Fic: Spilling Over (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)
Jesse doesn’t miss his heartbeat.
It was weird, for a while - he won’t deny that. It’s not something you ever think about, when you’re alive. It’s part of you. Same as breathing.
Come to think of it, he doesn’t have to breathe anymore either.
It’s crazy - totally crazy. He just keeps thinking, more and more, of what’s happened to him. Of what it means, what he can do.
He used to think vampires were lame. There’s geekiness and there’s downright weirdness, and obsessing about the undead (which may or may not have been completely fictional) was crossing a line. Jesse didn’t cross that line. Cause, hell no.
But the reality is much, much cooler.
He feels smooth. Invincible. Like he could go anywhere, fight anyone. Kill anyone. Cause he’s already killed one person so far, hasn’t he?
That night, that amazing night - he was scared, at first. Terrified of the woman, Darla, and what she was going to do to him. The first time she bit him, he was transfixed, half in a fledgling kind of fear, half in a confused teenage lust. He was dizzy, afterwards, and he followed her anyway. It was only later that he really understood what she was, and really understood what was at stake.
The second time she bit him -
It was pure ecstasy. His heart pounded, racing in his chest, and her fingers dug into his arm and he gasped, gasped, as the life drained from his body. Her blood was a hot rush on his tongue, and he died in her arms - not in pain, anymore. Not scared.
Jesse woke up mindless with hunger. He doesn’t remember it, not really, but he knows her voice, whispering into his ear, and he remembers the mortal he found.
A girl - probably from UC Sunnydale, since he doesn’t recognize her - and she wasn’t the stereotype. She wasn’t gorgeous, she wasn’t dressed scantily, she wasn’t wandering in an alleyway alone. But Jesse pulled her off the street and she screamed oh, she screamed and he sank his fangs into her neck and he could feel her heartbeat flutter and slow, slow, slow until she breathed her last.
And he let her drop, to the ground.
“Are you ready?” Darla hissed into his ear.
Jesse only growled, in response.
And now he stalks, through the darkness of the Bronze, as the very air around him throbs with the beat. He scans the crowd, discards one, another. They aren’t what he’s looking for.
Jesse turns, his fingers sliding onto one of the wooden beams supporting the staircase. He lets his hand tighten, lets the disappointment flood through him.
The last time he was here, it wasn’t so pleasant. Only the second night he was undead, and he had to face his permanent death, at the hands of his best friend.
Xander. Xander was being ridiculous. Hanging out with the Slayer, of course he would be. Irrational, impulsive, and he just wouldn’t listen. He kept saying weird things, like it was a curse, like Jesse wasn’t himself anymore.
Well, to be fair, Xander was right. Jesse isn’t himself anymore. He’s so much better than that.
Even his memory - he can remember every detail, every second of the encounter with Xander. He’d thought it was Cordelia he wanted, but then Xander threatened him, stood up to him, and Jesse felt his body quicken, like every sense, every nerve, was coming alive. Pressed Xander against the wall and he realized his blood was stirring - not the way it worked with Cordelia. This was more. More intense. More real.
The tip of the stake caught in Jesse’s clothes, and Xander’s breath hitched, Jesse remembers. Xander’s eyes were wide, and his heartbeat - Jesse could hear his heartbeat, and in that instant he wondered what it would be like to taste that blood, feel the skin against his lips, hear Xander’s breath fade against his ear. He wondered if it would be different with Xander, if Xander’s death would feel better than that anonymous woman’s.
He wanted it so badly, right then. If only the Slayer hadn’t interrupted, he might have had it. Instead he ran, with the others. He avoided the Bronze for weeks, just because he was scared of her. But that’s no way to live. Especially not if he’s living forever.
And so he stalks, barely a whisper through the warm, thick air. The people here are exceptionally stupid - like he used to be, before his eyes were opened. The sheer amount of people who are assaulted or killed because of the Bronze is astronomical, and no one ever seems to see it.
…there.
Jesse hears Xander’s laugh fleetingly, dimly. Xander isn’t even in the room - he’s outside, handing his ID to the guard - and Jesse can see him now. Willow and Xander, carefree, smiling.
Jesse flattens his mouth. Mortals.
Vampirism has given him a subtlety he didn’t have as a human, though. He watches, from a table, as far away from them as he can get - but it doesn’t matter. If he were right next to them, they might not recognize him.
Jesse isn’t sure how long he waits. He doesn’t really think, doesn’t keep track of time. Just - watches. With the patience of a hunter.
It’s true, isn’t it? He’s a superior being, now. The hunter, to the human’s prey. He has the instincts, the cravings, the skills to back it up.
All he does is focus. It’s as though he’s entranced by every move they make - the little quirk of Willow’s mouth, the way she shifts her hair over her shoulder. The subtle way she keeps her body language open to Xander - does she think she’s even fooling anyone? Jesse almost laughs to himself, at that, because she is fooling someone. She’s fooling the one person she doesn’t want to fool.
Clever Willow not so clever after all.
For his part, Xander seems completely unaware of the subtle magnetism in his body. He goes too fast and loose with his motion, clumsy, jerky, with the awkwardness of a teenager. He has no idea of his own allure. He may not be graceful, smooth, sexy, but he’s beautiful all the same. And so alive. So alive that Jesse wants to wrest that life away, make it his, leave Xander cold and breathless forever.
It’s been a while - maybe hours - when Xander gets to his feet, turns towards the back - to the bathrooms. Jesse follows, without thought, without sound. Slips through the crowd like it’s not even there.
The back of the club is quieter, the beat fading into a soft, rhythmic hum. Jesse leans against the wall, crosses his arms. Waits.
A group of girls bursts out of the second bathroom; they sweep past him in a rush of chatter, giggles, scents. One of them glances over him, sweeping her eyes over his form, catching his gaze - he half-smiles, looks away. Lets her pass.
Xander doesn’t take long to emerge.
Jesse doesn’t take the time to warn Xander, to taunt him, draw him out. Doesn’t give him time to yell for the Slayer. Barely two strides and Jesse has Xander against the wall, hand over his mouth. Xander freezes, too slow - not a fighter, of course he isn’t a fighter - and his muscles tense, lock up, his body tight and afraid under Jesse’s hands.
Xander makes a half-outraged, half-panicked noise against Jesse’s hand; Jesse tilts his head, and he has to fight, really fight, for half a moment, just to keep his demonic face from emerging.
“Hey, Xander,” he taunts, lowly. “Miss me?”
Xander twists, almost fights his way out of Jesse’s grip - but Jesse has him held fast. There’s something strange in the way Xander struggles, though. Something half-hearted.
Xander shifts under Jesse’s hands and knees him, quick and brutal, in the groin. Jesse’s reflexes barely get him out of the way in time - it’s a fast move, from muscles coiled with preparation, from a body pounding with adrenaline.
Enough is enough.
“Sssh,” murmurs Jesse, “it’ll only hurt for a second.”
Xander’s eyes go wide, and Jesse strokes the collar of Xander’s shirt away from his neck, lingering on the warmth of the exposed skin. Xander jerks again, in aborted flight, but it’s weaker than before. He’s half-transfixed, now.
Maybe an ordinary vampire wouldn’t have this kind of power over a mortal like Xander. Maybe this isn’t just about Jesse being a vampire. Maybe it’s about Jesse being Jesse -
Xander winces away as Jesse’s teeth slice into his skin. There’s pain, Jesse knows. It stings, like a dozen needle pricks, but just for a moment, a fraction of a moment.
Jesse feels the instant it changes. He penetrates deep enough, withdraws so that he can lick away the blood flow - and something changes, inside Xander. A hand tightens in the cloth of Jesse’s shirt and Xander’s eyes flicker shut.
Jesse lets Xander’s mouth free, shifts it to the other side of Xander’s jaw, tilting Xander’s head just so that the blood flows freely. Xander doesn’t struggle now - doesn’t even call for help. Just gasps, “Jesse,” emptily, his breath uneven and ragged.
A group of people pass behind them - Jesse can’t spare enough attention to see who - but they barely give the two in the corner a second glance. Just a couple, taking advantage of the darkness.
The blood flows rhythmically, with the beat of Xander’s heart - and Jesse takes it as it comes, licking the wound, feeling the blood begin to congeal. No, it isn’t Xander’s death that Jesse wants. It’s this - just this.
Xander shivers, now, with every lick over the wound.
Jesse withdraws, finally, when the flow has slowed to barely a trickle. He’s taken a lot of Xander’s blood, but he’ll live. So human, so mortal, and still alive. The fang marks will seal over, to a scar, and the next time Jesse sees Xander -
“Feel good?” Jesse taunts, soft in Xander’s ear. “Just wait till next time.”
He leaves Xander there, slumped against the wall, a hand clasped over the side of his neck.
Jesse knows it’s time to leave Sunnydale. The Slayer wouldn’t forgive an attack against one of her friends. Yeah, he’ll leave now. But later - later, he’ll come back.
Xander will wait for him.
It was weird, for a while - he won’t deny that. It’s not something you ever think about, when you’re alive. It’s part of you. Same as breathing.
Come to think of it, he doesn’t have to breathe anymore either.
It’s crazy - totally crazy. He just keeps thinking, more and more, of what’s happened to him. Of what it means, what he can do.
He used to think vampires were lame. There’s geekiness and there’s downright weirdness, and obsessing about the undead (which may or may not have been completely fictional) was crossing a line. Jesse didn’t cross that line. Cause, hell no.
But the reality is much, much cooler.
He feels smooth. Invincible. Like he could go anywhere, fight anyone. Kill anyone. Cause he’s already killed one person so far, hasn’t he?
That night, that amazing night - he was scared, at first. Terrified of the woman, Darla, and what she was going to do to him. The first time she bit him, he was transfixed, half in a fledgling kind of fear, half in a confused teenage lust. He was dizzy, afterwards, and he followed her anyway. It was only later that he really understood what she was, and really understood what was at stake.
The second time she bit him -
It was pure ecstasy. His heart pounded, racing in his chest, and her fingers dug into his arm and he gasped, gasped, as the life drained from his body. Her blood was a hot rush on his tongue, and he died in her arms - not in pain, anymore. Not scared.
Jesse woke up mindless with hunger. He doesn’t remember it, not really, but he knows her voice, whispering into his ear, and he remembers the mortal he found.
A girl - probably from UC Sunnydale, since he doesn’t recognize her - and she wasn’t the stereotype. She wasn’t gorgeous, she wasn’t dressed scantily, she wasn’t wandering in an alleyway alone. But Jesse pulled her off the street and she screamed oh, she screamed and he sank his fangs into her neck and he could feel her heartbeat flutter and slow, slow, slow until she breathed her last.
And he let her drop, to the ground.
“Are you ready?” Darla hissed into his ear.
Jesse only growled, in response.
And now he stalks, through the darkness of the Bronze, as the very air around him throbs with the beat. He scans the crowd, discards one, another. They aren’t what he’s looking for.
Jesse turns, his fingers sliding onto one of the wooden beams supporting the staircase. He lets his hand tighten, lets the disappointment flood through him.
The last time he was here, it wasn’t so pleasant. Only the second night he was undead, and he had to face his permanent death, at the hands of his best friend.
Xander. Xander was being ridiculous. Hanging out with the Slayer, of course he would be. Irrational, impulsive, and he just wouldn’t listen. He kept saying weird things, like it was a curse, like Jesse wasn’t himself anymore.
Well, to be fair, Xander was right. Jesse isn’t himself anymore. He’s so much better than that.
Even his memory - he can remember every detail, every second of the encounter with Xander. He’d thought it was Cordelia he wanted, but then Xander threatened him, stood up to him, and Jesse felt his body quicken, like every sense, every nerve, was coming alive. Pressed Xander against the wall and he realized his blood was stirring - not the way it worked with Cordelia. This was more. More intense. More real.
The tip of the stake caught in Jesse’s clothes, and Xander’s breath hitched, Jesse remembers. Xander’s eyes were wide, and his heartbeat - Jesse could hear his heartbeat, and in that instant he wondered what it would be like to taste that blood, feel the skin against his lips, hear Xander’s breath fade against his ear. He wondered if it would be different with Xander, if Xander’s death would feel better than that anonymous woman’s.
He wanted it so badly, right then. If only the Slayer hadn’t interrupted, he might have had it. Instead he ran, with the others. He avoided the Bronze for weeks, just because he was scared of her. But that’s no way to live. Especially not if he’s living forever.
And so he stalks, barely a whisper through the warm, thick air. The people here are exceptionally stupid - like he used to be, before his eyes were opened. The sheer amount of people who are assaulted or killed because of the Bronze is astronomical, and no one ever seems to see it.
…there.
Jesse hears Xander’s laugh fleetingly, dimly. Xander isn’t even in the room - he’s outside, handing his ID to the guard - and Jesse can see him now. Willow and Xander, carefree, smiling.
Jesse flattens his mouth. Mortals.
Vampirism has given him a subtlety he didn’t have as a human, though. He watches, from a table, as far away from them as he can get - but it doesn’t matter. If he were right next to them, they might not recognize him.
Jesse isn’t sure how long he waits. He doesn’t really think, doesn’t keep track of time. Just - watches. With the patience of a hunter.
It’s true, isn’t it? He’s a superior being, now. The hunter, to the human’s prey. He has the instincts, the cravings, the skills to back it up.
All he does is focus. It’s as though he’s entranced by every move they make - the little quirk of Willow’s mouth, the way she shifts her hair over her shoulder. The subtle way she keeps her body language open to Xander - does she think she’s even fooling anyone? Jesse almost laughs to himself, at that, because she is fooling someone. She’s fooling the one person she doesn’t want to fool.
Clever Willow not so clever after all.
For his part, Xander seems completely unaware of the subtle magnetism in his body. He goes too fast and loose with his motion, clumsy, jerky, with the awkwardness of a teenager. He has no idea of his own allure. He may not be graceful, smooth, sexy, but he’s beautiful all the same. And so alive. So alive that Jesse wants to wrest that life away, make it his, leave Xander cold and breathless forever.
It’s been a while - maybe hours - when Xander gets to his feet, turns towards the back - to the bathrooms. Jesse follows, without thought, without sound. Slips through the crowd like it’s not even there.
The back of the club is quieter, the beat fading into a soft, rhythmic hum. Jesse leans against the wall, crosses his arms. Waits.
A group of girls bursts out of the second bathroom; they sweep past him in a rush of chatter, giggles, scents. One of them glances over him, sweeping her eyes over his form, catching his gaze - he half-smiles, looks away. Lets her pass.
Xander doesn’t take long to emerge.
Jesse doesn’t take the time to warn Xander, to taunt him, draw him out. Doesn’t give him time to yell for the Slayer. Barely two strides and Jesse has Xander against the wall, hand over his mouth. Xander freezes, too slow - not a fighter, of course he isn’t a fighter - and his muscles tense, lock up, his body tight and afraid under Jesse’s hands.
Xander makes a half-outraged, half-panicked noise against Jesse’s hand; Jesse tilts his head, and he has to fight, really fight, for half a moment, just to keep his demonic face from emerging.
“Hey, Xander,” he taunts, lowly. “Miss me?”
Xander twists, almost fights his way out of Jesse’s grip - but Jesse has him held fast. There’s something strange in the way Xander struggles, though. Something half-hearted.
Xander shifts under Jesse’s hands and knees him, quick and brutal, in the groin. Jesse’s reflexes barely get him out of the way in time - it’s a fast move, from muscles coiled with preparation, from a body pounding with adrenaline.
Enough is enough.
“Sssh,” murmurs Jesse, “it’ll only hurt for a second.”
Xander’s eyes go wide, and Jesse strokes the collar of Xander’s shirt away from his neck, lingering on the warmth of the exposed skin. Xander jerks again, in aborted flight, but it’s weaker than before. He’s half-transfixed, now.
Maybe an ordinary vampire wouldn’t have this kind of power over a mortal like Xander. Maybe this isn’t just about Jesse being a vampire. Maybe it’s about Jesse being Jesse -
Xander winces away as Jesse’s teeth slice into his skin. There’s pain, Jesse knows. It stings, like a dozen needle pricks, but just for a moment, a fraction of a moment.
Jesse feels the instant it changes. He penetrates deep enough, withdraws so that he can lick away the blood flow - and something changes, inside Xander. A hand tightens in the cloth of Jesse’s shirt and Xander’s eyes flicker shut.
Jesse lets Xander’s mouth free, shifts it to the other side of Xander’s jaw, tilting Xander’s head just so that the blood flows freely. Xander doesn’t struggle now - doesn’t even call for help. Just gasps, “Jesse,” emptily, his breath uneven and ragged.
A group of people pass behind them - Jesse can’t spare enough attention to see who - but they barely give the two in the corner a second glance. Just a couple, taking advantage of the darkness.
The blood flows rhythmically, with the beat of Xander’s heart - and Jesse takes it as it comes, licking the wound, feeling the blood begin to congeal. No, it isn’t Xander’s death that Jesse wants. It’s this - just this.
Xander shivers, now, with every lick over the wound.
Jesse withdraws, finally, when the flow has slowed to barely a trickle. He’s taken a lot of Xander’s blood, but he’ll live. So human, so mortal, and still alive. The fang marks will seal over, to a scar, and the next time Jesse sees Xander -
“Feel good?” Jesse taunts, soft in Xander’s ear. “Just wait till next time.”
He leaves Xander there, slumped against the wall, a hand clasped over the side of his neck.
Jesse knows it’s time to leave Sunnydale. The Slayer wouldn’t forgive an attack against one of her friends. Yeah, he’ll leave now. But later - later, he’ll come back.
Xander will wait for him.