ethrosdemon & Lar ||| Buffy & Angel

Reconfiguration VII
by Lar and ethrosdemon

EMAIL: naturallycalm@yahoo.com =and= HERE
Distribution: List archives, people who ask.
Disclaimer: Neither Lar nor ethrosdemon own Xander or Angel, their souls or their demons. We do however, have designs on a certain young lawyer, so maybe you should go ahead and sue.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Epiphany, The Body
Notes: Just when you thought it was safe to go back to your mailboxes. Sorry, but we're back.
Dedication: To Aimee who issued the challenge and promptly ran and hid when she saw who accepted it. To Donna for the beta. To anyone who is actually tuning back in after our long hiatus.

============================

Ten o'clock on a Friday night, and there's hardly anyone on the streets. Xander parks the rental car and sits, staring at the Magic Box and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He's not looking forward to the whole Buffy confrontation, but some part of him is feeling an urgent need to see Willow, smell her hair, the musky scent of her body, have a full on Wills-Hug, patent pending, and just be reassured that life here is still as he remembers it.

No sense in delaying the inevitable, and they're expecting him since Angel made him call before he left and have them meet him here. Nerves have made him jittery, and he realizes that he's really hungry despite the amount of blood he gorged on before leaving the hotel. Two hours of nervous energy and it's all burned away. Not the best frame of mind to be in and there's not much he can do about it right now.

Climbs out, locks the door behind him, pockets the keys, and heaves a mentally bracing sigh before opening the door. Tingle-ring of the bell above him familiar and he's smiling because it all looks so damn *good* - all the dust and disarray, the old books and the chicken feet in jars on the counter, and especially the hurtling, squealing bundle of warmth and spices that hits him in the chest and grabs on tight.

"WillowHug," he murmurs into her hair, kisses her forehead when she looks up, and he feels really loose, just a few seconds of rightness in the insanity that has become his world. Smiles over her head at Tara, who's watching them both with a tiny grin that speaks volumes of the affection she holds for him as well as Willow.

"Xander, so good to see you. You look well." Giles, coming down from the winding stairs, glasses in his hand and forehead smooth, worry-free for one rare second, genuine pleasure on his face to see the boy again.

The phone rings, and Giles picks it up, Xander listening with half an ear as he gently disengages the clinging arms of Willow who seems determined to become joined to him at the hip until she's reassured that he's really here. He holds her hand, comforting contact, as they walk further into the shop.

"Xander, it's for you." Giles holds out the receiver, the usual serious-Watcher-guy expression back in place. Xander can feel Tara and Willow watching him as he takes the phone, turns away to talk. He knows who it is, but then again, who else *would* it be?

"Hello? Yeah the drive was fine...no, I didn't get a ticket." He can feel them all studiously ignoring the call, and when he peeks back around they've all become interested in various items in the store that they've seen and handled a hundred times already. He pulls himself back to the conversation, hears the undertones of worry in Angel's voice even as he's pretty much berating him for a few dozen little things.

"I know, I left those cds on the counter, but I was in a rush... don't panic, I didn't get anything on the upholstery. You'll get your deposit back." He has to smile - Scourge of Europe, Master Vampire, and Angel sounds like the kind of mom everyone makes fun of, overprotective and worrying himself sick. It's weird but sort of cool in a sheltering kind of way, certainly a new aspect to his life, a parent other than Giles who cares even about the tiniest things.

"Yeah? Ok, tell everyone I said hey. Right. Uh huh, I will. Bye." Finishes up the conversation, turning and saying, "Angel says hi everybody," right at the precise moment that Buffy charges in. Her senses are on overdrive, he can smell it as soon as she hits the room. High ozone-burn of adrenaline that's unlike anyone else's scent in any way at all, fist clenched around a stake, and how stupid was he to forget that she would know right away?

Her face crumples when she sees him, when her Slayer senses confirm in claxon horns of warning, that he's not himself anymore, that he is...other. "Oh my God, Xander... what happened to you?" Break when she says his name and there's tears in her throat, in her eyes. The stake clatters to the floor, the sound loud in the hush of the shop.

Willow steps forward, walks towards her, and Xander sees she puts herself between him and Buffy, deliberate block as she says, "Buffy, no it's OK..." but she's cut off.

"Were you talking to Angel on the phone?" Furrow between the brows as she tries to make some connections that just won't click, or she won't let them come together because it's too much to handle, and Xander feels so sorry for her, even in the midst of all his own problems.

"Uh, yeah. He would have talked to you, but there was a vision, and he had to run. He says hi though." Makes sure to keep his voice low and soothing, try to keep her from getting to a place where no one could stop her if she went off the deep end, and he ends up as more dust on the books. Willow blinks nervously between the two of them, hands twisted together. No one wants to move, to snap the spell that keeps Buffy from losing the tenuous grip she has on the stillness.

But she frowns, and Xander sees Giles take a step forward when she asks, "A vision? Xander, why were you talking to Angel, and why are you a vamp complete with vamp-goth ensemble? Someone needs to do some explaining, I thought you were in Tulsa...wait, that was some kind of Key type thing, wasn't it?" She turns to look at Willow, anger and hurt warring for dominance in her expression and Willow blushes to her hairline, opens and closes her mouth, looks helplessly at Tara and then back to Buffy.

Giles steps in, his own embarrassment evident as he stammers out an explanation. "Buffy, we thought it better, because of the situation..."

"I want to know about the Angel part." She's looking at no one but Xander, and he's looking right back, willing her to see that it's still him in there, and she should know, she above them all should know.

He holds his hands out, gesture of pleading. "He turned me, Buffy. It was so quick, he didn't know what else to do..."

Wash of pure horror over her features turns her ugly and old before his eyes until he blinks and she's just Buffy again, just his friend who is finding out that he died, that everyone has lied to her, that she's on the outside for yet another reason, and he aches for her, pure and complete empathy. But he doesn't know how to make it better.

"No, I can't listen to this. I have to make another sweep and check in on Dawn...and you all lied to me? And Angel, too? Again?" She whirls, grabs the stake from the floor and is out the door, gone in a flash of tears and anger and pain that Xander thinks he will be able to smell for hours. Like it drifted into his skin, stained him.

Willow turns to him, eyes made enormous by anxiety and unshed tears. "She still talks to Angel?"

"I got no clue what she's talking about, Wills, but I must say, that went even worse than I ever imagined it could." He's out of his element again, suddenly aware that this is not his place anymore. He's smelling things in there that make his demon squirm, potions and herbs and magic, thick and oily. His skin is creeping and his heart aches, and he wants nothing more to make it all go away.

"I like your new clothes, Xander." Tara's whimsical grin, flutter of her hand to indicate shirt, pants, boots, and he knows it's truth, but also meant to reassure him in a moment of disaster.

Giles asks "Did Angel say what Cordelia's vision pertained to?" Dragging them off the topic at hand and back to the usual comfort of death, destruction and mayhem on a global scale.

Xander shrugs, grins a little sheepishly. "No, he was pretty much just ragging me for leaving stuff on the floor and worried that I spilled Coke on the seats of the rental car."

Willow makes a noise of irritation, habits are so easy to fall back on. "You still leave your underwear all over the place? Xander you'll never grow up."

"Actually, I don't wear any, it was socks and a pair of pants he found wadded behind the toilet."

Sigh from Giles as he turns away, glasses off and hand scrubbing at his eyes. "Dear lord, you people just never know when to shut up."

"You share a bathroom? I thought it was all big and vacant." Willow appears genuinely confused, but Tara is looking at Xander with a dawning light of realization on her face. He catches her looking, second of eye contact and she's flushed, high color in spots on her cheeks. For once Xander is glad that he can't blush, because he knows she's got it, that deep insight that runs through her just picked it all up and made the picture clear as daylight.

"Willow, maybe Xander's tired, and wants to go home now." Her voice is soft, and she comes over to take Willow's hand, shyly tangling fingers and hiding them in her skirts.

Willow isn't that easily swayed from the discussion, and Xander marvels at her naivety. "Huh? Yeah, maybe, but I would have my own bathroom, all to myself, not that I mind sharing with you or anything, but if there were twenty bathrooms..."

He interrupts as gently as he can. "Yeah, Tara, I think I'm a little beat. Where am I staying?"

Willow jumps, barely containing her excitement at this further reminder that he's here, and he'll be here for a while, her face is glowing, her words bubbling out. "Oh, at my parent's house. Do you mind? Your apartment...well, we got all your stuff! And since no one's there this month, we thought you might not want to sleep on Giles' couch..."

"Wills, it's fine. Sounds great. I can snoop through all your old stuff." He gives her a goofy grin and watches her drop into mock-serious mode.

"On second thought, I bet Giles' would like some company. Giles, would you mind Xander hanging out with you?" They all chuckle when he stammers out a blatantly unenthusiastic response before he realizes they're having him on again and stops in mid-sentence. Polishes his glasses with the hem of his shirt and clears his throat before speaking up again. "Buffy will come around, Xander. We made a huge mistake not telling her in the beginning, and I daresay we'll all pay for it. Let me talk to her and explain. Give it a few days. I think I can make her understand after a fashion."

Xander doubts very highly that Buffy will be getting the full fledged version of his new unlife with Angel, or that she will understand no matter how he candy-coats it. But he smiles for the sake of the effort Giles is making at convincing himself that reason has a place here, makes accommodatingly encouraging remarks.

"If anyone can, it's you G-man. She needs space, and well, there's the Angel thing. I think I might be pretty pissed if the situations were reversed."

Giles watches them go, Willow clutching Xander's hand with the enthusiasm only she can muster on a regular basis, Tara looking over her shoulder at him before following the other two out into the night. He sighs, knows Tara has the truth of it all, wishes that the others had half her depth of understanding or the wisdom to keep silent when they do actually glean some knowledge of the things that are less than pleasant, those strange oddities that exist but don't conform to the way people draw their lines and live their lives.

Having spent much of his life as a Watcher, with his extensive training and research into the lore and the legends of vampires, Giles is more than aware of what kind of hierarchy exists between Sire and childer. He'd assumed that Angel would act as mentor, considering the ties between he and Xander, the lives they lived and the people who make up their collective group of friends and family. He sees now that he was only fooling himself, painting the nature of the demon with the brush of humanity, and telling himself that the soul would hold sway over every aspect.

No matter what else she might drag from him in what he is sure will be an angry and painful interlude, Giles is absolute on one point. He will not be the one to tell her that Angel has taken on all aspects of the Sire with his newest childe.

-----

Xander feels like he's falling falling, suddenly catches himself in mid-drop and realizes he's sitting on the Rosenburg's couch, Ron Popeel assuring him that spinach pasta is not just delicious but nutritious and easy to make as well. Takes him a few seconds to figure out why he's here and why the walls are blue instead of red. For some unknown reason, that insignificant detail causes his stomach to turn over and his nerves to dance, on the verge of tears he zaps back to his current life and knows the walls haven't been red for a couple years, and Willow isn't upstairs getting ready to go out on a late patrol with Buffy. Hops off the couch, pulls on his boots, grabs his jacket, and clicks the lock over as he closes the door behind him.

Didn't feel exhausted until he sat down and turned the TV. on. Knows it must've been the four nights/days with barely a wink as Angel showed him physically how much he would be missed. As he ambles along aimlessly, he attempts to draw up the dream that flipped him back to consciousness. Senses the less than pleasant vibe, but can't remember the actual content. Plays over the horror and anguish on Buffy's face in the Magic Box, the knowledge on Tara's, the palpable relief in Willow to see him in one piece and on his feet with her own eyes. Thinks he could have gone after Buffy, followed her out the door and forced her to listen to his side of the story. The lie wasn't the important part in this. Stops to rest on a bench and sees he's carried himself to the park where Anya learned to swing on a swing set; where they had picnics on junk food; where they had al fresco sex in the bushes one copper-tinted Sunday afternoon. Wonders for the ten thousandth or so time where Anya is now. If she'll try to get her powers back, or if she'll try to find someone else to love. Feels the bass thumping from the UCS hang-out across the street through his chest. Tracks the drunken college students stumbling arm in arm or lurching in groups from the door down the street and out of site. Feels the tears dry up, his collar soaked, as he allows heart beats and laughter to break his depressing train of thought. Picks out one girl, halo of golden hair in ringlets around her face, bandana patterned skirt, thick soled shoes, unsteady on her feet, and he considers her chances of making it back to the dorm tonight when her eyes light, and her friends come in sight. Greetings exchanged, and he hears a name, Sarah, screeched out by one of her companions, almost her carbon copy except the hair's straight, and the skirt's paisley. The place is packed and teeming, and he knows what lies inside. His ruination. But at the same time, possibly an escape for a few seconds of pretending this is him, and his life is about neon, stale beer and tonight's pick up. One drink or two, that's not such a huge thing, no big. Three minutes or less, and he's inside ordering, praying to Elvis, since he knows Jesus doesn't listen to vampires, that he can just forget for a while.

**

Three double vodkas //"Eww, Xander, why drink that of all things?" "It all tastes like turpentine to me anyway, why not?"// later, Veronica's telling him all about her psyche final, and her hand's snaking higher up his thigh. She buys his fourth drink, and fingers of doubt are clogging up his mind when he thinks about leaving while the getting's good. Just a little longer, it's not like anyone expects him tonight. Not like Angel can track him from this far, and that sends a shiver of fright as well as shame, but he lets it go. Not like he's gonna fuck her, not his type. Blond, freckles, full mouth, everyone else's type, but not his.

"You wanna go home with me?" Lashes demurely resting on her face, even though her right hand is stroking the inside seam of his pants.

"I don't think that would be such a great idea." Knows she has no clue what she's asking for. Hears the Midwestern vowels and weird slang, or heard it before her heartbeat became his pivot for the duration of their conversation. //if it's not you, someone else will pluck this one//

"Oh, you have a girlfriend?" Hand gone. Chin up-raised and defying him to tell her what a complete dick he truly is.

"No, a boyfriend, since you asked." Two blinks, and a leer that is anything but innocent.

"Maybe we could go to your place then." Fingers on his arm this time, and his burst of laughter calls up her own, and they haw and shake until they have to steady each other with groping hands and braced thighs.

Her face flushed, so close he can see the capillaries in her eyelids, not eye-shadow, just liner, and even in this light the threads of blue stand out in the thin skin.

"I think your eyes are pretty, too." //so stupid, she's begging for it// He lets her kiss him, girly sighs and shy tongue. And he just can't stop himself, something blocking out the wrong here, his limbs flowing through the fluid air, distanced from reality in some way he can't name. Takes the offered hand and walks out to the sidewalk with her. Fucking the last thing on his mind.

**

Tucked in a nook behind the concession stand, facing towards one of the up-teen cemeteries //who would put a park across the street from a graveyard? Only in Sunnydale//, Veronica lies sprawled at his feet. Skirt rucked up, glassy eyes indicting him, gash in the side of her neck trickling thin rivulets of scarlet. //didn't mean to take so much just a taste to take the edge off not all of it nonono//

Xander stares at the lifeless body, terror zinging along his nerve endings like lightning bolts. Fear of Angel's wrath not nearly as great as his fear of the pleasure he took in the act, accident or no. The power rush when her heart stopped beating, the last few mouthfuls of her blood so full of *everything* that made her who she was. He no longer wonders why vampires enjoy the kill. He knows. He also knows she has a family, a roommate, a high school boyfriend who loved her in an adolescent way, hopes and fears and needs.

"What do we have here, then?" Low quiet voice from right at his shoulder and Xander wigs. Jumps a foot, literally, when he hears the voice behind him, swears as much at the vampire reaction as the intrusion. "Holy fuck," words rasped out before he can stop himself.

Spike is there, grinning as he toes the limp body with his battered boot. "I felt you from across the lawn. Didn't know you'd have a lifestyle change. I can smell the soul all over you. They curse you?" Bends down and puts his fingers to the wound in the girls neck, swipes the scant drops of blood from her skin, sucks them into his mouth thoughtfully.

"No, it was a package deal." Xander tries to keep the quiver from his voice, but it's next to impossible. There's something in Spike's smell that makes the hair of his neck stand on end, and the thrill from the feeding is still in control making him tight and wired. Feels the hum now, the Angel buzz, but slightly less keyed up, doesn't know why he didn't feel it before //slightly distracted with that killing thing//

Spike looks up at him. "So I shouldn't expect a psychotic drop in from Angelus any time in the near future?" Pokes half-heartedly at the girl's neck again, but there's not enough to stain his fingers. He licks them anyway, and Xander has a moment of pity that he stomps down on hard. //not so easy to mock him when you're on his side of the cage, is it?//

"No, it was Angel." He watches Spike rise, pat his pockets down looking for cigarettes as he thinks about the reply. Sees the way Spike's eyes narrow and wonders briefly if he's considering the market price for turning Xander in to the Slayer.

Finally Spike lights up, exhales and says, "Sorry to hear about the soul. Tough luck. What's with the all you can suck buffet if your old man's the ponce?"

"He knows." Shrug of his shoulders, but Xander begins to take the measure of the smaller man, watches the way he moves as he ambles from one patch of grass to the next. Remembers he's looking at someone who was trained by Angelus and has had a hundred or so years of practice to hone the skills, and that he's no longer protected by Spike's handy little military remote-control chip.

"Right." Mocking grin again, long drag on the cigarette, and he squints at Xander through the smoke as he exhales. "And you're still walking, so I assume you said that phase was over."

"Why do you care?"

Spike settles himself back against the dirty wall of the stand, closely following the expressions on Xander's face and the body language he hasn't learned to control. "For several reasons. The first is that blackmail is fun, and I want to have all my facts straight."

//blackmail, perfect, oh god i am so screwed// "Fuck, Spike, can't you just leave me the hell alone?" Anger in his voice and he knows he should be a little cooler, give Spike less ammunition, but there's no way he can control it now. His eyes are drawn again and again to the body on the ground.

"Oh, I don't think so. You're gonna do some things for me instead." There's a look in Spike's pale blue eyes, a combination of delight and something darker Xander can't identify. His nostrils flare as he tries to get a bearing on the mood, but he can't pick up anything over the high tang of his own fear.

Asks him, "What kinds of things?" Doesn't really want to know the answer.

Scarred eyebrow arches towards his hairline and he just waits a beat for Xander to think about it. Xander's turn to laugh, humorless and harsh sound in the stillness of the night. "Fuck off, Spike. You know I'm not going to kill people for you."

"I wouldn't expect you would. But your blood might be almost as sweet." Moving again, walking closer, purpose in his stride, and when he gets right up alongside of Xander, the scent is clearly identifiable. Lust, pure and simple, and Xander isn't naive enough to believe he's someone Spike has missed in his bed enough to inspire this level of pheromones. It's the power play that's got him cranked up higher than a kite.

Xander holds himself as placidly as he can, head turning from side to side to track Spike as he circles. Attempts a reasonable approach first, even though he is well aware that it's a weak argument. "You know Angel, don't you Spike? What do you think would happen if I come home with your bites all over me?"

"Ah, still the same old possessive wanker, I see." Stops behind Xander, hands in his pockets and leans in towards the boy, body hovering millimeters from connecting, and he whispers softly in his ear. "What do you think would happen if I told the Watcher about what I just saw?"

"God damn it!" Burst of desperate anger and abject terror, and Xander steps away, puts some distance between them before turning to look at Spike. He hasn't moved a muscle. "Don't I have some power over you because I'm like your uncle or something?"

Spike shakes his head, parody of regret. "No, whelp, you have to fight me to master me, and I don't think that would be the correct choice for you right now. Besides," he pauses as his demon shimmers into plain view and out again, "it's been a while since I got any from a family member."

"You're sick, could we keep the incest comments to a minimum, I just ate." Xander groans at the choice of words and continues, one hand out, finger pointing accusingly. "I could stake you, then you couldn't tell anyone a damned thing."

"You inherited your Sire's sense of humor." Stalks back over, puts himself in that same too-close-for-comfort position again, face to face this time. Xander's throat works as he swallows the bit of moisture left in his mouth, finds himself concentrating not on the blue eyes with the wedge of gold at the center, and instead watches pale pink lips as they form the words, "Think you could take me?"

"No." Whispered admission of defeat.

"If you can't take me, then you have two other options. One, turn yourself in and take it like a man when your little Scooby pals try to stake you, not to mention the unholy ass kicking you'll get from daddy if you escape, or two, you can do what I want and no one's the wiser." Cocks his to the side, an half smile twisting his mouth.

"If Angel finds out you touched me, let alone bit me, I might be better off letting Buffy stake me." Tries to take a step backwards, but Spike's on him before the motion can be completed, one steel hand wrapped around Xander's left bicep. Whips his left up to clutch the back of Xander's skull.

"All the fresh, sweet blood rushing through your veins, and you want to fight me? I know what it's like, boy, the lust after the kill. I can smell it all over you." Holds Xander's head in place and brushes his nose up the side of his neck and across his cheek. "Just because it wasn't your idea doesn't mean you can't enjoy it a bit, eh?" Parts his lips and traces a line from Xander's cheek to the corner of his mouth where dried blood flakes and melts on contact.

The scent of Spike fills Xander's mouth and nose, the hum of the blood call pricking his nerves, and the voice in his mind assaults him //belongs family take him mark him// and the fear of being caught-out mingles with the thrill of the kill. His fingers find the short hair on the back of Spike's head, and he wrenches his mouth under his own. As soon as lips meet, Spike's tongue is in his mouth, delving for vestiges of the recent feed, two low growls reverberate around the pair when Xander's other aspect comes to call and fangs slice lips.

Spike pushes him away, demon visage falling off like water, smearing crimson across his cheek with the back of his hand.

"Come on then, let's go back to my place. No good standing out here like fledges over a corpse waiting for one of your ass-sniffing pals to traipse along." Turns and takes off at a good clip, not even looking behind to make sure Xander's following. Can feel him hesitate before tagging from a slight distance, the scent of the boy strong with lust and anger. Can feel strength there, and would have expected nothing less of a childe of Angel, if he had put two brains cells to contemplating such a thing. Glad it hadn't come to a fight, existing off blood bags and the cast-aways of other, intact, vampires for so long. Doesn't feel like himself at all, but he knows Xander's gonna fix that right up. Maybe he can fuck the soul out him and they can have some real fun.

Xander watches the retreating back and flapping tails of the leather duster for less time than he'll be comfortable accepting later, in the stillness and dark when it's time to think about what this night and his actions in it mean. Right now, however, his conscious mind can only focus on two things, and one is disappearing into the door of its crypt as Xander's feet carry him in Spike's wake, the other is the cold body laying sprawled on the ground next to the spot where he used to eat freezies and ice cream cones with Will and Jesse.

A few short seconds later, and Xander's inside, door clicking shut behind him. Scent heavier in here when they're closed in, and the thrumming need surges deeper, scrapes at the places that make him have to struggle to keep the game face at bay. Call of the blood not as strong as with Angel, but there nonetheless, and growing.

He licks his lips and watches Spike shrug out of his coat and peel off his t-shirt before walking to the edge of his makeshift bed, rumple of blankets tossed over a stained gray mattress.

"So you're in the game then, are you?" Spike's eyes glitter, gold shards in the blue as he eyes Xander, beckons him closer when he nods. "Come on then. Let's see some enthusiasm on your part, nancy boy."

Low growl punctuates the leap as Xander covers the distance between them and flings himself on Spike, impetus knocking them both to the mattress. Spike lies stunned for a moment as Xander's weight pins him and his hands grasp for purchase on hip and shoulder. The boy has the advantage of weight and full fed strength, and he uses them to wedge a knee in the mattress, gain leverage and try to flip Spike to his stomach. Flutter of familiarity for Spike, he almost allows himself to give in, beta no more but the instinct still there, still attached to this scent and the blood he's already tasted. On his belly, one hand in his hair and another tugging at the waist of his jeans, and this is so many nights of his unlife reenacted, bulk not quite right, scent slightly off, but so close he could fall into pretending. He feels the hard evidence of Xander's arousal press into his hip as the boy leans down and sinks fangs into the meatiest part of Spike's shoulder, and that's what snaps the trance.

His elbow snaps back, catches Xander fully in the face, and Spike hisses in pain when his flesh is torn as Xander's teeth pull away. Takes the moment of stillness and turns it to his advantage as he wriggles out from beneath and gets to his knees facing Xander. A line of blood marks his face where Spike's elbow connected, dark furrows tracing the brow ridges.

"I'll be doing the feeding here. And the fucking too for that matter," he says and lashes out, lighting quick movement that knocks Xander off balance and onto his back, rolling into the motion and straddling the boy. Leans up, tongue slipping out to lick away the trail of blood, up the side of his face right to the split skin at his hairline. Feels Xander shudder below him, buck his hips up, turns his face to the side to give better access. Spike trails his open mouth over the wound, tongue probing as his hands slither down the boy's sides, firm flesh over muscle, dip of waist, then popping the button on the leather pants and letting his fingers shimmy into the waistband. Grins, sucks on the lips of the cut when he feels the skin below his hand is hard and wet, arches his back and finds the boy's mouth when his fist closes over the firm cock.

Xander bucks into the cool grip, opens his mouth wide and lets his teeth dig into Spike's lip, blood slicking their tongues as they slide into an open kiss. His hands work at the slim hips above him, tugging at the zipper until it parts and he can push the jeans down, get his hand around Spike's cock and return the stroking that's driving him into a frenzy. Barely has time to get the rhythm before Spike's pulling away, rolling over, pushing Xander's head down. Xander resists the insistent pressure long enough to allow himself the luxury of removing Spike's jeans, pulling them off as the other man raises his hips obligingly, then tosses them away and trails his fingers between thighs white as marble. Spreads that white expanse apart, makes room so he can lie face down, take the hard length into his mouth. Fingers pulling the foreskin back and allowing him to flick his tongue over the slit and gather up the salty drop. Gyrates his own hips down into the rough floor, grinds there as he hears Spike moan, and sucks hard on the head, tongue flat against the underside as he swallows down and down and in.

Long, thin fingers curl in his hair, and Xander growls as Spike thrusts up, begins to fuck his mouth with punishing strokes. Both hands now, cupping his head and holding him there so he can do nothing but open his mouth wider and pump himself against the rough floor. Those hands slipping down suddenly, pulling now instead of pushing, bringing him up the length of Spike's body even as Spike is curling himself into a sitting position, the better to reach his mark, the sooner to bury his fangs in the soft skin on Xander's neck. Shirt shredded in two rough jagged tugs, Spike's mouth high on his shoulder, and Xander shouts when teeth grind against bone. One hand holds his head still, iron grip, as the other reaches down between their bodies, finds the head of Xander's cock and runs fingertips over it.

Growl of warning from Xander as Spike bites deeper, tongue working the wound and forcing the blood out in luke-warm mouthfuls. First blood in so long, and this blood especially, not because it's Xander's but so close to the source, line of Aurelius, and he tastes them all in every drop. Heavy musk of Angelus, plummy sweetness of Dru, spicy tang of Darla, and it's enough to take him over the edge. He comes, still feeding, tasting Xander's panic seep into the mix. His own stickiness covers them both, and he jacks the boy off with a perfunctory rhythm.

Unclamps from Xander's neck, teeth withdrawing and human face glamoring on. Takes in the hard set of Xander's eyes, the low growl still ruffling the silence of the crypt. If it had been him drained that far, he would be ash, and he knows it. Xander isn't trying to beat the satisfied grin off his face, but he's also not passed out either.

Spike licks his lips, tongue gathering up the last traces of the blood there. He looks at Xander with dark speculation in his eyes. "Has Angel been feeding you?"

"Yeah, why?" Xander rubs his hands across his face, demonic visage fading as he scrubs. He reaches over to touch the bite mark with hands that shake from a mad swirling of emotions. Pain from the bite fading along with the jittery edge of arousal and feeding.

"Going soft in his old age, he is." Soft ironic chuckle and Spike shakes his head, grabs an edge of the sheet and wipes his chest, thighs and belly.

Xander's head snaps around. "What are you talking about?"

"Hasn't he taught you anything? The only time I ever saw Dru drink from him was when she was half dead from him starving her for a week."

Wave of shame rushes over Xander as he blurts out, "He said it was normal to feed from your Sire."

"I think he may have left out a tad, pet. Favored childer, ones who earn the right. Did you earn it, boy?" Xander's thinking suddenly of the big bed back in the Hyperion, darkened room, clean sheets. Heavy weight of Angel resting against his back, arms holding him in comfort. Xander hangs his head and comes to hate himself just a little bit more than he had earlier tonight.

Spike speaks quietly. "Ah, I see the guilt is passed from father to child as well. Lovely." Considers the way the boy sits there looking down at his own feet, hand rubbing at the new bite mark. Looks close to breaking, and despite his earlier threats, Spike has no doubt who will be on the sharp end of the stake if his new playmate decides to run to the Slayer. Or to his Sire, for that matter. Decides a little damage control is in order. "You're not looking too chipper, have a snooze. You can even cuddle if you want."

Xander looks up at him, eyes black and glittering in the dimness of the crypt. He considers his options, and his exhaustion seems to make the choice for him. He stumbles the two steps to the bed and collapses, faces the wall, shoulders hunched up tight to his ears. Spike settles in beside him, and moves away when a brush of his arm against Xander's bare skin earns him a growl. He smirks at the broad expanse of flesh, folds his arms behind his head and waits for Xander to fall asleep.

= = = = =

Xander walks down the hall at the Hyperion towards his room. Voices filter to him, but he can't distinguish one from another or to whom they belong. At the end of the hall, he puts his hand out and opens the door before him. When he walks through, he's in the library at the old high school, Willow's sitting at the long table in the center of the room books strewn out in front of her. Overalls and a rainbow striped shirt. Her hair is short though, wisps fluttering around her face in feathered wings, shocking red/orange catching the halogen lighting from the ceiling. She doesn't look up or respond to his presence in any way as he crosses the floor and takes a seat at the table next to her. When he sits, she turns and frowns at him.

"I thought you were bringing me dinner."

"They were out of sushi at McDonalds." His eyes alight on the books open before Willow, the pages blank. "What are you doin', Will?"

Small shrug, and she finally smiles, reaches for his leg and pats his knee. "You know what I'm doing. Looking for answers, what else do I do?"

Her face twists as she speaks, and the last words are a glass rattling scream, head thrown back and fingers wrapped around the arm of her chair in a white knuckled grip.

"Jesus, Wills, tone it down." Brushes his fingertips along her hairline where the strands have become damp from perspiration.

"Aren't you hungry too?" Arcs her neck back and points at the blue artery standing out in the white flesh.

"I could eat." Slides his fingers through her hair to the back of her head and pulls her forward.

"Took you long enough." Voice filled with mirth, words whispered directly into his ear, and he realizes he hears no heartbeat, and her skin is cool to the touch.

= = = = =

Spike watches Xander dream. So much like his human self Spike almost feels surprised. Almost, because nothing could really surprise him now. Not one of the Scoobies as a vamp, one of his line, obviously adored by his soul-snared grandsire. The grandsire who also used to dream when he slept. Similar dreams, haunted by the past, Willow he hears now, Kathy it used to be, and Spike files it all away for tormenting both men at a later date, but also to stand it beside his own dreams, Cecily and now Buffy. Wonders over Xander's kill tonight, and how many others there have been. What Angel really knows about it. Tumbles down into sleep sated and a hair's breath calmer than he has been since being captured by the Initiative.

=end=

Part VIII



back to top