Ashes to Ashes, 16/30
Dec. 8th, 2008 10:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sevendeadlyfunPairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Grief and a kind of madness take Spike and Xander places they aren't sure they want to go....
A/N: Thank you so much to all of you who left comments and even wrote me emails to tell me how much you enjoyed this story! Your support pushed me back into this fic and I appreciate it.
This is written for my![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
psych_30 prompt #14-fixation. Previous chapters can be found in my memories or emo-chillin' in the tags.
Previously:“Thanks for whatever the fuck all of this was,” Xander said quietly, reaching for his clothes. “Therapy or whatever, I don’t know. Now leave me the fuck alone.”
The echoes of those words were a drumbeat, a persistent thump-thump inside the hollow of his body. He could still feel that last touch, the sick shameful thrill of it. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed being marked.
And now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. About Xander bloody Harris pushing him down and riding him hell bent, only to leave him in a puddle of his own spunk. He’d watched, eyes hazy and body clumsy with pleasure, as Xander stomped away, too stunned to stop him.
Spike huffed, drawing deeply on the lit fag between his lips. He wasn’t sure he would have stopped him. That little performance represented the most spirit he’d ever seen in Harris.
Xander. He was Xander now. Once you wore someone’s marks, the pretense of distance was a sodding joke. Too bad no one ever shared that tasty tidbit with Xander.
They hadn’t spoken since that night, Xander’s last words a hearty “fuck you” as he’d pulled away from Spike’s semen spattered body. The words, the sensations, all replayed themselves inside Spike, endlessly unspooling into a surround sound fantasy. His nipples tightened as he stood waiting, his body beginning to melt into the memory.
Clomping footsteps and tight voices startled him from his reverie. The whole lot of them sounded like Meals on Wheels, the thick scents of their pain and the noise of their grief a bloody dinner bell to the creatures they were supposed to be hunting. And in the middle of the clamor and crush, he could hear Xander, almost feel him through the vibrations of skin pulled tight over an anxious body, the hammer trip of a nervous heart, the damp sheen of pre-come…He’d analyzed it for two weeks, sifting through the scents and sounds of their now-infrequent meetings to find what it was that held him captive.
He fell into line, trailing behind the kiddies. He didn’t say much but he didn’t have to. They weren’t his chums. They were his keepers.
Red started stage directing and Spike let his mind drift again. Xander had volunteered, quickly, anxiously, to stroll the perimeter of the campus. Two for one, ladies drink free, morons desperately in need of a good killing; there was always some college pub willing and ready to lead the slow minds and sound bodies of Sunnydale’s youth to wrack and ruin. The campus was an easy meal for even the most worthless vamp.
“Hey.” Tara laid a tentative hand on his shoulder. “W-willow says you should patrol with the B-bot. Over by the theater?”
Spike opened his eyes slowly, nodding once. With a peremptory jerk of his head, he started a slow stroll towards the movie theater. The Bot followed, its inane chatter washing over him. He tried his best to not see it. Only worked half the time but tonight, it was easy.
All he had to do was think about the heat of Xander’s mouth on his body, the thick finger bruises left on his bicep, and the world slid out of focus a bit. Softer edges, harder cock, and Spike shook his head.
“You don’t think the bad guys should fear my mighty puns?” The Bot asked him, the shrill perkiness grating against his already shredded nerves.
“I think you should shut your metal mouth before…” he trailed off with a sigh. No point in threatening the toaster. It wouldn’t understand anyways.
“Go.” He pointed towards the theater. “Slay.”
He followed, eyes scanning the crowd. Maybe a good spot of violence would shake Xander loose from the groove he’d worn in Spike’s brain. It was the same lie he told himself every night. It never worked. Every night the same lie, every night the same fights and still he could smell Xander on his skin.
Chapter 17
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Grief and a kind of madness take Spike and Xander places they aren't sure they want to go....
A/N: Thank you so much to all of you who left comments and even wrote me emails to tell me how much you enjoyed this story! Your support pushed me back into this fic and I appreciate it.
This is written for my
psych_30 prompt #14-fixation. Previous chapters can be found in my memories or emo-chillin' in the tags.Previously:“Thanks for whatever the fuck all of this was,” Xander said quietly, reaching for his clothes. “Therapy or whatever, I don’t know. Now leave me the fuck alone.”
The echoes of those words were a drumbeat, a persistent thump-thump inside the hollow of his body. He could still feel that last touch, the sick shameful thrill of it. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed being marked.
And now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. About Xander bloody Harris pushing him down and riding him hell bent, only to leave him in a puddle of his own spunk. He’d watched, eyes hazy and body clumsy with pleasure, as Xander stomped away, too stunned to stop him.
Spike huffed, drawing deeply on the lit fag between his lips. He wasn’t sure he would have stopped him. That little performance represented the most spirit he’d ever seen in Harris.
Xander. He was Xander now. Once you wore someone’s marks, the pretense of distance was a sodding joke. Too bad no one ever shared that tasty tidbit with Xander.
They hadn’t spoken since that night, Xander’s last words a hearty “fuck you” as he’d pulled away from Spike’s semen spattered body. The words, the sensations, all replayed themselves inside Spike, endlessly unspooling into a surround sound fantasy. His nipples tightened as he stood waiting, his body beginning to melt into the memory.
Clomping footsteps and tight voices startled him from his reverie. The whole lot of them sounded like Meals on Wheels, the thick scents of their pain and the noise of their grief a bloody dinner bell to the creatures they were supposed to be hunting. And in the middle of the clamor and crush, he could hear Xander, almost feel him through the vibrations of skin pulled tight over an anxious body, the hammer trip of a nervous heart, the damp sheen of pre-come…He’d analyzed it for two weeks, sifting through the scents and sounds of their now-infrequent meetings to find what it was that held him captive.
He fell into line, trailing behind the kiddies. He didn’t say much but he didn’t have to. They weren’t his chums. They were his keepers.
Red started stage directing and Spike let his mind drift again. Xander had volunteered, quickly, anxiously, to stroll the perimeter of the campus. Two for one, ladies drink free, morons desperately in need of a good killing; there was always some college pub willing and ready to lead the slow minds and sound bodies of Sunnydale’s youth to wrack and ruin. The campus was an easy meal for even the most worthless vamp.
“Hey.” Tara laid a tentative hand on his shoulder. “W-willow says you should patrol with the B-bot. Over by the theater?”
Spike opened his eyes slowly, nodding once. With a peremptory jerk of his head, he started a slow stroll towards the movie theater. The Bot followed, its inane chatter washing over him. He tried his best to not see it. Only worked half the time but tonight, it was easy.
All he had to do was think about the heat of Xander’s mouth on his body, the thick finger bruises left on his bicep, and the world slid out of focus a bit. Softer edges, harder cock, and Spike shook his head.
“You don’t think the bad guys should fear my mighty puns?” The Bot asked him, the shrill perkiness grating against his already shredded nerves.
“I think you should shut your metal mouth before…” he trailed off with a sigh. No point in threatening the toaster. It wouldn’t understand anyways.
“Go.” He pointed towards the theater. “Slay.”
He followed, eyes scanning the crowd. Maybe a good spot of violence would shake Xander loose from the groove he’d worn in Spike’s brain. It was the same lie he told himself every night. It never worked. Every night the same lie, every night the same fights and still he could smell Xander on his skin.
Chapter 17
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2008-12-09 05:06 am (UTC)I am so glad that you're get a jump start.
no subject
on 2008-12-09 08:36 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-10 04:30 am (UTC)Forgot to mention, one very small catch near the beginning:
He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed being marked.
*hugs*
no subject
on 2008-12-10 07:24 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-10 08:23 pm (UTC)Poor Spikey. Nice little package of tasty self-destruction himself. :D
no subject
on 2008-12-11 03:06 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-17 02:48 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-17 02:49 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-17 02:51 am (UTC)But I will finish it! And thanks so much for reading, even though I'm terribly slow at updating.
no subject
on 2008-12-17 02:52 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-17 02:53 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-17 02:53 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-17 06:13 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-17 05:31 pm (UTC)I'm loving it.