Ashes to Ashes, 10/30
Jan. 19th, 2008 11:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sevendeadlyfunPairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17 overall
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: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
psych_30 prompt # 9-sociopath and tamingthemuse prompt # 78-emancipation. And if anyone isn't familiar with the term (and I can't imagine why not) a "wifebeater" is a white, ribbed male tank top or muscle shirt. Just so I don't hear squeals of outrage about any perceived defamation of Xander's character...Previous chapters are in my memories
Xander walked casually through the dark streets, hand wrapped lightly around the “just in case” stake he’d tucked into his front pocket. The heat clung to his body, suffocating moist heat that dampened his wifebeater and sent maddening trickles of sweat down his spine. The stultifying heat made the world listless, kept people inside attached to air conditioners and icy beer straight from the cooler.
Thinking of summer and beer made Xander restless. His legs itched to run, and he forced himself to keep a slow pace. He could feel the muscles of his thighs twitching, anxious to escape from loud voices and sour smells. He looked up and saw the lights of his parents’ home flickering.
He stopped walking, forced himself to stand there and look at the house. They weren’t evil. Hell, Tony Harris prided himself of being a decent guy and Xander supposed he was. He held down a decent job, didn’t fuck around, and kept his lawn up. So what if he had a few beers? A man’s entitled after a hard day. Those words were such a part of his childhood that Xander often thought of engraving them on his father’s tombstone.
His parents weren’t bad. He even loved them, from a certain distance. But, the day he’d gotten his own apartment had still been the best day of his life. Willow had understood that. He could still hear her, joking about his emancipation. But it hadn’t been a joke. He’d finally been free. No more expectations he couldn’t meet, no more sadness he didn’t understand, no more questions or worries.
He stared a little while longer, chasing his own thoughts. If he wanted so badly to be free, why was he going to Spike? Not only was Spike possessive, he was damned dangerous. Chip or no chip, Spike was a killer. A sociopath who could just as easily slit Xander’s throat as suck his cock. Spike was every bad decision he could possibly make rolled up into one undead package.
Xander began to walk again, his feet quickening the pace against his will. He wanted to see Spike, to see the killer inside him. That power, graceful and absolute, drew him in.
It wasn’t the power, Xander realized with a start. It was the surety of that power. Angel had had power in spades, probably a hell of a lot more than Spike did. But he refused to acknowledge it, hiding his power away like a dirty secret. Spike had no shame about his power. He flaunted it, killing humans for merely existing and taking on demons with only his fists and fangs. That confidence was what drew Xander to him, what he so sorely lacked.
A crackle of memory, sparking and arcing through his mind, slammed into Xander like a freight train. Spike, silver-white in the moonlight, fucking his own fist as Xander watched; Spike taking him back to the crypt; Spike taking him. That first night unspooled in Xander’s mind, a porn film that had his body trembling with need.
He stared at the door to Spike’s crypt, eyes wide and breath coming in ragged pants. What the fuck did he think he was doing? What was he going to say?
Hey Spike! Just happened to be in the neighborhood. Want to fuck me until I pass out, maybe spank my ass a little bit?
“Yeah,” Xander breathed out, erection twitching at the thought of being face down over Spike’s legs, ass in the air. “Real subtle, Harris.”
Spike jerked open the door, grabbing his arms and pulling him in for a hard kiss. Xander surrendered gratefully, hands clutching at Spike’s cool skin. Spike broke off the kiss, staring at him with hard eyes.
“I never bloody learn,” Spike said softly. “Was going to wait for you, but I got bored. Guess who gets to make up for that?”
Chapter 11
Rating: NC-17 overall
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: Written for
psych_30 prompt # 9-sociopath and tamingthemuse prompt # 78-emancipation. And if anyone isn't familiar with the term (and I can't imagine why not) a "wifebeater" is a white, ribbed male tank top or muscle shirt. Just so I don't hear squeals of outrage about any perceived defamation of Xander's character...Previous chapters are in my memoriesXander walked casually through the dark streets, hand wrapped lightly around the “just in case” stake he’d tucked into his front pocket. The heat clung to his body, suffocating moist heat that dampened his wifebeater and sent maddening trickles of sweat down his spine. The stultifying heat made the world listless, kept people inside attached to air conditioners and icy beer straight from the cooler.
Thinking of summer and beer made Xander restless. His legs itched to run, and he forced himself to keep a slow pace. He could feel the muscles of his thighs twitching, anxious to escape from loud voices and sour smells. He looked up and saw the lights of his parents’ home flickering.
He stopped walking, forced himself to stand there and look at the house. They weren’t evil. Hell, Tony Harris prided himself of being a decent guy and Xander supposed he was. He held down a decent job, didn’t fuck around, and kept his lawn up. So what if he had a few beers? A man’s entitled after a hard day. Those words were such a part of his childhood that Xander often thought of engraving them on his father’s tombstone.
His parents weren’t bad. He even loved them, from a certain distance. But, the day he’d gotten his own apartment had still been the best day of his life. Willow had understood that. He could still hear her, joking about his emancipation. But it hadn’t been a joke. He’d finally been free. No more expectations he couldn’t meet, no more sadness he didn’t understand, no more questions or worries.
He stared a little while longer, chasing his own thoughts. If he wanted so badly to be free, why was he going to Spike? Not only was Spike possessive, he was damned dangerous. Chip or no chip, Spike was a killer. A sociopath who could just as easily slit Xander’s throat as suck his cock. Spike was every bad decision he could possibly make rolled up into one undead package.
Xander began to walk again, his feet quickening the pace against his will. He wanted to see Spike, to see the killer inside him. That power, graceful and absolute, drew him in.
It wasn’t the power, Xander realized with a start. It was the surety of that power. Angel had had power in spades, probably a hell of a lot more than Spike did. But he refused to acknowledge it, hiding his power away like a dirty secret. Spike had no shame about his power. He flaunted it, killing humans for merely existing and taking on demons with only his fists and fangs. That confidence was what drew Xander to him, what he so sorely lacked.
A crackle of memory, sparking and arcing through his mind, slammed into Xander like a freight train. Spike, silver-white in the moonlight, fucking his own fist as Xander watched; Spike taking him back to the crypt; Spike taking him. That first night unspooled in Xander’s mind, a porn film that had his body trembling with need.
He stared at the door to Spike’s crypt, eyes wide and breath coming in ragged pants. What the fuck did he think he was doing? What was he going to say?
Hey Spike! Just happened to be in the neighborhood. Want to fuck me until I pass out, maybe spank my ass a little bit?
“Yeah,” Xander breathed out, erection twitching at the thought of being face down over Spike’s legs, ass in the air. “Real subtle, Harris.”
Spike jerked open the door, grabbing his arms and pulling him in for a hard kiss. Xander surrendered gratefully, hands clutching at Spike’s cool skin. Spike broke off the kiss, staring at him with hard eyes.
“I never bloody learn,” Spike said softly. “Was going to wait for you, but I got bored. Guess who gets to make up for that?”
Chapter 11
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2008-01-20 08:57 am (UTC)I love Spike's reaction... grabbing him and kissing the hell out of him. Hot. :-)
no subject
on 2008-01-21 07:02 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-01-20 02:06 pm (UTC)Xander is really in a bad way these days. Poor Baby. *cuddles him*
*Mwah*
no subject
on 2008-01-21 07:02 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-01-20 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-01-21 07:04 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-01-21 12:26 am (UTC)~Alice~
no subject
on 2008-01-21 07:04 pm (UTC)Ashes to Ashes
on 2008-01-22 04:58 am (UTC)Xan, honey; Spike will make it all better.
Shay
Re: Ashes to Ashes
on 2008-01-23 04:49 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-01-22 12:42 pm (UTC)That last line was just so Spike.
Love this story, hate having to wait for next chapter. Want it now, damnit.
no subject
on 2008-01-23 04:50 am (UTC)*tempts you with Spander daddy!kink*
no subject
on 2008-01-23 08:28 am (UTC)Daddy!kink is good....
no subject
on 2008-09-23 04:04 pm (UTC)