Written for [info]fall_for_sx Opening Day Prompt Tree!
Prompt phrase: "a bead or two of blood"
NC17, 500 words

Never as Safe as You Think You Are


Part One

Xander awoke to blackness. He blinked, wondering where he was, how he got there and why he wasn’t in his warm, comfortable bed. He sat up, suddenly aware he was naked, the coolness of the floor under him making him shiver. Well, shit. This was not of the good.


He stumbled to his feet, disoriented, unsure where the soft, sing-song voice came from. He gasped when he felt something brush by him, circling around to the right and behind, moving too fast for him to keep up with.

“Who are you? Show yourself!” If he hadn’t been so frightened, he might have winced at the high-pitched shakiness of his voice.

“Well, if you insist.”

The lights came on and he blinked against the glare, his eyes watering. When Xander could focus, Spike was right in front of him. Spike’s eyes traveled up as he took a long, slow look at Xander. All of Xander.

His hands flew to protect Xander Junior, but it was too late, as evidenced by the smirk on Spike’s face. He glanced around, taking in his surroundings - a crypt, what a surprise. “What the hell is going on, Fangless?”

The smile on Spike’s face was wicked, a smug smile that promised all kinds of evil. Xander shivered. This wasn’t the Spike he was used to putting down and taking jabs at, the vampire without a bite. This Spike reminded him of the one he’d first seen back in high school, the one that had come close to taking out Buffy a time or two. This Spike looked deadly, and there was nothing between him and Xander but Xander’s cupped hands.

Spike reached out and ran a sharp fingernail across Xander’s chest.

He felt a sting. “Hey!” Xander blanched at the sight of a bead or two of blood running down over his nipple. “The chip...”


Xander stumbled backwards but Spike followed until there was nowhere left to go, the stone wall cold against his bare skin. “I’ve got lots of lovely plans for you, whelp.” Spike pressed up tight against Xander, the fabric of his jeans rough against soft flesh.

Xander swallowed heavily. “Buffy...”

“...won’t be joining us. I’m afraid it’s just the two of us tonight, Xander. Whatever shall we do?”

With Spike’s lips mere inches from his jugular, the last thing Xander expected was a kiss: Spike’s lips on his, tongue pushing roughly into his mouth; Spike’s hands squeezing his bare ass; Spike’s knee between Xander’s thighs, pressing against his surprisingly interested cock.

Traitor, Xander thought, as all his blood sped south to join his cock in appreciation of Spike’s technique. He couldn’t hold back his gasp of pleasure when Spike broke the kiss to murmur into Xander’s neck, “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”

The pain of the bite was sharp but overwhelmingly erotic. Xander’s orgasm came out of nowhere, sparks of light bursting behind his eyelids as his blood rushed out. “Spike!”

“See you soon, love.”

2 Spike's Masterpiece

Beta by Ozsaur, my hero and shit.
Inspiration for this story taken from the LJ Community TamingtheMuse prompt #283: Masterpiece.
Sequel to Never As Safe As You Think You Are - a ficlet written for the prompt tree that opened last year's Fall_for_SX on Live Journal. However it is not necessary to have read that ficlet to read this story.

He awoke with a gasp, coming to consciousness in a flash instead of the usual slow drift upwards from sleep that he was used to. He was in a bed, but not his own, and the walls around him were stone. That first gasp brought a multitude of smells with it - dust, candle wax, leather, cigarettes, whiskey, but above it all was a strong scent that made him feel safe and cared for, warm and protected. And horny. Yes, very horny.

Spike. That was Spike. He turned his head and breathed in the scent, filling his nose, filling his lungs with Spike. He wondered why the thought of Spike brought all these wonderful ideas to his mind - and his body. He rubbed his cock idly through the sheet before stretching his muscles languidly.

He felt so good. Perfect, in fact - except for the fact that Spike wasn’t here. Because he knew that Spike should be here with him. Spike belonged here with him, just as he belonged with Spike. He took another deep breath, the scent of Spike almost overwhelming him. He did. He belonged to Spike. That should be a disturbing thought, but it wasn’t. It felt right. More right than anything had ever felt before.

There was one small thing nagging at him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Something about the fact that he was naked in Spike’s bed, because that shouldn’t feel right, but it did, so he wasn’t going to worry about it. He’d concentrate on something else, then. Where was Spike? And why couldn’t he remember how he got here? He remembered getting home last night, taking a shower, popping open a beer and stretching out in front of the TV before deciding he wanted a meatball sub from the little take-out joint at the end of the street.

Since Papa Leone’s didn’t deliver, he’d put on a pair of sweats for the trip, and headed out, thinking that as early as it was, he’d get there before the usual Friday night crowds. That was the last thing he remembered. Damn. Why couldn’t he remember? Well, no sense lying here doing nothing, even though he was tempted to. It felt wonderful lazing around in Spike's bed, surrounded by his smell. But he felt too good to just lie there; he'd get up, and see if he could find Spike.

Then maybe they’d go get something to eat, because he was starving. But he wasn’t in the mood for a meatball sub anymore. Maybe a steak - nice and rare. That sounded good. He didn’t usually spring for steak, but he’d gotten a raise at work recently, so he could afford it. Throwing the sheet back, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and down to the cold stone floor. That’s when it hit him.

The memories flashed into his mind, overlapping each other and coming too fast to stop: waking up on the cold stone floor of Spike’s crypt, the line of fire that followed Spike’s fingernail scratch above his nipple, the sense of horror as he watched the blood dripping down - realizing the chip was no longer working, the pleasure that rushed through him when Spike sunk his teeth into his neck and he came, wrapped in Spike’s arms. Then the faint sound of Spike’s final words “See you soon, love.’

He pressed one hand to his heart, and held his breath, but he knew what he would find. Or wouldn’t find.


Xander was a vampire.

He flopped back to the bed, and breathed in deeply, the scent of his sire surrounding him, calming him. Okay. He was a vampire. He could deal with this. He had Spike. Spike would help him - wherever the hell he was. Xander would just have to find him, then.

He got up and found a pile of clothes neatly folded on a chair by the bed. They weren’t all his clothes, but they fit, so he put them on. As he finished tying his shoes, he heard a door opening in the chamber above him. He almost called out, but he could hear a strange rumbling, thumping noise that brought his hunger up to the fore - a heartbeat.

He licked his lips, learning the hard way that wasn’t a smart move when you were in game face. He sucked on the tiny bit of blood that came out of the wound on the tip of his tongue, and that distracted him from the sounds from above for a moment.

“What the hell are we doing at your crypt, Spike?’ Xander looked up sharply at the sound of her voice.

“You were looking for Xander, weren’t you, Slayer? He’s right downstairs. After you.’

The sound of feet on the metal bars of the ladder made him start. He stepped back into the shadows, smiling. What a thoughtful sire. Spike had brought him breakfast.

3 No Ordinary Fledge

Prompt Notes: Inspired by [info]tamingthemuse prompt #303 - A Decade Late and a Penny Short
Special thanks to [info]ozsaur for heading me in the right direction when I was floundering over what to do with this prompt.

Ten Years Later

Xander made an absolutely stunning Vampire: cruel and vicious one moment and brilliant and absolutely chilling the next.  As the saying went - turning a vampire was a crap shoot.  You never knew for certain exactly how they would react to the demon as it inhabited their body.  Spike had hoped that the turning would leave Xander’s personality intact.  Despite appearances, he’d liked the silly berk almost exactly the way he was. 

Spike had been lucky; he’s got a wonderful mix of blood-thirsty demon and sharp-witted, wicked little boy who didn’t mind playing second fiddle to his sire, as long as he got to strut his stuff at some point in the proceedings.  Spike couldn’t begrudge him that.  Especially not when the skills he’d honed over a decade of the hunt had left him a sleek and dangerous killing machine. 

Spike wondered sometimes if he’d managed to pick up something of Drusilla’s unusual talents simply by being sired by her, or perhaps by spending such a long time in her presence.  Because his Xander was no ordinary fledge.  Spike hadn’t sired too many childer; rearing them was too much like work.  He’d been far too busy with his wicked plum to worry about such things.  Besides, he was the first to admit that he got bored easily; none of his earlier attempts had managed to make it past their first anniversary.

Xander, however – he’d been certain of Xander from the beginning.  Spike had never seen a fledge with so much of their old personality shining through.  That hadn’t necessarily made it easy in the early days – Xander had always been a stubborn cuss.  There were times when Spike almost appreciated the determination Angelus had shown when raising Spike.  Almost. 

Spike had earned his hat trick with the help of his childe, who really deserved an Oscar for his performance that night in Spike’s crypt.  He’d stepped out of the shadows, trembling and pale, reaching out for Buffy, who went to him without hesitation.  She’d only realized when it was almost too late to react that Spike wasn’t the only vampire whose presence she’d felt in the room. 

It hadn’t been an easy battle, and Xander seemed to have instinctively known that this was Spike’s fight.  He’d stayed out of the way once the Slayer had realized his ruse, reacting only defensively when she got too close and took the opportunity to try and take Xander out of the equation with a sneak attack. 

That had been her downfall.  When she’d gone after his childe, Spike had seen red.  His assault had been vicious, his body moving fluidly, as every one of her snide, ugly remarks came back to him in a rush.  Every angry word, every nasty, malicious insult was revisited and redressed, and as the Slayer lay bleeding at his feet he finally knew the satisfaction of erasing his shame for going to his mortal enemy for shelter.

He’d tasted slayer blood for the third time, and had offered the majority of it to his childe, knowing that Xander would grow strong under its influence.  He watched as Xander drained her, laying her body out almost reverently, as befitted a worthy adversary, before advancing on Spike, his eyes wide and haunted in the candlelight, the scent of his arousal thick in the air.  They’d made love then, strengthening their bond, sharing their blood and that of the Slayer’s as a reminder of what was yet to come.

Ten years.  A relatively short amount of time in the course of an immortal creature’s existence, but for Spike, it had affirmed the saying that love will last forever.  Spike smiled down on Xander as he awoke, his eyes searching for Spike before relaxing, sinking back against the pillows, holding out his hand in invitation. 

Spike smiled back and took Xander’s hand in his own.

“Happy anniversary, love.”

The End

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