Backfire - Spander Files

slow bite that made him…no. The rest of it didn’t really happen. Not really. And
the crumpled sticky pair of jeans on the floor at the end of his bed was certainly no
evidence to the contrary. Nope.
Xander arrived at school just when the bell dismissed second period. He quickly got
lost in the crowd and then managed to keep his brain text-book oriented for the next
two classes before meeting the gang in the library at lunch.
By the time he had finished the telling of his dramatic little vampire encounter, and
everyone was done with their “Oh, dear Lord” and “Oh, Xander!” and “I’m gonna
kill that son-of-a-bitch just a little more than usual,” he finally felt that he could put
it behind him. Giles was going to ask Angel if he knew of any reason that Spike
wouldn’t have killed him, and Buffy said she would target her patrol to flush out
Spike. Willow cried a little, and Xander had to reassure her that he would be extraspecially
careful. He promised not to go anywhere at night alone until William the
Bloody was dust under the carpet.
All in all, he felt better. He had taken two more Advil just before lunch, and he had
the support and protection of his very best friends, so everything was going to be
just fine.
It wasn’t until his last class of the day (the stupid science test that he forgot to study
for) that he noticed that maybe everything wasn’t fine. He couldn’t get his mind to
focus. He could barely finish reading one question on the test before his mind
wandered. And he wasn’t thinking about Buffy in that short little skirt she liked to
patrol in. And he wasn’t thinking about the supple curves covered by that tight
cream-colored sweater that Cordelia was wearing. And, no, he wasn’t even thinking
about the Babylon 5 mini-marathon on the Sci-Fi Channel this Friday.
He was thinking about the bite. That bite. He was replaying it over and over again.
Remembering things that he couldn’t have noticed at the time. Like how cool
Spike’s breath had been when his mouth opened. And the sharp pain as his fangs
had glided into Xander’s skin. It had been so easy, so smooth. Like a warm knife
through butter, although that sounded cliché. He remembered how, as his body went
white, the world had gone red, just for a moment, and how he had felt a kind of
strange peace come over him. The moan that had escaped Spike’s throat that
matched the moan that had escaped his own. Spike’s body pressed against