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The Suicide Plot	By : Kayla Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > Slash - Male/Male > Spike(William)/Xander > Spike(William)/Xander Views: 2901 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Suicide Plot
- 1
The Suicide Plot
by Kayla

Disclaimer: ::blink:: Raise your hand if you seriously think these guys belong to me. ::glances around:: Yeah, that's what I thought...

Notes: All for you, Jess. Because you know I'm not normally so cruel to Xander! :) And you just had to have the angst and torment!

Of course, the bribe you sent me helped, too. And I've never claimed to have morals... ::snicker::

No one knew he'd kept it. So many years since that Halloween night when he'd actually been someone! Someone strong, someone brave! And now, all that was left of that was one of the many weapons he'd stockpiled while in his soldier guise.

Xander held up the gun, tilting it back and forth. It was loaded. He knew it was loaded, because he'd just put a bullet in the chamber. Only one; if he did this right, that's all he would need. And how hard could it be to kill yourself?

He stared around the quiet room, so devoid of any happiness and life. Well, in a few minutes, it would be even more lifeless. Taking a deep breath to prepare himself, Xander closed his eyes and lifted the gun to his temple. His finger slowly squeezed the trigger.

The sudden pounding on the door startled him, and he flinched, his arm jerking. Time seemed to move in slow motion as his finger jerked on the trigger. It was wrong; he knew it was wrong. And in the split second before the deafening shot echoed through his ears, his only thought was, 'Well, fuck!'. Then, his world exploded in a haze of crimson agony.

~~~~~~

Spike stood outside Xander's apartment, blatantly ignoring the 'No Smoking' signs as he took a deep drag from his cigarette. He glared at the stub that remained, then nonchalantly flicked it onto the floor, snickering as it scorched a mark in the pristine carpeting before he ground it out with his heel. Transferring his glare back to the door, he took a moment to try and figure out why he'd come here.

He shrugged, deciding to chalk it up to sheer boredom, then pounded heavily on the door. He jumped back at the sharp 'crack' that came from behind the door. "Whelp? You in there?" He frowned, his nose wrinkling at the acrid smell of gunpowder that wafted out. A smell that was drowned out by the headier scent of freshly shed blood.

"Shit," he muttered. Without any internal qualms abooingoing so, he kicked the door in, wood splintering as the locks were wrenched out of place. At least he had no problems with barriers, thanks to the invite he'd managed to trick out of Xander during an argument once. A fact for which he found himself grateful when he rushed in to find Xander's body slumped over the couch, blood gushing from a wound in his head.

Spike cursed when he saw the gun dangling from limp fingers. He darted forward and yanked it away, checking to see if it was still loaded before hurling it across the room. "Xander? Mate?" He could hear the faint throb of a pulse in the boy, so at least he knew Xander wasn't dead. At least not yet. But with the amount of blood coating him...

Spike blinked, licking his lips at the sight of all that fresh, delicious blood that was positively calling his name. He stepped forward, kneeling in front of Xander. "Hey, you ok?" When he received no answer, he reached out and ran a finger down the boy's cheek. He brought the blood-covered digit to his mouth, moaning at the explosion of flavor across his tongue. "Xander?" he tried again in a whisper.

Still no response, and he leaned forward, gently tilting Xander's head toward him. His tongue appeared, and he lapped at the trickles of blood that had run down the boy's neck. He groaned, feeling himself vamp out as he began to lick more fervently, making his way up Xander's face and removing every drop of the precious fluid that he could find.

He nuzzled through sticky locks of hair, coming closer to the source. The bullet wound; the wound that still reeked of gunpowder as blood continued to flow sluggishly from it.

Spike wrenched himself back, panting heavily. "Get a grip, Spike," he ordered himself, shaking slightly. He took a deep breath to steady himself, absently wondering why he still had a habit of doing that even after more than a century of not needing to breathe. Standing, he ran a trembling hand through his hair. With a mental smack to his libido, which was thoroughly enjoying the sight of the bloody human sprawled nearby, he made his way to the kitchen, where he managed to fill a bowl with warm water.

Taking the bowl and a clean washcloth back to the couch, he knelt again. He soaked the cloth, then set about carefully cleaning off the drying traces of blood from Xander's face. As best he could, he washed out the matted hair, gently pushing it away from the oozing wound. He dabbed at the long, ragged gash, feeling a faint twinge of relief that the boy didn't seem to be in any danger of bleeding to death.

A quick trip to the bathroom provided him with a remarkably well-stocked first-aid kit. Several bandages were laid atop the injury, and wrapped in place with a liberal amount of gauze. When he'd finished, Spike sat back, smirking when he thought how Xander now resembled on of these amnesia patients on the soaps. Not that he watched soaps; Passions was not a soap!

Spike sighed as he stared at the unconscious boy, for the first time wondering what the hell Xander had thought he was trying to do. Shaking his head, he hefted the limp body and carried him to his bedroom. Amazingly enough, he had a lot of practice divesting uncooperative individuals of their clothes, so had no problems getting Xander out of his ruined garments.

Shamelessly, he took full advantage of the opportunity to get an eyeful of Xander's naked form, wondering when the whelp had managed to acquire all those muscles. Very firm, bronzed, glistening muscles. And those stiff, pert little nipples...

Spike's fingers twitched, aching to run along warm skin and sneak into every dip and crevice on Xander's body. He growled softly, his hand reaching out and ever so softly touching the tiny patch of hair that started at the boy's belly and trailed down, down...

"Ahh!" Spike pulled back, thumping his head with his hand. "What are you doing? You do not want this...boy!" Whirling, he hurried back out to the scene of the crime, glowering at the blood-spotted couch. He noticed the door still hanging open, so he stalked over and slammed it shut. The gun he picked up and slipped into one of the pockets in his duster, then he removed the duster and hung it neatly in the closet.

Wearily, he sank onto the floor, gaze once more fixed on the couch. "I don't want him," he whispered. "I just fixed him up 'cause Slutty would've staked me if she knew I'd let him bleed out. I do ot
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The Suicide Plot