don’t stop,” he blurts out.
Spike chuckles. “Don’t you have work?”
Xander sighs.
“It’s okay. I’ll be there when you get home.” Spike brushes their lips together again and then pushes Xander toward the door.
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