Predatory Acts
by Jane Davitt
Chapter 7
The early morning sun illuminated Sunnydale and Xander stirred, the drowsiness
that had held him motionless for hours sliding off him, leaving him chilled
and exposed. He was lying sprawled across the bed, his leg hooked over Spike’s
and one hand resting on his chest. His hand lay shielding the place Buffy
would aim for and the thought made him feel both protective and guilty. Pushing
the confusion aside, he squinted at a clock on the bedside table. He had a
few hours before school. He really had to go home and pretend that he’d got
in late, rather than not at all. He wondered sourly if his parents had even
noticed that he was missing.
Spike lay sleeping, his face turned away from Xander, the sheets, so dark
against his candle-pale body, pulled up to his waist. Even looking at him
made Xander feel a baffled, aching longing. He was exhausted, his body a living
record of the hours of sometimes brutal sex, but he knew that if Spike turned
and reached out his hand, his body would rouse and respond.
It was the most frightening thought he’d ever had.
He wanted to wash, to eat, to brush his teeth, to restore normality to his
world. He’d showered in the night but it hadn’t been quite the same. He’d
never showered lying down in a wide, long tub, being teased and tickled by
a judiciously aimed jet of water. It had turned into a bath, with Spike tipping
in a generous dollop of bath gel that foamed up and over the sides of the
bath. Spike, covered in bubbles, with his sleek hair spiked up by Xander’s
fingers, had looked so human, so young...then Xander had thoughtlessly told
him to look in the mirror and his face had hardened as he cupped his hands
in the water and smoothed his hair down again.
Xander had done things he’d never heard of during the dark hours, had used
his hands, mouth and ass to give Spike pleasure and taken satisfaction in
every gasp and moan he’d forced past those cool lips. He’d been guided and
instructed by someone incapable of shame, skilled and unpredictable. Spike
had shown him what a thousand fevered dreams had only hinted at, shown him
with a lack of self consciousness that had drawn and demanded the same from
Xander.
He had hurt Xander sometimes, forgetting that the body writhing beneath
him was human, not vampire. His body was mottled with small dark bruises
left by Spike’s finger tips. Only once, though, had Spike hurt him deliberately,
when Xander, goaded by Spike’s sulky silence after they left the bathroom,
had mentioned Drusilla. Spike had turned on him, game face on and bent Xander
backwards, his fangs at his throat. He had kept him like that, lying face
up across his knee, painfully arched, one arm holding him pinned, the needle
pointed teeth grazing his flesh, kept him while his free hand worked Xander’s
cock mercilessly, forcing it to respond. When Xander had come finally, Spike
taking care that none of it touched him, he had been pushed contemptuously
to the floor. Spike had stalked to the bed and flung himself down, his face
expressionless.
Xander had returned to the bathroom, cleaned up the splatters of come from
his body and leaned against the basin, breathing slowly. Then he filled up
a jug with icy water, walked over to the bed and tipped it over Spike. The
sight of Spike leaping to his feet, outrage and disbelief making him splutter
incoherently had been enough to make Xander giggle helplessly. Spike was restrained
from biting him, less because of his promise, more because – well, once couldn’t
eat someone when they were laughing so hard the tears were rolling down their
face. Just wouldn’t feel right. He settled for giving Xander rug burns and
then making him strip and remake the bed.
Now it was over. Xander eased himself free of Spike and went into the bathroom.
When he came out, Spike was sitting up, looking sleepy and with a hint of
wariness in his eyes. Xander nodded to him and picked up his clothes, getting
dressed quickly. Spike watched him cover up the body he’d explored so thoroughly
and did nothing to stop him.
Xander couldn’t just walk out into the sunlight without saying something
but looking at the silent watcher made his mind narrow down to a single thought
and somehow he knew that if he voiced it he would never leave.
“I –have to go now,” he said finally. “I wish –”
“No, you don’t,” said Spike. “You were fun but it’s over. Push off now,
O.K?”
The bored disinterest in his voice slashed Xander bone deep, driving him
speechless from the room and into the dazzle of daylight, allowing him to
find his way through the empty streets with eyes too aching with tiredness
and unshed tears to pay attention to his surroundings. Without thinking about
it, he made his way home, stumbling up the stairs to his room and falling
forward onto his unmade bed. The sheets smelled musty and stale as he used
them to soak up the tears that had lost patience with waiting to be shed.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried but he thought it had been for
much the same reason – a sense of bewildered loss. Oh, yes. His father had
given away his pet rabbit, letting him come home from school to find the
empty hutch on the sidewalk waiting for the garbage men. His frantic sobbing
had earned him a slap from his father and an impatient, fleeting hug from
his mother. He hadn’t bothered to cry again after that.
Rolling over onto his back, Xander stared up at the ceiling, the tears drying
on his face, their job done. He was calm now as his fingers slid inside his
pocket and pulled out the charm.
The sunlight slanted through the window and struck the silver surface, spinning
off in a prismatic display that made Xander blink. His hand moved towards
his mouth and the scent of cherries filled the room. His thoughts caught at
something half heard in his dreams, something Spike had whispered, when he’d
been too sleepy to respond.
“’My only love, sprung from my only hate.’”
‘Love’? His hand fell back.
***
New Orleans. Saturday.
Spike stood outside Drusilla’s room, curtly questioning the vampire who
had been caring for her while he was away.
“So she’s been eating then? Good. She’ll need her strength. Bring me someone
fresh. I’m not going out again tonight and I’m hungry.”
The vampire nodded and walked away, leaving Spike staring at the door. In
his hand was a gift for his princess – a necklace the Master had given to
him, studded with garnets like little drops of blood. He allowed himself
a moment longer, touching the memories with a gentle hand, savouring each
sound, each glance, each caress, regretting nothing but the last look of hurt
as the boy left. No, not even that. Then he opened his hands and let them
fall away.
“Could never hurt you, Dru,” he murmured to himself just before he pushed
open the door.
Drusilla was sitting up in bed, her cheeks a delicate pink, still frail,
still fading, but with an eager, tremulous smile on her lips. “Spike! I knew
you would come back today. I felt you moving to me, so fast.” Her face fell.
“Did you see him? Did you meet him?”
“The Master was kind, my sweet. Eventually. Here – he sent you this.” Spike
laid the necklace across the white blanket, expecting Drusilla to catch it
up in delight. Instead she ignored it, pouting at him.
“You know I don’t mean him! The boy, the betrayer...tell me.”
Her voice was sharp and Spike frowned, puzzled. “Don’t know what you mean,
love. What boy?”
Drusilla looked at him with quick suspicion, her fingers fluttering out
to touch him and bring him closer. Concentrating, her eyes veiled with long
lashes, she delved into his mind, peevishly stabbing and prodding and then
looked at him with surprised pleasure. “You didn’t betray me...It didn’t matter
but I think I’m glad you didn’t. I would have had to kill him and that would
have been tiresome.”
Spike shook his head, smiling indulgently. “Dru, love, there’s only you.
Only ever will be you. Now don’t I get a kiss?”
He leaned in to kiss her, gently brushing her pale lips with his.
“You taste of cherries,” she murmured drowsily, snuggling back down.
***
Sunnydale School. September 29 1997
Xander struggled in Angel’s grasp as he was dragged towards Spike, an unwilling
prop in his plan to infiltrate the besieged school. His thoughts were chaotic,
desperate. Since he’d heard that Spike was back he’d known this meeting was
inevitable but this wasn’t quite how he’d imagined it. As Angel grabbed his
hair, yanking on it to expose his neck, thrusting him at Spike, he waited
for the moment when the ice blue eyes would warm with recognition and he would
be exposed as the traitorous, perverted, addicted, besotted fool he was.
He looked up at Spike, twisting his head awkwardly, and slowly the fear, the
anticipation and the terror drained from him leaving - nothing.
The blue eyes were empty of recognition. It wasn’t an act; Spike wasn’t
protecting him. He just didn’t know him. Throughout the fight that followed,
and the lonely walk home, Xander clung to one thought, letting it set the
rhythm of his steps, letting it carry him along. The words drummed endlessly
in his mind until they lost all meaning, all sense.
“Tonight. I’ll take it tonight.”
He knew he wouldn’t.
The End
Go To 'Preying
On My Mind', the sequel to this story.