Lacrimosa
by Sally

How are you feeling?
Do you feel ok?
Cause I don't.
-Dashboard Prophets, Ballad for Dead Friends

He wanted to crawl in to a corner and cry himself to sleep. Smiling bitterly he realised that for once things might actually go to plan. He fumbled with the key in the darkness, the outline of the small piece of metal cutting into his burnt hands. A wave of relief flooded him as he realised that no one was at home even as the frustration of being able to perform the simple task of opening the door proved to be just another thing that he was unremarkably bad at. When the door finally gave way it was such a non event that he felt hat little bit closer to tears. All that fumbling in the dark and the result? A piece of `wood' swinging on the cheapest hinges they could find at the time. The darkness of the basement room was more of a comfort than he had dared hope for. Nothing could see him. Nothing could dissapprove of him. He was a tree falling in the woods.

Leaning back on the door he closed it with his weight and hated the catch for breaking the dark soft silence. He stood for a moment longer then let out the first shuddering gasp. Willing his vocal chords to stay clear o fhis ragged breath he let the tears fall for what he knew would be only the first time that night. He loved the silence. He loved the darkness. He loved the emptiness of the room. His ragged breaths and soft sniffles were the only sounds echoing through the room. He loved the sound of them as he suppressed the catalyst that had pushed him over the edge this time. He felt bad enough as it was. He didn't need to give himself a reason. There was time enough for that later.

The first outpouring only lasted five or so minutes but there would be more. He wiped his eyes and sniffed loudly then moved through the darkness to "his place". He had a litle nest of pld blankets and cushions in the corner, it looked suspiciously like dirty washing but here in the dark it was the softest warmest place in the world. As he discarded his shoes and jeans he realised how far this had gone. He had a place just for crying. It happened often enough to warrant that. It was enough to trigger the next flood. of tears as he curled in to his haven.

He cried for himself. Cried for what he was. What he im agined other people saw him as. For how he saw himself. He was subnormal.. Ok, maybe normal on a good day. Hell. That had been just about proven. The truth of the masses. Everyone told him so. He wasn't good enough. He wasn't smart enough. He wasn't fast enough. He wasn't strong enough. He wasn't popular enough. It had been enough to push him down this direction *before*. But then the universe had played some cruel joke and thrown him in with a group of fucking superheros. Why? Because he'd been standing behind a bookshelf in the library getting a book because willow told him to. Willow had to remind him to get the reading cause he wasn't smart enough. But he was stupid. That was one thing that he was. Slow and dumb and thick. Possessing a total lack of judgement that had allowed him to get invilved with this. He hadn't had the sense to walk away when he had the chance.

He wasn't good enough.

Sure he tried. But that wasn't the point. He wasn't sposed to be smart enough. He was supposed to fail. He was supposed to be living in a basement. He was supposed to be broke and losing his friends. He was supposed to fail becuase it amused them. Meade then look better. Probably. He hoped. He had a horrible sinking feeling that he wasn't even doing that right. He was supposed to screw up to make them look better and he wasn't even doing that.. He was dragging them down.

He couldn't even screw up properly.

And he couldn't even end it. That wouldn't be right. They wouldn't want that. Or maybe they would. Mayeb they wanted him to end it. That's why they kept doing these things... they wanted to see how far they could push him before he broke. Then they could have their emotional issues and sympathy cause they'd lost a friend to a tragic suicide. Screw them. He wasn't going to give them that. Wasn't going to give them the satisfaction... un lessit was a test. 

Teasing. He was supposed to resist.

Shit.

Paranoid.

Fucking paranoid.

They want you like this. They want you out of your mind. A vacant clone ready to to pander to their every whim. Unless it was the struggle they want ed to see. He was supposed to fight it.

Paranoid.

Fucking paranoid. That was why they did it. That is why they didn't even look when it happened. He brought his burnt fingers to his lips, kissing the damaged tips because he knew no one else would. A wave of guilt swept him at the action. He didn't deserve it. No one kissed his fiungers becaus ehe didn't deserve it. So what rigth did he have to do it himself?

That's why they did it. They gave him the blaster to fix because he was expendable. He had someone elses memories in his head that were supposed to allow him to do those kinds of things. Someone else's memories. He couldn't even remember for himself. And even with this `advantage' he'd still fucked it up. Still couldn't fix a stupid blaster with all the atrining in the world that he had no right to have.

She'd said it was a setup. Soem fucking planted prophetic line. Yeah a set up. Another situation to get xander dead. He's expendable.

Didn't even bat a fucking eyelid. Only a minor fucking electrocution. Probably nothing compared to what they have planned. So much fun watching him being expendable. But of course she deserves it. They all do. They save the world. Yay. Saves the world again. Starting to look like not so smart an idea. What were they saving anyway? Doesn't matter cause we've got Mr Expendable to do away with.

Sure he'd saved the world but it wasn't the same. It didn't count. It wasn't in the plan, a mistake. So they ignored it. In the grand scheme of things it never happened. It couldn't have happened. He couldn't have saved the world. It was unimaginable. He wasn't a hero. He didn't have superpowers. He wasn't a good person. He didn't deserve to save the world. Someone capable of saving the world is a valuable person. He couldn't have saved the world.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I'm going insane.

Still going fucking downhill. Now i'm not even mentally stable. What a dissappointment for them.

They never expected anything and they'll still be dissappointed. That doesn't make sense.

Yes it does. Just so fucking out of it that you can't grasp the concept.

You can't even grasp the concept.

It was giving him a headache. The silence. Holding his breath only to shudder again.

His lips were dry. Almost cracking but his face was wet. Crying. 

Fucking crying. Can't even stop that. Pathetic.

It was too much. He let his mind go blank, frighteningly empty and indulged himself in a soft wet whimper with every breath.. Coming deeper and slower now. His body relaxing, becoming boneless.

Those noises... they almost made him smile... he sounded like he was being fucked. Slowly. Tiny quiet sounds on the edge of his breath. Not even coming from him. He'd never made such pretty little noises. He stayed there, limp, listening to his own voice until a ragingly coherent thougth edged in to his mind. Thirsty, he needed water. He's been crying too long. Too long. Not water. It tasted metallic down here. The idea of it almost made him gag. Cranberry juice. There was cranberry juice in the little fridge. What he wouldn't do for it.... it was too much for him to lift his head. Drowsiness pinning him into his salted little nest. Sweet. Eh wanted the sweet, cool red liquid. Shining in the glass. The little sharp edge to it that made it all the more real. He lay wishing for the cranberry juice. Wishing some thing would happen. He would suddenly develop a talent for telekinesis if he was anyone else. But he wasn't and so the futility was crushing.

Dreaming. He could lie here dreaming.

He was reduced to dreaming about cranberry juice.

Cranberry juice... on a finger tip that was painting his lips. A calloused fingertip... it slowly dawned on him that the finger was not something that existed in side his head.. Something from outside... something real.... something was not right.

He licked his lips, catching the finger with the tip of his tongue as he did and forced his eyes open, see in only darkness at first then focussing to find the edge of the dark shadow that leaned over him. Not a large shadow.

Not too scary... something nice about it's shape. Something he'd seen before in the dark but his clouded mind couldn't place it. Something vaguely not right but not altogether frightening, either. He gave up trying to work it out. He really didn't want to move and if it was going to eat him it was a bit to late to worry about it now. He was literally trapped in a corner. T least it had the decency to bring him the one thing he'd been wanting. It had fingers that tasted like cranberry juice. Cold fingers.

It moved and he couldn't see it again. The finger gone and he heard another of those soft whimpers that never seemed to stop coming tonight. A little high soft place in his voice, almost sounded like a girl he absentmindedly observed.

He was beginning to wish the finger was back. Cranberry juice be damned. There was someone here... or at least a disembodied fingertip with a shadow. At this point he didn't care because they were silent and they left the light off and their touch was soft and they didn't have a face to mock him with.

And there was a glass to his lips, tiny waves of cranberry juice set lapping against his mouth by the motion of the glass. He pulled them into his mouth, tasted for a moment and swallowed. This is what he wanted. This is what he'd been wishing for. His hands, unwilling to let the prize escape, found their way to the glass, closing protectively over the hand that held it there for him. Smaller than his hand. Rough skin but delicate bones. He liked this hand. It was pretty. It brought juice.

It gently tilted the glass until the last drops flowed between his lips and at that instant was gone, leaving no time for a breath he found his mouth covered by another. He'd been kissed like this a few times before. Usually not for long and it was usually destroyed by the inevitable bout of sarcasm that came in the aftermath.

Gently pulling at his bottom lip, tongue just barely reaching his front teeth. It wasn't the passionate invasion that faith and Cordelia had been so prone to launching into. He'd had this kind if kiss a few times from Cordy...once from willow. Such a shame. This felt like a goodbye kiss. He could almost hear it. "I wish you could come with me... come with me... come with me..."

So soft that he barely noticed when it stopped. Just that something was missing... he sat pondering what it could have been for a moment when another soft peck reminded him.

"Better pet?"

"Hmm..." Spike..... Spike? That was... odd. Not bad... odd. It was wrong but not in a bad way.. Just something that didn't happen. Spike was... sweet. Spike was.. safe. Spike was here. 

"Wha-"

"Shh... later...." and his mouth covering Xander's again.. His fingers trailing up the inside of his thigh, little patterns, barely touching. *Mmm... nice... don't leave... please don't leave... I don't care...*

The lips pulled away again, then hands on his that he realised had felt empty since he'd lost the glass. Where was the glass? And he was being lifted to his feet. Shaky on his feet. Swaying... swaying into hands.. Spike's hands again... Leading him... dark... leading him in the dark.... *I can see the window. Not so dark darkness.* lowered to the bed. *Softly, don't break me....*

And there was a soft little kitten tongue on his face, catching up little spots of dried tears even as fresh once replaced them.

"Pet..." It was little more than a breath by his ear and he was being lifted again... lifted like a baby, a hand cradling the back of his head as his neck went loose. Lifted and his shirt removed.... then rustling, the sound waking him, cutting through the cotton wool protecting his bruised mind. *Taking off his shirt... like me.. No shirt...*

The cool air painting a light chill on his skin served to further awaken his hazed mind. "Spike...?" Another whimper... *oh god... I wonder if I really would sound like that if he fucked me?*

"Shh... I'm here..." Covering him again, his bare chest just a touch warmer than the air.

*Still hasn't lost the heat from the day... I wonder where he slept?*

"So beautiful..." Stroking the tears on his cheeks. The tears that wouldn't stop.

Xander shivered, hands running down his sides to catch the sides of his boxers. "Hips, love." a gentle prompt. He liked it. Reminding him of what he wanted to do when his mind was to clouded to produce the movement on its own. Not an order. Helping him.

He liked this. Coming back to reality, his mind clearing, he could move now.

He was naked on his bed and had some idea that Spike was equally bare and somewhere very close. Somewhere... he wished he could hear his breath...

Palms on the soles of his feet.

Ghosting up his calves, fingers brushing under the inside of his knees... almost like breath... He shivered warmly... felt a stirring...

The mattress shifted as spike's weight settled on his elbows between his knees. Fingers chasing tiny circles around the inside of his thighs. The skin began to tingle, he could imagine it glowing a soft blue colour, the illumination falling on the angular planes of spike's delicate features... then lips... painting deep red patches under his skin, beneath the blue and flowing towards his groin...

*oh god... I wonder if I really would sound like that if he fucked me? * it came back at him over and over again *sound like that if he fucked me....* The little noises returned and he felt spike lurch forward. The soft tip of his tongue roving around... the softest, lightest.... barely touching. Everywhere... not stopping long enough to be real. The tingling began to grow... warmer... more intense... and then the flat of his tongue and-

"O-oh god..." Spike had swallowed his cock... his throat clamping down, squeezing him as a mouth that had no greater purpose than to provide suction went to work with it in tandem. It wasn't possible... didn't the man have a gag reflex? More than that... physically impossible to suck with your throat open.. But he did it.

Not human.. Not human.. Not human..

He didn't care.

He should car but he didn't. He didn't and it made him cry. But it felt so good... the tension that had been there even as he'd lain limp and listless minutes before was draining away, being replaced by heat from the cooling body going down on him. Fingers still wandering around, tracing over his perineum and for the first time he felt the urge to move of his own volition, bucking himself that tiny bit deeper into spike's throat.

He groaned in protest as the mouth was removed from his body and cursed himself for moving... he'd broken it..whatever had been there, he'd broken it... 

More tears...

And then there was a hand, closing around in place of the mouth... and a tongue where the fingers had been, licking the soft patch of skin, wetting it then chill breath making him shiver, he began to thrust languidly up into the hand, not questioning when or how it had become lubricated.

The tongue was sweeping lower, instinctively he canted his hips, allowing greater access only to find that it started teasing the delicate nerves of his puckered opening. He felt it spasm and a shudder passed through him. He could almost feel the smile cross spike's face as he repeated the action. His tongue working deeper and then replaced y a slick finger.

Xander froze.

Spike froze.

*oh god... I wonder if I really would sound like that if he fucked me? * then a slight amendment to the thought that came back to him time and time again as though in a fugue state. *when he fucks me... when he fucks me* "...when he fucks me..." thoughts unconsciously becoming vocal.

"Fuck you, pet?" Softer than those words should have been.

"Mmm..." a little deeper with the finger... "yeah..." ....and it crooks to stroke a gland... "....please.... spike?" he was almost pleading *....sound like when he fucks me....*

Another finger and tongue teasing the rim, making him squirm and push back... "Spike?"

"Shh... soon... soon...."

Wincing at the third finger, a gentle tongue tracing soothingly over taught skin. A hand tracing lazy quiet circles through tight, dark, curls of downy hair. And he relaxes. Lets go and relaxes. Fingers slipped free the lean small, lean body begins to make its way up to claim another kiss, slippery hand prints marking his progress. The last tears lie drying.

Until caught once more by that soft tongue and lips making their way up the salted trails and smudges.

"Beautiful, pet.... Pretty when you cry." whispered.. A song.

*Didn't want to hurt you but you're pretty when you cry... I didn't want to fuck you but you're pretty when you're mine.... I didn't really love you but I'm pretty when I lie....*

"So pretty..." pulling away... "So pretty..." Lifting his legs... "Shh... pet..." and then spike was inside him and he was crying out and it hurt and he didn't care because it felt *so good*.

And he was cursing and panting his name, Xander's eyes shut again, blocking the faceless darkness with the colours behind his eyelids. Flashing colours, like the darkness prickling his eyes every time spike hit that spot. Pushing up against the thrusting which was growing ever more frantic, legs coming down to wrap around the slender waist, pulling him deeper.

So close...

Long tongue stretching to catch the hollow of his throat, the last reservoir of tears, leaning a little further forward, latching onto the skin and pulling on it, suction making the area begin to swell, blood vessels, some breaking, some expanding under the strain, releasing the clear blood serum from their walls to make the area swell and finally weep the crystal clear liquid. 

But Xander didn't care, the pain of the intense suction drowned by his encroaching orgasm as his staining cock received the friction he hadn't realised he'd been craving from spikes stomach.

And then a hand.

It did him in.

Muscles clenching he pulled spike over with him until they both collapsed, exhausted.

Spike's lips and tongue, never left his throat, still lapping at the fresh swollen welt.

"Pretty when you cry...."

*******

END