Count Spikeula
by The Mad Poetess
"Bloody hell... we're out of Weetabix again!" The sound of a vampire
whining. Truly a healing balm to Xander Harris' already abused and
exhausted ears. He climbed slowly down the stairs to his pseudo-
apartment in his pseudo-parents' basement. His Job-of-the-Week,
waiter/bouncer/hazardous waste disposal officer at Sunnydale's only
(hence, packed to bursting) Chuck-E-Cheese, had worn his nerves to a
frazzle. The last thing he needed was a grumpy, bored vampire on his
hands. Even a golden delicious, grumpy, bored vampire. [Now where did
that thought come from? Bad, bad, unmanly Xander!]
"Ahh, the Children of the Night...what music they make..." he said in
a muffled voice as he peeled off the blue polo-shirt that comprised
half his uniform. Then, more clearly, while smoothing his dark hair
back into a non-perpendicular position, "For the record, Spike, *I*
am out of Weetabix again, since I bought it in the first place. I'm
also out of steam, and *you* are out of your undead mind if you think
I'm going back out at 11:00 just so you can have cereal that stays
crunchy in blood. You're also out of my apartment if you don't shut
the hell up and let me get some sleep." [Yeah, I'll kick him out.
Right. As evidenced by the fact that I took him back in after the
whole Adam thing. Face it, Harris, you'd only kick him out if it
meant being able to stare at his ass as he skipped out the door…
bad,
bad Xander. You've gone psychotic. Comes of being dumped by your
girlfriend three weeks after she tells you she's in love with
you.]
Xander shook his head and looked critically at his uniform shirt--
wash or wear again? A pizza sauce stain covered the left breast in a
triangle that looked like a demented Star Trek insignia. [Ensign
Harris, report to Deck Three for kiddie-puke detail...] That was the
least exotic-looking stain on the shirt, and after getting the thing
within two inches of his nose...eeew. Wash. Definitely. Later.
"But... but...no Weetabix..." Spike moaned tragically. "You don't
love me anymore, Xander!"
"And tell me again why you're in my apartment, oh unloved one?"
Xander asked tiredly, as he tossed the dirty shirt vaguely in the
direction of the washing machine. It sailed over Spike's head,
landing on top of a large pile of cast-off uniforms from cast-off
jobs, and Xander gave a half-hearted "cha-ching" sound. [Ha-- I may
not be able to keep a crappy job, but at least I can keep their
crappy clothes! There's a moral victory in there somewhere, I'm sure
of it.]
"Er...Initiative gits trash Spike's crypt? Harris boy not smart
enough to hang crosses and garlic over door? Homeless but still hard-
core vamp stops in on pathetic Slayerette in attempt to improve said
boy's taste in interior decorating?" Spike jerked his bleach-blond
head in the direction of the large "Sex Pistols in '66" poster he'd
apparently tacked to the wall while Xander had been in Chuck-E-Cheese
Hell this evening. "Any of those events ring a bell?"
"Homeless vamp betrays generous Scooby Gang to grotesque demonic-
human hybrid with delusions of grandeur? Or, more recently, Harris
boy threatens to stake pathetic vampire who won't shut up while
courageous Slayerette's trying to get some well-deserved sleep after
a *really bad week*? Ring any bells?" Ending on a harsh note, Xander
unceremoniously yanked his khaki Dockers-wanna-be uniform pants down
and off, and fell with an exaggerated thud onto the sofa bed, clad
only in Snoopy boxers and eau de Chuck-E-Cheese.
Spike laughed mockingly. "Ooh, courageous Slayerette survives yet
another night of serving overcooked pizza to six-year-olds. That'll
go down in the annals of the Watchers' Council." He returned to
rummaging about in the small area that served as Xander's kitchen.
Then he poked his head back round the corner. "Anyway, I explained
about Adam."
"Yeah, something about 'I'm evil, what the hell did you expect, now
can I put this blood in your fridge, or what?' as I recall." Xander
replied. One arm thrown over his eyes to shut out the light from
Spike's end of the room, he sighed theatrically. "And aside from
being mobbed by the rugrats at Cool Chuck's for a week straight, my
loving girlfriend decided this Monday that we have no future, because
I'm not in love with her. Although I'm apparently a Viking in the
sack." Xander grumped.
"So I've heard. Wondered why the chickie hadn't been by all week.
Poor courageous Slayerette. Dumped by ex-demon because *he* has a
commitment problem. I take it all back," Spike oozed.
"I don't have a commitment problem. Except for the fact that I should
probably be committed for not kicking you out of here. Don't suppose
you could voluntarily get the hell out and stalk the wild Weetabix
yourself, could you? I mean, Creature of the Night and all."
The strains of "Chill me, thrill me, fulfill me, Creature of the
Night…" from Rocky Horror floated through his head, and he
groaned
again. [Bad, bad turn of phrase for promoting sleep, Xander.]
"Broke. Unless generous Slayerette wants to lend me some dosh."
Spike's eyes lit up.
"Bite me, Spike." Xander answered without uncovering his eyes. He'd
finally accepted that while Spike was as good at head games as ever,
he really was trustworthy, or at least harmless, in a physical way.
Not that he was thinking about Spike in a physical way. Oh no. Not
Xander. [Nope. Not thinking about how Spike looks in those
obnoxiously tight jeans that he managed to shrink in my washer
*again*. Not me. All man, me.]
Spike chuckled. "Nummy a treat as you might be, mate, biting you is
unfortunately not an option." He turned back to the cabinet next to
the tiny fridge. "That's why I'm trying to find some more bloody..."
he reached into the back of the cabinet..."Shredded Wheat?" He held a
box of the Nabisco delicacy in one pale hand and was looking at it in
disgust.
Xander groaned. "Look, the only place to get Weetabix around here is
that little import grocery on 5th, and they charge out the wazoo for
it. That's the last box of freakin' Weetabix you're getting out of
me, so you might as well learn to like Shredded Wheat. So there, good
night, parting is such sweet sorrow, don't let the door hit you, et
cetera."
"Hmph. Sacrilege. Anyway, this one's empty too." Spike said, tossing
the box at the trash can with more strength than accuracy.
Xander propped himself up on one elbow, and spoke slowly and clearly,
through clenched teeth. Which was an impressive feat in and of itself.
"So. Find. Something. Else --- And. Shut. Up." With one last glare at
the hyperactive vampire, Xander buried his head beneath a pillow and
tried to sleep.
There was a bit of banging as Spike worked his way through the rest
of Xander's storage space, and then silence, blessed, sweet silence.
Xander began to think he might actually be able to sleep before he
had to get up, shower, and prepare to greet the world at his day job.
What was his day job again? [Oh yeah, stockboy. Cool stripey uniform
and all the discounted Shredded Wheat you can carry home. Mmmm,
sleeeep.... mmmmm, Spike… There's a thought to sleep on.
Mmmm,
sleeeep…]
But then the silence, and the still-functioning brain [dammit] began
to prey on him. It might be bedtime for an exhausted Xander, but it
was about noon for Spike. What was he up to that was
so...damn...quiet? Xander began to listen, really listen. Finally,
from the silence, came "slide...scrape... slurp...crunch crunch
crunch..."
He turned over in his bed, pillow still over his eyes. [Crunch? What
did he find that could possibly...crunch...oh god, no...]
Unable to shake the terrifying suspicion forming in his burned-out
brain, Xander crawled out of bed and stumbled over to the card table
he'd set up in his laughable little kitchenette. Blinking, he finally
focused on Spike, who was seated at the table next to the tell-tale
brown box, cheerfully shoveling in a huge spoonful of blood and...
"Count Chocula ???" Xander shrieked, horrified beyond all imagining.
Spike looked up innocently at him with a mouthful of bloody chocolate
cereal. Not in game face. That made it even creepier. "Wha'?" he
mumbled defensively. Chew. Swallow. "You said to find something else.
I did."
"B...but...the Count...that's just completely disgusting!" Xander
sputtered, still aghast.
"Dunno why. Stays crunchy in blood, like y'said. Endorsed by a
cartoon vampire, so it's gotta be good. Even has these cute
little
marshmallow ghosts in it," Spike teased. "Besides, blood n'
chocolate...it's like vampire Viagra." He waggled one dark eyebrow in
a way that would have been sexy if he hadn't still had traces of
chocolatey blood around his lips. [OK, it's still sexy, but also
disgusting, if that's possible. Welcome to the Hellmouth.]
"TMI..." Xander muttered.
"Eh?"
"Too Much Information."
"It's the iron content, or somethin'." Spike went on, grinning.
[Dammit, he's doing this on purpose!]
"It's my childhood, Spike," Xander tried to explain.
"Eh?" again.
"You've just poured blood over my childhood and now you're crunching
it to pieces with your big vampire teeth." He reached for the box,
and Spike blocked his way with his non-spoon-holding hand.
"How poetic. Too bad. S'good. I like it. Nummy." The vampire grinned
again.
Xander looked back down at the bowl of chocolate crunchies and
marshmallows, swimming in blood. Shuddered.
"Spike, I will do anything -—anything—not to ever have to see
you eat
Count Chocula and blood again." He reached for the box again, and
this time Spike let him have it. The vampire put his spoon down
slowly, and stood up.
"Anything, Harris?" He did the eyebrow thing again.
Xander backed up against the refrigerator, box of Count Chocula
clutched against his bare chest. "Umm…within reason, of
course…"
Spike walked around the table toward him.
"I'll switch to Shredded Wheat, or maybe Cocoa Puffs, tomorrow. But
it's only fair that you give the Count a chance. How can you say this
gourmet treat is disgusting when you haven't even tasted it?" The
demonic grin was still in place.
Xander glanced over at the bowl still half full of Count Bloodula.
Taste *that*? He looked up at Spike and shook his head resolutely.
[Nope. Not me. I'll die before I'll…]
Spike cocked his head as he followed Xander's eyes to the bowl and
back. If anything, the blinding grin got wider. Spike slowly shook
his own head, and then, in a move that was faster than anything
Xander had ever seen, Spike was right in front of him…two inches
away… leaning in toward his face, and… kissing him?
The vampire's lips weren't cold at all. Warm with microwaved blood,
they pressed against Xander's own, and, involuntarily, he opened his
to meet them. Blood and chocolate. Lips…tongue…blood and
chocolate.
Sweet and warm, strong as the cold hands that gripped his shoulders,
as the body that pressed him up against the half-height fridge. Blood
and chocolate. [Need something…what? Oh, yeah…blood and
chocolate…no —
air! Need air!]
Spike finally pulled away, and the grin had become a smirk. "That's
right, you have to breathe, don't you. Inconvenient, innit." He let
go of Xander and stomped back to the table. "So, what's the verdict?
Do I get to keep my chocolate crunchies?" He sat down in front of his
bowl, spoon poised over it.
Xander peeled the crushed box of cereal from his chest. Shakily, he
walked over and put it back on the table.
"Umm, yeah. All yours. Just…don't forget to wash the bowl out
afterwards." He walked unsteadily back to his bed, and dived under
the covers. He could hear Spike chuckling even with the pillow pulled
over his head.
[Vampire Viagra? Now what can you do with a bored, horny Spike on a
sugar-high? Bad, bad Xander. Mmmm…sleep. Yeah, that's it.]
Grrr…
sleep… He poked his head out from under the pillow.
"And Spike?"
"Yeh?"
"Turn off the damned light!"
Spike looked up from his crunching, and smiled. "Yes, dear," he
replied sarcastically.
Xander pulled the pillow back over his head and sighed. "How I'm
supposed to get any sleep with you around is beyond me!"
It could have been the distorting effect of the pillow, but he could
have sworn he heard Spike say in a perfectly serious mutter, "Too
bloody right."