Water Rituals

by Kaz

******* 
Two strokes followed by a compulsory gasp for air. 
The sheer monotony was calming. Xander had found a small measure of peace within this pool. Tepid water accompanied by the smell of chlorine. 
Thought is not a requirement, which was of the good. He can't help but huff in disgust. Bubbles erupt from Xander's mouth to trail behind in his wake like disappearing breadcrumbs. 
Thinking about not thinking was apparently a "Thunderbirds are go," signal to to his brain. Click, click- and the images invade without apology. 
Xander had enough practice now to align them with his laps. 
Heat from the Miami sun beats down upon his back. A steady presence tracking his laps up and down the pool. 
The estate was huge, grounds lush with vegetation and the house a veritable mansion. No one tended to the gardens any more and they were beginning to become overgrown. 
The drug czar had taste. Had being the operative word, said illegal distributor had expired some months ago. 
Xander had never seen the man and for that he was grateful. Empty picture frames and outlines on the wall were reminder enough. 
Stroke, stroke, breath. 
Three more laps. 
There's a certain residual guilt that he *might* have been the reason for the mans death. Xander steadfastly refused to consider any other residents. Some rooms totally bereft of furniture were capable of sending him into a fit of depression, the root cause of which he denied. 
Swimming let him escape. 
If a psychiatrist had asked Xander to imagine himself as an animal, Xander would have chosen a seal. Undignified on land to the point of slapstick comedy, but in water? In water he ruled. 
Strange. He could not find the strength to walk out the iron gates that beckoned at the end of a looping driveway. Yet, if the walls of this pool disappeared he would have kept on swimming. 
One option achievable and he ignored it, the other impossible and he chose it. 
Escape is damned awkward when the prisoner has no wish to leave. 
Fingertips tingle with pressure indicating the conclusion of another lap. 
Turn. 
And Xander's within his own self-generated whirlpool. 
A transient swap from the emotional to the physical. 
The soles of his feet smack with force against the wall, knees bend, muscles tighten. 
Push, surge of strength and he is free, travelling swiftly back up the pool, leaving chaos behind like a memory. He was good at that. 
Time passes, heat begins to fade as the sun slips behind the house-two stories high and about half the size of a football field he's sure. 
Liquid silk. Water against naked skin, and he *was* naked. Xander was never one to examine his own sensuality, until recently. His lover was a sensual creature and his nature brought Xander's own to the fore. 
He was being seduced, or had that occurred already? 
Soon he would no longer swim in the sun, that thought alone should be enough to send him into a blind panic. So he panicked at not panicking. 
Perhaps that is why his skin was so brown. Baked in heat from a source that would all too soon become an enemy. 
An image of tanned skin wrapped around marble white sears into his brain. Xander now has a rudder to help steer through the water-- and its not his feet. 
He's tiring and the strokes become more urgent. Who knows if this will be his last day in the sun? 
*He* would know, yet it seems pathetic to ask, more like begging. Xander has already begged enough. 
Begged Spike to let him go, then it time begged to be held. Pleaded to be touched "Yesss, there. Touch me there." Spike would tease, sometimes withholding that touch until frustration forces Xander to make the first move. Dark laughter when he uses aggression then he realises that had been the goal all along. 
Games in bed. A tangle of limbs and linen with sweat forming pools in interesting places, making the encounter all that more *real*. 
The ache which begins with a tingle all over his skin. Fingernails sweeping down his back causing Xander to arch like a Siamese. One hand on his cock, fingers inside finding that spot to make him scream. Perhaps the tweaking of a nipple, raising it to hardened nub ready to be sucked. 
And God! He's so ready for what follows. 
Xander has had enough of the pool. 
He stands in the remaining solitary spot of light, towelling his hair dry. A hardening cock at half mast and on its way to the top of the flagpole. 
It occurs to him that every star is just a sun light years away. 
The inevitable doesn't seem quite that daunting, he would be swimming beneath a thousand suns. 
Spike might be awake by now, and if not? Xander would wake him. And yes, he would continue to swim under sunlight that came from a billion miles away. 
Swimming was good for the soul. 
Pity he would lose that. 
****** 
Ensconced within the confines of the house, toes digging into carpet two inches thick, Spike can see his future Childe flirting with the shadows. Xander is standing in the last vestiges of light like a bronze satyr. 
Beautiful. 
Rivulets of water cascade down a lean body to form a puddle at the boys feet. 
How friggin' bizarre that Xander Harris was here. Spike had questioned his own choice. Doubts remained till that moment two months ago when the whelp had opened his eyes. 
Xander had woken cradled against Spike's chest. Lips cracked and body dehydrated to the point of incoherence, eyes glued shut. 
Spike sighs in pleasure as he relives the moment. 
"Ungphzzzt." 
Xander jerked in his arms, the sheet wrapped around them both dislodged by the spasmodic reaction of arms and legs. Spike stills the boy without effort. One hand firmly grasped at the base of Xander's neck ensuring that those warm, damp gasps for air brushed against cool lifeless skin. Spike's other hand fits neatly into the groove of a hip like they were mated. 
Long time experience with Dru had prepared him for this. Spike rocked back and forth slowly, not much, but enough. Calming little "Ssshhh," noises accompanied by a sub sonic purr. 
Like the Childe he might become and the man/child he is, Xander allows the actions to placate blind fear. 
Spike dips a finger into the glass of water, traces the outline of Xander's lips. They soak up moisture like a crumpled sponge and the last vestige of coiled tension withdraws from Xander's frame. Time and again Spike repeats the process. 
But Xander needs more. Spike sips from the glass, bends his head and rests his lips against Xander's. He can feel the split skin scraping against his own. 
Shock freezes the mortal, just as Spike intended. Cool tongue invades a warm but parched cavern which is filled with water. Xander gags slightly as the liquid slides down his throat. 
Spike's thumb begins to trace small circles along Xander's hip. 
The boy is not slow. Once his muzzy brain acknowledges salvation lies within the mouth resting against his own, Xander utilises what ever strength he has to thrust his head up for more. 
And is rewarded. 
Training can never begin too early. 
Desperate for every drop Xander begins to suck on Spike's tongue. A Spike who can't help but hiss slightly in delight and his grip becomes bruising. Xander whimpers but will not let go of the tongue. 
The first time pleasure and pain become friends. 
Spike is surprised how erotic he finds the experience. Xander had been chosen for many things, sex, though inevitable, had not been one of them. 
His burgeoning erection makes itself known and Xander panics once more. Spike merely crushes the boys mouth under his own, and too weak to make any real effort, Xander succumbs. 
Blind and mute, he is not in charge. 
Dominance established. 
For hours, Spike is Xander's only source of contact with his surroundings. His only source of water. 
Exhaustion finally catches up and the mortal begins to drift off into sleep. Dampening a sheet, Spike wipes away the gunk from Xander's eyes. Lids flutter open, visual contact and recognition occurs. 
Spike is sucked into pools of chocolate brown flecked with color. And yeah, he'd always had a 'thing' for brown eyes. History leaves an imprint that will dictate actions one is not aware of until your drowning in it. 
Uncertainty replaced by total resolution. 
There are no further doubts. 

***** 
Withdrawing from the pleasant trip down memory lane, Spike's attention once again focuses on that which is his. 
Did Xander have any idea the reason he'd been chosen? Probably not. No Sire creates a Childe who has the potential to be more powerful than they. Dominance must be established on first impression. 
The inherent power within the Slayer and the Witch, while tempting, had immediately ruled them out. A new born demon would leach every particle of memory from its hosts mind. Neither had really seen Spike as a Master Vampire. 
Any Slayer turned would immediately see themselves as an equal, and Spike had a use for magic but was not gifted in it. A Sire/Childe bond was strong but eventually all children rebel. 
A Sire must ensure he/she had the means to inflict punishment, to inflict fear. 
The newborn fledgling must *know* that the Sire was the master. Forever. Spike was a vampire who knew his limitations, hard lessons learned but never forgotten. 
All too often Xander had bemoaned the fact he had no special gifts. Spike wondered how pissed off the boy would be to know the reason he was here was due to that very fact? 
Xander had been chosen for his loyalty. Supposed friends had treated that precious part of him as if it were nothing. Did they have no idea how rare a treasure it was? 
How tempting when combined with such a pure heart? 
Spike had also been guilty of this, until these facts had been become obvious. It had caused him the view Xander in a new light, and damned the mortal forever. 
Experience with the Initiative had taught Spike a valuable lesson. Dru would not always be around to help *her* Childe. 
Spike needed one of his own. One he could depend on, one who would be fearless in the defence of their Sire. 
With ruthless efficiency he'd made a list, Xander had somehow made it to the top. The vampire couldn't stop the chuckle which erupted. 
Fate was a freaky bitch with a sense of humor that bleeds. 
******** 
Shadows have now overtaken the entire pool area. Xander senses something, a tug on some invisible bond. Raises his head, scanning for Spike. 
Knows the vampire is watching him, can feel it. Desires it. Will wrap the cool penetrating blue stare around himself and bask within it. Excitement and arousal start singing throughout his body. 
He strides towards the house feeling like a seal scrambling over rocks, Xander hates that. When Spike moves he has a feline grace that is mesmerising. 
Xander doesn't even break his stride when he enters into semi-darkness. His beacon is shining and he walks unhesitating into the vampires arms. 
Arms that lock around him like a vice, fingers which slide through his hair and pull his mouth down to ravaged. 
"You stink of chlorine," comes the growl. 
Mouth busily engaged in exploring a collarbone, Xander states simply. "So clean me." 
"I swear, sometimes I think your part bleedin' fish." 
Xander laughs into the curve of an ear. "Almost was once." 
Momentary pause while Spike tries to figure out if he's being conned. "Christ! One of these days I'm going to make you tell me everything." 
"Will you listen?" Xander winces at the need in his voice. 
And Spike is a finely honed radar attuned solely to Xander. 
Mortal finds himself detached from vampire. Face framed by hands that could snap his neck in a heartbeat. 
"I'll always listen." 
Xander doesn't doubt for a moment, and maybe he was out in the sun too long 'cause any final barrier he had has just been melted away. He's a limpet as he clings to Spike. 
Picked up and carried to one of five bathrooms. The huge clam shaped bath is a perfect example of why incredible wealth and poor taste should never breed. 
Delighted laughter as they plunge into hot water. 
They'd played this game before. 
Xander emerges spluttering then Spike is all over him. So much power within the muscles that flex underneath his hands. He knows how much Spike refrains from doing too much. 
In water, Xander becomes agile once more. Twisting, graceful and full of confidence. Demanding more, and so glad Spike always gave him what he wants. 
Wraps his legs around the body on top, returns each kiss with a fervour driven by spiralling need. Sucks greedily as blood seeps into his mouth, Spike had stopped using water sometime ago and replaced it with his own more flavoursome version. 
Together. 
Spike hard length pistons within him. Filling, completing Xander in ways he never knew before but now craved above all else. 
Tides and eddies, waves and motion. Xander rides the tsunami of imminent orgasm like a creature from the sea. 
There's more water on the bathroom floor now than in the bath. 
Needle sharp delicious pain at his neck. Pleasure multiplied by a power of ten, then a hundred. 
"Yessss." 
"Tell me, luv." Spike whispers seductively against Xander's neck. "Tell me what you want." 
"Don't let me go, Spike. Want to swim forever." 
Ever fearful of rejection, Xander opens his eyes to find brilliant gold. Twin suns blazing with a heat that scorches. 
"MINE." 
Spike moves with inhuman speed, fangs deeply embedded as he drinks Xander's life away, hips pumping. 
Xander is dying and has no idea why he delayed so long 'cause nothing he has ever known before can compare. His scream of release soon stumbles into a death rattle, in the distance he can hear Spike's howl. 
He giggles, all this water and he's thirsty. Water everywhere and not a drop to drink. Man, who said that? Someone famous? 
"Drink, luv." 
Voice. Demanding. 
Ooohhhh! Rich, heavy, delicious. Xander needs every drop, grips skin and won't let go. This water is liquid death, it slides down the tunnel of his throat and Xander can't help but follow into darkness. 
Floating, not drowning- waving. 
Xander returned to the sea. 
**********

THE END