Part 10
It was just before daybreak when Spike left for home. He didn't bother to
tell Giles since it was normally assumed that if he wasn't at the shop he
would be at the apartment. It took him longer than it usually did to get
home as he spent extra time clouding his trail and doubling back to make
sure he wasn't followed. Home. He had had so many lairs and boltholes, but a
home? Had he ever really had a home? His father's home hadn't been his. The
closest he could think of was a few brief years when Darla had run off to
her Sire and left Angelus with he and Dru. That had almost been like family,
if you had a scary, violent family. *I'm channeling Xander. How the hell do
I know if this is 'freaky vampire shit' or if I've just been spending too
much time listening to his stream of thought chatter while he channel surfs
through a Sunday morning? That's it. If I can change his wardrobe, I can cut
down how much time he spends watching the telly.*
He entered the foyer of their building and stashed the blanket he had used
to guard against the first light during his bolt from the tunnel entrance.
The last thing he needed was Xander spotting it when he left for work. His
mate had no problem with Spike seeking a bit of fun with numerous large,
dangerous demons, but refused to see the lighter side of him taking
unnecessary risk with the sun.
Stealthily Spike let himself into their apartment. When he had accepted
Xander's request for his company, the boy had presented him with a key ring
with the key to the door, the deadbolt and the storage locker. Xander had
tried to pass the key ring off as a joke, but Spike hadn't fallen for his
rampant babble. The key ring Xander had chosen for him was a three inch long
pewter railroad spike, a perfect miniature of the weapon which had spawned
his name. It spoke to something deep inside the vampire that Xander didn't
try to deny the scope and violence of his past. The boy may not approve of
Spike's history, but he respected it.
Kicking off his boots, Spike then stalked into the bedroom and crawled
across the bed until he loomed over his prey. Due to the rash of brownouts,
Xander had left the AC off and opted to leave the window open, but the tarp
and the shutters, which he religiously secured before going to sleep each
night, prevented much movement of the air. The boy sprawled over most of the
bed, as if trying to present as much flesh as possible to any stray breeze.
Naked, he had kicked off the single sheet with which he covered himself at
night.
Spike thought about waking him and having a serious talk - let him know what
to expect. Xander wouldn’t like Angel meddling. The boy rarely mentioned
Spike’s Sire so he hadn’t really thought about their history - other than
that there was one - until the Watcher had brought it up. He had overheard
Buffy saying Xander had been jealous of Angel, but Red had hinted to Dawn
that there was more there that Buffy wouldn’t understand. The sodding ponce
would swoop in soon enough whispering trepidations and warnings in his boy’s
ear. The last thing Spike needed was to waste perfectly good shagging time
brooding about Xander’s reaction to the poof and Angel’s sudden interest in
Xander’s safety. That could wait. Given the way events unfolded around here
they might all be dead tomorrow and if they were Spike wasn’t spending his
last morning with the boy talking about his Sire or any negative
speculation.
Since the sun wouldn't be on that side of the building for hours, Spike
crossed to the window and moved the tarp so it prevented the dim light from
reaching the bed. Almost immediately the air began to circulate and the room
seemed cooler. Spike took a moment to admire the view and decide where to
start. He went back to the bed and knelt near Xander. He blew a cool breath
over the smooth, almost hairless skin over the boy's sternum and moved up to
place feather-light kisses over the base of his neck. Working his way down
the lax muscles of Xander's torso he licked and kissed with miniscule
pressure until he reached the navel, in which he plunged his tongue. Xander
began to stir, his hands reaching blindly for Spike in an attempt to pull
him up to face him. Spike had another goal in mind but skimmed up his
lover's body, brushing his lips up along Xander warm skin, sensing the blood
which pulsed beneath it and let himself be pulled into a full deep kiss. The
boy was struggling to rid Spike of his tee shirt, so Spike pulled back to
skin out of both it and his jeans.
Xander, still heavy lidded with sleep and now pushing a full bottom lip out
as he sulked because Spike had pulled back to undress, couldn't possibly
know the wantonly precious picture he presented to his mate. Spike laughed
and kissed away the pout. He started to trace his path downward again, fully
intending not to be dissuaded from his goal again. Spike lightly tongued the
head of Xander's erection before moving down the shaft to its base. He
realized that the boy was throwing off his morning stupor when Xander spread
his thighs to allow him better access. As a reward for that unasked-for
assistance, Spike first sucked one testicle and then the other into his
mouth. Xander, true to form, wasn't making much sense, but the babbled words
brought a smile to Spike's busy mouth. He was more amused by Xander's
continuing effort not to be mute during sex than by any particular blurb of
thought that tripped off the boy's lips.
Xander grabbed one of Spike's hands, apparently frustrated by his inability
to convey meaning by words, and slapped a tube of lube into it. Spike would
have taken a moment to ponder how the boy had reached this and wonder if he
had hidden it under a pillow anticipating an early morning assault, if not
for the boy's rather fervent insistence that Spike fuck him now. Xander
might not be up to speaking, but never let it be said that Spike's boy
wasn't a born communicator. As soon as Xander had relinquished the lube to
Spike he had grabbed both of his knees and lifted them up almost to his
ears. Spike would have to be thick indeed not to get that message. Spike
laughed with his mouth full and began quickly preparing Xander with
practiced ease.
By the time he was ready to enter Xander, the boy was rather vocal in his
encouragement and his request for the shagging to start. At least that was
what Spike thought he was trying to say. As he pushed into Xander, wrapping
his painfully hard cock in tight blood-warm tissue, and began thrusting into
his eager lover, Spike wondered if Xander's affliction was contagious. He
knew words of endearment and possession were tumbling out of his mouth, but
had no idea what he was saying. Spike hoped Xander was too far gone, too
lost in lust and passion to take offense at his possessive terms. Spike did
know he was saying 'my' and 'mine' quite a bit, and that contrary to the
last twelve hours, Xander would call him on that. Xander had some inner
sense which seemed to make him very protective of Spike's pride. That was
what most likely had prevented him from protesting the vampire's actions
when they'd had an audience. Xander came hard against Spike. The come
dripped down and soon they were both drenched in the scent of sex. Spike had
watched Xander ride his orgasm and for a moment wondered if the boy had lost
consciousness as his gaze unfocused and his mouth slackened. But before he
could consider what the human etiquette would be regarding coming in your
unconscious lover, intelligence returned to those deep brown eyes and a
sated smile brought Spike over the edge. Spike came and collapsed over
Xander's body. Instantly he was wrapped in the warm arms and legs. He loved
when Xander enfolded him like this. He had no breath to catch and could have
rolled off the panting boy, but was reluctant to give up this quiet, perfect
moment.
All too soon Xander would be off to work. Spike knew the boy enjoyed his
job. Spike stopped by the site once to scope out the competition and let
them know Xander was taken. Xander seemed completely unaware that it might
be unusual that the crew of workmen and the staff in the office turned to
him to make the decisions. They all looked to a boy barely out of his teens
to handle the day to day dilemmas of managing a million-dollar site Five
years of facing the end of the world on an almost weekly basis tended to
trivialize a mucked up order or a couple of workers who couldn't seem to get
along. Spike had used his enhanced senses to overhear one of Xander's office
girls telling another how the owner of the company marveled at Xander's
ability to work under pressure. She had said that it was hard to remember
how young he was. And that the reason he had his position had less to do
with the boss accommodating a favored worker, than his quick and life saving
handling of a fatal crisis that had occurred shortly before Buffy had died.
Spike wished he could question Xander about it, without giving away that he
had been checking up on him. All he had gathered from his eavesdropping was
that some city workers had been performing routine maintenance on a water
main under the street that ran in front of the construction when a pipe had
exploded. One man was killed instantly and another seriously burned, as it
was a gas main that exploded.
The site had been in chaos as flaming chunks of human flesh had accompanied
the metal and concrete shrapnel, which injured two of the construction
workers who had been eating their lunches near the edge of the site. Xander
had strode into the melee shouting orders. He had sent someone to call 911
and had called for the one man on the site he knew had some first aid
training from the National Guard. He organized a triage and used site
material to block off the street until the fire trucks had arrived. Spike
wasn't surprised that Xander's quick action had saved lives. He didn't think
it was odd that adults with more experience looked to his boy for guidance;
Xander was a natural leader. Xander however, had never shared this
particular story with anyone, as far as Spike knew. That was unusual. Xander
was a born storyteller. He loved to make his friends laugh or have Dawn
sitting on the edge of her seat asking 'then what?'. Thinking about it Spike
admitted to himself; Xander's stories were always about someone else. About
Buffy, about the Scoobies, but they were never just about Xander, what
Xander did, how Xander felt.
Spike reveled in Xander's soft, stroking touches. He put his weight on his
hands and lifted himself to look into those warm loving eyes. He was
surprised that the smile was sharing space with traces of tears and lifted
one hand to trace the tracks. "You're a part of me." Xander said, and Spike
was transported to that first empty aching morning after Buffy had died and
the boy trying to explain love to the silently grieving girl. "You're in my
heart." Xander caressed the side of his face, and Spike figured he had been
forgiven his few overly possessive words.
Best to see if he could get forgiven in advance for the that alarm which was
about to ring. "Good, because you're going to be quite cross with me, Pet."
He spoke softly, trying to control any waver Xander's words might have put
in his voice.
"What did you do?" Too bad there wasn't time for a spanking. Xander sounded
like he would do him proper, even if he looked like he might start laughing.
*Well, since we don't have time for him to stay cross, let's see if I can
make him laugh.*
"Me, Pet?" Xander had repeatedly told him that the sight of a vampire trying
to look innocent was possibly the most unbelievable sight he had ever seen
and began to snicker.
"Did you dust Angel?" The stern voice was belied by the fact that the bed
now shook with Xander's silent laughter. The alarm clock picked that moment
to go off loudly. Xander winced and reached for it with another adorable
pout.
"That's why you'll be cross, luv. Bit of bad timing on my part." Spike
smirked and kicked the beautiful body out of bed and rolled himself up in
the Xander-scented softness. This was one of the non-shagging perks of not
living in the crypt.
The rest of their apartment sported mostly Xander's dorm-room-style
furniture with assorted odds and ends, including some that Spike had picked
up in various mausoleums and junkyards, but the bed was a nearly new queen
size. Xander had splurged to celebrate his escape from the basement of doom.
Xander, in his storyteller mode, had told him that Anya had found it listed
amount the items in an estate sale. He had then proceeded to impersonate the
old man he had bought it from and his reaction to Xander showing up with
Buffy to help him haul it back to his apartment.
"Have a good day at work, dear." Spike said, calling Xander's attention to
how comfortable he was. He was evil, after all, and it didn't harm the boy
to rub in that he would be able to sleep all day.
"Not fair!" Xander knelt back on the bed and kissed his forehead. Despite
the groan he had offered in response to Spike's words, his eyes were still
lingering on the blonde's naked body and Spike considered how much
encouragement it would take to lure the boy back to bed. Before he could act
on his half-formed plot, his beautiful boy whispered, "You never have bad
timing. Even if we had had all night, I still wouldn't want to leave." No,
the boy was never eloquent, his words were never flowery or stilted with
practiced formality, but every one rang true. Xander never offered what he
thought Spike wanted to hear just to placate him, or to get his own way. He
teased and argued but when he spoke with quiet conviction, Spike always knew
he meant every word. Xander turned back before entering the bathroom and
asked, "It would be wrong to ditch the Angelenos and spend the whole weekend
in bed, wouldn't it?"
All thoughts of tempting the boy to stay home from work left him; Spike knew
that Xander would just blame himself if he did. So he said, "You're asking
me what the right thing to do is? That's rich, Pet." Spike stayed very
still, watching as his sweet boy leaned against the doorway frame and
frowned down at the floor.
"No, I know what's right." Xander said with a sigh and sounded reluctant to
go. "I just… I guess I'm selfish."
That was it. Spike was by the boy's side in a moment, pulling the warm body
into a comforting, rather than lascivious, embrace. He cooed words of
encouragement to his young lover. As soon as this latest threat to the
Hellmouth was settled the boy was taking some down time, even if Spike had
to hit him over the head to make him. Twenty was too young to be shouldering
the kind of responsibility Xander handled, and admittedly handled well, on a
daily basis. The boy needed a vacation, one not involving saving the world
or fighting for his life and by all that was unholy Spike would see that he
took one. After sharing a tender kiss, Xander was showered and shaved and
out of the apartment in under half an hour.
After a brief shower, Spike readjusted the tarp to block any future light
that might come while he slept and snagged the peacock blue sheet from the
floor and shook it out draping it over the bed. Many equally eye-piercing
pillows were tossed about the room and Spike threw them in pairs against the
headboard. Then, he curled back up in the sadly empty bed. Ever since the
shopping expedition the witches had been giving Xander brightly colored
pillows at a rate of about one a week. Xander would suspiciously thank them
and find a home for the newest addition; so far he hadn't connected it to
Spike. It had all started back when Dawn had organized the 'keep America
beautiful by doing something about Xander's wardrobe' campaign. Willow had
given Xander the 'throw of many colors' for a house-warming present when he
moved in and it was prominently displayed in the living room. Standing in
line with Spike at the food court she had confided in him that it was all
part of her strategy for satisfying Xander's love of bright clashing colors
in a non-publicly humiliating way. Spike had enjoyed her open-mouthed
amazement when he had reminisced about his mum's good parlor with its lilac
print wall paper and apple green draperies. He had told her that modern
Americans' insistence on neutral décor was a sign of their inability to
commit. They were so sure they were going to sell the house that they never
wanted to risk bold, bright colors. He had told her that in his day the
clothes were more neutral because the laundry facilities were primitive but
that the houses, inside and out, were beautiful, with all the colors of a
garden. Since by then she was looking at him as if he were speaking in
tongues, he had suggested that she may have better luck getting Xander to
part with his riotous shirts if she talked him into painting his apartment
something other than the standard off-white. Spike missed the fun he had had
pulling Willow's chain before she caught on that there was something between
Xander and him. Of course, now he could share with her the details on the
creative uses he and his pet had found for all those extra pillows.
To be fair, even before Red had known they were together, she had never let
him get away with putting Xander down, even when the boy was not around. She
was very protective of Spike's boy. Spike, surprisingly, didn't mind. He
should have; it wasn't in a demon's nature to tolerate anyone being close to
his mate. Red was different. Spike knew she loved the boy but he didn't
consider her a threat, and he wasn't discounting her as a potential rival
for Xander's affection just because she was 'doing spells with Tara'. Red
was better at some things, more sensitive. She was very attentive to
Xander's feeling, even when the boy didn't want to talk. Although Spike
would die, so to speak, for his boy, he was often the cause of Xander's
emotional pain. Spike knew he ran roughshod over the boy's ego and
insecurities. He cursed himself loud and long, but couldn't help blundering
over the human's tender feelings. Red was always willing to not only tell
Spike how he had fucked up, but to offer help at setting it right. She doted
on both of them and he had overheard her refer to them as her boys, which
was amusing, since Spike was older than her great-grandfather was. She would
talk to Xander for hours on the phone until he finally gave up and told her
everything. Though her only excuse for Spike's prickly nature to was 'That's
Spike’, she would come to the shop and drag Spike into the back to tell him
exactly what he had done wrong. They were two stubborn men and would sulk,
refusing to speak of their deepest hurts, but Willow always knew when to
remind them how good what they had was, and how empty their lives had been
without each other.
Thinking this over, Spike thought it might be best to have Willow present if
Angel ever got around to bending Xander's ear about how insane it was to be
with Spike. He sighed and buried his face in Xander's pillow, inhaling the
boy's warm scent, still tasting him in his mouth. How close had he come last
night to screwing this all up for good? What would have happened if he and
Angel had thrown down right there in Joyce's living room? Red had saved him
again. He snorted as he remembered the look on Angel's face when she had
said, "Oh, there you are," and sat next to them as if they almost copulated
in front of her everyday. Well, they did, but she never remained that calm.
Normally she blushed and stammered and backed out of the room. That was fun,
too.
Spike wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep, or how long he had slept when
he woke to both a loud pounding on the door and the continuous ringing of
the doorbell. Scowling at the clock, he saw that it was only eleven thirty.
He stomped naked to the door. He was tempted to yank open the door
full-monty, but that would have violated rule number three, so he checked
the peephole. *Oh! Look! A pissed off Sire.* Since most of the neighbors
were at work, he opened the door anyway, in flagrant disregard of rule
number three, and placed one hand on the inside of the frame and the other
on his hip. *Well, that stopped the bloody bell.*
"What?" Spike snapped, before Angel had had a chance to recover.
Angel closed his eyes, shook his head, opened his eyes and said, "You're
naked."
"I'm also a bleeding vampire. Did you come all this way just to stand around
stating the obvious?" Of course Spike knew the answer to that, but it felt
good to have the great and powerful Angelus at a loss.
"Why are you naked, Spike?"
*Oh, do use the 'Spike's a moron' tone, that'll work.* "Because there is a
fucking heat wave," Spike snarled. "Only undead nancy-boys like you prance
around in bloody great trench coats when the humans are dropping in their
tracks from heat prostration."
"Spike, this is Xander's apartment." Angel was now leaning one forearm
against the invisible barrier across the door and looking past Spike at what
he could see from the door.
"Oy! I know that. I know I'm a vampire. I know I'm naked. And I know who
lives here." Spike turned and headed back to the bedroom, he called over his
shoulder. "Why are you here? Not in the metaphysical sense, not in the why
are you in Sunnyhell - got that - vision - why are here as in why are you
standing there," Spike voice was muffled as he pulled a tee shirt on and
came out of the bedroom in an unbuttoned pair of jeans, "tossing off and
telling me things I already know? And for that matter why are you here at
this unholy hour?"
"Spike..."
"Oh, come in."
Angel narrowly saved himself from diving face first onto the floor tiles of
the small entrance area when Spike interrupted him.
Spike snickered at the sight and made a mental note to have Red do the
de-invite spell soon.
"You really live here? I thought you were just…" Angel's voice trailed off
as he took in the eclectic decor, which mixed both Spike and Xander's
tastes.
"You just stop by for a cuppa? Want to reminisce about the good ol' days?"
Spike asked as he pulled his boots out from under an end table and started
to pull them on. As an afterthought he added, "Or are you trying to steal my
Xander?"
“I'm working on a case." Angel said through gritted teeth. "This is
important. We," he paused significantly to indicate Spike had no choice in
the matter, "are going to shake down as many of the local demon haunts as it
takes to find out if anyone new is in town." Crossing his arms, Angel leaned
against the living room wall. He looked down at Spike and added, "That is,
if you're serious about helping."
Spike snorted. "If it'll get your fat ass out of my town any quicker, I'll
sing a bleeding Manilow medley while tap dancing on the Hellmouth. *Red's a
dandy little source of information now that she and the Prom Queen check in
once a week since Harmony's visit.*
Spike followed Angel out the door. Angel lifted an eyebrow, which was a
drastic change in facial expression for the brooding one, when Spike used
his key to lock the deadbolt, but said nothing. It was a good thing that
Angel had stopped by, Spike thought, but he didn't voice that opinion. Any
source Angel might have had from two years ago was most likely relocated to
another hellhole, if it was still around at all. Glory had shattered the
whole infrastructure of demon society with her join-or-die attitude. With
the way her little power play had ended there had been no way that either of
those choices were healthy. She or her followers had eradicated most who had
hidden or flat out refused to join, and now her minions and followers were
all but obliterated. In the weeks since she and the Slayer had perished,
Sunnydale had become much like the Wild West; everyone was looking over
their shoulder for the new sheriff to come to town. When Angel had lived
here, the power structure had been moderately fixed due to the Master's and
the Mayor's long term residency. Now empires were built in one night and
tumbled down the next. It wasn't even the loss of a Slayer which had caused
the upheaval; Nature abhorred a vacuum, and this was all just part of
natural selection.
What caught Angel's attention, judging by the looks he was shooting at Spike
every time they entered a new squat or bar, was Spike's obvious high rank in
whatever pecking order was being established. Spike thought about pointing
out that briefly, before coming up with the brilliant idea to kick Alcathla
in the ass, Angelus had been Master of the Hellmouth, but decided to save it
for when the poof was riding out of his town.
As they walked in silence along the tunnel leading back toward the magic
shop, Angel sighed and said, "You're insane." He spoke softly and sounded
tired, which may have been why Spike didn't feel inclined to snap at him.
Spike didn't answer; he just lit up a smoke and let Angel say his piece.
"How long do you think you can hold it? I mean…" He trailed off no longer
even sounding exasperated, just worried and exhausted, and a little like the
Sire who had taught him hunting tricks and explained in that soft brogue
that he had to learn more and faster than other Childer because Dru would
always depend on him.
Which was why Spike answered at all. Even with this souled up version of his
Sire he knew better than to show any weakness to another demon, so it was a
hard glare that answered Angel's searching look. Spike said in a cold voice,
"Whatever it takes. I'll do whatever it takes. I protect what's mine."
Part 11
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