Spander Ficathon Fic
Title: Black and Blue (And the Yellow we Don't Talk About)
Rating: R
Words: 4700
Summary: Post-AtS, Spike needs a place stay after an unfortunate wardrobe incident that could have happened to anyone. Unfortunately for him, Xander wants a favour in return.
Notes: Written for mandylynn4 in the Colour, Sound and Random Object Spander Ficathon.
Your Colour: Yellow / Your Sound: clicking..of anything...make it annoying! / Your Random Object: A blank card, embossed with the letter M (it's on my desk right now...LOL) / Two things you'd like included: Friendship-evolving-into-relationship, a rather uncomfortable (for one of them, hopefully Spike!) trip to a "toy" shop *grins* / Two things you don't want included: Character death of any kind, bloodplay
It's all that puffed-up, poncey-haired bastard Angel's fault.
I never wanted to come to Cleveland in the first place. Just because I gave his clothes to a charity and replaced them with exactly the same in canary yellow, the wanker throws me out. It was funny, damnit!
Well, maybe there was a bit more to it. I probably shouldn't have used his credit card for a start, right? Well, damn. You'd think the soul would tell you when something is definitely wrong, wouldn't you, but it's amazing how these borderline cases just slip through.
Maybe they kept a few bits back; I should get a refund. 'Excuse me, but did my respect for authority get left behind on the shelf, old boy? You'll check? Ta very much.' Oh, you can laugh, but I had some once.
Probably.
~ ~ ~
"Spike."
"Evening." Great, Xander bloody Harris. Just who I was hoping to see on my first day - night - of freedom. "Gonna let me in then, Harris?"
"She's not here."
He doesn't move an inch, of course. It takes me a moment to work out what he's talking about.
"I know that. Not why I'm here. Now, you letting me in or what?"
Don't look at me like that. I wasn't lying. All that's behind me now. The ponce wouldn't have let me come here if she was within 100 miles anyway, would he? I knew that.
"Come on, wanker, it's cold out here."
"You don't get cold, Spike. Vampire, remember?"
Uh huh. "Know that for a fact, do you?"
"I'm off now, Xander."
Oh. Nice little girl he's got there, I think. Good taste in clothes, lousy taste in men.
Then she looks at me.
Did I say nice little girl? Sod that, I still know a slayer when one's glaring at me. Be still, my heart.
Or not, you know.
"This is Spike. We don't kill him." Xander raises his hands. "Believe me, I didn't make that rule."
She just shrugs, but her eyes are still narrowed when she pushes past me. Grrr. Aargh.
"Whatever."
Little girly's lucky I'm a reformed man these days. Still, the boy's honest loathing is starting to look like a warm welcome for these parts by now.
"You got any more of those in there?" I try peering past him again but he seems to get the wrong idea.
"Wait for the invite, buddy."
I mean, what am I going to do, line them up like shots and down them all? That would have been fun once upon a time, mind you. And with the attitude on that one, though, I'm almost tempted to have a relapse. Don't they teach kids manners these days?
"Come on, Harris, you know I can make myself useful." And that was boredom, not grovelling, all right? "If they've left you short on little slayer girls I can protect your big manly self from the nasties."
For a moment I think I've gone too far; I can't help it with him, he just has this 'kick me, I'm a loser' thing going that the bastard in me can't help obliging. It's a shock when he opens the door wide instead of slamming it in my face.
"Come on in, Spike. I think I have just the job for you."
~ ~ ~
"You did what?"
I'm trying not to laugh - no, really - but this is the funniest thing I've heard all week. Xander doesn't seem to agree.
"We didn't know it was a gay club." He throws the card down on the table. 'M'. Stylish, if a bit poncey, with the name embossed and no other writing on the card. Obviously you either know where it is or you're not cool enough to go.
I've been in town for over an hour and I've never heard of it. I really am losing my touch.
"We were supposed to go and look out for one of the regulars - vampire by the name of Chance. There's a lot of undercover work these days."
No wonder the little girl was in a mood. Thinks she's getting a night out, undercover of course, with the real Slayer's number one boy pal and instead she's in the middle of a few hundred sweaty masculine bodies... all writhing and rocking to the rhythm and... steady now, Spike... who are more interested in his arse than hers.
There's nothing you can hurt more on a slayer than her ego. It's one thing they have in common with vampires.
"You'd never pass as a poof anyway, not with your lack of style."
‘Course, I’m so busy laughing at the pillock that I forget to hold my coat closed, don't I? Xander's face lights up like bloody Christmas illuminations when he sees the true state of the Spike.
"Whereas the banana look is all the rage down at the Pink Palaces in LA, yes?"
Yeah, well. The soul makes the ponce less original in his revenge. Didn't mean to let anyone know about that one. Thought I could 'borrow' some cash, nip out for a quick shopping spree and be back before anyone even thought to ask what I was wearing.
"Some of us just have innate style, don't we? You on the other hand, Harris, need black. Wear black and even you can pass as anything - with my help."
"I own black things." He pulls one of those 'I've got a bright idea' faces - you might not have seen that, they're very rare due to him being a waste of oxygen - and points at his socks. "Currently, I own more black things than you do, fangless."
Now, I could punch him for being an annoying bastard, or I could hit him where it really hurts. Where does a loser hurt most, did you say? I'm glad you asked me that.
"In that case, Harris, we'd better go shopping."
His wallet.
~ ~ ~
"I still don't know why you had to try on every pair of jeans in the store."
Aww, little Xanderkins is sulking.
"You're just pissed because I wouldn't let you in the changing room to ogle my delicious arse."
What? Bound to be true, innit?
Oh yes, back in black and on top of my game now. I'm so ready for a night of partying and fighting that I can already taste the beers I'm going to make the prat buy me.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd been admiring yourself all that time."
Oh, if only you knew the half of it, Harris.
"If you had a reflection you'd still be there now."
That's a downright… well, maybe he has a point. It was difficult to leave.
"Yeah, instead of standing outside--"
The sign says 'Tony's Adult Emporium'. That can't be right, can it?
But Harris just pushes the door open, casual as you like. Stone me, what's he up to?
Oh no. No, no, no.
See, seems like Harris forgot to mention it was more than just a gay club. Just like maybe I'll forget I have a soul and leave him bleeding in an alley on the way home.
It's not going to help me now, though.
"Here."
And the bastard is grinning, naturally.
"No way." I snatch the long, studded, dildo-handled whip he's flexing and test it for - mind out of the gutter, if you will - suitability. Oh yeah, fits in my hand a treat. "I'm a natural at domination, don't you know. Years of experience behind me in torture and pain."
"Which is exactly why you won't be doing any tonight." He's quick, I'll give him that. Has the whip out of my hand and a remarkably small costume in my arms in seconds. I don't know which is more obscene. "Also, I'm supplying the roof over your head. But only if you wear that."
"So that's how it's going to be, is it?" He's enjoying himself, I can tell. Can't blame him, really. I'd be having a lot of fun at his expense if I could.
'Course, I only do it because I'll look better in the skimpy costume than him.
It really is skimpy, too. I have to hold my breath to stop anything popping out, the chains are sodding cold and keep rubbing on my nipples, and if the boy doesn't have a razor I'm going to look like I'm hiding a haystack in there. Still, with a bit of work I reckon I can pull this off.
I need a fag. I hang my coat over the No Smoking sign. Bloody rude, I call it.
"Come on, Spike, give us a show."
"You'll see it tonight, pillock." He can probably hear my teeth grinding. I don't know why I give him the satisfaction. But he's there at the bloody curtain the next minute, anyhow.
"I'm sure they have a smaller one, maybe we should try-"
The curtain's almost ripped off, I'm out of there so fast. Harris is there, no space at all between him and my mostly naked chest.
I make sure I blow smoke in his face before stubbing the fag out in the ashtray. Yeah it's petty, but he's not exactly being Mister Maturity.
"Sit down, tosser."
He just nods. Not sure why he looks so shell-shocked; well, apart from me in all my butt-naked glory, of course. But nah, if there's one thing I know about Harris, it's that he isn't into blokes.
Shame, but maybe tonight when we're done I can show him there's more to old Spike than he ever knew. Might not be thrilled if I bring a bloke home, but you can't beat it for post-kill entertainment, not that he'd know. There’s more than a bit of a strut to my walk when I parade for his inspection.
"Well?"
Harris' eyes go from the collar around my neck to the chains across my chest, then down to the tight leather briefs he's got me squeezed into. Getting tighter by the minute, too, and he can't really miss it.
"Will I do?" What the fuck: I strike a submissive pose. No, I'm not demonstrating it.
It's pathetic, really. Still the wide-eyed innocent, whatever he likes to pretend. Some kid wanting to wield a bit of power over someone who's knocked around for over a century - how the fuck was that supposed to work?
He knows it now, too, and not just because I'm smirking at him.
"Master?"
He gulps, and you don't want to know where his eyes were. Well, well, well. Maybe I was wrong about him.
"I'll go pay."
~ ~ ~
Few hours later I'm shaved and plucked as a chicken, and almost as trussed up. Harris doesn't look bad in black, even the leather suits him these days and if it wasn't Xander 'Loser' Harris under there I might even find the eye patch sexy.
"Lose that and I'll lose you, love." I hate handing the coat over to anyone, let alone cloakroom morons in some club. Bint scuttles off at a run; oh yeah, old Spike still has it.
Harris' teeth are gleaming in the multi-coloured lights, and at first I think he's laughing, but when he leans forward his face is uncertain.
"What do we do?" he shouts down my ear when I offer it.
"Exactly what everyone else is doing," I tell him, and nod at the dance floor.
I don't know quite how he manages to find us enough space for us to dance two feet apart, but I'm buggered if that's the way it's going to stay. A few steps closer and he's backed into a corner, literally as well as metaphorically.
"Now, we going to do this properly?"
He nods, so I take his hands and lead him back. The music's hotter than the air in this place, and my lungs are scorched with the dry ice. It's easier with his hand on my hips, though, to remember we're supposed to be together. It's even easier to lean an arm over his shoulder, just cup his head in the crook of my elbow and bring it closer to me.
"See anything?"
I don't know why I'm asking, since he hasn't taken his eyes off my chest since we started dancing, but at least it lets me grind against his leg. I can hear him gasp, but the way is fingers are digging into my hips is giveaway enough.
He shakes his head.
"Maybe your man’s not in a dancing mood."
He just shrugs, but lets me lead him around the dance floor until we can see one of the far corners, or just about in the pulsing lights.
Suddenly he clutches at me more tightly.
"Over there, I think."
It's hard to see, but there's definitely someone holding court over here, and if that's not an A pos. cocktail or ten headed over there I'm not dressed in an embarrassing scrap of leather and enough chain to restrain a Great Dane.
I can't see a bloody thing through the crowd, though, and I'm damn sure he can't either.
"We need to get closer." Passing a table I snatch up a drink and down it in one.
"Brilliant deduction, and just how-"
But I walk him off the dance floor, staring into his eyes all the while. Guiding him carefully I let him stumble backwards until he's pressed up against a pillar. Hands either side of his head, I can feel him tremble against me.
"Shut up, Xander."
And I kiss him. His lips move as if he's going to protest, but they don’t make a sound; not that I can hear anyway, but I've been at this a long time now. If he is making a sound under there, it's that of a man begging for more.
It's good, actually. I'm surprised how good. I’d forgotten how a man feels different; bigger, more solid against me. I can let myself go a bit, especially when I don't actually like the git. He's no Angelus, but that's no reason to go soft on him.
Soft is the last thing either of us are, as a matter of fact. Interesting. I know I can get off on any warm body and a willing mouth, so that's no surprise, but he's as hard as a rock and giving as good as he's getting within moments.
"Well?"
Yeah, it's mean, but a man has to salvage some pride when he's having to grope the likes of Harris while dressed like a right dick.
"Huh?"
Oh, look at that. Not that he's got a lot of brain to melt, but I can see it trickling out of his ears now. It’s a beautiful sight.
"Chance. That him?"
He looks confused for a moment, then shakes himself and peers over my shoulder.
"Yeah, looks like it."
"Right then. Best keep your eyes open this time."
I have no idea whether he does or not, but it's not like I actually care. I’ll take care of the business side of this once I’ve a little something on account from the boy, but only because fucking him right here and now would attract too much attention.
He’s a treat though. Panting into my mouth and grinding away against me, and I wonder what he’ll do when I unzip those leather pants just enough… oh, yeah. I try to manoeuvre to cover up what I’m doing, because I can feel his heartbeat speeding up in alarm.
Not enough to stop him though; he’s still hard as a rock and pushing into my hand in the cramped confines of the leather. So hot, and his breath on my neck is sending shivers down my spine. There's no room, and god knows what it's doing to the rest of his tackle down there, but he doesn't seem to care because he thrusts harder; once, twice and he spills into my fist. It only takes the scrape of his teeth on my neck to send me over the edge with him, too.
"You made me all sticky," I whisper in his ear. "Bad Xander."
"… Chance," he mutters, and he's suddenly all elbows, shoving me out of the way.
Huh? Oh, the vampires are off, and what, we're following them?
"What about my coat!" I shout after him, but he's moving, reaching for the back pocket and god knows how he fitted a stake in there but I know that's what he's going for.
The boy's mad.
I'll catch my death of cold out there dressed in this.
Shit.
The alleyway outside is your average backstreet behind a club - stinking and full of things you'd rather not see in the shadows. More shadows than usual out here, though, and Xander's just inside the doorway, the emergency doors swinging open with a creak.
Something's off, but Xander doesn't know it. It's almost slow motion as I watch him look over his shoulder at me, then pat his stake pocket and gin as he steps through the door.
I'm not going to get there in time, the shadows are already moving, but I'm going to try.
Almost before the first predatory hand reaches him I'm there and in its face.
"The boy's mine, tossers. Find your own."
And all hell breaks loose behind us.
~ ~ ~
"Xander?"
Was that a twitch? Kind of cute, actually, that little rabbit twitch of the nose when he's asleep.
"Xander? Come on now, the scrap's over, you can wake up now."
"Unghhh ergh."
I'm quite impressed. Didn't know the boy had picked up any Vlergh.
"No time for that now, let's get you home."
He looks around and squints at the ground.
"You dusted them all?"
"They're all gone."
I'll tell him about the slayer posse later, but you know, it's not going to do my chances any harm if he thinks good old Spikey dealt with the lot of them single-handed.
"You're hurt." He pokes a finger at my hand when I help him up.
"And you're stupid, what's your point?"
"Mean vampire."
"Not me, mate." I look up to where the sky is lightening above the streetlights. "Not me.
~ ~ ~
Back at the house he's talking nineteen to the dozen and touching everything in the kitchen. Not seen him this nervous in years, not like this. Look at the cupboard, touch the kettle, molest the coffee cups, look at the cupboard again just in case it grew another door, maybe.
"Sure you should be on the coffee?"
"What?" He turns, spilling some of the water from the kettle.
I shrug. "You just seem a bit tense."
"No, I just…"
He flicks the switch on the kettle and holds out his hand. Shaking on it is a bit formal considering what else we’ve done with those hands tonight, and I think there are more broken bones in this hand than I can count, but what the hell.
“Truce?”
‘Course, he has to be joking on that part.
“What, friends? You and me?”
“You saved my life.”
Still not sure I believe he’s serious though. I’m not exactly testing him - oh all right, I am - but he doesn’t say a word when I take out a fag, tap it a couple of times on the table and light it. Or even when I take a slow drag and blow smoke out.
“Not for the first time, I’d like to point out.”
“Don’t spoil the moment, Spike.”
And he’s very close. Maybe this would be a good time to point out that I’m as good as on a promise after that little interlude in the club, but then again…
“So.”
He’s looking around the room, but I’m not sure what he’s lost.
“So?”
“Yeah. Maybe I’ll…”
And he’s moving towards the door and if he goes out there that’s probably going to be the end of this. Oh sure, maybe we’ll get round to it some other time, but we’ll have to start from the beginning again, and the chase isn’t what it used to be any more.
I blow another puff of smoke out. “Just friends, is it?”
He stops, hand on the door.
“Just friends?”
“Yeah. Seemed like earlier, more might be on the cards.”
Credit where it’s due, he has the balls to turn round and look at me. It’s on the tip of his tongue though, I know it, whatever snappy comment he wants to make. It’s in the air between us and it’s probably something about haven’t I screwed enough of the gang yet, but he closes his mouth in time to stop it.
“More.”
It’s not an answer, but he’s thinking.
Bollocks to that, thinking never gets you anywhere. In a heartbeat, I’m close enough to rub my cheek against his. It’s stubbly, rough, and he smells of sweat and panic. I like it.
“Yeah. More.”
It’s only a gentle bump of my crotch against his leg, but it just so happens that if I close my eyes it’s like we’re back in the club, and I know he knows it too. I don’t think he’s even thinking about what he’s doing, but his hips are moving with mine in perfect time.
He moans when my hand slips under his shirt, and presses closer, like he wants to merge bodies, just push harder until bones meet and fuse through damp skin; his stubble is going to rub the skin off my neck and his cheekbone is pressing too hard on my black eye, but the soreness isn’t going to stop me now.
"More?"
He doesn't say no, even when I let my hands trail down his thighs and my knees hit the floor. He knows what I'm going to do when I reach up, and if he didn't the lick of the lips that I just can't restrain would tell him.
"Wanna taste you."
I can hardly breathe, just the intensity of his gaze boring into my head, and how does he manage that with one eye? Maybe it's more concentrated, and god I love the noises he makes when I unzip him, when I pull this time and free him properly from all that hot, sticky leather.
He's crushed under there, cock all creased from the clothes and the hurried workout it had earlier, but he's barely in my hand before he starts filling out, and when I touch the tip of my tongue to the head he shakes so hard I think there's another hellmouth opening up nearby. He's like a teenager still, so eager and trembling, and what wouldn't I give to be like that again, eh?
His fingers tangle in my hair and pull me closer, he just can't wait for it, for me, the one he's always despised to suck him down and make him come. I'm going to make his brains dribble out of his prick this time, you can put money on that. And when he's sated and relaxed, I'm going to take him in that bedroom and fuck the rest of his brains out.
All right, as plans go it's fairly simple, but you have to admit there's a certain beauty to it.
There's definitely a beauty to the taste that fills my mouth when he groans out his release down my throat.
"Fuck," he gasps, and "So hot!"
I almost choke though, forgetting to breathe around his cock, letting it fill my throat. I'm coughing too hard to continue; he slips from my mouth and the last dribbles of come spatter my chin.
"What the-?"
Then he’s staring at me, a puzzled look in his eye.
“You’re all…”
And I can see his face change.
“…flushed,” he finishes, and his hands are on my forehead, feeling. Then they’re on the cuts and the bruises that must be coming up now, just a little. He’s not right gentle about it, either.
“What did-“ He shakes his head, and I don’t blame him. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice that before.”
Well, I was keeping him a mite distracted.
“I know I should have mentioned it sooner, but-“
“You’re warm. You’re--”
“Alive, yeah. It’s not gone down too well with anyone else, so I wasn’t rushing to mention it.”
“You took on a Master Vampire and a bunch of-are you insane?”
It’s hardly the first time anyone’s asked me that, but I don’t think he expects me to laugh.
“You could have been killed!”
Before I can even draw breath to thank him for his concern, otherwise known as kissing him until he’s got no breath, he’s got me by the throat.
“Actually, forget that - you could have got me killed! Was that the plan? To punish me for the way I’ve treated you?”
Boy’s treated me just fine tonight, is all I can think. I’ve danced, groped, fought, dusted, and if I play my cards right I’m going to be well shagged.
“No punishment.” Second thoughts… “Not unless you want it.” And a quirk of the old eyebrow. Everyone goes for the eyebrow thing.
“I’m not laughing here, Spike.”
He’s quite right, he isn’t. And isn’t that just bloody typical of the ungrateful sod?
“Right.” I’m on my feet, but I can still taste him in my mouth, and he’d be a lot more impressive if he fastened those pants back up. “Sorry that I haven’t saved your life in the right way. I’ll know better than to bother next time.”
He catches my arm when I push past him, though, and for a minute I think… but nah.
“It’s just-I thought I had a vampire on the team, you know?”
I turn to him, and he does at least seem to realise what he’s said.
“Yeah. Well, sorry again to disappoint and all that. But all I’ve got is me.”
He doesn’t try to stop me leaving this time.
~ ~ ~
See? All his fault.
His fault I’m in this delightful bar with - oh joy of joys - damp elbows. I lift my arms up and the barman wipes the bar down without enthusiasm before slinging the grey, slimy towel over his shoulder.
I know all the classy places. Been slung out of most of ‘em already in the three days since I left bleeding Harris’ place. This guy - hey, mate! He might be a bit of a crappy act as a barman, but he’s a right good listener.
I don’t think he’s going to serve me again.
I pull my packet of fags out and drop it on the bar, but the cigarette doesn’t want to stay between my fingers. Too… round. Someone could make a fortune by making them flat, you know, I’ve always thought that.
Lighter, lighter. It turns up in an unlikely pocket, and seems to have been doused in something. Beer? That might not do it any good.
click.
click.
click. click. click.
It’s not working and it’s not going to work, but I slouch down on the stool and rest my face on the cool, slick bar, still clicking away.
click.
I’m so stupid.
click.
He’s so stupid.
click. click. click.
It’s not going to work, and it’s driving me mad. Fuck it, I’ll get another.
“Hey mate, got a light?”
click. And there’s a warm sensation near my face.
I sit up, the cigarette dangling forlorn and bent from my lips. I’m too… what? Surprised? Something like that. Too surprised to even take a drag on it before he speaks.
“Maybe more than a light, if you still want it?”
I put my fingers up to my lips and take the cigarette away. Fuck it, it’s knackered. So are my fingers for that matter. I can’t remember what it was like to have to heal naturally.
“Know what to do about these?” I dangle them in front of him.
“Yeah, I know what to do.”
That’s good enough for me. I stub the cigarette out and drop off the stool.
“Then maybe you’ll do.”
I head for the door and grin when I hear him splutter behind me.
“Do? I’ll have you know you’re lucky to have me.”
“Uh huh.”
When we get home, I'll show him who the lucky one is.
Rating: R
Words: 4700
Summary: Post-AtS, Spike needs a place stay after an unfortunate wardrobe incident that could have happened to anyone. Unfortunately for him, Xander wants a favour in return.
Notes: Written for mandylynn4 in the Colour, Sound and Random Object Spander Ficathon.
Your Colour: Yellow / Your Sound: clicking..of anything...make it annoying! / Your Random Object: A blank card, embossed with the letter M (it's on my desk right now...LOL) / Two things you'd like included: Friendship-evolving-into-relationship, a rather uncomfortable (for one of them, hopefully Spike!) trip to a "toy" shop *grins* / Two things you don't want included: Character death of any kind, bloodplay
It's all that puffed-up, poncey-haired bastard Angel's fault.
I never wanted to come to Cleveland in the first place. Just because I gave his clothes to a charity and replaced them with exactly the same in canary yellow, the wanker throws me out. It was funny, damnit!
Well, maybe there was a bit more to it. I probably shouldn't have used his credit card for a start, right? Well, damn. You'd think the soul would tell you when something is definitely wrong, wouldn't you, but it's amazing how these borderline cases just slip through.
Maybe they kept a few bits back; I should get a refund. 'Excuse me, but did my respect for authority get left behind on the shelf, old boy? You'll check? Ta very much.' Oh, you can laugh, but I had some once.
Probably.
~ ~ ~
"Spike."
"Evening." Great, Xander bloody Harris. Just who I was hoping to see on my first day - night - of freedom. "Gonna let me in then, Harris?"
"She's not here."
He doesn't move an inch, of course. It takes me a moment to work out what he's talking about.
"I know that. Not why I'm here. Now, you letting me in or what?"
Don't look at me like that. I wasn't lying. All that's behind me now. The ponce wouldn't have let me come here if she was within 100 miles anyway, would he? I knew that.
"Come on, wanker, it's cold out here."
"You don't get cold, Spike. Vampire, remember?"
Uh huh. "Know that for a fact, do you?"
"I'm off now, Xander."
Oh. Nice little girl he's got there, I think. Good taste in clothes, lousy taste in men.
Then she looks at me.
Did I say nice little girl? Sod that, I still know a slayer when one's glaring at me. Be still, my heart.
Or not, you know.
"This is Spike. We don't kill him." Xander raises his hands. "Believe me, I didn't make that rule."
She just shrugs, but her eyes are still narrowed when she pushes past me. Grrr. Aargh.
"Whatever."
Little girly's lucky I'm a reformed man these days. Still, the boy's honest loathing is starting to look like a warm welcome for these parts by now.
"You got any more of those in there?" I try peering past him again but he seems to get the wrong idea.
"Wait for the invite, buddy."
I mean, what am I going to do, line them up like shots and down them all? That would have been fun once upon a time, mind you. And with the attitude on that one, though, I'm almost tempted to have a relapse. Don't they teach kids manners these days?
"Come on, Harris, you know I can make myself useful." And that was boredom, not grovelling, all right? "If they've left you short on little slayer girls I can protect your big manly self from the nasties."
For a moment I think I've gone too far; I can't help it with him, he just has this 'kick me, I'm a loser' thing going that the bastard in me can't help obliging. It's a shock when he opens the door wide instead of slamming it in my face.
"Come on in, Spike. I think I have just the job for you."
~ ~ ~
"You did what?"
I'm trying not to laugh - no, really - but this is the funniest thing I've heard all week. Xander doesn't seem to agree.
"We didn't know it was a gay club." He throws the card down on the table. 'M'. Stylish, if a bit poncey, with the name embossed and no other writing on the card. Obviously you either know where it is or you're not cool enough to go.
I've been in town for over an hour and I've never heard of it. I really am losing my touch.
"We were supposed to go and look out for one of the regulars - vampire by the name of Chance. There's a lot of undercover work these days."
No wonder the little girl was in a mood. Thinks she's getting a night out, undercover of course, with the real Slayer's number one boy pal and instead she's in the middle of a few hundred sweaty masculine bodies... all writhing and rocking to the rhythm and... steady now, Spike... who are more interested in his arse than hers.
There's nothing you can hurt more on a slayer than her ego. It's one thing they have in common with vampires.
"You'd never pass as a poof anyway, not with your lack of style."
‘Course, I’m so busy laughing at the pillock that I forget to hold my coat closed, don't I? Xander's face lights up like bloody Christmas illuminations when he sees the true state of the Spike.
"Whereas the banana look is all the rage down at the Pink Palaces in LA, yes?"
Yeah, well. The soul makes the ponce less original in his revenge. Didn't mean to let anyone know about that one. Thought I could 'borrow' some cash, nip out for a quick shopping spree and be back before anyone even thought to ask what I was wearing.
"Some of us just have innate style, don't we? You on the other hand, Harris, need black. Wear black and even you can pass as anything - with my help."
"I own black things." He pulls one of those 'I've got a bright idea' faces - you might not have seen that, they're very rare due to him being a waste of oxygen - and points at his socks. "Currently, I own more black things than you do, fangless."
Now, I could punch him for being an annoying bastard, or I could hit him where it really hurts. Where does a loser hurt most, did you say? I'm glad you asked me that.
"In that case, Harris, we'd better go shopping."
His wallet.
~ ~ ~
"I still don't know why you had to try on every pair of jeans in the store."
Aww, little Xanderkins is sulking.
"You're just pissed because I wouldn't let you in the changing room to ogle my delicious arse."
What? Bound to be true, innit?
Oh yes, back in black and on top of my game now. I'm so ready for a night of partying and fighting that I can already taste the beers I'm going to make the prat buy me.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd been admiring yourself all that time."
Oh, if only you knew the half of it, Harris.
"If you had a reflection you'd still be there now."
That's a downright… well, maybe he has a point. It was difficult to leave.
"Yeah, instead of standing outside--"
The sign says 'Tony's Adult Emporium'. That can't be right, can it?
But Harris just pushes the door open, casual as you like. Stone me, what's he up to?
Oh no. No, no, no.
See, seems like Harris forgot to mention it was more than just a gay club. Just like maybe I'll forget I have a soul and leave him bleeding in an alley on the way home.
It's not going to help me now, though.
"Here."
And the bastard is grinning, naturally.
"No way." I snatch the long, studded, dildo-handled whip he's flexing and test it for - mind out of the gutter, if you will - suitability. Oh yeah, fits in my hand a treat. "I'm a natural at domination, don't you know. Years of experience behind me in torture and pain."
"Which is exactly why you won't be doing any tonight." He's quick, I'll give him that. Has the whip out of my hand and a remarkably small costume in my arms in seconds. I don't know which is more obscene. "Also, I'm supplying the roof over your head. But only if you wear that."
"So that's how it's going to be, is it?" He's enjoying himself, I can tell. Can't blame him, really. I'd be having a lot of fun at his expense if I could.
'Course, I only do it because I'll look better in the skimpy costume than him.
It really is skimpy, too. I have to hold my breath to stop anything popping out, the chains are sodding cold and keep rubbing on my nipples, and if the boy doesn't have a razor I'm going to look like I'm hiding a haystack in there. Still, with a bit of work I reckon I can pull this off.
I need a fag. I hang my coat over the No Smoking sign. Bloody rude, I call it.
"Come on, Spike, give us a show."
"You'll see it tonight, pillock." He can probably hear my teeth grinding. I don't know why I give him the satisfaction. But he's there at the bloody curtain the next minute, anyhow.
"I'm sure they have a smaller one, maybe we should try-"
The curtain's almost ripped off, I'm out of there so fast. Harris is there, no space at all between him and my mostly naked chest.
I make sure I blow smoke in his face before stubbing the fag out in the ashtray. Yeah it's petty, but he's not exactly being Mister Maturity.
"Sit down, tosser."
He just nods. Not sure why he looks so shell-shocked; well, apart from me in all my butt-naked glory, of course. But nah, if there's one thing I know about Harris, it's that he isn't into blokes.
Shame, but maybe tonight when we're done I can show him there's more to old Spike than he ever knew. Might not be thrilled if I bring a bloke home, but you can't beat it for post-kill entertainment, not that he'd know. There’s more than a bit of a strut to my walk when I parade for his inspection.
"Well?"
Harris' eyes go from the collar around my neck to the chains across my chest, then down to the tight leather briefs he's got me squeezed into. Getting tighter by the minute, too, and he can't really miss it.
"Will I do?" What the fuck: I strike a submissive pose. No, I'm not demonstrating it.
It's pathetic, really. Still the wide-eyed innocent, whatever he likes to pretend. Some kid wanting to wield a bit of power over someone who's knocked around for over a century - how the fuck was that supposed to work?
He knows it now, too, and not just because I'm smirking at him.
"Master?"
He gulps, and you don't want to know where his eyes were. Well, well, well. Maybe I was wrong about him.
"I'll go pay."
~ ~ ~
Few hours later I'm shaved and plucked as a chicken, and almost as trussed up. Harris doesn't look bad in black, even the leather suits him these days and if it wasn't Xander 'Loser' Harris under there I might even find the eye patch sexy.
"Lose that and I'll lose you, love." I hate handing the coat over to anyone, let alone cloakroom morons in some club. Bint scuttles off at a run; oh yeah, old Spike still has it.
Harris' teeth are gleaming in the multi-coloured lights, and at first I think he's laughing, but when he leans forward his face is uncertain.
"What do we do?" he shouts down my ear when I offer it.
"Exactly what everyone else is doing," I tell him, and nod at the dance floor.
I don't know quite how he manages to find us enough space for us to dance two feet apart, but I'm buggered if that's the way it's going to stay. A few steps closer and he's backed into a corner, literally as well as metaphorically.
"Now, we going to do this properly?"
He nods, so I take his hands and lead him back. The music's hotter than the air in this place, and my lungs are scorched with the dry ice. It's easier with his hand on my hips, though, to remember we're supposed to be together. It's even easier to lean an arm over his shoulder, just cup his head in the crook of my elbow and bring it closer to me.
"See anything?"
I don't know why I'm asking, since he hasn't taken his eyes off my chest since we started dancing, but at least it lets me grind against his leg. I can hear him gasp, but the way is fingers are digging into my hips is giveaway enough.
He shakes his head.
"Maybe your man’s not in a dancing mood."
He just shrugs, but lets me lead him around the dance floor until we can see one of the far corners, or just about in the pulsing lights.
Suddenly he clutches at me more tightly.
"Over there, I think."
It's hard to see, but there's definitely someone holding court over here, and if that's not an A pos. cocktail or ten headed over there I'm not dressed in an embarrassing scrap of leather and enough chain to restrain a Great Dane.
I can't see a bloody thing through the crowd, though, and I'm damn sure he can't either.
"We need to get closer." Passing a table I snatch up a drink and down it in one.
"Brilliant deduction, and just how-"
But I walk him off the dance floor, staring into his eyes all the while. Guiding him carefully I let him stumble backwards until he's pressed up against a pillar. Hands either side of his head, I can feel him tremble against me.
"Shut up, Xander."
And I kiss him. His lips move as if he's going to protest, but they don’t make a sound; not that I can hear anyway, but I've been at this a long time now. If he is making a sound under there, it's that of a man begging for more.
It's good, actually. I'm surprised how good. I’d forgotten how a man feels different; bigger, more solid against me. I can let myself go a bit, especially when I don't actually like the git. He's no Angelus, but that's no reason to go soft on him.
Soft is the last thing either of us are, as a matter of fact. Interesting. I know I can get off on any warm body and a willing mouth, so that's no surprise, but he's as hard as a rock and giving as good as he's getting within moments.
"Well?"
Yeah, it's mean, but a man has to salvage some pride when he's having to grope the likes of Harris while dressed like a right dick.
"Huh?"
Oh, look at that. Not that he's got a lot of brain to melt, but I can see it trickling out of his ears now. It’s a beautiful sight.
"Chance. That him?"
He looks confused for a moment, then shakes himself and peers over my shoulder.
"Yeah, looks like it."
"Right then. Best keep your eyes open this time."
I have no idea whether he does or not, but it's not like I actually care. I’ll take care of the business side of this once I’ve a little something on account from the boy, but only because fucking him right here and now would attract too much attention.
He’s a treat though. Panting into my mouth and grinding away against me, and I wonder what he’ll do when I unzip those leather pants just enough… oh, yeah. I try to manoeuvre to cover up what I’m doing, because I can feel his heartbeat speeding up in alarm.
Not enough to stop him though; he’s still hard as a rock and pushing into my hand in the cramped confines of the leather. So hot, and his breath on my neck is sending shivers down my spine. There's no room, and god knows what it's doing to the rest of his tackle down there, but he doesn't seem to care because he thrusts harder; once, twice and he spills into my fist. It only takes the scrape of his teeth on my neck to send me over the edge with him, too.
"You made me all sticky," I whisper in his ear. "Bad Xander."
"… Chance," he mutters, and he's suddenly all elbows, shoving me out of the way.
Huh? Oh, the vampires are off, and what, we're following them?
"What about my coat!" I shout after him, but he's moving, reaching for the back pocket and god knows how he fitted a stake in there but I know that's what he's going for.
The boy's mad.
I'll catch my death of cold out there dressed in this.
Shit.
The alleyway outside is your average backstreet behind a club - stinking and full of things you'd rather not see in the shadows. More shadows than usual out here, though, and Xander's just inside the doorway, the emergency doors swinging open with a creak.
Something's off, but Xander doesn't know it. It's almost slow motion as I watch him look over his shoulder at me, then pat his stake pocket and gin as he steps through the door.
I'm not going to get there in time, the shadows are already moving, but I'm going to try.
Almost before the first predatory hand reaches him I'm there and in its face.
"The boy's mine, tossers. Find your own."
And all hell breaks loose behind us.
~ ~ ~
"Xander?"
Was that a twitch? Kind of cute, actually, that little rabbit twitch of the nose when he's asleep.
"Xander? Come on now, the scrap's over, you can wake up now."
"Unghhh ergh."
I'm quite impressed. Didn't know the boy had picked up any Vlergh.
"No time for that now, let's get you home."
He looks around and squints at the ground.
"You dusted them all?"
"They're all gone."
I'll tell him about the slayer posse later, but you know, it's not going to do my chances any harm if he thinks good old Spikey dealt with the lot of them single-handed.
"You're hurt." He pokes a finger at my hand when I help him up.
"And you're stupid, what's your point?"
"Mean vampire."
"Not me, mate." I look up to where the sky is lightening above the streetlights. "Not me.
~ ~ ~
Back at the house he's talking nineteen to the dozen and touching everything in the kitchen. Not seen him this nervous in years, not like this. Look at the cupboard, touch the kettle, molest the coffee cups, look at the cupboard again just in case it grew another door, maybe.
"Sure you should be on the coffee?"
"What?" He turns, spilling some of the water from the kettle.
I shrug. "You just seem a bit tense."
"No, I just…"
He flicks the switch on the kettle and holds out his hand. Shaking on it is a bit formal considering what else we’ve done with those hands tonight, and I think there are more broken bones in this hand than I can count, but what the hell.
“Truce?”
‘Course, he has to be joking on that part.
“What, friends? You and me?”
“You saved my life.”
Still not sure I believe he’s serious though. I’m not exactly testing him - oh all right, I am - but he doesn’t say a word when I take out a fag, tap it a couple of times on the table and light it. Or even when I take a slow drag and blow smoke out.
“Not for the first time, I’d like to point out.”
“Don’t spoil the moment, Spike.”
And he’s very close. Maybe this would be a good time to point out that I’m as good as on a promise after that little interlude in the club, but then again…
“So.”
He’s looking around the room, but I’m not sure what he’s lost.
“So?”
“Yeah. Maybe I’ll…”
And he’s moving towards the door and if he goes out there that’s probably going to be the end of this. Oh sure, maybe we’ll get round to it some other time, but we’ll have to start from the beginning again, and the chase isn’t what it used to be any more.
I blow another puff of smoke out. “Just friends, is it?”
He stops, hand on the door.
“Just friends?”
“Yeah. Seemed like earlier, more might be on the cards.”
Credit where it’s due, he has the balls to turn round and look at me. It’s on the tip of his tongue though, I know it, whatever snappy comment he wants to make. It’s in the air between us and it’s probably something about haven’t I screwed enough of the gang yet, but he closes his mouth in time to stop it.
“More.”
It’s not an answer, but he’s thinking.
Bollocks to that, thinking never gets you anywhere. In a heartbeat, I’m close enough to rub my cheek against his. It’s stubbly, rough, and he smells of sweat and panic. I like it.
“Yeah. More.”
It’s only a gentle bump of my crotch against his leg, but it just so happens that if I close my eyes it’s like we’re back in the club, and I know he knows it too. I don’t think he’s even thinking about what he’s doing, but his hips are moving with mine in perfect time.
He moans when my hand slips under his shirt, and presses closer, like he wants to merge bodies, just push harder until bones meet and fuse through damp skin; his stubble is going to rub the skin off my neck and his cheekbone is pressing too hard on my black eye, but the soreness isn’t going to stop me now.
"More?"
He doesn't say no, even when I let my hands trail down his thighs and my knees hit the floor. He knows what I'm going to do when I reach up, and if he didn't the lick of the lips that I just can't restrain would tell him.
"Wanna taste you."
I can hardly breathe, just the intensity of his gaze boring into my head, and how does he manage that with one eye? Maybe it's more concentrated, and god I love the noises he makes when I unzip him, when I pull this time and free him properly from all that hot, sticky leather.
He's crushed under there, cock all creased from the clothes and the hurried workout it had earlier, but he's barely in my hand before he starts filling out, and when I touch the tip of my tongue to the head he shakes so hard I think there's another hellmouth opening up nearby. He's like a teenager still, so eager and trembling, and what wouldn't I give to be like that again, eh?
His fingers tangle in my hair and pull me closer, he just can't wait for it, for me, the one he's always despised to suck him down and make him come. I'm going to make his brains dribble out of his prick this time, you can put money on that. And when he's sated and relaxed, I'm going to take him in that bedroom and fuck the rest of his brains out.
All right, as plans go it's fairly simple, but you have to admit there's a certain beauty to it.
There's definitely a beauty to the taste that fills my mouth when he groans out his release down my throat.
"Fuck," he gasps, and "So hot!"
I almost choke though, forgetting to breathe around his cock, letting it fill my throat. I'm coughing too hard to continue; he slips from my mouth and the last dribbles of come spatter my chin.
"What the-?"
Then he’s staring at me, a puzzled look in his eye.
“You’re all…”
And I can see his face change.
“…flushed,” he finishes, and his hands are on my forehead, feeling. Then they’re on the cuts and the bruises that must be coming up now, just a little. He’s not right gentle about it, either.
“What did-“ He shakes his head, and I don’t blame him. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice that before.”
Well, I was keeping him a mite distracted.
“I know I should have mentioned it sooner, but-“
“You’re warm. You’re--”
“Alive, yeah. It’s not gone down too well with anyone else, so I wasn’t rushing to mention it.”
“You took on a Master Vampire and a bunch of-are you insane?”
It’s hardly the first time anyone’s asked me that, but I don’t think he expects me to laugh.
“You could have been killed!”
Before I can even draw breath to thank him for his concern, otherwise known as kissing him until he’s got no breath, he’s got me by the throat.
“Actually, forget that - you could have got me killed! Was that the plan? To punish me for the way I’ve treated you?”
Boy’s treated me just fine tonight, is all I can think. I’ve danced, groped, fought, dusted, and if I play my cards right I’m going to be well shagged.
“No punishment.” Second thoughts… “Not unless you want it.” And a quirk of the old eyebrow. Everyone goes for the eyebrow thing.
“I’m not laughing here, Spike.”
He’s quite right, he isn’t. And isn’t that just bloody typical of the ungrateful sod?
“Right.” I’m on my feet, but I can still taste him in my mouth, and he’d be a lot more impressive if he fastened those pants back up. “Sorry that I haven’t saved your life in the right way. I’ll know better than to bother next time.”
He catches my arm when I push past him, though, and for a minute I think… but nah.
“It’s just-I thought I had a vampire on the team, you know?”
I turn to him, and he does at least seem to realise what he’s said.
“Yeah. Well, sorry again to disappoint and all that. But all I’ve got is me.”
He doesn’t try to stop me leaving this time.
~ ~ ~
See? All his fault.
His fault I’m in this delightful bar with - oh joy of joys - damp elbows. I lift my arms up and the barman wipes the bar down without enthusiasm before slinging the grey, slimy towel over his shoulder.
I know all the classy places. Been slung out of most of ‘em already in the three days since I left bleeding Harris’ place. This guy - hey, mate! He might be a bit of a crappy act as a barman, but he’s a right good listener.
I don’t think he’s going to serve me again.
I pull my packet of fags out and drop it on the bar, but the cigarette doesn’t want to stay between my fingers. Too… round. Someone could make a fortune by making them flat, you know, I’ve always thought that.
Lighter, lighter. It turns up in an unlikely pocket, and seems to have been doused in something. Beer? That might not do it any good.
click.
click.
click. click. click.
It’s not working and it’s not going to work, but I slouch down on the stool and rest my face on the cool, slick bar, still clicking away.
click.
I’m so stupid.
click.
He’s so stupid.
click. click. click.
It’s not going to work, and it’s driving me mad. Fuck it, I’ll get another.
“Hey mate, got a light?”
click. And there’s a warm sensation near my face.
I sit up, the cigarette dangling forlorn and bent from my lips. I’m too… what? Surprised? Something like that. Too surprised to even take a drag on it before he speaks.
“Maybe more than a light, if you still want it?”
I put my fingers up to my lips and take the cigarette away. Fuck it, it’s knackered. So are my fingers for that matter. I can’t remember what it was like to have to heal naturally.
“Know what to do about these?” I dangle them in front of him.
“Yeah, I know what to do.”
That’s good enough for me. I stub the cigarette out and drop off the stool.
“Then maybe you’ll do.”
I head for the door and grin when I hear him splutter behind me.
“Do? I’ll have you know you’re lucky to have me.”
“Uh huh.”
When we get home, I'll show him who the lucky one is.