Killing Dance


Spike leaned against the front of a gaudily adorned crypt, alert in case he needed to step in and help, but otherwise content to simply watch as his lover spun and slashed and stabbed his way through the small pack of demons. They were minor demons, sure, but it had taken a year of intense training with both him and the Watcher to get his boy to this point.

Xander was like one of the danseur noble from the many ballets his dark princess had dragged him to while they were still in Europe - all strength and grace, secure in the honorable intent of his actions. He couldn’t help but watch the fluid movement of limbs, the play of muscles under the tight t-shirt, the slide of moonlight over sharp steel. The grunts and pained howls of the demons were simply the music behind the dance, cause and effect, each noise simply spurring his boy into the next step, the next deadly swing of the sword.

An evil grin tilted Spike’s lips as he watched a particularly ruthless move from his boy and remembered the conversation with the Watcher that had prompted Xander’s training…well, perhaps conversation was a little mild for what actually happened that night.


He and the Scoobies had been fighting yet another demon incursion inside the remains of the old high school and, as usual, he and Buffy were in the thick of things doing what they did best while Red and Glinda worked their mojo and Rupert helped keep any demons from getting too close to the witches. Then there was Xander, stuck between the two groups, trying to deal with any injured demons that managed to make it past him and the Slayer and trying to help Rupert defend the two girls.

He had to give the boy credit, after all the years of helping Buffy and all the fights he’d been in, and been injured in, he still came back anytime they called. It didn’t help though that his method was more luck and passion than style and talent. It had amazed Spike every time he watched the boy fight that he’d made it as long as he had. Unfortunately luck can only last so long, and Xander would usually be the first to tell anyone that the only luck he had was of the bad. One particularly stubborn demon made it past its remaining brethren as they made one last en mass attack against him and Buffy, and the next thing Spike knew, he heard a pained grunt and Red screaming before there was a wash of heat against his back. Once the two of them had finished up with the small horde, slightly bloodied but still whole, they’d turned to meet back with the others only to find Rupert and the girls on the ground clustered around a prone figure.

Xander had apparently received a pretty nasty slash from the demon at which point Red had nuked it in a panicked attack, luckily missing the good guys. Meanwhile, Xander was clutching his stomach, blood pouring out from between his fingers as he gasped and gritted his teeth. Spike’s estimation of the boy went up even more as he refused to cry, even going so far as to make weak jokes as he tried to calm down his upset friends. And somehow, in the middle of the humans fussing over him, Xander had managed to capture his gaze with those deep brown eyes, and something in the pain-filled, yet steady, gaze had called to him.

They managed to get back to the Watcher’s house without further incident, get Xander patched up and medicated and settled on Rupert’s sofa to rest. Spike managed to hold his tongue until after the girls left for their dorm rooms before he turned on Rupert, shoving him back into his recliner and getting in his face, his appearance shifting back and forth between human and demon as he grappled with his emotions.

“This is all your bloody fault!” Spike hissed as he pointed at Xander’s unnaturally still figure buried under blankets on the couch.

Giles tried to get up only to have Spike shove him back down again and fought not to yell at their ally. “How do you figure that, Spike? I’m the one who patched the boy up!”

“Exactly! How many times have you patched the whelp up over the years? And how many times have you patched up Willow or Tara or Buffy? You’ve never even bothered to train the boy, after all these years, you just let him wade blindly into battle. It’s a wonder he hasn’t managed to kill himself or one of the others with his bumbling!”

“He’s not the Slayer; he’s just a normal human boy, Spike. I’ve tried to keep him from going with us, we all have, but he insists. All I can do is see that he receives the proper medical care afterwards.”

Spike growled and pulled at his hair as he fought the urge to throttle the clueless man in front of him. “For a smart man, you are so bloody stupid at times, Rupes. Buffy’s the Slayer, so you train her to fight. Red and Glinda are witches, so you bloody well train them how to do their mojo. And Xander… him you ignore except when you need more doughnuts! You know he’s going to fight next to his friends, he’s bloody well their White Knight and every demon in this town knows it. So how come you’ve never once trained him to fight too? Oh sure, you’ve showed him which end of the sword to point at the baddies, but beyond that? That soldier memory stuck in his head can only help him so much, especially when it was never trained in anything but guns and explosives, which we don‘t use. So here’s what’s going to happen, you and me, we’re going to start training the boy as soon as he’s fit enough to start. He’s going to learn how to properly use those weapons he normally does and how to fall and dodge and take a hit. Or you’re going to start chaining him up in your tub when there’s a fight. Are we clear?”

Giles was quiet for a long moment, staring back at him before glancing over at the still young man on his couch. “Why are you doing this, Spike? What’s in it for you?”

“How ‘bout bloody self preservation? One of these days, the boy’s going t’ miss and take me own head off, then where will I be?” He couldn’t tell the other man that he dreaded seeing the light in those deep brown eyes extinguished, couldn’t bare to see the normally active, laughing boy so still and pale…like he was already dead. It just wasn’t right. The bravery and inner strength needed to return time after time to fight against the evils of the world without any special powers…it wasn’t something he could just ignore, not anymore.


Spike was pulled from his reverie by the sudden quiet. Focusing back on his lover, he watched as Xander cleaned the gore off his sword on the pelt of one of the fallen demons before making his way back towards the crypt, his body near vibrating in adrenaline fueled excitement.

“Spike! Did you see? I totally had them, I can’t believe how easy it was, and that new move you showed me really came in handy and mmph!” Xander’s words were cut short by the quick and easy method of Spike hauling him close and kissing him breathless.

Spike laughed at the stunned look on his boy’s face. “Wish I had found that method to shut you up ages ago, luv. And yes I saw; you were bloody fabulous out there. Knew you had it in you, just had to get you past all those hang-ups of yours. Now then, how ‘bout we head back t’ the apartment and you can show me what other moves you know.”

Xander, still slightly dazed from the passionate kiss and the adrenaline rush, took a moment to notice the decided leer Spike was giving him and grinned broadly. “Right…moves…you and me…and yeah…race you back!” Laughing, he took off, mind racing to what the two of them would be doing as soon as they got back inside their place.

Spike gave his boy a head start, once again watching the play of muscles and the fluid movements that now came so easily to his boy, grinning as he heard the laughter floating back to him on the still night air. Deciding Xander had enough of a lead, he ran after him, already imagining a completely different type of dance they’d be doing as soon as they were alone again, with the bed as their stage, their naked bodies moving together as one and their impassioned cries the music that spurred them on.

The End