Let Mercy Lead
By: Michelle
July was always so goddamn hot. There was no relief to be found, not even inside; the sweltering heat waged war against man made climate control and won. That meant, of course that outside was just sopping with moisture and suffocating, as Xander and Spike patrolled the cemetery. The heavy air followed and clung, dripping off the body as sweat poured from the skin. Xander hated July. Hated it. The nights were unbearable, and patrolling was just miserable. He could feel his clothes stick to him, puddling in the hollows and crevices of his body. The cotton oxford he wore was wet and stained with sweat, clinging to his shoulders. He tried to shrug it loose, but nothing helped.
He looked across the way at Spike, unspoiled by the heat, stalking the night in the black duster, eyes flickering from blue to gold and back again as he peered into the blackest shadows in the cemetery. Unhindered by clinging clothes or escaping moisture, the heaviness of the air did nothing to the pale creature. Xander growled in envy and frustration and snatched his shirt away from his skin, wishing just once that something would ruffle the damn vampire’s feathers. Anything.
“Impressive, mate. You growl like that with your demon-girl?” Spike snorted a laugh.
“That would be a big fat ‘none of your business’ Spike.” Xander laughed. “We may be friends, but I ain’t sharing that much with you.” He slid a mock glare at the vampire. “You perv.”
“Uh, hello? Vampire here, supposed to tread a little on the dark side. Being a perv, as you call it, is just part of the package deal.” He paused, thoughtful. “Are we? Friends, I mean.” Spike looked askance at the younger man, his voice hesitant.
Xander was surprised at the doubt in Spike’s voice. “Umm, yeah, Spike. Maybe not the best of friends, I mean, we’re only just now getting to really see you, but yeah. You’ve earned it after the last couple of months. Since...Well. Since you know when.”
It was funny how none of them ever actually talked about that night. After two months, the whole gang still only alluded to it, calling it ‘that night’ or ‘you know when.’ Xander wondered if they would ever be able to mention her name again - hell even think her name - without breaking down.
“Yeah. I know since when.” Spike turned his attention to the patrol again, leaving Xander contemplating the changes he’d noticed in Spike over the last month and a half. One thing that stood out most was the lack of caustic wit. Sure, Spike could still out snark them all, but lately he just seemed to react to the others, rather than starting trouble himself. It was, for lack of a better word, odd Spike behavior.
Then again, the absence of snark allowed Xander to really examine Spike, get to know him. And he had to admit, Spike was - underneath all that abrasiveness and sarcasm - a decent kind of guy. Evil as the day is long, as he was so fond of pointing out, but decent. The way he looked after Dawn, if nothing else, convinced Xander that Spike couldn’t be all bad.
“You’re a decent guy, Spike.”
“What?” Spike asked. “Decent?” He frowned. “Am not. You take that back.”
Xander chuckled. “Yeah. Decent. One might even go so far as to say good. Not evil.” He took in Spike’s glare and nodded. “Ok. Well, not completely evil.”
“Oh. Well. Guess that’s a good thing then, huh? Means you lot trust me more with Dawn and looking out for your sorry selves, eh?”
“Well, my god. When you put it like that...” Xander rolled his eyes, then answered more seriously, “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be? A good thing, I mean.”
“No reason.” Spike shrugged, walking on.
They walked on for a little longer, poking around headstones and mausoleums, not finding anything. Patrol was looking to be a bust, and Xander wanted out of the damn heat. “Damn. It’s so hot and wet.” He tried again to pluck his shirt off his damp body, only to have it cling tighter in the places that were pulled against him. He glanced over at Spike and caught the raised eyebrow over an appreciative stare. Was he just ogling me? Xander cleared his throat.
Spike snatched his eyes up to meet Xander’s and put on a teasing grin. “Thought you liked that nowadays. Leastways that’s what the rumor is. ‘Course, it’s hard to keep rumors down with your bint spreadin’ all your business. She talks quite a bit, that one. Doesn’t she?”
“Yeah. She does.” Xander grimaced and whispered a barely audible, “Did.”
“So what? Steamy not doing it for you anymore?”
Xander rolled his eyes at the blatant attempt to tease him and responded in kind. “No. As a matter of fact, I’m finding, lately, that cool has its virtues. But then, you’d know all about it, being room temperature yourself, right?” Xander smiled at Spike’s surprised look. “Easy, tiger. I’m joking. You know, making a play on the fact that heat doesn’t bother you? That you’re pretty much one constant temperature? Don’t get your - what do ya call em? - knickers in a bunch.”
“Xander?” Spike teased back, curling his pale pink tongue behind his front teeth, “Are you saying you’re interested in looking on the deader side of the pasture lately?” He laughed a little. "Wanting to see my knickers in a twist are you?"
“Pig. No. Jesus. You used to be a lot subtler, Spike. I mean, you used to get me pissed and I wouldn’t even know you were trying. Now, you’re just obvious. What happened? I’m very nearly disappointed in you.”
“Just don’t feel like puttin’ in the effort, really. Nothing phases you any more. I mean, you’ve pretty much seen it all, now. Me tryin’ to piss ya off can’t be any worse than what your reality is. You’re almost boring.” Spike heaved a sigh, causing Xander to laugh a little. The unusual vampire was always trying to imitate humans, with the breathing, eating, and drinking. He almost succeeded in making Xander forget what he was several times. But Spike’s pallor and the fangs and gold eyes would remind him.
Xander realized Spike was still talking. “Why try so hard when nothing matters anymore?”
Xander nodded, “True,” and watched Spike walk away from him, knowing, but refusing to comment on the fact that Spike wasn’t talking about him anymore.
Spike suddenly faced him again, saying, “Right. Obviously no nasties about tonight. I say we’re finished here.” He took a breath to say something else, but was stopped by Xander seconding the notion with a raised eyebrow and a grin.
“Hell yeah. Out of the heat, thank God.” He waved to Spike. “And I got places to be. Catch ya later, fangless.”
~~~~~~~~~
All Spike could do was watch him walk away.
“Well, that was rude.” Spike groused. “Just when we were sharing.” He shrugged philosophically and headed out of the cemetery.
He couldn’t help but replay the conversation, though. Friends. The boy had said they were friends. Spike didn’t think he’d ever been considered anyone’s friend before. Buffy had considered him a comrade, fellow warrior. Protector. And though she’d afforded him friendly treatment, she’d never called him one.
He wondered if the others felt the same way. Probably guarantee the Watcher didn’t. Still just a vampire in that one’s eyes. But Willow? Her mate, Tara? What would they consider him now?
Dawn he knew loved him, as much as a 14 year old sister of the Slayer could love a vampire. But she treated him like a person, not a warrior or guardian. It was nice to look into her bright green eyes and see genuine affection. If there was one person he could say he would belong to, it would be her. But that was it. No one else. No where else. With Dawn’s affections directed his way, and now Xander’s offer of friendship, Sunnydale had become a very unlikely home. Uneasy home too.
He knew any one of the gang could oust him. He wasn’t human, shouldn’t feel, couldn’t feel according to them. And yet, he did. Always had. Made him different, it did. And dammit, he was tired of always being on the outside. Demons hated him because he was too human; humans hated him because he wasn’t human enough. Stuck. Between two realms of the same world. And now, his most vocal opponent was allowing greater access to one of those realms. The thought of finally finding a place to fit, even if it was awkward, was a little disconcerting.
Balls! He shook his head, clearing his mind of thoughts of being welcomed. He knew it wasn’t really going to happen. Too long playin’ on the side of evil for this bunch of children to let him in. So it was official; his unlife sucked. He lit up a cigarette, taking a long steady drag. He needed to blow off some steam, lose the brood. Lose himself in something. He knew just the place.
~~~~~~~~~
Xander knew abandoning patrol, and Spike, in such a rush was rude beyond the telling, but he had somewhere to be. Well. That wasn’t exactly right - it was more like he wanted to be somewhere else.
Somewhere that he’d grown addicted to. Somewhere that he could be someone else, someone other. Someone strong, relevant, wanted, desired. Someone in control.
Life on the Hellmouth had always been out of his ability to control; that was a fact he’d come to understand with a crystal clarity. But this past Spring, life had come up and kicked him in the balls with how out of control it really was. Buffy had died - and he couldn’t believe how easy it was to even think that - and there was absolutely nothing that he, Willow, Giles, or even Spike could have done to prevent it. It was her choice, like nothing else in her life had been. Death was the gift she chose to give them.
So yeah. Having even the illusion of control at this point was a good thing, to Xander’s way of thinking. Since the only place he could get that illusion was at the Dungeon, then that’s where he needed to be.
It was Anya who’d brought him to this place. She figured a little spice in their sex lives was a good thing. After experiencing the club, he agreed with her. He thanked his lucky stars everyday that Anya was so open and experimental. Really truly thanked them, got down on his knees at night sometimes and offered up his body to the powers that allowed her into his life.
Anya introduced him to this darker world, gave him a taste of what being in control and having real power could be like and how easy and freeing it was to give that control and power to someone else. They visited the club several times, not enough to be regulars, but enough to be known, recognized, even respected. And he developed a reputation for being - and he still had problems with this word, because it seemed so alternative - something like a dominant. Every once in a while, as he and Anya were dancing, he’d hear a word or phrase and see questioning eyes studying him. He asked Anya about it, what “Mender” meant, and she laughed. “Don’t worry about it, baby. It’s not a bad thing.” Then she kissed him on the dance floor and wrapped her slender arms around his neck, effectively shutting out everything else.
She brought new interests and experiences to him. Taught him what it meant to be free uninhibited. She was the bright light in an existence that for him had been so dark. So, absolutely, he thanked the gods everyday that she came into his life.
And then said another little thanks that she’d walked out almost as easily.
Being human hadn’t fit her. Or rather, the everyday suffering that people experienced didn’t fit into her realm of understanding. Helpless was a state that Anya had rarely been in, and she didn’t endure it well. Xander guessed she didn’t realize that no one did helpless well except professional victims. Well, none of the Scoobs were that, and she realized she couldn’t live with the uncertainty or the unpredictability. So she’d come to him one night, early in the summer and said she was leaving. That she wasn’t ready for all of what life on the Hellmouth - without Buffy - was.
Honestly, Xander couldn’t and didn’t blame her. They cried together. He took her in his arms and told her “I’m sorry” over and over again. Then he kissed her, and they made love one last and beautiful time. When he woke, she was gone. The note on her pillow explained it all. There had been a pain that settled in him when he read the note, but pain had been a constant for him from the very beginning of their relationship. ‘Painfully in love,’ those were the words he’d used to tell her how he felt about her.
Painfully in love was right. He’d been head over heels in lust-love-need with her. She’d opened so many doors to him, given him so many new experiences, showed him how freeing letting it all go can be, and how empowering. Through her, he’d discovered that the ultimate form of control came in the ability to let it - everything - all go.
At first, he’d been a little scared of her. She’d been powerful for so long and she could still be threatening. Sometimes, a look would come into her eyes, like she was remembering something particularly dark and deadly and she’d turn her velvet brown eyes on him and ask “You know what was fun?” And Xander had known his night was about to go to a very dark and weird place.
Sometimes it was toys, other times roleplaying. Occasionally, and these became his favorite times, there would be restraints, punishment. But not for him. She’d lie down passively, stretch her hands toward the head board of the bed and beg to be broken.
She’d been evil and her human soul would gut her with its need for atonement. Being so new and all the hurts ancient, the only way she could atone, at least from what he could get out of her broken ramblings afterwards, was in the pain he wielded and the forgiveness and love he showed her when the breaking was done. Often, she would tell him how much she loved him for being able to mend her, help her find peace, make her whole.
And that is what made them his favorite times. He had the power to break her so tragically, and then, in the next moment, when she lay bruised pink and red from the punishment, he could put her back together again. He found himself in those moments, but it wasn’t a selfish thing. He was giving her what she needed, and she loved him for it. He loved her for trusting him enough to let him. It was the only time he could really be everything he knew himself to be: tough, hard, unforgiving, passionate, and loving, and nurturing. The things that no one else saw in him, Anya instinctively brought out. It was a heady feeling, that kind of power.
After 5 years of being the donut boy, jokester, sidekick, that power was a wonder drug that let everything slide away and made the here and now the most important thing in the world. And Xander had learned very well how to wield his power. A wry grin, a lifted eyebrow, a shake of his head, a slow steady blink, and a slide of his tongue across his lips could get him whatever the hell he wanted.
And that was why he stood leaning against the bar on one elbow, the other hand stroking his chest absently, not showing off, just resting there. His heavy lidded, lined eyes scanned the crowd. Gyrating bodies heaving and sweating, dry fucking on the dance floor, the air almost shimmering with the heat rolling off their bodies. Couples in secluded booths kissing and rubbing each other off. The atmosphere spilled sex and sensuality into the very molecules of his skin and he grinned slowly, closing his eyes as he breathed in the myriad of scents. Power infused him and he knew...whatever he wanted this night, would be his.
Eyes closed he didn’t see the next person to enter the Dungeon, but he felt the ripple of excitement through the crowd. He slitted his eyes, scanning the bodies, looking for the cause of the upset. His gaze fell on shocking white hair and a black leather clad back, and he frowned. Lowering his head, he kept a watchful eye on Spike as he made his way through the crowd. The black leather and blue eyes parted the sea of people, and Spike walked through with a careless shrug, then stopped.
~~~~~~~~~~
Spike waded through the veritable sea of bodies, watching the dancers sway and rock and melt against each other like waves. Gliding through the crowd, he made his way to the bar. He’d seen Xander standing against the mahogany, head tilted up so that his eyes were almost closed. He’d seen the glint of light reflected off honey irises as Xander scanned the crowd and the lift at the corner of the boy’s mouth that spoke of knowing he could have whatever he wanted. Spike had worn the look himself so many times, he’d recognize it on anyone.
It made him pause for just a moment. Long enough for the boy to become aware of the chaos that Spike had caused and settle his hunting gaze on him. Making eye contact, Spike was pierced by the honey brown eyes that glittered in the club’s flickering light. What the hell was Xander doing here? And Holy hell, did his eyes just go gold?
Xander must have caught the shock in Spike’s blue eyes because he gave a feral smile, and beckoned Spike to the bar.
“Spike.”
“Yeah. That’s my name, Harris. Didn’t fancy the white knight hanging in this place, though Xan. Got a secret you’re wanting to share?” Spike asked. “I mean, with us bein’ friends and all.” He stared hard at Xander, daring him to deny the affirmation made earlier that night on patrol.
Xander’s feral smile morphed into a wry grin. “Nope. No secrets. Guess there’s just a lot you don’t know ‘bout me, huh?”
“That right?” He contained his relief at Xander accepting the friends comment.
Xander laughed, not a pleasant sound. “Hell yeah, Spike.” He waved a hand at the dancers on the floor. “Look around at all of them. I could have anyone in here Spike. They all know me. Want me.”
Spike glanced around the club, taking note of the many stares pointed their way. Men and women who looked as though they would give anything to be with the man standing before him. He looked again at Xander standing against the bar.
He really couldn’t blame the others for their desire. Xander, in this place, was different somehow. There was a confidence about him, an easiness that oozed sexual appeal and prowess. He was loose limbed and graceful, moving unconsciously to the music, though he leaned against the bar, a picture of casual comfort. Nothing like the Xander Spike knew outside in the real world.
“I can see why, pet.”
Xander cocked an eyebrow at him. “Yeah. Right. I’m not your pet, Spike. That’s not how it goes here.”
“And how does it go here, Xander?” As Spike waited for Xander’s answer, he saw the earthen eyes shift over his shoulder. Then Xander smiled at someone behind him. Spike turned around and saw a tall blond man smiling back at Xander.
He shifted his eyes back to Xander as the man came forward out of the crowd and stalked up to them, then leaned in to kiss Xander, who turned his head and welcomed the stranger with open lips and a thrusting tongue.
Spike gasped in disbelief, and Xander pulled away from the man attached to his face. Leaning his forehead against the other’s and with eyes closed, almost frowning, Xander whispered, “Not this time. Next time.” A slow blink, and he rolled his head against the other man to look back at Spike again and said, his voice hitching. “Maybe.” And Spike smelled the vulnerability, the fear, that rolled off the boy. He shook his head at Xander.
The stranger sighed, regret evident in his down turned lips and slow nod, not noticing the glare Xander tossed Spike over his shoulder. Before he could get completely away, Xander grabbed the man and pulled him close again and, shoving a hand roughly in his hair and twisting his head to a painful angle, he crashed his mouth onto frowning lips, biting at them and pulling soft hair. When the stranger let out a soft, terrified but aroused whimper, Xander let him go. “Make that definitely next time,” then he abruptly dismissed the dazed man in front of him, turning again to glare at Spike.
“See, Spike. You don’t know jack about me, buddy.”
Looking into Xander’s eyes and seeing the honesty there, and the confidence, Spike felt his world turn upside down for the second time in less than three months. Falling in love with the Slayer had completely thrown him for a loop, but he handled it. Well, he handled it by stalking her, as was his nature. He was still evil dammit. He even took a stake in the chest from her commando man, then commiserated with him about how she wouldn’t - couldn’t - love either of them. He’d always been love’s bitch and could deal with unrequited feelings. He’d done it all his unlife. No matter how much Dru said she loved him, there were those moments when in the peak of her ecstacy, she called out for Angelus. So yeah. He could live with the unrequited love.
But then Buffy had treated him like a man, even if it had been just the once. That final night, she’d invited him into her home again, given her trust and believed him when he’d promised to protect Dawn with everything in him. Then the fight, and Doc, and Dawn bleeding and Buffy dying. The first time in over a century he’d been treated like a man, and the one person who’d given him that just died. Her gift, she’d said. And whispered though it had been, he’d heard it. The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.
She was absolutely fucking right. His world, the topsy-turvy manic world he’d lived in just stopped, turned over, and he’d been tossed off and set adrift. But he managed to get back on track as best as he could, taking care of Dawn, as he’d promised. Fighting the good fight, as he’d promised. Looking after her friends, as he’d promised. The world eventually began to right itself, and he slowly felt like he’d found his place in it again - precarious though that place might be.
Now. This manchild, leaning against the bar, grinning at him with a hungry capable gleam in his eyes had just turned his world upside down again. Impossible. He had trusted that the darkness of their lives had all been on the outside. It never occurred to him that this young one, this puppy of a boy would have the stones to be a little less than the bright white do-gooder.
This wasn’t how the good guys were supposed to act. Again, he was totally thrown and set adrift, rocking on a sea of uncharted waters, waiting for the moment when things would right themselves.
His first real, though definitely new, friend, who he thought he’d understood so well, was upending his world again. Was nothing as it was supposed to be?
First Buffy treating like a man, not a monster, now this boy behaving in a way that was not Scooby in any way shape or form. So confident, so knowing when he’d nodded his head and summoned that stranger to him. So goddam sexual with the slow kiss and the forehead roll. Then primal, snatching the man back, devouring his mouth and neck and ego with a barely restrained bite.
“Seems maybe I don’t know shit about any of you lot.” He followed the other man’s departure with curious blue eyes and asked, “Care to explain?”
“Not really.”
He turned back to Xander. “You possessed or something? Xander I know wouldn’t be in this kind of place doing what I just saw you do.”
“Not possessed Spike.” Spike watched as Xander frowned, thinking. “Well, maybe.... No. Not possessed, but finally in possession of something I was missing.”
“And that would be?”
“Myself.”
“Ahh.” Spike nodded, not understanding at all, then frowned when Xander laughed. “Something funny?”
“You. Acting like you get it, when you obviously don’t and probably never will.”
Spike stiffened, then tossed him a dismissive gesture. “Don’t really care, now do I? Or am I supposed to, since we’re almost friends?” Confusion - rather than the disdain he was going for - filtered into his voice, making it crack and Spikedisgusted with himself. He snorted. “Anyway. Your demon bird know you’re here?”
“Doubt it. But then, she introduced me to this place, so she can’t really complain. Not that she has any right to anymore anyway.” Xander turned around and ordered a glass of whiskey.
“I’ll have the same,” Spike said, as he moved to the bar. “What? She up and leave you finally?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, she did.” Xander shrugged. “Death was Buffy’s gift. Anya didn’t like the ‘no returns’ policy, so she skedaddled.” He sipped on his drink for a few minutes, thoughtful. Spiked waited, knowing the man had something else he wanted to say. “I can’t really blame her though. Would’ve left, myself, but...”
“You’re needed here.” Spike finished for him. “Always the hero, Xander?”
“No. A world of ‘no.’ Just reliable, I guess.”
“Well. Sorry to hear bout Anya leaving.”
“No you’re not.” Xander smiled and looked over at him. “But that’s ok.”
“You know, light dawns here that you and your friends don’t know jack about me either.” Spike’s voice was tight with a touch of anger and disappointment.
“Really?” Xander turned to look at him.
Spike sighed, exasperated. “Hell yes, really. I do not say ‘I’m sorry.’ Big Bad has nothing to apologize for, you git. So when I do say it I damn well mean it. Sorry your girl left you. Doesn’t explain what the fuck you’re doin’ here, pullin’ other boys, but what the hell do I care? To each his own, right?”
~~~~~~~
Xander noticed the distress in Spike, the agitation, and tilted his head to really examine him. Narrowing his eyes, he pressed, “So. You’re a softie, concerned about me, and sorry ‘bout my girl leaving. Touching, Spike. You’re right. I never knew you had it in ya.” His gaze turned thoughtful; his wondering eyes focused on Spike, who frowned at being on the receiving end of such an intense, questioning stare. “You soft anywhere else, Blondie?”
Spike’s eyes widened at the measured come on, and he shook his head. “Fuck you, boy. I’m not one of your pulls.”
Xander pressed a little harder, waiting for a moment, knowing he’d recognize it; it was an ability he’d picked up by coming to this club. He’d learned how to read people’s deepest secrets. He had a feeling about Spike, and he pushed, wanting - no, needing - to expose it. “You could be, if you wanted. But only if you begged prettily, Spike.” He stepped into Spike’s space, still pushing at what he thought might be Spike’s vulnerability. “Can you? Beg prettily? Do you moan?” His words became the sound. “Whimper? Close your eyes? Writhe in unconscious abandon? Can you come with a word? A gesture?” A pause, and his voice dropped to less than a whisper, “A whip?” He lifted his hand to trace a single finger over Spike’s lips, jaw and ear. “Do you want to?” Xander felt a tightening in Spike’s jaw and saw him flinch a little at the question. “Can you give over that control? Would you ever let me have it?”
Spike’s eyes closed, and Xander could feel him fighting off arousal. He’d stepped further into the vampire’s space and pressed against the tight body, knowing it would be the best way to gauge him as there was no flush or heavy breathing he could easily detect. Spike tried to speak, tried to push him off, but didn’t push hard enough, and his hands lingered on Xander’s arms, squeezing them sporadically.
Xander pressed him again, whispered promises in the vampires ear, taunting him with what he thought Spike was after, things Spike hadn’t experienced since Angelus was in town. Pain, glorious, bloody, exotic, anything to take him out of the here and now and include him. Xander finally understood that he wanted to do this for Spike. Then his eyes widened at the realization that he was only human, Buffy’s go to boy. White hat, savior of puppies, little girls, jellied donuts. No way could he give the kind of treatment he was describing. And he knew Spike knew it.
“You don’t have the stones, boy, to control me. You’re too white, too good, not enough darkness in you to hurt the likes of me.” Spike spoke softly, almost sure, grimacing when the thread of hope whispered out on the words.
Xander laughed, again, an icy brittle sound. “Told you that you didn’t know anything about me, really, Spike.” He leaned in and whispered darkly in Spike’s ear, “I think you need this. You’re just afraid to step out and believe I can do it.” He slid a dark eye to the crowd in the Dungeon. “They know me, Spike, trust me, and know what I’m capable of, how I make it hurt till they come. They crave me. Don’t you smell it?”
Xander watched Spike battle with himself. Yes, the people in the bar trusted him. But to do this with Spike, it was scary territory. Xander wasn’t sure he could do for Spike what he did for those others. Pain is a relative thing, and on its scale, humans lived way down on the lower end. Vampires gave new meaning to the word. Pain is an aphrodisiac to them, their foreplay. There was no way Xander could break Spike the way he thought he needed. He was just too weak, and quite possibly afraid of the sexual consequences that may arise if he tried. Spike was right. He didn’t have the stones. But the next word out of Spike’s mouth had him shocked into stillness.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Yes.” the whispered word was dragged from the depths of Spike’s being. And he knew he was just moments from surrender. The delicious voice whispering in his ear seduced him, beckoned him with promises of darkly satisfying pain and lust. Maybe even a place to belong, even if only for a moment. And even just a moment would better than an eternity of never. That was why he whispered ‘yes.’
He cast a glance out at the dancers, seeing several pairs of eyes watching the two of them and even more focused on the boy at his side. He realized Xander was right. They wanted the boy, trusted him to make the pain worthwhile.
Trust. Has he ever trusted anyone? Ever? Could he trust Xander to make him belong? Friends. Friends belonged, had a place to go, people to care about them. They weren’t alone. He’d been alone for so long, and now he had a place that wasn’t on the outside anymore. But he didn’t trust it. He needed to know beyond any shadow of a doubt that he was where he was wanted. It’s all he’d ever looked for. It was why he put on the accent, the attitude. Why he killed the way he did, why he drank, drove too fast, smoked and snarked. So he’d belong, or at least fool people when he found he didn’t.
Who he really was, the broken poet, the unrequited lover, the distant friend, they all kept him from belonging anywhere. And now this man, with his hunting eyes and soft voice - who had promised help and delivered it to so many - was asking him if he wanted to be hurt.
He looked out at the crowd again. So many eyes filled with longing and, yes, trust. How could so many be wrong? He saw, finally, everything he needed to when he turned back to face Xander again. He saw the concern under the control, the empathy under the power. And finally, he allowed himself to trust.
He looked at Xander, casting blue eyes on the mercy of one so young. He whispered, “Please.” and shivered when the savage smile fell on the luscious mouth.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Xander almost blinked in surprise. He really didn’t think Spike would go for it. In fact, he was sure he’d see a tossed off smile and Spike leaving, laughing. Instead, the Big Bad, the vampire that had hunted the Slayer with a ruthlessness that defied definition, quietly begged him. Whispered a broken ‘please’ and lifted pleading eyes to him. That capitulation was something Xander thought he’d never see; Spike admitting, with a single word, that he needed what Xander offered. Spike’s whispered ‘please’ just about broke Xander’s resolve, but he knew he was right. Spike needed this. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment to get his head in the right place.
“Good boy.”
He grabbed Spike with a fistful of the ever present black t-shirt, and dragged him, unresisting, through the crowd of dancers. He could feel several hands reach out to touch him, but he shook them off. He could hear Spike telling people “no, get your hands off me,” and for some reason that pissed him off.
He stopped in the middle of the dance floor and let go of Spike’s shirt. Moving slowly, he circled around an immobile Spike. He let his shoulder slide along Spike’s back, his fingers lingering over a denim clad ass, touching him everywhere, laying claim to what would be his - if only briefly. Once again standing in front of Spike, he leaned his head forward against the cool pale skin of Spike’s brow. He moved in slowly for a chaste kiss, a simply meeting of lips and felt Spike shiver slightly. After demonstrating quite clearly that Spike was his, Xander turned to address the dancers who had dared to touch either of them. “This one is mine, tonight. The only person who lays a hand on him will be me. Do I have to say anything else?” People shook their heads and moved away. “Good.”
He took hold of Spike again and pushed through the swaying crowd. They entered a dark hallway and followed it into the back rooms. The heady scent of sex and sweat filled the air. The violent sounds of slapping and moaning and the occasional crack of a whip filtered out from behind closed doors. Xander grimaced at the sound, shaking his head and listening as he pulled Spike along to the last room, one familiar to him, comfortable.
Opening the door, he tossed Spike in by his collar. “Take off the coat and your shirt. Then kneel.” He then turned to bolt the door.
“You don’t want me to strip?” Spike’s question almost made Xander laugh.
“Why? Trust me to know what you need, Spike. And you don’t need to be naked for this.”
Facing away from Spike, he took a minute to gather his wits. He wasn’t sure he could do this. Fuck! Spike was a Master Vampire, for all the chip disabled him, there was still a long history of violence and sex and the combination of the two to overcome. There was no way Xander was going to be able to do this.
He took a deep breath. Yes. He could. Hundreds had come to him, trusted him, let him have the power. He could do this, just had to psyche himself. Get to the place that existed only in his head and nowhere near his heart. The place in which only the breaking mattered. The place in which the person before him ceased to be real and became just another needy son of a bitch who wanted - no, craved - the pain and Xander was the one who could deliver. Just because Spike was a new player didn’t mean the game had to change. He just had to find the weakness, the breaking point. They all had one.
Xander thought for a moment, struggling to determine where or what Spike’s vulnerability was. What made him different, odd, out of place. What was it Spike wanted and never got? And it hit him. A vampire who loved. That’s what Spike was and why he was always alone. His ability to love and his incessant need for family made him an outcast. Vampires didn’t trust him because he felt too much. Humans didn’t trust him because he was too much a demon. He loved Buffy and Dawn; considered Angelus and Drusilla his family. Those were Spike’s weaknesses. For all his protests, Spike loved each and every one of them. Warped and twisted and fucked up as that love may be, it was in that love where the greatest potential for pain lay.
Xander smiled, having uncovered the best way to give Spike what he needed. He could do this. He thought for a moment. What was it that Angelus always called Spike. Oh yeah.
Xander turned from the door and took a moment to admire - observe, thank you - the creature in the room with him. Spike had taken off his duster and shirt and knelt on the floor, head bowed, arms hanging loose at his side. The pale skin that was revealed shone in the blue light, and his bleached white hair reflected back the serene color. He seemed to almost glow. Xander thought he’d never looked so beautiful.
“You’re beautiful like that, you know. Such a beautiful boy.” He watched his victim carefully, satisfied to see the involuntary jerk at the endearment. “You don’t like being called boy? I wonder why. I mean it is what you were, what you are, right? The youngest, last, omega. Boy seems fitting, even now.”
Xander waited for some acknowledgment of his words. When none was forthcoming, he stalked over to the kneeling figure and wrapped a fist in the short gelled curls. Snatching the blond head up, he said, “I’m talking to you. I think you’d better answer me.”
He only got the lifting of Spike’s eyes and a face full of derision. “‘S that all you’re gonna do? Some pathetic mockery of Angelus? I was right, you don’t have it in you.” But Xander saw a touch of fear, of anxiety hiding in the blue eyes.
He grinned and let him go, petting the white hair back in place. “Oh my darling boy, I haven’t even begun.”
Xander prowled around the still vampire, ghosting fingers along the pale smooth body, tweaking nipples and pinching the exposed skin of Spike’s neck with his fingernails. He made sure to keep the contact just on the pleasant side of painful. Intense, but not hurting.
He suddenly remembered Drusilla, her haunting voice and frightening eyes and the way she tried to comfort him. “Kitten” she’d called him. He wondered if she’d ever called Spike that. “You’re such a hungry kitten aren’t you? So full of fire and light.” And the shudder that greeted his words told that she had. He leaned down and whispered in the pale, perfect ear. “But Daddy was always so much better than you. I bet she needed him more than you. Wanted him more than you. You were always just a distraction to her, weren’t you, my pretty Willie.” Spike’s hanging head and clenched jaw told him he was right.
Xander circled Spike again, noticing the deep breaths the vampire was taking, the way the hands tightened into cruel fists and the long muscles of the thighs tensed up, as though ready to leap up. He laughed. “What’s the matter, boy? Don’t like the truth about your sire? You’re so pathetic, William. I’ve not laid a harsh hand on you, not a bit of stinging flesh to flesh, and already you’re ready to explode. Weak. You’re so fuckin’ weak. You didn’t belong with them, just like you don’t belong here, with us. Momma’s boy. Sweet Willie.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spike groaned in anguish and heard Xander’s satisfied laugh. Humiliated. Already hurting under a simple barrage of words from a boy who knew next to nothing of his past, but understood every neurosis Spike had. Boy. Willie. Darling boy. Momma’s boy. Belonging. Confused, he wondered how the hell Xander just knew these things.
He was so close to breaking and not one thing had touched him in an effort to cause pain. Not a slap, not a punch, not a sliver of leather or pvc. Nothing but words and he was aching more than he ever had. He felt like his soul was bleeding, but that was impossible; he didn’t have a soul. He shook his head, chasing the thought away.
This wasn’t what he wanted! Wasn’t what he’d allowed himself to be dragged back here for. The boy had promised pain, and yeah, the words hurt but words wouldn’t take him out of himself. If anything, they put him right back in himself. They only reinforced the loneliness of his existence. He wanted to be rid of the feelings of loneliness and displacement. He wanted the relief and escape of blood and bruises, of cuts and fractures, all of the things that had always removed him from his absence in the world.
“Xander. Please.” He wanted the physical pain, the words hurt too honestly. Xander had been right. He was soft.
He felt Xander kneel in front of him, heard the taunting whispers, “Please, what, Boy? Please stop? Please shut up? Please move on?” He felt the pause in the younger man, smelled the indecision, then resolution, and he knew a new kind of fear. Xander’s next words shocked him to the core. “Please hurt me?” Spike moaned softly, barely able to contain the nod he felt his body wanting to give, and he wondered again how Xander knew - without question or clue - what he longed for.
“Is that what you want, Spike? You want me to hurt you? Strip the skin from your muscles, carve muscles from bones, paint your skin in abstract holy water? Whip you? Burn you? Is that what you need? What you crave?”
A barely audible ‘yes’ escapes his lips and Spike was ashamed of himself. He couldn’t believe this human boy had him reduced to begging.
“Oh no, precious. Remember who I am? I see you. You think pain helps you, that it’s your escape. That it takes you out of your world by putting you right smack in the middle of reality. That every cut, bruise, broken bone, and burn makes you real, reaffirms your existence when no one else will. Pain is something you think you can control. But I thought you gave that control to me.” He paused. “I know what you need. How you need to suffer.” Xander’s head tiled in Spike’s peripheral vision. “Don’t I?”
Fear coasted down Spike’s spine, the unfamiliar sensation sweeping through him, rendering him speechless and unmoving. He couldn’t even answer Xander. Because underneath it, a tendril of want was unfurling in him.
This boy, this ordinary hero, was about to shred him. And by all the powers, Spike wanted him to. Needed him to. Trusted him to. So he answered. “Yes. I think you do.” And he waited.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part of Xander was terrified. He’d never done this before. Sure, he’d meted out punishment to the others who came to him, but the absolute need for real, uncontrollable pain was something he had never experienced before. Most of the others were just entertaining a kink, getting off on the tangible sensation of a whip or a stinging slap and the follow-up comfort. Spike was beyond that. He’d had that pain, learned to live with it, and it ceased to phase him.
Instead, physical pain was a haven for him - his escape from the feelings he knows he shouldn’t be feeling: love, rejection, kinship, friendship. It was the emotional pain that would break Spike. The true weapon at Xander’s disposal was the ability to pick at the wounds of several lifetimes. Wounds that had festered under the vampire’s repression of the hurt.
He looked hard at Spike. A pale, unearthly creature, bound to no time, to no one, seeking solace in the pain only a mortal could give him. It nearly broke Xander’s heart. He inhaled sharply, lifting Spike’s face to look into his eyes. For a just moment, he was simply Xander, a scared young man afraid of hurting his friend.
“I don’t think I can do this, Spike. You need more than I think I’m able to give.”
“No! You promised. Xander, with every word and gesture since I walked in this club and you called me to you, you promised me a place to be.” Spike smiled a little and lifted a hand to the one holding his jaw. “You know what I want, on some basic and completely frightening level - which I will never understand - you know. And I trust you to give it to me. To do this for me, not to me. Please?”
It was the ‘please’ combined with the trust - which he knew had been next to impossible for Spike - that convinced him. He nodded. “Alright. But. In case I forget to tell you later? I’m sorry.”
“I know, pet.” Spike dropped his hand and his gaze. “Now. Help me, make me belong.”
Xander nodded, took a deep breath, and let the words fly.
“You’re nothing! Pitiful excuse for a vampire, letting humans defile you. You’re careless! Letting that bunch of witless soldiers capture you, drug you, operate on you. Neuter you with a simple piece of silicone and some wires. Now look at yourself! You’re not able to feed, not able to defend yourself anymore. But what’s worse? You let it change you! Instead of acting like a Master Vampire and using those around you, you gave the fuck up! Minions, Spike. There’s a reason they’re around. But you must have forgot.
“So instead, you ally yourself with the good guys. Learning to see them as people, not food. And wanting - God, loving - a Slayer? You’re not even a real vampire anymore. You must be insane.”
Spike started shaking his head, opening his mouth to say “No,” but Xander cut him off.
“Shut up. There’s no excuse for you. Of course you’re crazy! Only insanity would have kept you with that crazy weak excuse of a sire you had. Who do you think you are? Did you really think your loyalty to her would make her love you? You’re a goddam vampire for pity’s sake. Don’t you get it? You’re supposed to be out for yourself, but there’s something wrong with you! She knew it.”
Xander leaned in closer to him, whispering in his ear, “And you know she knew it. Don’t you? It’s what made you seek out her sire. Tried to make him your own too, didn’t you? Thought he could fill the void Drusilla wouldn’t attempt to. Only insanity would make you crave another man’s touch, especially one who so obviously thought you were inferior. And you wanted Angelus didn’t you? Wanted his depravity on you. Wanted him to notice you and comfort you, like he did Drusilla. You wanted to be in his bed, wanted his big body to hurt you, make you feel like family instead of some hanger-on. Wanted his violent, twisted kind of love thrown in your direction. What kind of creature get his jollies from violent, bloody sex?”
Xander heard a barely whispered “no” and heard a hitched breath as Spike tried to fight off the intangible. Words, the slings and barbs he’d seen Spike toss like candy in the direction of his friends, were wreaking havoc. Spike had pulled in on himself, shoulders hunched, head bowed and chin tucked into his chest. Xander took a deep breath and continued.
“Then there’s Buffy. The Slayer. I just bet she’s in heaven right now, looking down at your pathetic ass, smiling at the image of you on your fuckin’ knees weeping like a girl. That’s so disgusting. I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re weeping.” Xander reached out and scraped a tear from Spike’s face and snarled in derision. “You’re sick. You’re evil, a monster. Certainly not a man, not worthy of her. Nothing, less than nothing. And she hates you.”
Spike flinched and Xander shuddered as he watched a drop of blood descend from his lip, over his chin, and he knew Spike had bitten through his lip at the mention of Buffy.
Xander walked away from him, stalking around the room in a pretense of working into a lather, but in truth, to avoid the vampire seeing his own anguish. Control. Power. They had never felt so wrong, so ugly, before. This is not what he wanted. He stood behind Spike, not wanting the man - and Xander was beginning to understand that was indeed what Spike was - to see him in such a precarious position. He needed to finish. Spike needed him to finish.
He put all the disgust he was feeling toward himself into his next words, hoping it would be enough.
“She could never love you! And it wasn’t because she had a thing against vampires. God! Look at Angel. She loved him to the depths her soul could reach. She loved him so much it ripped his out. You think you’re worthy of that kind of love? You think you deserve to be our friend now she’s gone? You’re nothing, not even worthy of the words ‘no, we don’t need you.’ You’re just a dead thing. Why do you think we should even acknowledge you?” His voice broke, and salt from his own tears stung his hot lips.
He didn’t even notice when Spike slumped down to rest on his feet, defeated, sobbing.
His voice quieted to a whisper. “You’re pathetic, useless; you don’t belong. You’re not human; you’re just an evil, soulless thing. You don’t know how to love. You can never be one of us. You aren’t one of us.” He stopped, still standing behind Spike, lost in his own misery and pain. He reached a hand out to touch Spike’s shaking back, but withdrew it before contact. This was part of the process.
He took a deep breath, and heard the low keening. He saw the head hanging in abject shame, the final acceptance of a long denied truth, and Xander finally understood. They’d assumed he couldn’t belong because he was evil, because he had no soul and couldn’t love or feel any kind of empathy for people. That he was a liar and unworthy of common decency. That he didn’t belong at all. Xander realized that it was all a lie, that everything they had assumed and made true about Spike had always been a lie.
The very things that kept Spike apart were his strengths. His ability to love. His attachment to the concept of family. His unwavering adherence to his promises. They were all the traits that were admirable in any man. And Spike had them more than any human being Xander had ever encountered.
Since before the battle with Glory, from the time Buffy trusted him to protect Dawn and Joyce, Spike had held a place with them. Though they had never called him so, without voicing it, the gang considered him ‘friend.’
He strode over to Spike and fell to his knees in front of him. He grabbed the broken man by his arms and shook him. “I can’t do this! I told you I was weak! It’s not true! Not true! None of it. You are worthy. So worthy.”
He kissed the cold lips, tasting the salty tears that pooled there, bloodied by Spike’s bitten lip. “You belong, now. You do, so much. We’d be nothing without you here. Your love was real. I know it; Dawn always knew it. We need you.”
Xander wrapped his arms around Spike’s still form, keeping him upright in the face of ugliness. “Please don’t leave us. You belong. I swear on her grave that you do. And she knew it too. Why else would she leave Dawn to you? She knew you belonged here. Please believe me.”
Another kiss, this one tentatively reciprocated. Xander smiled lightly. “Friends. Love. Need. Don’t go.”
“Xander?” Spike whispered, broken, his voice a rasp of sand on glass. “Xander.” He reached up and cupped the boy’s jaw. “Love?”
“Yes.” Xander kissed him again, sliding his moist lips across Spike’s hard jaw, feeling the smooth skin unmarred by the bristle of whiskers. “Love, Spike. Belonging. You belong with us. Do you hear me? You belong with us.”
“Yeah. I hear.” Spike whispered then shook his head as though to clear it of a fog. “Love? You love me? Are you sure?”
Xander giggled, smiling through drying tears. “Well, I’m not saying we need to build a summer home on Crawford street, but yeah. You’re in my heart, Spike. Been growing a little place there all your own for a while now.”
“Ok. So. Is this what you do here, Xan? You break people to mend them again?”
Xander laughed a little, finally a pleasant real laugh. “Yeah. Did it work?”
Spike thought for a minute. “Depends on... No. Doesn’t depend. Yeah. It worked.” The vampire inhaled deeply, clearing his throat and mind. “That’s why they crave you. They get the punishment and the healing.” He shook his head, then stared deep into the brown eyes that watched him carefully. “Ever wonder why the healing hurts so much worse than the breaking?”
“Honestly never thought about it.”
“Because it’s a fundamental change from what’s known and comfortable to the unknown, Xan.” He lifted a hand to Xander’s jaw again and wiped away the tears that rested there before rolling down his neck. “You make it easy. To hurt others hurts you. What’s more, you let people see that it does, and that vulnerability invites trust.” Spike shook his head. “You always were a white hat, and even the darkest creatures need a little light.” Spike leaned in and kissed him. “I don’t say this often, in fact, I’ve only said it once over the last hundred odd years - well, said it and meant it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Xander thought for a minute. “You know, it’s simple, Spike. Why I can do what I do and why they trust me.”
“Yeah? Why?”
Xander paused for a moment, unsure if he was willing to open this possible can of insult. He decided trust should be a two way street. “Because I let mercy lead.” He paused, letting that sink in for both of them. Then, “Come on. I want to go home now.”
And they left the room, the pain, behind.
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