Dogs of War
by
Tabaqui
Part Seven
One-hundred and nineteen days - five a.m. and then six, and Spike's mouth was wet and cool and Christ, fucking perfect on Xander's cock and he bit down hard on his forearm, stifling the moan that welled up. "So - not the...time - fuck, Spike!"
"Think of...b-better time?" Spike murmured, licking him like a Popsicle and then sucking him in again and Xander got a handful of honey-silk hair and thrust hard. Spike's fingers were digging into his hips, bruisingly hard, and it felt so fucking good. A hand on his balls, and then between his thighs - fingertips probing and then pushing in and Xander arched hard, silent; his orgasm a roaring of blood in his ears and spangles in the darkness of the tunnel. There had been the distant crump of explosions for the last hour, and whatever was happening was under way. And they still had an hour to go until their rendezvous.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Xander moaned, sagging weakly back against the stone wall and a moment later Spike was plastered against him, mouth on his mouth and the taste of brine and blood. His hand on Xander's hand, dragging it to his groin. Spike's jeans were undone and his own cock jutting out and Xander gripped and stroked and pulled - wormed his other hand in to grasp Spike's balls. Spike's tongue was fucking his mouth, his hands on Xander's ass, down his camo fatigues and gripping tight.
"Sss...san, f-fuck..." Spike hissed, thrusting fiercely into Xander's hands, his teeth clicking off Xander's, his mouth sliding wetly to latch onto Xander's throat, mauling with human teeth and then prickling lightly with vampiric ones and Xander gasped and stroked him harder, hand slippery with pre-come and sweat. Spike sucked hard at his neck and Xander knew he'd drawn a little blood. Didn't care, because something like a second orgasm was quaking through him and Spike was coming over his hands, cool and slick and thick, and Xander gasped into his shoulder and wondered how long it would take before he could walk again.
"Christ..." Spike gasped out, slumping heavily onto him. Xander just hung there, gasping, until Spike straightened up and tugged at his shirt - pulled it off and wiped himself up with it.
"Damnit, why my shirt all the time?" Xander huffed. And then Spike froze, and he did, because there was a sound... Rattle of plastic, something quickly hushed and Spike morphed, his eyes gleaming. He gestured to Xander - hand-sign they'd worked out when he could barely speak and Xander nodded - eased his camo pants closed and silently picked up his rifle - made his way stealthily down the tunnel towards the Hall and the girls. They were waiting for the SAS to arrive, a state of tense half-sleep that he and Spike had abandoned hours ago. Xander ducked around the corner and saw Buffy who was sitting up, alert and wary. He crossed swiftly to her and put his mouth by her ear.
"Company," he breathed, and she nodded, her face tightening in fear and anger. He held out his hand and helped her climb to her feet - went to Tara and touched her shoulder. The witch startled awake, silent, and Xander delivered the same message. Tara nodded as well, pushing the blanket off her shoulders and slipping on her worn sneakers. Willow was spelled - out - a precaution they'd hotly debated and that Tara, tight-lipped and determined, had done. Willow chattered every minute of the day, and Buffy and Spike had both insisted that they couldn't risk that - couldn't trust her to keep a promise to not talk, because Willow was still not quite right. Xander just hated the idea of her being helpless, but when Tara had finally conceded, he'd given in as well. Now he made sure Willow's jacket was zipped up and her shoes laced tightly and carefully picked her up, cradling her close. Tara slung a backpack over her shoulder and nodded - ready. Buffy had a hand-gun - she hadn't done more than dry-fire it, but the steely glint in her eye gave Xander no reason to believe that she wouldn't use it if she had to. They waited then, utterly silent and Xander flinched hard when Spike suddenly appeared in the tunnel entry.
'Soldier', he signed, and then touched his head, and Xander felt his stomach drop. Initiative, that meant. Spike held up two fingers in a warped cross and pointed down another tunnel - one that led in a wandering fashion to the rendezvous under the church. Xander bit his lip, hesitating - gestured for Spike to come with them, and the vampire slowly shook his head - showed his fangs in an expression of pure hate, and Xander knew that the soldiers were dead. Just give Spike time. Xander nodded finally and Spike nodded back, and then he turned and stalked away and Xander shivered at the glimpse he'd had, of the vampire, of the demon - of the Slayer of Slayers, who'd run with three of the most infamous vampires in all history.
'Fuckin' soldiers won't know what hit 'em,' Xander thought, and turned and began the long walk to the Cross. After a while, faintly, they could hear shouts, and gun-fire ringing off the stone walls. They walked faster, being as careful as they could in the blue-white glow of the wisp-light Tara had conjured.
They were five minutes from the Cross - maybe less - when Xander heard footsteps behind them - moving fast and near-silent, but still there. Buffy looked around, wide-eyed, and then they were moving to opposite sides of the tunnel, weapons ready and Xander pushed Willow into Tara's arms. She doused the faint glow of the wisp-light, clutching the pebble tight in her fist and sinking into the shadows, cuddling Willow close. The footsteps came nearer - hesitated - and then a hoarse voice whispered out of the darkness:
"Carpenter, Glinda, Red-witch, Slayer."
"Spike! Report!" Xander hissed, and Spike appeared suddenly, glowing eldritch white-blue as Tara blew gently on the pebble, bringing the wisp-light back. He leaped on it and closed her fist around it and they were left with an afterimage of his hunched shoulders and blood on his hands. His eyes glowed, sulphur-gold.
"Too many. Run - now!" They ran, Spike carrying Willow and Tara risking the wisp-light so they wouldn't fall - Xander in the rear, alert for sounds of pursuit. All too soon, he heard them. It sounded like a dozen men - maybe more - and he caught the crackle of a radio that was hastily silenced.
'Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. What are we gonna do? How close is it to seven bells? Damnit... Get to the Cross, get into the south corridor. It opens out and there's all those stalactites. We can hide in there - confuse them... There's an alcove on the far wall, Tara can go up there with Willow...' The soldier in him plotted - planned - and when they arrived at the Cross he could hear the bell tolling above them. They stopped dead, listening, but the bell only tolled its tune three times, and then stooped. 'Damn. Fifteen minutes to go until seven. FUCK.'
Xander touched Spike's arm and motioned and in minutes they had Willow curled into the back of the alcove and Tara in front of her, her face white with fear but set. She took two twigs from her back-pack and wedged them into cracks opposite each other, then looped a ragged bit of shimmery black cloth between them.
"Stay here. Spike'll find you," Xander whispered, and Tara nodded and handed over the wisp-light, dampened to a faint, silvery glimmer.
"Obscurus," she whispered, and the alcove shimmered and faded, and they were gone. If he looked just right, Xander could see the shiver of the cloth, like a veil or a spider web. But he knew the soldiers wouldn't see anything but more rock and earth.
"Here," he whispered, touching Buffy's arm and getting her up and onto a wide ledge. Protection of a sort, and a better vantage for her limited weapons skills. Buffy scrambled up awkwardly, her hand to her stomach, something more than fear in her expression. "What is it?"
"Hurts," she said shortly, grimacing. "I think - labor or - another miscarriage."
"Fuck," Spike breathed, still the demon, recoiling slightly from her.
"Wait for light," Xander said and then the footsteps rang out louder as the soldiers reached the Cross and he and Spike turned and ran, heading deeper into the stone maze and leaving Buffy in the dark. They slid around a pillar and Xander clawed the backpack off his shoulder, opening it and pulling out a handful of emergency flares.
"Nightvision gear?" he asked, and Spike nodded, watching him. "Get up high. Wait until they're in the middle. Throw these down into them - they'll be blind. I'm gonna shoot, so - stay out of the way." Spike grinned, feral and gleeful, and yanked a 9mm hand-gun out of the back of his jeans. Xander grinned back and shoved the flares at him and then put the pebble into his pocket, dousing the last bit of real light. "They've got Kevlar. Heart-shots are useless."
"Yess," from Spike, so soft. A faint, ambient glow was everywhere here, from tiny cracks and holes high in the ceiling, but it was too dim for any real use. But it would give just enough power to Army-issue goggles. Xander steadied his rifle on the stone in front of him and felt Spike moving away - heard the soldiers come into the maze of stone and falter, and then move rapidly on. Following the slightly phosphorescent trail of paint that Xander had laid down weeks ago, to guide himself through. In another minute or two they would be in the biggest open space in the maze - a space he and Buffy - and now Spike - were overlooking. A death-trap, if this worked right. Xander's hands were sweating on the plastic stock and he wiped them slowly, one by one, on his pant-leg. Realized, with a small smile, that he hadn't ever put a shirt back on. 'Lets go, motherfuckers. I'm SO ready to fight. So, so ready. '
The pop of a radio made him start, and then a voice, low and rapid. Xander strained to hear, and went cold at the conversation.
"Core-Command to Outpost recon. Status, over."
"This is Outpost recon, status is grid 119, repeat, grid 119, over."
"Any movement, Outpost? Over."
"Positive movement, Command, we have hostiles. Preparing to neutralize, over."
"Neutralize with extreme prejudice, Outpost. Over."
"...Please repeat, Core-Command? Over."
"Repeat. Extreme prejudice. Operation Hopscotch terminated. Over."
"Affirmative, Core-Command. Extreme prejudice. Over and out."
'SHIT. That means no survivors. Where in fuck are the English guys? C'mon, Spike! The time is NOW!' It was almost as if Spike had heard him - or had heard the radio, more probably, because from nowhere came a bundle of flares - at least ten - all alight and burning with an intense, white fire that Xander instinctively shut his eyes against. He heard the Initiative soldiers cursing - one yelling - and then there was gunfire - rapid and loud, coming from overhead. 'Spike - fuck yeah.'
Xander opened his eyes and took aim - began to shoot, one bullet at a time. He knew the soldiers had Kevlar vests so he aimed for knees and thighs and arms, doing his best to wound because he probably couldn't kill. The knowledge - the instinct - to aim for the head itched in him, but some small part held back. Not there, yet, despite everything.
He saw flashes on his left, slightly elevated and knew that Buffy was firing as well. Spike seemed to be ranging all over the cavern and Xander caught a glimpse of him leaping like a goblin from ledge to broken stalactite, grinning insanely, the gun held out in a rock-steady hand, firing repeatedly.
The soldiers started firing back, ducking for cover, scattering into the maze. Four lay on the stone floor, unmoving, and a fifth was crawling away. Xander stood halfway up and scuttled to another point of cover, eyes warily on the four soldiers and the three others he could see darting in and out of the shadows. The flares were still burning brightly and Xander knew the Nightvision gear was useless now in that actinic glare. A bullet pinged the rock near his head and he ducked and ran, popping off a shot or two over his shoulder and then diving into deeper shadow.
An unearthly howl reverberated off the maze walls and a soldier cursed very near him, letting off a wild volley of shots. Xander peeked around a rock and saw a camo-suited body - whipped the rifle up and shot, watching in satisfaction as the man crumpled, screaming, his thigh a bloody mass.
'Got 'im, damn, fuckin' mess...Jesus, Spike!' Xander flinched as Spike leaped out of the shadows, the gun in his fist shooting straight into a soldiers face. The man's face exploded; wet, red ruin and Spike was gone and then Xander heard Buffy scream.
"Shit! Spike!" He ran shooting randomly for cover, hoping Spike would stay above or behind him. He tore around a corner and saw Buffy, half off the ledge, struggling madly against a soldier. There was blood streaking down her legs and she was kicking and yelling - waving her gun wildly. She hit the soldier in the side of his head and his helmet came off and skittered away into the darkness.
"Buffy! Let go!" Xander yelled, and Buffy dropped straight off the ledge and onto the soldier, who collapsed under her. Another soldier ran out of a near-by corridor, weapon raised and Xander snapped off a shot, making him dive for cover instead. Xander ran up and hauled Buffy off and up, spinning her straight into a blood-stained Spike who set her carefully aside and pounced on the soldier. The report of Spike's gun was muffled as he shoved it into the soldier's mouth and pulled the trigger. Spike turned and darted away, cackling.
Xander stood for a long moment, staring down at the dead man at his feet - at the brains and blood and bits of skull that had spattered on his shins. The urge to vomit was strong, but he controlled it - looked for Buffy who had sagged to the ground, hand to her stomach.
"You - you okay, Buff?" he asked, his voice cracking, and Buffy winced and nodded.
"Yeah, I'm - I'm okay. Get - get going. Gimme his rifle, okay? I - mine was out."
"Right." Xander clamped his jaw shut tight and bent down - disentangled the rifle from the dead arms and handed it to Buffy, who took it with a grimace.
"Hold! Hold right there!" A distinctly non-American Scottish? voice called out, and there was another burst of gunfire close by, and cursing. Xander lifted his own rifle again, turning around and saw a man all in black trotting towards him.
'The SAS! God, please, be the SAS! Be - Carlyle!' "Hey!" Xander yelled, and then he stopped, trying to remember the password.
"Acts of injustice done!" a hoarse voice sang out, and it was Spike, somewhere above and behind him, and the black-clad soldier stopped, looking at Xander.
"Between the setting and the rising sun,"he said slowly, clearly.
"What the fuck is wrong with you people?" Another voice and Xander jerked around, staring. Lit by the flares was another Initiative soldier, who took off his helmet and threw it down. 'Oh fuck ME,' Xander thought. 'Agent Riley fucking Finn'
"You lost, Riley! Your side lost! Give up!"
"Give up to you? To the freaks and the - the monsters? Over my dead body." Riley stared at him - at the English soldier, and then he lifted his rifle. "No. On second thought, over your dead body."
"Riley, don't!" Buffy screamed, and Riley flinched, and his rifle fired. Xander felt fire, blooming all along his side. He jerked - fell to his knees, hard, and his arms were useless - couldn't hold the rifle. "No! Xander! Tara, help me!" Buffy was crawling towards him - the black-clad soldier was sprinting - and the last thing Xander saw was Spike, like a white arrow straight into Riley Finn. They both went down; rolling across the flares and it was dark, so dark. Xander felt cold stone on the side of his face - felt a hand turning his head - and he looked up into a seamed, sun-darkened face, with faded blue eyes and a scar along the jaw.
"In history lie like bones, each one," he whispered, and then there was nothing at all.
Part Eight
The stones were rough - cold - damp with the rising mist and Xander ran his hands slowly along the massive flank of the trilithon.
'Trilithon. Giles would be proud. Well, actually, he would NOT.' Xander looked around and laughed aloud when he saw his shadow, leaping from the top of one stone giant to the next. "You are gonna get in so much trouble if Giles finds out you did that!" he called, and Spike turned and leapt gracefully to the ground, his coat flaring up around him like bat's wings, rustling. Between them, the Initiative and the SAS had managed so much destruction that Spike's treasured coat was gone for good - along with a most of Sunnydale. But the new one, bought in Tokyo and lined with silk suited him just fine.
"And who, may I ask, is going to tell Rupert I was playin' leap-frog up there, huh?"
"Well..." Xander looked at Spike through his lashes, smiling slyly. "I might, actually..."
"Oh, might you?" Spike advanced on Xander, head down, prowling, and Xander felt his heart skip and speed up, pounding in his chest.
"Yeah, I - I just might. Unless..."
"Unless...what?" Spike backed him right into the stone and Xander leaned there, thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, hands casually framing the growing hardness under the zip.
"Unless you...do something really...nice for me. I might...just forget all about you - defacing a National Treasure."
Spike snorted. "National Treasure my arse." He put his hands on either side of Xander's head and leaned into him, rocking grind of hip to hip. "Now, define...nice," he purred, and his mouth settled over Xander's, slow and leisurely kiss that took Xander's breath away.
"Ohhh, I think...you could do something nice with that talented mouth of yours..." Xander gasped, and Spike grinned and slid like a snake down Xander's body, the coat pooling around him, spill of ink. The white silk shirt he wore under it glowed in the moon light, as did his punk-spikey, silver-white hair. His skin was moonlight - cool and perfect and utterly smooth, and Xander gasped softly as deft fingers undid button and zip and tugged his jeans to mid-thigh.
"You mean...something like this?" Spike asked, and his tongue licked a slow trail from hip-bone to navel to hipbone, making Xander shiver.
"Oh - yeah, like -" Spike nipped at the soft skin under his navel and Xander started to pant, his hands sweeping up Spike's neck to his jaw. He let his fingertips rest there, feeling the muscles working as Spike licked and nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin along the crease of this thigh - in the hollow of his hip and across his belly. His tongue lapped softly at the edge of the ragged scar on Xander's left side and Xander shuddered.
Sunnydale - the Initiative - all of it was...so many days and weeks and months gone. A time of nightmare that Xander looked back on with astonishment and sadness. All but three of the Initiative soldiers that had chased them underground had died, including Riley Finn. Spike - had done it; disemboweling the man and winding his entrails around his throat - showing him his death with a flare shoved through his ribs. The SAS hadn't interfered - Sergeant Carlyle had, in fact, ignored the wet, desperate screams and gotten the rest of them up and out.
Xander had been air-lifted to the hospital in Fort Irwin with Buffy and hadn't woken up for two days. When he had, the first thing he'd seen had been Spike - still bloody and smudged, lying in an exhausted heap across his legs. Buffy had been in the chair on the other side of him, no longer pregnant, white and tear-streaked and smiling at him.
Tara and Willow had been flown straight over to England, to the Watcher's Headquarters where a slow course of magic and therapy had finally brought Willow back to herself. Ethan Rayne, who had been harder to control and therefore had been more thoroughly broken, was still recovering.
"Love, you're not paying the proper attention." Spike's voice in his ear, and Xander came back to himself with a start, and smiled sadly into the lean and beautiful face that leaned so close to his own.
"I'm sorry, Spike. Got a little...distracted."
"Remembering, love. I know." Spike's fingers stroked the raised, twisted scar that ran from Xander's rib to hip - the wildly ricocheting bullet from Riley's gun had plowed a trench through his flesh eight inches long - and Xander caught his hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing each one slowly, fluttering his tongue over the tips. Scent of iron and cinnamon, of smoke and leather and earth. Spike's scent, comforting and intoxicating.
"I was. I'm sorry. Make me forget?" Spike's eyes gleamed in the moonlight and he took Xander's shoulders in his hands - turned him and propelled him backwards until his hips bumped another stone, this one on its side in the dew-wet grass.
"Can. Will. Want to," Spike whispered, and he turned Xander around - put his hands on the gritty stone and pulled his hips back. "Ready for me, love?"
"Always r-ready for you -" Xander husked, and groaned softly as Spike's fingers caressed him - pushed in, two and then three, sliding and twisting.
"Love, god, that...so fucking...hot." Spike's hands slid up under Xander's jacket and sweater, rubbing up his spine and scratching slowly back down as his cock crowded close between Xander's legs, damp tip nudging at his balls and pushing at the underside of Xander's own cock.
"God...oh, that's..."
"Sweet, yeah..." Spike leaned back, and a moment later he was pushing in, slow and smooth and powerful. Xander gasped softly, lowering his head, pushing back and going up on his toes - coming back down. Loving the feel of Spike moving in him, touching everywhere inside.
"Xan...love, love..." Spike murmured into his neck - into his hair, hands holding his waist and then sliding up under his sweater to rub his chest - to cross over his ribs and pull him up and back, tight against the vampire's body. Cool silken shirt, hard muscles and the rasp of his jeans against the underside of Xander's buttocks.
Xander leaned his head back against Spike's shoulder, watching the slow skeining of the mist through the stones - the way the moon beams seemed to shift, so slowly; sometimes as thin as smoke, other times looking so solid it seemed you could almost walk on them. The stones around them loomed blackly, sheltering fingers in a green and cupping hand, and Xander finally closed his eyes and just moved with Spike, letting his own hands roam where they would.
"Spike...oh, kiss me..." he whispered, and Spike's fingers were on his jaw, gently turning so that their lips could brush and tongues could flicker, tasting. Spike's cock moved slow and steady, frission of champagne sparkles every time he pressed in, shuddering heat every time he pulled out, and Xander was panting now, clutching Spike's hip in one hand and his neck in the other. Silken hair under his palm, the curve of Spike's skull and the flex of tendon. Spike's mouth on his jaw and on the side of his throat, nipping kisses. His hands on Xander's belly, pressing and rubbing and then dropping down to stroke Xander's own cock, smearing the fluid there and sending shivery little shocks up Xander's spine. Xander clenched his body tight around Spike and felt the vampire's body tense against his.
"Xan - come on, love...Xan, Xan-der..." Spike groaned, his thrusts becoming faster, less regular. Xander's legs were trembling and he was writhing back against Spike. He leaned over, hands on the stone again, arching his back and Spike thrust harder, panting himself now, fingers tight on Xander's hips.
His orgasm was a stuttering flurry of thrusts, Xander's name a whispered moan and then Spike's hand was on Xander's cock, hard and fast, and Xander arched back, crying out, dimly aware of the pearl-white fluid striping the dark stone. Spike wrapped his arms tight around him and held him, and gradually his heart slowed, and his breathing evened out.
"Better now, love?" Spike asked, and Xander smiled - turned in his arms and kissed Spike, slow and sweet.
"Better now. Let's go home, okay?"
"Mmmm...hot bath," Spike said, and Xander laughed, and kissed him again. Home was Joyce and Dawn and Oz, the stone house by an old mill pond. Home was Buffy and Tara and Willow on the weekends, and Giles; laughing around the big, scrubbed-white table in the kitchen. Home was Spike, rolling over cool and soft in the bed, pulling him close and snuggling deep under flannel and goose-down. Home...was forever in blue eyes and the scent of cinnamon, and Xander never counted the days.
The End
Index
