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Date Posted: 20:36:02 06/04/02 Tue
Author: Ozmandayus
Author Host/IP: adsl-66-72-115-144.dsl.chcgil.ameritech.net / 66.72.115.144
Subject: "The Truth." B/X Erotica NC-17

Title: The Truth
By: Ozmandayus

Summary: All things hidden come out eventually.

Rating. NC-17
Pairing: B/X
Category: Angsty Erotica

Timeline: December 2002. Assume that B/S ended in "As Your Were" as never began again. Tara died at Warrens hands, but the Scoobies stopped Willow before she could kill him. Anya left town in late April. B/X started dating in the middle of June.

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and ME own all the rights to the BTVS franchise.

Distribution: Anywhere as long as you let me know first.

Feedback: mrsinister@mailhost.chi.ameritech.net

Authors Notes: This is a quickie fic to get me back in the B/X frame of mind so that I can finish my novel. All mistakes here are mine.


******


******



Xander's Apartment
Saturday, December 9, 2002 10:57 PM
Sunnydale, Ca



He liked stepping into the ghosts she left behind, closing his eyes and breathing her in when she wasn't looking.

He's addicted; he used to think he could walk away, but this carnal craving for all things Buffy has eradicated choice. She's his opium, musky and mysterious. Forbidden in some ways, yet strangely essential. Again and again she had forsaken him; always he returned more ravenous than before.

Her aura lingers in his home. It writhes about him, haunting like a smoky succubus tightening its grip on his fevered
imagination. Phantasmal fingers intoxicate him with their caress, beckoning illicit pleasures. He used to secretly succumb to them in the shadow of lonely nights.

Nights like this one.

Xander sat in the dark of his living room, once again contemplating how fucked up his love life was. Every time he thought he hit rock bottom, he fell to an even deeper level.

Only to fall to yet another deeper level.

The grin that shaped his lips now had little to do with humor and everything to do with anguish. But he had made peace with that emotion. It walked hand in hand with his love life. Negative thinking did not shape his opinion. Life experiences did. One after the another, after another. Sometimes it was his fault entirely and sometimes it was completely out of his control.

This time it wasn't his fault.

Tonight was supposed to be simple.

Easy.

One, two, three.

He accompanied Buffy on patrol of four cemeteries. Quick sweeps that were supposed to lead to a night of dancing at the Bronze, and then a trip back to his place for other, more amorous activities. With Dawn out of town on a field trip Buffy and Xander planned to spend all night and the next day in bed.

But now he couldn't even muster a smile at those thoughts. His first instincts upon coming home were to take the hottest shower he had ever taken, hoping to wash Buffy off his body. To remove that which he felt was impure. But he knew that was impossible. Buffy Summers was in his blood and if you bled every ounce of her out of him he would surely die.

That grin briefly returned to his face. A sad grin as he contemplated how death and Buffy went hand in hand.

They had finished the last of their cemetery patrols when they ran into him.

Spike.

He'd left town in April and had not been seen since. He claimed he was back in to grab a few things from his crypt, see Buffy, then be on his way.

In hindsight, Xander knew the sudden fearful look on Buffy's face should have tipped him off that something was wrong. She certainly was not afraid of Spike in a physical sense. She could beat him senseless. It had to have been something more personal.

Something that was hidden.

Xander and Spike squared off as always, tossing insults back and forth. Buffy intervened, wanting to have this ended as quickly as possible. She asked Spike a few cordial questions about where he had been, to which he answered in his usual cryptic way. Xander noticed how impatient Spike seemed. That only served to piss him off even more.

Finally, Spike asked Xander to sod off so that he could chat with Buffy alone. Xander had no intention of leaving Buffy alone with Spike right now. He knew something was off with her. He was picking up a vibe he could not explain. More arguing in sued until Xander asked Buffy could they leave. Only he didn't call her Buffy.

He called her sweetheart.

Spike just stared at them. Buffy was indifferent, somewhat sensing what was about to happen. Spike could not believe that Buffy was involved with Xander. That thought was incomprehensible to him. But his smirk grew as he took in Buffy's face, clearly disturbed.

He just couldn't resist.

Spike started asking Xander about how good Buffy was in bed. He spoke in extreme detail, to the point that Buffy finally decked him, knocking him clear over a six foot tombstone. When he got up he released it all. He asked Xander did he know about his and Buffy's nearly six month relationship. He taunted about the frantic, burning sex they had.

Positions.

Places.

Lies.

And Xander knew that Buffy's silence meant it was all true. The woman he loved had slept with another vampire. Had a sexual relationship with him for nearly half a year and never said a word about it. Through all the troubles they had faced and overcome, to look into the eyes of the women he loved, all the while knowing that she kept this secret for months hurt in the worst way possible.

Buffy paid Spike no mind, choosing only to accept the disappointed look in Xander's eyes. He stared at her without blinking, told her they were through, then walked away.

And here he sat, in this pitch black living room with a six pack of beer on the floor next to his foot. He didn't even drink and yet a part of him felt like he might still need this to comfort him tonight when nothing else would.

"I love you."

There's a good reason to fear the words "I love you." It's the same reason some children were afraid of clowns. Words can be applied as thickly as a performer's face paint. Over time, you began to suspect that sentiments are caked-on simply to keep you within the three rings of the circus.

Xander felt like he had bought a lifetime pass to the Buffy circus. He gave and gave and gave some more while receiving so little in return over the years. Only this past June did he feel that she was willing and able to give back. That she wanted to give back. And it wasn't just respect for their friendship.

She wanted to give him her love.

They had fallen in love not long after saving Willow from herself. Things proceeded very slowly between them as Buffy got her life back together again. They did not even sleep together until mid September. Things progressed at such a level of maturity that both were proud of themselves because the results were so good. Friendship had blossomed into so much more.

Now they are in a strong, committed relationship. Or at least they were three hours ago. Three hours since Xander walked through the front door of his apartment, slammed it, took a seat in his recliner, and dropped the beer he bought on the way home down on the floor. He still wore his jacket and shoes.

He hadn't even moved. The thought of Buffy sleeping with Spike made him sick to his stomach. Vile and unimaginable. The reasons for not doing that seemed so clear, so simple that he couldn't believe it had happened.

But it did.

Xander's sight drifted down to the floor, staring at the six pack. He knew no true comfort or helpful answers would come from it. He'd seen his father drink his problems away and never solve one of them.

He knew he was not his father.

But sometimes he felt like he was on the road to becoming like him, except the road was too dusty and he couldn't see his father's foot steps.

The door unlocked and opened behind him, though Xander never looked up, knowing who it was. "You can leave your key on the coffee table."

Buffy stopped, her eyes taking in that no lights were on. She could make out Xander still wearing his jacket and shoes. Her heart fell as she thought of what he must think of her now. But she was not here to cry and beg. This was going to be an argument and an apology. But tears would not be a part of this. "No."


"We're finished, Buffy. Leave the key and go," Xander said, his shoulders hunched against the fire of his own anger.

Resentment blistered the air in his wake.

Buffy hadn't been honest with him and now he's balanced atop an edge, walking a thread between reverence and contempt, while hiding his high-wire act behind good manners. "We need too and will talk about this. I'm not leaving," she insisted.

Xander slowly rose from his chair and stretched. "Tell me something. What is so good about fucking a dead person? This is your second one and I'm just so curious about that."

That question infuriated her, even with it's truth. "I didn't tell you about Spike because I was and I'm still extremely ashamed about it." Buffy heard his angry snort, and that pained her even more to stew in the heat of his seething temper.

"When did it end?"

"The night Riley and his wife returned. We talked and it helped me make a decision."

So many months and so many lies. Xander simply shook his head. "You are some piece of work, Buffy Summers. You have all of your friends here. People who have known you for years and yet your ex can reach you when we can't."

Buffy took a few steps into the living room, still keeping her distance. Still defiant. "You don't know how I was feeling at that time in my life. The resentment I carried with me every day for the people I love the most ate away at me. The shame of fucking Spike ate away at me. The shame of being a colossal failure as a parent ate away at me. The failure of working a fast food restaurant job I hated, one without anything resembling a future ate away at me. I was going through so much you would not believe."

Xander simply stared at her, stoic in his stance. "Are you telling me Spike could help you when we couldn't?"

Looking away, she felt shame at her answer. "In some ways, yes."

"He fucked you that good?" Xander spit out with anger.

"I used Spike," Buffy began as she stepped a bit closer to Xander, only to watch him step back. "I didn't care about anything anymore. I couldn't feel anything anymore. With Spike I could be carefree. I had no responsibilities. I never cared about his feelings. I treated him like garbage because that is what he was to me. He was my plaything and nothing more."

"Can I ask you a question?" Xander finally walked toward her. "In early January I went to Spike's crypt to find you and I found him doing naked pushups in his bed." He watched Buffy swallow deeply, and that only pissed him off even more. "Later that day we learned that you had been turned invisible. So tell me, Buffy?" He moved right in front of her now. "Is Spike really into working out naked with a blanket around his waist, or were you fucking him and playing with his cock right in front of me?"

Buffy had no counter argument. She would not disrespect him by even trying. "We were having sex."

Xander just shook his head. "And you just had so little respect for me that you'd play with him right in front of me. Did you fuck him in front of Dawn too, or is it just me you don't give a damn about?"

"What I did was wrong," Buffy explained in an even tone, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I am truly sorry."

"That showed how little you thought of me."

"You have no idea the mind state I was in at that time."

"You could have come to me. Don't you know that?"

"I know that you already had a lot of irons in the fire. You were about to marry Anya, getting used to being a foreman of your own crew, and still trying to help me out. I was still mad at you. Furious even for taking me from heaven."

"You should have talked to someone. ANYONE BUT SPIKE!" he shouted at her.

"Get off your fucking high horse and listen to me," Buffy fired back, her own anger rising. "I was going through so much at that time. I wasn't thinking clearly. Me self esteem was at an all time low in every category. I made a ton of mistakes and they were all my fault. But don't get this fucking holier than though attitude with me. You are not Mr. Perfect by any means."

"I'm certainly no Mrs. Necrophilia either."

Buffy ignored the insult, clenching her fist all the while. "I'm sorry about not telling you what happened between me and Spike. Honestly, I am so ashamed of it and never wanted you to know."

"Don't you mean all of your friends?"

"Other people know."

"Who?" Xander towered over her, his eyes blazing.

Buffy knew she just had to say it and let him react however he would. "Everyone but you."

The laugh that escaped his lips was full of restrained rage. "Why am I not surprised."

"I knew how you felt about vampires."

"Really? Well why don't you tell me how you feel about vampires? Especially since it's your destiny to kill each and every last one of them."

"You couldn't possibly understand how I feel about vampires," Buffy stated as she side stepped him. Her eyes found his mantel, now covered with pictures of the two of them. Her heart clenched in her chest. "I fucked up, Xander. It was all me. I did all of this. I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I just never wanted you to know what I had done with Spike. But it's over now."

Her dismissal cracked his patience. Pacing toward her, he ripped his coat from his arms and hurled it across the room. It landed on the floor several feet beyond the couch. He spun to face her, hands on his hips, lower lip caught between his teeth. He bit down so hard he almost drew blood.

Pupils shrinking to pinpricks, he aimed his anger at her. Buffy has never been afraid of this man. Never. Until now. Physically he could never hurt her. But he could break her heart. His control is so fragile, she expected him to shatter. To protect herself from the shards of his impending outburst, she retreated one tiny step. Her miserable withdrawal launched his fury.

Xander swept the mantel clean with the swipe of one arm. Books and photos thundered to the floor. A spray of glass erupts from a framed picture of the two of them together, dressed in matching smiles, her hair flailed by the wind. In the picture, arms pressed from elbow to shoulder, he leaned over her, telling a secret she can no longer recall.

Buffy blinked at the spoiled photo and her eyes became wet with tears.

"You let that thing touch you. You allowed Spike to have sex with you, knowing how many people he's killed over the years. You had a relationship with him for months and you lied to everyone. But to me you kept on lying until he told me himself. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!" Xander overlooked her regret. Temper unappeased, he headed for his desk, intending to upend the entire thing, spew its contents across the floor. He flings the desk's chair out of his way, causing it to somersault over the sofa.

"Stop it, Xander," she shouted, alarmed by his intensity.

He could no more stop his outpouring than he could stop loving her. "Only a slut would sleep with a murderer."

Buffy suddenly became furious. She grabbed his sleeve with her left hand, stilling his arm. "I guess you're a slut too then. Anya has quite the death count as well." Buffy held her breath.

Surprise hissed from his lungs.

"To find out like this, by him, is worse than you could possibly imagine."

"I know it is," she spoke apologetically. "I am so sorry, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that."

"I know you are furious with me, but please do not throw us away over Spike. He isn't worth it. I love you. Only you," she pleaded with him, standing as his equal.

To restrain himself, Xander locked his arms around her waist and plowed her to the wall. Pinning her there, his anger has nowhere to go. "I can't stand it when you lie to me. And you've done that so much in the past," he hollered, pushing his body against her. "How am I ever supposed to trust you as it pertains to vampires. You know how I feel about them. You know what killing Jesse did to me. You just keep making the same mistakes over and over and over again."

"I'm sorry. I truly am. But I am not a little child. Do not talk to me like one." She balled her fists against his chest and shoved him away, almost off his feet. Xander quickly pinned her to the wall again. He leaned more heavily, pumping his chest, his hips against her and she considered kneeing him in the groin to loosen his hold, get him off her. Feeling her leg rise, he blocked her by sliding his knees between her thighs.

"Let go," she demanded, meaning more than his hold on her. "I'm not perfect and you knew that when we got involved, Xander."

He buried his nose into her hair, and pressed his lips against her ear. He aroused her with a growl. "I expect trust if nothing else between us."

"I know I broke that trust. I am so sorry for that." She's not pleading; she's locking horns. She intended
to make this man understand she knows exactly what she did, how bad it was, and that she will take responsibility for it. But she will not be bullied. "So now what."

"You fucking Spike later on tonight?"

Ducking away from his lips, she snarled at him. "Fuck you, Xander."

A flush crept up his cheeks. Resentment sputtered his eyes. This situation was intolerable. Arrogance twitched his nostrils, and heaved in his lungs. Xander lifted Buffy off her feet, knowing his manhandling is what she least desires. But there is something behind those blazing eyes and Buffy knew that. Something primal and possessive. Adrenaline surged through him, keeping logic at bay. He hauled
her down the hall.

"Put me down, Xander! Now!" She thrashed in his arms, then swung her fist at his head, trying not to use to much strength. He let her strike him. He didn't care when she clipped his nose and drew blood. Dropping her onto her
bed. When she tried to scramble off the mattress, he latched onto her leg and drug her back.

Xander leaned over her, anchoring his fingers to the bed, trapping her between his arms. She stared up at him.

She didn't move.

They were at a standoff.

Both knew she could easily get away if she wanted. That knowledge only made things more interesting

"What now, Xander?" Her voice held steady. A drop of blood dribbled from his nose and plummeted downward, staining her sweater. A pinpoint of crimson. Marking her heart. His jaws clamped shut and his lips tightened.

The mattress heaved when he crawled onto the bed, maneuvering himself over her. Jostled by his petulance, they rode a tidal wave of his unfounded fears. He straddled her hips, locking her beneath him. "Sometimes I hate you. Other times I love you more than my own life."

"Which of the two bothers you the most?"

How could she ask that? How could she....

"Both equally."

Sweat streaked his face but he shivered. Buffy knew he was experiencing a physiological response to an imagined threat: her betrayal. His body's reaction was automatic. Involuntary. His hypothalamus releases norepinephrine causing his adrenal glands to produce adrenaline. His heart rate, pulse, respiration soared. His pupils were dilated, awareness intensified, impulses quickening. Blood sugar, lactic acid, cortisol are readying his body to fight or walk away. He is a victim of his feelings of dread, fear, impending doom. The longer his stress continues, the more panicky he'll become. His system will bypass his rational mind, move him into an "attack" mode. He will perceive almost everything as a threat, everyone as an enemy.

Yet knowing all this does little to make her sympathetic. The pressure of the last few hours has stressed her every bit as much as it has him. She loves him and doesn’t want to lose him. The unrelenting tension has fueled her body's fight or flight response, too. She is stubborn and has no intention of running from his assault.

Clutching the fabric of his sweater, she shook him. "I'm in love with you. I only want you. And I promise you this will never happen again. Ever" She grabbed his hand and pressed it to her chest, concealing the drop of blood on her sweater. "This is yours. I give this too you because I love you." The heat of his palm branded her breast. Her nipple hardened beneath his scorching caress. He didn't miss the transformation.

All of his anger, all of his goddamn-awful anger zigzagged through the muscles of his arms and legs. He dipped his head until he is brushed her lips with his words. "Don't...make...me...leave...you!"

"I....wouldn't....let..you...go!"

Buffy could feel his desire, his passion, thick and heady and tempting. But Xander didn't move. Afraid to act on his primal urges, he stopped short of attacking her.

"Do it," she goaded. "You know you want to."

"Mine..."

"Do it!" To provoke the act, she reached between them and drove the heel of her hand into his erection. He's hard
beneath the denim of his jeans. He's been hard ever since he lifted her off her feet in the living room. "Xander, you know you want to fuck me."

He does. More than anything, he wanted to plunge into her with all of his frantic energy. He wants to pin her to the bed and fuck until she could not ever remember having sex before. To fuck her so hard she begged him to stop. Not like the other times they've made love. Not like love at all. This act has little to do with love, except in the most distorted sense. This is about marking territory, domination, possession. At this singular moment, he wants to own her, bend her to his will. Following a convoluted and addled line of reasoning, he wants to assure himself she is alive and safe and his. The relief of knowing she is beneath him, around him, would feel
so...God...damn...good. Seizing her breast, he addled her, too, by the press of his fingers, by the lust in his eyes, by the rigidity of his cock against her palm. She squeezed his hard-on and leached a whimper from his throat. His eyes closed, his face turned ceiling-ward and she exulted in his loss of control.

"Fuck me...." Her power over him caused a jolt of pleasure to shimmer between her legs. She craved to hold him inside her. "I belong to you." She will make him do this.

Releasing her hold on his cock, she fumbled for the hem of her sweater. Xander’s gaze returned from the ceiling, and followed her trembling fingers. When her turtleneck refused to pull free from the waistband of her pants, he became overly impatient, grabbing the soft fabric in both hands. He yanked the shirt upward, baring her belly, her satiny bra, the creamy mounds of her breasts.

The slope of her cleavage invited the tip of his finger. His tongue. His nose. He exhaled into the valley of her breasts. With a moan, he sunk his teeth into the plump heat of her skin. She jerked beneath his bite. Pain barked from her throat. A flush of warmth expanded across her chest, burning her heart, plummeting downward through her body, melting her resentment and spilling hotly inside her panties.

Xander prodded between her breasts for the clasp of her bra. His quaking fingers break the fragile clasp and tear the delicate fabric. Shoving the satin out of his way, he exposes her. His thumbs massage her nipples, forcing them rise, harden. He pinched them next, loving the moan that sensation elicited. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, fire beneath his lips, flesh pressed between his flexing tongue and the sensitive curve at the roof of his mouth. His tongue circled, trying to satisfy an instinctive craving. She ached as he suckled on her nipple.

Digging her nails into his back, Buffy tried to spread her thighs, but his knees still trapped her legs. She tugged at
his belt, unfastening the buckle. Sliding the button through the hole at the top of his fly, she loosened his waistband. She clawed at his zipper until his pants opened. Xander groaned against her breast when she squeezed him through the fabric of his underwear.

Abandoning her breast, Xander pounced on Buffy's mouth, plunging his tongue between her teeth. He swirled to the back of her throat, filling her, panting. His fingers dove into her hair, fastening her head to the blankets. Her scalp throbbed from the wrench of his grasp. His tongue invaded her mouth and she couldn’t breathe. He was
so terribly hungry for her. Finishing his kiss, he allowed her one breath of air, then lapped her, gnawed at her lips, nipped at her chin, her cheeks.

"You've been a bad girl, Ms. Summers." Xander grinded against her palm, then grappled for the top button of her slacks. He can't get the tiny button through its tinier hole. His arms shook with furious want. He deserted the button and yanked at her waistband until he heard the fabric tear away. Backing out of her grip
on his cock, he drug her pants from her hips, his nails scraping a row of flushed welts down each thigh.

Her boots stalled him. Leaving her pants crumpled at her ankles, he unzipped each boot, pulled one at a time from her feet and hurled them somewhere behind him. He jerked her pants from her legs and then tore off each sock.

Buffy waited on the bed, sweater bunched around her armpits, breasts exposed. He is mesmerized by her beauty. Her soft skin vibrated his bones. Her vulnerability threatened to buckle his knees. Holding his breath, he traced a desperate line with his index finger from her neck to the elastic band of her panties. Goosebumps found a home on her flesh beneath his passing hand. He cradled her pubic bone. Careful at first. Then savage fingers dig into the cleft between her legs. Her wetness dampened his palm, even through the fabric. He can smell her need for him. "Take them off."

Buffy thought at first she had made the demand, the thought so clear in her head. But it's his voice that echoed through the room. He stood at her feet, watching. His tongue traveled across his lower lip. His hands clenched at his hips.

Buffy focused her eyes on the open vee of his jeans and skated the panties from her hips. When the silky garment reached her knees, Xander took over, skimming them from her calves, her ankles, and her feet. He brought the underwear to his nose and inhaled her passion. She parted her knees and spread her legs, opening herself for full view. Buffy trailed one perfectly manicured nail through the curls of her mons until she stroked her clit.

"What now, Xander?" she asked, her voice as passionate as a storm.

"Who do you belong to?" This was unlike him, and yet so very male of him.

"No one. I'm my own woman."

"Wrong answer." With one graceful stretch, Xander hauled his sweater and T-shirt together up over his head. While his face is masked behind his shirt, Buffy inventoried the muscles of his chest. She studied the rippling contractions beneath his golden skin and waited to feel the press of him on her.

Xander dropped the shirt inside out on the floor. Toed off his shoes. Tugged off each sock. He shoved his pants and boxers down his legs. Stepping from his clothes, he closed his fist around his swollen erection. His thumb traveled across its tip, spreading the drop of lubricant that glistens there.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, it matters."

Slitting her eyes, Buffy reached between her thighs and dipped one finger between her folds. Xander tightened his hand around his cock.

Waiting.

Buffy withdrew her finger and held it up for him to inspect. Xander stepped closer. Leaned over her. Took her finger
into his mouth and cleaned it with his tongue. His cock twitched in his hand, impatient to push into her. Her perfume overwhelmed his sinuses, his lungs, his heart. This is the woman he loves. This is the woman he wants to protect at all costs. This is the woman that manages to hurt him time and
again.

So be it.

The world just ain't perfect enough to let her go.

Releasing her finger and himself, his anger disintegrated. He climbed onto the bed between her thighs.

"Xander, what do you want me to say?"

"There's nothing you can say. Actions are the only thing I want from you. And if you ever lie to me again, or keep things from me we are through. And if I left a woman at the alter, don't get so high and mighty as to think I wouldn't leave you."

"It would be par for the course."

"I'm not every other man that has been in your life. One day you're going to have to realize that."

"I do. And I love you so much, Xander. With all my heart." Drawing him down until he collapsed onto her, Buffy wrapped her arms around him, listening to his heartbeat, soaking in his desolation. She is strong. Strong enough to withstand their combined disenchantment.

"Did you fall i..."

"No. Never. Not for a second."

The specter of Spike is between them, dividing them as they cling to one another. His ghost is a rift between their hearts. A fissure that splits their trust.

"I've found my joy in life again, Xander. And I want to share that with you. All of it. I never told you because your opinion of me matters to me. What you think of me is so very important and I just couldn't stand to see you look at me with disgust. But I should have told you everything. I'm so sorry for that. But I will make it up to you. I love you and I will not lose you."

Buffy's words mended him, began the repair his broken trust. Her love filled the gaps between her heart and his hope. He leaned down and they kissed with all the intensity of their argument. Her fingers were knotted in his hair and her legs were locked around his waist as she arched her back and ground against him.

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