Pairing: Xander/Spike, Angel
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I futz with the pretteh, but put it all back when Iím done.
Concrit/Feedback: Just send it to me, care of [info]dancinbutterfly.
Notes/Spoilers/Warnings: Set in S2 ep School Hard, the scene when Angel ďgivesĒ Xander to Spike.
Summary: [info]dancinbutterfly asked for a ďXander/Spike School Hard fic, with the Sire offer affecting not Spikeís desires, but XanderísĒ, Five hundred words.



Bait


by
Beetle


ď. . . I gave her the puppy dog 'I'm all tortured' act. Keeps her off my back when I feed." Angel laughs like the rotten, undead liar-guy he is.

"People still fall for that Anne Rice routine? What a world!" Spike laughs, too, giving me a lazy once-over.

ďI knew you were lying,Ē I mutter when Angel squeezes my neck. "Undead liar-guy."

He clamps down even harder and I wish, just for a moment, that my mouth was on my neck, so I could bite his creepy, dead-man hand.

Only . . . heís a vampire . . . he might like that.

Definitely no neck-mouths for the Xan-man, no sir, and what the hell are these psychos yakkiní about, anyway? Itís pretty simple math, as far as I can see. The extent of their conversation should be:

Angel: Here you go, Spike, a moist and delicious treat to welcome you and your batshit girlfriend to the Hellmouth. And by the way? Iím a total dick, who dresses like the Grim Reaperís pretentious little brother.

Spike: Blimey, cor, and bloody, soddiní Ďeck, donít I know it! Thanks for the snack, guvínor! Cheers!


Okay . . . maybe Spikeís part wouldnít go exactly like that, but the Angel-part is dead-on and Spikeís giving me the elevator eyes--leering at me, like--

So, this is the point where the Xan-manís mind-numbing terror mutates into a dirty, low-down tingle, huh?

I mean no, Iíve got no tingles of any kind! Except maybe for the fear-kind . . . yeah, Iíve got tingles of fear coming outta my yin-yang, wherever that is, but I will not let my eyes look further south than his skanky, yet sexy silk shirt . . . I will not let my eyes--he is so hot. . . .

No! Bad brain! Spike isnít hot, heís cold, as in dead-and! There will be no lusting after the bleached menace whoís eyeing me like Iím canapes!

"Wanna bite before we kill her?" Angelís yanking my head to the side and offering me up to Spike like a gift basket!

Hear that, naughty fun zone? I'm about to be eaten--and not in the fun way! If you donít start re-routing some O-pos to HQ, youíre never gonna have a date with Rosy Palm and her five sisters again, capische?! He. Is going. To kill me!

There's a creepy, horrible, not-at-all-sexy flash of gold in Spike's blue, blue eyes and his face ripples like he's hungry--or horny maybe, because those jeans are sprayed on and I'm seeing a suspicious bulge--oh, god, Spike's not the only one bulging and I can't believe I'm turned on at the thought of dying in his arms while he drains me and--

--he can smell everything I just thought, canít he?

Oh, god . . . so can Angel. . . !

And my naughty fun zone just keeps getting naughtier.

Please let this be the point where the Xan-manís crippling shame mutates into a quick and painless death. . . .




The End





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