ROAD TRIP 5
by Maz

 

Spike sat back in the deep arm chair, one hand idly caressing the soft leather, projecting his best air of mild discontent. Venetia sat opposite, toying with her glass, her fingers stroking up and down the stem. Xander was curled up obediently at Spike’s feet, holding his leash in his cupped hands, while Riley knelt slightly behind Xander, where Spike didn't have to look at him.

 

"I really wanted something younger and cleaner," he said, opening the negotiations. "I was inclined to be insulted that this was all you saw fit to offer. Wasn't sure you were serious." Adding petulantly, "He carries more scents than a Whitechapel whore."

 

Venetia's chuckle was rich and confident. "Those were the days," she agreed. "My dear William, you can't fool me. I know you of old. I know you want him. It's not just that he's from Sunnydale. He used to be a soldier, but you already know that. You've met him before. In fact, I'd say you had a history, judging by your reaction to him. And then, there is the interesting fact that you gave him to your pet. So really, the question is, how much do you want him? How much will you pay, to have the chance to make him pay, over and over?"

 

Spike smirked back at her. "Not more than he's worth," he stated, matching her blunt for blunt. "Yes, I knew him when he was a fine, upstanding, church-going, arrogant, Slayer-whipped soldier. And you can believe that I'll treasure the memory of this night for a long time." He reached down to stroke Xander's hair. "It was nice being able to give my boy a treat. He's so devoted. Will do anything for me. Won't you, Pet?" Xander pushed his head into the caress, closing his eyes and smiling like the cat who'd had the cream. "Has no love for the military either, my boy," Spike added, with pride. "So, yes. I knew him. I even want him. But, I've had him, too. So I'll be quite happy to walk away, if you try to rip me off."

 

Venetia shrugged, trying for nonchalance and just managing it. "Oh, I'm sure we can come to an arrangement. We are such old friends. You're looking well, did I tell you? I heard strange things about Sunnydale, but he's always been popular with the more discerning of my clients. He's been a good investment over the past four, five years and although they don't tend to last long, he still has years of useful life in him."

 

Spike laughed out loud. Her veiled threats and insinuations meant nothing to him. Whatever she had heard, he was willing to bet it had grown out of all proportion, long before it reached this back water spa for the rich and lazy. Riley could have told some stories, but while Venetia may play with her food, she didn't engage it in conversation. She still carried the arrogant superiority of the time and class that had shaped her. And she had seen him feed. She had seen his humiliation of her property. "If you've had him that long," he said, "all your regulars have had him at least a couple of times. They won't risk repetition. They'll be wanting fresh stock, not this." He waved his hand dismissively at Riley's kneeling form.

 

Venetia's face tightened and he knew he'd scored a hit. She had been planning to get rid of Riley soon. She had simply seen a chance to make a bit more profit from him. Relaxing back into his chair, Spike smiled. "Come on Venetia," he cajoled, willing to be conciliating now that he had the upper hand. "Let's do this in a businesslike manner. He's not worth more than a hundred and fifty guineas and you know it," he said, naming a price very slightly above Riley's worth on the open market. He paused and pursed his lips, thoughtfully. "But you're right. There is a certain piquancy in possessing an old enemy and having him willingly spread himself for my boy like that. I can keep him for food. I don't need to dirty myself by fucking him, not when my boy gets such pleasure from it." He gazed fondly down at Xander and sighed in apparent disgust. "He's such a sweet toy, but like all humans, not very discriminating. They do like to play in the dirt. Worse than fledges." He looked up again, as if pulling himself back to the present. Looking straight into her eyes, he said with finality, "Hundred and seventy five. That's my offer. Take it or leave it."

 

Venetia frowned, then sighed, reaching into a pocket in her gown and pulling out a folded parchment. "I'll take it," she said. "I'm robbing myself, but for such an old friend..." She managed a smile and allowed the rest of the sentence to hang unspoken as they shook hands on the deal.

 

Spike dug in his own pocket and pulled out a roll of notes, counting off $370 (he wasn't going to quibble the exchange rate and he judged that Venitia wouldn't, either). He reached out to hand it over, taking the contract from her. "Formal release," he added still holding on to the money.

 

Venetia scowled slightly, then nodded in acquiescence. "Formal release," she agreed, pulling back. She turned to Riley. "Come here, boy," she ordered. Riley rose to his feet and stepped around Xander to stand in front of her. She pointed to the floor at her feet and he knelt. Tipping his chin, so he was looking up into her eyes, she placed one hand on his forehead and spoke the official words, renouncing her ownership.

 

Taking the money at last, she sat back in her chair. "There," she said. "All yours." She took a large swig of her cognac and with an expression of distaste, added, "Now, he smells disgusting, could you please take him away?"

 

Spike reached down and unclipped Xander's leash. Fastening the clasp around the length he turned it into a choke collar and slipped it over Riley's head. Standing up he gave it a sharp tug. "Come-on doggy. Time for walkies," he sneered. Xander also rose to his feet and the small procession crossed the room, out of the door and down into the street.

 

As they reached the alley he heard Xander let out a breath of relief. "Come on, Pet," he said, before Xander could say anything. "Let's be going." He threw Xander the keys to the van. He wanted to be out of town before they relaxed. "The dog can go in the back. I paid good money for this, don't want him coming to harm. Don't want him getting in the way, either."

 

Xander nodded his understanding and they walked down the alley in silence.

 

* * * * *

 

Xander stared out at the long, straight shadows of the telephone poles, slanting obliquely across the highway. The desert glowed golden in the light of the rising sun and the road lay long and straight in front of them, cutting through the natural desolation like a black rift. The white lane markers flashed under them as he allowed the van to wander aimlessly from side to side, just for the sheer fun of it. The whole landscape was empty of any sign of humanity - except for the proof of their existence provided by the road and its attendant sentinels. Riley sat beside him and from his occasional shift and mutter Xander knew he wanted to object to this cavalier disregard for the rules of the road. At least he was beginning to show some signs of life again.

 

Spike had driven them out of town, heading north along a dirt track which really needed a visit from the grader. As soon as they were clear of Fairclough, Xander had climbed into the back for clothes to replace his loincloth and found Riley curled up miserably on the mattress. As he dressed he considered offering a word or two of comfort, but Riley was hunched in on himself, face buried on his knees, his arms wrapped over the top of his head, so he left him, clambering back into the front to sit with Spike.

 

Comfortable again, in his jeans and shirt, Xander ran his hand around his neck, automatically adjusting the little gold padlock so it lay straight. "So, can I breath again, now?" he asked, gazing out at the rutted road and the sharp edged rocks and shrubs as they were caught by the beams of the head-lights.

 

Spike turned his head to look over at him. "I ever tell you I love you, Pet?" he asked.

 

"No, I don't think you ever did."

 

Spike grunted. "Well, remind me to do that sometime, okay?"

 

Xander laughed, his mood lightening. "Sure. And one day, if you're lucky, I'll call you 'Master.'"

 

Spike smirked back. "If I'm lucky? I'll have to work on that, then." He sobered slightly. "Don't know what we're going to do with him now, though," he added, with a shrug and a nod backwards, acknowledging the elephant in the room.

 

"We'll think of something. We always do. But can I say, not sure that was what I'd call a fun time. If we ever have to do anything like that again, can we find a way that doesn't involve me dressed up like a total slave and behaving like your favourite pooch?" He smiled at Spike, making sure he knew it was just a general grouse. "I felt stupidly over-dressed, compared to the actual bite-whores."

 

Spike laughed. "Over-dressed?" he asked, cocking his eyebrow suggestively. Xander glared. "Well sure, Pet. But we didn't know, did we? Over-kill seemed safer than... um... under-kill? Once we get out of state, we'll find you a motel, so you can shower. How's that?"

 

Xander sat back, running a hand through his hair, then bringing it down to sniff. His nose wrinkled. "Might be an idea. I mean, if I can smell it....."

 

Spike drove as fast as the rough surface allowed and after a couple of hours they hit Interstate 40 not far from Tucumcari and turned west. He smiled reassuringly at Xander. "Should be okay now, Luv," he said. "But we'll keep going. Want to cross the state line before we even think of stopping. Get some sleep, if you can. He'll be alright in the back there. He's probably gone into shock, now he's finally out of Venitia's clutches."

 

They had left Albuquerque behind them by the time the sky began to lighten and Xander took over the wheel. Riley scrambled away as Spike climbed through the curtain, settled onto the mattress and pulled the quilt right over himself so he looked like nothing more than a pile of bedding. Xander started the engine as Riley edged into the front seat. Xander spared him a glance as he pulled off the shoulder and back on to the road. The rising sun stained the snow clad peaks of the distant mountains orange, while the slopes below remained in darkness. Riley sat gazing ahead, his face blank and slack.

 

Gradually the shadows became less stark, the intense gold of early sunrise softened to yellow and, eventually, to mellow white. The shadows cast by the scrub faded into part of the landscape, across the pale earth to the hills in the distance. Xander dug into the bag between the seats and pulled out a bottle of water. Propping his elbows on the wheel, he broke the seal and took a long drink. "Want a swig?" he asked, offering the bottle to Riley.

 

Riley raised his head, bringing his eyes into focus as if with an effort. "Thanks," he said, taking it from Xander before lapsing back into silence.

 

Xander left him to his brooding. What could you say in this situation? 'Hey man. So you've been a vampire whore for five years, eh? How did that work out for you? Did you have fun?' No, Riley would speak when he was ready. Meanwhile, Xander noted, they were approaching Gallup. He would feel better for the imaginary separation of an invisible line across the road.

 

Eventually Riley turned his head. "How long?" he asked in a flat voice.

 

Xander, jerked out of his own thoughts, turned in surprise. "Huh?" he asked intelligently, then taking in the question, "Oh, you mean me and Spike? Three years. Just over." He smiled at the thought.

 

Riley looked surprised. "You like it?" he asked strangely. "You're actually happy?"

 

Xander frowned. "Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" He paused. "Oh yeah. I guess... uhm... not good for you... the last five years. But it's not the same."

 

"You're still a slave," Riley said, suddenly vehement and angry. "You're no different, just because it's one vamp, not hundreds. You're still an addict and a slave."

 

Xander turned away from the road, easing his foot off the gas as he gazed at Riley. He wasn't about to explain his lover's personality to this man, this stranger who only resembled the young soldier he had known in a different life. Nor was there any gain in trying to explain their relationship to a guy who needed his anger as much as Riley did right now. "Whatever," he said.

 

They drove on in silence.

 

At Winslow they stopped, so Xander could dunk his hair in the sink of the public restroom - to hell with a motel, he didn't want to try and sleep in a bed with Riley in the room - and buy Riley a t-shirt, sweats and a pair of sandals, which he dragged on in the front seat, apparently unwilling to go near Spike, even asleep. They reached Flagstaff in the early afternoon and by then Riley had roused himself sufficiently to conduct a normal conversation, but as they stretched their legs in the supermarket, they stuck to the practicalities of food, drink and fuel and avoided any mention of his past, or their lives. Xander found himself wishing for evening. He was lonely in this company. Just looking at Riley took him back to memories of awkward self-consciousness and isolation. He had admired Riley so much. Liked and respected him, even as he had envied him his entrée into the world of college, which he shared with Buffy and Willow and from which Xander himself was excluded by his grades and by money, or the lack of it. He had seen Riley as one of the blessed. Now, looking into the distorted mirror which was Riley's life, he realised that they were not so very different at all, and the sadness of that thought had the flavour of burnt coffee. He felt he should be glad to see Riley again, but in truth he couldn't wait to part company. If only he could think of what to do with him.

 

There was no way he was going to dump him on Buffy. After three years of strained and occasional communications, he and Spike were just beginning to re-establish their relationship with the Sunnydale gang. He was now in regular e-mail contact with Willow and before this trip began he had received almost daily updates on Buffy's blossoming love for a young lawyer from LA, who already knew about the darker side of life and unlife. That relationship was still new and fragile; there was no way Xander was going to dump a broken ex on her when there was a chance she had finally met the right guy.

 

Back on the road, he tried to talk to Riley, tried to find out if there was anywhere he could go to be safe. But Riley had sunk back into apathy, his earlier burst of anger apparently exhausting him. He either wouldn't, or couldn't, talk about the future. He also wouldn't shut up. Instead of conversation, he engaged in a listless monologue on the nature of Stockholm Syndrome, capture-bonding and post traumatic stress disorder. From there he went on to expound on basic training and the sense of family it engendered. He even touched on the nature of the child-parent bond. It was a bit like listening to Willow, when she found one of her many hobby-horses. Except there was no eagerness in the voice. No excitement. It was as if Riley were recounting a treatise read so often he had it memorised.  Xander let the mumbled phrases wash over him, registering them, but ignoring them, until one sentence caught his attention. "A woman who fights, who refuses to serve a new master, risks suffering the same fate.[1] So it's not really surprising I became a woman." Xander gazed at Riley in amazement. Man, was he ever broken. He felt a wash of pity and loathing sweep through him.

 

*****

 

The truck stop was bright and modern. A few trucks were parked in the lot, curtains drawn across the windows next to the drivers' bunks, and the restaurant was nearly empty. The cook-cum-server was chatting to a couple of guys eating at the counter and Xander went to order while Spike occupied a corner booth. Riley hovered uncertainly, before following Xander.

 

As he took his seat Spike watched carefully, making sure the guys made no derogatory comments, or worse, when Xander approached. The padlock was secure at the back of Xander's neck, hidden by his hair, but Spike still worried. There was no way he would take that collar off, there was no way Xander would let him, but thrilling though it was knowing the truth it symbolised, there were times he wondered if it was worth the trouble it could cause, especially when they moved in these unsophisticated backwaters. Spike watched him pause to read the chalk board menu. He had grown into his beauty over the last three years. He had a confidence now that had been lacking in the teenager and had been only a hinted possibility when they first got together, for all that Xander had worn its likeness as a mask.

 

Seeing that the truckers were more interested in their meal than challenging the newcomer, he relaxed and allowed himself the pleasure of admiring his boy: his fluid grace, his straight back, his prowling walk. Xander was strong and proud, secure in his knowledge of love and ownership and so fucking sexy, whether it was standing tall in public or kneeling in private at Spike's feet. Or maybe not in private. When they got home he'd take him out on the leash, parade him around town a bit, get him hot and bothered by the exposure and then take him to the club and indulge him with public sex. There were few things now that Xander had not done in front of an audience and every time he shivered with embarrassment and came close to protesting - until the moment he abandoned himself to sensation with a freedom that Spike could not get enough of. Which of course was why he did it. Privately, there was a corner of Spike's mind where a prim Victorian squirmed at the display of such personal acts, but he refused to acknowledge the validity of that when the rest of him loved the way he could overwhelm Xander's reason, until he forgot his fear that people were laughing. Not that they ever were. Spike had seen hunger, envy, desire and voyeuristic pleasure on their audiences' faces, but never derision. The times Xander knelt for him in public, the times he stripped and paraded and moaned and writhed, each time his confidence in himself became firmer, more solidly a part of him, as the fearful, neglected child was gradually soothed and reassured. Xander was changing still. Still growing up. And what a wonderful man he was becoming. Spike's dead heart contracted with pride that he owned this treasure, that Xander had given himself to Spike, had trusted him to help him grow.

 

Spike glanced at Riley - so broken, where once he had been so swaggeringly sure. They had swung in opposite directions, Xander and Riley. Looking back with the memory of the demon and the knowledge of the soul, Spike remembered how Xander's eyes had followed Riley everywhere back in Sunnydale. Xander had believed that Riley's strength was real. He had wanted to be like Riley, had in some ways wanted to be Riley - and in others, to be with him - not recognising the brittle nature of that false bravado. Although he had hesitated back at the house, in the end he had fucked Riley easily. Spike wondered if there had been an element of revenge in that. If he had been meting out some punishment for Riley's betrayal of Buffy, of Xander's own hero worship and of what Riley had meant to him. It made Spike wonder if Xander was not only growing up, but if he was changing in more fundamental ways. His regular drinking of Spike's blood couldn't turn him, or rob him of his soul, but Xander was certainly more in touch with his darker side these days and Spike wondered about that. Then Xander turned his head from where he stood at the counter and smiled at him, his eyes alight with love and Spike knew that the darkness and the light had always been there and the balance was still true.

 

*****

 

Spike was enjoying the peace and lack of movement as he watched Xander and Riley eat steak and limp salad. "Find a proper restaurant tomorrow, Luv, get a real meal inside you," he said, sipping his coffee.

 

Riley paused, fork halfway to his mouth and spoke for the first time. "What are you going to do with me?" he asked. "Will you keep me? Do I call you Master?"

 

Spike frowned. "How long would you last if I threw you out, now?" he countered. "How long before you went crawling down back alleys, begging? Think you can kick the habit?"

 

Riley hung his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "I was okay at first, when I left Sunnydale. But then..." he trailed off.

 

Spike sneered. "Yeah. First vamp that came along took one sniff and knew what you were." He exchanged a look with Xander and turned back, taking a deep breath. "Look, mate. I don't like you. I don't want you. You're here because Xander couldn't leave someone he knew in a place like that." He caught Xander's slight smile and smiled back. "And he's going to be very appreciative of my getting you out. Aren't you, Luv?"

 

Xander's smile was blinding. "Always am, Master Spike. Always will be."

 

Spike turned again at Riley's snort of disgust and glared at him. "You shut your face," he ordered. "You know nothing. You continue like this - I throw you away right now." Xander nudged him with his knee. "Yes, Pet?" he asked.

 

"Angel," said Xander with a sneaky, gleeful grin.

 

Spike paused, thought and felt an answering grin spread across his own face. "Long time since I saw my sire," he mused. "Would only be polite to pop in, seeing as we're passing." He turned back to Riley. "Okay. You stay with us for now. But you keep a civil tongue in your head and you don't make judgements about stuff you don't understand. I may have a soul now," he ignored Riley's gape mouthed expression of surprise, "but I won't hesitate to cut you loose if you piss me off. If I'm your master, and technically I am since I bought you, so is Xander. You do what I say. You do what he says. You're the bottom of the heap. Got that?"

 

Riley nodded, head down, staring numbly at the dirty dishes and at his hands clutching the edge of the table.

 

"So where are we, Luv?" Spike asked in a more conversational tone.

 

While Xander finished his meal the two of them planned the detour into LA, poring over the single, inadequate map of LA's streets in their battered old road atlas, attempting to find the most direct route to Angel's hotel.

 

*****

 

Reference [1] is actually not an original thought by Riley, or by me for that matter. It is from Up De Graff, F. 1925 Head hunters of the Amazon: Seven Years of Exploration and Adventure, quoted in Sexual Paradox: Complementarity, Reproductive Conflict, and Human Emergence, at http://www.dhushara.com/paradoxhtm/contents.htm

 

Actual quote reads: A woman who fights, or a woman who refuses to accompany the victorious war-party to their homes and serve a new master, exposes herself to the risk of suffering the same fate as her men-folk.

 

 

Road Trip 6

 

Index

Fiction

Gallery

Links

Site feedback

Story Feedback