Rating: Hard R
Summary: Wishverse AU. Sometimes, you need something a little different.
Notes: For authoressnebula, who had a bad day. I’m not quite sure that this fulfills your requirements, love, but it’s what I’ve got. Hope you like.
So far, Spike was pretty impressed with the Hellmouth. He’d heard some damn good things about it, before, but he’d never quite credited the tales about the vibe the place gave off until he got here. He was fucking buzzed just from walking around, taking a look at the empty streets and the smashed storefronts. A town for demons, a town made for the night and the hell that opened up when the sun went down.
Spike fucking loved it.
It wasn’t hard to track down the main hangout- the sun set and this eerie quiet descended over the place as all the humans scuttled into their homes and locked the doors, and anyone could hear the bass beat shaking the walls of the place, called the Bronze or some shite. Fucked up name, but the inside made up for the rest of it- blood-smell everywhere, mixed in with strong alcohol and fear coming off the humans hanging in cages from the ceiling. The music was loud and hard, and Spike couldn’t quite resist letting himself get lost in the sheer noise of it. Just one body among the dozens that crowded the floor, all of them cool and obscenely graceful, glowing with demonic beauty in the changing lights that scattered across the crowded floor.
Eventually Spike gave up the dance in favor of a drink. There was only one other at the bar- a fairly young vamp, but the way the others gave him a wide berth told Spike that he was either particularly vicious or the Master’s pet, or both. He was betting on the last, but figured whichever way it was, the bloke would be the most interesting person he’d met so far.
He settled on the stool next to him and signaled the bartender. Once he’d ordered his drink, he turned to the dark-haired boy and found that the boy was staring right back at him.
“You’re Spike,” the lad said, and Spike looked at him more carefully. Did he know him?
“We met before?”
The dark-haired bloke shook his head. “My job to know who’s in town, especially if they’re Masters. Fledges aren’t worth shit, but Masters make trouble.”
“Bold words from a boy who’s barely more than a fledge himself.”
The boy flashed him a smile that had entirely too many teeth, even in his human face. “You know the saying- the Sire makes the vampire, but the man makes the Master. Plus, things are different on the Hellmouth.”
Spike decided that he’d save that to be digested for later. “You got a name?”
“Xander,” the boy said. He nodded towards the dance floor, where a gorgeous leather-clad redhead was writhing. “That’s Willow, my girl.”
Spike thought that was odd phrasing for a vampire- more sixties high school than anything- but he’d already figured out that Xander wasn’t your average, run-of-the-mill vamp, and looking at Willow, he guessed that she wasn’t, either. Even on a dance floor that crowded, there was a little pool of empty space around her, and those dancing near her looked like they were trying real hard not to get into that space. Must be a girl they feared, then, which made her pretty damn special, since she was ‘bout the same age as Xander here.
“She’s something,” Xander said with a little smirk in his voice, and Spike glanced back to see if that smirk was on his face. It wasn’t, but he had this grin that meant blood and sex when he looked at her, and Spike was starting to feel sorry that he hadn’t brought Dru here with him.
“Yeah, she looks like something.”
Xander glanced over at him. “You’ve got one of your own, I hear. Drusilla?”
“Yeah. Ran afoul of a mob in Prague, figured the Hellmouth might perk ‘er up a bit.”
“Best place for it,” Xander agreed. “She’s Angelus’ child, right?”
Hadn’t heard that name in a long damn time. “Yeah, what of it?”
“Oh, nothing.” But there was this little smirk around his lips that said he knew more than he was telling. Spike briefly considered pressing for more, then remembered the way Angelus was acting the last time they’d run into him, a hundred-odd years or so ago, and decided the wanker wasn’t worth it.
They sat in silence a while, drinking their respective drinks. Spike was thinking again that he should have brought Dru with him- she’d have gotten off on all the energy from this place. Glancing toward where Willow was dancing, he thought that Dru would have liked her. He took a moment to enjoy a brief fantasy of the two of them dancing, his dark wicked princess and this fiery witch-demon, and then enjoyed a longer one of the two of them doing something a lot more intimate.
But as he was watching, another vampire slid into the empty space where Willow was dancing and wrapped his arms around her. Tall, thin, wearing dark clothes like every freaking one in here but in blue jeans and cotton instead of the more common leather, and frankly, Spike thought he looked like a mealy-mouthed twit. But Willow didn’t seem to mind his company, because she smiled and rubbed up against him like a cat in heat. That smile sent shivers down Spike’s spine, it was so crazy, and he knew from crazy, after a hundred and twenty-odd years of Dru.
He glanced over at Xander, to see how the vamp was taking his girl being all over some other guy. Xander had shifted to his demon face, and was growling in that chest-deep sub-vocal thing that was more suggestion that actual sound.
“You know him, mate?” Spike said, maintaining a carefully neutral tone. No need to set off any tempers.
“No,” Xander said. “One of the fledges that wander in and out all the fucking time. Then again, Willow’s not real picky when she’s in one of her moods.”
Spike winced. Yeah, he got that. Dru’d hooked up with some real lowlifes in her time, when she was miffed at Spike or sometimes just because her dollies had told her to. Vampires weren’t big on fidelity, as a rule, but it still burned when it happened.
“Want to head somewhere else?” Spike suggested. “Got some Jack D in my car.”
Xander considered it for a moment, glanced over at the gyrating couple, and slugged back his drink before turning back to Spike. “Sure. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
They walked the three blocks to where Spike had parked his car in silence, and when they got there Spike slid behind the wheel before Xander could. No one driving his baby but him, that’s for damn sure. Took them out to the city limits, where it was quiet and still, parked and dug around in the back until he found the box full of alcohol he knew he’d left back there.
The alcohol loosened up their tongues some, and after the first couple bottles they were exchanging lewd jokes and singing all the obscene drinking songs they could think of. A couple bottles later and they were leaning precariously against each other and drinking in silence.
“I’ve always been love’s bitch,” Spike said finally. “Didn’t change much after I died, either. Makes it hard to be a proper vamp when I’m always chasing after a girl who’s bat-shit insane.”
“Know what you mean,” Xander said, raising his bottle in a half-hearted toast. “To our girls. They may drive us out of our minds sometimes, but we love ‘em anyway.”
“To our girls,” Spike said, and slugged back his drink. “You know, mate, for a kid vamp you’re not too bad.”
“And you’re not too bad for a has-been,” Xander retorted, grinning at him. Spike snarled, showing fang, and Xander outright laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I hurt your feelings?”
“Sod off,” Spike growled. “’m not a fucking has-been. Wanker.”
“Whatever, old man,” Xander said, still grinning. “I mean, you used to be all Scourge-y or whatever the fuck, and now nobody who doesn’t read history books has heard of you. It’s sad, is what it is.”
“I killed a Slayer not thirty years ago!” Spike said, seriously offended.
“I wasn’t even born yet,” Xander said dismissively. “There’s been very little rape and pillage in this unlifetime. Face it, you’ve been forgotten.”
“Is that right?” Spike growled. He was just pissed enough, in both the American and British meanings of the word, to do something really soddin’ stupid.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Xander drawled. Spike lunged across the seat and pulled Xander into a brutal, punishing kiss.
Yeah, something like that.
Xander didn’t seem to mind. He gave a little happy growl low in his throat and kissed Spike back, one hand fisted in the front of his t-shirt and the other sliding downwards and opening his fly with one-handed ease that could only come with long practice.
Spike pulled away, panting for unneeded breath. “You sure you wanna do this?”
“Less talk, more fucking,” Xander said, and twisted around till his head was in Spike’s lap and his pretty, pretty mouth was wrapped around Spike’s cock.
Fine by him.
When Spike woke up the next morning, he found himself sprawled out in the backseat of the DeSoto, alone with himself and an empty whiskey bottle. Xander was nowhere to be seen, which made sense considering the fact that Spike could feel daylight burning just past the sheltering black-painted glass. Xander was probably holed up in his lair with his girl, which is exactly where Spike would be if he hadn’t fucking fallen asleep.
Dragging himself upright, he took stock. Still a mite drunk, which was to be expected. Covered in healing scratches and bites, also expected. Alone, which he’d already noticed.
Overall, he felt better than ever. His head was clear for what felt like the first time in months, ever since Dru had almost been killed by that fucking mob in Prague. He could think again, and for that he was grateful that he’d run into Xander the night before.
It had been fun. And now, he was going to go back to his Princess, and he was going to figure out a way to make her all better.
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