Splinters

Aug. 29th, 2007 11:34 am
sevendeadlyfun: (Default)
[personal profile] sevendeadlyfun
Characters: Xander, Faith, Spike

Rating: NC-17 overall

A/N: This has been bubbling in my brain for awhile. It promises to be long, but I'll be updating it sporadically. This is one of those "now you see it, now you don't" things for me. So apologies in advance.

Summary: It's the stuff you don't see that counts. Three people, a Hellmouth, and what happens when you can't hold it together. And when you can...




Xander takes The Flats. He always does. They’ve never parceled out the town between them, or assigned patrolling areas. Too official, too Scooby, too much like times that all of them can barely believe and aren’t sure they want to remember.

But, every night Xander puts on his pretty boy clothes and a stake and goes dancing. Faith gets the cemeteries, heading out as soon as the shadows outnumber the sun’s rays. She stays out until the sun rises. So does Xander.

He winds himself though crowds, bumping and rubbing sweat-slickened flesh on too crowded club floors. Might as well make “demon magnet” mean something and if he enjoys himself a bit too much, who would know? Being touched is almost as good as being seen, but not quite as personal.

He whiles away the night protecting Cleveland’s party crowd from things that go snack in the dark. Faith, he thinks, takes out her personal demons on the real thing. They don’t talk much.

They’re not quite friends, not quite lovers, not quite here. She jumps in the shower just as he gets out and if hands wander, well, soap is slippery and the stall isn’t exactly deluxe sized. He’s not her Watcher, not officially. He’s just the guy that files reports and occasionally cracks a book.

And Spike? He can’t fucking figure out why Spike’s here, either. The only story he knows is the one Giles told him when he called to warn them Spike was coming. Angel, an alleyway, a lot of dead friends and even more dead monsters. Maybe that does explain it, maybe it doesn’t.

Spike takes downtown. Downtown Cleveland at night looks only marginally worse than downtown Cleveland during the day. Spike only says that it contains more nasties, and Xander wonders how many of those nasties he’d find in the ancient texts under Sapiens, Homo. It doesn’t matter. Getting Cleveland’s crime rate down would take more than one half-sane vampire could possibly do.

Once in awhile, he and Spike end up close. Their hands brush reaching for the same weapon and it’s damn near the most intimate thing in Xander’s life these days. The flash of something in Spike’s eyes makes Xander do it more, wanting whatever it is Spike’s carrying inside.

It’s late. He’s dusted five vamps at two different clubs, and turned down more than a few offers of easier companionship. Something about the patch makes him seems like a good prospect and he’s constantly saying no these days. Except when he’s saying yes, because a swift suck in a car never hurt, especially not from a guy whose mouth seems to have been designed by some god to suck cock. It’s always guys. He can’t handle women right now, with expectations and hopes for more than his body.

He left all that back with Anya and his eye in Sunnydale. He wasn’t in love with her, not really in any way that mattered. But without her, he can’t remember how to love. She needed him to help her be human, and now he thinks he needed her for the same thing.

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