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Revenge

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Three Days Later…

The sky turned pink as the sun sank behind the horizon.  As soon as the shadows stretched and covered Sunnydale, Spike emerged from his crypt.  Normally, sunset was his wake-up call.  But for several days, his sleep had been fitful, filled with erotic dreams about Xander Harris.  Walking quickly, he did a fast sweep of the immediate cemetery.  Usually, just the cemeteries provided enough violence to fulfill Spike’s  minimum required daily allowance of death and carnage.  But his sleeplessness led to restlessness.  And that restlessness led continual searches for violence.  And after three nights of continually killing vamps and hunting down troublesome demons (many of whom were still in the drunken boasting/planning-of-trouble stage), Spike was running out of victims.  For some beings, knitting is a comfortable, meditative task.  For others, yoga or even jogging.  For him, it was rending flesh from bone. 

After the first dream (and after much consideration and booze), Spike had arrived at three conclusions.  One; the spell had obviously somehow backfired.  Two; he couldn’t use any spells to counteract the dreams.  Due to the power of the Orenashk blood, attempting more magic on top of the initial spell could cause nasty problems, like being afflicted with the dreams permanently.  Three; he was fucked.  Orenashk blood caused spells to not only be powerful, but long-lasting.  When Dru had cast the spell all those years ago, the dreams had tormented the unlucky human for 9 days.  So if his spell had backfired, he would continue to have the dreams for at least another 5 days and Spike could see no solution to ending the dreams.  And he was having even less luck in making sense of their effect on him.

After the second time, he’d tried to ignore the dreams, pretend they weren’t happening.  But the images danced around his head, tormenting him.  So he tried to sort through his feelings about the dream, consider them logically.  But the sex, spicy blood, domination, and Xander’s prone nakedness swirled around his mind until the Scooby had become the sole focus of Spike’s waking thoughts.  He’d tried stolen sleeping pills, copious amounts of booze, and even light, self-inflicted head trauma, all in the hopes of attaining a dreamless sleep.  But it was all to no avail.  The dreams continued with frightening clarity and detail. 

I wonder if Xander really does have a scar on his left hip…
he mused.  Wait!  No, I don’t wonder!  Doesn’t fucking matter!  I do not care!  I am not curious!  I don’t want to see him naked!

For a vampire, life was usually rather simple; sex, feeding, torture, hiding from the sun, and mayhem were the basics, an undead version of Maslowe’s hierarchy of needs.  Spike had always prided himself on his pragmatism.  He’d survived 120 years by looking at all situations from all possible perspectives, looking for the best angle to play.  In every situation there was a solution; you just had to figure it out.  Unfortunately, this pragmatism wasn’t working. 

With a growl, Spike gave up his search.  There was nothing to kill.  Tapping out a fresh fag, he headed towards the Magic Box, hoping that the Slayer and the Watcher had something for him to kill, something he’d missed.

It was just a bloody dream, just a stupid dream, only a fucking hot dream
Spike chanted in his head.  Four fucking days of porn dreams about fucking Junior.  It’s the blood, that’s all.  It’s the idea of feeding that’s haunting me.  Or the feeling of shaggin’ a warm body.  Always did enjoy a warm body.  No no, it’s the feeding bit that’s got me.  Can’t feed, so I’m obsessing over what I can’t have: fresh-from-the-artery-blood.

Spike nodded to himself, satisfied with this explanation.  Then why do you keep thinking of how his skin tasted, the noises he made?  And why do you keep hoping he’ll be there tonight?  Frustrated, he snarled at his subconscious, frightening a woman on the sidewalk. 

*          *          *

Whistling as he walked down the street, Xander exuded the joy that tended to make residents of the Hellmouth very nervous.  Whether or not his charm was preventing any actual spells from being cast upon his person, just the knowledge that he had it made him feel safer.  He hadn’t gotten such comfort from an inanimate object since Wawa, a white, shaggy, poorly-made stuffed animal that Xander liked pretend was a Wampa Ice Creature* that fought the closet monster.  But aside from the comforting safety he felt, it was also a Friday, and Fridays were always happy days, as they held the tantalizing promise of the weekend.

Crossing the street, he entered the Magic Box.  Willow and Buffy sat at the table, talking about their upcoming exams, while Giles counted out the register.  Sunnydale was luckily apocalypse and genocidal-demon free, meaning it would be an easy night.  These were the fun nights that Xander enjoyed.  These were the nights when the original Scoobies would order take-out and talk, waiting until it was dark.  It was also the slow nights that usually promised the smallest amounts of Xander-hurtage while on patrol.

“Hey there, Captain Tweed,” he called as he walked towards the research table.  He smiled at the annoyed grimace on Giles’s face, an expression that didn’t quite reach the Englishman’s eyes.  Xander flopped into a chair and grabbed a butter cookie from the plate that sat close to Willow and Buffy.

“Hey, Xander!” Willow chirped.  “How was work?”

“Excellent.  I actually don’t suck at construction, so I haven’t been threatened with being fired yet.”

“Well that’s good.  More money means more shoe shopping,” Buffy pointed out, nodding.

“Or more comic books and pizza.  That’s the only shopping that I am allowed to admit to enjoying; it’s in the guy handbook,” Xander clarified.

“Or you could save your money and move out of your current home, such as it is,” Giles commented with a sigh, knowing his advice would only be ignored.  Willow, Buffy and Xander paused, staring at the Englishman quizzically.

“What about computer shopping?  That’s always-.” Willow started.

“Boring?  Don’t worry, Xander, I’ll let you take me shopping and buy me some new clothes.  God knows I get them stained with demon blood and goop often enough,” the Slayer muttered, studying her French manicure.

Xander shrugged and reached for a cookie.  “I still vote for comics....  Oh, and Twinkies!  That’s all a man really needs to survive.”

“What about a nice, warm cuddly person to love?” Willow suggested.  Xander smiled.

“I think slavery is illegal in the states, Will.  And if it possible, eep?  I don’t think I want to buy a person being sold on the Hellmouth; it'd be more dangerous than buying a used car.  Besides, Buffy already proved that they don’t need to be warm.”  Buffy’s mouth dropped open, the shocked “o” the only thing that kept the smile off her face.  Reaching across the table, she smacked his arm.

“Hey, that hurt!  Be careful!  Not-so-super human here!”

Giles’ sigh could be heard from behind the counter as the girls giggled.  These were the teens who stood between humanity and varying apocalypses, the guardians of the Hellmouth.  And some nights, that same thought would wake him in a cold sweat.

*          *          *         

Arriving at Scooby Central, Spike threw his cigarette butt on the ground and shoved the door open.  The door’s bell clanged loudly as the door slammed inwards, smacking against the doorstop.  Spike stalked inside and slammed the door shut, glowering.  He stomped towards the table, ignoring the white-hats as he dropped into an empty chair.  No snarky comments, no cutting remarks, just cold, furious eyes.  Giles, Willow, and Xander stared at the tense vampire, who was picking nail polish from his fingernails as his right leg bounced up and down.  Buffy glanced up from filing her nails.

Willow broke the silence first.  “Um, are you okay, Spike?”

“Peachy,” he growled, jumping to his feet.  He wandered over to a shelf and started poking the merchandise.  Xander’s eyes followed the blond, something they’d been doing with increasing frequency. Two months earlier, after the initial realization that he’d checked out Spike’s ass, he’d brushed it off as a side effect of his possible bi-ness.  As proven by his demon magnet status, his eyes made no distinction between humans and demons. Luckily, Spike’s often-voiced threats of flaying and disembowelment kept any sexual attraction to a bare minimum.  So far, Spike was ahead of Principle Snyder and Angel on his “hot guy” list.  Xander shook his head, clearing out all thoughts that linked the words “Spike,” “sex,” and “hot”.

“So what’s biting your ass today, O Impotent One?”   Ass… biting…  Spike… Mmm… Wait!  Bad Xander!  Okay, so maybe not all of the sexual thoughts had cleared out of his head.  Freudian slip much?  Hey, go me for watching BBC at Willow’s!

Spike turned slowly and fixed his cold gaze on the Slayer’s lapdog.  His anger surged and his mind warred.  Part of him wanted to kill the teen, while the other part wanted to throw Xander on the table and bugger him until he shut the hell up.  Unbidden memories flooded his consciousness, images of Xander’s submissive body shaking and sweaty as Spike pounded into him, pleas dripping from the boy’s lips.  Every dream was different, but similar.  The locations, situations, and words spoken were always different: once he’d dreamed of fucking Xander in a graveyard over a tombstone while the other Scoobies patrolled nearby.  In another, he’d accepted Angel’s offer of Xander, taking him in the high school hallway against a locker.  That afternoon, he’d dreamed of gagging the boy and shagging him behind the shelves of the Magic Box.  But in every dream, Spike eventually claimed Xander’s body, fucking him until the boy screamed in pleasure.  And in every dream, Spike sank his teeth into the arched neck, tasting blood spiced with arousal and submission.  He stifled a moan as he felt himself harden, the remembered dreams flipping through his mind like a pornographic slide-show.

“Earth to Spike!” Xander yelled.  Spike’s eyes snapped back to the dark-haired teen. 

“What?” he bellowed.

“I asked what the hell your problem is!  Jeez, did the Initiative take out half your brain too?”

“Funny,” Spike snarled.

“Wow, no witty retort?  You must be getting stupider.”  Snarling Spike lept to his feet, intent on violence; a migraine would be worth it.  Xander mirrored his actions, standing quickly.  The two men faced each other, toe to toe.  But as rage coursed Spike’s body, so did desire.  The mental image he had of punching Xander had transformed to punching the boy, then ripping off his god-awful clothes.  Tension arced between them like electricity, their nerves awake at being so close to one another.

“Not in the shop!” Giles yelled, removing several aged research books from the immediate vicinity.  Willow grabbed her bag from the table before standing back while Buffy retrieved Mr. Pointy from her purse and hovered closely to the testosterone-laden area, munching on a cookie.

Keeping his eyes on Xander, Spike growled at Giles.  “Anything for me to kill, Watcher?”

Giles’s eye darted back and forth between the two men before clearing his voice and speaking.  “Well, not specifically.  We were planning on going out and patrolling in a few hours if you’d like to join us.”

“Yeah, and we’re going to get some Chinese delivered and eat before we go out and defeat all that is bad and evil.  You want anything?” Willow offered.  “We were going to order from that place that makes those crab puffs you like.”

“Sounds great,” he replied, his eyes never leaving Xander’s.

*          *          *

After stuffing themselves on fried rice, sweet and sour chicken, crab puffs, and Mountain Dew, the group headed out on patrol.  Usually, Spike traveled in front with Buffy so he wouldn’t miss out on any of the violence and bloodshed (or, in the case of the Grndoloik demons, violence and mucus-shed).  But this night, he trailed behind the group, so immersed in his ruminations that he wasn’t even enjoying the nervous glances Willow and Giles kept tossing his way.  It wasn’t until the unnatural, pungent stench of a Mycrea demon hit him that he was at attention.  In Spike’s experience, the most dangerous feature of this demon was its scent.  It smelled like a rotting corpse, stuffed with lilies.  Sweet and disgusting.  Buffy immediately attacked, landing two ax swings, three kicks, and several bad puns.  The demon threw her into a tree, roaring (although it was closer to the trill of a battered robin) as it launched itself at Xander, who stood wielding a sword. 

Spike was relieved that the boy, after landing two good slices on the demon’s chest, had at least learned to run from the big, angry, smelly thing.  Unfortunately, he didn’t get far.  The demon trilled again before it grabbed Xander by his jacket collar's and tossed him into a nearby bush.  Buffy dropped from the tree, rushing the odious creature from the front while Spike jumped onto its back.  Using the short sword he carried, Spike repeatedly drove it into the demon’s neck while Buffy drove her ax deep into its chest.  Slowly, the demon sank to the ground, trilling one final time. 

“Holy hell, it smells disgusting!” Buffy moaned, pinching her nose shut as she jerked her ax out of its body.  The fetid stench increased as its gelatinous blood seeped out from its wounds.

“It’s, um… oh boy that's gross!” Willow whimpered, her porcelain skin taking on an ashen shade.  Xander pulled himself out of the bush.

“Well I’m not touching it,” he groaned. 

“Me neither.”

“Not me.”

“No way in hell,” Spike coughed out.  The smell was making him so nauseous that even his demon was screaming to retreat. 

Giles coughed before nodding.  “Yes, well, as this is unpopulated area, I feel we can safely leave the corpse here.”  The group quickly walked away, trying to hold their breath.

*          *          *         

Xander limped into the basement, groaning.  Nothing was broken or cracked or bleeding, but he had a bruise, one that he was fairly certain extended down through the muscle to the bone of his right femur.  He removed his jacket and shirt.  Shit.  When the demon had thrown him, it had ripped the neck of his jacket and shirt.  More clothes lost to the Hellmouth.

“Maybe Wills will fix ‘em for me,” he sighed.  Groaning, he considered a shower, but his exhaustion overruled that idea.  Stripping down to his boxers, he fell into bed and quickly fell asleep.

*          *          *

Spike sat, tied to the chair in the basement.  Xander lounged on his bed and pretended to watch television while his eyes constantly flickered back to his houseguest.

“There anything else on?” Spike asked.

“Nope.  Just infomercials and football, Fangless.”

“That’s not even real football,” he grumbled.  After a few moments of silence, he spoke again.  “Ya know what’s been nice about sitting here all the time?  I’ve started to remember things.  Things Dru taught me.”

“Like what?  The proper way to season and eat a baby?”

“No.” 

Xander waited for further elaboration.  After a few seconds, he went back to watching the game.

“Turn off the telly,” Spike purred.  Xander was ready to tell Spike to fuck off when he felt a strange brush of heat along his spine.  He suddenly found himself shutting off the television. 

“Come over here and untie me.”  Spike’s words were smooth and even, almost a hum.  Xander could feel those words worming under his skin into his mind.  He wanted to yell back, but his voice was gone, as though he’d forgotten how to speak.  He swallowed hard and tried to resist, but he soon found himself standing by the chair, untying the fraying ropes.  Spike stood and stretched.

“Thanks for that luv, feels good to be out of that chair.”  Xander stood stock still, watching the vampire.  Spike let his eyes drift across the boy’s body.

“You know, you wear the ugliest damn clothes I’ve ever seen, and I lived through the seventies and eighties.  Take ‘em off."

Xander’s mind screamed ‘no!’ as his fingers complied.  He slowly slipped the buttons out of their holes and then let the shirt slip down his arms.  Spike circled him, like a vulture would carrion.  Yellow swirled deep in blue as those eyes hungrily watched.  Xander kicked off his shoes, then dropped his pants.  Stepping out of them, he felt Spike trail a cool finger across his chest, the finger never leaving his body as Spike slowly walked around Xander, studying him.  Blood rushed to his cheeks as he grasped the waistband of his boxers.  He stopped, his hands shaking.  Spike stopped in front of him and growled.  Grabbing Xander’s chin, he forced brown eyes to meet changing blue.

“Take them off,” he whispered, a cold edge behind the sensual purr.  Whimpering, Xander pushed them down his legs and stepped out of them.

“Good pet,” Spike whispered, relaxing his grip.  His fingers drifted across Xander’s tanned chin and jaw.  The vampire stepped away, studying the naked body.  He reached out a hand and caressed the warm chest, brushing his fingertips against the dark-brown nipples.  Xander hissed. 

“Did you like that?” he asked, eyebrow raised.  Xander clenched his jaw, skin flushing from humiliation and rage.  “Answer me.”

“Yes,” he growled.

Xander’s cheeks reddened further as Spike’s fingers traveled down his torso, stopping to brush the wiry thatch of hair surrounding his slowly hardening cock.  With a small smile, Spike stared into Xander’s eyes. 

“You know, you always act like you’re useless,” he whispered. “But I can think of a few things you’d be good at.

Spike stepped back, smirking.

“Undress me.”

Trembling hands untucked Spike’s black tee shirt and Spike shivered as warm fingers brushed his skin.  Xander moved slowly, inching the fabric up.  Pulling the shirt off of Spike’s raised arms, the Scooby stared at pale, defined chest in front of him.  To him, the vampire looked like one of those statues from Willow’s art history text: pale and perfect.  He dropped the shirt onto the ground before sliding the back of his hands down Spike’s stomach and into the waistband of his jeans.

“Like what you see, boy?” 

Xander flicked his eyes up, meeting Spike’s gaze as his fingers involuntarily opened the jeans.  He wanted to scream no, argue that he preferred boobies, not lean, white, muscled chests. 

"Yes," was the answer Xander gave.

Spike grabbed Xander’s shoulders and arched into the warm body as he pressed their lips together.  And while Xander’s mind went into Red Alert, Spike occupied himself with biting, tasting, and sucking on warm lips. 

Spike pulled away, inhaling deeply.  He raised an eyebrow and smiled, thoroughly pleased. 

“Looks like I’m not the only one whole enjoyed that.”  Reaching down, he traced his fingertips along Xander’s half-hard cock.  Xander wanted to deny his interest, kill his tormentor, and lean into the touch all at once.  But instead, all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and moan.

“Lie down.  You move too bloody slow.”  Xander opened his eyes and followed the command.  He watched as Spike stripped off the rest of his clothing and knelt on the mattress beside him. 

“You really are a beautiful human,” he purred, running his palm down the tanned chest.  Lightly, he swirled his fingers around one nipple, teasing it into stiffness before pinching it.  Xander’s body bowed as he inhaled sharply.  With a deep growl, Spike treated the other nipple to the same torment.

"I want to hear you,” he whispered roughly.  Lowering his head, he sucked on a hardened nub.  He was rewarded with a choked groan.

“You’d make a brilliant pet,” he mumbled, switching to the other nipple.  After a few strong licks, he raised his head.  Reaching into the bedside table, Spike grabbed the lube he’d seen the boy hide.  He knelt between Xander’s legs and squeezed some of the lube onto his fingers.   He stroked his cold, slick fingers down the cleft of Xander’s ass, gently stroking the sensitive skin there.  He then grabbed Xander's erection, pulling on it slowly and reveling in the whimpers that caused.  As the lube warmed, Xander bucked into the touch, struggling for control.

“In my court, I’d keep you on your knees at my feet, naked.  And the whole court would watch you with yellow eyes as I fuck you, making you scream and come.  They’d be jealous, imagining how it'd feel to be buried inside you, to feel you clench around them.  But I’d be the only one to touch you, and you'd spend you days on my prick, riding it and begging for more.” 

Xander shut his eyes and let out a long groan.  Spike’s touches drove him crazy, and the words formed erotic images in his mind, filling him with fear and desire.  The fingers pressed on his perineum, sending red flares into Xander’s brain.  Xander’s entrance was massaged before one finger slid part-way in.  Heart pounding, Xander looking at Spike.

“What are you doing?” he whimpered.

"I’m going to fuck you, pet.  Make you scream and beg until you come harder than you ever thought possible.” 

Spike pressed his finger in further, stretching Xander’s hole before adding a second.  He grinned down at Xander before crooking his fingers, brushing them against Xander’s prostate.  As his other hand continued to work Xander’s leaking cock, Spike added a third finger, stretching Xander’s hole, tormenting him with occasional brushes against his prostate.  Xander began to moan louder, his hips bucking up as nerve endings screamed messages to his brain.  The fingers left his body, but before he could protest, Xander felt something a lot bigger than a finger touching his ass.

“Ohshitohshitohshit,” he whimpered.  Spike rolled his eyes.

"Calm down; you’re going to give yourself a coronary.”  When Xander’s heart didn’t slow, Spike grabbed his chin, forcing their eyes to meet.  “Calm down.  I’m not gonna hurt you.”

At the return of that insistent, mind-bending purr, Xander breathed deeply, muscles relaxing.  Without warning, Spike pushed himself in, seating himself fully in one thrust.

“Oh, fuck,” Xander groaned.  It felt weird to be so full, but with each twitch of his muscles, his prostate rubbed against Spike’s dick.

“Fucking hell,” Spike moaned reverently.   “Feel so good, so bloody warm.”

With a groan, Spike pulled almost all of the way out before driving back inside.  He continued thrusting until he was slamming into Xander’s pliant, writhing body. 

The speed of the thrusts increased, the brushes over Xander's gland matched the flashing lights behind his eyelids.  Each thrust either teased or directly rubbed his prostate, turning him in to a burning, needy tangle of nerve endings.  All too soon, the warm grasping of Xander’s body pushed Spike over the edge.  With a low roar that echoed in Xander’s chest, Spike came.  Bending forward, he harshly jerked Xander’s neck to the side and sank his teeth into the exposed throat.

As the fangs punctured his skin, Xander came with a scream.

*          *          *

Xander came to with a scream.  His heart was pounding, sweat covering his body.  And he was hard, so fucking hard.  Clenching his fists, Xander tried to push the images of Spike from his head.  But they lingered, and despite his attempt to lose his erection, he couldn't.  Groaning, he reached down and wrapped one hand around his cock.  Precome dribbled down his dick, causing his fist to slide easily.  As he began to thrust his hips into the air, he reached down with his other hand and roughly shoved one finger inside his body.  The sensations matched up with his dream and Xander came, crying out as he remembered the feeling of Spike buried in his ass.  As his orgasm ended, Xander lay panting, his body trembling as want of something more surged through him.

*          *          *

That afternoon, Spike woke, rested and relaxed.  He’d slept through the day, free from Xander-porn dreams.  Whistling the tune of “Anarchy in the U.K.,” he dressed, pointedly ignoring the part of him that missed the dreams in which he got laid and fed by a warm, yummy human teen.

 


A/N: *Yes, I bloody well looked it up.  The Wampa Ice Creature, for those who don’t know, is the creature that attacks Luke Skywalker at the start of “The Empire Strikes Back.”  Sadly, I know even more about Star Trek.