By Carolyn Claire
Response to the Spike/Xander kiss meme.
"What?" Spike dropped to his stomach beside him.
"Dying. Like this." Bits of debris rained down on their heads.
"Already done it, you wanker." Spike glared at him.
Oh. Yeah. "Sorry. I just--" The next blast was deafening, and much closer. Xander bit back the girly-scream welling up in his throat.
"Shut up. Got to think." Spike raised up a little and looked around, heedless of the pieces of building falling around them.
"It's just, you know, not what I thought it would be. Death."
Spike shook his head. "It never is." A window blew itself to bits almost directly above them. Xander flinched and ducked lower.
Not that he was still holding on to the dream of a quiet, easy passing in his own bed at a ripe old age. He'd modified that image to something more violent, more exciting, probably involving demons and the impending destruction of humankind, definitely including heroics on his part. He'd sacrifice himself saving others, he'd make a young, masculine corpse, and gorgeous babes would weep at his funeral.
Instead, he was cowering behind a piece of furniture, trying to maintain control of his body functions as a building was destroyed around him. Not exactly the stuff of legend.
He could smell the smoke, now; the fire was getting closer. He flashed on his favorite war movie: WWII era, desperate men in trenches, bombs falling, glorious death. He loved that movie. He hated the hell out of this. Spike was doing the Audie Murphy thing, Xander's coveted role--strong and unafraid, scanning the landscape for a route of escape, or attack--while Xander crouched at his side, more like the beautiful army nurse, or something. Olivia DeHavilland, maybe. He didn't feel tough enough, at the moment, to be Barbara Stanwyck.
Spike was looking at him, judging him, he was sure, placing him somewhere below 'pussy' on the manliness scale. "You're never ready, you know. No one is. Best you can do, is--"
A brilliant flash of light illuminated the smoky room. Xander gasped and grabbed at Spike's arm. The building quaked, and they clung together as the floor bucked beneath them.
"You seize the moment," Spike said, and kissed him.
Xander blanked out for a few seconds, stunned to immobility, and then he dived desperately into Spike, devouring his mouth and grabbing at his body, blocking out everything but this feeling. Their legs tangled together, and they grappled roughly on the tilting floor, without tenderness or restraint. It was amazing, painful and pleasurable, a no-holds-barred farewell to existence that consumed Xander utterly.
This was it, how he was going out, and, by god, it was going to be the stuff of legend.