by Roxy


Spike watched Xander as he worked on a small wooden box he’d made. He was working on a decorative design, a floral pattern that worked its way around the top and sides.

“’Sa real gay design pet, “he said contemplatively, blew a thin stream of smoke upwards. He enjoyed a moment thinking that the stream of second hand smoke loaded with carcinogens might wend it’s way upstairs and happily kill the wankers Xander called parents.

“Spike. It’s for a girl, yes? For Dawn’s birthday? I don’t think she’d be happy with the design you suggested.” A looping pattern of demon’s entrails, surprisingly well drawn.

Spike snorted and puffed again, his eyes back on Xander as he worked. He was shirtless in the heat, and his back was to Spike. He watched as his shoulder blades worked up and down, as thin as sparrow’s wings, that’s what they were, straining like baby birds to break free. of the downy skin. He was almost angry that he could count every rib, every knob on his spine. The boy barely ate enough to live no thanks to his parents. He thought again of the careless people upstairs, never should have been allowed to touch a child let alone barely raise Xander, and snarled quietly to himself. Xander seemed to sense Spike’s eyes on him. He turned with a smile.

“Are you staring at me?” he got up and moved to the couch where Spike was relaxing after a night of beating up things in the cemetery.” Hey, Spike, you know what we haven’t done in a while?”

Spike squinted as if in deep thought. “Hmmm. Disembowel our enemies? Unnnh, suck the blood of virgins…”

“Spike! Ew, and no!” Xander popped Spike on the back of the head.

“Well, virgin blood is vastly over-rated—ok, ok, sorry! What haven’t we done?” He asked with an air of innocence that was disturbingly believable.

“Spike,” Xander crawled onto the pulled out sofa bed next to Spike. “Tell me a story?”

He threw a long leg over Spike’s thigh, and teased the hair that ran down in a trail below his navel.

“Well, since you ask so nicely, there was this one time in Italy when Dru and I went to a premier of --”

“Spike, I want to hear a story about Constantine, you said you had others….” Xander looked at him with a trace of a pout, and Spike was tempted for a moment to make it flower into a full-fledged pout, but then again, there was a lot to be said for a happy Xander….

“Well, ok--” ‘Course, he never came off very well in his encounters with that—that –guy.


“There was this time, once, when I was following a very tasty young thing, like any vampire on a clear and lovely fall night had a right to, any idiot out in that neighborhood was screaming ‘eat me.’ Actually, it was screaming ‘save me’, but! Tsk, --neither here nor there. After, I was wiping my mouth, and thinking about my next meal, when there’s this throat clearing noise behind me, and I must have jumped a mile.

What, snickering? * You* be a vampire for generations, always aware of everything around you and then suddenly have someone sneak up on you. The bastard.

 He standing behind me and snickering, yes just like you. What? That didn’t hurt! Hello! Chip! Yeah.

So *as* I was saying—he’s standing there, fucking Constantine with his fucking smirk and fucking fag hanging off his lip. He sweeps his coat open and shoves his hands in his pocket and kind of looks me up and down.

‘So, Spike” he says. Just what I was looking for.’

“Ya mean who I says, and he just laughs. ‘If you like’ he says with this snotty attitude, begging for an ass-kicking. ‘Course, I’m too busy to do this, so I try to leave. I can’t. He’s got some creepy mojo thing on me, so I’m frozen. I’m terrified he’s going to have his way with me, shut up! Barbara Cartland *this* you wanker—and…I might have been a little hard…ahem, any way, no, that’s not why he froze me, thank god, cause I couldn’t stand that asshole.

Seems he had a proposition for me—you’re ever so funny, did you know that? —and spelled it out. Froze me so’s I would listen to him, he says. Huumph.

What he says makes me want to run, but he’s got me as I said.

‘You are going to help me with a little binding spell, not a big deal, but I need a …man…of your talents. Abilities…Fuck--frankly, I need a walking dead man, and Zombies stink and are hard to control and they don’t have all the parts I need anyway.’ He smiles at me like he’s complimented me, the prick, instead of just about telling me that I was second choice to a zombie! A rotting pile of ambulatory flesh, with the fashion sense of …oh, ok, sorry. Yes, well, at any rate, out of the kindness of my heart, and in return for ending the spell, (and not having a desire to starve eternally in a stinking alley off of no where) I agree to do this—thing he’s blathering about.”


Spike stopped and gave Xander a sweet little smile and strolled his fingers up his sweating chest and Xander rolled his eyes, untangled from Spike to get him a beer, and one for himself, because the story was getting interesting and he wanted Spike well content, so he’d continue. He knew it was going to get even better. He adjusted himself on his way to the fridge.

Spike continued the story, called out to him—


“So, here I am forced to truck with magic, and you know I *hate* that stuff, I mean a little bit’s fine, but the more you want it, the more the magic wants you back…bad business it can be, ‘specially if you do it to gather power—Seems our boy John was hired to do a binding spell on someone’s restless Grandpapa. This will happen some time, if Grandpapa’s a vicious abusive bloodthirsty kid-fuckin’ perverted old mage. And you’ve bashed his brains in for the inheritance. And the power. And from the looks of the fuckin’ weasel who hired him--the fun of it.

Here we were, standing in this big old room, black as shit and cold even to me—and the worst, most stereotypical taste ever! I mean, black and red furnishing, candles flickerin’ away like some old Hammer film, and a huge really ugly fireplace with these stupid obscene carving, I’ m tellin’ you, even at that time, people weren’t doing that any more—hells Xander, if you keep interrupting me, I’ll never get this story out—well it’s called setting a mood, isn’t it? Prick—I said pet! Ow. You really hit hard, did you know that you wanker—aww! Now kiss this—ow!


“So Constantine says to me when we’re done laughing ourselves almost sick over the décor ‘Listen, I need the hands of a dead man’—Fuck, I’m thinking, he’s after me mitts, and I’m trying to run when he trips me, and sits on me. On my crotch to be precise, and even vampires are sensitive to someone crushing their balls. I’m making this squeaking noise and he finally hears and does me the courtesy of getting off.

‘I need the hands of a living dead man, fully attached, or I would have just taken them when I first saw you,’ he grins. You think a game face is scary? You should see this fuck smile—now *that’s* scary! He’s explaining my part as he’s pouring ordinary everyday salt, straight out of a box from the market in a big circle on the floor.

Hands of a living dead man, he needs. To hold the rod of blood. Well, that got my interest! A rod made of blood, or filled with blood? Yum, it was well past dinnertime, and I was ready for desert!


 Yesss, Xander, yes… I was rather slow on the uptake—fuck you very much.


‘Hold out your hands,’ he said, and opened his pants and put his dick right in my waiting hands—hell yeah, I was disappointed. I thought I was getting a treat! I mean something to eat—oh, *shut* up…are you in knee pants or what?

He says, ‘The spell calls for a living dead mans hands to hold the life and blood of the living, a vessel to hold the life and blood of the living and a bowl to mix the dead an living essences….’

 I’m a little shaky  ‘cause he’s moving in an out of my hands kind of slow like, and it’s-- ah-ha---stiffening, but I manage to ask him, where’s the vessel and the bowl, and he says ‘I’m looking at it’. Shit. I’m never stupid; I get it right away: Old Spike’s getting fucked again!

‘The spell,’ he says, ‘ wants these fluids to bind the undead spirit.’ Oy! I say, what about me? Thinking I’m going to bound for eternity to some horrible old kid-killing grandpa with demonically bad breath, no doubt.

‘You’re not a spirit you idiot, you’re ankling around cause of a demon. ‘You’re,’ and he pumps his dick in my hands, ‘Solid. I need your come; mine, and our blood.’ And I get a twitch in my dick,-- yeah, Xander just like that….”

Spike loved that Xander was so responsive. Just the images his words bring to mind are enough to make his dick hard and leaking. “Go on, go on,” Xander breathed, his eyes drifted shut as he slid a hand along his dick. Spike grinned and palmed himself. He didn’t mind coming off like an idiot if it going to get him this.


“So, ok, I have to jerk you off, I say and—no? He’s shaking his head, and grinning that fucking scary grin again. ‘This time, I do you, and then you do –things.’

Oh. No down side to this I can see. Mr. Scary Yummy Smelling Guy is going to suck me off—frankly that’s all me and the dick heard, I’m skinning my trousers off and dick out and he’s on his knees. He bends some to take it in his mouth and, it’s like ---like—it’s hot, fizzy, like electricity buzzing around my dick. The memory of that last time hit me hard like a punch in the gut, him fucking me while he bit on the claim mark on my neck…it made me, well, whine is the closest I want to come to describing the sound I make when he knuckles an old bite hard, an’ nearly swallows me whole, he pulls back quick and sucks hard on just the head. Shit I’m shooting precome down his throat and he’s laughing! Laughing at me! With me nearly in his throat! He’s on his knees and he’s still got me in check, the fucking bastard. I’m still his bitch--”


 Spike shook his head almost in admiration as he remembered begging John to let him come—to fuck him. Anything. Shit.

 He looked over at Xander, who had his dick clenched in his fist, not moving it, just squeezing, long pearly strings of precome laced from his fingers to his stomach and little breathy moans came from behind his clenched teeth. Spike loved those moans. They made him want to fuck Xander. Or maybe…“Spike.” Xander said in a begging tone of voice.


“Oh. Sorry. Distracted. I come in about a minute flat. He stands up and he’ grinning with tight closed lips, unzips and spits in his hand. ‘Game face,’ he demands while I’m staring at the pool of come in his hand.

Hunh? It takes me a moment to let his words sink in and he’s getting impatient and smacks me in the head. ‘Gameface now you idiot!’ I vamp out quick and am I pissed that I just –obey! Grrrr.Anyway, as soon as I’m in gameface, he kisses me hard, hard and I’m on toes trying to get in his mouth, god he tastes good, me and blood and… he pulls back and spits in his hand again and this time it’s a lot of –blood. He speaks into his hand holding it so close to his lip I thought he was going to taste it again, ‘Bowl.’ he whispers to it. He rubs it all over his dick and gestures for me to turn around, but I’m busy watching him, god—spreading that blood and come over every inch of his dick. It’ just an average dick, nice and all, but it was crazy how much I wanted it in me --- my body remembered what that felt like, but I couldn’t turn around. He smelled so good, so good…fuck…

He shoved me around and pushed me against the wall then pushed his dick in me. ‘Vessel’, he whispered in my ear.”


Spike shuddered and sighed, remembering and Xander’s eyes were open again and locked on Spikes face. “Tell me,” he hissed and his hand flew over his dick “Tell me, because I’m going to come soon—soon.”

Spike felt lust like a stab in his chest and hurried to tell the rest of his tale.


“I yell loud and long, yell on the stroke in, and scream on the stroke out, his blood’s burning me, filling me with fire, searing my nerves and I feel like my insides are trying to pull him back in, his dick flexes in me, and I feel a pulse of heat, I push back against him, and he fucks up into me and wham, my spine’s trying to blow sparks out the top of my head. I’m trying to get him to climb inside me, and he’s trying his hardest to do it. Finally every bit of me turned to flame and I swear came out of my dick. I know I came hard enough to hear stars-- I know what I said, and I meant *just* that. That’s what having sex with him was like for me…what? No! I don’t miss it, are you crazy? It’s a fucking miracle I survived the times I did.” Spike shudders, half in horror half in lust.

“Then—then—he wipes himself on my shirt when he pulls out and grabs my hand. This is where the huge scary part of the spell was coming in, I figure. I’m scared all right, really scared. I’ve seen what happens to people who don’ get all of a spell right, or forget to do some part of it, or don’t get the protective wards right. It’s nasty with a puke chaser, boy. I wait, shaking, for whatever he wants me to do, hoping to god, I survive. He holds my hand up to his lip and bites, I mean bites! It’s hard enough to break the skin, and he sucks a bit of blood from the nip, and surprisingly, not sexy in the least. Spits it in his hand, it’s barley a drop, and then scrapes a bit of muck off my shirt and wipes it in the palm of his hand. Rubs his thumb across the smears to mix them and yells real loud ‘Get the fuck to hell, you old bastard!’ There’s this horrible scream behind me, swear to god, it almost started my heart and a blast of freezing and then a blast of hot air. and it’s over. Just like that. John wipes his hand, on me! Again! An’ heads for the door, ‘Come on Spike, fancy a pint?’ he snickers at me.

Wait, I say. Go to hell you old bastard? What kind of incantation is that?

‘A perfectly good one,’ he says, shrugs and gives me the shark mouth grin. He sucks on one finger, licks the palm of his hand kind of reflectively and says, Most people think you gotta have candles and blood and little silver knifes and incense, chanting—shit like that.’

Ok, I’m not liking the turn in this conversation. What do ya mean, you foul fuck?

He laughs ‘Spike, if you were any stupider, you’d probably bite a cross.’ He held up his hand and pushed a finger of the other hand in the center of his palm, swirled a little circle in it and said, ‘Spit and blood would have done it—the essences of the living and the dead.’ He shrugged, grinned, horrible to see, he looked like a kindly uncle gone insane—I wanted his guts! He just wanted—he tricked me! Forced me to have sex with him—violated me! Me, an—well, ok not quite an innocent--”

 And hissed when Xander jerked his shoulders up from the bed, dug his hands deep as he could into the muscle of Spike’s bicep, groaned, gasped out, “Shut up, you asshole”—and came in pulsing jets across his stomach and lap. Spike groaned and squeezed himself once before he came in his pants – too hot, too hot-- the story, Xander—Xander, who was gasping against his shoulder, hot breath seared him and then he rolled his head so that he could look up to see Spikes face. “You really are kind of –stupid, hunh?” he observed, in the fondest manner possible.

Spike kissed him. “Fuck you Xander.”

He was never ever going to tell anyone that he sat staring at the big circle of salt Constantine had made on the floor, and never used or the big thick book he’d brought in with him and set up on a table so elaborately that Spike had been afraid to touch it for a while after Constantine had left. It turned out to be a phone book in a fancy jacket. Fucker.

He could swear, to this day, that he’d heard laughter; long after his nose told him he was gone. He’d sat there, hard and seething for a long, long time, long after a trussed up Weasel-boy was rigid and cold. John had paid him back a bit for the humiliation, Spike grinned. Left him a little snack after all….





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