Pairing: Spike/Xander slash
Whispers of the Night
1 The Asylum
He could hear them; the voices of the night as they were carried in on the wind. He listened to them as they whispered. They told him secrets he would have been better off not knowing. They called to him, taunted him, and promised him sweet release. All he had to do was just give in. If he embraced the madness that everyone believed had taken him. Embraced it and become one with the night. To live in the shadows and pick up the blade; to become what he loved and what he fought against.
But he had to stay strong. He knew that he wasn’t insane; knew that the whispers taunting him were part of the night. He could feel the tendrils of the Hellmouth shaping the town above, whispering to those who listened. It manipulated those who would fight regardless of what they thought they were fighting for. The Hellmouth cared not for good or evil. It wasn’t capable of that level of thought. Yet, it was sentient. It craved the power of the earth, of the dimensions, and longed to be freed. It drew in power. Good, bad; it cared naught, it desired only sweet release.
They didn’t understand. Everyone thought he had gone insane. His friends had turned against him. Refused to believe the truth, they insisted that he must have finally snapped. That night after night fighting against the forces of darkness had unhinged him, pushed him into lunacy. They actually believed that one day he just gave up and allowed the madness to seep into his brain. That he took the coward’s way out. After all, if he was insane, he couldn’t be expected to fight.
He knew they would never say it. Never admit to their dark thoughts. They expressed concern for him, and pretended to be his friends, but they never saw him. They never took the time to know who he really was. As always, he’d hidden behind a joke and goofy smile, content to be their foolish white knight.
He might never have known the truth. He certainly would have been happier not knowing. It was their actions that drove him to befriend a demon. Buffy and her carefully withheld truths, that and the complete lack of trust from the others. His stupid desire to serve them, to save them backfired, but in doing so, he saved himself. He finally realized what he’d always denied, what he’d always repressed. That he craved the darkness as well as the light. The pain with the pleasure. And with the slip of a hand, his entire world changed. However, that was a story for another day. Tonight, he had to concentrate on the voices.
He realized now that it didn’t matter to the Hellmouth how it got power. Just that it received it. Energy in any form was beneficial to it. Slayer, demon, human; it was all connected and it all tried to drive Xander insane. The whispers had been telling him secrets, things it was too late to do anything about. It knew him, knew them, and it craved them more then it craved the demons that flocked to Sunnydale in supplication. It wanted the Slayer and her power, the witch and her magic, and apparently the sanity of one Xander Harris.
It was rather comforting though; to be wanted. He knew the truth now. His friends had never really wanted him. He’d never had a place with them. Never excelled at research, didn’t have a super power, wasn’t a strong fighter, yet he was always there. Supporting them, helping them, and trying to ease their burdens. Yet what happened the first time that he really needed help? When he realized that he could hear the Hellmouth; that he was connected to part of it? That the voices on the wind were real and he could finally contribute to the group with his knowledge?
He had been warned that this would happen. That no one would believe him. That they would assume he was evil or - even worse - ignore him. But he’d insisted. He would be believed and they would listen. Finally, he could make a difference.
His lover had laughed softly. Slightly mocking, but not with the intention to hurt. Yet it had. So, when he asked that Xander wait, to please not tell them until he got back, he had blithely ignored the request. He had been so anxious to prove his beloved demon wrong.
Spike had left, supposedly to get an artifact that would allow Xander to control his newly unleashed power. He had asked Xander to go with him, but the laughter stung and he still believed in his friends. He may have been in love with a demon, but he still wanted to walk in the light. He still wanted to be their Xander-shaped friend, He wanted to save the world, but be bitten in secret.
Yet they never believed him. He saw the doubt in their eyes, the nervous laughter they tried to conceal. They didn’t believe that the Hellmouth could influence them. Didn’t believe that he spoke the truth. In desperation, he’d played his final card. He relayed some of the whispers. ‘You can find the bodies there. They were carved up. I listened to their screams as it was being done.’
Then there was a different look on their faces, and it was fear.
They never trusted him, never believed him. Locked him away in an asylum and threw away the key. They were convinced he was insane and that he was helping someone. Someone who they did not know, but could match up with the bite marks that peppered Xander’s body. There were drugging him now, trying to ‘cure’ him; trying to make him sane. But it would never work; he knew the truth. He’d always been sane.
He smiled a wicked grin. They might not have believed him, they might have betrayed him, but he would have the last laugh. For the wind whispered to him once more. A new song. A new secret.
His lover was coming home.
2 Foolish Intentions
His thoughts drifted back. How it all started, how it all had begun. It was foolish. His intentions had been pure, but he was deceived by their actions. He wouldn’t have taken such drastic steps - to try to help, to try to save - if they would have talked to him. If he felt he could have shared. But they shut him out, tried to protect him, tryied to protect their world. At least that is what they said. He doubted their every word.
He was naïve. He hadn’t been sure what he was doing, where he had been going, or even if his actions were save or logical. He was their white knight though. He lived to serve. Until their betrayal.
His sources had been clear; the world was going to end. There wasn’t much they could do about it. A Hell God was on the loose and searching for her Key. A Key which Buffy knew about it and refused to give up; even when the battle left her broken and bruised; forced to take refuge in the hospital. The same hospital that Joyce had died in. Buffy looked like a truck had hit her; he wondered what they put on the form.
His mind drifted. Conversations playing in his head: the doctors and the watchers each arguing for supremacy over the unconscious blonde.
Shaking his head, he focused. Yes. His sources, the overhead conversations between the visiting watchers. World ending, Hell God, mystical Key and did you know the Slayer was going to be homeless? They laughed at that. Irate with her for quitting the Council, they refused to assist her unless she gave them the Key. After all, they had said – how bad could it be if she wouldn’t let them help protect the artifact? Their laughter, mocking and cruel pushed him to that final step. He would find a solution to the God, protect the Key that he wasn’t trusted with, and since when did Buffy keep secrets? Perhaps they could stay in his basement.
He got lost in his research, determined to help. He wasn’t Giles or even Willow, but he knew he would discover the solution. It was his obsession. He wouldn’t let them win. Couldn’t let them win. He was their White Knight; even Angelus had said it was so.
He hadn’t known where to start or what to research. He hadn’t even been sure of the Key’s form. So he researched; starting with mystical objects and shiny baubles. They had an entire section for that you know.
Buffy stayed in the hospital. She had given up. Dawn moved in with Willow. Better to protect her they said. He was forgotten, overlooked, and so he researched. Searching day and night; forgetting to eat, forgetting to shave, half the time he forgot to go home. She was still there when he found his first references to a mystical treasure underneath Sunnydale. The Treasure of Amara.
Sure; there was no reference to any Key-related artifacts but there were loads of other objects listed as lost and presumed buried. It was mind-boggling, and he was pretty sure it would solve a lot of their problems. A gem that would help vampires … well, he was unsure what it translated to, but it looked like it would make a vampire stronger. And a treasure which - even if it was split between two parties - would pay off Buffy’s house and fund her for a good portion of her life, and probably Dawn’s as well. No basement dwelling for his girls.
He had known just the vamp for the job as well. A chipped Spike with increased strength couldn’t hurt them. He was still harmless against humans. He could be bribed with the Gem and some treasure and presto! one strong demon fighter to help against the Hell God. Between no more money worries and another fighter; he had been confident that they would win any fight. All he had to do was convince Spike, find the treasure, and he would be welcomed as the hero he was. He would have saved the day.
He had everything planned out before he even recruited the vampire; all the tools, all the maps, and all the daydreams of a thankful Buffy. It wasn’t even a challenge, Spike was easy. One mention of the Gem of Amara and he was sold. Spike’s cooperation was secured by payment, not as a favor. Strange how that had comforted him at the time.
He had never counted on the weeks it would take to locate the treasure. The time spent with Spike, working side by side. Never thought the sight of the vampire working shirtless, would have affected him so. It resurrected old feelings and thoughts towards a man, towards a vamp; feelings that the he thought he had buried once Angel had left.
Yet there he was; another vamp…another demon causing him to be confused, to doubt himself. He liked women - Buffy, Faith, Cordelia, and sometimes even Anya. He didn’t like vampires, or men! He hated demons, despised them, They had taken Jessie away from him. To love or even lust after another one would be the ultimate betrayal.
Yet he couldn’t stop watching Spike. Gradually the watching became wanting. So they fought, sniped, argued, and yelled. He ignored Spike’s knowing smirk, the one that said I know why we fight.
Until the day that Spike pushed him against the wall. Kissed him hard and demanding; smothering his protests with lips and tongue, frantic hands running over his body, begging for more. His hand had crept to Spikes cock, amazed at the hardness and mutual desire. Anya’s statement floated through his head … interlocking parts. As he mused, he’d felt the cold rush of air and a cooler tongue.
Groaning, he had moaned Spike’s name. Frustration mounted as Spike stopped and shocked realization followed. Spike had stood there in jeans and boots, only his hand touching Xander, slowly tracing his swollen cock. He had leaned forward, his tongue flicking out and tracing Xander’s lips. Then he smirked.
Xander had snapped, and quickly divested Spike of his clothing. They were naked, kissing, moaning, and moving against each other. Xander lost track of time. He barely flinched as Spike’s wet finger entered him; stretching him; then two; then slowly easing his cock into Xander.
It didn’t hurt – well, it did, - but in that pleasure-pain sort of way. The sensation was exquisite; Spike pounding into him harder and harder until all rational thought had fled. He wanted everything, he wanted more. He was begging and he couldn’t stop. All his dark desires laid bare in his moans. Fuck me, bite me, take me, want me. He felt shattered, yet complete. He was lost, brought back by the fierce piercing of fangs. Xander had roared when he came.
Funny how close that exquisite line between pleasure and pain could be; the chip never fired once.
Shortly after that they found the artifacts. The treasure room was like a playground. Shiny objects, wealth, and everything they could ever desire.
Using the description, they discovered the ring. They had then begun to sort through the pieces, selecting a few to take back with them to the surface.
With his luck, it seemed inevitable that his hand slipped, nicked on a sharp blade on top of their baubles. He bled and his world went black.
3 Waking Up
Xander blinked and rubbed his eyes. The world was cold and dark. He extended his senses – where was he? Ahhh yes, trapped in the asylum. Locked up by his friends and believed by none. He giggled; they thought he was insane. They thought he had lost it, that he was killing people. They didn’t believe him, didn’t trust him. They insisted it was mental instability, vampire thrall, and his favorite line that this was for his own good . They thought they were protecting him; he giggled again.
Sometimes even he wondered about his sanity, but he knew the truth. Remembered it quite well; it wasn’t like it happened all that long ago. He had woken up in Spike’s crypt, disoriented, with the frantic vampire pacing back and forth. It would have been cute if it his head hadn’t been pounding so much that he promptly hurled. He really disliked pain.
As soon as his head cleared, he could hear it. Faint in the daylight hours, he had learned to block it out. Not at night though. During the dark hours the whispers came through, soft and insistent. Telling him so many secrets, people’s thoughts, their dark desires, their pain, and even their deaths. He couldn’t block it out, the screaming and the cries. He would have gone insane, but Spike saved him. When the taunts got to be too much, he was pulled into the arms of his newfound love. Felt the penetration of fangs, the delicious pleasure pain of it all driving away the thoughts, narrowing his world down to his vampire.
He learned control, to focus the thoughts, to hone them. He had hoped to use the whispers to aide his friends. During this time, Spike held him, worshiped his body with his own, yet all the while refusing to coddle him. Spike had told him that they would never listen; that they would betray him and abuse him. Reminding Xander that time after time his friends had dismissed him, that they had reduced him to donut boy and comic relief. He hadn’t wanted to believe it; chalked it up to Spike trying to cause trouble, even though by that point he was quickly becoming Xander’s world.
Xander should have believed him. He should have known that Spike was trying to protect him. When Spike left to find a trinket that was suppose to be able to block the whispers, Xander experimented with new ways to subdue the noise. Sometimes he listened and took notes. Other times, he cut himself, watching the blood drip into an empty sports bottle. After all, no sense in wasting perfectly good human blood.
He had plotted his actions in silence. He began to liquidate the jewels recovered, racking up sale after sale in his bank account. He dutifully recorded the whispers, writing them all down until it became too much, and then cutting himself to drown out the sound. Amazing how the sharp cut made him hard and the feel of an actual knife could bring him to orgasm. It should have disturbed him, but it didn’t.
Then finally the whispers taunted him with their knowledge of the Key. Spoke lies about a sister that never was. He denied them, laughed at them, knowing they were testing his sanity. So he called a meeting. It was time to come clean. They had to know about the Hellmouth, about the whispers, and perhaps they would use the knowledge to save some lives.
Walking in, his stomach dropped, his feet fumbled, and his heart ached in sorrow. She was perfect – long dark hair, big expressive eyes and surrounded by a green aura. He should have known that the whispers wouldn’t lie; she was the Key, and she was beautiful.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that last part out loud?
The commotion had been overwhelming, the entire gang yelling and screaming at him. How did it know that and why was he saying that. Who had he told? How did he know? That last part they asked over and over again. How?
So he tried to explain. The whispers, the Hellmouth, and the secrets he knew. How he was connected, tied to the energies in a way he didn’t understand, but it didn’t make it any less real.
He could see their disbelief. He had proof. His notebook where he recorded the whispers. He told them about the murders on the edge of town, the ritual sacrifices. How the whispers had let him hear the screams, how he listened as they died, and most of all, how he had tried to save them but arrived too late. Always too late, and he was left with the cooling bodies and the whispers mocking laugh.
He told of how he’d come to know about Dawn from the never ending whispers. He didn’t tell them about Spike. He didn’t want them to think he was crazy.
He showed them the bodies and explained how they could use the whispers against the dark forces. How they could save people. How he could help.
They didn’t believe him. They found his bloody knife and saw his recent scarring. The whispers screamed at him to run, yet his so-called friends stopped him. They locked him up in this asylum. They didn’t even visit him.
Now there was no end to the whispers. They called to him, taunting him, laughing at him and he couldn’t even find a blade. Not a single way to cut himself, to bring forth the pain. He couldn’t block it out and he couldn’t run away.
Was he insane? Not yet. But he might get there soon.
But the whispers were his friend. They soothed him with their sweet news. Yes his lover was returning.
And then there will be hell to pay.
The whispers woke him up. They were screaming at him. Wake up, Wake up, it’s time to play now.
Xander bolted up and leaned towards the barred window. What are they saying? What do they want of me now?
He knew he was loosing it, but wondered if he even cared anymore. It was their fault; his so called friends. If they hadn’t put him here, it wouldn’t have happened. He needed the pain, needed the pleasure of the cut to keep the demons at bay. Here, he was denied this; his only solace the whispers themselves. Taunting him with how his friends were better off, how they laughed at him, and never thought of him anymore.
The whispers soothed him though. They told him stories of the past and described to him the pleasures of the here and now. They whispered of his freedom, of his future away from this hell. They told him of love and revenge entwined.
He knew when Spike entered the city limits. Followed his exploits with pleasure as the vampire sought him out. The whispers told him secrets. Things that had been discovered while Spike had been away. Did Xander know that Spike could walk in the daylight, that the ring gave him the freedom of the sun? That the chip was rendered useless; he could hurt a human, he could kill a human. He had already done so. He was free, restrained only by a piece of jewelry.
The whispers were sad though. He brought the shiny trinket for Xander. An enhanced bracelet that would help block the whispers. The voices cajoled, he didn’t have to wear it. He could be free. Be one with the energies, commune with them, be one with them. Wouldn’t it be nice to never be alone again? They promised him pleasure, knowledge, and power. All he had to do was give in.
Now get dressed. Put on your clothes. Your lover is here. His mouth stained with blood. Be free. Come to us and be free.
Xander’s first sight of his lover confirmed everything that the whispers had spoken of. His demon standing over one of the doctors, his mouth stained with blood. Xander didn’t care anymore. The whispers had told him all. Spike was the vessel of his freedom and would exact his revenge.
Xander was lost. He had crossed a line he could never come back from. Fueled by thoughts of revenge and pain, he smiled. His sanity was in question, hanging by a single thread. He might yet be able to recover, to gain clarity of thoughts once more, but not yet. Everything was wrong and it was the fault of his faithless friends. Had they trusted him, believed in him, then this never would have happened. They abandoned him and laughed at him. The whispers had told him so.
Xander kissed Spike in his demon face; licking a drop of blood away. It was tangy. His brown eyes glazed over. It had been too long since he’d had his lover. He wasn’t as coherent as he would have liked, to many drugs in his system. But he knew how to communicate. To make sure that Spike knew that he wasn’t to blame for what happened. He had to leave to help Xander. It wasn’t Spike’s fault that the Scobbies had locked him up. He had warned him.
He kissed his demon. Not allowing him to change, he pushed Spike against the wall, ignoring the body that was cooling on the floor. He knelt down; his pants becoming coated with the other man’s blood. He watched as Spike hardened; the sight of Xander covered in blood and unbuttoning the vampire’s pants was beautiful to the vampire. He could tell that Spike could hardly restrain himself.
Xander smiled. The whispers told him what his lover wanted. To take Xander. In the pool of blood as a vampire should; blood and fucking; desire and revenge. Xander listened to his lover gasped as he took him in his mouth. Sucking him, touching him, and caressing him. Manipulating his lover, trying to drive him to that brink; the moment when he couldn’t stand it anymore. Of pleasure, of pain, where he had to take or be taken.
The moment was reached and it was glorious. Spike had used the doctor’s blood to lubricate himself, to make himself ready to take his lover. Xander wondered if that was safe. It probably wasn’t. Then the thought was driven out of his mind and he was taken. Hard, fast. It was glorious. An idle thought crossed his mind – he could always be turned if the doctor’s blood was tainted. Unlife might be fun. On that thought, Xander looked back and shook his head at Spike. He mouthed, ‘No biting'.
He couldn’t loose the clarity of the whispers. Not until his revenge was finished. There would be no biting, no turning until them.
Perhaps he was a bit off, a little less then sane. Oh well, it was their fault.
He smiled. The fun was only beginning.
|Feed the Author|
|Home||Categories||New Stories||Non Spander|