the twisted reach of crazy sorrow

Fic: Under the influence interlude, Xander and Spike

Mon, 01 Sep 2008 20:25:10 GMT

Written for Bring Back the Porn 2008, only at InsaneJournal.

Title: Restless Urges
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Adults only
Warnings: non-sequiters, sex, drug use referenced.

Previous parts: Under the influence, Possibilites

"Fuck me."

Not the first words Spike had expected out of Xander's mouth the next time he saw him, but seeing as the words went straight to his prick, who was he to complain?

"What?" really not going to argue, but clarification couldn't hurt, just in case he'd misheard a death threat or something.

"Fuck me," Xander was already stripping off his shirt, t-shirt, undoing his belt, shedding clothes while walking from the door of the crypt to where Spike sat in the threadbare armchair.

Spike had been expecting something a little more accusatory, wounded perhaps. More along the lines of 'What the hell is the big idea! Making a pact with the crazy demon-robot with a plan to kill us all and repopulate the world with Frankenstein mutants?!' so he wasn't going to turn down an eager warm body clambering onto his lap and unbuttoning his flies.

"Are you alright, pet?"

All he got was a grunt of assent and a set of blunt teeth fastening to his neck. His eyes rolled back and his hands wandered over the smooth hot skin of the boy's torso, sliding down to the loosened waistband of his trousers and under the most hideous Looney-Toons boxer shorts he'd ever seen.

He pulled Xander harder against him, groaning in pleasure at the contact and the fizzing bolts of electricity shooting along his nerves, centred where that mouth was still on his throat. He was more than happy at this sudden turn of events. Thought it would take at least a couple more green nights exchanging conversations filled with amiable nonsense and little moments of unresolved sexual tension, before this stage was reached: whatever the promise of their last evening smoking Giles' pot.

Xander pulled back, hands braced on the chair either side of Spike's head, keeping his hips rocking gently, "Don't want to be stoned, not for this."

"Fine by me."

Then they were kissing, hard and hungry, lying on top of the stone bier, the blanket laid over it cushioning it barely enough. Xander was naked, eager. All heated clumsy hands and awkward limbs.

Spike kicked his jeans off, "You haven't done this before have you."

"I've done lots of things, been the creature feature, the soldier, the heart, and the victim of monsters, fucked like a Viking."

Spike paused in confusion, "What?"

"Fuck me."

Old packet of slick found conveniently deep in the pockets of his duster. Who knew how old, since the last time had been… Who cared. He leant over the boy, "Where did you get this bruise?"

Deep dark bruise on his thigh, like it would go down to the bone.

"Lemur."

"Huh?" Spike couldn't remember the last time sex had been so full of non-sequiturs.

"The thigh-bone."

"That's a femur, you berk."

"Wouldn't it be weird if you had lemurs instead of femurs? Flexible though I expect."

Boy was flexible. All curled up, knees over Spike's shoulders. Have to be careful, still got the chip. They both stilled and breathed cautiously.

"Fuck me."

Who was he to refuse a demand put so prettily like that? So he did. Cautious, careful, slow, until it was too tempting to stay in control. Faster, harder. Boy cried out, had to hurt a bit, first time right? But enough pleasure to fool the chip? Luckily. Pleasure enough Spike's side too.

Urgent hands and more pleas, "Fuck me, fuck me".

"Jesus! I thought I was doing that already."

"No, my name's Xander."

"Funny."

He shifted their position, drew sweet curses from that smart mouth, with the just-right angle and the perfect tempo with his hips. Learned his lessons so well, now he could teach them.

Is that what a Sire is?

Spike blinked, lost his rhythm. Had the boy spoken? His head thrown back, eyes closed, biting his lower lip between gasps, surely not. Sire. The word made Spike's teeth itch, his features contort, eyes burn. He snarled.

Spike longed to bite, taste the scalding blood that was warming him everywhere they were touching. He pushed Xander down harder onto the thin blanket on the cold stone, leaned down and licked the pulse point in his neck instead, pressed his lips to it.

Xander didn't flinch, just arched to meet the renewed pace. A whine of need from his throat, and short nails digging into Spike's arm, legs tight around Spike's sides, trembling and taut.

Knowing he wouldn't last much longer, Spike wrapped his hand tight around the boy's hard cock, stroked him swiftly in time with their thrusts.

The boy came with a cry and Spike followed with the always inappropriate prayer.

Ah. Fuck. God. Yes.

Xander looked at him and smiled, flushed face, wet lips, he ran a shuddering finger-tip over the scar in Spike's eyebrow.

"She remembers giving you this."

"She's dead," he'd never told any of them about his first Slayer kill, had the watcher?

"No she's outside. Don't worry, she's not hunting you today, just me and the others," Xander rolled away, stood up and started to dress.

Spike sat up and pulled the blanket around himself, "If something is hunting you, you can stay here. I'll keep you safe."

Xander shook his head sadly, "Not from her."

"Human?"

"Once."

"Weren't we all once."

Xander smiled quickly, hand on the door, "Thanks by the way. I never reached Willow and Tara, or Buffy's mom. And thanks for sticking with English too."

"Don't understand a word you've said tonight. Are you sure you're not stoned?" Spike shook his head bewildered, and looked around for a cigarette.

Xander laughed, "Sticks and stones will break my bones, but ripping my heart out will kill me. Do you really want to be a Watcher?"

"What the hell are you- Jesus!" Spike looked up to see a gaping hole in Xander's chest, blood soaking his clothes.

He stumbled, tripping on the blanket in his haste to reach his boy. A bald man with glasses and a platter of cheese stood in his path as he righted himself.

"Get out of my way!" he stopped short, "Oh, bloody buggering hell."

Spike slumped in the threadbare armchair, fully clothed and sticky. Should have know it was too good to be true.

"Fucking cheese dreams."

Fic: Under the Influence part 2, Xander and Spike

Sat, 29 Mar 2008 16:49:55 GMT

Written for tamingthemuse prompt 'Haste Makes Speed'.

Title: Under the Influence part 2 - Possibilites
Fandom: BtVS, Season 4, Spike and Xander in the basement.
Rating: Teen+
Warnings: Drug use, profanity, self-pitying wallowing and Star Trek repeats.
Disclaimer: All Joss's, with a nod to Gene Roddenberry.
Wordcount: ~4100
Summary: Spike decides it's time for another night smoking weed with his pet project Xander.

Part 1 can be found here.

Spike wandered into the basement, stepping lightly around the discarded clothing littering the floor. He assessed the pattern as simple slob rather than the ripped-off-to-get-to-the-good-bit type discarded. The lack of female clothing aided the assessment, though he wasn't discounting any possibilities. Possibilities that were, after all, a contributing factor to his presence. Ultimately, however, it was the soundtrack to the scene that was really the decider.

"Seriously, pet. Nothing is ever bad enough to subject yourself to this rubbish."

"Country music is the music of pain," said a mound of blankets.

"Yeah, useful for torture," Spike clicked off the CD player, stood at the foot of the foldout bed, and kicked the frame.

"Leave me alone, evil fiend," said the muffled Xander, "You've got your own place, no need to be bothering us pathetic mortal basement dwellers any more. Move along, nothing to see here," a hand appeared from under the pillow and waved him away half-heartedly, then flopped down on the covers.

"My, my, aren't we feeling sorry for ourselves," Spike scuffed his foot lazily on the concrete floor.

"You haven't gone away. Why haven't you gone away? I have no job, ergo I have no money, ergo I have nothing to mooch. I have nothing you could possibly want. So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye," the hand waved feebly without even making it off the bed.

Spike sat down on the coffee table and lit a cigarette. He absently flicked his lighter open and closed and watched the flame - ca-click, snap, ca-click, snap, on, off, on, off.

The corner of the pillow lifted and an eye peered at him from the cushioned darkness, "You're still here."

Spike rolled his eyes with all the contempt he could put into the simple gesture, "Right observant you are."

"Can't a man be left in peace to wallow in his own basement-based misery? Don't I have that right?" whined the pillow.

Spike figured these questions were either rhetorical or aimed at some higher power he wasn't on speaking terms with. He wasn't on speaking terms with many; they were amazingly easy to piss off.

"'S cold."

The pillow shifted and the eye eyed him again, "What?"

"My new place. It's a crypt and it's cold. Haven't had a chance to get any heaters in yet."

"You have no body temperature, why do you care if it's cold? And you're British, I'm thinking the Sunnydale climate must be positively balmy compared to what you're used to. So again I ask why?"

Spike didn't feel like getting into the finer points of his living arrangements, so he changed the subject, "Why are you lying around here moping?"

"Had a row with Anya and now she's avoiding me," mumbled the pillow.

"Pfft" said Spike.

The pillow shifted, "What?"

Spike tried to enunciate 'pfft' more clearly, but gave up and instead wagged his cigarette authoritatively at the pillow-creased Xander that emerged, "Birds, mate, are not worth moping over."

Xander snorted, "Says Love's bitch. Excuse me I have a bleak pit of despair to get back to."

Spike snatched the pillow before Xander could disappear under it again, there was a brief tug-of-war accompanied by a volley of scowls and warning looks. Xander relinquished the pillow and flopped back down, throwing an arm over his eyes. Spike threw the pillow out of reach.

"Your little demon bint is on the rag that's all. Give her a few days and it'll all be fine and dandy again."

"How do you know that? Oh god, no, I don't want to know, don't tell me, I can imagine!" Xander squeezed his eyes shut and held up a hand to stave off any explanation Spike might be about to offer on that score, "Can't she just tell me these things? I've had girlfriends before. My best friends are girls! Not like I haven't been sent on the mercy mission to buy tampax and painkillers before, all my embarrassment on such matters was used up years ago."

Xander was upright now, and conversing. A small triumph. Unfortunately, Spike noted, he appeared to be fully dressed under the bedclothes.

"Asking the wrong, bloke," Spike shrugged, "women are all insane."

"Yes, well, considering your experience I won't take that as gospel. I'd say you've had a statistically skewed sample," Xander sat up against the back of the sofa part of the foldout and extracted his legs from the tangled bedding.

Spike glared at him, "Leave Dru out of it, ok? Not like I don't have other experience."

"Harmony? Not making a convincing case there, buddy."

"Yeah, right, Dru and Harmony are the only two lovers I've ever had. Has the watcher taught you nothing about demons?" Spike sighed; he ground out his cigarette on the floor, and fished out the tin of cannabis, tobacco and papers.

Xander's attention went straight to the familiar little box of delights and stayed there.

"Oh, I see, I'm welcome now am I? Bring Rupert's missing stash into the equation and I'm the world's best guest."

Xander snorted, "Don't push it, blondie, as guests go I'd say it is one of your only redeeming features."

"Wanker," said Spike, though he was pleased to see Xander was smiling in a joking kind of way. He longed to know what, in the boy's opinion, his other redeeming features might be. Instead, he took off his coat and without further ado, cracked open the tin, took out the ready rolled joint, and lit up.

"Not going to need to convince you again of the merits of a little illegal drug use?"

"Nope. Pass it over."

"Regular little pothead. What would the other white hats say?"

Xander inhaled deeply and shook his head, "Hardly regular. And as I understand it, Giles would say 'give me back my doobage'."

Spike inclined his head in agreement on that point.

"We still got a deal with the no telling tales?" Xander said.

"Did we have one before?"

Xander paled slightly, hesitating to take another puff of the spliff.

"Don't worry, scooby snack. We both know who'd come off worse in that scenario."

Xander relaxed and passed the joint, "Ok then, but 'scoobie snack'? Seriously?"

Spike laughed, "Maybe not."

They smoked companionably, and Spike fought the urge to smooth down the rumpled mess that was Xander's hair after his sojourn under the pillow of tragedy.

"Got fired from your latest dead end job then?"

"Gee thanks for the critique on my career path there, Mr Never-done-an-honest-day's-work-in-my-unlife-and-not-about-to-start-now."

Spike smirked, not like that was a bad thing, "Take it, it didn't end well."

"Let's just say that the dim-sum delivery business and being a slayerette, unmixy things. Unmixy in the worst possible way. Dim-sum, very popular in certain demon communities as it turns out, and Buffy's secret identity? Not so much."

"Ever thought of trying something that didn't involve food or food delivery?"

"Like what? Selling body parts? Far too many takers and not enough Xander for a long career there. Ooo, how about medical research subject. How do you recommend that?"

Spike's eyes flashed gold and his teeth itched, he growled low in his chest.

"No, didn't think so," Xander passed him the joint in a conciliatory gesture.

"You could always resurrect your career at the Sunnydale equivalent of the Fabulous "Ladies' Night" Club," Spike said slyly with a curl of his tongue.

"Not - and I mean this very, very sincerely - for all the dope in… wherever they grow dope."

"But I heard you were a big hit. Wouldn't mind a demonstration…"

"Nope, not going to bite. That story remains untold. To my dying day. Not a word. Nada. We clear?"

"Fine, fine," Spike took the last hit and stubbed out the joint, "Your turn to roll-up."

He slid the tin across the bedclothes to Xander, stood up and wandered over to the shelves in the corner; he picked up a carefully wrapped comic book.

"Put that down, it's worth more than I am," Xander didn't look up from his appointed task.

Spike frowned, but complied, he spared a thought to pinching it and selling it to a demon he knew who might be interested, but it wouldn't help his ultimate goal with his boy here. He noticed the request for a stripping demo didn't so much as raise an eyebrow, but he wondered whether the weed would be enough to weaken the boy's resolve against the whole 'evil fiend' thing. It hadn't been last time, but it had made for an interesting list of revelations about the way his mind was ticking, especially regarding Xander's apparent attraction to neatly packaged blonds as well as blondes.

"Damn it! Am I doing this wrong?" Xander turned to him pleadingly.

Spike leaned over the back of the fold-out and peered over Xander's shoulder. He took in the carefully rolled paper tube and its contents that had fallen out onto the tin lid; he sniggered. Xander gave him a dirty look, which, since their faces were side by side, was an extremely close up dirty look. It didn't have the same impact when the giver was cross-eyed. Spike also noted the quick flicker of those crossed-eyes down to his mouth, another moment for The List.

"You didn't roll it tight enough. Look, I'll walk you through it," he sat down on the bed again, scooching up to sit next to the boy.

He let Xander drive, and talked him through the task, until they had a perfectly prepared new joint. He let his hand brush Xander's as he took the finished product from him and lit up.

"Very good, pet. Just need to take your time is all."

Xander nodded, "Ok. Take my time. Haste makes speed."

"That doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't?"

"You mean 'more haste, less speed', or 'haste makes waste', or something," Spike was getting a bit lost in the idiom quagmire, he took a sharp left and ended up in a different conversation, "I could get you some speed if you want."

"What?"

"Amphetamines? Whizz? Dexies? I really had a thing for girls in dungarees for about 3 weeks after that song," Spike was gazing into the distance with a glazed happiness.

"What!?" Xander was looking thoroughly lost.

"Nothing," Spike shook himself, and wondered how he might get the boy to try something other than cannabis. He leaned back and stared thoughtfully at the blank TV screen.

"Stop that."

"Stop what? Not doing anything!"

"You're plotting, mister. I can hear the cogs whirring. There are nefarious plotty thoughts going through that bleach addled brain."

"Am not," Spike did his best to look offended rather than guilty, he wasn't sure how that combination actually worked on his face, he rarely if ever felt guilty about anything.

"I know plotting when I see it. And that? That was plotting," his eyes widened, he knelt up on the sofa-bed putting some distance between them and jabbed a finger accusingly at Spike, "You're plotting to make me your drug addled slave. Cannabis as the gateway drug, and bug-guy here we come."

"Am not. Don't need a drug addled slave, they're more trouble than they're worth, always moaning for the next fix, give 'em the wrong thing and you've wasted a good slave."

Xander boggled at him, Spike cringed. He might have said a little too much there.

"You have experience of, let me get this clear, 'wasting a good slave'!"

"Might've done some experimenting," Spike mumbled, "There may have been some casualties. But, hey, most of them died happier than they would've otherwise."

"Gross," stated Xander emphatically with both index fingers raised, "And experimenting? That's as bad as those creepy Initiative lab coats."

"Hey!" Spike sat up in indignation, "There is no comparison. A vampire might keep the odd human as a pet, or a slave, torture the odd victim for fun, but essentially you're food to us. Understand?" his throat tightened at the thought of proper food.

Xander looked at him warily.

Spike scrambled off the bed, "What's your favourite food? Doughnuts? Chocolate? Well imagine that isn't a treat, it's your staple diet, you need it to live. Now imagine you're forced to live on carrots. How do you think you'd feel? I'd call what those fuckers did to me inhumane, but I can't imagine any creature other than humans coming up with such a twisted, sick, fucking idea. I'm so damn hungry all the time; nothing replaces proper food for a vampire, human blood from the source. It isn't that I can't hurt or kill, that isn't even absolutely necessary truth be told, it's that I can't even eat. It's fucking cruel that's what it is. Cruel and unusual," Spike stalked about the room as he delivered his tirade, and Xander watched him wide-eyed.

"I'm sorry."

"No you're bloody well not. You thought it was a great laugh, not a one of you has wasted an opportunity to get a dig in about it. Impotent, neutered, fangless. Threatening to stake me all the time because suddenly I'm an easy target. Actively encouraging a suicide!"

Xander flinched at the reminder and looked at his hands, then he scowled, "We helped you didn't we? Took you in, hid you, fed you. We didn't have to do anything; you spent all your time plotting to kill us."

"Yeah? Conveniently forgetting the time I teamed up with the slayer to stop Angelus? You chained me in a bathtub. Tied me to a chair and half-starved me, made me even more helpless. I'm Aurelian, a master vampire, do you have any comprehension what that means? Do you know how much it cost me while I was out of commission? How much it's still costing me to only be able to target other demons? I'm becoming a pariah in the community I'm meant to have dominion over. My life is a sodding mess!" Spike whirled about in a conflicted mix of rage and despair. He shifted to his vampire face and punched the wall hard enough to split his knuckles, it was that or cry and no fucking way was he doing that. He stared vacantly at the dent and the settling cloud of plaster dust; he jumped when hands rested on his shoulders.

Xander wordlessly pulled him away from the wall and sat him on the bed, gave him the joint to hold and fetched a damp cloth to wipe his bloodied hand with. Spike snatched the cloth and toked deeply on the roll-up before handing it back.

"I thought this was supposed to take the edge off?" Xander said, taking the joint.

Spike made a wry face and inspected his knuckles, "Sort of. Just lowers inhibitions mostly," he gave his hand a lick, and ignored Xander's grimace.

"Hmm. Well if you get any more suicidal urges, try not to demolish too much furniture this time."

Spike huffed a laugh in spite of himself, then he realised something, "I thought that table was broken!"

"It was. 120 lbs of scrawny vampire landing on it will do that."

"140 lbs of pure lean muscle thank you. So you got a new one? 'Cause really, if you did, and that's your own personal choice of décor…" he knew was forcing the humour a little, but he needed to change to mood quite desperately.

"That's not a new one. I fixed the old one."

"Huh, nifty!" Spike was impressed, and he didn't miss the way the boy straightened his shoulders just a little bit at the praise, "Um, sorry about the wall."

"No problem. I can fix that too."

"I don't doubt it, pet," Spike watched Xander flush with pride then quickly become awkward.

"Hey, pet. I'm starving. Wanna get a pizza or something? No anchovies, my treat."

"Er, did I just hear right? Is the biggest freeloader in Sunnydale offering to pay for something? I must be hallucinating. Oh no! It's a spell. Are you feeling, ok, Spike? Pissed off any warlocks lately?"

"You have 5 seconds before the offer is rescinded, doughnut boy."

"Large spicy meat feast, extra cheese, easy on the garlic? I have the number right here."

Xander scurried off to get the phone, and Spike lay back sucking his knuckles. He flicked on the TV and channel hopped, skipping past and finally back to an old Star Trek episode, slowly relaxing with deep lungfuls of smoke into a puddle-o-vampire.

The order placed, Xander came back and stretched out on the other side of the sofa-bed. Spike noted the way Xander kept stealing glances at his injured hand, was that concern he detected? Interesting.

"So, Harris, I can't tempt you with anything a little more adventurous than marijuana."

"I'll stick to the small time, legal in some places, everyone knows the smell, wacky baccy thanks."

"Suit yourself, just-" Spike stopped.

"What?" Xander stared at him.

"Nothing," he pursed his lips.

"Go on, something's eating you."

"If you change your mind, don't go searching for a supply on your own. I'll sort you out, ok."

Xander stared at him, "I'm not incapable, Spike. I can handle myself pretty well in fact."

"That's not what I mean. Think of me as quality control. Dealers want customers, they're not automatically going to knife you on sight, but not every dealer is going to sell you the good stuff, or the safe stuff. Old Ripper obviously has a decent supplier, but I'm guessing you won't be asking him for the number."

"No," Xander agreed.

"So, I'll get what you want. At least I can sniff out the quality from the dross."

"Why?"

And wasn't that the $64000 question, Spike fended it off with an eye roll "Just promise me, Harris."

"Fine, I'll call you if I want to get high. Jeez, I wasn't planning on a career as a stoner anyway. This is more of an opportunity presenting itself and me taking it. I've little enough hard earned cash without smoking it away."

"Rather smoke away the watcher's hard earned cash any day, huh?"

"Don't make me feel guilty, evil fiend, it's a real buzz-kill."

"You should really look up 'evil fiend' in the dictionary one of these days."

"Why, is there a picture of you there?"

"You'd better believe it," Spike grinned.

Xander grinned back.

There was a knock at the basement door, they turned and said "Pizza!" in unison, then both got up to answer it.

Xander took the box and Spike fetched a wallet out of his coat. The delivery boy stared at him.

"What?"

"Nothing, sir."

Spike opened the sugar pink wallet with the unicorn charm hanging from the clasp and took out some cash, "Good lad, you can keep the change, and since I'm feeling generous your liver too."

"Thank you, sir," the boy looked from Spike to Xander then turned tail and fled.

Xander sat down and shook his head, "I'm just taking a wild stab in the dark here, but I'm guessing that's not your wallet."

"Why do you say that, pet?"

"The glitter finish was a bit of a give away."

"Maybe I'm just very secure in my self-image."

"Says the guy who freaked out about wearing one of my Hawaiian shirts."

"Well, everyone has there limits. I noticed the look pizza-boy gave you too. Not worried the delivery fraternity will think you're gay?"

"Not at all, and it's a union, not a fraternity. Can we eat now, please?"

They were quiet for a while munching on the pizza and watching the Star Trek: the Next Generation re-run that followed the repeat from the original series.

"It's the same bloody story!" Spike observed after a while, "There just no subtlety to the scheduling at night."

"Sked-uling," Xander corrected.

"Shed-uling, bloody Americans," grumbled Spike.

"Tomay-to, tomah-to," Xander shrugged, peeling an errant slice of the same off his segment of pizza and throwing it back into the box in disgust.

"There's never enough sex in Star Trek," Spike was growing frustrated by the way the evening wasn't developing.

"Sure there is. It's all implied," Xander waved his pizza at the TV, "You have to read the subtext, all the little looks and hints."

"So enlighten me, oh great reader of subtext. Who's shagging who on the Enterprise?"

"Enterprise or Enterprise-D?"

"Enterprise."

"Well, Kirk and Spock have the whole short-hand of ironic eyebrow raises going on. Spock sits back and lets Kirk chase all the hot alien women because he knows the captain will be back in his bunk after the adventure is over…What?" Xander stopped short at the incredulous look Spike was giving him.

"Nothing. Not what I was expecting from you, that's all."

Xander smiled, "I'm all about the unexpected, me. It's my middle name."

"Lavelle is your middle name."

"Why does it not surprise me that the wallet thief knows that?"

"Can't imagine," Spike smirked and stretched back with his hands behind his head, it was a pose designed to show himself off to his best advantage.

Xander ignored him and snagged the last slice of pizza.

Spike sat up, "Hey, that's mine you sneaky bugger!"

"Nuh-uh. You snooze, you lose," Xander leaned back in the corner of the sofa, holding the pizza slice out over the arm, out of Spike's reach.

"Give it here."

"Make me."

Spike made the wild dive, recognising only as he did so the irony of the situation. Xander had used the same move on him as he'd tried last time, only while he had ended up with a lapful of cold noodles, Xander had ended up with a lapful of vampire. Unexpected indeed.

Suddenly, frozen nose to nose and flattened full length against each other, who got the last slice of pizza didn't seem all that important. Spike could feel the boy's heartbeat thudding against his own chest: it was an oddly familiar feeling. He stared into wide open pupils and wished he could tell how much was due to the dim lights, the drugs and how much to arousal. He swallowed convulsively and altered his grip on the boy's wrist where he'd made a grab for the pizza. He pressed his fingers to the pulse there. The pizza hit the floor with a soft splat. Spike shifted his hips a little, pressing down; it drew a warm huff of breath from the boy. They were staring at each other's mouths-

"Spike?"

Spike blinked.

"Spike, the phone is ringing."

"So?"

"This time of night, that's usually a sign of an apocalypse."

"Bloody, buggering hell," Spike rolled away and thumped a fist down on the bed.

Xander scrambled for the telephone, "Hello?"

"Tell them to sod off," Spike suggested.

Xander scowled at him and turned away, "Ahn! No. Hush. It's ok, honey."

Spike adjusted his jeans and groaned; the boy had to be dating a ruddy vengeance demon, and a needy, demanding one that put out on a regular basis. Not only was it difficult to pry someone away from that, but it could also be bad for the health. Spike turned off the TV and packed away the remainder of the stash, listening with half an ear to the conversation. It seemed the girl was sorry about the row and desperate for a kiss and make up session. Hell, he wasn't sure he'd turn that sweet little bit of tail down himself in the same situation, she'd been everywhere, seen anything and wasn't afraid to ask for what she wanted.

By the time Xander hung up the phone and turned back Spike was stood up, wearing his coat and lighting a cigarette, "Your bird wants some attention, eh?"

"Yeah," Xander stuck his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders.

"Best make myself scarce then."

Xander stared at the floor, a flush of red creeping up his neck.

"Crack a window, light a candle or something, pet. She'll clock the smell of hash straight away."

"Yeah, good idea, ok," Xander said in a small voice.

Spike rolled his eyes, then walked up to the boy so quickly he flinched. Spike took a drag on the cigarette, then grabbed Xander's face with both hands and kissed him soundly on the mouth.

Xander gave a muffled squeak, then a high pitched moan.

Spike pulled away and blew out the smoke he'd been holding, "See you around, pet. Remember the offer if you want any more drugs."

Xander nodded dumbly. Spike was halfway out of the door when he heard, "Thanks… Evil fiend."

Spike grinned to himself as he walked off into the night. If a bloke was willing to bide his time: the possibilities? They were endless.

continued in an interlude for Bring Back the Porn 2008

Drabbles: BtVS: Perfect Replica and Good Night's Sleep

Tue, 18 Mar 2008 14:55:50 GMT

Two drabbles, written for drabble_much (at livejournal) challenge what is Anya or Giles thinking after their kiss in Tabula Rasa, or Spike or Buffy after their kiss in the same episode.

Perfect Replica
Characters: Anya, Xander
Rating: Kids
Word count: 100

"Now clasp me around the waist," Anya stood with her arms open ready.
Xander complied, slightly bemused; he'd hoped for the nice simple kind of reunion. Instead there appeared to be choreography involved. Anya repositioned his hands slightly, then nodded her satisfaction.
"Now lean me backwards. Ah, not too far... up a bit... little bit more... perfect." she placed her hands around him once she had finished directing the manoeuvre. She closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly, "Now you may kiss me."
Xander hesitated, "Um, Ahn? What exactly did you and Giles get up to after we left?"

Good Night's Sleep
Characters: Spike, Buffy
Rating: Teens
Word count: 100

Oh yes, this is good. If only that whiny bitch on stage would stop yodelling it would be perfect.
Damn! Spoke too soon, "Buffy-"
"Leave me alone, Spike. I have to get back to Dawn."
And just like that she's back to despising me. Flouncing off, leaving me hanging again. Well fuck it. There's a chink in that slayer's armour, and I know where it is.
You see, Joan the Vampire Slayer? She sort of liked Randy Giles, even if he was a vampire. That one thing's gonna earn me a good night's sleep.
Well, that and a wank anyway.

Fic: Under the Influence, Xander and Spike

Sat, 15 Mar 2008 22:00:08 GMT

Written for tamingthemuse prompt 'Juggling'.

Title: Under the Influence
Fandom: BtVS, Season 4, Spike and Xander in the basement.
Rating: Teen+
Warnings: Drug use, profanity, cold Thai takeaway
Disclaimer: All Joss's, except the juggling balls - they're mine.
Wordcount: ~3700
Summary: They've been in my head for two weeks, stoned and giggling like fools: they just wouldn't shut the hell up, so I wrote them down - that'll teach 'em.

"Untie me!"
"No."
"Untie me!"
"No."
They'd been at it for 10 minutes. Ever since Xander came in and sat down to try and watch TV.
"Please?"
"No."
Spike fidgeted wildly against the ropes, "Bloody hell! Untie me, or I'll…"
"You'll what?" Xander slammed down the remote.
Spike smiled triumphantly at getting an irritated response.
Xander scowled, "You can't do anything, fangless, now shut the hell up," he turned back to the TV apparently content to glare at the shopping channel.
Boy was tense. Ok so the constant…
"Untie me."
Xander ground his teeth, he gritted out "No."
… probably wasn't helping, but he'd been tense when he came in. Job hunting not the most fun thing to do with your time, especially given the type of jobs this one was likely to get. And following it up with a bout of slaying not the most relaxing pass time either.
"Untie me."
"No."
"Untie me-"
"No."
"-and I'll help you forget all your problems."
Xander half turned to him with a suspicious look, "If that's a come on, you are seriously deluded if you think it will make me more likely to let you go."
"I'm hurt," Spike didn't manage to look remotely offended.
"Right," Xander started to turn back to the once-in-a-lifetime offer of a hose extension for cleaning windows.
"Drugs."
Xander dropped his head onto the back of the sofa with a groan and counted off on his fingers, "I am not buying you drugs, Spike. Nor am I paying for porn channels, or letting you entertain a prostitute of any specialty or species in here. I'm not going to sub you the stake for a poker game, and I am NOT GOING TO UNTIE YOU!"
"No you, berk. I've got drugs. And if you ask nicely I'll share."
"I don't do drugs," Xander stared stubbornly at the ceiling, but Spike could see the temptation in the little twitch of the boy's fingers.
"Nothing heavy, pet. Just a little marijuana," that much was true. In Spike's not inconsiderable experience most pills or injected drugs worked better second hand, imbibed through the blood of a human. Alcohol required large quantities to have the proper effect, but smoke seemed to work pretty well the normal way. Ironic really, given vampire flammability.
Xander was chewing on his top lip. Spike plastered a cheap look of innocence on his face when the boy glanced at him. He reckoned just a little coaxing should seal the deal.
"Look. All it'll do is take the edge off, you know? Make the big bad world seem a little less big and bad."
"Willow'd kill me." Xander mumbled.
"Really," Spike snorted, "She's in college, mate. It's practically compulsory there. And I won't tell her if that's what you're worried about. Who do you think would be in bigger trouble? You for doing it, or me for giving it to you?"
Boy was looking at him now, considering.
"They even prescribe it medically some places. And I know you've taken more than the stated dose on a painkiller or two in your time. All those bruises; Slayer's sidekick it's a dangerous job. This is no different."
Xander rolled his eyes. Ok, so that tack wasn't working.
"Where do you think I got it? Brandy's not the only thing worth stealing from the Watcher."
"Liar."
"Am not! Well, yeah I am." Spike grinned evilly and Xander almost cracked a smile, "But I swear on- on- on my dope! You all got a glimpse of his misspent youth; even if you all pretend it doesn't exist. Seems he never stopped some of that misspending."
There was a long pause while Xander narrowed his eyes in consideration, and Spike held his gaze as bold and innocent as he could muster. He was just about to try another persuasive argument-
"Ok," Xander got up and came over to the lounger, "But any funny business and you're moving out of that chair and into the dustbuster, are we clear?"
"Cross my heart and hope to- oops."
"Very funny," Xander untied one of Spike's arms and the rope around his chest, then left him to deal with the rest himself.
Spike settled down on one half of the sofa and Xander perched on the end. Kid was jumpy, still thinking about getting caught. Though whether it was the drugs that concerned him most or the evil fiend he'd just let loose, Spike wouldn't like to bet. He just kept his movements unthreatening as he retrieved the hash from his coat. He had indeed swiped the little tin from behind Rupert's box of LPs, he wondered what other boxes of delights were secreted about that apartment. He busied himself with the tobacco, weed and papers; there were two joints ready rolled in there, but if he was going to corrupt the boy properly he had to show him how to make one. He finished the roll-up and lit it, immediately holding it out to Xander.
"There you go. Ladies first."
Xander took it and hesitated.
"Just take a little puff and hold it. Might make you cough, but you'll get the hang quickly enough."
Xander looked at him suspiciously, probably nervous of the sworn enemy apparently being nice to him, but he took the advice and the first toke without as much as a splutter. Then he quickly passed it back to Spike as if getting rid of the evidence.
Spike sat back and changed the TV channel to some music, but turned the sound down a bit, keeping it in the background. The smoked quietly for a couple of turns and Spike watched the majority of the tension bleed out of the boy.
"Don't see your little friends round here much," Spike couldn't resist a little dig.
"They were here yesterday, Spike."
Damn, they had been too. But the point still stood. Obligingly Xander seemed ready to make his point for him.
"Willow's doing even more homework than she did at school now. And Buffy's got a potential new boyfriend."
"Course she has. Great potential to be the town bike that one."
"Hey, she's only slept with Angel."
Spike shrugged, "He always did like them easy. Easy, perky and preferably blonde."
"Buffy's pretty," Xander said dreamily.
Spike looked at him askance.
"What? She is!"
"She's a slayer," Spike enunciated it very clearly as if explaining it to someone deaf or a bit slow.
"So? Yeah, yeah, mortal enemies and all that," he flapped his hand in dismissal, and was momentarily distracted by the movement, then he regained his argument "But! But, you've got to admit she's pretty. All blonde and fit and… pert. Butt. Pert."
Spike sniggered, then stopped himself and cleared his throat, beckoned for the joint. Xander passed it to him.
"You're pretty too."
Spike froze with the joint halfway to his mouth, but Xander gave no indication he was aware that he had just called Spike pretty out loud. Spike filed it away for reference and took a deep drag on the joint, holding the smoke in until his ears started to ring.
Xander took another puff and relaxed back into the sofa cushions with a sigh.
"Feeling better, pet?"
"Hmmm? Oh, yeah. Job hunting, pffft, who cares," Xander tried to blow a smoke ring and failed, "Not like anywhere that I'd want to work would hire me anyway."
"What job do you want to do?" Spike asked, genuinely curious.
"Well, I used to want to run away and join the circus."
"That so, pet. What would you be? Bearded lady?" Spike fell about laughing, pleased with his joke. Xander frowned at him in a slightly wounded, slightly confused way, and then ploughed on undeterred.
"I had a plan and everything. I learned to juggle. I was all ready, with an emergency bag packed for leaving in a hurry. All the essentials: chips, Twinkies, comics, balls. But the circus doesn't come to Sunnydale. Did you know that? They always avoid the vamp infested hell mouthy town. Smarter than your average resident I guess."
"Go on then," Spike gestured to the space in front of the TV.
"Huh?"
"I demand a demonstration."
"Of what?" Xander sounded ever so slightly panicked.
"Juggling."
"Oh. Can't."
"Why not," Spike actually pouted. Xander looked at him, blinking for several seconds as if trying to clear the fog in his eyesight, before realising the fog was in the room. He was staring intently at Spike's bottom lip in a way that could be misconstrued. Or maybe just construed. Spike filed that with the earlier 'pretty' comment. Spike's bottom lip resumed normal service with a smirk and the eyebrow came into play with a sarcastic arch.
"Ground control to Major Xander."
Xander closed his eyes and reopened them wide, restarted his train of thought.
"Rats ate them. My special juggling balls. I stored them down here in a box and rats ripped them open to eat the grainy bits inside. Weird." he shook his head then took a puff of the joint and held it out for Spike to take.
Spike drew his legs up on the sofa and eyed the corners of the room warily.
"What are you doing?" Xander said.
"Shh!" Spike held up one finger to silence Xander and cocked his head listening.
"Are you scared of rats?" Xander used Spike's distraction to take an extra deep lungful out of turn.
"No!" the Big Bad said just a little too defensively, before whipping his head around at an imaginary rustle.
Xander spluttered and laugh-coughed out the smoke he'd been holding in.
"Stop wasting it!" Spike snatched back the spliff, phantom rats forgotten. Xander carried on sniggering.
"Berk," muttered Spike.
"What does that mean anyway?" Xander asked.
"What does what mean?"
"Berk. Another one of your crazy English words, I know. And from the context I'm thinking it's not complimentary. But what does it really mean?"
Spike squinted at Xander, holding in a breath then exhaling a long cool jet of smoke.
"It's rhyming slang."
"What?"
"Jeez, you Americans. Rhyming slang. Apples and pairs - stairs. Dog and bone - phone."
Xander's mouth moved silently reciting the examples, "But what rhymes with 'berk'? Is it 'jerk'? That's a bit lame isn't it?"
"No it's not 'jerk', that's American. Berk is short for Berkeley hunt."
Xander repeated it a few times, while Spike watched in amusement as realisation dawned.
"You've been calling me a-"
Spike sniggered, "Calm down, pet. It generally just means 'idiot' now."
"Oh. Ok then." Xander settled back down with the almost spent roach, and Spike quietly delighted that he'd made the boy happy about being called an idiot.
"God, I could murder a Chinese."
Xander looked at him in horror.
"A takeaway! Bloody hell, stop being so uptight."
"Oh." Xander looked abashed, then his stomach gave a loud growl of agreement, "I think there might be some leftovers upstairs. The parental units had Chinese last night. Or it might have been Thai."
"Thai's good," Spike said brightly, taking the last puff on the joint and squashing it out in the tin lid. He stood up and stretched extravagantly; his t-shirt rode up baring his stomach. Spike noted the long glance Xander gave to the strip of bare skin, he added to his ever growing list of interesting moments. Just how malleable would another joint make the boy? But first there were munchies to be addressed.
They sneaked up the stairs to the kitchen. Xander's parents were already in bed, but neither wanted to risk waking them. Spike wasn't sure what they'd make of their secret houseguest, or his corrupting influence on their son, so he'd taken off his boots to tread lighter. He wasn't entirely sure how that would help, given that he could move pretty silently with them on, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time.
With exaggerated care they opened the fridge and retrieved the cartons of food. There was a hissed argument over Spike liberating a new six pack of beer as well, a compromised being reached at two bottles out of an already opened pack that were less likely to be missed.
As he tried to reopen the basement door with his hands full Xander dropped one of the cartons and the forks which clattered alarmingly as they hit the floor. They shared a wild-eyed look of horror as they stood frozen in the hallway, waiting for Harris senior to investigate the noise, but after a tense 30 seconds or so they figured they were safe and resumed their mission. Spike stepped in the spilled noodles and cursed softly, shuddering at the feel of the slimy strands between his bare toes. Xander barely contained his laughter, his shoulders heaving silently, taking in little wheezes of air. Spike gave him a two-fingered salute.
Eventually they made it back to the basement and the sofa.
"Do you want the rest of the noodles?" Xander asked.
Spike glared at him as he cleaned the noodle sauce off his foot using some paper towels, grimacing all the while. He threw the serviettes across the room missing the bin deliberately. Xander didn't seem to notice, he was too busy tucking into a carton of chili chicken. Spike snagged one of the other cartons and a fork.
Having demolished the food in short time (except the noodles which made Spike want to gag and which Xander declared unfit for human consumption now that they'd had vampire feet in them), Spike lit up one of the pre-rolled joints and settled back in the sofa cushions again.
After Spike's third hit without sharing Xander was frowning.
"Hey, you gonna pass that or not?"
Spike lounged, the spliff held in the hand he'd casually draped over the arm of the couch, well out of Xander's reach, "Make me."
He was expecting the boy, in his suggestible state, to make a mad lunge for it, a move guaranteed to land him right in Spike's lap. Instead he got a lapful of cold noodles, and Xander snagged the joint while Spike flailed about.
"Ugh, like bloody Gak'h'lar spawn. Fucking disgusting," Spike scraped the last of the offending food off his jeans and the chair and wiped his hands on the last serviette.
"Teach you to hog the dope, evil fiend."
Spike sighed and flopped onto the sofa, "What part of evil do you people not get?" he asked half-heartedly.
Xander offered him the joint in a conciliatory gesture, and picked up the TV remote. He flicked through a couple of channels settling on a creaky old black-and-white horror film, then breathed out the smoke he'd held in for as long as he was able. Spike was quietly impressed how quickly the lad had picked it up, smoking like an old pro.
"Why would you still want to watch horror films, given that you know it's not make believe?"
"It's still make believe if it's there on the screen," Xander leaned back and made himself comfortable, "and I can critique their monster make-up and their slaying techniques like never before. Makes me feel like an expert on something at least."
Spike noted that Xander was no longer sitting as far away as was humanly possible. In fact, he was quite close. As he passed the joint back again, he shifted a little, until his shoulder was just barely touching the boy's. How far could he press this?
"Don't be getting any big ideas there, blondie."
"Huh? No ideas here. None at all."
"I know I'm a nummy treat, and under the influence right now. Way, way under in fact. The influence is a mere speck in the ether above us. But whatever moves you're thinking of, forget them."
Spike craned his neck to look at Xander without moving his shoulder away from the warm touch of the boy's arm. Xander was fixedly watching the film.
"I can't bite you. We've established that. Several times in fact."
"You can't hurt me. Not the same thing." Xander took a puff and passed the last of the joint to Spike.
Spike stared at Xander who stared at the zombies lurching about the screen, "What are you talking about, pet?"
"Don't pretend you haven't thought of the anesthetic effect of orgasms."
Spike's eyes almost bugged out of his head, and Xander at least had the decency to blush.
"You think- You thought- How do you know about the anaesthetic effect of orgasms?!"
"I know stuff about lots of things. I just need to be interested that's all." Xander said defensively.
"You're interested in anaesthetic?" Spike asked incredulously.
"No! Orgasms. Look, I'm sorry I brought it up." the blush intensified, "Oh god, I did not just say that did I? I just know about it, that's all. And if you think you can seduce me into a free bite-fest you can forget it. And oh boy does pot make me run away at the mouth. I'm going to shut up now and watch my movie. As long as you behave yourself you can join me."
Spike busied himself for a couple of minutes, finishing off the joint and tidying away the makings into the tin. He assessed his options: the kid seemed to think Spike was after a quick bite, which was a fair assessment, but somewhere he had mixed in the idea of sex all on his own, the anaesthetic effect of cannabis having apparently completely passed him by. He'd also made several slip ups that suggested the pert, bounciness of the Slayer wasn't the only thing the boy found attractive. On the down side, he'd just pretty clearly declined any real or imagined advances Spike might have been making or about to make. It was almost too much of a challenge to refuse. That resolve could be worn down. What does a vampire have if not time, and the makings of several more nights full of sweet scented smoke? That sounded suspiciously like a plan. Spike opened the beers and sat back to watch the film, handing one of the bottles to his boy.
"I've seen this one before. I think I was at the premiere. Might have eaten the second director."
"Shut up and watch the movie, Spike," Xander reached over and clinked his bottle against Spike's.

~~~~~

"I can't believe he untied him."
"Well it's not like he can bite him. Maybe he just felt sorry for him."
"Right, because Xander has always had such empathy for the undead."
"Buffy, don't be mean. They look cute. I wish I had a camera."
"Does it smell funky in here to you? I think it smells weird. Do you think it smells sweet?"
"Um. It's- er- probably the take-away."
There was a sound of boxes being cleared away. Spike shifted in his half-sleep. His pillow was kind of lumpy and warm and had a heartbeat, which was odd.
"Willow, don't do his cleaning for him. You're not his mother. I'm going to wake them. Seeing them all snuggled up is wigging me out."
Spike's eyes shot open. He twisted his head and stared straight into Xander's bleary expression.
"Mornin'," Xander yawned and started to stretch, then he saw, "Buffy!"
Spike lurched upright, scrubbing at his hair - all over spiky mess was better than the one side of flattened curls he knew he'd probably woken up with.
"Xander, what were you thinking untying the evil undead?" Buffy demanded, her hands on her hips and a stern look on her face.
"Hi Buffy, Wills," Xander repeated.
"Hi," Willow waved at him, and smiled sunnily at Spike too.
That was too strange; Spike started rooting in his coat for some cigarettes. Normal tobacco cigarettes. He found them and put one in his mouth, he reached for the lighter still lying on the table after last night.
"Don't light that in here," Buffy glared at him.
"It's ok, Buff," Xander stood up and rubbed his face, "let him smoke."
"You let him smoke in here? When did you become best buds with him? Has he got you in thrall? Why did you untie him?"
"I'm not in thrall, Buffy! He's really annoying when he's tied up, so I let him go. He didn't do anything bad."
"So you just hung out on the sofa watching TV? Am I supposed to buy that?"
"Yeah, you are. That's all that happened. That and eating Thai food," Xander took some of the cartons from the table and dumped them in the bin.
"What was wrong with the noodles?" Willow peered into the carton and poked at them with a fork.
"Gak'h'lar spawn," muttered Spike. Xander suppressed a laugh. Willow dropped the carton quickly.
"Ok. Whatever," Buffy shook her head, "We need to go to Giles' house. There's been some funky goings on at the cinema on the corner of Main Street. They've been showing a double-bill of old horrors and people have been going missing."
"I'll catch up with you. I just need to shower and change my clothes," Xander said as he started to usher the girls towards the door. Willow waved goodbye to Spike, who waved back, eyeing her warily, "You should take Spike."
Three pairs of eyes turned to Xander in surprise.
"He might be useful. It seems he knows quite a bit about old films. Isn't that right, Spike?"
"Er- yeah. Quite a bit," god help him, but he was quite pleased to be included. Besides, in the middle of their little group, there was all sorts of space to cause mischief. Spike bounded up to the girls and put an arm around each of them, "Shall we ladies."
"Move that arm, or you lose it," Buffy growled.
Spike didn't push his luck, as Buffy stalked away he winked at Xander and he lifted a blanket over his head to walk out to Willow's waiting car. He was rewarded with a smile and a roll of the eyes, and he may just have detected the start of a blush: all without the influence of Giles rather fine marijuana. Things were looking up already.

Fic: Cassandra (BtVS/AtS pre-series)

Sat, 01 Mar 2008 19:50:54 GMT

No idea where this came from! I was feeling in a stressed-out crazy state of mind and it translated to a Drusilla point of view.

Title: Cassandra
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel, pre-series
Characters: Drusilla/Spike, Angelus, Darla
Prompt: Suspension of disbelief
Rating + warnings: Teen+ (violence, language, sex, horror)
Word count: 1979
Summary: Drusilla's visions, much like Cassandra's, do nothing but torture her.

"Get one of the bloody minions to do it! Oh! That's right, we didn't bring any. Well, that was your idea. Build the fucking fire yourself."
Angelus didn't say anything; he just slammed a fist into William's face, quite casually. It was casual really. A regular occurrence. At the desk in the corner Darla sighed over her book.
"Spike, don't make Daddy angry. He'll just have to punish you." Dru reached from her armchair beside the empty fireplace and brushed her fingers through William's hair as he picked himself up from the floor. He shrugged her off.
Angelus was brandishing the poker when William turned back to face him, blinking the haze from his eyes and licking the blood dribbling from his nose.
"You'll build us a fire, lad, or I'll shove this poker so far up yer arse, ye'll have to fish it out yer nostrils."
William snatched the poker from Angelus who held onto it while they stared each other out over their white knuckled hands. William looked away first and Angelus let go of the iron. William began to slam about with the coal scuttle and grate: petulant in defeat as always.
Dru hummed the tune the stars were playing as she watched her boy build a slapdash fire. He glanced her way with a soft smile and a slow blink and she shivered with pleasure.
"Make me warm, Spike, light me up inside," she murmured.
"Always, my princess."
Dru drew her legs up onto the chair and laid her head on the armrest, watching him happily. On the opposite side of the fireplace Angelus leaned on the corner of the mantle, overseeing William's work. He threw a box of matches onto the hearth; William snatched them up and gingerly struck one, using it to light a twist of paper that he held at arms length as he placed it into the heart of the coals. He built a decent blaze, tending the fire cautiously until he finished the hazardous task. Then he stood well back with blatant relief, wiping his hands on his trousers and glaring at Angelus, who studiously ignored him.
Dru stretched her hands out to the warmth and watched the flames dance like the souls of dead children, penned in by the grate and reaching for freedom up the chimney.
"No escape pretty ones, no escape."
"What's that, pet?"
Dru watched as a burning cinder rolled from the badly cleaned grate onto the rug. Angelus swiftly stamped it out. He turned to William and started gesturing at the fire and berating him, but Dru didn't hear the exchange over a sudden roaring in her ears: a thousand whispering susurrations combining to a hurricane wind. She watched the ember rise from the rug, float in the air like a lazy insect, then swoop and burn a hole through Angelus's waistcoat and shirt. She clutched her hands in her skirts and stared in fascinated horror as it started to eat into the flesh above his heart without him even noticing.
"Daddy?"
He ignored her, grabbing William by the back of the neck and forcing him to kneel on the hearthrug and look at where the cinder had landed, "It's scorched the carpet."
"What the bloody hell do you care, it's not your house anyway!"
He backhanded William, who fell in a heap at the feet of Dru's chair. She continued to stare at her daddy, the light was spreading, burning fast through his body, leaving black cracked skin in its wake. She moaned in fear.
"Why is she making that awful noise?" Darla's book snapped shut in her annoyance.
"Dru? What's wrong?" Angelus asked, he reached hand to touch her cheek and she recoiled, howling, from the writhing light and dark that wreathed his shape.
"Leave her alone you, bastard," William struggled to his knees and pushed Angelus making him stumble back into Darla.
Angelus snarled. The darkness around him coalesced into a fearsome shape which seemed to struggle against the bright flames coiling around it. As Angelus lunged for William again, the shape appeared to solidify, consuming him. Dru wailed.
"Stop fighting! Deal with her before I have to," Darla commanded. All eyes turned to her.
Dru saw another pin bright light hovering around Darla, now penetrating her skin and making her shine serenely from within, now blazing bright, too bright. She screamed as her grandmama turned to an ashen replica before her eyes. Dru scrabbled with her hands and feet, trying to push herself deeper into the armchair, away from the visions. Why couldn't they see what was happening? Why could they never see?
"Embers and sparks, the little girl she's stamped out on the hearth and everyone burns. Don't anger the witch, she's Snow White's mummy after all."
Darla threw her hands up in despair, "Riddles! It's always nonsense. Spike, shut her up. Gag her, or fuck her to unconsciousness if you have to, I don't much care which. Angelus, come. I want to hunt."
"You high-and-mighty bitch. Maybe if you suspended your disbelief once in a while, you'd find out something useful from her."
William rounded on Darla, then cowered back as Angelus stepped between them. A great black leonine creature weighed down by myriad burning chains, it snarled at William, then bounded over to Dru. Scents of burning flesh and acid filled her nose, catching in her throat. She struggled to look away or close her eyes but remained transfixed.
"Best be quiet by the time we come back, like a good little girl, Dru, or daddy will punish your Spike," the creature growled.
She quaked and nodded: a low, distressed wuthering the only noise she dared make. The creature slunk back to the endlessly crumbling, never dissolving woman that stood in the doorway holding her hand out to it in command, then both diabolical figures swept from the room. William watched them leave, his fury like an aura around him.
"Spike, Spike, Spike, Spike…" she whimpered, closing her eyes and rolling her head back and fore along the chair back.
He turned, "Damn it, pet, what have you done to yourself?"
He grabbed her wrists and dragged her hands away from her chest. She looked in fascination at her red-stained nails and fingertips, then down at her chest where the remains of her blouse revealed her shredded skin.
"Come on. Upstairs. We'll take off those spoiled clothes and bathe you."
He swept her up in his arms and she clutched his shirt with her bloodied hands, burying her eyes in the crook of his neck as he carried her from the room and up the stairs.
"You smell of flowers, Spike."
He laughed, "I doubt that, pet."
"Flowers and salt-air and warm sunshine. I can hear waves, and birdsong. All summer long we'd stay by the sea."
"Is that a pretty memory, Dru? Hmm?" he kicked open the door to their room and manoeuvred them through.
"Memories lie like cards on the table. Shuffle them and play. The Hermit and the Beast do battle, the Fool seeks the Queen of Batons, she has golden hair."
"Does she now. Like Grandmama?"
"No." Dru frowned to herself, then started licking her fingers clean, inspecting them carefully after each lick.
William set her down on the bed and went to the washstand, pouring some water from the jug, and gathering up cloths and a towel.
Satisfied with her cleaned hands Dru sat up and stripped off her blouse, she looked into the cheval mirror in the corner of the room. William stared back from the glass, his chest covered with the same deep scratch wounds as hers. She slid from the bed and crouched down in front of the mirror. His hair was curly and tangled and strangely coloured with white ends. He sat huddled in darkness, bare-chested, hugging his knees. He flinched as Dru reached for the reflection.
"Spike, my darlin', what have you done to yourself?" she pleaded, but he turned away and curled into himself further.
"I haven't done anything, love," William answered confused, "Come up off the floor. Let me see your skin."
Dru let herself be settled on the bed again, still staring at the shivering figure in the mirror. William fussed about her, needlessly cleaning the cuts on her chest and washing her hands. He passed between her and the mirror and the other William was gone, only the room was reflected. Dru looked at him and her earlier fear clawed its way back, he was illuminated inside like Daddy and Grandmama had been, but the light seemed to ebb and flow with his movements rather than consuming him as it had them.
"Wwwwwwww, Spike," she grabbed at him as he tried to put the washbasin away, spilling the palely bloodstained water on the floor.
"Careful, pet," his expression was kind, but the light blazed from his eyes and mouth as he spoke and she started back away from him, though with a conflicted stretch of her arms she still reached for him.
"Permeated. Infused. Nooooooooo. Cinderella doesn't want the glass slipper, she wants to stay in the cinders where it's warm. She'll brush your ashes away like dirt. Don't burn, Spike, please!"
"Sweetheart, I'm not burning. We'll find a minion to make the fires for us, yeah? It's ok, love. It's alright." He wrapped her in his arms and she buried her face in his chest, screwing her eyes shut tight so she didn't have to see the light. Effulgent. He always wanted the brightness. But he mustn't have it. "Mustn't. Mustn't."
"Mustn't what, Dru?" he held her face in his hands and forced her to look him in the eyes, though she tossed her head and fought him.
"Don't leave me, Spike. Don't go, not even when I tell you."
"I'll never leave you. We're forever. My goddess, my love. Why would I leave you?"
"Show me, Spike." She grabbed his hand and forced it between her legs, hitching up her skirts; she struggled to undo the hooks on her corset. Maybe if he fucked her, he could share the light with her, and it wouldn't matter if her family was all consumed by fire - she'd be there burning with them.
"No Dru, not when you're like this. I never know if it's me you're seeing and feeling, or some imagined thing."
"I'll scream and wail when Grandmama and Daddy come home, there'll be hell to pay. Oh, there will. You don't want that, William," she goaded.
William looked away, scowling, then grabbed her and threw her flat on the bed. He tore her corset half off, not bothering with the fastenings. His face shifted, the yellow of his eyes a pale comparison to the blaze of light burning around him. Dru pulled at his clothes; she laughed desperately as he stripped them both roughly, rending her clothes and leaving bruises; she arched her body up to his as he pinned her; she hooked her legs around his hips and moved with him. Still the fire refused to meet her, flowing out of reach of her hands even as her boy pressed into her touch.
"Light me up, Spike. Please, Spike." she pleaded and sobbed. He bit her as he came, and she scrammed his back in response, melting at the feel of him biting down harder with the pain.
He pulled the covers over them both and murmured soothing nonsense to her as she lay quiet beside him, tears rolling silently down her cheeks as, behind her closed eyelids, she watched a thousand images she could neither understand nor communicate flit across her mind's eye.
She felt none of the burning she wanted, her body didn't crumble to ash where she lay, and as the scents and sounds and sights of her vision faded, she was left feeling only the cold.

Fic: A Dozen Red Roses

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 18:36:33 GMT

Ficlet written for drabble_much (cancelled) prompt 'a dozen red roses'. A little late for St Valentine's Day but never mind!

Title: A Dozen Red Roses
Characters: Spike
Rating: K+
Word count: 300

One for his mother. William loved innocently and was loved in return. Would he regret abandoning her, or simply killing her, more than he regrets what he did? If she had a grave he would leave the rose there.
One for Cecily. He was foolish to believe his love would be returned. He throws the rose in the Thames.
One for Drusilla. For passion and devotion. (For eternity). He learned to share her and it nearly broke him, having her to himself nearly did the same. He presses the rose in a book.
One for Darla. Hardly a romance, more an education and in a way he loved her for it. The thorns prick his fingertips.
One for several. Taken to his bed on a whim, they deserve a single flower between them. A petal each, he casts them to the wind.
One for Joyce. She treated him like a person. Another innocent love, another rose without a grave.
One for Dawn. She smells just like her sister but he'll never tell her. He keeps his love innocent because it's right thing to do. He drinks the scent deep.
One for Tara. A soul so pure it could blind you. He will never see that soul again. He sends the rose to Willow.
One for Anya, and for countless girls whose names blur in his memory. Companions in death. He didn't mean to desert them. He drops the rose in the dust.
One for Fred. There's a hole in his world. A hard blue hand clutches the stem, hard blue eyes question him.
One for Buffy. He knows he will only ever cause her pain. He crushes the bloom in his fist.
One for Angelus. Father, mentor, brother, (lover). The only one he's known. Spike gives the rose to Angel.

Fic: Broken Rules, Broken Bones

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 18:28:13 GMT

Ficlet written for drabble_much prompt 'secret admirer'.

Title: Broken Rules, Broken Bones
Character: Giles (post S2)
Rating: K
Word Count: 200

The words stay visible for a long time as the paper darkens then curls in the fire. Then both are ashes.
For what little it is worth, at least these words won't betray him now.
Secret words. Words of admiration. Words in awe of stealth and speed. Words of speculation about what heightened senses must add to a being. Predatory perfections. Seductive power. Alluring evil and hideous beauty.
Ashen words.
Watchers are forbidden personal diaries. Nothing should be filtered out of the official record by self-censorship or self-indulgence. All observations are relevant and should be provided to the council. There they are poured over, dissected, discussed, preserved for posterity. Everything is to be monitored.
Giles has always known this, but only now does he appreciate why these particular words, apparently trivial, are so vitally important. The facts he did provide for inspection were the poorer half of the story.
It's a lesson learned at too great a price: his lover dead, his slayer gone, his life and work in ruins.
There is no room for esteem of the enemy.
He deliberately uses his broken hand to feed the last pages to the fire.
He won't make the same mistake again.

Fic - Drabble: Wreckage

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 10:49:43 GMT

Written for drabble_much, prompt Buffy apologises to Spike.

Characters: Buffy
Fiction Rating: K+
Set: post Chosen
Word count: 100

They drove away and tended to the immediate necessities: injuries, shelter, getting funds, sending home potentials. No not potentials.
Slayers.
There was plenty of survivors guilt about, and grief, and no small measure of joy at having survived and won. But a form of normality was arranging itself amongst the wreckage of their lives.
Eventually they returned to the physical wreckage. (Actually only two days later). Meagre salvage, and no hope of recovering the bodies of their loved ones.
Loved.
She’d lied then, she knew now.
“I’m sorry.” she told the rubble and dust. But there was no-one to hear.

I love it...

Sat, 05 Jan 2008 07:15:52 GMT

Torchwood 2 trailer

A poodle? Really? *giggle* :-)

Fic: Caught Surviving

Thu, 29 Nov 2007 08:52:07 GMT

Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: FRT
Warnings: Unashamed fluff. Disco music. ;-)
Notes: No spoilers, time undetermined - during BtVS what if Spike and Xander were a living-together couple. Written for fall_for_sx on LJ.
Word count: ~830

Xander stayed very still. From where he stood in the doorway he had a perfect view, and right now Spike had his back to him.

On the stereo Gloria Gaynor was proclaiming that she should have changed that stupid lock. More interestingly, in the living room, wearing only jeans, Spike was proclaiming the same thing, complete with hip wiggling disco moves.

The pitch of the next line climbed out of Spike's range and his voice cracked before he dropped an octave to reach the rest. Xander suppressed the snort of laughter that threatened to give him away. Any second now was the line that was bound to draw attention to his vantage point.

"Go on now go! Walk out the door-" Spike spun with a dramatic gesture toward the doorway. He flailed his arms as he tried to stop the momentum of his twirl, and nearly fell over the back of the sofa. He froze clutching the tops of the sofa cushions.

Caught.

Xander grinned broadly. Spike's look of pure horror melted away when he realised exactly who had rumbled him. He straightened up nonchalantly, then he smiled back and resumed his place in the song.

"Weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye…"

Xander closed the door and shrugged his coat off.

Spike boogied over to him, then stood shuffling his feet on the spot a few feet away as Xander hung his coat up and pulled off his work boots. Spike was grinning like a maniac when Xander turned back to face him.

Xander met Spike's grin and raised him an eyebrow quirk. Xander took the hand that Spike held out to him and was pulled forward and twirled. Together they danced and spun across the living room.

"I heard Angel was about earlier." Xander said reluctantly, loathe to spoil Spike's mood but knowing it was better to get the fallout over with sooner rather than later.

Spike nodded, carrying on singing rather than actually answering, "…not to fall apart..."

"I expected to find you in a blue funk like usual."

Spike shrugged and did a spin, "I spent oh so many nights…"

"Did he -er- stop by?"

Spike nodded again, not losing a beat, still smiling and singing, "…hold my head up high."

"But you're not upset this time."

Spike grinned and cocked his head on one side, "I'm not that chained up little person still in love with you…"

He danced backwards away from Xander, who had ground to a halt and was leaning against the sideboard. He spoke for the first time since Xander came in the door, "Told him where to go, love, and meant it. Now I'm savin' all my lovin' for someone who's lovin' me!"

Xander looked at the beaming vampire discoing around their living room. Their living room. Fuzzy warm thoughts danced around his head, 'he's so cute', 'our living room', 'he looks really happy', 'I'm happy', 'I love Spike', 'Spike doesn't love Angel anymore', 'Spike loves me'. He stood there in a happy daze.

"I've got all my love to give - You alright, love?" Spike gave him a puzzled look.

"You love me." Xander smiled goofily.

"Told you that before, pet."

"But now your savin' all your lovin' for someone who's lovin' you," now Xander couldn't stop grinning like an idiot.

Spike stopped dancing, and came to stand close in front of Xander, his eyes cast down at the floor almost shyly, "Sorry it took so long," he said.

Xander ducked to catch Spike's eyes and drew them back up to look at him, "I guess I think you're worth waiting for."

Spike smiled softly, then his demeanour changed from ever so slightly awkward to completely predatory without any perceivable transition.

"That so?" Spike was almost as close as he could be without touching, eyes fixed now on Xander's mouth, head already tilted slightly to the side to avoid their noses clashing.

"Uh-huh." Xander gave the slightest of nods, eyes flickering over Spike's face, coming to rest on his mouth, which curled into a wicked smile.

Still not touching.

"You going to stand there all night or are we gonna shag?" Spike leaned around and breathed the words into Xander’s ear.

Xander's eyes fluttered closed, and he swallowed reflexively, "Oh definitely with the shagging. Shagging is of the good."

Closer. Hands sneaking up to brush elbows.

"Yeah?"

Closer. Hands lightly on hips, thumbs under the hem of a t-shirt brushing bare skin . Two mouths teasing with whispering touches of lips.

"Mm-hmm." was all the noise Xander could make right now, but he thought, "Caught you"

The BeeGees started singing the next song on the disco compilation CD.

Spike sprang away with a big grin, "Okay then, but turn that crap off, I hate disco."

He grabbed Xander's belt and started walking backwards pulling Xander with him.

"Oh really?" Xander smirked at Spike, reaching out to turn off the stereo as he was towed, unresisting, toward the bedroom.

Fic: Proper Etiquette

Wed, 28 Nov 2007 18:22:04 GMT

Written for purplefeen's 5th anniversary writing fanfic.

Title: Proper Etiquette
Pairing: Angel/Spike (with a special cameo from another universe just for Feen).
Rating: FRT
Warnings: None. Not even any spoilers. There is no specific time frame, just evil, unchipped Spike and soulful Angel, somehow on a date.
Word count: ~1000
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and the owners of the cameo character own everything. No profit is made, just fun had.

Angel turned to look at the rest of the theatre in the minimal light cast by the credits as they scrolled up the screen. He took in the slumped bodies and the tortured expressions. One man’s head lolled obscenely over the back of the seat, the throat neatly torn out.

Spike stood beside him, a puppy-like look of innocence plastered on his face, and his hands thrust deep in his coat pockets. Only betrayed by the way he was bouncing slightly nervously on the balls of his feet.

Angel inclined his head towards one of the victims and raised a questioning eyebrow at Spike.

“He was texting on his mobile all the time. Could hear the buttons clicking, and the screen backlight was in my eye line.”

Angel pointed at another.

“Took his shoes off. Come on, you must’ve wondered where that smell was coming from! And that woman right behind me kept kicking my seat.”

Angel gave a pointed look to a whole row of teenagers, whose bodies had been carefully arranged so that they appeared to be killing or perhaps fucking each other.

Spike shrugged, “They were talking all the way through.”

Angel raised both eyebrows expectantly for the rest of the explanation

Spike grinned, “And I was bored. Once I’d gotten rid of the annoying ones, which was everyone by the way, I had some time on my hands. You were enjoying your film and -”

Angel grabbed his arm and man-handled him out of the fire-exit just before the lights came up. They legged it through a few alleys and backstreets until they were a safe distance from the inevitable sound of sirens. Spike leaned against the loading bay door at the back of a department store, one leg bent up and his foot against the metal, tapping a random rhythm; he lit a cigarette. Angel checked the street they’d just run down, and the street they’d run down next if they needed to, then walked back to Spike who looked at him a little warily, waiting for the fallout.

Fallout that was somewhat surprising.

Angel plucked the cigarette from Spike’s mouth and threw it aside before pinning Spike with his whole body and kissing him senseless. The metal door behind them rattled and banged dramatically.

“You’re not mad?” Spike said, when Angel pulled back.

“That was the first film I’ve seen in decades without being pelted with popcorn, or being kicked in the head, or having some patronising moron sat nearby explaining every scene to his date, or…” he gave up with the tirade and kissed Spike again.

This time Spike pulled away, he held Angel’s face and peered into his eyes with suspicion, “Are you possessed again? Am I gonna have to call Wes or Giles or someone? Where’s the moral outrage and the lecture about my ‘appalling and unacceptable behaviour’?”

Angel laughed “There is a very special level of hell-”

Spike smiled and finished the line with a nod of understanding “they reserve for child molesters and people who talk at the theatre.”

“Exactly.”

Angel dove back in for another kiss, with a slightly more receptive Spike on the receiving end.

They were just getting into the spirit of things, with Angel’s hands in Spike’s hair and Spike’s hands on Angel’s belt buckle, when someone cleared their throat pointedly. Spike looked up with a snarl and a yellow glare.

“Save it, dude,” said the overall clad demon, holding up his hand and looking unimpressed, “You kids mind taking it home? I got a delivery coming in, need the loading bay.”

He nodded at the door they were leaning against. Spike and Angel both looked at the demon, then at the door, then at each other. Spike shrugged. Angel pouted (strictly for Spike’s eyes only). Spike indicated the bored looking demon with a tilt of his chin and made a covert slaying motion with his hand. Angel appeared to consider it for a moment, then shook his head.

“A’right, mate, we’ll get out of your way.” Spike said patting the demon on the shoulder.

“Gee, I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you.” he said without looking up from his clip board.

“Good hard cash ’ll do.”

“Yeah, come see me about that tomorrow.” he dead-panned and fished a big bunch of keys out of his pocket to unlock his warehouse.

“C’mon then, Peaches, no use wasting all that nice bit of sexual tension we’ve built up.” Spike strode off.

Angel cringed, but followed. A truck with a logo like a big bar of soap on the side drove past them at the corner of the street.

“You didn’t like the film then.” Angel said.

“Don’t like sub-titles.” Spike lit another cigarette as they walked.

“You could get glasses you know.” Angel tried to sound innocent.

“Gonna to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“So that guy who was muttering about the differences between the original and the remake to his friend.” Angel said.

“Took him out first, pet.”

Angel didn’t say anything, but Spike caught the look of vicarious pleasure that flitted across his face, and didn’t complain when Angel nicked his cigarette and took a long drag.

Back at the loading bay of Wilson’s Family Owned Department Store, Joe (according to the name tag on his overalls) watched his minions unload the last of the Paper Street Soap Company delivery. He walked up to the cab to arrange the next order with the driver, one Mr Tyler Durden.

“Same delivery next month?” asked Tyler.

“We’ll take double if you can produce it.”

“Hmm, we’re reaching the limit of our fat supplies. Kind of a specialised thing. You know how it is.”

“How much wet work are you prepared to do?” Joe said.

Tyler pursed his lips, “Depends. Why?”

Joe smiled a toothy smile, “Well I just got a tip a few minutes ago. There’s a cinema a few blocks away that could do with a good clean.”

I love Victoria Wood.

Tue, 20 Nov 2007 18:20:28 GMT

Came across this randomly the other night and was reminded how funny it is. Very British attitude to sex. ;-)
This is an old performance on youtube, but it's one of her best songs, and she still performs it sometimes. One very talented lady.
Go here for a giggle :-)

Sun, 07 Oct 2007 12:48:42 GMT

I was in Italy on holiday recently, and visited Verona. On one of the bridges I found the following graffiti that I couldn't resist snapping and making into icons.

Want take have. Not much effort involved, so I'm blase about credit. ;)

Bring back the Porn Fic: "No Risk Involved"

Sat, 01 Sep 2007 14:24:00 GMT

Title: No Risk Involved
Rating: STRICTLY ADULTS ONLY
Pairing: Spike/Tara, Spike/Buffy mentioned, Tara/Willow mentioned
Warnings: Explicit heterosexual sex, no kinks
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, but Joss said we could play with them. Thank you, Joss!
Summary: Set BtVS season 6, when Spike and Buffy's "relationship" was still going on, and Tara and Willow were separated. Spike gets an unexpected visitor and an even more unexpected proposition.
Word Count: 4302
Author's Note: Written for bbtp_challenge, 1st September 2007 only at InsaneJournal. First time I've written anything explicit, and bloody hell it's difficult! Un-beta'd, self-edited under influence of wacky pills (very necessary pain killers). I aim to titillate and I also aim to improve, so any feedback is welcomed - even con-crit. Thank you, I hope you enjoy. :)

"Not a word was spoke between us, there was no risk involved,
Nothing up to that point had even been resolved.
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm.
Come in, she said, I'll give you shelter from the storm."

(from "Shelter from the Storm" by Bob Dylan)

Spike tongued his split lip and looked down at his body, he poked a finger at the bruises on his ribs, and sighed. Both were nearly healed: the evidence of Buffy's visit not lasting long tonight. He'd prepared himself beforehand with some stolen bags of human from the blood bank: mainly for some added stamina, but she hadn't wanted to take advantage unfortunately, more a quick bout of 'kick the Spike' as fore-play and an even quicker fuck. He sighed and dropped his head back against the headboard, dropped his hands down by his sides. With his fingertips he lightly smoothed the silky dark red sheets he'd also stolen for the bed: they were frustratingly un-ruffled. He and Buffy hadn't even made it to the bed tonight. He stared at the rough ceiling, tongue poking his lip again to keep it open a few minutes more, to make the evidence of her visit more tangible than the faint lingering scent of her: perfume and sweat and the dust of the poor sod she'd staked on her way over.

He groaned silently at sounds of movement upstairs. The door was broken again so it wouldn't close, and he hadn't had the time to fix it yet. The footsteps weren't Buffy's, so that left the usual suspects: either a suicidally dim teenager out for more-spooky-than-they'd-bargained-for graveyard kicks, some demon looking for a likely place to call home, or some other demon with a more personal reason to visit his crypt. Options one and three meant lying low, option two meant kicking up a stink, and misjudging which option was not advisable. As quietly as he could he slid off the bed and pulled on jeans, boots and duster, the only t-shirt in reach had been the victim of Buffy's earlier impatience, so he went without.

He stood dead still in the darkest shadows against the wall, eyes trained on the hole in the ceiling, straining his ears to glean more information, waiting for any tell-tale smells to waft down from the floor above. Whoever it was had a torch, he could see the beam flickering about; that suggested human and a discrete get away if he could manage it. But kids were usually noisier, and often drunk by the time they'd worked up the courage to explore a Sunnydale graveyard at night. A human minion of a demon with a grudge wasn't out of the question… bloody hell he hoped it wasn't that.

The intruder had reached the top of the ladder, and he finally got a whiff of scent - literally perfume and nothing else. He frowned, puzzled. A foot wearing a slipper of the kind Dru used to wear, silk, embroidered, stepped on to the rungs followed by a bare ankle, then another attached to a shapely leg that got shown off to nice advantage when the skirt uncovering it revealed itself to be wrap over and totally unsuited to climbing ladders. Spike let himself ogle, if he was going to meet his end at the hands of a nicely packaged assassin he may as well enjoy the view while he still could.

"Nice arse." he said, hoping to catch them off guard.

"Thank you." Tara ducked her head into the room.

"Bloody hell, Glinda, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" Spike sagged away from the wall and shed his duster on the way to collapse back on the bed.

"I doubt that somehow," she said as she stepped off the ladder and dusted her hands.

"What the hell do you want, bothering me at this time of night. It's not safe for a young lady to be walking around alone," he scowled his disapproval, she was dressed quite provocatively too. Black, an unusual choice for her, some wrap over dress in a clinging material, no bra by the looks of it. Total demon magnet, or human magnet for that matter.

"You been on a date?" he took off his boots to get comfortable again.

She smiled that pouting smirk of hers, and raised one eyebrow, "Why, do you think I look nice?"

He grunted his agreement, sparing another lingering glance at the curves outlined by the dress.

"Do you mind if we have some light in here, I'm at a bit of a disadvantage," she said.

He dug his lighter out of his jeans and lit the candle in the wall sconce just beside the bed.

"Thank you." faltering only slightly when she saw he was half naked, she looked around the cavern. Her fingers reached to smooth the bottom of the silky bed sheets, "I like what you've done with the place."

"I'll tell my designer," he said in his best sarcastic tone, "Are you going to tell me what you want? Or at least why the bloody hell don't you smell right!?"

"Oh, sorry. It's a glamour," she swept her arms as if taking off a jumper, "to make it safer for 'a young lady to be walking around alone'. I couldn't make it work with no smell at all, so I made it faint perfume."

"Hmmf, clever." he surreptitiously sniffed, the familiar scent reassuring him that it was actually Tara, not some pretender.

"Thanks." She leaned casually against the bedpost at the foot of the bed.

He settled himself back where he'd been, sat up against the pillows and headboard, and lit a cigarette, "What. Do. You. Want?" he squinted through the first puff of smoke.

"Ooooh. Good grades, the super to come and fix my leaky faucet, balance in my life and goodwill to all men. And women. And, you know, demons if they're not too… grr." she said with a grin.

Spike found himself grinning back despite himself. Witch. He schooled his face into passivity again, "What do you want here, witch?"

"Sex."

He dropped his cigarette in his lap.

There was a scuffle as he leaped off the bed, batting at any real or imagined flames that might have caught the lap of his jeans, and she retrieved the cigarette from the bed and checked there were no burns in the sheets. She offered the smoke back to him, he shook his head so she stubbed it out on the wall and placed it carefully on a packing crate serving as a table.

"Sex?" he said a little higher pitched than he would have liked.

"Yes. Sex." she said, the very picture of calm and mild amusement.

"But you're with Red. Well- not at the moment, but you love her, yeah? And I love Buffy, and…"

"…And you are with her at the moment…" she took a step towards him, he took a step away.

"Well, yeah! And… and… Lesbian! And… Man! And. What are you asking me for?"

"First, I'm not with Willow at the moment, and it's complicated, I do still love her. Second, I'm not after a relationship, but I'm horny as hell," she closed her eyes and shook herself slightly as if it could get rid of the feeling, then fixed him with a heated look, "Third, I thought you might be open to the suggestion."

"Am I the go-to vampire for itch scratching now?" he said, glowering at her.

"It's not like that. I don't want a serious 'thing', but I just can't do totally casual. If I could I wouldn't be here, I'd be back on campus taking pot luck, it's not as if the place isn't heaving with hormones. I wanted someone I know, and trust, and like, and find attractive. All that narrows it down considerably, mostly to people in relationships already. Out of the choices, I thought you might at least consider it."

He ran that through his mind again, "You trust me?"

"You punched me in the nose," she stepped closer so he had to look down into her face, "you didn't have to do that. It was nice of you."

"But you're gay aren't you?" he was genuinely confused now.

She smiled that pouty, sexy smile and looked at him through lowered eyelashes, "I prefer women, but I'm not 100%, more 90 - 95. Anyway, I'm at college, I'm supposed to experiment."

She put her hand flat on his chest. He took hold of her wrist and lifted her hand away slightly.

"I love Buffy," he said seriously.

"I know. I'm not going to fall in love with you, Spike. And I don't expect or want you to fall in love with me. If it's a matter of sexual fidelity to Buffy, I'll understand. I'd prefer it if it didn't get back to Willow, but…" she shrugged and backed off just the slightest amount, giving him room for a decision.

"Buffy wouldn't like it," he thought, "but Buffy doesn't like a lot of things. Sexual fidelity: even Dru and I never had that, and our love was epic, supposed to be forever. Maybe Glinda and I are due a little comfort. A bit of sexual healing. A bit of fun. Witch smells like a ripe peach, for god's sake. Can't send the lady away frustrated." he smirked unconsciously at the that. Decision made, he supposed, "This could be interesting."

"Ok. But this doesn't get back to Buffy, and it doesn't get back to Willow. Deal?"

"Of course." She reached behind her back and undid the ties of her dress, unwrapping the front to reveal, as he'd suspected, no underwear.

"No hanging about, eh!" .

"Oh, goddess, please no," she laughed.

He gave her young, curvy body a long appreciative look. He smiled his own version of that sexy smirk and skimmed the dress off her shoulders, leaning down to kiss the side of her neck. "On the bed then, pet." he whispered in her ear.

She got under the covers as he took off his jeans and he realised the crypt probably felt cold to her. He crawled under the sheets too and almost laughed at the slightest frown that flitted across her face when she saw he wasn't hard yet. Such impatience: that gave him an idea how to play a little with her.

He lay down beside her on his back, hands behind his head. She sat and looked down at him, apparently a little perplexed at having to 'drive' the proceedings, but then she gave a barely perceptible shrug and slid down beside him, wrapping a leg across both of his, placing her hand flat on his chest and leaning up on her elbow, her head on her hand. She looked straight into his eyes, and blinked slowly.

"Tell me if I go wrong," she said, sounding fairly certain she wouldn't need to be told.

She slid her hand straight down his stomach, under the sheet, then diverted to his side and his hip bone, fingers ghosting, tickling almost, along the crease at the top of his leg, down to his inner thigh, tracing lazy curves and circles, all the while watching for reaction on his face.

She brushed a ticklish spot on his hip and he twitched, took an involuntary sharp breath. She smirked and slid lower in the bed, pulling the covers with her over her shoulders like a cloak, baring his body at the same time. Using both hands she stroked and gently tickled his legs, stomach, sides, chest; veering near but never touching his rapidly hardening cock. Watching his reactions all the while.

Apparently satisfied with the results of her ministrations, she stopped the maddening, but arousing tickling. She knelt above him and leaned forward, not letting their bodies touch except the barest brush of her breasts against his chest. He took his hands from behind his head and slid them up her thighs, she caught his hands and entwined their fingers before pinning his hands back down beside his head.

She kissed the side of his face, along his jaw, down his neck, a gentle nibble of his earlobe, lowering herself slowly as she did so, until she was lying above him, though not resting any real weight on him. She let go of his hands and brushed her fingers over his hair, not risking going through the gelled and tangled curls. She ghosted her lips over his, drawing back when he leaned up to kiss.

"Tease," he tried to say, but the breath caught in his throat, making the word broken.

She leaned above him, close but still out of reach, her hair hanging down one side of her face to just brush his, that infuriating smile back and her eyes twinkling. He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. She mirrored him with a parody of his frown. He growled low in his chest, and she giggled. She actually giggled.

"Taunting a vampire is dangerous, young lady," he used the gently mocking form of address so as not to ruin the mood, but wanted to mean it too.

There was no flicker of fear in her face, "So is threatening a witch," she quirked her eyebrow and smirked, then quickly slid away, down his body to kiss his chest.

He groaned and let his head fall back, surrendered to the feel of her warm soft body against his: her breasts heavy against his stomach, her belly against his now hard cock, her smooth inner thighs brushing the outside of his. His hand played through her hair lightly, letting the heavy dead-straight strands slide through his fingers, the candlelight glinting in the highlights.

"She should always be lit with candlelight," he thought, but resisted saying it aloud, it seemed somehow outside the boundaries of their agreement.

She looked up through her lashes at him and touched just the tip of her tongue to his nipple, circling it until it stood small and hard then blowing on it softly. He watched her, blinking languidly, his hand still softly carding her hair. She narrowed her eyes, a smile tweaking the corners slightly, her eyebrow raised making her expression teasing and playfully devilish, then she bit sharply on the nipple she'd just been tending so softly.

"Bloody hell." he arched off the bed. It hadn't been hard enough to even break the skin, but it was startling after all the soft touches lulling him.

She kissed the abused area gently, then peppered a trail of kisses to the other nipple giving it the same treatment.

"Fuck," he couldn't just lie there any longer. He held her face with both his hands, fingers tangled in her hair, and firmly guided her back up to kiss him, refusing to accept the teasing any longer.

She didn't resist this time, her lips hot against his, quickly deepening the kiss. She was lovely: sweet, passionate, swapping the control of the kiss back and fore between them. His hands roamed down her body tracing her sides, sliding around her back. One hand up under her hair to the nape of her neck to caress, the other on the small of her back pressing her closer, flush against his body, bathing in the heat of her. Definitely more aroused than playful now, he could feel her cunt hot and wet against his cock. He arched his hips up, rocking against her slowly.

She pulled back slightly, resting her weight on her elbows, her hands either side of his head. Her eyes heavy lidded, her cheeks flushed, her lips reddened and parted slightly. She searched his face, eyes tracing his hairline, his jaw, lingering on his mouth. Lifting one hand, she followed the same path with her fingers, putting her palm flat against his cheek, brushing his lips with her thumb. He opened his mouth and took the digit between his teeth, biting down carefully, then closing his lips to suck and curl his tongue around the tip. Her eyes never left his mouth as he did this, her tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip.

His turn to drive.

Tightening his grip on her waist, he rolled them so she was on her back and he was half over her, one leg between hers. She gave a little squeak of surprise, then resettled with a nervous giggle. He ran his hand down her side, following the curves of her waist and hip, down her thigh to her knee, crooking her leg slightly and urging her to let it fall to the side. He slid his hand firmly back up her inner thigh, massaging slightly as he went until he reached where her leg hinged and stopped, not quite touching her the way she wanted yet - he had to pay back a little of that teasing.

She made a little noise of frustration in the back of her throat and pouted, but seemed to read the game. She reached straight for his erection this time, her touch surprisingly sure if a little inexpert. He moved his hand, pressing his thumb on her clit rocking it slowly, his fingers just resting against her.

The next level as it were. They watched each other's faces carefully. She shifted her hold a little, tightening her fist around his cock, brushing over the head with her thumb, jerking him a bit too slowly, a bit to gently.

"I meant what I said about directions." she said, her voice displaying her first hint of uncertainty.

"Harder," he offered, "can't hurt me, pet. Vampires usually like it a bit rough. What about you? Don't want to hurt you. You done this before?"

She quirked her eyebrow at him, "What do you think lesbians get up to in bed exactly?"

"I'm not daft! I asked what you've done."

"Most things."

He wanted to challenge that, what could a 20 year old girl know about 'most things', but he didn't. Instead he placed a cautious fingertip inside her, pressing forward carefully to test. She wasn't lying, she wasn't intact, but adding a second finger, equally carefully, proved she was tight.

"Spike, stop being so damn careful with me, I won't break," she snapped, impatient.

"Damn it,"he thought,"Just trying to treat her right. See how she really likes a little taste of rough shall we." With a snarl he pinned her with his body weight, her hand on his cock trapped between them, his mouth at the junction of her shoulder and neck, teeth blunt against her skin, his hand pumping into her roughly enough that he knew he was skirting dangerously near to an electrical migraine.

Her heart thundered with fear, but she only tightened her grip on his cock and with her free hand grasped a handful of his hair hard, tugging his face away from her neck. She turned her head to him, the position awkward this close. He turned his face to her. Her expression was cool, and the suggestion of warning in her eyes.

Ok, he was willing to admit that had been a mistake. He lifted his weight, and stilled his hand, "I'm sorry, pet. Maybe this is not such a good idea." He started to withdraw his hand, but she clamped her legs together on it, unfisted the hand in his hair and smoothed the back of his neck.

"Do what you were doing before. It felt nice," she lifted her chin in a little inverted nod, "I'm sorry too - be as gentle as you like."

He pulled away and looked at her. So unbelievably knowing; trusting, and open to him. It was as if he kept peeling off layers, or she kept shedding them: her dress being only the first and least important, followed by her teasing and playfulness, then her bravado, even the reason she was here. This wasn't only about sex, this was about someone to hold, caress, show affection to, without the danger of rebuffal or hurt. And suddenly he didn't want to toy with this lovely girl, this beautiful woman, any more. He only wanted to show her she'd made the right choice in him, that he appreciated her need. Hell, he shared it. And maybe she'd chosen him because she knew that too.

"I won't hurt you, Tara. I swear."

"I know. Like I said, I trust you," she coaxed him down, with her hand on his neck, to another gentle kiss, and he thought maybe he could fall in love with her, just a little, just for tonight.

Despite her request to continue, he withdrew his hand, and she let go of him, both instead using their hands to caress each other, as they relaxed again.

He kissed her breasts, discovered how she liked them touched, she found the ticklish spot on his side below his ribs. He nibbled her neck until she squirmed and laughed, she kissed the soft skin just below his ear. Murmurs and gasps, soft laugher and moans. They explored each other slowly and intimately, becoming more assured and eager until they were both panting for air.

Braced on his hands he positioned himself over her, "You ready, pet."

She clutched at his arms, smiling and flushed and near quivering, "Yes. Definitely!"

He pushed into her and stilled immediately, "God, love, your so hot, so tight." He dropped his head, struggling for control, he'd been on the edge for so long himself.

She made a needy little noise, "Please, move. Oh, god, please."

"I move, and this'll all be over, pet." he laughed more a release of tension than humour, then groaned as she clenched her muscles around him, "Ah! Don't!"

"You don't need to last, so close, please, just…" she arched her hips and ground against him.

"Fuck," he gave up arguing and moved with her, trying to take it slow.

She wrapped her legs around him and pulled on his shoulders until he lent down closer, rocking her hips to meet his thrusts. She tightened her arms around him, hands clutching at his back, tightened her legs, speeding his movements, her voice all inarticulate cries. He buried his eyes in her neck, breath gasping against her breast.

Then she was shuddering beneath him, fluttering around him, her voice caught in her throat in a gasp as she came. And he was gone too, his last shred of control spent on clenching his teeth together rather than sinking them into her sweet-salt skin.

They lay side by side, collapsed and panting. She gave a breathless giggle.

"Wow, you're really good at that."

"I'll take that as high praise from a 90% lesbian such as yourself," he leaned up on one elbow and grinned at her.

She smiled up at him, and slowly got her breathing level. She cleared her throat, "I- um- guess I better be getting back to the dorm. It's late, well, early by now," suddenly all the uncertainty came flooding in and she looked away shyly.

He frowned, "Don't have to go. I'd only have to get up and walk you home, gentleman that I am. Room enough for two in this bed right here."

"You don't mind me staying?" she looked back hopefully.

"Course not, pet. Come here."

He coaxed her to turn and lie back against him, pulling the covers up around them. He put his arm around her waist and laced their fingers. She snuggled further down under the covers and tighter against his body, sighing as she relaxed again.

They lay spooned for a few minutes silent and comfortable.

"I sometimes think this i-is what I miss m-most," she said quietly.

He tightened his arm around her in comfort, and kissed the back of her hair, "Me too, pet. Me too."

He lay quiet and still as her breathing slowed into sleep, then let the sound of her steady heartbeat lull him after her.

It was day when he woke. The candle had long since burnt out, and the faint sunlight from the small crypt windows above was enough for him to tell it was late morning. His bed was cold and empty, and he sighed. Another night with no evidence that he'd had any company except a faint scent; at least the bed linen was rumpled this time. He rolled, hanging off the edge of the bed to snag his lighter and cigarettes from his jeans on the floor. Sitting up to light the smoke, he saw the note on the pillow next to his.

Spike,
I had to get to class. I'm sorry I didn't wake you, but you really do sleep like the dead! Anyway you looked too content to disturb. Thank you for last night, it was wonderful. I've left you a gift upstairs. Not a thank you as such, I meant to give it to you anyway. I'll see you soon.
With love,
Tara

Curious, he pulled on his jeans and climbed up to the crypt proper. He couldn't see anything new. There was no extra blood in the fridge. He stood in the middle of the room confused, checked the note again. She did say a gift. Maybe she was teasing, or forgot as she was leaving. A little disappointed, he walked to the door to close it, she hadn't known the knack for propping it closed when it was broken. He felt a familiar tingle as he touched the handle. Magic. Then he saw the second note pinned to the doorframe.

It's a sort of backwards uninviting spell. Humans can't come into your home unless you invite them, not even me once I've left.
Use it wisely.
Tara

He stared in disbelief at the notes, then at the doorway, then threw his head back and laughed aloud.

The End

Re: Bring back the pr0n

Fri, 24 Aug 2007 16:17:00 GMT

Further to this post, I'm writing, I am, I swear, but I at nearly 1000 words and I can't seem to get them to fuck.
*head desk*
They're still both fully clothed, and only one of them is on the bed!
*looks at them sternly*
I suppose at least they're in the same room and talking to each other, it could be worse.
*sigh*
I should just skip to teh sex, right?
Ok, back to the notepad...

Desktop meme

Tue, 21 Aug 2007 18:56:31 GMT

Gakked from purplefeen

Bring Back the P0rn!

Mon, 20 Aug 2007 18:16:58 GMT

Got this from Gabrielle (velvetwhip), and really how could I refuse. :)
~

Bring Back the P0rn!

On September 1, all of fandom here on IJ posts a piece of art or writing that has some sort of smut factor. It can be implied, it can be graphic, it can be raunchy, it just needs to be.

Why?

Because after all the censorship issues, fandom needs to bring back the p0rn!

Don't tell me you can't - one sentence, a doodle, all of it will do.

Remember - Bring Back the P0rn - September 01, only on InsaneJournal!

Your Mission is...

(1) Pimp this in your journal
(2) Write or Draw fandom smut
(3) Post on September 01
(4) Comment, Comment, Comment

~
Well, I'm clearing my schedule for the reading and attempted writing of... how about you?

Random Insanity - quiz answers that amused me

Sun, 19 Aug 2007 10:16:51 GMT

you are paleturquoise
#AFEEEE

Your dominant hues are green and blue. You're smart and you know it, and want to use your power to help people and relate to others. Even though you tend to battle with yourself, you solve other people's conflicts well.

Your saturation level is low - You stay out of stressful situations and advise others to do the same. You may not be the go-to person when something really needs done, but you know never to blow things out of proportion.

Your outlook on life is bright. You see good things in situations where others may not be able to, and it frustrates you to see them get down on everything.

the spacefem.com html color quiz

Raw evil score: 35.56%

You Are An Invisible You!

Just doing my thing, whether you see me or not.

the spacefem.com invisible thing quiz

Help requested

Tue, 14 Aug 2007 18:21:11 GMT

I need to change my layout, just because I don't much like this one.
Ideally I want it to:
            have the possibility of adding a header image
            have tags and links displayable in the sidebar
            be really easy to amend (i.e. not much coding: a little, like adding the header image, I can cope with).
Any recommendations out of the ready-made S2 selection?

Answers ~~on a postcard~~ in a comment please. :)

Some Devil Epilogue

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 14:35:35 GMT

Title: Some Devil
Author: twisted_reach
Pairing: Spike/Angel, Will/Liam
Rating: T
Warnings: Starts with very strong language.
Time frame: goes AU post NFA
Summary: A take on how Shanshu might work - after the battle Spike wakes up to Will’s life.
This epilogue then, is a little bit by way of explanation as to how and what, but not too much explanation. The second section may seem familiar to some, but that's only because I adapted this into a drabble for something else, not the other way around.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11

The first time Liam Maloney saw Will Haddon was in Tony's Bar. Liam was having a deep and meaningful with Kate about her father again. If he hadn't been he might have followed blond, beautiful and legless home when he got him chucked out.
The second time he saw him was answering a call to an assault on campus at UCLA. Not so blond, not legless at all, but still beautiful. Kate had to ask him the same question three times before he stopped staring and went back to work. He wished he'd been offered tea too.
The third time he saw him was a couple of days later when he'd found out things like name and address, but figured turning up at the guy's local would be a bit more subtle. He discovered that while subtle may have been in Will's vocabulary, it wasn't a concept he bought into. Liam didn't mind a bit.
At least that's how it would have gone if Will Haddon hadn't been beaten to death by a gang of muggers 13 months before, and Liam Maloney hadn't been shot trying to stop a liquor store hold up, a few months after that.

"So, Princess. Is that it? Are we done?"
"We're done. Never let it be said that those two are not hard work. You, mister, owe me a dinner."
"That I do, darlin'. Shall we 'den?"
"Is that what you're wearing?"
"What's wrong wid what I'm wearing?"
"Well for starters, I can't believe they let you bring that jacket with you to a higher plane."
"It's a classic style."
"Really."
"Okay, okay. I'll change. There. Happy now?"
"Yes."

The End.

Some Devil 11/11

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 14:11:50 GMT

"He called you Spike." Debbie put her tray down on his table and sat across from him.

"What?"

"The cop you beat on. He called you Spike, when he saw me and Jim waiting for you. He said, 'Don't worry. Spike'll be released soon. We just need a little chat'. "

"And?"

"And… is he from another lifetime too? Cause you're quite a young guy to have had so many lifetimes. I've known you, what, six years. You must've had a busy youth."

Will dragged a puddle of condensation around the table top with the base of his bottle.

"Will!"

"Bloody hell, woman! What do you want me to say?"

Debbie levelled a look at him, "I don't know. But a free piece of bartender advice… He obviously meant a lot to you or you wouldn't have swung at him like that."

"You've seen me take ill advised swings plenty to times. Never decided it meant I loved any of the targets before."

"You used to pick fights in bars, with a look of barely contained glee. Not in front of your boss, with a look of…"she trailed off, bit her lip.

"What? A look of what?" he snapped at her.

"You looked hurt."

Will snorted and drained his beer, "Whatever. Take a tip, love. You're a waitress not a bartender, keep your cod psychology, and bring me another of these."

"I prefer my tips in cash, thanks." She scowled and stood to go back to work.

Will frowned when she didn't walk away. He looked up at her, expecting another round of grilling or advice, but she was staring at someone behind him.

"Whiskey straight up, please."

She snapped her mouth shut, turned on her heel, and scurried back to the bar.

"What do you want, Angelus?"

"Liam will do thanks." He settled on the recently vacated seat.

"Liam." Will muttered quietly.

"Everyone calls you Will here, don't they?"

"Yeah. Haven't ever been Spike. Billy when I was little, back in Britain."

"Uh-huh."

Will steadfastly refused to look at him, because… if he did… if Will did…

"I'm not sorry I staked you. They'd have tortured you. They did me, imaginatively, and I've been to- " He stopped abruptly as Debbie came back with their drinks. Angel just looked at her until she gave up lurking and left again.

Will suppressed a laugh, it came out a soft snort - she couldn't out-lurk the master.

"Persistent."

"You have no idea."

"Did you mean what you said to her."

Will frowned, "When?"

"Just now. About loving the target."

Will finally looked at Liam. A being with several hundred years on them should be capable of looking so young and vulnerable. Twenty-seven. Only twenty-seven. Did that make him the grown-up at thirty-two?

"I let it all go. When I knew I couldn't go back. Grieved sort of. Accepted it was over. Stopped the dreams finally. Did you get those?"

Liam nodded. It was his turn to study the table. "Still do. I drew them, Darla, Dru, everyone, pinned them down so they'd stay on the paper and out of my head. You." His hand made involuntary sketching motions.

"I wrote it all down. Everything that kept me awake. To each their own I guess." Will downed his beer. A bit too fast, he coughed as some threatened to choke him. Mortal. Human. I'm nearly halfway through my three-score and ten, I've got grey hairs, life is really bloody short.

"Didn't work." He coughed some more, "Couldn't get you out of my skull could I."

Liam's eyes were very wide, and he looked scared to death, which was really fucking funny all things considered, "Didn't work for me either."

Will wiped his streaming eyes, "You kissed me you wanker."

"You punched me. Let's call it even." a sly smile curled one side of Liam's mouth. Face of an angel, bet there's still some demon inside though.

"Yeah. I meant it."

The End.
Except for... .

Some Devil 10/11

Fri, 03 Aug 2007 16:40:20 GMT

He stared at the computer, trying to concentrate on the paper he was supposed to be writing. This was the tough bit, actual research. His department had cut him slack last year, and he was trying to make up for it. He had some good ideas, but…

"What's the bloody commotion?" He stuck his head out of his office door. Students and staff alike were running down the corridor to the main entrance.

He collared as passing fresher, "Hey what's going on?"

"They said someone's been murdered!!" morbid glee on the kid's face, "We're going to look."

He was strangely relieved that he no longer shared in the youngster's relish. Rather, concerned, he looked up the corridor to Sandra's office. She was stood in the doorway mobile in hand and issuing instructions to the security guard rushing past.

"Will, go with Marvin, help him control the students. A girl's been stabbed just outside. First Aid are with her, Ambulance and Police on their way."

A short while later guarding a path and redirecting students to the other side of the building, Debbie and Lise found him.

"We heard something happened over this way, is the woman okay?"

"Yeah. She's still down there. Superficial from what I could see, defensive wounds."

The girl was on a gurney by the waiting ambulance. A blonde detective trying to get a few last questions in before she was put off finally by the paramedics and left them to load the girl into their truck.

"Defensive wounds?" asked Lise.

"Hands and arms." He mimed putting his arms up in front of his face to fend off an attack. Lise grimaced.

The ambulance drove towards them and they hurriedly stepped aside.

Debbie frowned, "On campus too. I thought it was safe here."

"It is safe here," he almost sighed it. He quickly changed the subject. "Wanna cuppa tea? Come back to my office."

"The British cure for every stressful situation, right?"

"Right."

Sandra was speaking to the lady detective when they came in the foyer. "Oh, Will. This is Detective Lockley, she said the young woman is okay and there's a call out to arrest her boyfriend."

Will nodded, "The ambulance just took her away."

"It was outside Jim's window. He called 911. Detective Lockley's partner is interviewing him." Sandra looked strained.

"C'mon, boss. I'll get you a cup o' tea too. Calm the nerves. Yeah?"

He walked towards his room. Debbie, Lise followed.

At the far end of the corridor, Jim's door opened and he and another man came out.

Will felt his insides numb, and the blood started to roar in his ears.

They were semi-silhouetted against the window at the end of the hall, and the man had his back to Will, but the slight apologetic hunch of the shoulders…

His spine ran cold, and the people in the corridor around him moved as if underwater. He waited for the familiar pain of let down, wished it over quickly, like ripping off a bandaid.

The figure shifted, handed Jim his card, now in profile.

He could feel every heartbeat pound in his chest, his head, hell his feet, vibrating through his bones. He wondered that everyone around him couldn't hear it. Far away he heard Debbie's voice "Will? Are you okay?"

Kate Lockley walked towards her colleague, who finally turned to face them… and stopped.

Will took a reflexive step forward, and kept going.

Kate turned confused, as her partner walked straight past her, ignoring her question about their case.

They stopped just short of each other.

"Hey." Angel looked… kind of awkward, shifty.

Will stared at him for a moment. Angel wasn't surprised to see him. He looked… He tried to clear his head with a slight shake, cocked it to one side, he frowned at Angel for a moment, then felt something click. Angel knew. Angel had been here and known he was too and hadn't…

The punch must've taken Angel as much by surprise as it took Spike, because he never used to go down so fast.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" He followed Angel down, straddled him, rained punches wherever he could land them between Angel's flailing hands trying to grab his own, "HOW LONG? HOW LONG?"

"I'm sorry! Stop- just- please. I'm sorry. Ow. Oh hell."

There was a delayed flurry of activity and suddenly Will found himself with his face ground into the floor and his hands cuffed behind him.

"Kate, let him go."

"Not likely. Assaulting a police officer, Liam. Thought you'd be taking that a mite more seriously."

"I can handle this. Uncuff him, I just need to speak to him."

"You need to get that cut looked at and check he didn't do any more damage. He is coming to the station house."

Liam gingerly touched his cheekbone, coming away with blood on his fingertips; he sagged, "Just don't book him okay. Wait until I get there. Put him somewhere to cool off."

She hauled Will to his feet. He stared fixedly at the floor as she pushed him down the corridor with Liam in tow. Sandra, Debbie and Lise, with matching masks of shock, flattened themselves against the wall.

"Sorry, boss." Will muttered, he felt the flush of embarrassment and shame creep up his neck. Really fucked it up this time. I'd fire me if I was her. Oh bugger.

Sandra glanced up the corridor, Jim was already running down it with his hastily gathered coat and keys.

"I'll phone." as he jogged passed. She nodded.

"Wait!" with a quick glance at Lise and a squeeze of her hand, Debbie ran after him.

Will sat in the interview room with his head tilted back. Counted the perforations in the ceiling tiles.

"Fuck." he muttered to himself and squeezed his eyes shut, banging his head lightly against the wall.

Not that he'd ever imagined a reunion, but if he had, it wasn't what he'd have pictured. More embracing and tears, probably. "Fucking sap."

"You're not supposed to do that you know."

Will started out of his reverie, sat up and just looked at Angel, trying to keep a mask up. Put Spike on the surface.

Angel indicated the handcuff hanging uselessly from the table leg.

Spike shrugged, "Chafed. Had a paperclip on me."

Angel pulled out a chair and sat in front of him, not too close. There was a paper stitch on his cheekbone. He folded and unfolded his arms, fidgeting, ending up with his elbows on his splayed knees and his hands hanging between them.

"I met Cordy." Angel looked up and held his gaze, "She wasn't my Cordy. She's an actress, and by that I mean waitress. I ordered coffee from her in Starbucks. She flirted a bit, but she didn't know me."

Spike blinked, but made no other expression.

"Did you know Buffy's in an asylum here?" Angel continued.

Spike's gaze slid away to the floor.

"It's not her really either. Wesley's an actuary in London. Fred never left Texas. Gunn's barely on record apart from an arrest sheet as long as my arm. Nothing sticks though." Angel smiled, looking at his threaded fingers. "But they're not… them."

"Willow and Oz were students. Just graduated."

Angel looked up, relief that he was no longer carrying the conversation single handed. "Xander fixed the stairs in my building a couple of months ago."

Spike glared, "What're you saying, Liam? You looked up everyone except me? You found me and avoided me? What?"

"I- I did see you. You were in a bar, the day after your birthday. You were cursing me out to a bottle of JD."

Spike stood up suddenly, "Am I free to go or is your latest little blonde going to charge me?"

"Don't let her hear you say that or she might." Angel smiled.

Spike gave him a blank cold look. Quickly abandoning humour, Angel stood, "I'll show you out. Your friends are waiting for you."

Debbie and Jim hit him with a barrage of questions as soon as they left the building. He refused to be drawn on the why or the who, and eventually Jim just drove them back to the campus, in uncomfortable silence.

Sandra was waiting with a week's suspension, and a disciplinary hearing on Monday.

"I've really bollocksed it up this time, huh." He stomped heavily down the steps of the history block, juggling keys, laptop and case.

Jim turned suddenly, furious "You are so fucking lucky! If anyone else decided to haul out on a cop in the middle of work they'd be fired faster than they could fucking breathe! For Christ's sake, Will, get your act together."

Will gaped at him, "Jim. I'm-"

"Whatever, Will. I'll speak to you later. Right now I'm going home. Try and get the image of that girl being stabbed out of my head."

"-sorry." He watched his friend stride away, and felt like… a right bastard.

Part 11

Some Devil 9/11

Thu, 02 Aug 2007 17:08:32 GMT

He woke up feeling and looking pretty much like hell. After tidying up the mess from the day before, and generally brooding like the long lost poof himself, he couldn't stand being around himself a moment longer. He headed straight for the bar where Debbie worked, but where he knew she had the day off.

He looked up at himself in the mirror behind the row of bottles. He didn't know what he expected to see. He no longer recognised the face looking back.

Face now slightly tanned, hair newly bleached, but ungelled. Remnants of last night's eyeliner still clinging. Clothes that didn't quite fit the image.

He dropped his gaze back down to the glass in front of him. No capacity. Good thing or bad? Cheaper sure.

Fuck.

He'd fought for this? He'd wanted this? He didn't even know what to do with this life.

He threw back the drink and motioned Tony for another… yet another.

He could remember everything too clearly. Vampire-sense clarity. The memories wouldn't leave him alone, hadn't faded out as the new ones came in. And crappy as most of that existence had been, even compared to his relatively ordinary one now, he wanted it back so badly. At least some part of it. At least…

He clenched his teeth and breathed steadily through his nose.

Not going to make an arse of myself in public by crying.

Recomposed he told Tony to keep 'em coming, and set about getting well and truly rat-arsed.

Tony leaned back, polishing a glass like a cliché. He wondered if he should call Debbie. Decided against it. Dumb kid could drink himself stupid if he wanted to. He'd done it enough times himself, once upon a time. A customer came from a stall near the back to the far end of the bar. Tony left Will to slide lower on his chair.

"Yes sir. What can I get you?"

"Whiskey straight up. And I think he's had enough don't you?"

"He's a regular. Doesn't make a habit of it. Figure he's got his reasons today."

Whiskey straight up pulled a leather wallet from his coat and flashed a badge quietly at Tony.

"I think he's had enough. Don't you?"

"Yes detective, I think he probably has." Tony sighed and beckoned Abe, LA's biggest bus-boy, over to carry Will out.

"Hey, watcha doin?"

"Time to go home Will. Abe's going to walk you up the block okay."

He scowled at Tony, then made a show of gathering his jacket, cigarettes and lighter, paying for his drinks. Abe waited patiently beside him, then guided him unsteadily out the door.

Tony turned back to his customer, "One whiskey coming up."

Abe took Will to his door and waited silently while he glared up at him.

"Why'd you havta spoil a perfectly good drinking session?"

Abe shrugged his massive shoulders and pointed to the door. Will scrabbled in his pockets for the key.

"Cat got your tongue?"

He shook his head and raised an eyebrow blandly at Will.

"Christ, you're big. Why ain't you the bouncer?"

"I'm a pacifist. I'm going back to work now. See you Will."

He staggered upstairs to bed and troubled sleep.

"I thought you said you weren't going to drink yourself into a coma this year."

"A very fine morning to you too James." Will clutched his coffee and slid his sunglasses further up his nose.

"What's with the hair again?"

"It cover's the grey."

Jim followed him as he unlocked his office door.

"Are you going to leave me to die in peace or not?"

"Not. Why are you hung over?"

"Fine. Debbie dragged me out to a club on Saturday. Hence the hair."

"I like Debbie, she doesn't take your shit."

Will grunted, "I had a good time, then I managed to change it to a crap time. Then on Sunday I got so drunk even my local threw me out."

"You dickhead."

"Thank you for that assessment. Now let me die."

"Fine. Ditch the coffee and try the vitamin C again. Trust me."

Somehow he made it through the day without throwing up on any students.

He couldn't face going home and he couldn't face another drinking debacle. I must be getting old. He drove to the coast and sat watching the sun sink into the surf.

I've got to stop this. I've got to get over that life and live this one. I've got to stop fucking it up. Why is it so hard to let go?

And yet he had let go. He thought of the shadow of the girl he knew living inside her own head in an asylum, unable to let go of a life that wasn't hers, that she should never have glimpsed. He'd let go of what she couldn't. He thought of two college kids he knew but didn't, their faces displaying the innocence that was long gone from their more familiar estranged counterparts. His only interaction with either now, was to mark the young man's papers and recognise where the girl had given some input. He thought of a sweet blind date and a promising nascent relationship, broken off because it would have repeated something he didn't want anymore. He'd let go of so much. And he grieved, but he didn't want it back.

And yet he couldn't let go. A half heard voice in the next aisle of the supermarket. A broad-shouldered student on a football scholarship in the halls at work. A suit with a cellphone pressed to his ear two cars ahead in a jam on the freeway. The indistinct figure of a plain clothes policeman in the background of a news report. A faithless boyfriend with dark eyes and gelled hair on his knees in a toilet cubical. And every time his heart sped up, his mouth went dry, his palms began to sweat, and every time he hoped. And every time, the student would turn, the owner of the voice would round the corner, the news report would change, and hope would shatter and the shards would slice up his insides.

"Why can't I let him go?"

The sun slid beneath the horizon and kept its answers to itself.

He worked, he ate, he exercised, he got hooked on lame TV shows, he went out with friends and colleagues, he stopped himself from drinking alone, avoiding Tony's bar mostly out of embarrassment. He watched Jim and Isa's daughter turn one year old, he had the blond cut out once again, he provided a shoulder for Debbie to cry on when she and Lise fought, he smiled to himself when they got back together, he let the anniversary of being 'mugged' slip by, aware of the suppressed sighs of relief around him when he didn't break down or crack up, he watched another year of students graduate taking Willow Rosenberg and Daniel Osbourne with them onto better brighter things. He slept.

The dreams had abated with his own personal written therapy. Haphazard memoirs, not chronological, nor by importance, not even organised by relationship. Certainly not complete, but enough. Mostly… Only one facet of his past still haunted him with any regularity. Sure others appeared, but they were merely bit players now, guest appearances. No real pattern to the disturbed sleep, and no longer frequent enough to make him ill like it had, but still…

'I always kind of liked your poems, William.' 'You like Manilow!'

'Give me my ring you bastard.'

'Hold my hand.' 'Ahh. St Petersburg.'

'Don't worry I'll take care of her while you're… incapacitated. Won't I, Princess.'

'We were innocent victims, too, once upon a time.'

'Does that make me some kind of deviant?'

'You were my Sire, my Yoda!'

'What do you want, Spike?'

'Moving on.'

'They're going to get you!' 'But not you.'

He woke up with sweat-stained, come-stained sheets and salt-stained pillow, and felt sick. For the umpteenth time he remade his bed, showered, scrubbing at his face under the stream of water.

"Get out of my head, you bastard. Get out. Get out."

It seemed he couldn't write enough about him to clear his psyche. He still heard that voice with shifting accent, and saw that form or face every fucking where.

Less than a quarter of his combined lifetimes, no, less than a fifth, had been spent in the company of that… that… Irish wanker. Even less with any one of the multiple personalities. Why was he so bloody influential. Not even his proper Sire. Not his friend, not his lover.

'…never intimate…except that once…'

Yeah. Except that once. Intimate as opposed to the standard demonic power play that was sex between Angelus and his family. They'd both been drunk as lords on too much liquor and too little blood, without the women, snowed in, in some godforsaken Northern European town, with sod all else to do, and there had been an unspoken agreement when they awoke the next evening, on their big feather bed with limbs entwined and stinking hangovers, that not only would it not be happening again, but it never happened in the first place.

Hell, it hadn't even been all that great, sex wise. Good yeah, not great. But it had been… intimate.

That had been 1897. There was never an opportunity for it to not happen again. Souls, madness and slayers got in the way.

Then the bastard had to go and kiss him. One last mind fuck before the killing blow. God, how he hated him. And the worst of it was… he'd been too surprised to kiss him back.

He got on with life and he tried to let go.

Part 10

Drabble: I'll do anything

Mon, 30 Jul 2007 18:02:41 GMT

Title: I’ll do anything
Written for Drabble Much at LiveJournal, prompt "Blood, Sex and Booze"
Characters or pairing: Spike POV
Set: Angel S5 Ep. Not Fade Away
Rating: K+
Word Count: 100

They can be forgiven for thinking they understand what drives me. The blood, sex, fight of your average vampire top the list, plus booze, and I won’t deny they play their part. First thing I did when I got my body back was nick his blood, second was screw Harmony, next was fighting (him). And after? Well, I got wankered, didn’t I.
But you see I’m forever chasing my one great goal, destined never to catch it.
So that’s how I’ve ended up, in an alley, in the rain, asking him if he’s got a plan.
I’ll do anything for love.

Ficlet: Waiting Game

Mon, 30 Jul 2007 18:00:44 GMT

Title: Waiting Game
Written for Drabble Much at LiveJournal, prompt "Blood, Sex and Booze".
Characters: Darla, Cordelia, Wesley
Set: Angel S3 Ep. Offspring/Quickening/Lullaby
Rating: K+
Word Count: 300

She eyes me daggers. I stroke my huge belly, the evidence of his betrayal of her as she sees it. I can smell it all over her, his ‘Cordy‘, and I know he must too: desire, and now jealousy. I smile acid sweet, and honey my voice, "He’ll never change you know."
She looks away refusing to be drawn.
"Liam-" I almost stop at her look of incomprehension, she didn’t know his name? "was a terrible one for the ladies. Whoring his nights away, when he wasn’t starting a drunken brawl."
I see her bite back a retort. I imagine it was about the ‘whore’ part, and at my expense, but we both know it would have been wasted on me.
"Did he ever tell you about his father?" I continue. She’s trying to fight her curiosity, looking at the wall, pretending not to listen. "He never could please him, so he lived down to the worst of his expectations. Then the Master, another authority figure to rail against. Of course then his insatiable thirst was for blood, not liquor, hmmm" I affect a dreamy smile, "seems the plain old lust for sex never leaves him though."
There are hot red patches on her cheeks as she stalks over jabbing a finger at me. Not too close pretty girl.
"Angel’s different, he’s a warrior, a champion-"
I laugh at her spluttering argument.
"Cordelia?"
The Englishman is in the doorway.
"Would you like a break? I can sit with Darla."
She stands over me shaking, glaring furiously for a moment, then storms out of the room. He sits in her recently vacated chair, never taking those watchful blue eyes off me. Another one who reeks of want for my dear boy. Another one for me to toy with while we wait.