Fic: Teenage Dirtbag - Spike/Xander - 3/?
Mar. 14th, 2006 06:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
suki_blueTitle: Teenage Dirtbag
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Season 1, so contains young Xander. Later parts contain violence. You have been warned! Also, this fic is likely to be very long and will be updated whenever the muse feels like it.
Summary: Teenage life on a Hellmouth. Xander tries to get some sleep while Spike pays a Sunnydale local a visit.
Beta'd by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kitty_poker1
Written for my darlingamejisuto.
Previous parts are HERE
There were many entrances into The Master’s lair. Three in the cemetery, three in the woods, two in the park, several at the power plant, and four at a plastics factory. And those were just the active routes in and out. There were many more that lay hidden, waiting for an unfortunate human to discover and explore.
One of those forgotten entrances lay within the tunnel Spike had chosen for temporary refuge. That was luck. Or maybe it was the kind of cunning that only Spike could possess.
Naaaaah. It was blind luck and he bloody well knew it.
After five minutes of pummelling until the heavy, metal door was bent and twisted and hanging from its hinges, Spike started on his jolly journey down into the lair. He knew The Master was there. He could smell the power and mothballs that came from one so old.
He’d found the entrance while he’d been having a quick scout around before he went out to dinner. And now that he’d fed, eyeballed the latest Slayer and found a nice human that would make a great present for Dru when he found her, or for himself if it took a little longer, it was time to visit his Great, Great Grandsire.
The tunnels were dark and dank and they smelled vaguely of rust and copper. It was a perfect place for a dark creature of the night. But not for Spike. He was used to a much more comfortable life. Drusilla loved her little luxuries and Spike wasn’t one to complain. Well, not about that.
Dru had been missing for five months. Spike had begun to worry after the first three.
It wasn’t unusual for Drusilla to take a fancy to a passing stranger and go jaunting off without a care. Spike was used to it now. He’d had to get used to it. Sure, it had hurt the first few times but, after a decade or so, he’d realised that all the other men, women and demons were just playthings – toys to indulge in and then rip up in a fit of temper. He was Drusilla’s true love. Only he had that coveted place in her heart. He could live with the others easily enough so long as that was always true.
But one night, one dark and stormy and terribly clichéd night, Drusilla had left and never returned.
The world was a big place and the chances of Spike finding her if she didn’t want to be found were not good. But he had to try. He needed to try.
Something was very wrong.
**
Something was totally not right.
Xander stood in the middle of his bedroom and tried to work out what it was.
“Okay, let’s look at the evidence. One: clean sheets. Not out of the ordinary, but a clear sign that mother has been in here. Two…Ah, there we go.”
Without so much as a flinch or a puzzled look, Xander reached over his bed to the shelf on the wall and collected up five bone china ornaments. Five little maids all in a row.
It had been a while since that had happened, but it was no surprise to find that it had happened again.
Xander yawned on the way down the hall to his parents’ bedroom. The television blared downstairs, signalling that his dad was still up and he doubted that his mom would have come up to bed so early either. Early for them. Eleven thirty was late for him.
He opened the bedroom door without hesitation and turned on the light. As usual, Xander cringed at the brightness and for the thousandth time he vowed to buy them a light bulb that wouldn’t light up their bedroom like a hyperactive Christmas tree.
With great care that no-one would ever have believed he possessed, Xander placed the little maids back on the dresser in their exact places. He wasn’t obsessive compulsive; there were just very obvious dust-free rings to guide his way.
On his way out, Xander considered picking up some of his parents’ laundry and depositing it in their laundry basket, but decided against it. He was a teenager, not a slave. And too much helpfulness could one day lead to extra chores. Xander shuddered and made his way downstairs to carry out his nightly ritual.
Actually, it was his second nightly ritual that followed the first nightly ritual of PJs, bathroom, bed and book. Except he didn’t have time for the book part tonight. After Buffy had walked him home, his mother had invited his friend in for dinner and advised Xander that said dinner was going to be a little late. Buffy had declined and Xander had left with her to observe some slaying until it was time to go home and enjoy the mouth watering soggy stuff.
Which he never got.
The mouth watering soggy stuff had gone past the point of soggy and had been pronounced dead on eventual arrival. Most of it had gone in the trash and a small part had gone in the cat’s bowl. The cat hadn’t been seen since.
Xander didn’t really care. About the soggy dinner, that was. The cat would come home when she was over the trauma. Chips and chocolate in plentiful supply had filled him up well.
“Mom?” Xander whispered. “You awake?”
Both Xander’s mother and father were relaxed on the couch. They looked as though they’d been enjoying an episode of COPS quite recently, but now they were sagged at opposite ends with their eyes closed.
“Mom? Dad?”
Yup, they were asleep and the second nightly ritual could begin, thank the gods. He needed to go to bed and be up at a decent hour. Three whole days of skipping school was chronic on the internal body clock. Xander had gotten used to pretty weird night time hours and now it was time to reverse the effects and go to bed at a normal-ish hour. Zombie-Xander was a bitch first thing in the morning.
Xander crept into the living room and turned off the TV with a happy sigh. Going to sleep without the sound of arrests was a blissful experience. He checked the ashtrays and his parent’s fingers and the areas around them for any signs of a cigarette still burning. Finding nothing, he gathered up both packs of cigarettes and both lighters, putting them away in the usual drawer in the side cabinet. Next he checked the kitchen. More than once he’d found the stove still on or the fridge door wide open. Warm milk in the morning did not ever give him a happy. Add that to the potential zombie-Xander status and you had yourself a high probability of a morning fight that involved the slamming of doors.
The little ritual now nearly complete, Xander checked that the front and back doors were locked, that his skateboard was put away in the downstairs closet and that there were no trippable objects between the couch and the bedroom. With this done, he fell into his bed and closed his eyes.
School tomorrow; and what a fun thought that was to end a magnificent day of lazing around. Still, at least he’d see Willow tomorrow. He’d missed her. He always missed her. Sometimes he wished that he could tell her that. He wished that he could tell her how much he loved and adored her. But it was a no go. For one, he in no way wanted to give Willow the wrong idea.
Xander was a typical guy in many ways. His main thought processes mostly consisted of a combination of thoughts that typically resided inside a sixteen year old boy’s head. But there were a few things that set him aside from his male peers.
He was sensitive. To his own feelings and those of the people around him. He blatantly knew that Willow carried a large, super-sized, Willow-shaped love torch for him.
This sensitivity was one of the things that set him apart from the others, made him a social reject and pretty much guaranteed that he’d be going stag to his own prom. That and his Goodwill clothes and inability to say anything that could remotely pass for ‘normal’.
Oh well, life was a bitch and if you were lucky you’d die. If you were unlucky you’d end up like Angel. Now there was a strange vamp.
There was a part of Xander that wanted to like him, but another part, a stronger part, just couldn’t let that happen. Angel was a guy that was moving in on one of his girls, his territory. This, plus the fact that Xander thought Angel was mighty buff, culminated in a general feeling of complete and total unease around him.
Xander quickly shut off the Angel thoughts and tried his best to clear his mind and let sleep seep in. It was difficult when his brain wouldn’t stop thinking about the thoughts he wasn’t supposed to think about. Even a deliberate thought about Buffy in one of her impossibly short skirts wasn’t doing much to alleviate the problem.
A picture of a naked Angel popped into his head and Xander groaned with frustration. As he felt himself begin to harden, Xander knew that he had no choice if he wanted to sleep tonight. He sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. Leaning over the side of his bed, he pulled out a box of comics from underneath it.
At the bottom of the box was a magazine that he really did keep meaning to throw out. It was just that the actual technical side of throwing out such a magazine threw up a major problem. The fear that his parents would find it in the trash. He’d even debated the idea of burying it in the garden in the middle of the night, but how would he explain his way out of that if he got caught? Sorry, Mom, I had an urge to take up digging for a living and I just couldn’t wait to start? Having to explain where the magazine had come from would be an even bigger problem.
So, the magazine had stayed under his bed for the last year. It was crumpled and well used now, even sporting a stain or two. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten sour cream on it.
The magazine fell open at his favourite page and Xander grabbed a box of tissues from his nightstand. There were a few other things in the drawer, tucked at the back – condoms for practising and wishful thinking and some lube for experimenting with – but Xander left them there for tonight.
He looked down at the three naked men and imagined he was the one in the middle. Hey, it was a fantasy; he might as well make it a good one. With the image firmly in his mind, Xander relaxed and began to stroke.
**
“Knock, knock.”
The Master squinted at the intruder and bared his teeth. “Who the hell are you?”
“Don’t you recognise me? I suppose it’s been a while. What, eighty years, give or take?”
With a cocked head and an expression that couldn’t easily be read, The Master rose from his seat. The expression warped until it beamed with a smile that was one hundred percent false. “I don’t remember you. Eighty years, you say? Now where was I about then? Hmmm.”
“Germany,” Spike reminded.
“Ahh, yes. Cologne, to be exact. I didn’t stay long. The winters were terribly cold.”
Spike nodded. “You’re telling me. Thought I had frostbite in my toes while I was there. I much prefer a warmer climate. The desert gets fucking chilly at night, though. Can’t win, can we?”
The Master laughed. “Quite. At least we have their blood to keep us warm. Californians do have a certain warm glow that just keeps on glowing, yes? Now, who did you say you were?”
Spike grinned and moved silently closer. “Can’t you tell?”
Three minions that had been guarding in the shadows moved to intercept the stranger.
“Wait,” The Master ordered, walking to meet Spike halfway. “I’m intrigued.”
Spike waited until the old vampire was close before he tilted his head and submitted.
The Master inhaled deeply and smiled. “Aurelius,” he husked. “Then you must be Spike. Welcome home.”
The fangs penetrated deeply and as The Master held him tightly and drank, Spike couldn’t help the small, devious smile that twitched at his lips.
Welcome, indeed.
TBC…
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Season 1, so contains young Xander. Later parts contain violence. You have been warned! Also, this fic is likely to be very long and will be updated whenever the muse feels like it.
Summary: Teenage life on a Hellmouth. Xander tries to get some sleep while Spike pays a Sunnydale local a visit.
Beta'd by
kitty_poker1Written for my darling
amejisuto.Previous parts are HERE
There were many entrances into The Master’s lair. Three in the cemetery, three in the woods, two in the park, several at the power plant, and four at a plastics factory. And those were just the active routes in and out. There were many more that lay hidden, waiting for an unfortunate human to discover and explore.
One of those forgotten entrances lay within the tunnel Spike had chosen for temporary refuge. That was luck. Or maybe it was the kind of cunning that only Spike could possess.
Naaaaah. It was blind luck and he bloody well knew it.
After five minutes of pummelling until the heavy, metal door was bent and twisted and hanging from its hinges, Spike started on his jolly journey down into the lair. He knew The Master was there. He could smell the power and mothballs that came from one so old.
He’d found the entrance while he’d been having a quick scout around before he went out to dinner. And now that he’d fed, eyeballed the latest Slayer and found a nice human that would make a great present for Dru when he found her, or for himself if it took a little longer, it was time to visit his Great, Great Grandsire.
The tunnels were dark and dank and they smelled vaguely of rust and copper. It was a perfect place for a dark creature of the night. But not for Spike. He was used to a much more comfortable life. Drusilla loved her little luxuries and Spike wasn’t one to complain. Well, not about that.
Dru had been missing for five months. Spike had begun to worry after the first three.
It wasn’t unusual for Drusilla to take a fancy to a passing stranger and go jaunting off without a care. Spike was used to it now. He’d had to get used to it. Sure, it had hurt the first few times but, after a decade or so, he’d realised that all the other men, women and demons were just playthings – toys to indulge in and then rip up in a fit of temper. He was Drusilla’s true love. Only he had that coveted place in her heart. He could live with the others easily enough so long as that was always true.
But one night, one dark and stormy and terribly clichéd night, Drusilla had left and never returned.
The world was a big place and the chances of Spike finding her if she didn’t want to be found were not good. But he had to try. He needed to try.
Something was very wrong.
**
Something was totally not right.
Xander stood in the middle of his bedroom and tried to work out what it was.
“Okay, let’s look at the evidence. One: clean sheets. Not out of the ordinary, but a clear sign that mother has been in here. Two…Ah, there we go.”
Without so much as a flinch or a puzzled look, Xander reached over his bed to the shelf on the wall and collected up five bone china ornaments. Five little maids all in a row.
It had been a while since that had happened, but it was no surprise to find that it had happened again.
Xander yawned on the way down the hall to his parents’ bedroom. The television blared downstairs, signalling that his dad was still up and he doubted that his mom would have come up to bed so early either. Early for them. Eleven thirty was late for him.
He opened the bedroom door without hesitation and turned on the light. As usual, Xander cringed at the brightness and for the thousandth time he vowed to buy them a light bulb that wouldn’t light up their bedroom like a hyperactive Christmas tree.
With great care that no-one would ever have believed he possessed, Xander placed the little maids back on the dresser in their exact places. He wasn’t obsessive compulsive; there were just very obvious dust-free rings to guide his way.
On his way out, Xander considered picking up some of his parents’ laundry and depositing it in their laundry basket, but decided against it. He was a teenager, not a slave. And too much helpfulness could one day lead to extra chores. Xander shuddered and made his way downstairs to carry out his nightly ritual.
Actually, it was his second nightly ritual that followed the first nightly ritual of PJs, bathroom, bed and book. Except he didn’t have time for the book part tonight. After Buffy had walked him home, his mother had invited his friend in for dinner and advised Xander that said dinner was going to be a little late. Buffy had declined and Xander had left with her to observe some slaying until it was time to go home and enjoy the mouth watering soggy stuff.
Which he never got.
The mouth watering soggy stuff had gone past the point of soggy and had been pronounced dead on eventual arrival. Most of it had gone in the trash and a small part had gone in the cat’s bowl. The cat hadn’t been seen since.
Xander didn’t really care. About the soggy dinner, that was. The cat would come home when she was over the trauma. Chips and chocolate in plentiful supply had filled him up well.
“Mom?” Xander whispered. “You awake?”
Both Xander’s mother and father were relaxed on the couch. They looked as though they’d been enjoying an episode of COPS quite recently, but now they were sagged at opposite ends with their eyes closed.
“Mom? Dad?”
Yup, they were asleep and the second nightly ritual could begin, thank the gods. He needed to go to bed and be up at a decent hour. Three whole days of skipping school was chronic on the internal body clock. Xander had gotten used to pretty weird night time hours and now it was time to reverse the effects and go to bed at a normal-ish hour. Zombie-Xander was a bitch first thing in the morning.
Xander crept into the living room and turned off the TV with a happy sigh. Going to sleep without the sound of arrests was a blissful experience. He checked the ashtrays and his parent’s fingers and the areas around them for any signs of a cigarette still burning. Finding nothing, he gathered up both packs of cigarettes and both lighters, putting them away in the usual drawer in the side cabinet. Next he checked the kitchen. More than once he’d found the stove still on or the fridge door wide open. Warm milk in the morning did not ever give him a happy. Add that to the potential zombie-Xander status and you had yourself a high probability of a morning fight that involved the slamming of doors.
The little ritual now nearly complete, Xander checked that the front and back doors were locked, that his skateboard was put away in the downstairs closet and that there were no trippable objects between the couch and the bedroom. With this done, he fell into his bed and closed his eyes.
School tomorrow; and what a fun thought that was to end a magnificent day of lazing around. Still, at least he’d see Willow tomorrow. He’d missed her. He always missed her. Sometimes he wished that he could tell her that. He wished that he could tell her how much he loved and adored her. But it was a no go. For one, he in no way wanted to give Willow the wrong idea.
Xander was a typical guy in many ways. His main thought processes mostly consisted of a combination of thoughts that typically resided inside a sixteen year old boy’s head. But there were a few things that set him aside from his male peers.
He was sensitive. To his own feelings and those of the people around him. He blatantly knew that Willow carried a large, super-sized, Willow-shaped love torch for him.
This sensitivity was one of the things that set him apart from the others, made him a social reject and pretty much guaranteed that he’d be going stag to his own prom. That and his Goodwill clothes and inability to say anything that could remotely pass for ‘normal’.
Oh well, life was a bitch and if you were lucky you’d die. If you were unlucky you’d end up like Angel. Now there was a strange vamp.
There was a part of Xander that wanted to like him, but another part, a stronger part, just couldn’t let that happen. Angel was a guy that was moving in on one of his girls, his territory. This, plus the fact that Xander thought Angel was mighty buff, culminated in a general feeling of complete and total unease around him.
Xander quickly shut off the Angel thoughts and tried his best to clear his mind and let sleep seep in. It was difficult when his brain wouldn’t stop thinking about the thoughts he wasn’t supposed to think about. Even a deliberate thought about Buffy in one of her impossibly short skirts wasn’t doing much to alleviate the problem.
A picture of a naked Angel popped into his head and Xander groaned with frustration. As he felt himself begin to harden, Xander knew that he had no choice if he wanted to sleep tonight. He sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. Leaning over the side of his bed, he pulled out a box of comics from underneath it.
At the bottom of the box was a magazine that he really did keep meaning to throw out. It was just that the actual technical side of throwing out such a magazine threw up a major problem. The fear that his parents would find it in the trash. He’d even debated the idea of burying it in the garden in the middle of the night, but how would he explain his way out of that if he got caught? Sorry, Mom, I had an urge to take up digging for a living and I just couldn’t wait to start? Having to explain where the magazine had come from would be an even bigger problem.
So, the magazine had stayed under his bed for the last year. It was crumpled and well used now, even sporting a stain or two. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten sour cream on it.
The magazine fell open at his favourite page and Xander grabbed a box of tissues from his nightstand. There were a few other things in the drawer, tucked at the back – condoms for practising and wishful thinking and some lube for experimenting with – but Xander left them there for tonight.
He looked down at the three naked men and imagined he was the one in the middle. Hey, it was a fantasy; he might as well make it a good one. With the image firmly in his mind, Xander relaxed and began to stroke.
**
“Knock, knock.”
The Master squinted at the intruder and bared his teeth. “Who the hell are you?”
“Don’t you recognise me? I suppose it’s been a while. What, eighty years, give or take?”
With a cocked head and an expression that couldn’t easily be read, The Master rose from his seat. The expression warped until it beamed with a smile that was one hundred percent false. “I don’t remember you. Eighty years, you say? Now where was I about then? Hmmm.”
“Germany,” Spike reminded.
“Ahh, yes. Cologne, to be exact. I didn’t stay long. The winters were terribly cold.”
Spike nodded. “You’re telling me. Thought I had frostbite in my toes while I was there. I much prefer a warmer climate. The desert gets fucking chilly at night, though. Can’t win, can we?”
The Master laughed. “Quite. At least we have their blood to keep us warm. Californians do have a certain warm glow that just keeps on glowing, yes? Now, who did you say you were?”
Spike grinned and moved silently closer. “Can’t you tell?”
Three minions that had been guarding in the shadows moved to intercept the stranger.
“Wait,” The Master ordered, walking to meet Spike halfway. “I’m intrigued.”
Spike waited until the old vampire was close before he tilted his head and submitted.
The Master inhaled deeply and smiled. “Aurelius,” he husked. “Then you must be Spike. Welcome home.”
The fangs penetrated deeply and as The Master held him tightly and drank, Spike couldn’t help the small, devious smile that twitched at his lips.
Welcome, indeed.
TBC…
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(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-19 11:13 am (UTC)