This is what happens when you mix Placebo's song "Every you Every me" with a tired Shrew.
Very dark pair of drabbles looking at Spike and Xander's relationship. So not fluff.
My boy is crying. Quiet sobs, exquisite pain I wish I could bottle. Beautiful like that, he is. Broken, naked, sprawled across the concrete floor like a fallen angel. One that I just fucked. Hear that, God? I just fucked one of your angels – mine now, twisted and bent to fit in my palm, irreversibly altered.
Drusilla can shove her bloody ‘effulgence’ – I have the embodiment of the word now, lying at my feet. I kneel beside him, smile.
“My Xander, so pretty when you’re dying,”
Make no mistake, he is dying. I should know. I’m the one killing him.
He sits, eats popcorn, laughs with Dawn and I wonder if I’m the only one who remembers what he is. The others seem happy to let him sit among us. All charm, snark, echoes of humanity he once had.
I want to scream. Want to show them pictures of three year old girls with blonde curls and glassy eyes, chunk of flesh ripped from their necks whilst they were sleeping – dead, their mother’s screaming, all because of his whim. Spike has no soul, he has no remorse.
And last night, I let him fuck me. Loved him.
Somebody save me.
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