Neverland

by
Tabaqui

Part Eleven

"You liar," Xander growled, and Spike laughed softly.

"I didn't lie to you, boy. I said I was going to talk to Hook, and that's exactly what I did."

"Yes you did so lie! You told him where we were! You helped him –"

"Oh, please." Spike leaned against the bars of the cell door, smoking, and Xander jerked back. He had blood in his hair – blood down his side from the slashing tip of a cutlass and he smelled...delicious. "I did no such thing. Had a little chat, is all." Xander just stared back at him, furious and shaking and Spike had to grin. "Oh, all right, all right. Got it out of me, you did. I told him you lot were lurkin' about in the bushes, waiting to spring on them."

"Fuck you," Xander muttered. He crossed his arms and then winced – looked down at the blood smeared on his wrist – on his ribs. "They go out to fight the Indians all the time, or they go into town. We could have gotten Roxy and Tony free then and been safe home."

"And Tootles," Spike said, and Xander shot him a dark look.

"Fuck Tootles." Xander sighed and slid down the bars, wedging himself into the corner, legs tucked up close to his chest and his arms hugging his knees. His hair was wet, dripping onto his shoulders and he was shivering.

"I heard you. I heard you, Slightly, you're not supposed to say things like that!" Tootles glared at Xander from across the aisle, cross-legged on the straw-covered floor of the other cell. Tony and Roxy were curled up together under a ragged blanket against the far wall. John had been shoved in there, too – the rest were with Xander.

"I don't care, Tootles! I'll – I'll say what I want!"

Tootles gave Xander a considering look, head tipped a little to one side. Then he smiled, cold and mean. "When Peter gets back, I'm telling him."

"I don't care if you tell him!" Xander looked close to tears and Spike kicked the bars of Tootles cell, letting the demon out.

"Shut it, you. I'll drink you down and throw your husk to the fish." Tootles' eyes went wide and he scuttled backward, knocking skull and spine into the far wall and huddling there. Spike smirked at him and crouched down beside Xander, tossing the butt of his cigar away. It sizzled out on the wet planks, leaving a dank smell behind. Xander rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffed.

"Hook doesn't want you dead. He wants you alive – wants you to be his, or so he says."

"What, like he tried to make Roxy his?" Xander said, with a jerk of his chin toward the mound of blanket and the two children sleeping underneath. She still smelled of blood and semen.

Spike shrugged. "Maybe. He said he needs your belief. Hate or love, it's all the same to him." Spike studied Xander's pale, dirt-smudged face – the bruise coming up on his shoulder. Hesitantly, he reached through the bars and traced the livid edges of it. Xander shivered but didn't pull away. "He wants me to kill Pan, you know."

"He does?" Xander studied Spike in turn – sighed when Spike nodded. He leaned into Spike's touch, fingertips rubbing slowly over Spike's knee. "Do you think you can?"

"I think Pan won't know what he's brought into his nest," Spike said, showing fangs and Xander laughed softly.

"Good." He rubbed his eyes again, sighing. "God, I'm so hungry. Wish I had a three by three In-n-Out burger with large fries and a Coke. No! - a chocolate milkshake."

"Xander, God - don't." Curly lifted his head from where he'd pillowed it on his crossed forearms. "We said. No talking about...food. Food from before." His face was pinched and drawn – his broken foot swollen and purpling under a ragged strip of cloth.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. I'm sorry, Danny. You okay?"

"It hurts," Curly whispered. Beside him, Michael stirred and reached out for the water bucket – poured a gentle trickle over the distended skin, wetting the makeshift compress. Curly hissed, flinching, and Michael put the bucket down and rubbed his back, murmuring to him.

"Spike, can you p-please..." Xander stopped – blinked up at the dark, tarred ceiling. His chin trembled. "Can you please a-ask –"

"Course I can, pet," Spike said, his features relaxing back into their human cast. He slid his hand up Xander's shoulder and into his hair – pulled him a little closer and kissed him through the bars. Xander tasted like salt and earth – like the smoky air. Spike pulled away and stood up – surveyed the dingy cells one last time and then headed up and out. Time for another talk with Hook – time to make a plan. But first, he needed Xander to be taken care of. Might have to take that one back with me. He'd turn into something so...sweet. Xander's scent lingered, blood and cake, and Spike licked his lips. Feeling a bit peckish, really. He imagined that Hook could spare a pirate or two.

Topside there was a buzz of excitement in the air, and Hook was standing up on the poop deck, one hand lightly on the wheel. Pirates were swarming up the lines like rats and Spike joined Hook with a small nod, watching as a half-dozen pirates trod 'round and 'round the capstan, winching the anchor up.

"We're weighing anchor, as you can see," Hook said. He tipped his chin back and looked up at the sky. The clouds seemed blacker than ever – furling and unfurling in thick layers, rain sifting down. Thunder growled, low and far off, and Spike blinked at a sudden pop of lightning.

"Going where, then?" Spike asked.

"Why, to Mermaid Lagoon, of course. Can't you feel it, sir? Pan...is coming back." And Hook grinned, a death's head grimace in the storm-murk. The willow branches were lashing the bow as the ship was towed slowly out of its temporary dock. Once clear of the limbs and the slow bank eddy the jolly-boat was swung back on board and Hook gave the orders to set the sails. A steady wind was blowing, rushing through the forest with a dry-throated roar and the shock of it hitting the sails jolted right through them, making Spike lose his balance for a moment.

"The boys, down below...they need a bit of tending," Spike said finally, and Hook turned a mild look on him, his hand idly caressing the wheel.

"Yes, I’m sure they do. I'll send Smee down in a bit. He's a dab hand at that sort of thing. How shall you do it, sir?"

"Do what?" Spike asked. He dug his flattened cigarette pack out of his pocket and gingerly extracted the last one. It was a little crushed but it would do. He lit up and tucked his lighter away.

"Why – kill Pan, of course."

"Oh, that." Spike flicked ashes into the wind – a storm now, really, with thunder muttering almost constantly and lightning flickering overhead, lighting the clouds to a blue-white luminescence. "I imagine he'll die like they all do – fists and fangs."

"Yes, perhaps he will," Hook mused. He called out his orders to Smee and Smee shouted them to the crews and the Jolly Roger sailed slowly down river. At the mouth Spike braced himself a little against the slew of the two currents meeting and then the ship was free of the land and beyond the breakers. The wind struck like a gale, edged with ice. The ship stretched out like a greyhound, leaping into the swells and troughs of the racing, black waters. The clouds were livid, bruise-green and a deep, slatey blue. Coiling and curling, so low it seemed you could reach up and touch them.

Spike held onto the rail as the sky opened with a roar, rain slashing down and thunder all but deafening him. His cigarette fizzled out and he tossed the butt over the side with a grimace of disgust. Hook stood wide-legged at the wheel, his coat belling and flapping behind him, his long hair streaming with water, twisting in the wind.

"Not far now! Heave, you dogs! We want all our canvas wet!" The thing in the cage down in the middle of the lower deck slithered and hissed – rumbled a strange, dry croaking as the pirate's bare, callused feet rushed all around – and sometimes over – it.

"What's that down there, Hook!" Spike shouted. "In the cage!"

Hook looked over at Spike and grinned that mad, scarecrow grin at him – wiped the rain out of his eyes with a long-nailed hand. "That? That's the crocodile! I killed the bloody thing and shoved it in there but that damn Pan – he wouldn't let it die! Like me, yes? It stinks to high heaven on a warm day!" Hook laughed – kept on laughing as the ship hove up and then slapped down, water coming over the deck in a sheet and the pirates clinging to spars and rope to keep from being swept overboard. The sky shattered again and again under the hammer strokes of thunder, lightning flaring white-hot in the cracks.

Spike whipped his head to the side, scattering rain and salt water and hung grimly on. He imagined it was sheer hell below decks. I'll get you out soon enough, boy – the bloody island's the size of a stamp, be there in no time...

There was a sudden rising crescendo of sound from the pirates and Hook shouted something that the wind caught and carried away.

"What? What –"

"He's back! Look! Pan's back!" Hook screamed, and Spike followed his pointing hook to a streak of greenish white that was cutting across the sky like a comet. It was Pan, and as the world seemed to shake apart under the assault of the storm, Spike realized that Peter Pan...was angry.

Part Twelve

"Smee!! Hurry! Get below and get those boys topside!" Hook shouted, glaring forward through the slashing rain. Smee gathered a bag from Hook's quarters – gestured to two pirates and scurried below. Spike just hung on, watching Pan rocket ahead of them. The sky was black now – clouds boiling thick and fast, lightning popping like flashbulbs. Somewhere ashore, a palm tree exploded under a direct hit and Spike smelled ozone and charred wood, his skin tingling with the proximity of so much energy.

"Hurry, you dogs! Arm and out! Smee!" Hook spun the wheel hard and the ship heeled nearly over, bow-sprit dipping under the waves with a staggering shock. Marooner's rock was approaching rapidly, swamped and then bare as the waves burst around it, kelpy sides slick and dark in the gloom.

"Hook, you daft bastard, you're going to smash us to kindling!" Spike shouted, snarling – demon-faced and furious. Hook cackled, spinning the wheel again, standing wide-legged against the insane tilt of the deck.

"What, sir – frightened? Surely you don't fear the sea, you who can live forever!" The ship skimmed past the rock like a diving hawk and then – there was a wrenching, shuddering concussion as everything...stopped. The ship groaned like a living thing and every pirate aboard yelled as their motion was violently and abruptly ended. Pirates flew across the deck – several fell from the rigging, screaming, and crunched nastily to the deck. Spike saved himself from going arse over tip only by dint of a furious hold on the rail. Hook hung over the wheel for a moment, swinging wildly, and then he staggered upright as the ship settled, the decks angled to port. "Smee!"

"Here, sir, we're here, Cap'n!" Smee shouted, and Spike hauled himself to the stairs and down. Smee was on deck, the boys huddled behind him. Several pirates were standing guard with cutlasses and daggers and the boys looked battered and a bit sick. The Wendy wasn't there. Curly was sagging between Xander and Michael, his broken foot splinted now and Spike moved closer, leaning against the tilt of the deck. There was a burnt-sweet smell lingering in the air, thick and heavy.

Opium. He's not hurting. "Xander – you all right?"

"Huh?" Xander shifted Curly's weight a little, looking up slowly. His eyes were half-lidded, his gaze a little lost.

"Bloody hell – Hook!" Spike shouted, turning to look up at the tall man who was stomping down the poop-deck stairs. "They're dosed!"

"They needed an edge, is all," Hook said, waving his hook airily. The pirates were gathered in rows now, ranged all around the boys. Cutlasses, daggers – a nasty boat-hook or two in their hands. The storm raged overhead but it all seemed peculiarly muted. "Now! You lost boys! I've taken you prisoner because once again – Pan has abandoned you!"

There was a rumble of agreement from the pirates and the boys shifted – blinked dazedly around them. "No, he...he didn't..." Tootles murmured, but Hook waved his protestation away.

"Of course he did. He always has! He flies away to play with the fairies or the mermaids and forgets all about you boys. I've seen it time and again." Hook paced up to the boys – reached out and put a gentle hand on the remaining twin's shoulder. "He starves you boys. Look at you! Skin and bones." The twin looked down at himself, swaying unsteadily, and Hook patted him.

"But I wouldn't do such a thing. Never. Why – my dogs, they eat steak every night! Don't you, men?"

A rough chorus of agreement went up, the pirates grinning wolfishly. The ship shifted again, settling as the waves ate away at the sand under the keel. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the air directly overhead seemed to be going still. The rain had slacked just a little, slanting down in a silvery skein, hissing into the sea.

Eye of the bloody storm. Get a move on, Hook – Pan'll be here before you know it... Spike had no worries about taking on Peter Pan – he welcomed the chance for a real fight. But he wanted the boys – one boy – out of the way before that happened.

"Oh, the pirate's life is a grand one!" Hook continued, hand and hook clasped behind his back. He paced awkwardly back and forth before the little clump of lost boys. "You eat whatever you please, you sleep warm and there's gold and riches for everyone! But do you know the best thing, boys? The very best?" Hook stopped still, leaning in close, and the pirates prodded at the boys, who shuffled a little, pressing together. Dilated eyes fixed on Hook, mouths a little open. Even Curly seemed to be taking in something of what was being said.

"Oh, the very best thing, my boys, is that you grow up. You grow up on this ship, my lads. You grow up and no one tries to stop you, and everyone..." Hook leaned even closer, grinning, his hair in lank tendrils like seaweed on the sides of his face. "Everyone is afraid of you, boys. Instead of the other way 'round. Isn't that right, me hearties?" Hook shouted the last and the boys jerked in surprise – turned to look in wide-eyed wonder as the pirates around them roared their approval.

"Tha's right!"

"Steak and eggs whenever we like!"

"Rum for breakfast!"

"Every man Jack in the town bowin' and scrapin'!"

"And there's women," one pirate said, leaning in close to Xander, who twitched away. Spike's hands itched to hit the leering bastard.

"There's all that and more. All that and more, boys if... If... you're a pirate." Hook straightened up, wiping at his hair – pushing it back off his brow. He eyed the boys, who shifted uneasily under his gaze.

Tootles took a step forward, pushing his rain-spattered glasses up higher on his nose. "We don't give a – a damn for your stories, Hook! Do we, boys?" He looked around and the boys looked away, glancing at each other. Spike could hear their hearts pounding. "We don't want to be pirates!"

"No? Don't you? Why – you could be...Red-Handed Jack! The terror of the seas!" Hook said, and Tootles' mouth stayed open for a moment as he gazed at Hook.

"I – no! I'm Tootles! I'm the oldest here after Pan, I – would never betray him! None of us would!"

"Never?" Hook asked, his voice going low, and Tootles' shoulders straightened and his chin came up.

"Never, you – you black-hearted villain!"

"That's a pity, really," Hook mused. He tapped the jabot of lace at his throat with the hook – stepped up closer to Tootles, who looked up at him, blinking rapidly. "Be sure, now – never ever?"

"Not for all the tea in China!" Tootles declared, and Hook sighed.

"Truly a pity, my boy. But I can't have nay-sayers on my ship." He stared down at Tootles and then his hook slashed out, glittering. It cut across Tootles' throat and Tootles stumbled backward, his hands going up futilely to clutch at his neck. Blood ran out between his fingers – raced down his chest, mixing with the rain. The scent of it was thick and hot and Spike licked his lips, leaning against the rail. The boys watched in diluted horror as Tootles went to his knees and then his back, his spectacles askew. His hands slipped limply away and his cut throat gaped obscenely, the last spasms of his heart pumping out a tongue of scarlet.

"No, oh no, oh no, no..." John was staring – moaning, his arms wrapped around his ribs, and Xander struggled to push Curly entirely onto Michael, stumbling forward.

"You killed him, Jesus, you – you just –"

"Of course I killed him! He was Pan's boy, not mine." Hook's hand darted out and wrapped around the back of Xander's neck, pulling him close. The hook caught Xander around the hip, digging in but not drawing blood. "My dogs must be loyal, boy. They must love...me. They must die for me, if I ask. Because I know a secret." Hook's eyes fluttered closed and for a moment he simply stood there, swaying slightly. Close enough to Xander that their foreheads were nearly touching, and Xander's hands fluttered at Hook's lace and velvet, not...quite...pushing away.

"I don't – I just want to...want to go home," Xander said, and Hook grinned.

"And home you shall go, my boy. Home you shall go." He straightened, letting Xander go and Xander reeled back, bumping into John and the twin, who caught him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Time's wasting, boys. I know a secret that you'll all want to know and I shall tell you! If you swear loyalty to me – I shall tell you everything."

"Tell us what?" Michael asked, and the twin laughed, raw and choked.

"Who cares? Do you – do you know what he did to Roxy? He –"

"Shut up, Tony," Michael snapped, and his voice was strained and cracking – too high-pitched.

"Do you want to know?" Hook purred, and the boys nodded dumbly. Spike watched as Xander wiped at his face, rain beaded on his lashes. He shot a look to Spike and Spike just shrugged. Past Hook's shoulder Spike could see a cloud of little colored sparks, moving and shifting like a flock of sparrows. And Pan at the lead, coming fast. The sky strobed with lightning but it had all gone silent – even the wind had died, and the rain was a mere sprinkle now. The waves were hushed, the sails hanging limply from the spars, slack in the breathless air.

"Tell us," Xander whispered.

"I can send you home, boys. Home. Back to your mothers. Back to everyone and everything you left behind." Hook's eyes were gleaming in the twilight – reddish glow far back in the deep sockets, his lips pulled up in a terrible, wonderful smile. "Home, if you swear loyalty to me!"

"Home? Really?" John wiped his nose on his wrist and took a step forward and Xander put his hand flat to John's chest.

"You have to swear," Xander said slowly. "Swear on – on your mother, Hook! Swear on her soul."

"I solemnly swear it, on my mother's immortal soul." Hook's voice was low and steady – his hook over his heart and Xander stared at him for another moment.

"All right. I'll swear. I'll be a pirate," he said finally, and Hook threw back his head and laughed.

"That's my boy! Quick now – we don't have much time. Hold out your hands," Hook said. Xander nudged John and John nudged the twin, who made a sound of disgust.

"I won't –"

"You can take Roxy home, Tony! Come on!" Michael growled.

"Oh, God, you're all damn – crazy!" Tony smeared his knuckles across his eyes – glared at Hook. "You better not be lying, you bastard." He thrust his hand forward and then Xander did, and John. A huge, tattooed pirate helped Michael to get Curly upright and Curly grimaced, hopping a little on his good foot. He held out his hand, as well, and Michael did.

Hook all but crowed. He urged the boys closer and then his hook flashed out again, slicing across five palms. Blood welled up – spattered onto the rain-slick deck and the boys swayed. "Swear now, boys! Swear on your blood and on your souls – swear that you will be pirates of the Jolly Roger and the loyal servants of Captain James Hook until the day you die! Swear it!"

"I swear –" Xander said, and the boys joined in, halting chorus. "I will be a pirate of the Jolly Roger..."

"Yes! Oh, that's good, boys." Hook gashed his own palm open and when his blood – dark and peculiar and smelling too sweet – oozed over his palm he smeared it across the boys' still-outstretched hands. "Am I your captain, boys?"

"Yes," the boys said.

"Who am I?" he shouted.

"Captain Hook."

"Who?"

"Captain Hook!"

"The deadliest pirate on the seven seas!" a pirate yelled, somewhere back in the crowd.

"The finest buccaneer to wield a sword!"

"The slyest dog in the fleet!"

"Captain Hook! Captain Hook! Captain Hook!" With every shout, Hook straightened – brightened – threw out his chest and all but pranced. Color seemed to flood back into his face, and his eyes danced as he surveyed the yelling crew. The boys had even taken up the chant, bloody fists aloft. As they shouted – screamed – roared to the sky, Peter Pan arrived.

Part Thirteen

Pan came down in the midst of them like a stooping hawk to the center of a flock of pigeons. Pirates and lost boys alike yelled, stumbling back. The fairies swarmed for a moment and then dispersed, lining the shrouds and rails all around. A blue one buzzed drunkenly into Spike and then settled on his shoulder.

"Feeling better, mate?" Spike asked, and Tinkerbell chimed softly at him.

"Hook! You coward. You wait until I'm gone – you attack when my boys are already hurt –!"

"Not your boys, Pan," Hook purred, and Peter checked, staring at him.

"Of course they're my boys! They're the lost boys, they'll always be –" Peter's voice choked off as two pirates shouldered through the crowd and flung Tootles' limp, blood-smeared body to the planking at his feet. Pan stared, open-mouthed, for a long, long moment. Hook watched him, eyes slitted like a cat's.

"Oh. Oh, it's... Tootles?" Peter crouched down, one hand going out. His fingertips lightly touched the torn flesh of Tootles' throat – the rivulets of still-wet blood and then he snatched his hand back, horror on his face. Eyes fixed on the bloom of scarlet across his skin.

"There's the last one loyal to you, Pan," Hook said. He crouched down as well, gaze on Peter's pale face, the skirts of his scarlet coat spreading out around him. "He's the only one who wouldn't swear loyalty to me – wouldn't swear to be a pirate."

"So you killed him..." Peter whispered. Hook nodded slowly. Peter wiped his fingers on the wet deck, hand shaking. He looked up at the other boys, his eyes wide. They stared back, still dazed from the drug – from what they had done.

Spike could hear them – the click and wheeze and rush of their lungs, the rabbit-fast thump thump of their hearts. The creak of the ship – the muted tinkling of the hundreds of fairies that looked on from aloft. The storm raged overhead, all but silent, the thunder like great, soft beats of a fan.

"Why would you – how could you betray me?" Pan whispered, and the boys swayed – shuffled. Shifted on their feet, looking down. "How?" Peter shouted, and Xander stumbled forward with a gasp.

"We tried to be loyal to you Peter but you hurt us. You get us killed and you leave us and you – you're all Joan Crawford with the 'no more wire hangers!'" Xander heaved in a sharp breath, glancing swiftly around at the other boys – at Spike. "You stole us! We never wanted to come here – we never wanted to leave home!"

"Of course you did! When I came for you, you were crying! You were sad, you were hurt! Slightly –"

"No!" Xander screamed, and Peter flinched back – everyone did. Spike felt Tink flinch into his neck with surprise. "My name's Xander! I'm Xander Harris and I'm from Sunnydale, California! I'm not the Slightly!"

Peter's eyes were wet – glinting with tears that finally spilled over, sudden streak of quicksilver in the tarnished-black air. He held his blood-streaked hand out and it...shook. "But –"

"And I'm not a lost boy anymore. I'm not a lost boy."

"Yes you are!" Peter whispered. He wiped furiously at his eyes with the back of his hand – took a step toward Xander, his hand still outstretched. "You're all –"

"No," John interrupted, hugging his arms tight around his thin ribs. "We – I'm not a lost boy, either."

"Neither am I," Michael said. He looked over at the twin, who shook his head slowly.

"I'm not either. I took a blood-oath, I'm a pirate now," the twin said, holding up his hand.

Peter shuddered and his own hand fell to his side – fell on the hilt of the dagger he had through his belt. "Curly? Surely you –"

"It's Danny," the boy said, lifting his chin. "And I'm n-not a lost boy anymore."

Pan just stared at him – stared at them all, his face smeared with tears and his chest heaving – shoulders shaking. He backed away from them as if they were menacing him and Spike felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

"Xander, get down!" Spike yelled and lightning clove the sky – the ship – nearly clove Curly. Everyone was in motion, Smee was screaming for buckets and then the storm came back. "Tink, get to Xander," Spike muttered, lifting the tiny body off his shoulder – lofting Tink gently up and out. Pan rose into the air in a whirl of smoke and a deafening crack of thunder and Spike launched himself up the stairs – up to the poop-deck rail and from there...leapt.

Peter's body was thin and hot and supple as a cat's. Twisty as a cat's, and Spike hung on grimly as Pan spun and writhed and kicked at him – tried to slash at him, but Spike had his own hand curled around the hilt of Peter's dagger, over Peter's hand. Crushing the slender fingers and Spike was not letting go. The boy shot upward, fast and furious, until the ship was a toy and the clouds were closing around them, cold and black and stitched with lightening. The thunder was physical, reverberating through Spike's bones.

"They've given up on you, Pan!" Spike shouted. He locked his arm tighter around Pan's chest – dug his elbow into the thin, heaving ribs and jammed his chin down onto Pan's shoulder, the pale-golden sweep of Pan's throat under his cheek. "They're gone. Loyal to Hook and no other!" Spike felt them dip in the air – felt Pan's body shudder. His free hand was clawing at Spike's arm – slipping on the leather of Spike's coat.

"They sealed the oath with their blood, Pan! They don't want to play anymore." Spike felt Peter's hand go lax under his at that – felt their upward momentum slow and then stop and they hung in the air. Hung in a furling veil of grey, the thunder gone silent and the lightning hopscotching in tiny, hissing crackles. Nothing like it was before. Nothing at all.

"But...why?" Peter whispered. His head hung a little to the side – his clawing hand dropped down from Spike's arm and hung, motionless. "Is it a...game?"

"No game," Spike murmured. He pressed Peter closer to him, the heated whipcord of the boy's body gone boneless now. No fight left. "They're deadly earnest. They've grown up, and they want to go home." Spike closed his eyes for a moment as they dipped lower, easing free of the clouds – sinking slowly back down to the ship. He took a long breath, shivering a little. Pan's scent was the same as any boy – cake and blood, salt and earth. But something else was there – some low, musky undertone that murmured of dim forests and hidden grottos – of time and knowledge and age that lay – so heavy. "You have to let them go, Peter," he said, watching. Watching as Peter's gaze roved distractedly to and fro, seeing nothing.

"But I need them. There's always...always lost boys. It...says so. In the book. It says..."

"Shhh...." Spike opened his mouth – rested it for a moment on the sweet-salt skin of Pan's throat and then carefully, delicately, bit. Peter didn't move – didn't make a sound – and Spike drank. One long mouthful that was like wine and pure oxygen and honey – like sunlight and dew. With a sigh, Peter closed his own eyes, and they slipped down and down until Spike's boots touched the deck of the Jolly Roger.

Touched down in the midst of the boys, the pirates, the fairies. The storm was silent now – the clouds still streaming overhead, the sea still rushing up the beach. But all muted – all washing to shades of charcoal and ash and shadow. Only Hook's coat stood out, crimson slash upon the air. As Spike let his arms loosen – prepared to let Peter slide to the deck – Hook stepped forward, cutlass raised, and drove it through Peter's heart.

"Proud and insolent youth," Hook gasped, white as salt and breathless, his bottle-blue eyes wide. "Prepare to meet thy doom."

An inarticulate groan was wrenched out of Peter's mouth and Hook jerked his sword free, staring at the blood-stained tip. "Oh, please," Peter whispered, sagging, and Spike tugged Pan's head over gently, laying the golden head on his shoulder.

"No worries, boy. Won't hurt now."

"Stop! What – what are you doing?" Xander pushed his way past pirates and boys alike – did a funny little catch-step over Tootles' outflung arm.

"Killing Pan, Xander – what we said." Spike watched Xander's gaze go from Pan to Hook and back to Pan – to Spike, furious and horrified. Tink was on Xander's shoulder, tangled in the draggled locks.

"But – you can't –"

"It's the deal, Xander. I kill Pan – Hook gets us home. Want to go home, don't you?" Peter was limp – nearly unconscious – and Spike hitched him up a little bit. "I'm bloody well getting out of here, and I don't give a fuck who I have to kill to do it."

Xander looked like he wanted to say something else, to stop Spike, but Hook interrupted. He dropped his cutlass to the deck and slipped his coat off, holding it up. "Sir – Spike. Give me the boy, will you? Give him to me."

Spike frowned at Hook, not wanting to give up any advantage. Hook nodded, lifting his coat encouragingly – looking up and around with a lift of his eyebrow and Spike did the same. Everything was going...still. The waves were rippling into smoothness – the clouds flattening out, smoothing like sand on a beach. And the horizon...

Getting closer. Bloody hell, what does that mean? It's... Fuck. It's going away. "Yeah, I – yeah, alright." Spike shuffled Pan a step or two toward Hook and Hook met him, wrapping his coat around the slim shoulders and lifting the boy in his arms. Standing there, his hair slick with rain and pushed back – his white shirt a-gleam in the dimness, Hook looked very like...

Looks like any man. Any man holding his son...

Hook held Peter close to him, the wound of Pan's chest pressed to Hook's own heart – the costume of ragged leaves covered by the thick velvet of the coat. Peter's head was on Hook's shoulder and his hand curled loosely at Hook's neck, his eyes half-shut, his mouth a little open, showing the tiny, pearly teeth.

"You cheated...Hook, you cheated..."

"Shh now," Hook whispered, smoothing his hand down and down Pan's back. He looked up at Spike, his eyes fierce and glinting and somehow...not so tired. "It's going, vampire. All of it. The Great God Pan is dead and with him dies everything and everyone."

"Then tell me how in hell to get back home!" Spike snapped, and he felt Xander move up beside him – the other boys all around, Curly leaning on Michael and John still huddled, hugging himself.

"Spike –"

"Don't you know, vampire? When Pan dies – so does Neverland. And when Neverland dies....we all go home. Isn't that where you go, when you're hungry and cold..." Hook lifted his hand and stroked Peter's hair back from his forehead – rested his thin cheek there for a moment. "When you're so, so tired..."

"Tired," Peter whispered, and Hook closed his eyes for a moment.

"I know, my little man, I know. We're going to rest now. We're all going to rest and have lovely, happy dreams."

Peter's eyes opened a little wider and he seemed to struggle for a moment. Spike could smell his blood, thick and warm – could imagine that the breast of Hook's shirt must be scarlet with it. Hook shushed him again, stroking his back.

"No, no. Don't fret, boy. I know about your dreams. I know that you cry. You won't cry anymore, my boy."

"Your boy," Peter murmured, and his eyes fluttered closed. Hook looked up – looked around, his eyes darting from pirate to pirate and boy to boy – lingering last on Spike.

"It's over, you dogs – you mad hellions! It's over and now we go to our reward. Down to perdition or up to paradise – or to Davy Jones, to serve out our sentence... The finest pack of brigands on the Seven Seas!"

"Hook!" the pirates shouted, fists raised – eyes wet. "Hook, Hook, Hook!"

"Roxy – I have to get Roxy –" The twin – Tony – bolted for the hatch below and Michael gathered John close to him – looked at Spike with frightened eyes.

"Is it true? Are we going home?"

"I don't have a sodding clue, mate," Spike growled. He looked anxiously at the horizon and it was much, much closer – and moving fast. A boiling mass of darkness and all of Neverland was unweaving itself into it. As he stared, the furthest beach-head twisted and whirled and siphoned away, streaming up and out and gone into a void even his demon's eyes couldn't penetrate.

Xander was standing there staring with him, thin shoulders hunched and his hair curling damply over his neck. Spike reached out and pulled him close, face to face. Put his hands flat on Xander's shoulder-blades, feeling the thrum of Xander's heart through his palms. Tinkerbell disentangled himself from Xander's hair and fluttered upward, his glow flickering madly.

"I just – fuck, I want to be home, Spike. Anywhere but here, you know?"

"Yeah, me too," Spike said. He watched over Xander's shoulder as the nothingness advanced – as the clouds raveled away and the sea drained into the air – as the mermaids arrowed through the water away from it, but it was on all sides now, and there was no escaping it.

"No, I mean...it's a game we used to...we'd say 'anywhere but here' and then...then tell where we wanted to be most." Xander shivered, his breath getting a little shorter – his eyes flickering here and there, wide and scared.

"Yeah? Sounds like fun. Here – Xander?"

"Oh, god, it's really – really moving fast –" Xander was shaking now – looking around a little wildly and Spike caught Xander's face in his hands – made him still. Made him look at Spike, and nowhere else.

"We'll be fine, yeah? Hook...he knows what he's talking about. We'll be fine."

"We will?"

"We will."

"Dust! Fairy dust!" Hook was looking up at the fairies – lifting his hand for a moment from Peter's back. "Give us your magic – lift us up! Don't let the Roger meet her fate shackled to the earth!"

Above them the fairies stirred – lifted – began to flit madly to and fro, skeins of sparkling dust sifting down fine as flour over the ship. And, impossibly – she rose. Righted herself and floated up and turned, the sails belling in an un-felt breeze. She seemed to pause a moment – to gather herself – and then she plunged forward into the air, and the crew let out a wild cheer. The nothingness – was almost upon them.

"Oh, Jesus, it's coming, it's coming –" Xander muttered and Spike gave him a tiny shake.

"Xander – just...close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close your eyes, pet." Xander stared – swallowed and shivered and did it and Spike smiled. He glanced over at Hook, who was climbing the stairs – taking up his wide-legged stance behind the wheel. He nodded once to Spike – turned his head a little and kissed Peter's cheek and then the blackness touched the top of the mast and the bowsprit and Spike closed his own eyes – pulled Xander in tight.

Second on the right, straight on 'til morning.... Xander's lips were cold under his, and the end of it all came without a sound.

Hook's line - you know the one - is a direct quote from the book.

Part Fourteen

Spike came down to earth – literally – with a thump of his boots onto leafmold and spongy earth. He staggered sideways, thrown off balance by Xander's weight and the uneven footing. Xander made a funny little squeak of surprise and grabbed tighter and Spike braced one leg and pushed and they both ended up more or less upright, clinging together. The air was thick with humidity and the scents of wet earth and wood, ozone and water.

In the woods...fuck, not those woods...bloody hell...

"Oh, god, Spike, are we still there?" Xander's voice cracked a little and he swallowed hard. "Are we still in Neverland?"

"I can't tell. Be quiet a minute." Spike listened, face shifting. Ignoring Xander's heartbeat and the creaky wheeze of his lungs. A breeze rushed through the treetops, shaking down a little mini-shower, water pattering over the leaves. Far away was the soft rumble of dying thunder, the storm moving away. And then another sound, much closer and growing louder and Spike relaxed, letting out a little laugh. "Hear that?"

"Hear what? I –" Xander stopped talking – stopped breathing when Spike squeezed his shoulder. The sound was loud enough now and Spike felt Xander take a deep, shaking breath, relaxing under his hand. "That's – a car. Isn't it? That's a car engine."

"Got it in one, pet," Spike said. Somewhere below them – at the bottom of the slope they were standing on – headlights flickered between tree trunks as a car wound slowly past. Spike could hear the tyres hissing over the wet road – could very faintly hear some sort of music.

"We're home, we're home, we're – are we?" Xander's fingers skittered over Spike's coat – found his lapels and shook him very slightly. "Spike, do you know where we are?"

"Stop crumpling the leather, for fuck's sake." Spike pried Xander's hands loose and then just held onto his wrists. Listening with other senses – listening with his whole body. There it is. Hook, you mad bastard. You were right. "Can you feel it, Xander?" Spike whispered, watching as Xander blinked and then shut his eyes, frowning.

"I feel...my feet are wet and there's a rock...and...kind of...tingly?" His eyes popped open, looking around blindly and Spike could feel Xander's heart beat through the thin skin of his wrists. "What is that?"

"Hellmouth, is what that is. All that power, buzzing away like a hive of bees underground."

"I never felt it before. I think. Fuck, I don't remember."

"Like as not you didn't. Got sensitive to it, is all." Spike rubbed his thumbs slowly over the pulse in Xander's wrists – heard his little catch of breath and felt him sway infinitesimally closer. Now what am I going to do with this boy? This...lost boy. Be a shame to drain him, after all this...

"What are we gonna do now?" Xander asked, and Spike leaned forward carefully, not wanting to startle Xander in the dark and get a chin in the face. His cheek touched Xander's and Xander flinched ever so slightly and then Spike let the demon go and Xander turned his face and they were kissing again.

After a minute or two Spike pulled away. "Don't know about you, mate, but I'm starving. And you could use a wash and brush. How 'bout we go check on my car, get some nosh, relax?"

"Would there be pizza?" Xander breathed. "Meat-lovers with extra...meat and about a gallon of soda and won tons and General Tso's chicken and –"

"You'll be sick if you eat all that."

"You so do not know me, my fanged friend. That's just for starters. Uh. I don't actually have any money."

"Well, neither do I, at the moment." Spike reached into his pocket, hoping for one last smoke. Instead something jabbed his finger. "Ow! Bloody hell –" He jerked his hand out of his pocket and Tink came out with it, fluttering up to hover between himself and Xander.

"Tink! Hey!" Xander held out his hand and Tink settled lightly – hugged Xander's up thrust thumb. "You look better – do you feel okay now?" Tink chimed softly – lofted himself upward and flew in dizzying circles. "I think he feels okay."

"Bloody fairy," Spike muttered, but Xander was grinning, blinking happily in the dim mauve light Tinkerbell gave off. "Well, come on – time we were off. Hangin' about in the woods isn't anyplace we want to be."

"Yeah, okay." Xander followed Spike downhill, stumbling and sliding until Spike reached back and grabbed his arm, keeping him mostly upright. Tinkerbell darted back and forth, chiming wildly until Xander finally coaxed him onto his shoulder – kept up a low monologue of words while they crunched through bracken and wet leaves. "You ever have pizza, Tink? Oh, man – it's the best. And Twinkies – they're better than any kind of fairy food. And then there's Slurpees – you haven't had the perfect brainfreeze 'til you've had a Blue Raspberry Slurpee. And corn dogs! And cheese popcorn. And Twizzlers – cherry only, the strawberry are weird –"

"Great jumping gods, is food all you think about?" Spike slithered the last, muddy steps down hill and stepped out onto the road. Xander stumbled happily in his wake, picking leaves out of his hair.

"I think I missed food more than I missed my mom. No, wait – I know I did." Xander looked up and down the road, squinting a little. A very faint light – mostly reflected city lights – filtered down through the trees. "So – Sunnydale's thataway, huh?"

"Seems like." Spike felt reflexively for a cigarette and cursed as he once again encountered an empty pocket. First stop – smokes. He stomped down the road and then stopped and turned when he realized that Xander was just standing there. "Well? Come on, then – haven't got all night."

"Um. Maybe you could just...go on without me? I mean...maybe I could just kind of...hang back." Xander's hand was on the knife in his belt, fingers clutched tightly around the worn leather wrappings. "You know – get my bearings."

Oh, what now? Sodding humans... "Thought you were panting to get the goodies – have yourself some kind of junk-food orgy? Get a hot shower and kip in a real bed."

"Well, yeah, I am, it's just... I mean..." Xander stopped, his eyes suspiciously bright and Spike heaved a martyred sigh – stomped back to stand not a foot from him. Tink was chiming softly, his little hands patting at Xander's ear.

"What, then?"

"It's just...what if they...forgot about me? What if they don't...? I mean, I've changed, you know? And – and they've changed, and....it's a whole big – change-y kinda...thing." Xander waved his hands around, looking frantic. "You know?"

"Not really. Look – they're your mates. Either they give a shite or they don't. You skulkin' about in the woods like a scared rabbit isn't going to change that." Xander shrugged, looking away – sniffed and wiped hastily at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I'm scared, okay? You happy? I'm scared they won't care anymore." Tink made a distressed little noise and fluttered up of Xander's shoulder to hover a few inches in front of his face. He patted at Xander's chin and darted in, pressing his tiny mouth to Xander's lower lip.

"Well, the fairy cares," Spike muttered, and Xander gave a shaky laugh and held his palm up for Tink. The fairy lighted there, hugging Xander's thumb and Xander very carefully stroked Tink's back with the tip of his pinky. Tink seemed to really...like that.

"I think the fairy cares a little too much. Tink," Xander said, looking solemnly down at the pointy little face that was slack with pleasure. "Tink, it'd never work. We're not even the same...species." Spike snorted and Tink shot him a filthy look and then shrugged, wrapping his arms more tightly around Xander's thumb and very unsubtly humping the callused skin.

"Listen, Xander. Let's just go hole up in my house – well, Angelus' house, but who fucking cares? You can get your bearings from in town, yeah? We'll get you some clothes and – and a haircut if you want or...something. No reason to rush things. Xander?"

Xander was still petting Tink's back, sweeping a little lower with every touch. He had a wicked look on his face. "Huh? Um. Okay, yeah. Yeah, you're right. No reason to rush things... Wow, I guess their wings are like – erogenous zones or something."

"You're one sick little puppy, you know that?"

Xander grinned up at Spike and then half turned away, shielding Tink from Spike's gaze. "We're having a moment here, Spike. Care to give us some privacy?"

"Wanker." Spike turned on his heel and stalked away and after a moment he heard Xander's bare feet on the road. He glanced back to see the boy jogging to catch up, a languorously curled Tink on his shoulder, holding tight to a lock of hair. "All done now, then? Need to get separate rooms?"

"You're just jealous the fairy likes me best."

"Soon change that," Spike said, and then snapped his mouth shut, horrified. He marched on, ignoring Xander's hysterical giggles.

"They look different," Xander said, and Spike shifted around on his stool a little bit and squinted through the lights. Looking toward the little table where the witches and the Slayer were sitting, nursing neon-colored drinks. The older one – the teacher – wasn't there.

And thank Christ for that. Bloody gypsy. "Well, been nearly three years, hasn't it?" Spike said, and Xander shrugged – nodded. He looked different too, now that Spike had stolen him some proper clothes. Looked like the grown-up he nearly was in new jeans and a plain, dark red t-shirt. He'd left his hair long, curling nearly to his shoulders. It had a sheen like a sealskin now that it was clean and combed and Spike liked to run his fingers through it. When Xander let him, which was...pretty bloody often. Getting cozy, they were.

It reminded him of Dru, truth be told, though he didn't say that out loud.

"Yeah, I guess. I just... It's weird! Willow's all...gay and Buffy's like...a grown up, and they're in college... I can't believe it's been so long." Xander took a sip of his soda, toying with the straw. "Maybe I'll just...you know...go over and say hi."

"Maybe you will, pet," Spike agreed, fishing for a smoke and inhaling gratefully. Sodding California and its sodding anti-smoking laws. Xander sat and fidgeted and sipped his drink and Spike smoked and when smoke and drink were both gone, Spike stood up. "Think I'll take a little stroll – have a bite," Spike said, and Xander slithered off his own stool, looking grateful.

"Guess I'll just – tag along. Wouldn't want you getting hurt."

"In your bloody dreams," Spike muttered, but they walked out of the Bronze with wrists and shoulders casually brushing. Habit, now. Xander stalked his former friends, Spike didn't point out that he never actually talked to them – they both hunted down feeding vamps. Spike – or Xander - would stake the vamp and Spike would take a nice long drink from a swooning victim. Xander would then take said victim to the nearest safe place and they'd wander on in search of more until Spike was satisfied or Xander was tired. Imperfect, but workable. Tonight, they only went a couple of blocks before Spike was lifting his hand and nodding toward an alley and Xander was drawing a stake from the inner pocket of his jacket, dark eyes alight with adrenalin. Whatever else Pan had taught the boy, he'd taught him how to hunt.

Spike wiped his mouth off and sucked the end of his thumb clean – watched Xander shove the half-dead man into a cab and send him on his way. Big, hairy, garlicky half-dead man. Not something Spike would ever choose for himself. Sodding sick of this, I am. Had enough. Feel like some kind of damn pet on a leash. Suddenly it was all too much, and Spike made up his mind in an instant. "Going to head out tomorrow," he said abruptly and watched Xander blanch, eyes going wide. "Know a vamp or two in San Francisco – they'll get this chip sorted for me."

"San – San Francisco? But – I thought..."

"What, thought I'd spend the rest of my unlife here? Eating sloppy seconds and having a boy for a bodyguard? Not bloody likely." Spike snapped his Zippo open and lit a cigarette – ignored the look of hurt on Xander's face.

"I guess... I guess I'd better find someplace to live, then," Xander mumbled and Spike stopped dead, unconsciously letting his face slip into the demon's mask as he growled in pure irritation. Xander flinched a little but kept going, head down. Fists shoved hard into his jacket pockets, his shoulders hunching. "I mean, I can't stay at the Crawford Street house forever, somebody's gonna want it and...and it's too big for just me anyway, and –"

"What in bloody hell are you going on about?" Spike snarled. Xander just shrugged, walking a little faster and Spike stomped after him – rounded on him, glaring. Xander stopped dead and glared back. "Look, mate, it's been a month, yeah? An entire damn month of trailing around after the Slayer and those witches, making mournful faces in the window at the Watcher's house like the sodding Match Girl, and you've not once opened your gob and said one bloody word! It's time to move on!"

"Yeah, well – so? You've got your car and your – your stolen stuff and your big – moving – plans so just – move! Not like you –" Xander clamped his mouth shut hard on whatever was coming next and Spike just stared at him. Breathing, and then paying attention to what he was breathing. After a moment he let his face relax back into human – let his mouth move into a little half-smile.

"Oh, that's how it is, yeah?"

"That's how what is?" Xander mumbled, sidestepping around Spike, moving away, booted feet crunching on broken glass.

"That's how you are," Spike said, catching up. "This is."

"What is? And if you say 'What's on second', I'll shove that cigarette up your –"

"Calm down, pet."

"Don't tell me that!" Xander stopped again, snapping up his arm in a 'talk to the hand' gesture. "I hate that!"

"Well, then, bloody calm down!" Xander huffed and then stood there, seething, and Spike took a long last drag and flipped the butt away, trying for his own calm. "Look, what I'm saying is... You just don't fit here anymore. You've seen things, done things you know that mob wouldn't approve of. You don't fit into their little world anymore. Besides..." Spike leaned in a little, getting right into Xander's face and space and the thin aura of heat and scent that surrounded him. "You like me better."

"No I don't," Xander snapped, but he was looking away – was leaning into Spike, just a little, and Spike grinned.

"Course you do – why shouldn't you? I don't care who you killed or how you did it or that you slept with some little kid –"

"He was the same age as me," Xander muttered. He sighed and leaned all the way, then – let his head drop onto Spike's shoulder and Spike's hand came automatically to rub the back of Xander's neck, fingers tangling in his hair. "It's just... I thought I'd come back and the first thing I'd do was go see Willow and Buffy and...it'd all just...be the same!"

"I know," Spike murmured, eyes on the alley mouth across from them. Something was lurking.

"And it's not. Nothing's the same. They're totally different and I don't... I hate it here. Everybody hides from the truth. Everybody knows bad stuff is happening and they're all just – pretending it doesn't." Xander lifted his head, his hands creeping forward to stroke lightly along Spike's sides. "I'm sick of pretending things and...hiding things. I can't go back to that. I can't make-believe anymore, Spike. I just can't."

"And you don't have to," Spike said, rubbing his thumb along the soft skin and softer hair just behind Xander's ear. The slightest encouraging pull and Xander was pressed up tight against him, mouth to mouth and hip to hip. He tasted like Coke and beer nuts and bubble gum toothpaste. He felt warm – solid – and Spike slid a hand around Xander's hip and held him close, enjoying the little flutter of Xander's heart and the reflexive clutch of callused fingers when Spike tilted his hips and pushed.

"Can I come to San Francisco with you?" Xander whispered, nose brushing Spike's nose and his hand rubbing slowly down Spike's back, fingertips dipping into the waist of Spike's jeans.

"Never planned on leaving you behind. Just needed you to make up your mind proper," Spike whispered back. He felt Xander shift against him – felt something hard pressing into his thigh.

"There's a vamp over there," Xander breathed, and Spike laughed softly.

"You go left, I'll go right, eh?"

"Gotcha." Xander was grinning as he spun around and lunged, and Spike laughed out loud.

Not so lost anymore, are you, boy?

Epilogue

"Hey, Spike! You awake?"

"Well I am now," Spike muttered into his pillow. He tracked Xander's footsteps from the front door to the bed – listened to the little hops and the sliding thumps that were Xander's boots being yanked off en route and tossed. Then the mattress lurched as Xander flopped down onto it and Spike levered himself up onto his elbows, pillow bunched between his forearms. Squinting at Xander through his lashes.

"It's almost six," Xander said.

"So? Still light out."

"When did that ever stop you?" Xander crossed one leg over the other and regarded Spike with a thoughtful stare. "There's a Bruce Lee retrospective at the Castro tonight."

"Bully for the Castro, then." Spike let his head thump back down onto the pillow. It hurt. Quite a lot.

"So...your research... You were pretty wasted when you came home this morning." Xander's hand settled on the back of Spike's neck, kneading gently. "Did you... How'd that go?"

"You wondering if it worked?" Spike asked, every muscle going a little tense, now.

Xander just kept kneading. "Well...yeah. I mean...not that I... I guess it's private," he ended lamely, and his fingers stilled for a moment in their rhythm. Started back up, a little ragged.

"It is a little personal," Spike said and Xander's fingers stopped again – started to slip away. "You git." Spike lifted his head, looking over at Xander with a frown. "It's not personal. And since you asked, yes."

"Yes, what?" Xander stared for a moment and Spike stared back, eyebrow going up. "Oh. Oh. Yes, it worked?" Spike raised both eyebrows. "It did work. Oh, wow. Oh....wow. So. Now you're all..." Xander's hand came off Spike's neck as he gestured, hands waving aimlessly in the air. "You're all..."

"Normal. Now I'm back to normal." Which was something Spike was going to celebrate with alcohol, blood and violence. Soon. As soon as his head stopped feeling like it had been in the way of a ten-ton lorry.

"Yeah. Normal. Except you look kinda...night-afterish," Xander said, propping himself on one elbow and looking Spike over with a critical gaze.

"Feel night-afterish. Except there was no night. Just a bloody great zap of electricity."

"They fried it?" Xander's hand crept back across the sheets – slid up Spike's ribs and went back to gently kneading the back of Spike's neck.

Spike let his head drop down onto the pillow again. "Like a chip. And it bloody well hurt."

"I'll bet. I mean, I remember this one time in shop class I accidentally electrocuted myself on this lamp we were supposed to be making. Well, not electrocuted really, I guess, 'cause I'm not dead, but –"

"Christ's sake," Spike muttered. He flopped himself inelegantly onto Xander, surprising a squeak out of him. "My head hurts."

"I'm sorry," Xander said. On automatic.

Spike sighed. "Not blaming you. Just telling you. In case you wanted to do something about it." Spike blinked up at Xander, digging his chin into Xander's sternum a little and Xander blinked back.

"In case I...oh." The confused-puppy face became the 'this is my sexy' face, which made Spike snigger into Xander's button-up. Xander poked him in the shoulder. "Not exactly the response I was looking for."

"You're just so bloody..."

"Don't say it!"

"Cute. Christ, it's like bedding a big Labrador pup."

Xander made a cross with his fingers and Spike flickered into his demon-face and then back to human, wincing. "Please don't tell me you actually know what sex with dogs is like."

"That's sodding disgusting."

"You are the one that brought it up, my fine fanged friend."

Spike grabbed hold of Xander with arms and legs and rolled, bringing Xander down over him. Xander yelped and braced himself on his elbows and Spike made a pained sort of moan. "Christ. Like being hit in the head with a sledgehammer. A hot sledgehammer."

"Aww. Poor you. Maybe I could..." Xander leaned in a little and pressed his lips carefully to Spike's forehead. "...make it all better?"

"Maybe you could," Spike said. He slid his hands down Xander's back and burrowed under the hem of the shirt and t-shirt Xander was wearing, lifting and tugging until Xander sat up a little and pulled both shirts off over his head. "Been out in the sun again," Spike observed, fingertips feathering over the blush of pink on Xander's honey-tan collarbones.

"I was down at China Beach. Took my shirt off." Xander let his legs straddle Spike's hips and leaned down, pushing his nose into Spike's cheek. He breathed there for a moment, his hands doing a slow glide up Spike's arms and back down. He was warm – fever warm where the sun had pinked him – and Spike lifted his own hands and stroked them down Xander's back. He felt Xander's mouth move – open – felt his lips and tongue mouthing over the point of Spike's jaw. "You taste like burnt sugar," Xander murmured, and Spike pushed his fingertips past the waist of Xander's jeans, pressing into the curve of muscle there.

"Toasted marshmallow, you say?" Spike said, and Xander snorted into Spike's neck – bit down hard enough to sting, his tongue licking at the reddened flesh.

"Flaming, actually."

"Git."

"Ah ah ah." Xander lifted his head up, pouting at Spike. "Be nice, or no num nums."

"If you're gonna call it that –"

"Shut up, Spike."

Xander was a damn good kisser, so Spike happily shut up. Happily let Xander lick and nip and suck from neck to hipbones to belly. Ecstatically let Xander go down on him with the sloppy eagerness of a novice, making appreciative noises and tangling his fingers in all that heavy, silken hair.

He barely even noticed when Tink flew in and sprawled out on Spike's belly and humped himself to a tiny, messy orgasm in Spike's navel.

"So you're like – the big bad vampire now, huh?" Xander asked breathlessly, naked, grinding his cock down onto Spike's hip. His hair all hanging in his eyes and his cheeks flushed – lips red and plump, inviting.

"Exactly. Not on any bloody leash anymore. It's fists and fangs anytime I like, now."

Xander stopped moving for a moment – stuck out his lip and blew his hair up and off his forehead. It immediately flopped back down and he stared at Spike through the strands. A long, considering look. Then he started moving again, making a little moan of pleasure when Spike's hands cupped his ass – pressed and stroked and teased over the sensitive skin between the cheeks.

"You know what? I think that's kinda...oh God...kinda fuckin' hot," Xander panted and Spike had to agree.

The End

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