Pairing: S/X (because, obviously)
Rating: NC17 (mostly for language, cuz I'm a little afraid of smut, tho I do greatly enjoy reading it…)
Warning - Spoiler: 1) very, very AU (probably more spoilery badness than I'm aware of; I'd say through five w/ mebbe a little bit of six and now, but less so, definitely end of season five, yeah, let's go with that); 2) things are very wrong, or at least very weird; and 3) I’m even confused.
Distribution: My website http://www.geocities.com/narcolepticcat; anyone else, by all means: ask/tell/pursue. We're not a big fan of the whole don't/don't/don't thing. In other words, just let me know.
Disclaimer: Not mine - but I’d take ‘em if I could - and what’s more I’d be less afraid to do far worse to them if they were. All hail the Buffy machine that is Mutant Enemy, Joss, Kuzui, 20th, & Co. You think I'm making money off this? I could prolly be disowned for this - let me play! Just a few more minutes, alright?
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Reasons For Living
1 Clumsy
“Go ahead and sleep, love, it may be a long time before you can again.” That’s me alright, being comfort guy for my guy. “Go ahead, love. Sleep.” But he won’t listen t’me. That’d be about the same as me listening to my bloody sire. Bollocks.
The ocean rocked Xander and Spike on top of him, warmed by hard ’n soft body below. The boat jostled over the ocean pointed east. Xander stares at Spike’s duster over the porthole, the sun should have poured in through that little thing. The ocean growled under the boat, but the sky beyond the porthole held no clouds.
“Why are we going home, Spike?”
Don’t know, but I will turn you while we’re there. “Guess it’s cause you miss your friends, love. Do you have a light, fuzzy boy?” Spike rubbed his thumb along Xander’s chin. “You need t’ shave.”
“There’s matches in the duster.”
“Guess I’ll wait here then.” Cause I’m not movin’.
“Just get up, not-romantic romantic guy… Why are we going home?”
Spike leaned up on Xander, stared down at him, “You booked us passage on this floating bloody coffin, you tell me.”
Spike clambered out of the small bed, reached into an outside pocket of the duster, pulled out matches. The boat lurched and Spike braced himself on the cabin wall. Where’s my smokes?
Xander’s eyes got big. His face got green. He looked like he was about to spew. The boat lurched back. Spike stood up straight, found a cigarette, lit it, stared at Xander. Big, souled, not-yet-a-vampire, Xander. Nummy.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Xander said.
“Like what?”
“Like a man sized chicken dumpling, that’s like what.”
“Is there any sweet ‘n sour sauce? Love sweet ‘n sour sauce. Especially on skin. Mmmm. Xander dumplings. That’s prob’ly quite marketable, love. Don’t tempt me. More, I mean.”
“You’re so, with the, and the. Come see where flattery will get ya, bucko.”
Spike laughed. “I know exactly where flattery will get me, love. In’ta your pants and back out again in one piece. Like seduction, but without the bleedin’ rose petals… You’re avoiding my question, pet.”
Xander looked down. He looked back at the duster. He looked anywhere, but at shirtless blue-eyed cigarette smokin’ Spike. Spike frowned.
Xander paused, then said, “What question?”
“You know which bloody question, Xan-dur. The one about the Hellmouth, the one about your friends, the one about, why in bloody hell we’re going back.” Xander groaned. “Yeah, love, that question.” Spike turned around, put his cigarette out in the ashtray bolted to the table bolted to the deck. Xander’s face went white when Spike turned around.
Spike’s eyebrows shifted, furrowed, then bulged down in the center, his mouth opened and his fangs showed, his eyes turned yellow and wild, caged animal wild. Xander shuddered. His hands went straight to his mouth. Spike stalked over to the side of the bed, and gripped one strong hand around Xander’s jaw, which clenched tight inside the hold.
Xander’s focus darted back and forth between Spike’s eyes, then drifted from eyes to mouth, and came to rest on Spike’s curled lips.
“Why the hell are we going back?” Spike’s voice insisted, more growled than spoken. “I want a bite, love. Give me?”
Xander’s jaw relaxed, and dropped, a hot tongue reached out to the underside of Spike’s hand and licked, slow. Spike’s hand slid down on Xander’s face, and Xander bit down hard between Spike’s thumb and forefinger. He locked his jaw as Spike’s blood ran down his chin and over his cheeks. Into his mouth. Spike panted. He didn’t pull away. Just panted.
“Nummy.”
Xander’s eyes rolled back into his head and Spike slapped him back into the moment.
“No passing out when the fun’s just begun.”
Xander’s jaw went slack and Spike pulled his hand back, licked it.
Xander yelled, “JesusmotherfuckingWilliamfuckingShatner. Fuck, Spike. You twisted fuck.”
Spike’s face fell back into pretty mode, and he sidled up again to Xander. “Well, you could just tell me, love.”
“Love, love? You must be confused.”
“Sweetness, why are we going back?” Spike licked Xander’s chin, slow, painstaking, lifting his blood from Xander’s stubble. “Hmmm?”
“We’re going back, because of promises.”
Spike stopped, jerked back. “Bloody promises put my blood on your chin?”
“That would have been the biting, probably. Just a guess.”
“I thought I taught you better than promises. Don’t be a git, git. There’s no promise in the world worth steppin’ back onto the Hellmouth. No bloody promise in any dimension.”
“This one is…”
“Is what, love?”
“Worth it.”
Spike, more William the Bloody than Spike these days, rolled his eyes. The words he thought. Can’t wait to make you, Xan. Can’t wait to taste you deep down. The deepest part of you. Crimson and clover, shit. Crimson and… Whatever. Licorice, right? Like dark licorice flows from you into my mouth and I want to be… bloody full on it, and fill you with me. I understand promises, pet. I do. Christ. If…
“…you say so, pet… you say so.”
Spike kissed Xander on the forehead, on the eyes, and pulled Xander tight to his cold body. Xander’s heart calmed and they drifted to sleep on the tumult of the sea.
2 Smoke
Xander stepped up to the door, turned the knob, pushed in. The Scoobies sat around, thumbs twiddled almost to nothing. They looked, like five sets of eyes could be one, to the door, jaws dropped.
Xander stood there and didn’t speak. He winked, grinned, but said nothing.
Years of living with Spike hardened his look, his eyes. Made him cold inside even though he radiated heat. His clothes were dark now too. Still more denim and cotton than leather and silk, but deep indigo instead of faded jeans, black boots instead of brown ones or sneakers. A black tank-top that could have been painted on, thin framed black sunglasses pushed up into hair longer than it had ever been, and long sideburns all showed a man where a boy had been. Showed the dark that had been light.
The Scoobies gaped in shock, and started to move as one towards Xander with crosses and stakes behind their backs.
“What, like, I’ve been turned by the neutered one?” he said as they approached.
The Scoobies stopped and five sets of eyes darted between each of the other sets of eyes.
“Xander, we…” Someone started to say.
Xander waited a moment, the right moment and said, “Yeah, you did.”
Xander reached outside the doorway. Sunlight hit his hand, Look, not dust glinted on the long blade he pulled from just out of sight. He raised the weapon before him. The Scoobies gasped, like five throats could be one, at his ease, the strong hands, as he handled it.
I want to plow through you people like a plow in a field. I mean, like a bomb through a bomb. Er. I want to kill you people. Scoobies. Who ever asked me if I wanted to be a Scooby? Who ever gave me an option? Oh, wait… silence. I hear a great big heapin’ helpin’ of silence from the peanut gallery. Course, I’m usually the peanut gallery, but we can’t stay the same forever, now can we? Though I suppose you’d like it if I had, wouldn’t you Buffy? Giles? Will? Anya? Ha… Dawn.
For every word he thought he swung away. Soon covered in as much blood as any sane vamp would stake himself for. Buffy fell first, headfirst. Head clean off her shoulders with one swipe. Giles next. Will. Anya runner up, running for the door. Lost her feet, one, two. Dawn last. Almost not at all. Xander paused.
“Hi, Dawnie.”
“Xand… What happ… What did we…?” she said, stammered, a tear in her voice.
“You grew up pretty, didn’t you? Would have been nice to see it, be nicer still if you were gonna keep growing. I’m sorry Dawnie, but you’re not. Gonna keep.”
A long, shiny blade through her heart, one last pained look, and Dawn fell.
“Shit.” Xander leaned against the porthole. The ocean boiled night black and bruise blue to match his cheek and the sky was clear with lightning on the horizon. “Fucking dreams.”
Spike sat up slow in the bed, rested on one arm, fished for a smoke with the other, eyes half-open. “Where you go, love?”
“Here.”
“Bed too small? Tired of me already?”
“Years, Spike. Years.”
“We almost there then?”
“Too almost there.”
“Come on then, one more for the ocean and we’ll get dressed.” Spike exhaled and looked up at Xander, covered shoes to shades, through the dark. “Or, I’ll get dressed and find a people burger, whichever.”
Xander turned his head to Spike. “No fast food on the open sea, baby.”
“Aw, love, you called me, ‘baby’.”
“Need a dipey-wipey?”
“Sod off.” Spike sat up, exhaled again. “Why the mood?”
Xander looked back to the ocean. The east turned a lighter shade of night with every passing moment. The human-made kind of lighter. Xander watched headlights far not far enough away cross a bridge. “Fuck.”
“We land that soon, then?”
When Xander straightened himself out, stood tall, and turned around the vampire had disappeared, clothes gone, as smoke drifted out the cabin door like a trail of Spike. “Fucking dreams.”
Xander followed the smoke out of the cabin and down the hall. He turned where it turned, climbed stairs where it climbed stairs. Followed it to the top deck, to the bow of the ship, to the blond head that rested on top of a pile of leather
Wrapped his arms around the leather and squeezed Spike’s waist. Whispered something that sounded like nothing into Spike’s ears. Let Spike go. Stepped to the rail beside the vampire.
“I can feel the Hellmouth from here, pet.”
“You mistakenly assume I can’t.”
“I’d never…” Spike started, yeah he would.
“Yeah, you would.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to see them, but they’re why we’re…”
“I know.”
“I dreamt that I killed them all. I didn’t even think twice about it. The sword from Okinawa.”
“Yeah? Lots of blood, then?”
Xander winced. “Yeah. Asshole.”
“Sorry.” Spike tossed the cigarette butt into the water, watched it disappear under the ship. Pretended he was the thing, bumping along the hull, sure to be eaten by some confused shark, or merman or something. Water demons. “Ew.”
“What?” Xander looked at Spike.
“I’m repulsed. Water demons.”
“What?” Xander looked back at the water. Scaly figures with arms and legs leapt up and down through the rough surf like dolphins on crack. “Ew.”
“That’s what I said, love.”
“I wonder if I went to school with them,” Xander said.
“Dreamt about killing them too?”
Somehow, Xander managed to not answer that, and the man and the vampire looked out at the coastline as it glowed in the dark.
“Welcome to Sunnyhell.” And Spike turned to Xander, hands on shoulders, pulled Xander to him. Kissed Xander. Backed away. Xander blushed and turned back to the rail. Spike stared at the man’s profile, something in him like envy, or yearning, for home. “Enjoy your stay, love.”
“You’re right though,” Xander said.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know when I’ll be able to sleep again.”
3 Wicked Little Town
Willow hung out on the balcony, checked for vamps, demons, whatevers, by remote. The Bronze moved pretty slow these days, had for a couple of years, but Willow still felt sixteen every time she walked in. Still felt alone and smart in a room full and stupid, complete with boogey men. Now, the room was less full and Willow was less alone plus, now, she could feel the boogey men from a hundred paces.
She registered a human, but not quite, presence on the dance floor, a blond woman. Buffy glanced up then worked through the small crowd. Her shoulders pinched, her hair long again, Buffy looked maybe more beautiful than ever, but still not as beautiful as the brunette she walked towards. Willow smiled as Dawn smiled at Buffy, Buffy said something, Dawn looked up and waved at Willow, Buffy pulled Dawn’s arm down, scolded her. Buffy would always be the big sister, the big bad Buffinator.
Willow’s face stayed in perma-smile mode until she felt the first tic of something fully not human. Buffy turned, too, grin off. With a status check glance at Willow, Buffy moved to the door, Willow to the stairs. By now the two had cracker-jacked their system. Willow, the human highlighter, picked out the bad, keyed up its aura into a visible range, immobilized it, then Buffy swooped in, either for the kill with the real threats or the oh-so-witty “This is my turf” to the lesser threats. Buffy’s brawls had been limited to bickering with Dawn for almost two years.
Willow froze on the stairs, spotted Buffy. Two. She felt them. One at the door, one outside. Buffy nodded. A black and yellow aura moved through a mass of blue and brown. Neither saw the figure itself, just the colored shadow over its head. Then the other one came through the door and they both saw it. Red.
“Typical,” Buffy said, to no one. “Even their auras can’t dress.”
Buffy moved for the red aura, the black and yellow already forgotten. Willow gasped as Buffy neared the figure crowned in red. She burst back into movement, tried to clear the distance between she and Buffy before Buffy reached the red aura, but couldn’t make it.
Buffy came to rest in front of the aura, greeted by a too familiar quirk of scarred eyebrow and the same tag line that always emerged from its guttersnipe mouth:
“Slayer. Not feeling well? You look a bit tired.”
Willow whispered the spell of stillness as she approached, but its target shrugged it away with the same ease she had whispered it, more ease.
“Red. Hello.”
“Spike,” Buffy said, “This is my turf.”
“And there’s always that option.” Spike said.
“What?”
“Talk the Big Bad to death instead of making with the bloodsport. Come on, Slayer, I like it rough. You do too, as I recall. Or, wait. How about I don’t recall and we fight now.”
“What are you playing at?”
“Now listen, you silly bird, I am playing at a wink and a shag, but it ain’t for you. It’s for the horse I rode in on.” Spike laughed, lit a cigarette.
Willow stood dumbstruck at the vampire in front of her. Everything she knew said, “Whoa, Will, harmless, de-fanged wannabe.” The Slayer thought the same thing as she stared at the smoke sliding out of Spike’s body.
“You want to fight me? And have it not lead to sex?” Buffy said.
“Red, did you teach her about perception? Or did she learn it on her own?”
“Actually, no, Anya taught… Or, then there’s, nevermind,” Willow said. “Buffy, do you have a stake?”
“Right so, Red’s the slayer these days? That’s interesting, didn’t see that coming. Buff being all, dead, yeah, thought that might happen, but…”
“Oh, my God! Spike!” The voice slammed into Spike’s head and he smiled, more out of instinct than joy.
“Dawn. Gosh, it’s good to see you. Look at you, all, not like the Slayer. That’s swell.” Dawn ran into Spike’s open arms. Willow and Buffy stared at each other, dumb with dumbness. Spike squeezed tight, but not as tight as Dawn who seemed like she might never let go.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were gone forever after…” Dawn stopped herself and looked up into Spike’s face. His eyes dropped as he searched the past for words that were fair.
“Well, so did I kiddo,” he said.
“Spike, please drop the innocent thing.” Buffy said, tolerance faded
He looked up from Dawn, “Bloody… are you still here? Don’t you have someplace to be? Something to slay? Who’s the villain this season? Or did you finally rid the world of all the big bads?”
“Well, at least she missed one.” All heads turned now, as Xander, sporting a nifty yellow and black aura, walked into the mix.
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