Reunion
by Scorpio

Walking through the darkened shadows, Spike considered things. He'd 
been following the rash of grisly murders for almost two months now, 
and he figured that he was close to the end of his search. Real 
close. The master vampire would run across his lost love within 
minutes, hours, days, weeks... whatever. In any case, soon.

The murders followed the exact pattern as they had almost a decade 
ago. The same bloody and violent style, the same type of victim. The 
same psychotic killer. 

His lover.

Xander...

With a slight grin ghosting across his handsome pale features, he 
allowed himself to indulge in his memories. Ten years before, back 
when he still resided in Sunnydale. 

The Hellmouth. 

He'd been in a world of hurt back then. The Initiative had done it's 
job a little too well when it came to him. Hostile 17. They had put 
that bloody effin' chip in his skull. An electronic vampire pacifier. 
Spike *still* winced at the memory of the blinding white pain that 
would shoot through his skull at even the *attempt* at violence. He 
had been crippled. Muzzled. Broken.

He had been forced into an unholy truce with the bloody Slayer and 
her friends. Begging for blood and shelter. Selling his services and 
his knowledge like a two bit whore for protection and aid. He had 
flitted from person to person, living in basements, cellars and 
windowless closets for months. 

Then, after that last big fight with Anya, Xander had announced that 
he could take in Spike permanently. At the time, it was a simple 
arrangement. Xander was alone and couldn't stand the loneliness and 
Spike was homeless and virtually helpless. There had been a few 
raised eyebrows, but no one said anything. After a while, no one 
cared anymore. They had all gotten used to it.

If only they had known the truth of it, they'd have found a way to 
stop it. He knew that, and Xander had known it as well. They worked 
hard to keep their secret just that... secret.

Lovers.

It sounds like such an innocent word. One that fills a mind with soft 
feelings and warm tidings, visions of close cuddles and romantic 
plans for the future. And yeah, those things had all been there. 
Maybe not right at first, but they had grown to become a part of 
their relationship.

But only a part.

The word 'Lovers' leaves so much unsaid. Unrealized. Untouched.

It doesn't evoke the true scope of their lovemaking. The lust and cum 
and bloodletting. The creative use of restraints and sharps. Xander 
never let anyone else but Spike know about his love and need 
for 'sharps'... razors, daggers, blades, needles. Anything metal that 
could cut skin would do. And how that boy had ached for Spike to be 
able to use his own fangs to slice open his flesh with. 

But the dammed bloody chip wouldn't allow that. So, they had used 
sharps. Xander would cut open his skin and feed his own blood into 
Spike's mouth. In return, Spike had often shared his own blood with 
his mortal lover. In fact, he had come very close to turning the boy 
all together, but Xander had always insisted that he wasn't 'ready' 
for that... yet. A promise of 'someday' that had never come.

The word 'Lovers' also didn't give a clue about how they were each 
others last bastion of strength and support.

Oh, Spike was certain that most lovers did that for each other. But 
he was equally sure that most lovers didn't face the same things that 
he and Xander had. Spike, and his absolute defenselessness and 
dependence on those beings which natural law says he should never 
befriend. And Xander, in his desperate need for attention and 
acceptance and approval. 

How many times did Spike patch together wounds of the flesh and the 
spirit for Xander after his father'd have another go at him? He 
wasn't sure. The weekly beatings and occasional violent rapes began 
to blur together after a while. What hurt most, was that Spike 
couldn't stop it. The few times he'd been there for them and had 
tried to help, he'd ended up just as bruised and beaten as Xander. 

And him? How many times did Xander come home to find him a bloody 
painful mess because some group of drunken jocks or some vicious 
demon had been at him? How many muggings and bar brawls did he 
survive? Once again, he was unsure. But Xander had been there for 
them all. Patched him up, fed him blood and then tucked him into warm 
dry blankets and strong loving arms.

And the late night and early evening talks? Sure, all lovers have 
them. But do all lovers talk about blood and pain and fear and hate? 
Do they reminisce about torture and killing and death?

Do all lovers spend their free time hunting down and killing demons, 
studying ancient spells, curses and demonology, or have painful and 
amazing blood soaked sex? 

*No*. They don't.

Yet, for three years they had lived and loved like this. *Three 
bloody years*!

Then he'd found a way to remove his own personal curse. That blasted 
chip. He didn't even stop to consider otherwise. He'd leaped right 
into it with all of the enthusiasm of a hyper-active child on a sugar 
rush. Some heavy mojo, several expensive payments up front and a bit 
of luck thrown in for good measure and then he was free.

The chip was gone.

Oh, how he'd let loose then. It had been *glorious*. The killing. The 
bloodshed. The mayhem! By the end of the week, everyone *knew* 
without a doubt just *why* Spike had been known as 'William the 
Bloody'.

He'd killed the Slayer and her bloody Watcher that very first night. 
He'd drained them dry and then removed their innards and arranged 
them in a pleasing display around their respective bedrooms. And, 
*oh*, the Slayer's blood had been *wonderful*. So rich and powerful. 
And Giles? His blood had literally *tingled* with magick. Lovely, 
just bloody lovely.

The very next night, he had gone after the two witches. They had also 
had that lovely tingle of magick coursing throughout their veins. Not 
as good as Slayer blood, but a damn sight better than *regular* 
mortals. They had been his friends and he had cared about them as 
well, so he had eviscerated *their* corpses just as he'd done with 
the Slayer and the Watcher. After all, didn't friends deserve the 
very best job he could do?

After he left them, he went home to Xander. His lover wasn't there, 
but his parents were. He didn't even bother to eat *them*. He just 
rended them limb from limb. Old mum and dad never looked so good as 
they did as tiny quivering chunks of bloody flesh. He was in such a 
good mood after that, that he'd wrote a love poem to Xander on the 
living room wall in the old man's blood. It wasn't Hallmark of 
anything, but then again, he wasn't a poet. 

He was an immortal killer.

When he woke the next night, Xander *still* hadn't returned, so he 
decided to go out looking for him. He'd found Riley instead. Soldier-
boy made a good snack. Right after he'd confessed that he'd been at 
the police station all night because of Buffy's murder. Xander was 
still being held for questioning. So, after leaving the ex-commando's 
corpse lying under a bush, Spike had headed for the police station. 

And ran into Angelus.

Not *Angel*. Angelus.

Apparently, his Sire didn't take the news of Buffy's death real well. 
Combined with the death of the witch, who's spell was all that had 
been holding his soul together... well, let's just say it was an 
interesting and painful meeting.

Angelus wasn't mad about the death of the Slayer *or* the witch. 
However, he *was* pissed at having been trapped in the same body as 
Angel and not having any control for so long. Pissed and as looney as 
Dru, if you asked Spike. And the only thing Angelus wanted... was his 
boy back.

His Childe.

By the time that Angelus had lost interest in him enough for him to 
go after Xander, it had been *years*. He managed to find him again, 
but by *that* time, his lover had been institutionalized in an asylum 
for the criminally insane. For committing serial murders. With a 
railroad spike.

Having learned a lot about research from Giles and Willow, Spike 
managed to track down Xander's history after Angelus had dragged him 
from Sunnydale. The boy had been found innocent of all of the murder 
and mayhem that Spike had created in his celebration of the chip 
being removed from his skull. However, he'd been left with no family 
and no friends. Spike had killed them all.

So... a month after he'd been found innocent, Xander made his first 
kill. 

He'd found a man that had looked remarkably like his father. Then 
he'd tied him up. Raped him. And then impaled his heart with a 
railroad spike. A week later, he'd done it again.

By the time that the cops had caught Xander, he'd been charged with 
the viscous rape and slaughter of forty-two men. All of them having a 
striking resemblance to his father. All killed with a railroad spike 
through the heart.

In retrospect, Spike knew that Xander had been trying to court him. 
To woo and romance him. To get his attention and draw him out to the 
boy. And if he'd known about the murders as they had been happening, 
he would have gone to him. Taken him in and continued to love him as 
he had before. 

But there had been Angelus. 

His Sire had been his once more and he'd been lost in a sea of blood 
and love and violence that he hadn't felt since before the damned 
gypsies had cursed him. They had left America and had traveled into 
the heart of Egypt and had begun a reign of terror and bloodshed that 
washed over the dark continent. It had been glorious.

Now, Angelus had a new toy. A young girl that he was wooing and 
courting. He'd already killed off many of her friends and family and 
soon, Spike knew his Sire would turn her. So, he'd turned his 
attention to the world he'd left behind.

And somehow, his beloved Xander *knew* he was back in the States. 
He'd somehow managed to escape from the asylum in LA and was 
slaughtering his way southeast. Towards Spike. And in return, he 
himself was slaughtering his way northwest. Towards his long lost 
lover. The only mortal who'd loved *all* of him. Both the human side 
*and* the demon within. 

Xander.

Turning the corner into another dark and dirty alley way, Spike's 
roving thoughts were pulled out of the past and firmly into the here 
and now by a song. A Sex Pistols song. It's haunting lyrics and 
jarring rhythms pulled at him. Following it as if it were a siren 
song, Spike soon found himself in front of a seedy and dark biker 
bar. A row of highly polished and well tuned machines were parked 
outside. 

Looking closely, he noted that one of the big Harley's was painted 
black with a lovely designed letter X on the gas tank. The one leg of 
the X was a metal railroad spike with blood dripping from the end of 
it. The other leg of the X was bright red with a small puddle of 
blood under it.

He smiled a toothy grin.

Excitement bubbling through his undead veins, Spike threw open the 
blacked out door and strode inside. Alcohol fumes, stale cigarette 
smoke, creaking leather and raunchy music assaulted his senses in a 
pulsing kaleidoscope of pleasure. Large leather covered men and 
scantily clad women littered the bar, but his eyes scanned the crowd 
for only one man.

Xander.

There he was. In the back at a table. Alone. A bottle of cheap 
whiskey sat in front of him next to a pack of Spike favorite brand of 
cigarettes. Xander wore a long black duster that was very reminiscent 
of his own. His dark curly hair had grown long. The soft curls 
reached down below his shoulders and was caught back in a ponytail. 
His cheeks and chin were dusted with dark stubble and he bore a faint 
scar across one cheek. He was beautiful. 

His lover looked up then and their eyes met. Icy blue and lush brown.

If Spike's heart had been physically able to beat, it would have 
skipped one at that point. He was looking into the eyes of a stone 
cold killer. A vicious and ruthless hunter. A man that he himself had 
driven into a lunacy so deep and dark that he'd never escape it.

Just as Angelus had sent his lovely dark princess head long into 
insanity, so had he himself done for Xander. No mortal can come to 
love a demon and retain their sanity. It was not possible. And Xander 
loved him... as much as he himself loved Xander. Courting and wooing 
was over. It was time for the wedding. With a manic grin, Spike 
walked over to Xander's table and pulled the man up from his chair 
and into his arms. 

"You left me."

The words were whispered in his ear. They held no malice, no anger. 
Just a statement of fact spoken in that lilting quality of voice used 
by the insane.

"You killed them all and then you left me alone. Why didn't you kill 
me too? Or turned me? Or taken me with you?"

A flutter of regret briefly shivered along his thoughts, but he 
pushed that aside.

"Ahhh pet, I didn't *mean* to leave you. I was coming for you, but I 
ran into Angelus."

"Angel?"

"No pet. Not *Angel*, Angelus. My Sire. He took me away. I had no 
choice, I *had* to leave."

Spike watched as a small pout formed on those soft ripe lips for a 
second as a deep sadness flickered in those haunting dark eyes.

"Now, now. Don't be sad luv. I'm here now, aren't I? I came back for 
you and I'm never letting you go again. We'll be together forever."

Spike watched as a small smile took the place of the tiny frown. A 
bit of unholy sparkle lit up the mortals eyes and Spike felt his cock 
twitch in his jeans at the thoughts that were playing out in his mind.

"Tonight luv. I'm going to turn you tonight. You'll make a lovely 
vampire. I just know it. You have such wonderful promise. We'll roam 
the world, killing and feeding and fucking. You and me. Together."

True joy lit up his lover's face at that pronouncement. Xander was so 
beautiful in his happiness that Spike couldn't contain himself. In a 
swift move, he pulled the mortal into his arms once again and then he 
kissed him. A long deep passionate kiss of possession and love and 
lust. He nipped at his lover's tongue and warm vibrant blood trickled 
into his mouth. A wonderful teaser of what was to come.

Suddenly, a rough hand shoved at him from behind. Only his 
supernatural strength and agility kept him from falling over on top 
of his Xander and crashing them both to the hard floor. He turned to 
see a large leather covered man with greasy hair and stained teeth 
sneering at them. A ring of the mortal's friends stood beyond him, 
laughing and joking.

"Fuckin' fags. We don't like *queers* here. And now, we're gonna 
stomp all over your ass. Teach you a lesson about what being a *real* 
man is all about."

Spike raised up his scared eyebrow in a sort of indifferent 
fascination with the man, the way one might study a particularly 
interesting bug crawling along the sidewalk right before you step on 
it and squash it flat. He turned his head to glance at his lover to 
see how this development was effecting him. What he saw made him 
smile widely in pleasure.

Xander had reached into his own duster's pockets and pulled out two 
rusty railroad spikes and he held one in each hand as if they were 
daggers or knives. He had a hungry gleam in his dark eyes and a 
maniacal grin on his handsome face. He gestured to the leather clad 
bikers with one of his spikes.

"Bloody slaughter and vicious mayhem?"

Spike chuckled and turned back to the leader of the bikers.

"You know, mate. About this idea of yours to teach me how to be a 
man? Well, the only problem with it is, I've been there and done 
that. I *much* prefer what I am now."

The doomed man snorted with contempt.

"What's that? A fairy?"

Spike shifted into gameface.

"No. I'm a bloody hellspawned demon, you twit."

And then, with Xander at his side brandishing his twin metal spikes 
like the deadly weapons they were, he pounced on his first victim of 
the night...

******
END