Season 2 Spike/Xander darkfic. Well. Sort of



Watch Him in the Rain


by
Nasty Shrew


Youíve taken to watching him. Yesterday you followed him and stood outside his house, his dank little basement, cigarette after cigarette crushed under your heel. You're careful to stay a safe distance after him so that he wonít see. He mustnít see you. Would take half the fun out of the hunt, to be seen so early on. And that's what this is - a hunt.

This isn't normal - even in Vampiric terms. You amend that maybe it has something to do with your bloodline - Dru, Angelus ... they were never models of sanity, never wanted to be. It's not normal to be so whole-heartedly obsessed with any one human - not natural. Humans are food, cattle, dull eyed zombies stumbling through life until you catch them in your arms, moment of clarity before you release the red rivers beneth their skin.

Your cigarette hisses in the rain, you hiss back, laugh quietly in the light of the moon. You've stopped following the boy once or twice but his face flitted around the edges of your mind, subtly pushing into your thoughts when you werenít looking. Dru said he looked like black butterfly fluttering about your brain and you kissed her, pushed into her, asked to see the pretty pictures. You're not going to leave her - she knows it.

Nobody looked at the boy for long - that much was obvious. Too wide smiles and desperate appeals for attention, practically a "Come Bite Me" banner waving above the boy's head. And you like that. Innocence, vulnerability, the need to be seen. Makes it all the more interesting to corrupt, tear down, twist. You'll make this uncut diamond bleed, moan and beg for more. He's just the distraction you need.

Not to mention it would piss the slayer off - always a fun and shiny bonus.

You shut your eyes and imagine him, the flicker of candles, his hair looks blue in the light, black eyes shimmer in the dark and his smile flashes - cuts into the night and smothers the screams of the ripe young thing he feeds upon. Your Xander will make a fucking glorious demon.

Your Xander. Funny, how youíve started to think of him as your own. He isn't yet - not yet, but soon you'll make your move. Casual slouch, nod of suggestion, quirk of your lips and a beckoning hand. You won't force him, you'll seduce him , good and proper. Lure him with sweet words and sweeter kisses, trap him in his own mind, rip his soul apart with cutting words and blunt observation. He'll walk away from them by himself, walk to you with eyes bright with tears. You'll take him into your arms, whispering comfort, fangs sinking into hot skin and sweet release. Dru might even join in, share the pretty pet, raise him as your own together. It'll be a lark. He'll be your new project. Your childe.

Itís still raining as you watch him slip out the house, head lowered, hands in his pockets like a fucking poster child of the ignored. You follow him into chill. You don't feel the cold - you are the cold. You can see Xander has walked out without an umbrella. You can't keep him warm - and you don't want to.

Fuck the plan. Patience was never your virtue.

You pull him into an ally and lay your hand across the moist heat of his mouth, lick the salt sweat on his throat as he thrashes about in your arms. Imagine the look on the slayer's face when she sees your boy rip her throat out. Dru will be pleased when you bring him home and they'll have a party - black flowers, screams of the innocent, the works for your dark darlings. You grin into the blood, rich and heady, listen to his heartbeat slow.

Unlife is good.




The End





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