Protector
By AngieJean
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part One
{Oh, you have got to be kidding me. 'S bad enough I've got this bloody chip
in the first place, but now I got pawned off on the whelp like the barmy old
maiden aunt in the attic. Or basement. Whatever.
Jesus bloody Christ!}
Xander Harris was thinking similar thoughts, for different reasons. Almost
in a panic, he wheedled, blustered, coaxed, and begged, but in the end, he
did what they wanted. Just like always. Xander had to suppress a small surge
of bitterness. Why in the world couldn't they see that there might be a more
valid reason for his not wanting Spike there, than the selfish,
responsibility-hating ones?
Was it really so impossible to believe that he might have problems of his
own now and then?
{Jesus God, I don't want to think about what he'll do to me, if he finds
Spike there. Please God. Please don't let him find Spike there.}
The rest of the evening passed somewhat quietly, as Xander sat in one
corner, brooding with the best of them, but still trying to listen in on the
rest of the meeting. All too soon, it seemed, the meeting was over, and it
was time to go home. Buffy looked him over, critically.
"Are you sure you're all right, Xander? You know we wouldn't ask you to take
him, if there was anything else we could do with him. There's just no one
else here that has the privacy you do. If there was any other way..."
"Yeah, I know, Buffy." And the bad thing was, he *did* know. He felt a brief
rush of guilt. He wasn't being fair to them, and he knew it. Over the years,
he had gotten very adept at hiding the evidence of his father's drunken
rages, and he had also worked hard on the "bumbling fool/errand boy" cover
that he maintained. Was it their fault that they believed the act he had
perfected?
"It's alright. I know, there's nothing else we can really do with him."
Buffy smiled at him, and he could see how relieved she was that he wasn't
really upset. His shoulders slumped a little, but he managed a small smile
for her, and she patted him on the back as she turned to leave with Willow.
His façade of belligerence and sulkiness gone, he walked dejectedly out the
door, with Spike in tow behind him, closing it softly in their wake.
Once they were out of the house, Xander let go of Spike's duster, and walked
morosely down the street towards "home".
God, what he would give if he didn't ever have to call that place "home"
again, being the pathetic mockery of the work that it was.
"We've got to get you in through the basement window when we get there. Mom
and Dad are probably home by now." Probably drunk out of their minds by now,
he meant, but wild horses wouldn't have dragged that out of him. It might be
obvious, but it damned well was going to go unspoken.
Spike looked over at the boy critically. Most people think "evil
blood-sucking vampire" and automatically assume that any observational
skills were lost upon turning. It was one of his best advantages, and he
exploited it ruthlessly.
It was quite obvious that the boy was terrified to have Spike coming home
with him, and Spike might have been flattered at the emotion.
Except it wasn't for him. Walking down the streets at night with Spike an
armlength away, the boy was fine. Not a hint of fear coming off of him.
But back at the Watcher's, when they brought the idea up, he had been
instantly terrified. And while Spike usually loved the scent of fear,
something in Xander's had disturbed him. The acrid tang had been unpleasant,
and he had wanted it to stop.
{So if he's not scared of bringing me into the house, then it must be
something already there that's terrifying him...}
The only thing already at Xander's house was his parents. But why would he-
"What? Are you waiting for an engraved invitation? I already asked you in
once." Xander stood impatiently by the small window just a little above
ground level, tapping his foot, and scowling softly at Spike. Spike was
shocked to realize they were already at the whelp's house, which meant that
he had spent the entire trip over, daydreaming. He scowled, himself. That
was a really good way to get yourself staked, which was something he'd never
forgotten in the past. Troubled, a little, yet enjoying Xander's
discomfiture, he rolled his eyes, and lowered himself, slithering through
the small window gracefully.
**********
"Kind of dank and gloomy. I like it, pet." Xander's look told him exactly
how much he cared whether Spike liked it or not.
"There's a kitchenette through there. A walk in closet there, and the rest
of home-sweet-home, you're looking at." Spike blinked at him.
"A walk-in closet? Doesn't really fit with the...Spartan décor, pet," he
said, smirking a little.
"It used to be a utility area, until I converted it into a closet, 'cause I
didn't have one."
Spike mmm-hmm'ed disinterestedly, already moving on to greener pastures.
Poking and prodding, he nosed through the kitchenette, investigating
everything. Xander had to snort a laugh.
"Spike, you don't eat. What do you care what's in there?"
"I don't. I was just-" {Nosing through your stuff to be sure you had enough.
Oh, yeah. Way to keep that evil reputation intact, Spike!}
"-browsing." Spike finished, somewhat lamely. "Besides. I eat. Human food
just isn't my main supplement. That would be the humans." Spike grinned
evilly.
Xander cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Whatever, Spike. As long as you don't get any wild ideas about killing me
in my sleep, I couldn't care less."
Spike snorted softly at that.
"If I could do that, I wouldn't need a place to stay at all, now would I,
pet?"
Xander supposed that only made sense.
The continued silence in the house was tantalizing Xander, and he finally
headed up the stairs to see if his parents were back.
The empty and silent house brought a rush of memory back, followed by an
almost savage joy.
November 6th. They're gone. Won't be back for another two weeks. The
obligatory yearly visit for Grandmum's birthday...
Xander's maternal grandmother had hated children all her life, and had ruled
her own with an iron fist.
Every year at this time, Xander's mother and father took off, and spent two
weeks with the hateful old woman, on the off chance they might be included
in the will.
She never wanted to see Xander, so he was, luckily, exempt from the yearly
visits.
The only downside was the fact that he paid for his two week vacation,
dearly.
The mood his father was in when they got back last year had earned him the
worst beating of the year, and a rape on top of that.
The times that his father raped him were few and far between, but they hurt
so damned badly that they really stuck out in his mind. If there was one
thing he was sure of, it was that he *did not* want Spike there if his
father raped him when he got home.
{Yeah, right. Keep dreaming, kid. That's not an "if". It's a "when". You
know damned well he's going to. He spends two weeks being utterly humiliated
by Grandmum, so he's got to come home and prove his masculinity by raping
you.}
Xander really hated that sardonic little voice in his head. Especially since
it was nearly always right. He was just going to have to find something to
keep Spike occupied the day they came back. His father would work him over,
then wouldn't want anything else to do with him for a while.
At least if he held true to pattern.
{Hell, Xander, he's held to this pattern for the last ten years or so. What
makes you think he'd change it at this late date?}
Hmm. True.
So. Just needed to do something with Spike.
(Two Weeks Later)
Xander was beyond tired, and rapidly progressing into the zombie realm.
"Alright, Spike," he said to the seemingly comatose vampire he was currently
hauling down his stairs. "Giles is sure you can hear me, but you sure as
hell don't look like you're catching much of the action here, Bub. This is
just a healing sleep. You're going to be fine."
Xander had a sneaking suspicion that he was speaking more for his own
benefit, than Spike's. In the two weeks they had been rooming together, they
had developed an abiding tolerance for one another, and Xander had noticed
that the barbs they had been trading were more friendly banter, lately, and
less cutting, and spiteful backbiting. He still didn't trust the vampire,
but Spike was a good companion that filled the lonely hours after work, when
Buffy and the rest of the gang were off doing...Slayer-y things. He wasn't
always needed for gruntwork, but at the last meeting they had attended, he
could have sworn that Spike had been looking at him with the strangest look
in his eyes. Almost...sorrow? Why he had looked like that, Xander had no
idea. All he knew was, he still didn't trust the vampire as far as he could
throw him.
Tonight, though, he had thought his heart would beat its' way out of his
chest, when the demon they had been fighting had impaled Spike perilously
close to the heart. They had carried him back to the Watcher's and forced
several bags of blood down him, only to have his eyes flutter closed, and
all motion stop.
Giles had insisted he would be fine, and described his condition as sort of
an odd fugue state that vampires entered to heal from serious wounds. Xander
hated the fact that Spike was, for the next twenty-four hours, completely,
and totally dependent upon him. Xander was worried about him.
The revelation was a surprise, even to himself.
"Spike, if you can really hear me, everything's gonna be fine. Just think of
it as twenty-four hours of nice, peaceful sleep, and you'll wake up, and
feel a lot better. It's midnight now, so when you wake up, I'll have some
dinner for you. Giles said you would be starving when you came out of it. We
can share the bed tonight, though. God, I'm tired."
Talking to Spike like this was kind of nice. It was like talking to
yourself, but didn't feel quite so...psychotic. The oddest things kept
popping out of him mouth. That was fine. Xander was still pretty sure that
Spike wouldn't remember any of this, once he woke up.
"Goodnight, Spike."
"night, pet.."
But Xander was already asleep, and he didn't hear the whispered reply from
cold, unmoving lips.
**********
Part Two
Spike hated the rejuvenating sleep more than almost anything. It was like
being trapped. A prisoner in his own body, as it healed. He felt completely
helpless, and he hated that, but Xander's words, and his obvious concern for
Spike's well-being lessened the panic that was teasing at his mind.
He forced himself to relax, and concentrate on Xander's steady breathing,
and heartbeat.
The last few weeks had been...not so terrible. As much as he hated to admit
it, the whelp had been a pretty damned accommodating host, and the more
Spike watched him, the more he respected him.
Xander was persistent. Spike had to admire that. He was the only one of the
Scooby gang that didn't have a...talent. He was the comic relief half the
time, and Spike could tell it was a role Xander wasn't completely
comfortable with. The rest of the gang wasn't cruelly oblivious to the boy,
but with all that the Hellmouth could throw at them, there just wasn't
enough time for them to be that attentive to Xander. Spike could tell that
it hurt him, but he still couldn't resist teasing him about it, now and
then. After all, he couldn't be *nice* to the boy. Xander would probably
have a heart attack from the shock.
A loud slam from the front door, directly above them startled Spike, but
still, he couldn't move
"Alexander! Where the hell are you, you worthless piece of shit??"
{What the fuck?}
The heartbeat next to Spike's ear went from steady, restful sleep, to
terrified, panicked pounding in a split second. Xander's breathing became
labored, and accelerated to match as he began to pant out,
"Oh God, oh God, oh God. Stupid. You're so stupid. Oh, God. You knew. You
knew he was coming back. You idiot."
The smell of stark terror roiled off the human's sweaty skin, making Spike
faintly nauseous, and he found himself fighting his body, which was still
holding him prisoner.
Spike felt hands unceremoniously grab him, and haul him up by sheer
will-power, and adrenaline. The sound of a sliding door opening, and Spike
belatedly realized that he was being pulled in the walk-in closet. He cursed
virulently in his mind, wanting more than anything to be able to talk to
Xander.
Xander wrestled him in behind the clothes and settled him quickly on the
floor, with a pillow behind his head.
That hated fear-scent drew closer and Spike flinched internally before shock
rolled through him, as Xander ghosted a trembling hand across Spike's cheek.
The pounding upstairs was getting closer, but he felt Xander lean forward
over him.
"Spike, you've been a good houseguest, and I wanted to thank you. I realize
if you were awake, you'd probably rip me apart for this, or at least want
to, but...you've been a real friend. Thank you..." Xander stopped for a
moment, then, as the knob on the door leading upstairs began to rattle, he
spoke again, urgently.
"Spike, please. If there's any way...don't listen to this. I don't want you
to listen to it. Not that it'll particularly bother you, but...it'll bother
me. It's bad enough that you're going to have to clean up the mess once you
wake up tonight. I'd really rather you didn't hear the whole thing as it was
happening, the first time around."
{Sorry. Fat chance, Mate. I don' know what the fuck is goin' on, but I'm not
completely checking out on you, here. I hate bein' left in the dark.}
The trembling hand was back on his cheek again, for a split second, stroking
lightly.
"Don't worry, Spike. I won't let him get you. I'd kill him before I let him
touch you. That, or he'd kill me first."
Xander's whispered words sent a bolt of terror through Spoke, and he fought
frantically to open his eyes. Move. *Something*.
"I'm sorry, Spike." With that, the clothes rustled back in front of him, and
the doors slid shut, leaving him alone, but still able to hear what was
happening out in the room a few feet away.
Spike heard the sound of wood splintering as the door was kicked open, and
heavy booted feet pounded in an uneven, drunken rhythm, down stairs he had
climbed often in the last two weeks.
"Dad-" Xander's voice had an odd note that sounded like he was about to try
to placate the enraged man in front of him. Coaxing, cajoling against the
inevitable.
The sound of a fist hitting flesh seemed loud in Spike's ears. A forceful
thump, as a booted foot connected. With Xander's ribs, if the breath exhaled
on a sob was any indication.
Spike's mind seemed to be split in two, even his demon. Part of him was
standing back, clinically dissecting the sounds that he heard coming from
the room behind him. The only reaction the beating produced from this part
of him, was a mild distaste for the crudeness of the attack. The liquor
dimmed all potential the mortal might have had for finesse, and left him
with a simple, clumsy bloodlust that someone with Spike's experience and
refinement could only disdain.
The other half of his demon was roaring in outrage. The boy was his! No one
hurt something that was his, without his permission.
{At all. No one hurts Xander, at all!!.} Spike shook off the annoying voice
that had been plaguing him more and more often in the last week or so, once
again getting caught up in the sounds of the grisly dance being played out
not ten feet away from him.
A flurry of kicks, and punches followed, all with a backdrop of softly
wheezing breath, but no screams from the boy, which called forth an
unexpected surge of pride, in Spike.
The sound of tearing cloth, and the rustle of leather sliding over denim
reached his ears. Then, the stunningly loud snap of thick leather over
vulnerable skin.
A whimper, but still no scream. Crack after crack, as the belt rained down
furiously, striking heavily time and again, and Spike was trying to grit his
teeth, even paralyzed, as his eyes glowed gold. He longed to rip the human's
throat out, ignoring the little twinges of warning pain, as his vivid
imagination conjured images of what he would do to the man before he killed
him.
"Dad..." Xander moaned, almost incoherently. "Please..."
"Yeah, you beg me. Beg, and maybe I'll let you live." The calm, rational
side of Spike vowed to remember those words, and make Xander's father regret
ever uttering them, before he died.
"Beg me!" But there were no more words from Xander, and the blows rained
down even harder in retaliation.
"Stupid, worthless little slut. I should have killed you years ago." More
cloth rustled, and the thick, heavy smell of male arousal filled the air,
slapping Spike in the face, and sending him spiraling even further into an
impotent rage. At that moment, he had no doubt that, chip or no chip, he
would kill Harris if he could move.
"By, God, at least you're good for something around here, you little fuck."
With those words, Spike heard the sound of flesh tearing, and Xander's
father finally got his screams, as his son howled out his pain, until his
throat must have been raw.
But still he never begged. A small, tight, evil smile graced Spike's face,
as he felt the first of the sleep beginning to wear off, though it would
still be several hours before he could move again.
{He would make a hell of a vampire.}
"Yeah. Scream for me. God! It's so good..." Xander was reduced to low moans,
and whimpers as his father slammed into his vulnerable body again, and
again. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the man bellowed like a
wounded bull, and the scent of semen filled the air. A last groan of
pleasure, and the slick sound of him pulling out was followed by the sound
of another, half-hearted kick, which produced only a weak murmur.
"Get this blood cleaned up, boy. And don't forget the rent's due in three
days."
***********
Spike lay in the closet, feeling the trace of wetness on his cheek, but
refusing to acknowledge it, even to himself.
Vampire's didn't cry.
"I-I'm all right, Spike. I need some help, but I'll live. I'll be fine until
you can get up. It's only about three more hours until midnight. I'm...I'm
bleeding, but it's mostly just surface tearing. I don't think he ruptured
anything..." Xander trailed off, and Spike thought he'd fallen unconscious.
{*Only* three more hours until I can get up. And just how the fuck does he
know what an internal rupture feels like? Christ. It's a miracle he's lived
this long.}
The closet doors slid open, and Spike felt the air currents shift
erratically as Xander crawled painfully across the floor to him. He lay his
head gently on Spike's chest, whimpering softly and continuously.
"it hurts Spike...oh, God it hurts so bad." The scent of blood flooded
Spike's nose, and his mouth watered, as he wanted nothing more than to sink
his fangs into his mortal's neck, marking him as Spike's, for the rest of
his life. But with a shock, he realized that he wanted that with a whole
Xander.
He didn't want a meal off the boy, even now, as hungry as he was. He just
wanted Xander. Unafraid, and willingly his.
A wave of sadness hit the vampire as he admitted to himself that the chances
of getting an unafraid and willing Xander to bed with him, after this, were
about the same as him being welcomed into Heaven after the Slayer dusted
him.
Using every bit of force and will-power he possessed, he very slowly inched
his hand up, a bit at a time, until it settled on Xander's naked back. Rage
filled him yet again, at the slick feel of blood under his fingers.
The boy moaned in his sleep but didn't move away, and Spike, exhausted by
the small effort, promptly fell asleep, holding him.
**********
Part Three
Three hours later, Spike's eyes jerked open, and he immediately turned,
seeking Xander, who was lying in a heap on his side, facing the back of the
closet.
Spike moved towards him, wanting to get the boy off the ground and into a
soft, warm bed, but the smell of blood was tantalizing him and he realized
he wouldn't be able to help Xander until he had fed.
Spike clambered painfully to his feet and staggered out of the closet. He
listened instinctively, but Xander's mother and father were gone.
Just as well. Now he didn't have to waste his energy, trying to restrain
himself from killing them before tending to Xander.
Growling, he jerked the refrigerator door open and yanked out a bag of
blood. Unwilling to wait long enough for it to heat, he ripped it open, and
drank the blood cold, grimacing in distaste all the while, before hurrying
back to the open closet door.
Reaching inside, he grasped Xander's arms and pulled him out as gently as he
could. Xander still whimpered in pain.
Spike growled.
"Jesus Bloody Christ!" Spike muttered angrily. Xander's entire body was a
backdrop of black and blue, fist-sized bruises, and boot-marks, where his
father had punched and kicked him.
His back, though. Jesus, his back would be permanently scarred. The leather
of the belt must have had a sharp edge on it, because every stroke had
sliced the skin, and Xander's entire back was split open, and ragged. Spike
was at a loss. He didn't even know where to start.
"Xander, luv. I think you need to go to the hospital. Some of these are
going to have to be sewn up." Terror flashed through Xander again, at the
suggestion, and he forced himself to rouse enough to respond.
"No."
"Xander-"
"No, Spike. Absolutely not." Xander's voice was weak, and he was obviously
in pain, but his eyes were steady, and calm. "If you take me to the
hospital, they'll probably have to file a report on me, as bad as I look.
They'll want to press charges against my father."
"Jesus, pet," Spike sighed in irritation. "Don't you think that would be
best? Look at what he did to you!" Just a bit of Spike's anger was making
itself known in the tone of his voice, and Xander cursed himself, even as he
involuntarily flinched back. Usually he wasn't that jumpy, even after all
his father had done, but right then, it was just too fresh in his mind.
Spike didn't apologize, but his eyes softened, and a hand came up to stroke
gently along his arm.
"Spike," Xander said reasonably. "It'll destroy my entire family. My dad
will go to jail, then who'd support my mom? She sure as hell can't get out
there and work, and I wouldn't be much help, bringing in minimum wage from a
job I probably won't keep past two months, anyway. I'd probably have to
move, and I'll lose everyone I care about, including you." A look crossed
Xander's face that told Spike he wished he hadn't said that last part, but
the vampire let it pass without comment.
Everything that Xander said made sense, and for some reason, that pissed
Spike off. He didn't feel like making sense. He was angry, and he didn't
want coherent, perfectly logical rationalizations as to why he shouldn't
take Xander to the hospital, when he so obviously needed to be there.
Another low growl was working it's way up Spike's throat, and he did nothing
to quell it, though it didn't even take the edge off his rage. Why in the
hell did the boy care so much about destroying his family, when they
obviously had *no* problem trying to destroy him?
"Can you sew?" Spike blinked.
"What?" Xander looked at him patiently.
"You heard me. Can you sew? Surely in you hundred and twenty-five years, or
whatever, you've needed to stitch up a comrade-in-arms, or something.
"Well..."
"I knew it. You can."
"Yeah," Spike said grudgingly, not liking the direction this was heading in
at all. "Yeah, I can sew."
"Well, then. Do it. I have a friend whose mom is a pharmacist. He can get
hold of some antibiotics for me tomorrow."
"It'll hurt, pet. I don't have anything to dull the pain, like a hospital
would," Spike warned. Xander rolled his eyes, weakly, having exhausted most
of his energy arguing with the stubborn vampire.
"It already hurts, Spike. Just do it. Please?" Spike reluctantly went and
got the first-aid kit from the kitchenette, noting with no surprise that it
was *extremely* well stocked. He supposed Xander had found it to be a
necessity, in the past.
Five minutes later, Xander was lying on his bed, face down, and Spike was
looking at the ravaged skin on his back, trying to still his shaking hands
so that he could sew neatly, and at least minimize the scarring.
The longer Spike sat and looked at Xander's back, the angrier he became.
That son-of-a-bitch had *raped* his own son. A mortal under Spike's
protection. That couldn't go unpunished. Xander was Spike's, and *no one*
damaged what was his!
Spike was working himself up again, and his demon was roaring it's
displeasure, and this was definitely no way to get his hands to quit shaking
so he could work. Spike took a deep, calming breath and leaned forward until
he was almost brushing Xander's ear.
"It's alright, pet," he crooned softly, unconsciously dropping his voice
down a register, until it was close to a rumbling purr, hoping that the
vibrations would have the same effect on Xander that they did on other
vampires.
It did. Xander relaxed almost immediately, actually arching his head and
neck up just a little into Spike's hands. "I swear you won't feel any pain.
Just trust me. Trust Spike. Everything's going to be alright." His voice was
low and hypnotic as he whispered to Xander over and over, soothing him
slowly, until he relaxed further, bit by bit. In an unconscious imitation of
Xander's motions from a few hours before, Spike smoothed the back of his
hand over Xander's cheek, bringing his other hand up to stroke the back of
his head, almost tenderly
Xander's eyes slowly met Spike's, and he could see the traces of shock in
the dilation of them, and the overly-bright quality of the pupils.
Spike seemed to hold his gaze by sheer willpower, instructing him silently
not to look away, as he stroked his hands soothingly over Xander's head, and
down his neck, over and over, making sure to keep up the soft purring as he
did so. Tight muscles slowly relaxed, losing the painful tension the terror
of the night had caused, and Spike smiled softly as a glimmer of trust began
to glow in the soft brown eyes.
Spike gentled his touch on Xander's neck even further, still stroking
softly, until he could see that the combination of the light touch and the
rumble in his chest was starting to lull Xander into a haze, bordering on
sleep.
Spike trailed his hands over the sensitive nerves in Xander's neck, before
strong fingers pressed down hard on them, quickly, expertly.
Xander's eyes rolled back in his head, and his entire body went limp.
Spike quickly and efficiently went to work.
Amazing as it was, by the time Spike had finished stitching Xander's back
up, he had almost forgotten that the boy's father had raped him. It wasn't
until he got to the tears in the skin on his lower back, that he saw the
blood still congealed on his buttocks.
"Stupid, bloody wanker," Spike muttered to himself. He cleaned Xander up as
gently as possible, and examined him thoroughly, needing to make sure that
the boy hadn't been hurt more seriously than he thought. Even unconscious,
Xander moaned softly when Spike touched him there, and he whispered to him,
purring softly until he quieted again. Pulling antibiotic ointment from the
kit, he hoped that his cool skin would be soothing, and not another source
of further pain for Xander, as he smoothed the medicine on his skin. Xander
sighed, and relaxed, and Spike smiled slightly as he recapped the ointment,
and went to wash his hands, before returning to the bed, and getting in for
a nap.
*********
Xander awoke to more pain than he had ever been in, in his life. He hadn't
done much more than moan, when hand gently cupped his head, and a cup was
tilted to his dry lips.
"Just water, pet." Xander took another sip, then found a pill resting at his
mouth.
"Open up. You need these, Xander." Xander responded to the serious tone and
swallowed three pills, one after another, grimacing as they scraped his
throat, already raw from screaming.
"What-?" he managed.
"Antibiotics, and a pain pill."
"How-?"
"Shhh. Don't worry about it, pet. I've got friends too, you know. I'll get
you whatever you need."
"Why?" Xander asked softly. "Why are you...being so nice...to me?" Spike
smoothed a soft hand over Xander's hair, and he leaned into the touch,
finding it much more soothing that he could ever have imagined. Spike
smiled, but his eyes were serious as he answered.
"Loyalty. You defended me when I was completely dependent on you. If you had
showed your father where I was, he would have hurt me badly, even though he
probably wouldn't have killed me. Regardless, you could have gotten away
from him in the scuffle. You sacrificed yourself to save me, and he damned
near beat you to death, in return. I won't forget that, pet." Just a bare
hint of a smile touched Xander's face, and his eyes slid closed.
"Always protect you, Spike," he whispered on a sigh. "You're mine." Xander
was asleep before he felt the cool body slide between the sheets with him,
careful not to brush too closely across the torn flesh of his back. An arm
slipped over his waist and held him as close as possible.
"Yes," Spike agreed softly. "And you're mine. And by God or Hell, no one
will ever strike you in anger again."
************
end
