I bring you fic of the tongue-in-cheek, cliche and kink-ridden kind. The kind of fic I am never going to write but might just (secretly) love to read. ;)
Pairing: Buffy: Spike/Xander
Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com. If you spot a typo, please feel free to tell me in comments. I want you to!
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Warnings/Squicks: Gross abuse of fandom cliches and kinks.
Summary: Five Spander Stories I'm Not Writing. At all. Ever. So hush.
Notes: Written to celebrate my 4th ljversary, and as part of my commitment to mini_nanowrimo. Every cliche and kink is written with love, and tongue firmly in cheek. :D
Five Spander Stories I'm Not Writing
Xander hit the 'Pause' button and slowly turned to stare at Spike in horror.
"You know, when you told me you'd been a porn star for a while, this wasn't quite how I pictured it."
Spike snatched the remote away and glared at his flickering, oiled and naked image on the screen.
"I told you, pet, it was the 70s. If you weren't six foot three with a bloody great caterpillar living on your top lip, you were the one that got fucked, no ifs, ands or buts about it."
He hit 'Play', filling the room with the cheesiest porn dialogue known to man.
"Ooh, yeah, baby! Give it to me! Harder! Ooh, yeah, like that. You're an animal! Ream me good!"
Spike sniffed and hit 'Stop.'
"Best work I ever did for that studio was eat the scriptwriter. He tasted bloody awful, but at least it stopped the tosser writing shite like this for any other poor sods to choke on while they were being buggered raw."
Head tilted to one side with calculated cuteness, Xander toyed absently with the collar Spike had fastened around his neck a few minutes ago. The small silver padlock and the 'Property of William the Bloody' matching tag clinked gently together at his touch.
Why wouldn't his master look at him? Had he done something wrong?
Uncurling from his place in front of the fire, he padded across the room on silent feet to join the others, Spike and Giles, Willow, Buffy and Dawn.
Their whispered conversation stalled as he approached. Everyone but Spike stared at Xander, and Xander stared at Spike. Spike stared at the flaking black polish on his left thumbnail like it contained the clues to his holy grail - free cable with 24 hour hot and cold running porn.
Xander lowered himself to sit at Spike's feet, and then laid his head on Spike's knee, staring up at him with dark, soulful eyes. When that didn't get the response he was hoping for, Xander shoved his nose into Spike's crotch - and licked,
"Bleedin' hell, Red! Hurry up and break the damn spell before the horny little bugger starts humping my leg!"
Giggling, Dawn reached out and pulled the sable-coated Labrador towards her, earning his undying love with a good hard scritch between the ears. "It's your own fault, Spike. Who buys a solid silver collar from a Gronlar demon and doesn't bother to check for enchantments?"
Spike controlled the Hellmouth with an iron grip. No demon, or demon-savvy human, did business - or procured pleasure - anywhere in Sunnydale without him getting a cut of the profits or being in at the kill.
He had his fingers in a lot of pies - gambling joints, feeding houses, bars, blood supply lines - and he kept the Slayer on a magical leash, a permanently nude and unresisting sex toy.
Not that he got to play with her that often, or at all, really. Being master of Sunnydale and surrounds was a full time job, with a lot of unpaid overtime and unexpected call-outs. He worked from dusk until dawn, one way or another, until even a night's mindless slaughter seemed more like a chore than a joy.
Spike jerked awake with a foreshortened scream and, almost immediately, was pulled into a warm, comforting hug by a sleep-befuddled Xander.
"Was it that same nightmare again?"
Spike snuggled closer and hummed an affirmative into Xander's shoulder.
"Poor baby." Xander pressed a kiss to the top of Spike's head. "Go back to sleep. I'll keep the nasty naked Slayer away from you."
Xander only played the Zeppo now to keep his girls happy, but it was still getting him down how they never noticed the new and improved Super!Xan!
It was all down to that Rorschach demon, the one who'd pinned him down and made him take a long, hard look inside himself.
Well, he'd looked, and he'd discovered memories he'd suppressed for years, since he was just a little boy and his father had told him what a freak he was and wondered why he couldn't have had a normal little bastard like all the other guys at the bar where he spent every night and every penny.
That was when Xander had started pretending he was normal, nothing special, and after a while he'd grown to believe it himself.
But no more!
Decision made, Xander jumped to his feet, startling the rest of the gang from their pizza and research.
"Guys, I have something important to tell you, something I've been hiding for a long time now."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Xander, we all know you're gay. The way you're always staring at Spike is-"
"What?! No! I'm not... It's..." Xander closed his eyes and took a deep, centering breath. "Watch."
He held out a hand and focussed on the table, sweat breaking out on his forehead as the heavy piece of furniture began to rise slowly towards the ceiling, books and pizza, sodas and a half-empty cup of tea going along for the ride. When his arm began to tremble, he carefully lowered his amazing burden back to the floor and tried not to catch anyone's gaze.
Buffy broke the stunned silence first.
"I can't believe it! You made me carry all your furniture up two flights of stairs to your new apartment because the elevator was broken and you could have moved it all yourself? I broke three nails!"
"First one to laugh gets my fist in their gob, brain-bleeding headache be damned!"
The form beneath the blanket certainly sounded like Spike, but the shape was - wrong, like he was carrying something angular on his back, something that moved.
Everyone stared at the amorphous grey lump in the center of the room and then Buffy darted in and snatched the blanket away and it turned out he did have something angular on his back. Angular and transparent, multi-hued and mobile. Spike had fairy wings.
Everybody stared some more.
Spike made a grab for the blanket in Buffy's hands and they tussled for a moment. Buffy's shoulder brushed against the purple-green-blue-orange of a fragile wing and suddenly Spike was gone, across the room and in the corner, back (wings) to the wall, more than a touch of demon yellow visible in his eyes.
"Keep your hands to yourself, Slayer."
The unexpected scents of embarrassment and arousal wafted over to where Spike was standing, and he looked to his left in disbelief.
Bloody typical. His Xander had the freakiest fucking kinks.
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