He was so very still.
Spike brushed his fingers gently across his lover's cheek, tipping his head thoughtfully.
His flesh felt so cold.
Spike was used to being the cold one, his lover's warmth usually perfectly complementing his own cool skin.
His face seemed so pale.
Spike had spent years perfecting his pallid look. The bleach blonde hair, the white skin, both a beautiful contrast to his lover's dark complexion.
He looked so very old.
Spike didn't notice his lover age. He never saw the increasing lines, the greying hair or the slowing pace. Throughout the years, all the vampire saw was the life in his eyes and the love in his smile.
He was so completely quiet.
Spike let out an unneeded sigh as he stroked his lover's arm, wrapping his fingers through Xander's own.
They'd had a good life together.
57 years of love, life and laughter.
But no more.
Now Xander lay still, pale, old and so, so very quiet - his life gone and, with it, Spike's gone too.
Spike laid atop his lover, pressing his body close.
Cool skin on cool skin.
Grief on loss.
The rush of stolen and borrowed blood against the stillness of death.
He gave Xander's hand one last squeeze before lifting the stake and plunging it deep into his own chest, scattering his ashes into the casket in which his lover lay.
Together forever now.