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Previously on Blindsided:
Suddenly the warmth, the solidity, the lips, pulled away from him, extracting themselves from his hands.
"Sorry, just had to. Going now. Bye, Spike."
Spike watched Xander's fleeing back, thinking What the bloody hell was that all about, then?
And on with the story:
He'd kissed Spike.
Spike had kissed him back.
And now, following Brave Sir Robin's m.o., came the time to bravely run away.
As he closed the door behind him, part of his mind scrambled for reasons why. Was it because he'd just heard that another ex had died? Was it his not-so-irrational fear that knowing him, being loved by him, was linked with the dying? And, boy, was that a Scooby thought, or what?
A snider, not Snyder, part of his brain answered, because you've been wanting to for longer then you'll admit.
Xander had meant the good-bye. It wasn't a term he used lightly. He wasn't sure if Spike knew that, but all that mattered was he did.
He'd come to LA to see if Andrew had been right, to see if Spike was still alive. He'd stuck around because...nope, too many home truths for one day.
Although the thought of a broken Spike still chilled him, Spike was well on his way to a full recovery, if he hadn't already passed that point. No longer needed a nursemaid. Never needed a nursemaid, huffed the Spike residing in his head. And that was part of the problem. How had Buffy put it all those years ago? His hurts were now Xander's hurts. Somehow the undead, gorgeous, mass-murdering vampire and souled champion had taken up space in both his head and, Xander admitted as he dropped his shoulders in resignation, his heart. Another member of his anatomy made its presence known. Fine, his head, his heart, and, if his body had anything to do with it, shortly Spike would be in his pants. Stupid body.
Too much thinking. He needed space. He needed to pack. He needed to get away.
His stomach grumbled.
He needed to eat.
Part of him wanted to find a greasy spoon. Somewhere with bottomless cups of bad coffee and breakfast served all day. Something L.A. Confidential-ish. What can he say? He was a romantic. The stomach portion of him settled on the first fast-food place he found.
Sitting in a corner booth, blind side to the wall, he smiled as he unwrapped his Double Meat Medley. At least he'd be getting his vegetables today. He sketched out his game plan on a napkin. He'd been smart enough to book an open return ticket, so he could leave whenever he wanted.
But what did he want?
Panicked fleeing felt like the right approach. And he could always pick up where he left off in Africa. He'd been doing a decent job with the new Slayers there, even if Giles had sent a more watchery Watcher to "assist" him. Sure, he'd found, and was therefore working with, a lot of girls, but he'd thought he'd been doing a good job. Then someone, who was as wet behind the ears as Wesley had been, turned up with a crate of "ancient tomes." Couldn't someone have given him a heads up that his job was in jeopardy? He hadn't expected that consideration from the minimum-wage places, but jeez, this was family.
And family drew his thoughts right back to where he didn't want them to go.
"Spike."
The name slipped from his lips and, like magic, guess who appeared through the door of the Palace? He watched as Spike scanned the restaurant and zeroed in on his location. For a brief moment, he just savored the hunter's prowl as Spike advanced on him, although part of the menace was lost with all the blinking.
"You couldn't have chosen somewhere where the lights don't fizzle, now could you?" asked Spike as he slid onto the bench across from Xander.
"Between your neighborhood and my budget, Puck's just wasn't on the agenda. So, how did you find me?"
As soon as he said it, he wanted to kick himself. That feeling only increased as Spike did his head tilt number 10: duh, vamp here, plus the raised eyebrow. Dropping his head, Xander snorted. "Fine, stupid question. Fry?" He pushed the grease-covered paper envelope over to Spike.
"Ta, ever so. I like my food with flavor," he demurred.
Xander braced himself for it. The whole "we kissed" discussion. It had to be coming.
"Had some food back at my place if you were hungry."
"Sorry, even after hanging out with Brits, still can't get my head around eating Weetabix. I mean it's a natural S.O.S. pad, but given your level of cleanliness, you probably don't know what those are."
"Do so. Who do you think actually tidied your bloody basement of doom? Tell you right now it wasn't your ex-demon. "
"God, you were bored, weren't you?"
Again, just the raised eyebrow in response.
"Didn't tell you, but found another game for the Nintendo." Spike paused to look around the restaurant. "Think it's right up your alley. BurgerTime."
And just like that, the whole topic was averted.
It was an open-ended ticket. Decisions could wait. He snagged the last fry while standing up and said, "A new game? You're on!"
Denial was a comfortable place. And it looked like there was room for two.
********************************************************
Caught up with Speed Racer sooner than he'd thought. A bit surprised though, Spike had figured he'd head to a doughnut shop for comfort.
So he braved the bad tingles of the florescent lights, not his favorite invention of the twentieth century, to settle himself in front of Xander and his happy meal.
Whelp said something stupid about his tracking him, but seemed to realize his mistake and make a peace offering of a bloody fry. Had it been a blooming onion--
He was tense. Too tense. THIS was the fellow who had his tongue down my throat not a half-hour before? If I were going to take umbrage, it would have been then. Didn't want to scare the lad off. Didn't have many mates in this city. Plus, the boy is a damn fine kisser.
Spike felt his body react to the memory of the kiss. And it was only a kiss. He imagined that hot mouth tracing his jaw, his neck, his cock…Spike bit back a groan as his pants felt like the Grinch's heart, two sizes too small. Must say something.
"Had some food back at my place if you were hungry."
He watched as the tension slowly began to leak out of Xander, and listened to the brunet babble about Weetabix and SOS pads. Brought up memories of his basement of doom and the initial days of being chipped and helpless.
Not a time Spike liked to revisit. So he didn't. He mentioned the new game he'd managed to find. Worked like a charm. Boy's heartbeat speed up, but it felt like excitement, not panic.
Xander got up and, greedy pig, ate the last fry.
"A new game? You're on."
Spike wondered if the lad was being coy. Looking at the smiling, open, and clueless face, he was betting not. Too bad. But it did leave the next move, and there would be a next move, up to him.
He'd been told he was a charmer. Had kept him in blood and dosh enough times. He'd just have to turn his charm on Xander. That left him in control.
Just the way he liked it.