So, I got hawk_soaring to give me five more prompts for Puppy Love. I know, I know, the story is over, but this last bit is really short, little vignettes, five of them: Cold, Snoring, White, Damaged and Open. Now as you all know I have a tendency to write not happy things. This is about the future, far off in the future, no dates are mentioned, no time, but it's still sad. I warn you, it's SAD.
Now, I've left it open to keep writing more Puppy Love if the mood strikes, because you just don't know how long it takes for each of the vignettes to happen, could be thousands of years, could be a couple, who knows? Please, read, guess, comment, enjoy. I hope all those that loved Puppy Love will enjoy these little tidbits.
Appropriate Ratings: NC17 overall, this chapter..... R
Warnings: M/m, the usual warnings of kink and such, but it's a really tame chapter. Buy a box of tissues.
Disclaimers: Not my characters. I make no money off this, I'm just playing. I promise to give them a bath and thorough cleaning when I’m done! Joss Whedon is my lord and Master. All hail Joss Whedon.
Beta: purpledodah and laazikaat
Concrit: always welcome in comments, e-mail or MSN, whichever.
He stirred in his sleep, cold, asleep. Spike got up and smiled, he went to the fireplace and built a high pyre of fire, setting it off in a spark and blowing on the embers until it caught. He pumped a small bellows, quickly building the fire, soon Xander’s shaking ceased. He added more wood to the pyre and got into bed, holding his boy who snuggled. He smiled and covered them in heavy blankets, the castle a bit draughty. He petted his boy till he stopped shivering and snuggled with him to sleep as he relaxed. All this time, together. Would they last forever? He dreamed so, sometimes. A charm, a scar, something to keep him whole as he’s changed. He would never dare change the boy without something being done to keep him whole... what a sap he’d become in his old age.
Spike impatiently jabbed Xander in the side as the man snored. “Swear, it’s getting worse by the year” His boy was older, markedly, but didn’t look near old enough for how old he was, a gift of the binding, but he was aging. Spike kept him to a strict diet and exercise regimen, and he looked damned good for his age, bulging in all the right places.
But now he was snoring, he elbows his boy sharply once more, finally making him turn, unfortunately on his front, and he snored all over again. “Daft git, gonna gag him tomorrow!” He swore and rolled over, knowing chances were good he’d invest in an anti snoring mouth guard more than another gag, boy had to breathe after all. He sighed and closed his eyes, maybe he’d send the boy out for a few hours, have a nap. That sounded like a plan.
He stayed up the rest of the night to the comforting sound of Xander snoring.
His eyes were white, milky, clouded. He couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, never mind his lover’s, but he still remembered the eyes, those beautiful blue eyes. They introduced themselves as father and son now, no choice anymore, they couldn’t pass for the lovers they were. They still held hands and kisseds to each other under cover, never letting on their relationship, but Xander was failing.
His age showed in palsied shakes of his hands, white eyes and crooked back. Even with the pain of his back Xander never stopped his woodwork, Spike entered his workshop and looked over his latest carving, made through fogged eyes and fingers marking out what needs to be removed. Everything was carved out but one block, Spike kissed his white hair “A while yet before that,” he whispered.
“Just want to be prepared.” He got up, finished, and gets to work on his big piece, a casket, all hand-made.
“A while before that too. Can’t you just relax?”
“Spike... during the days have you wondered where I was going? To the doctors, brain lesion, tumour really.”
Spike kissed his head. “I know,” he said hoarsely. “But you got time.”
“I got six weeks.”
Spike held him and cried and cried and cried, his love, his life, oh no.
He cried. He cried for days, lost in a confusion of alcohol, pills, smoke and grief. He could find only one word for how he felt, broken, damaged, demolished. Xander his life, his love, the one he bound to his very existence and he was gone. In his sleep, aneurysm the doctors said, best not to cut him up for old age taking its toll. Spike screamed and howled, ripping off his clothes, his other half gone gone gone and nothing there to take the space. He cried and cried from days to nights to days, never sober, letting darkness take him as he finally OD’s enough to knock him out for a couple of days.
The casket was open, that’s how he’d built it so that’s how they used it. Willow was there, her wife Sakina with her. The rest were gone, even the broodmiester had passed into a human death after becoming Shashu’ed, apparently you couldn’t sign away your destiny. The frail tiny witch cried huge tears, shaking as she looked at him. But he looked at peace, not in pain for the first time in a long time, and Spike thought he deserved that, and his friends should see it, after his long spiral into hell before he died. At one point, Spike had asked him, if he wanted to be released, he’d shaken his head and smiled. “I want to die. I lived Spike, especially with you, I lived... I want to die in peace, please, no last minute speeches, no last minute cures, no mystical cures, nothing.... it’s time Spike. I’ve had longer than any human, even the ones in the bible, and I lived well with you, I don’t want to darken my past by trying to run away from a future I knew would one day come. I love you Spike.” He kissed him. And soon after that, he was gone.
First thing Spike had done was open the windows, free his spirit into the heavens. He waited half a day, then called the arrangements in. And there he was, in an open casket he’d carved with his rheumy eyes yet agile hands for himself, the date carved into the headstone by alien hands that had crafted the rest of it. It was elegant, but subdued, like most of his work these days. His friends wished him safe travels, candles were lit, flowers were left, prayers said and sermons spoken, he was gone.
“Goodbye sweet prince, you’ll be joined in the dawn.”