Left Overs

"I brought something for you." Dru's voice drifted on the moonlight like smoke, her slippers a delicate tap-tap on the concrete floor. "Poor thing. He's an orphan. His parents died... without a fight."

Only at that did Spike look up, sharply, to see Drusilla carrying a pale, dark-haired boy from the factory shadows. Weakened, dazed, and mumbling in his unconsciousness, he folded to the floor the moment Drusilla set him down. What is this? A sodding doggie bag?

Spike recoiled as Drusilla's hands wound around him, finding their way into his shirt, into his chest, to stroke his unbeating heart with sweet, mad words. "Do you like him? Hmm? I brought him just for you. To cheer you up" Whispered against Spike's ear, so gently, so tenderly, it made him close his eyes, believe, lean into those touches, lift his lips to her to be kissed, and then-.

"Except that she didn't."

Spike whipped his head around to glare at Angelus, tightness that wanted to become a growl rising in his throat. "Nobody asked you, Angelus."

Angelus looked down, distastefully, at the boy, so weak he was barely warmer than Angelus's cold hands. "Well, if you don't mind Dru's leftovers." He shrugged, nudging the boy aside and pulling Drusilla to him. "But then, you're used to leftovers, aren't you?" He chuckled, brutally claiming the lips Drusilla offered to him, palm gripping her ass obscenely for Spike's benefit.

Oblivious to Spike's tension, Drusilla swayed closer to Angel, murmuring. "Angel... Where have you been? The sun is almost up, and it can be so hurtful." Dark eyes, and pale fingers swept Spike's cheek. "We were worried."

"No," Spike disagreed, "we weren't."

Spike closed his eyes then, not particularly wanting to see as Drusilla rubbed herself up against Angel's bulk, watching him through coquettishly lowered lashes. "You must forgive Spike. He's just a bit testy tonight. Doesn't get out much anymore."

You don't say.

"Well, maybe next time I'll bring you with me, Spike." Angelus leaned in, close enough that Spike could smell the fresh human blood on his words, each one tightening muscles that trembled with the urge to lash out at him. "Might be handy to have you around if I ever need a really good parking space."

Spike flinched away, and would have given absolutely anything, in that one moment, to rise from his chair and kick the unliving shit out of the smug Irish bastard. "Have you forgotten that you're a bloody guest in my bloody home?"

"And as a guest," Angelus leaned closer (Want to rip your throat out. Want to bathe in your blood. Want to feed you your eyes and shove your balls into their empty sockets...) "if there's anything I can do for you... Any... responsibility I can assume while you're
spinning your wheels..." Angelus's eyes slid to Drusilla, tracing the curves hidden by her skirt, intimately, and smirked. "Anything I'm not already doing, that is." Too intimately.

"That's enough!"

Oh, big man, backing away from the vampire in the chair, giggling like he's sodding won the night. He's won nothing. Will win nothing.

And Dru. God, but the playfulness of her words hurt when it was all so serious. "Aww... You two boys... fightin' over me and all." Mad bloody poetry. "Makes a girl feel..." Like I'm still her sodding knight in shining- "Ohh!"

"Dru, what is it, pet?"

"The air. It worries. Someone... an old enemy is seeking help... help to destroy our happy home."

Too late, Spike thought, and all was roaring in his ears as he watched Angelus comfort, Angelus collect, Angelus who first broke his Dru and wants to play house now that Darla is gone.

Angelus half turned at the entrance to the tunnels, letting Dru sway against him. "Don't wait up, Spikey. Hey. I know. Why don't you keep the Slayer's boy entertained?" He paused, feigning that consideration, that patronizing concern. "I know he's not exactly fresh anymore. But he's all yours."

And only then did Spike recognize the boy's scent, salty-sweet, and lusty musk beneath. Distantly, he heard the tunnel doors clang shut, and began to breathe, inhaling deeply of the unconscious form. "How'd you end up in Dru's clutches, then?" The words, rhetorical, came quietly as Spike circled Xander in his wheelchair, pausing behind him to reach down, grab an arm, and haul him into his lap, examining him more closely.

"God. Smell good enough to eat, you do. It's not a wonder Dru chose you." The last wisps of Drusilla's thrall hovered around Xander, infused his blood with a narcotic spice that made Spike's jaws itch to bite. Hadn't had a decent meal since before church. Or a decent shag. With a shrug, he turned abruptly, wheeling them both to the far back of the warehouse, and threw Xander onto the bed. "Right, then. Dinner and a show it is."

Spike watched the boy lay there. Moving slowly, aware of the creaks and cracks he could feel in his spine, Spike dragged himself onto the bed, crawling across the prone body with his elbows. His eyes narrowed speculatively, sweeping over black jeans, red over shirt, brown tee. It'd almost be a shame to strip him down, looking like that.

Almost.

With a shrug, Spike tugged off the red shirt, tossing it into a corner where it merged seamlessly with one of his own. The tee shirt took more effort, and Spike settled for ripping it off him. "Don't like brown on you anyway." Spike let his eyes wander the smooth chest, and up to the flutter just above his collarbone. Oh, he'd get there.

But first things first.

"Now, let's see. If you're likely to be any fun at all, you're going to need to be awake." He trailed his fingertips over one cheek, over the roughness of stubble, and the beating warmth of his throat, and again, falling into the slow stroking with which he woke Dru when she was poorly.

"Wakey wakey, Xander," Spike murmured, coiling his upper body around the lushness of mortal warmth, letting his chest rise and fall with Xander's shallow breaths. "That is your name, isn't it? Come on then, pet. Wake up for Spike." He hovered over Xander's lips, listening for the tell-tale increase in breath, in heart rate.

Anything.

Nothing.

"Bugger this." Spike brought his hand down on Xander's cheek with a sharp smack. "Wake up, you lazy sod."

After, he wished he'd prepared himself for Xander's violent reaction as the boy threw himself out of bed, nearly dragging Spike with him, and stumbled into a corner, hands up over his face. "Dad! No, I swear, my alarm clock didn't go off, I'm-!" The arms lowered, slowly.

Spike's eyebrow rose just as slowly, and he stretched, arranging himself comfortably on the bed. "You're what now, pet?"

"I'm," Xander said again, and this time, threw himself back against the wall, looking wildly around him. "I'm dreaming. That's right. I'm dreaming. No more salami and pickle sandwiches before bed, and sweet Jesus, I will wake up any minute now, because you are dead. And there is no way I'd be in a vampire's bedroom."

"Course I'm dead," Spike said. "Vampire here. Fraid you are in my bedroom, though." Spike's arm described a florid arc in the air, indicating the bed, the lace, the sodding dolls. "Like it?"

"I never pegged you for a lace and dolls type. Scary whips and chains, yeah, and that so was not meant as a suggestion."

"We'll get to that," Spike said, and shoved himself upright with a short, angry thrust of his arms. "The dolls are Dru's. You, however, are mine. Get back over here."

"And just why would I want to be getting back over there where you and your pointy sharp fangs are, and hey! You can't walk, can you? So I could just get up and walk out of here, and-"

Spike's eyes narrowed. "And run into Angelus, you twat. That what you want then?"

"You do realize it's daylight out there, don't you? At least, I think it is."

"Oh, it is." Spike lay back down, hands tucked behind his head. "Which means that Angelus is in here. With us." The boy didn't have to know he'd stepped out, after all. "Where did you think he lived?"

"Shit."

"Now, you can come back over here where it's nice and warm, or you can go out there and let Angelus have his merry way with you. And I warn you, he's been keen on chainsaws this past week," Spike said, and prayed that there might be some last thread of Dru's thrall weakening the boy's will, because he would never, never live it down if the bloody poof knew he'd let his half-dead doggie bag dinner get away. He patted the bed. "May as well get comfortable, pet."

"Buffy's gonna stake you," the boy said, his feet shuffling him closer as his body leaned back away from Spike. God, his Dru was the best. "No matter what happens to me, Buffy is gonna find you, and then she is gonna stake you."

Spike caressed the faint warmth on the duvet where Xander lay before, holding him with his eyes. "I'm last month's news, and you're just a byline. Slayer's only got eyes for Angelus these days. You and me? We're only walking shadows. Poor players that strut and fret our hour upon the stage, and then are heard no more."

"You're not walking at all," Xander said, and gasped as Spike lurched forward, capturing him with strong hands and dragging him onto the bed, pinning him beneath the cold, dead weight of his legs.

"Few more luscious meals like you, and I'll be going walkies just like old times. Now, seems a shame to guzzle a tasty treat when I could be savoring the moment. Make it good, and maybe I'll keep you around for company." Spike loosened his grip, smoothing his palm over Xander's chest. He rode out the shallow, heaving breaths there, and let his fingers slip into the waistband of Xander's jeans, only to hiss as if burnt, lungs filled with a heady rush of fear and pheromones. "See you like that thought."

Xander's face was turned away, tightly into the pillow. "I'm not gay."

"No? Neither am I." Spike worked his fingers around Xander's cock, savoring the way it twitched into his grasp. It didn't seem to have any dislike of demons at all.

"You're the one with your hand on my dick."

"It's all sound and fury, luv. A hand's a hand on a bloke's cock. Now, we can have a bit of the bump and grind, getting your rocks off one last time. Or I can let you die a virgin." And oh, how he remembered that, Dru's little hand as hungry on him as her little mouth. He'd died gladly.

Xander jerked beneath him, and Spike laughed, feeling the first rush of Big Bad since everything had gone to hell in the church. He felt the buttons of the boy's jeans give way to his knuckles as he wrapped fingers around that hot, hard, human cock, jerking roughly. He inhaled the boy's moan deep into dead lungs, and tightened his grip, fast and crude until Xander was arching beneath him.

"It signifies nothing." Spike whispered, and whipped his hand from Xander's flesh. He brought his fingers to the boy's lips, silencing him with tender touch while he put his ear to the heaving chest, closing his eyes to relish the thrum and throb of blood beneath the surface. He lifted his gaze to meet eyes dilated to black, swollen lips, and flushed cheeks. He had to taste. Dragging himself up the warm body, Spike nuzzled into Xander's throat, then his lips, speaking cool words against them. "But it's me or Angelus, Xander. There's no running away now, and I could make your death better than your whole life put together." He brought his lips to the boy's ear, breathlessly, and slid his fingers, now gentle, back to the boy's trouser buttons, undoing them one by one.

"Don't want to be a vampire." The words were thick, fighting their way around Drusilla's perfumed clouds that fogged his mind, and Spike's hand working him with a hundred years' dexterity.

"Could let you stay dead," Spike said agreeably. "Why don't I let you decide when the time comes?"

"No."

"Well that, pet, is just too bad," Spike said, and let his lips trail to that familiar tantalizing spot, teasing himself with the lust-and-fear-rich blood rushing to the surface, only a skin's width away from him, and let the demon emerge. "Tell me if you change your mind," he said, grasped Xander tight, and sank into that heady pulsing warmth.

With the first rich rush of human blood into Spike's mouth, a rattling groan vibrated the skin of Xander's throat, and he tightened his hand, jerking the boy faster, feeding off of the lust as much as the fear, as much as the blood. Each pulse at Xander's throat was echoed by a hard, hot twitch against his palm, though his erection soon faded as Spike swelled, gorged on the boy's blood, boy's battling heartbeat.

"I hate Angel." His voice was weak already, the words slurred and drunken on cold tongue, numb lips that Spike lifted his head at last to taste with coppery kisses. "Always hated Angel." Sweet words mumbled into the kiss. Unresisting now. Delicious. "All his fault."

"Then you're going to love this." Spike lay back, pulling the boy with him to rest against his chest, against the heavy, swollen erection trapped between his belly and jeans. Still tasting the bittersweet venom of Xander's words on his tongue, Spike made a gash in his throat, the cold burn of parting flesh warmed by the fresh stolen life suffusing him, making him tingle and buzz. With both hands, he firmly guided his boy's lips to the free-flowing wound, tenderly, tenderly curving his palms over those dark waves. "That's right pet," he said, at the first gentle suckle, "drink, and drink deep. We're going to really piss him off, you and I. And then you, me, and Dru are gonna have some fun."