|
|
|||
|
||||
|
|
|
Part 109 |
|
|
|
|||||||||||||
|
|
|
Sunday evening, and the
family were barely out the door before Spike began to brood and glower. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Spike glared when he
heard the endearment. Xander took the
hint and left the vampire alone, or rather tried to, but he was pursued to the
kitchen, where he cleaned and tidied while Spike prowled and sulked. “Tell me what’s wrong?”
Xander attempted for a second time after tolerating the filthy looks for the
best part of an hour. “You think he’s in love
with you?” Spike demanded. “Wha…? You’re kidding, right?” “Answer the question.” “You’re talking about
Jake?” “Who else?” Xander chuckled at the
thought. “No, of course he isn’t. Have to say, this weekend I began to wonder
about the two of you, but…” “Was he ever?” Spike
growled, not prepared to listen to what he considered to be grossly inappropriate
humour. “No, he wasn’t,” Xander
assured, smile fading at this worrying show of insecurity. “C’mon, Spike, you know there’s no-one…” “If he’d made a move
before I got here, would you have had him?” “It was never like that,
and you know it. We’re friends, that’s
all. Not that that isn’t special, didn’t
mean to make it sound like it wasn’t enough, ‘cause…” “He loves you.” “Uh…yeah. I love him.
I love them all, but…” “Who would you have gone
for?” “Spike…” “Who!” “Nobody. Before you came along there was nobody. You know this, I don’t have to tell you yet again.” “Tell me.” The highly tempting ‘fuck
off’ on Xander’s lips was sensibly canned when Xander noticed the golden tint
to Spike’s eyes. With a placating smile,
Xander attempted to bring Spike into a hug, but the vampire would have none of
it. “Okay,” Xander said with
audible patience. “I was obsessed with
you. All the time we were apart, all I
could think of was you. Always in love
with you, Spike.” “Of course. It was only after I got here that you started kissing other people.” “Person not people, and I
was kissed!” Xander protested angrily.
“Off my head and I got kissed, it wasn’t anything I wanted.” “I should’ve killed
him. I still might.” “No, you fucking-well
won’t! But while we’re on the subject, that
may not have been my choice, but I seem to remember you choosing to throw
yourself at Angel when I was in a coma.
In a fucking coma and you…” “I wanted his help.” “When I want help I don’t
jump the father figure. How far would
that have gone, huh? If Angel had wanted
that kind of incentive for every bit of help he gave us? Just your ass? Or would you have given him the consort? Would it have mattered whether I was conscious
or not?” Spike snarled furiously
and made a grab for Xander… “Mine.” …only to find himself
unceremoniously shoved away as the tension between them soared. “Yeah, that’d be
right. Why d’you bring it up? The time apart? You want me to make up some lies about Jay so
you can whine about the list of people you wanted to fuck in Sunnydale before
you figured out that due to some festival of freak you were stuck with me?” “Father figure,” Spike
taunted. “That closer to the truth? Your precious Patrick? If he’d said the word you’d’ve been on your
back…” A wallop to the jaw
stopped Spike in his tracks; as the demon rose to the surface to retaliate a
volley of barking from the doorway brought the men to their senses. The demonic features receded, and they stood
staring at one another in shock. Hamish
wandered between them and stood waiting patiently for the fuss he knew he’d
just earned, leaning heavily against Spike as the vampire’s fingers raked
through his fur. “There’s only you,”
Xander whispered as he rubbed his sore knuckles. “It was always you.” “I know,” Spike replied
as quietly. “I didn’t mean…” “Me neither.” Shock was replaced by
confusion, and they shared a what the fuck moment before Xander stepped in and
placed an apologetic kiss on the bruise developing on Spike’s jaw. “Sorry.” Spike shook his head
dismissively, because one thump really didn’t matter. What troubled him more was the sudden
eruption of jealousy and suspicion. “Don’t know where that came
from.” “I didn’t know you still
felt like that.” “Xander… I don’t.” They fell into silent,
insular thought for a few minutes before Xander once again kissed the bruise,
then kissed Spike’s mouth. “I’m going up. You…?” “Won’t be long.” “Come up before I’m
asleep? Please?” “Yeah. Go.” Spike watched Xander
leave and absently went through the usual nightly routine of catering to
Hamish’s needs. Going over his thoughts
for the last couple of hours, he tried to figure out what had brought about the
inexplicably wild swing, positive to negative.
Surely it couldn’t have been as simple as the show of affection before
Jake left, the long hug that Xander gave him, the supportive words of
friendship? Not when Spike understood
the situation and had done exactly the same?
And what was that crap about Patrick?
As if… A surge of raw emotions tore
through Spike; it took a supreme effort, but this time he was able to pull
himself out of the irrational and dangerous tumult before he was lost to it. “Fucking hell,” he
muttered shakily as he refrained from mentally prodding at the provocative
thoughts. “Fucking hell.” He concentrated on
Xander, his trust in the man, and he calmed.
Needed. Spike ran up the stairs to join Xander, surprised
to find him still awake: an eloquent declaration of how disturbed he was by
what had happened. “I’m sorry, Spike.” “Don’t be, I don’t blame
you.” “Ah, great. Justified spousal abuse. Glad it’s not a problem for you.” “Pack that up. Way we were going, it was simply a question
of who got hit first. I’d rather it was
me.” Spike stripped off and crawled up
the bed, laying over Xander and peppering his face with kisses. “What does it say about us when the dog’s the
one with the nous?” Xander freed a hand and
ran his thumb over Spike’s jaw. “It’s going already. The bruise.” “See? No harm.” “I’m sick with myself for
doing that.” “I know.” Xander fell asleep as
Spike kissed him, the rapid here-then-gone falling that Spike had grown accustomed
to recently. But tonight he felt enraged
by Xander’s inability to stay with him, instigating a need to take, and
brutally; a reaction that forced Spike hastily away from his defenceless
partner. “This doesn’t make
sense,” he muttered from across the room; at that sound, Xander swung an arm in
the direction of where Spike should be, and all Spike knew was the need to be
found by that searching hand. Making himself behave as
usual, he got into bed, negotiated the flailing arm, and snuggled up close to
Xander, experiencing the customary satisfaction and contentment at being there. Acknowledging his
petulant thoughts and violent would-be actions as insane aberrations, he put
them down to the amount of Xander-sharing he’d had to tolerate over the past
few days, letting any lingering concerns go and focusing on the day ahead, the
portrait he was going to paint for a friend of Cora’s. Portrait led to studio led to thoughts of
Xander sprawled on the chaise longue, strips of leather and shredded silk where
his clothes used to be, and… Bugger, not headed for much sleep this way. But Spike pursued these thoughts, reasoning
that lust, even unsatiated, was preferable to random anger, and he settled down
for a frustrating night, hoping that Xander would wake early and deal with an
erection that by then would be as mighty as Olaf’s hammer. … Spike woke with a
start. No Xander. Check of the clock. Mid-morning, so that made sense. No Xander having come to say goodbye before
he left? That didn’t. Idiotic row last night and in its wake, Spike
craved contact. “Bloody ridiculous,” he
told Hamish, “that I still need him to make me feel better whenever there’s the
slightest— Don’t need. Not need.
Want. Spoilt by him, that’s the problem. And don’t give me that look. Phoney sympathy, just to get your breakfast.” Hamish licked his chops
expectantly and followed Spike downstairs, shepherding the vampire to the
kitchen and, far more importantly, to his food bowl. The uneasiness wasn’t
going away. Spike fidgeted his way
through the remainder of the morning, only allowing himself to phone Xander
when he assumed he’d be breaking for lunch at one. Trained. I’m sodding trained. “Alex Harris.” “That still grates,
y’know, every time I hear it. Alex.” “What can I do for you?”
Xander asked, business-like bordering on pissed off. Spike guessed Xander had
company and not of the welcome sort. “Just tell me you’re
okay, love.” “I’m okay.” And the connection was
cut. Spike stared at the
receiver in surprise for several protracted seconds before switching it off and
on and redialling. “Xander, did you…” “Don’t have time for
this.” “Is anything…” “I’m okay.” And the connection was
cut for a second time. So, what did Spike do
after two brusque dismissals? Break out
the broadest smile and start feeling as horny as hell: this was one of Xander’s
games, the one where he was disinterested to the point of asexuality and Spike
had to run him down and persuade him
that he wanted the vampire to suck him and fuck him and… He started at the knock
on the front door, checking the clock to find that his subject was twenty
minutes early, and he mourned the loss of the lovely wank he could have had if
left to his own devices for a little longer.
Hardly wanting to give the wrong impression before he had a cheque in
his pocket, he wet his hands and took the towel with him to the door, letting
it cover the rather obvious bulge in his jeans. He called Hamish’s
raucous welcome to a halt and let the woman in, assuring her of the wolfhound’s
nice nature and taking a first good look as she made tentative friends with the
dog. Not what he was expecting when Cora
made an appointment for a friend: young, pretty, curvy, vivacious. Made for a pleasant afternoon’s work. She put out a hand to shake, and he finished
drying his before accepting the offer. “Hi, I’m Penny,” she
introduced herself, belatedly and somewhat nervously. “Spike.” Spike gestured her into
the living room, asking whether she’d like a drink before they got started; she
accepted tea and he went back to the kitchen, ridding himself of the towel now his
problem was appreciably less likely to poke someone’s eye out. Work now, Xander later. As
he made tea and escorted Penny to the studio and played the charming artist he did
a little of Xander’s thinking,
becoming so caught up in it he barely saw the woman he was sketching as he dwelt
on the possibility of a little trip to find the workaholic and convince him
that a building wasn’t the only object it was a joy to erect. It had to happen, with
all this thinking. The one thing Spike couldn’t get past; once
it was fixed in his mind he was lost to its siren call. Desk. Xander. Desk.
Xander across his desk. Fucking
Xander across his desk. “That the usual
reaction?” Penny coyly interrupted his obsessing, and he looked enquiringly at
her flushed face. Her line of vision
dropped momentarily, and he followed it down his body to the outline of his
resurrected hard-on. Tutting at himself,
he gestured to the many pictures of Xander on the wall behind him. “Thinking about the
other. Have this yearning to go and shag
him senseless over his desk.” “You too?” she
grinned. “I mean not your Xander, but my
husband. I so have this thing about his
office, and his desk. He has a great desk.” Spike chuckled at her enthusiasm
and drew, capturing the desire in her eyes when she chattered on and on about
things she really shouldn’t be telling a virtual stranger, freed of natural
inhibitions by Spike’s single admission and the promise of confidentiality he
effortlessly projected. Once upon a time
she’d have been the perfect victim. A
passing fancy maybe, but Penny was fortunate to miss the sparkle of gold in the
blue eyes that focused on the pulse in her throat. … The anonymous young man
on the main reception waved Spike through with a smile; all the drones knew
Spike, even if they were interchangeable to him. Elevator up to Xander’s floor and Spike was
pleased to find the place deserted, the only sign of life being the heartbeat
of his mate. He gave a few taps before
entering Xander’s office, giving his partner a chance to get into character,
and when their eyes met it was fuck versus fuck off. “What are you doing
here?” “You, hopefully,” Spike
responded glibly. Xander shook his head
dismissively and went back to what he’d been studying before Spike broke his
concentration. The vampire strolled to
the meet and greet, helped himself to a beer from the fridge before getting
comfortable on the sofa. “No Patrick
tonight then?” Xander looked up, plainly
annoyed at being disturbed. “You’re the
only rat left on the ship.” “He wasn’t in today; I’m
trying to catch up with what didn’t get done.
If you can’t shut up you’ll have to leave.” Spike put a finger to his
lips in a shh gesture, returning to his beer and nosiness when Xander’s
attention returned to his paperwork, scanning the office for anything new and
frowning when he noticed that Xander’s collection of framed photos had
disappeared. “Someone nick your
pictures?” Xander’s head jerked up. “What part of shut up or
leave didn’t you understand?” “Where are the
photos? I’ll have them at home if you
don’t want…” “Yes, take them home,”
Xander snapped, “they’re a distraction here.
They’re in the bottom of the closet, take them and go.” “’Cause you really don’t want to be distracted, do
you?” Spike smirked. Xander glared,
turned back a page, re-read. “I had this
really weird dream this morning,” Spike told Xander conversationally as he
stood and wandered closer. “I was
beating Glorificus to death with my prick, then you showed up and rode it like
it was a pony, and…” “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” “Paying attention, I
hope: it was you that brought fucking into the conversation, I was just talking
about a pony ride.” Xander’s hands curled
into fists. Uncurled. He rose and crossed to the coffee maker,
poured himself a mug-full, and was almost back at his desk before he was
intercepted, finding himself nose-to-nose with the playfully straight-faced vampire. “You owe me, Xander.” “Do I?” Xander asked, patently
unimpressed. “You dozed off on me last
night, just when it was getting interesting.” “So?” “You fell asleep
mid-snog.” Xander stepped aside and
around and went back to his desk. “Probably because you
bore me,” Xander said with weary apathy. Spike paused, mouth open,
wondering if he’d heard that right. “I bore you?” “You can be tedious. Right now, for instance.” Xander gestured to his work and looked at
Spike coldly. “Take the hint?” Xander had to be
teasing. Spike waited for the face to
crack, any indication that this was about to develop into one of Xander’s
games, but all he received was a glare that showcased the man’s growing
irritability. Xander wasn’t teasing. Spike felt like he’d
leapt back a year and some, restored to life the gloating phantom that verbalised
his deepest fear: ‘Do you ever worry that you’re only one fuck away from his boredom
threshold?’ Too upset to try to
conceal his feelings, Spike felt the anguish transform his features into
something unspeakably vulnerable, and he was left reeling with shock at the
warring contempt and indifference he glimpsed on Xander’s face before the man turned
his back and lost himself in his work once again. Spike’s emotions lurched
in a whole new direction at the dismissal, but knowing how ridiculous it would
be to try and insist to Xander that he didn’t find Spike boring quashed the desire
for that particular screaming match. He stared at the dark
head that was bowed over a thick file.
Longed to touch. To take. He stared for a long time. Barely able to show restraint. ‘Do you ever worry that you’re only one fuck away from his boredom
threshold?’ Spike’s hatred for the
imagined source of those words proved to be the saving grace. In due course it made him think about
credibility, and the lack of. One minute
he was full of fear and self-pity, the next he was arrogantly dismissing this
entire scenario, taking a mental step back and logically reviewing the situation. The simple, unemotional conclusion? Wrong. Xander brushing him off was as wrong as Spike
wanting to fight over Jake and Patrick; that senseless interlude had passed and
so would this. A temporary threat that made
Spike stronger because he’d deal. He didn’t have to understand to deal. He congratulated himself
on his attitude. It reminded him of…William
the Bloody. “Xander. Are you coming home tonight?” he asked with fresh
composure. “Surprisingly,” Xander
sighed, “I always come home.” “Then do it safely, love.” Xander looked at Spike,
curiously now. Spike smiled at both the
confusion, and the fact that this was Xander; whatever the attitude, whatever
the load of old bollocks he was spouting, this was Xander, and Spike couldn’t
help but smile. “I’ll come home safely,”
Xander said indistinctly as he regarded the vampire, the affection, and seemed
to have trouble making sense of the fondness directed at him. “Good. That means everything to me.” With another smile, Spike
left. He knew he was taking a chance
with Xander’s safety because… Well, weird!
But he also knew that any kind of immediate confrontation would be
disastrous. He would trust Xander to come
home, and home was where they’d figure this nonsense out. … Naturally, Spike’s best
intentions were screwed over by the stressful two hours between leaving
Xander’s office and the sound of the Merc in the drive. William the Bloody had left the building,
handing the keys over to a sulking teenager who was convinced he’d been dumped
after a disastrous first date. “Hey, honey, I’m home!” Spike was in his studio
when he heard the call from the hallway and immediately wanted to rush and see
Xander’s happy-sounding face so he could either kiss it silly or bury a fist in
it. Now his partner was home, any
remaining fears about him skipping the state slid away in favour of some
healthy funk. Belligerently refusing to
acknowledge Xander, Spike carried on putting his materials away, listening to
his human check the living room and kitchen for him before climbing the
stairs. Suddenly wary of the
unpredictable version he’d seen last, Spike spun to face the doorway as Xander
entered the room, but it seemed to be business as usual as his lover rushed in
and threw his arms around him. “God, I missed you this
weekend,” Xander told him warmly, not a hint of the earlier persona. “It was like we didn’t have a moment to
ourselves. Gonna make up for it now,
though.” “Sure?” Despite the lips on his neck that sent
shivers down his spine, Spike couldn’t help it: “Wouldn’t want to bore you,” he
told Xander tersely, shrugging him off and going back to cleaning his brushes. Xander was immediately in
pursuit of Spike, sliding his arms around his waist and pressing close to his
back; his chilly nose found a marginally warmer spot behind the vampire’s ear. “You could never bore
me. You’re the most exciting person I’ve
ever known in my life.” “What? Suddenly I’m not tedious?” “Who’s been putting this
shit in your head?” Xander enquired gently; Spike seemed physically conditioned
to respond to the kid gloves treatment of old and, despite the stamping and
pouting that was his brain insisting no
way, relaxed accordingly, letting his head drop back onto Xander’s
shoulder. “Tell me,” Xander encouraged,
nuzzling and kissing, and suddenly the ogre at the office wasn’t as important
as the lover whose hands were creeping to where Spike had wanted them since Spike didn’t want to lie,
but neither did he want to put a stop to this, and comfort sex was always going
to be preferable to yet another deep and meaningful conversation full of
irresolvable issues. Turning within the
circle of Xander’s arms, his hands came up to cup Xander’s face, thumbs
stroking as he gazed into brown eyes full of love for him; suitably reassured,
his fingers threaded into Xander’s hair and twisted in the locks, holding his
lover in place as he brought their mouths together in a hungry kiss. As Spike bundled Xander
over to the chaise longue they clipped the easel and canvas he’d been working
on that afternoon; because it meant money, Spike had to stop and set it
right. It only took a moment but by the
time he turned back to Xander, his partner was glaring at the beginnings of the
painting. “What the fuck is this?” “Business, love, now can
we…?” As Spike reached for
Xander his wrists were grabbed and held. “You had a woman in
here?” “Not a woman, a
customer.” Xander didn’t see dollar
signs the way Spike did, he saw golden blonde hair, pouting lips, a lascivious
gleam to the eyes. He saw naked breasts
and his imagination supplied the rest. He furiously jerked Spike
to him, grip closing like a vice; Spike grimaced as one of his wrist bones
cracked under the pressure. “This isn’t going to
happen,” Xander ground out. “Not in my
house.” “Umm…Xander, I think
we’re back in the insanity loop.” “I will not have you
bringing your whores into my home, if that’s what you want you can fuck off out
of here.” “She’s a customer, for a
portrait.” “Did you fuck her?” “Of course I didn’t.” “Did you fuck her?” “No!” “’Cause if you did I’m
gonna cut your dick off, I’m gonna cut your balls off, I’m gonna make you
regret it as long as you fucking live!” Xander finished on a scream, red-faced
and furious, eyes gleaming madly, looking like he wouldn’t have a single qualm
about carrying out his threat. “Right,” Spike snapped,
“Enough! You’ve certainly hit a new high
on the crackpotometer, haven’t you?” “Where did you have her?” “I don’t want to hurt
you, love, but…” “Of course it fucking
hurts, you moron!” “No, I mean, losing
patience here, about to break your bloody fingers.” Xander shoved Spike away
from him, trembling with rage. “Where?” “She came into the studio
so I could draw her. She’s money, that’s
all. She’s about paying you back for the
piano.” Xander pushed past Spike
to get to the desk, flinging the drawers open and rifling through, tossing
aside anything that got in his way.
Finding what he wanted, he charged from the room; Spike followed to find
that the retrieved object was a book of matches, and Xander was in the process
of setting fire to their bed. “Xander, no!” Spike tried wrestling the
matches away from Xander but underestimated the man’s determination, catching a
sharp elbow in the face for his trouble.
With a growl he launched himself at his partner, knocking them both onto
the bed, smothering the small fire with their bodies. “Get the fuck off of me”
Xander yelled as he struggled. “You’re
fucking insane if you think I’ll use the same bed as your cunt!” One resounding slap
brought Xander’s madness to a halt; he lay, pinned down by the vampire, silent
but for the heavy breathing, staring at Spike with unquestionable hatred. “I want to let you go, I
don’t want to restrain you,” Spike told him reasonably. “You’ll be calm?” “I’m calm,” Xander said
through clenched teeth, obviously lying, but Spike couldn’t bear to hold him
down, knowing how much he hated it. The moment Spike moved
aside Xander was up and heading for the door, and once again Spike was in
pursuit. Speed was on Spike’s side and
they didn’t even get out of the room before Spike grabbed Xander and squeezed
him tight to him. “Xander, there’s nothing
going on with that woman, you have to stop this. Stop this and think, something’s wrong here.” Xander exploited the
hold, slamming Spike into the wall, ignoring the crunch as the vampire’s head
whiplashed back and smashed into the plaster, dazing him sufficiently to make
him compliant. Spike felt Xander’s hands
at his fly, his jeans being pushed down, felt himself being turned and then his
face was being scraped through the broken plaster. “Prove it. Prove that you’re mine. You’re mine and no whore is going to…” Spike’s head began to
clear as the sound of Xander’s zip being yanked down caught his attention. “No,” he murmured, unable
to believe that this could be happening, that Xander would… “Love you, baby, love
you, Spike, can’t lose you, let me…let…
Prove… I’ll prove…” Xander ground to a halt,
words and actions. No. Xander wouldn’t. “Spike?” came tremulously
after a few minutes of tense quiet. “Spike?”
Spike heard the zip reversed, felt his own clothes being adjusted. “Spike?
Please? I…” Spike was gently straightened
and turned, Xander’s touch now caring and tender, wiping plaster dust from
grazed skin. My Xander, Spike observed, and tears
were streaking down that tortured face, the lips moved soundlessly in apology
after apology. “All right, love,” Spike
told him hoarsely, and Xander collapsed into his arms, weakened by the relief
of not being hated. Spike manoeuvred them back
to the bed, casting aside the damaged satin throw and easing Xander onto the clean
sheets below, having no choice but to join him because Xander wasn’t about to
let go. Not needing a choice because
Xander’s feelings for him had proved stronger than whatever was fooling around
with them, and that made Spike want to be close. They lay huddled for a while. Mending. Spike stroking Xander’s face and hair, Xander
recovering from the shock of what he’d almost done. “You don’t defend
yourself,” Xander murmured. “You
should’ve punched me out.” “No. I don’t want to hurt you.” “If I’m acting crazy…” “You’re still
Xander. If there’s another way there’ll
be no punching, no restraint.” Xander shifted, wanting
to be held even tighter. “This is… Why jealousy?
We are not jealous, we have no need to be jealous. It’s as if—” “There isn’t much that
could drive a wedge between us,” Spike said thoughtfully. “But we’ve both got that fear, haven’t
we? That we’re not going to be enough. It’s like at your office…” “My office? When?” “I called in to see you,
about seven.” Xander shook his
head. “I did. You couldn’t wait to get rid of me, you
called me…” “That was me? I
said you were boring and tedious? But
that’s… I don’t… Fucking hell, you know I don’t think that.” “I do know. Which is why I was
sulking not sobbing when you got home. Like
I know you wouldn’t shove me into the wall and fuck me against my will.” Xander shuddered at the
thought of what he’d almost done. “Driving a wedge,” Xander
repeated Spike’s theory to himself. “You
mean… We’re being played? Why…?
Who…? It doesn’t make sense.” “And it shouldn’t be
possible.” Appreciating having some
peace to think for once, Spike’s mind was racing through the events of the last
twenty-four hours, trying to find a clue as to why they were behaving so
strangely. They were supposed to be safe
at home, and Spike would bet Xander’s last cent on the Partnership building
being as well protected. Which led him
back to Patrick. “No Patrick today,” he
considered. “No. Beth called, he didn’t wake up all day. Not that I’m surprised, he’s been so tired
and I know how that feels. Y’know, I
don’t feel like there’s been extra workload but there must be if we’re all…” “Peace,” Spike said
abruptly, interrupting Xander’s babble. “Peace?” “No Patrick, peace,
it’s—” Spike untangled himself
from Xander’s limbs, leapt up and rushed into the studio to retrieve his cell
phone, switching it on and waiting impatiently for the few seconds until it was
up and running. Xander was standing
watching by the time Spike was taking several attempts to make his fingers,
clumsy in their urgency, hit the right buttons.
A text message to Patrick. A
single word. WARD. He sent it, knowing
Patrick never switched his phone off, and that Beth would read this and
understand the importance even if Patrick was still out for the count. “What was that about?”
Xander asked suspiciously. “You’ll see.” “If it was…” Xander crossed to the portrait and tore at
the surface with his nails. “Your whore,
your fucking whore!” “Stop that!” Spike pounced and dragged Xander to the
doorway. “I’m getting paid for that, you
sodding nutcase.” Spike hurled Xander
from the room, slamming and locking the door behind him. “Won’t be long, love, just try to hold on to
whatever sanity you’ve got left.” The expected hammering at
the door began immediately, much as Spike had suspected it would, and at the
first sign of splintering Spike hoped that Patrick would take some action
before Xander had an enticing selection of sharp wooden pieces to choose from
for his next confrontation with his supposedly lying, cheating boyfriend. As he stood there he noticed the damage to
the portrait, and anger exploded in his gut.
Typical. His work wasn’t
important, not like Xander’s. His work could be ruined because Xander
obviously wanted him to fail. “No! Xander loves me,” Spike spelt out for
himself. “Don’t be influenced, don’t be
influenced…” “I don’t love you,” shouted
from outside the door. “I never did, you
never deserved it, you’re evil, soulless, you’re a murdering bastard and I
could never—” Spike yanked the door
open, leaving most of the lock in situ, seizing Xander by the throat with his
free hand and hurling him to the floor, on him before he could defend himself
and game face to the fore as he swooped to attack Xander’s neck. A tremendous creak froze
them in place, like a tableau in a chamber of horrors, the only movement the
blood that trickled from the human’s wounded throat. Another creak, furious barking from outside
the house, and Spike slowly withdrew, losing the demon façade, swiping the back
of his hand over his lips, too guilty to lick the blood away. An ear-splitting crack
that would once have had them chasing around looking for damage left them
unmoved. “Not about the house
settling,” Xander voiced Spike’s thoughts. “No.” “The ward being tested.” “Think so.” “Is that what the message
was about?” “Yeah. It was too quiet, wasn’t it, so the ward
wasn’t up to scratch.” Pause. “Should’ve figured it out when I got back
from your office. The fresh flowers in
the hall were…well…” “Dead?” “More. Desiccated.” “I didn’t notice, when I
got here I was too eager to get to you.” After several minutes of
looking everywhere but at each other, they connected. They saw…normality, paying one of its
fleeting visits. Xander smiled, just a
seductive hint. “Don’t waste it.” Soft words as he tilted his head to offer his
neck, and Spike found himself being gently drawn back to the wound, encouraged
to drink. “Enjoy it, sweetheart.” With a groan Spike
relaxed over Xander, cupping the back of his skull to offer support, tongue
sweeping over crimsoned skin until all traces of blood were consumed. “I promised I’d never do
this in rage,” Spike said mournfully. “Don’t think you included
temporary insanity in that.” Xander’s
gasped words developed into a moan of longing as Spike probed and cleaned the bite,
straddling Xander for better access.
“Oh, yeah. Ride me, Spike. Will you?
I feel like I haven’t been inside you for months.” Spike squirmed out of the
groping hands and stood, pulling Xander to his feet and into a kiss that he
hesitated to deepen. “What?” Xander asked
warily. “We’re going to keep
it…gentle.” “You mean… You don’t want me like that. Not in you.” “I’m fairly sure we’re
safe now, but…I don’t want to risk ending up like those flowers.” Spike expected objections
but none were forthcoming; Xander simply regarded him with an expression of
utmost trust. “Okay.” “Sure?” “I don’t understand, but
if you think it’s best…” “Think I’d be daft enough
to deny myself for any other reason?” “No,” Xander conceded,
before kissing Spike. Gently.
“But I feel the peace now. The
house feels…right.” Spike took a deep, deep
breath, exhaled slowly. Relaxed. Felt. “Yeah. Back to right.” They made it as far as
the bed before Spike returned to text a further message… OKAY. …and he paused in the
hallway before joining Xander in bed, taking in the atmosphere once more,
reassuring himself. Back to right. He all but purred with
pleasure at his handling of the day. A
few months ago he would have fallen to pieces rather than work this out,
forcing all the responsibility and pressure onto Xander. What were a couple of moody, self-pitying lapses
when you looked at the big picture? Progress. William the Bloody may
very possibly be in the building. Back to right. … Spike gazed around
himself in satisfaction. His own room of
the gallery, and the last painting was chosen and hung. Despite Xander always telling him how
wonderful the pictures were, Spike wasn’t convinced of his own abilities, but
had recently arrived in a place of sod it. Every time he doubted himself, he applied a sod it.
Every time he thought this whole venture was a massive mistake on his
part, he adjusted that with a sod it. There had already been some interest from
local patrons and if, as Spike suspected, Patrick was using his position to persuade enthusiasm from future
customers, then…sod it. “Looks good.” Spike turned to smile at
Beth. “You think so? I’ve spent the last hour rearranging the
bloody things and ended up where I started.” “That because I put them where they started. You stick to the brush, leave the rest to
me.” “Like choosing the name
of this place?” Spike asked with a grin. “You haven’t asked, I
haven’t told,” Beth informed him airily as she shoved the “It looks better…” “Y’know, before this
started, Alex said to me, ‘You don’t have to worry about the presentation, he
won’t be interested in any of that’. Now
you can’t even leave the sofa where I put it.” “It looks better…” “No, it doesn’t. Come and sit
down, we need to look at studio time.” “No more punters at the
house.” “Yes, you said.” Spike slumped into the
corner of the sofa and waited while Beth fetched the diary from the reception
area. Hamish wandered in, fresh from his
successfully completed nap in the back room, collapsing onto Spike’s feet for
his scheduled nap in this. Negotiating
the sprawled canine limbs, Beth settled on the opposite end of the “Know who’s made the most
enquiries?” Beth asked with a wicked smile.
“Nancy Durman.” “Josie’s mum?” “I think she still feels
guilty about her daughter’s boyfriend punching you. Draw her a stick figure and she’ll pay
fifty-thousand for it.” “Her old man would hate
her being here,” Spike mused. “Nice to
know that spending time with her could offend every one of his homophobic
sensibilities.” A contented sigh
followed. “Book her in.” They went through a list
of names, some returns, many referrals from women who’d already had their
portraits painted, and Spike disinterestedly let Beth make whatever
arrangements she thought best. His
attention had been caught by one of Beth’s latest ‘props’, positioned on the
corner table: an outsized book bound in dark leather, decorated with Celtic
markings and adorned with pewter clasps. “Where did you get that?” Beth followed his
eye-line to find out exactly what he was talking about. “The curiosity shop that
supplied the other whatnots. Nice, isn’t
it? The colour perfectly matches the
aspidistra stand.” Spike accepted that
pointless information with a nod, fading out the sound of Beth’s voice as he
searched his mind for the slippery memory the sight of this book had
stirred. Probably nothing important,
which made it all the more infuriating.
Was it a clever modern fake or something more? Had it found its way here through the same
weirdness that surrounded so much else in his unlife? Was there anything the vampire wasn’t
instantly suspicious of? “Have you opened it?”
Spike interrupted Beth’s flow. “Opened…? Oh, the book.
Yes. The clasps aren’t locked,
and there’s no key. The pages are
blank.” “Can I have it? If Xander can sort out the locks I’d like it
for a journal.” “Hardly pocket-sized, but
go ahead,” Beth grinned. “And I think
we’ve had enough for the night. What was
the last thing you heard me say?” “Umm… Doughnuts or strudel?” Spike suggested
blithely, harking back to their tea break many hours ago. Beth laughed as she
stood, shaking her head at him and clambering out through the tangled mass of
dog parts. Ten minutes later, left
alone, Spike went to the book, studying it minutely, and discovering…it was a
book. Comfortable feel to the leather,
pleasant weight as he held it in his hands, but…just a book. So what was niggling at him? Maybe it was similar to something he’d seen
in Angel’s or Okay, he’d
concentrate. Clear his mind then
concentrate. Or was it the other way
around? Find his spiritual centre and… Why had he ever listened to A few minutes later he
phoned Xander back. “Where were you, why
didn’t you answer?” “I was here, I was… I’ll tell you later if I decide to make an
even bigger fool of myself.” “You okay?” Xander asked
suspiciously. “Yes, love,” Spike
chuckled. “Sure?” “I promise, you great
fusspot. What were you calling about?” There was a brief pause
containing Xander’s disapproval. “I’m going to be late, I
just wanted to let you know so you didn’t worry.” “I thought that was
tomorrow.” “It turns out the guy I
need to talk to is stuck in his office till “No, you don’t want pins,
you want six-inch masonry nails. Trust
me.” “Gee, honey, thank you
for that sumptuous image.” “How late is late?” “No idea. But if I get enough done here now, I might be
able to take Friday off, how does that sound?” “And how does this
sound?” Silent pause. “What am I supposed to be
listening to?” “That’s me getting hard
in anticipation of having you to myself for three days.” “Really? You’re—
Damn! Can’t let you do this, I’ll
be thinking of you all night and I’ll be good for nothing.” “Think of me all night
and you’ll be good for something,” Spike purred. “I like it when you come home and you’ve been
doing some thinking. Always so hard and eager and…” “No! Work, I’m working, this is me working. Remarkably un-hard and working.” “You don’t have a few
minutes for us now? Not even if you know
I’m touching…” “Have to go, going now,
going and working and working and then coming home and…” Xander groaned. “You’re evil, you know that? By “Counting on it.” “I’ll be home as soon as
possible, okay, sweetheart? Love you.” “Love you, Xander.” … Too quiet without
Xander’s voice. Spike looked around,
suddenly and acutely missing his partner.
Plenty to get on with here, but home was so much better than this, with
its associations and scents and the knowledge that Xander would be there sooner
or later, longing for him. No
contest. Spike clicked his fingers and
Hamish was at his heel, keeping Spike from panicking as he turned out the
lights. … Too quiet without Spike’s
voice. Xander looked around, suddenly
and acutely missing his partner. Plenty
to get on with here, but home was so much better than this, home was where
Spike would soon be, and so what if the vampire wanted Xander free that Friday,
he shouldn’t have been reckless enough to make Xander think. Throwing the files he
needed to study into his briefcase, Xander grabbed his coat, left his office
and made his way out of the building, stopping for a brief, friendly exchange
with the security guard in the building’s foyer before taking the exit to the
garage and heading for his Merc. It seemed like quite a
while since that sixth sense of his had made itself known, but it did now, and
Xander came to a halt, peering into the less visible areas of the space, moving
again but cautiously now, side-stepping his way back toward the entrance to the
offices. “Xander,” came from
behind him, and he eeped, leaped and turned, coming face to face with
Angel. “Fucking hell, what is it with
you and the creeping!” Angel simply
smiled politely, but Xander suspected the inner vamp was boogying down with
spiteful glee. “What’s wrong, why are
you here? I know it’s not Spike so you
can’t frighten me again with that.” “You know it’s not
Spike?” “Spoke to him five
minutes— Damn, you were going to try!” “No. Really.” “Bad, lying…lying, bad
vamp,” Xander stuttered as he gave Angel filthy looks and resumed the path to
his car. “My car,” Angel told him,
veering to the left. “No, my car. Big red car is Xander’s car,” Xander spelt out in
idiot-speak. “Xander.” Xander glanced around to
see Angel waiting by his latest classic convertible. Humour stepped down in favour of
curiosity. Suspicion even. “What’s going on?” “I want you to come with
me.” “Yeah, that’s what all
the cheap pick-ups say. What is this
about?” “C’mon.” Angel climbed into the
driver’s seat and started the engine. “Is this demon-hunting? Should I get changed? I have site clothes with me that could
withstand a little demonic gunk.” The Thunderbird pulled
out of its space and rolled to a halt beside Xander. “Get in.” “Just…get in, huh?” “Get in.” “I’ll call Spike and…” “Get in.” With a resigned sigh,
Xander surreptitiously removed the stake from his briefcase, slipping it into
his coat pocket before locking his case in the trunk of the Merc and joining
Angel. Out of the garage and Xander turned
up the collar of his coat, huddling down for warmth, wondering why he hadn’t
used Spike’s all-purpose salute and driven his gorgeous, cosy Mercedes to his
gorgeous, cosy home, in pursuit of his gorgeous, cosy boyfriend. There wasn’t much in the
way of conversation as they made their way out of town; Xander tried – car,
Buffy, work – but Angel was plainly preoccupied, occasionally growling or
snickering to himself and leaving Xander wondering if this had been the safest
thing to do in light of the almost-Angelus discussions that had surfaced recently. Xander switched on the radio to pass the time
and give him an excuse to lie to himself and say he wasn’t worried, wasn’t
trying to second guess the unpredictable vampire; Angel ignored the music, even
when Xander fiddled with the channels.
Not good. Eventually they arrived
at a sprawling installation in the middle of nowhere, and Xander squinted at
the nondescript building they drew up outside of, trying to make sense of its
purpose. “Industrial incinerator,”
Angel explained, suddenly amiable. “Run
by a couple of demons who owe me a few favours.
They let me use it to dispose of…certain kinds of trash,” Angel finished
with a smirk. Xander climbed from the
car and stood back, staring at the vampire, the diabolical expression on his
face; the alarm bells that had been gently ringing until now began to clang
mightily. Hand in his pocket tightening
around the stake, Xander swallowed dryly and braved the question. “Did you… Angel…”
Grandpa? Angelus. “Did you bring me here to kill me?” Angel chose that moment
to don his inscrutable expression, beckoned with his head and began to walk to
the building’s entrance. Xander glanced
around at the dense shadows which could be hiding any numbers of nasties, and
trotted off after the nasty he had most reason to trust. Hurrying through outer
and inner doors, Xander abruptly found himself enveloped in blackness, losing
his bearings within seconds; he stood stock still and managed a forced
calm. For several seconds at least. Then panic shot through him. “Angel? Angel!
What the hell is going on here?” The
apparently-disappeared-from-the-face-of-the-Earth Angel had a perverse sense of
humour, and all Xander had to do was get through this, hopefully seeing, rather
than being, the joke, but it didn’t stop the trembling, the thoughts of how
worried Spike would be when Xander failed to show up. He jumped at the disembodied voice, distorted
by a crap intercom system. “Just trying to
find… That’s it.” Filth-encrusted lights
suddenly illuminated the chamber with a dull orange glow, and the vampire
emerged from what appeared to be a control room, the toughened glass smeared by
heat and exactly what else, Xander didn’t want to know. “You tell me what’s going
on, or I’m out of here now, and I’m phoning Spike to let him come beat you even
more senseless.” Angel smiled
affectionately at that, leaving Xander shaking his head in bewilderment over
the country’s most dysfunctional family. “Turn around.” Xander’s eyes widened in alarm, and suddenly
all he wanted was to not know what lurked behind him. Angel read him and the smile became
reassuring. “Go ahead.” Xander unenthusiastically
turned. Further within the chamber, well
inside the actual furnace area, sat a hooded figure, slumped in a chair and
plainly unconscious. Xander’s heart
leapt with vindictive hope and he felt the physical mechanics of every step it
took to carry him close enough to make out any details in the gloom. His eyes gradually adjusted and were
inexorably drawn to a particular feature on the man’s chest: an embroidered
badge that bore one word. Finn.
|
|
|
|
|
| Site Updates Update List Home Fiction Gallery Links Feedback |
