A Road Covered With Blood
Jul. 30th, 2007 01:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sevendeadlyfunPairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17 overall
A/N: You know it, I know it, I'm too lazy to type it. Just assume I said it. X-posted todarker_spike for challenge reasons, posted here for my memories
The really remarkable thing, Xander thought tiredly, was that waking up unable to talk was no less terrifying the second time around.
Actually, the really remarkable thing was that Spike was tied up in his apartment. Ropes Xander knew Spike could break with a thought wound their way around the blonde. Keen intellect that he was, Xander deduced that Spike had once again seen the softer side of the Initiative.
What he couldn’t figure out was why his alterna-self had tied him up. The logic, in hindsight, looked startlingly like stupidity. Spike shows up, pale and unable to do more than snipe at them. Giles chains him to a bathtub, presumably to control Spike’s inner homicidal maniac. Since nothing says “I love you” like the gift of a demon that wants you dead, Giles hands Spike over to him with instructions to tie him up.
In Giles’ haste to get a piece of Blighty tail, he never gave Xander anything resembling an effective method of Spike control. Sure, there’s the chip. But, if Spike’s chipped, why bother with the bondage impression? Xander knows he could chase this around in his head for hours, but he’s been inside his own head-many of his own heads, actually-for far too long.
He shambles over to Spike, desperately trying to figure out how to communicate I’m sorry without resorting to Pictionary. He kneels down in front of the chair, carefully unpicking the worthless and laughably frail knot that pretends to keep Spike from doing what he pleases, when he pleases.
It’s the prickles on his neck that forces his gaze upward. Spike’s eyes are fastened on him, asking so many questions that Xander realizes Spike doesn’t need his voice. His eyes do all his talking for him. He knew that before now, but it never made much of an impression. It was one of those laws: The Hellmouth is bad, Willow is smart, Buffy is strong, and Spike has expressive eyes. Some things you just know and you never question how you know them.
But, Spike’s eyes are firing a million questions at him and he can’t communicate with just his eyes. That’s a Spike thing, not a Xander thing. Xander things are different. They involve trust, and loyalty, and doing the dumbest things because someone has to do them. Huh, it’s funny because those sound like Spike things too. Maybe he could try the eyes, because he doesn’t want to move away to find paper and pen.
Just know what I’m trying to say here, Spike, he pleads. I’m sorry for this, I don’t know why I…no, that’s a lie. I do know why. But, I’m still sorry.
Spike tilts his head as if he’s thinking about that, so maybe this visual communication thing is working. Spike’s eyes are distant, clouded with so many different things. Xander knows there’s hate, because even in this newer reality, none of the Scoobies have been extraordinarily kind.
It’s easier to find the memories this time. They aren’t so distant and Xander feels exultant because that must mean this crazy reality ride is working. Cordy told him that he and his other selves would merge, and it seems that way because the last few weeks are perfectly clear in his mind.
Buffy is somehow softer in his memories, more willing to listen to Spike and less apt to swing a fist his way. She’s not so keen on the Initiative, even without knowing that Riley’s involved. She suspects, how can she not after the wild night of fun at their dorm. But, the now Buffy won’t indict without proof just like she won’t whale on Spike without him hitting first.
Still, Willow’s spell had done a number on all of them. Spike most of all now that he thinks about it. He’d gotten the marry Buffy hit on top of the Xander demon magnet smack. Xander stares at Spike, trying not to think about the suggestion the vampire had made.
It had been wrong. He’d been compelled by the force of Willow’s experiment. He had…sounded so damn erotic. Xander shivered slightly, the silence around him giving his mind a chance to mull over exactly how damn hot Spike’s voice was, lips brushing his ear as he suggested a few games for his ‘bachelor party’.
A finger drew his attention out of his memories and back to Spike. Spike shrugs off the now slack ropes and gestures downward. Xander knows what Spike means and it isn’t “how about you reprise that blowjob from the creepy alternate universe?” Still, that’s what Xander’s thinking about and it must show on his face because Spike’s eyebrow is almost touching his hair.
Xander waves a hand, trying to dismiss Spike’s curiosity. Obviously when he lost his mind, he lost his voice. He knows Spike never just lets anything drop. Why should he? He’s got eternity in which to worm the information out of you.
Xander smiles, and gives up on his amateur attempts at using just his eyes to communicate. He shrugs and mouths, ‘I’m sorry.’
Spike smiles back and it’s a nice smile. He’d smiled at Buffy like that, simultaneously bashful and inviting. It’s a heady combination, especially for a worn-out traveler. Xander knows this is about making things right, and nothing he’s thinking about is right. Spike’s prickly, and after a century of mayhem, it has to gall his pride to be tied up by a human he couldn’t even be bothered to bite before.
Still, Xander inches up Spike’s body. He stares at Spike, waiting to see something that tells him to stop. There’s no panic in those eyes, no anger or disdain. All Xander can see is amusement and challenge.
Probably, Xander figures, he thinks I’m going to freak out. Hell, I outed myself months ago to the girls, but Spike doesn’t exactly keep up. And the little bits of the other Spike that are bleeding through sure as hell don’t know.
He’s not exactly himself anymore, either. These hops through different Xanders have changed him as well, and now he can’t be sure whose memories he carries. All those colliding realities don’t matter for shit when his lips graze Spike’s.
He stays there, just enjoying the feel of those soft lips. He smells the same, and Xander flicks out his tongue. A scientific experiment to see if he tastes the same and he does. A puff of air wafts over Xander’s lips and he knows Spike has sighed.
Xander pulls back reluctantly. If Spike is sighing, it could be a bad thing. Maybe he’s irritated, or bored. But, Spike’s face doesn’t look irritated or bored. It looks…almost peaceful.
Spike opens his eyes and Xander refuses to flinch. He’s a grown man and it was just a kiss. Spike stares at him shrewdly, as if trying to find something. Xander puts his thoughts on his face, and it does the trick.
Spike mouths, “Thank you.”
Xander nods gravely and stands up. Reaching for a pen and paper, he scribbles frantically. Turning the page to Spike, he waits for Spike to read it.
Spike finally nods and stands up. Xander motions Spike forward and they head to the kitchen. Spike reaches into the fridge as Xander gets the coffee pot perking.
The incredibly stillness is shattered by the phone. Xander stares at it, confused. Who the hell could be calling him? Nobody he knows can speak…
With a rueful glance at Spike, he picks up. He tries to say Hello, before he remembers he can’t and even though Spike can’t speak, Xander can still hear the laughter.
“Xander, it’s me. Cordy. I know you’re all voiceless right now, so just listen, okay?”
He nods, which is even more ludicrous than trying to talk. Sill, responding to people is habit. He flips Spike the international sign for “I love you and think you’re nifty keen” which sends Spike into more silent convulsions of laughter.
“I need you to come to L.A. for me,” she continues, not bothering to wait for him to answer her. “We…oh god, Xander, Doyle’s dead. I knew, and I had to watch it again. But, I didn’t think it would be so hard this time around.”
Xander taps on the phone receiver, to let her know he’s there. He wishes he knew Morse Code or that she did, because there’s no way for him to tell her how sorry he is and how much he cares about her.
“I got the visions again, but I can’t wait for them to fry my brain. I waited, in the other reality, and that led to so much ugliness,” she tells him. “For the record, if a demon name Skip ever offers you higher being status, turn him down. So, I’m going to go straight to the Oracles this time. No mystical pregnancies for me.”
Xander taps again, uncertain what she wants him to do. He’ll do whatever it is, but the Cordelia Chase extended version isn’t making things clear.
“After you get your voice back,” and here the smile in Cordy’s voice in unmistakable, “I need you to bring Spike here. There are a few things we need to talk about and I need his help. He’s still a Champion, whether he knows it or not.”
The crash is so loud that Xander literally jumps. He whirls around to see Spike, fangs bloodied from his breakfast and gaping. Xander taps the receiver again and hangs up.
‘What the fuck,’ he pantomimes, pointing to the broken mug and the slowly expanding pool of blood on the tile.
Spike grabs the paper and pen. He writes frantically and tosses the paper to Xander.
“I’m a CHAMPION?”
Xander nods and writes back, “It’s what happens when you die to save the world.”
Spike scowls ferociously, but nods. He gestures for the paper and Xander returns it. The next message takes considerably longer to write, but the coffee’s done so it’s all good now. As soon as they aren’t vocally challenged, he’ll have to take some time off and he wonders which lame excuse he’ll have to trot out this time. Somehow, he’s pretty sure the old “My best friend’s become a Seer for the Powers” excuse just won’t work, even on the Hellmouth.
Spike thrusts the paper under Xander’s nose. Xander wishes he could laugh, or maybe cry. This mixed Spike is so weird, not completely the old Spike or this new one that’s evolving. Still, it’s interesting.
“ I remember burning up, feeling my soul. Not anxious for a second go at that. Think I can bypass the dying part this time around?”
Xander thinks about it. He honestly doesn’t know. It seems like that’s what Champions do. They die. Angel, Buffy, Spike…all dead. Maybe they won’t have to die now.
“I don’t know,” he writes as Spike looms over his shoulder. “We need to help Buffy fix this so we can go to L.A.”
Spike nods, writes “Shower first” and stomps off. Xander figures he’s entitled to a stomp. Nothing more fucked up then memories of dying, unless its memories of dying twice.
Huh, he thinks. That explains a lot about all of them. Memories of dying must make for sucky party stories.
Rating: NC-17 overall
A/N: You know it, I know it, I'm too lazy to type it. Just assume I said it. X-posted to
darker_spike for challenge reasons, posted here for my memoriesThe really remarkable thing, Xander thought tiredly, was that waking up unable to talk was no less terrifying the second time around.
Actually, the really remarkable thing was that Spike was tied up in his apartment. Ropes Xander knew Spike could break with a thought wound their way around the blonde. Keen intellect that he was, Xander deduced that Spike had once again seen the softer side of the Initiative.
What he couldn’t figure out was why his alterna-self had tied him up. The logic, in hindsight, looked startlingly like stupidity. Spike shows up, pale and unable to do more than snipe at them. Giles chains him to a bathtub, presumably to control Spike’s inner homicidal maniac. Since nothing says “I love you” like the gift of a demon that wants you dead, Giles hands Spike over to him with instructions to tie him up.
In Giles’ haste to get a piece of Blighty tail, he never gave Xander anything resembling an effective method of Spike control. Sure, there’s the chip. But, if Spike’s chipped, why bother with the bondage impression? Xander knows he could chase this around in his head for hours, but he’s been inside his own head-many of his own heads, actually-for far too long.
He shambles over to Spike, desperately trying to figure out how to communicate I’m sorry without resorting to Pictionary. He kneels down in front of the chair, carefully unpicking the worthless and laughably frail knot that pretends to keep Spike from doing what he pleases, when he pleases.
It’s the prickles on his neck that forces his gaze upward. Spike’s eyes are fastened on him, asking so many questions that Xander realizes Spike doesn’t need his voice. His eyes do all his talking for him. He knew that before now, but it never made much of an impression. It was one of those laws: The Hellmouth is bad, Willow is smart, Buffy is strong, and Spike has expressive eyes. Some things you just know and you never question how you know them.
But, Spike’s eyes are firing a million questions at him and he can’t communicate with just his eyes. That’s a Spike thing, not a Xander thing. Xander things are different. They involve trust, and loyalty, and doing the dumbest things because someone has to do them. Huh, it’s funny because those sound like Spike things too. Maybe he could try the eyes, because he doesn’t want to move away to find paper and pen.
Just know what I’m trying to say here, Spike, he pleads. I’m sorry for this, I don’t know why I…no, that’s a lie. I do know why. But, I’m still sorry.
Spike tilts his head as if he’s thinking about that, so maybe this visual communication thing is working. Spike’s eyes are distant, clouded with so many different things. Xander knows there’s hate, because even in this newer reality, none of the Scoobies have been extraordinarily kind.
It’s easier to find the memories this time. They aren’t so distant and Xander feels exultant because that must mean this crazy reality ride is working. Cordy told him that he and his other selves would merge, and it seems that way because the last few weeks are perfectly clear in his mind.
Buffy is somehow softer in his memories, more willing to listen to Spike and less apt to swing a fist his way. She’s not so keen on the Initiative, even without knowing that Riley’s involved. She suspects, how can she not after the wild night of fun at their dorm. But, the now Buffy won’t indict without proof just like she won’t whale on Spike without him hitting first.
Still, Willow’s spell had done a number on all of them. Spike most of all now that he thinks about it. He’d gotten the marry Buffy hit on top of the Xander demon magnet smack. Xander stares at Spike, trying not to think about the suggestion the vampire had made.
It had been wrong. He’d been compelled by the force of Willow’s experiment. He had…sounded so damn erotic. Xander shivered slightly, the silence around him giving his mind a chance to mull over exactly how damn hot Spike’s voice was, lips brushing his ear as he suggested a few games for his ‘bachelor party’.
A finger drew his attention out of his memories and back to Spike. Spike shrugs off the now slack ropes and gestures downward. Xander knows what Spike means and it isn’t “how about you reprise that blowjob from the creepy alternate universe?” Still, that’s what Xander’s thinking about and it must show on his face because Spike’s eyebrow is almost touching his hair.
Xander waves a hand, trying to dismiss Spike’s curiosity. Obviously when he lost his mind, he lost his voice. He knows Spike never just lets anything drop. Why should he? He’s got eternity in which to worm the information out of you.
Xander smiles, and gives up on his amateur attempts at using just his eyes to communicate. He shrugs and mouths, ‘I’m sorry.’
Spike smiles back and it’s a nice smile. He’d smiled at Buffy like that, simultaneously bashful and inviting. It’s a heady combination, especially for a worn-out traveler. Xander knows this is about making things right, and nothing he’s thinking about is right. Spike’s prickly, and after a century of mayhem, it has to gall his pride to be tied up by a human he couldn’t even be bothered to bite before.
Still, Xander inches up Spike’s body. He stares at Spike, waiting to see something that tells him to stop. There’s no panic in those eyes, no anger or disdain. All Xander can see is amusement and challenge.
Probably, Xander figures, he thinks I’m going to freak out. Hell, I outed myself months ago to the girls, but Spike doesn’t exactly keep up. And the little bits of the other Spike that are bleeding through sure as hell don’t know.
He’s not exactly himself anymore, either. These hops through different Xanders have changed him as well, and now he can’t be sure whose memories he carries. All those colliding realities don’t matter for shit when his lips graze Spike’s.
He stays there, just enjoying the feel of those soft lips. He smells the same, and Xander flicks out his tongue. A scientific experiment to see if he tastes the same and he does. A puff of air wafts over Xander’s lips and he knows Spike has sighed.
Xander pulls back reluctantly. If Spike is sighing, it could be a bad thing. Maybe he’s irritated, or bored. But, Spike’s face doesn’t look irritated or bored. It looks…almost peaceful.
Spike opens his eyes and Xander refuses to flinch. He’s a grown man and it was just a kiss. Spike stares at him shrewdly, as if trying to find something. Xander puts his thoughts on his face, and it does the trick.
Spike mouths, “Thank you.”
Xander nods gravely and stands up. Reaching for a pen and paper, he scribbles frantically. Turning the page to Spike, he waits for Spike to read it.
Spike finally nods and stands up. Xander motions Spike forward and they head to the kitchen. Spike reaches into the fridge as Xander gets the coffee pot perking.
The incredibly stillness is shattered by the phone. Xander stares at it, confused. Who the hell could be calling him? Nobody he knows can speak…
With a rueful glance at Spike, he picks up. He tries to say Hello, before he remembers he can’t and even though Spike can’t speak, Xander can still hear the laughter.
“Xander, it’s me. Cordy. I know you’re all voiceless right now, so just listen, okay?”
He nods, which is even more ludicrous than trying to talk. Sill, responding to people is habit. He flips Spike the international sign for “I love you and think you’re nifty keen” which sends Spike into more silent convulsions of laughter.
“I need you to come to L.A. for me,” she continues, not bothering to wait for him to answer her. “We…oh god, Xander, Doyle’s dead. I knew, and I had to watch it again. But, I didn’t think it would be so hard this time around.”
Xander taps on the phone receiver, to let her know he’s there. He wishes he knew Morse Code or that she did, because there’s no way for him to tell her how sorry he is and how much he cares about her.
“I got the visions again, but I can’t wait for them to fry my brain. I waited, in the other reality, and that led to so much ugliness,” she tells him. “For the record, if a demon name Skip ever offers you higher being status, turn him down. So, I’m going to go straight to the Oracles this time. No mystical pregnancies for me.”
Xander taps again, uncertain what she wants him to do. He’ll do whatever it is, but the Cordelia Chase extended version isn’t making things clear.
“After you get your voice back,” and here the smile in Cordy’s voice in unmistakable, “I need you to bring Spike here. There are a few things we need to talk about and I need his help. He’s still a Champion, whether he knows it or not.”
The crash is so loud that Xander literally jumps. He whirls around to see Spike, fangs bloodied from his breakfast and gaping. Xander taps the receiver again and hangs up.
‘What the fuck,’ he pantomimes, pointing to the broken mug and the slowly expanding pool of blood on the tile.
Spike grabs the paper and pen. He writes frantically and tosses the paper to Xander.
“I’m a CHAMPION?”
Xander nods and writes back, “It’s what happens when you die to save the world.”
Spike scowls ferociously, but nods. He gestures for the paper and Xander returns it. The next message takes considerably longer to write, but the coffee’s done so it’s all good now. As soon as they aren’t vocally challenged, he’ll have to take some time off and he wonders which lame excuse he’ll have to trot out this time. Somehow, he’s pretty sure the old “My best friend’s become a Seer for the Powers” excuse just won’t work, even on the Hellmouth.
Spike thrusts the paper under Xander’s nose. Xander wishes he could laugh, or maybe cry. This mixed Spike is so weird, not completely the old Spike or this new one that’s evolving. Still, it’s interesting.
“ I remember burning up, feeling my soul. Not anxious for a second go at that. Think I can bypass the dying part this time around?”
Xander thinks about it. He honestly doesn’t know. It seems like that’s what Champions do. They die. Angel, Buffy, Spike…all dead. Maybe they won’t have to die now.
“I don’t know,” he writes as Spike looms over his shoulder. “We need to help Buffy fix this so we can go to L.A.”
Spike nods, writes “Shower first” and stomps off. Xander figures he’s entitled to a stomp. Nothing more fucked up then memories of dying, unless its memories of dying twice.
Huh, he thinks. That explains a lot about all of them. Memories of dying must make for sucky party stories.
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no subject
on 2007-12-20 01:13 am (UTC)