Fandom: BtVS Characters/Pairings: Spike/Xander, OMC, future Spike/Xander/OMC Rating: PG Prompt/Challenge:tamingthemuse: Apotheosis, September Inanimate Object & kissbingo: Type: eskimo Warnings: None Disclaimer: I don't own. Really. A/N: Hmm, my mind is an odd place. Yes it is.
They were back again. He wasn't sure if he should be upset or not. Sometimes he hated them with a fire that seemed to burn endlessly. Other times he envied them, their freedom and their love. And occasionally he craved their company, a brief respite from the years of loneliness. They were his walking contradictions, a mix of good and bad, light and dark, love and hate and he couldn't see not having them there.
Today was an envy day. He watched as the smaller one, Spike his mind whispered, pushed the other one, Xander, against the wall, bodies pressed together seamlessly. Xander didn't fight the rough treatment, didn't try to break away from the grip on his arms. He just stared at Spike, his eyes sparkling with emotion. Then Spike leaned impossibly closer and their lips met in a kiss beyond words, beyond worlds. Love, lust, need, desire, fear, perfection all poured through the motion and the room. Their connection was vivid, visceral, something he longed for. When Spike pulled back and brushed his nose against Xander's in a chaste kiss the want, need, longing welled up and threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed it down ruthlessly. That was something he would never have again.
He had it once, eons ago. Once he had been revered across the lands as a god. He had ruled fairly just and fair, doing his best for the people that worshipped him and in turn he wanted for nothing. Women and men threw themselves at him, bodies lush and ripe, and he never lacked companionship. There was always a touch somewhere on his body, hands stroking, lips tasting, hair teasing. He had thought it would never end; his powers should have kept him safe for eternity. But that's not the way that life works.
And like so often in history, it was his closest friend that turned on him.
The candles burned fitfully along the walls, but he didn't notice them. All his attention was focused on the woman leading him down the hallway. She was beauty incarnated. A divine seductress in mortal form and he loved her more than anything on the earth. She was his everything. Her hand was on his arm as they made their way down the ever-darkening corridors and the feel of her warmth blinded him to the dangers his mind tried to scream about.
The room she led him into was not one they often used. He had never been one for torture scenes, or torture plainly, but it was something she wanted and he would give into any of her whims. He didn't fight as she strapped him to the table, his body held tight by chains and leather. He didn't fight as she climbed atop him, settling against his hips and leaning forward to meld their mouths in a scorching kiss. He didn't fight until he felt the smooth slide of the blade into his flesh, past his ribcage and deep into his heart. He could only stare up at her as she sat back and watch the blood run out of him.
"It's my turn," she said with a small smile. Blinking back tears of pain, he kept his eyes on her as she leaned over and picked something up off a nearby table. "I know that you will try to avenge yourself. I would if it were me. But I can't let that happen. Resurrection would be far too easy for you to accomplish, so I found a way around killing you."
She placed the small statue, a representation of him, on his chest and covered it in blood. Then she began to chant. He could feel her power fill the room, heavy on everything. And then he could feel his spirit, his soul being drawn into the statue.
"Why?" he finally managed to say, his mind finally connecting to his mouth.
"Why?" she giggled, her eyes bright with madness. "Because I should have been the God! My powers are so much greater than yours. And I hold the ultimate power within my body: the power of life itself."
"You're insane," he gasped, then stilled. The body on the table was now nothing but a soulless husk.
She absently petted the statue while she whispered and giggled. "Mine. Mine. Mine."
A bellow of rage followed by a yelp and a snarl broke through is memories of the past and he turned his attention back to the present in time to see a large demon crash through the doors. A check on his boys showed Spike had shoved Xander behind him and the dark haired man had grabbed a sword. The demon didn't hesitate and rushed across the room. Spike met it head on in a crash of flesh and bone. The fight became a blur of motion and he could hear low whimpers from Xander mixed with strange whines and growls. The mortal had moved closer to him and he could feel the fear for Spike and anger at the desecration of a sacred place radiating off Xander.
Suddenly anger like he had not felt in years filled him. These were his boys and no brainless spawn of a hell dimension was going to hurt them. As the anger filled him his powers flexed and expanded, sending out a wave that flowed through and around Xander and Spike but hit the demon full force, exploding, disintegrating, destroying it totally. As the power returned to him he wished he had the luxury of panting in exertion. He was beyond exhausted but his boys were safe.
"What the bloody hell was that, love?" Spike asked, and pulled Xander tight to him.
"The statue," Xander said slowly, gesturing to the small figurine perched on the pedestal. "It did it."
"I don't know," the mortal admitted. "But I could feel the power from it. More powerful than Willow."
"It didn't hurt us."
"No, it didn't. I think it wanted to help us."
"How should I know, blondie," Xander snarked, batting at the back of Spike's head. "What should we do?"
Spike stared at the statue in contemplation. "I think we should take it home with us."
"Yeah, well get Tara to check it out, make sure it's not bad mojo," the vampire decided. He reached out and picked up the heavy statue, feeling the power thrumming through it. He realized he could feel the happiness as his hand wrapped around it. Interesting.
His boys had taken him home with them. He didn't even feel angry that they brought in a witch to examine him. He had shuddered and wished he could press into her touch as her powers washed over him, clean and light. And in the vault of his mind he heard her promise to look for a way for him to communicate with them. Internally he sobbed in joy.
The boys put him on their mantel in the large mansion they lived in. They touched him everyday, casual glancing brushes of their fingers that soothed the ache that had built inside. They spoke to him, telling him of themselves and the town. They cared for him, loved him. And one day he would be able to show that he returned that love. He was home.