Xander (Spander eventually)
[info]wordclaim50 prompt #3 Angst, word: whisper
Post NFA/Chosen
Warning: Drug use!

My Sweet Prince

Pirate Purple

Part One

I closed my eye as the needle pierced my vein. Almost a year in Africa, and this was the only bliss to be had. I’d traded everything I was for this short surcease from pain. Now they were sending me to L.A. to collect what was left after Angel’s big burnout. I laughed to myself, and a large brown hand slapped my side for disturbing the needle. A brown hand that moved to fondle the softness between my legs. I did too much of this stuff to really get hard anymore, but that didn’t really matter to most of them. I was compliant after a good fix, and that was what counted.

I woke up later, not sure how much later, to an insistent beeping from the cell phone. Willow, I had missed my flight, was I okay? I washed my face in the tepid water in the basin next to my cot. My stuff was all packed already. Gustaphe must have done it for me. Or Leonne, whichever one had been here last night. My sweet princes, bringing me painless nights.

I got on the flight to L.A.. Everything was too bright. I’d call Will when I got there and get my instructions.

Leftover mellow from last night whispers in my veins. How hard can it be to get morphine in L.A.?

Part Two

I was in a human bar on the seedy side of town when he found me. I had decided to find my fix before I called Willow. Well, morphine was kind of hard to get, so I’d taken off the edge with something else. Heroin, maybe? I'm not really sure. Anyway it had turned into a long enough binge that Willow had traced my credit card to find out where I had flown to, and Giles had given in and told them he was alive.

But no-one had told me. When his game face confronted me, I thought I had died and gone to hell.

“Not in hell yet, whelp, but you will be tomorrow.” I must have spoken out loud. Still, his voice brought back memories, memories I wasn’t ready for. The tears started to pour down my face. Anya. All those potentials that had died. Little girls. The slayers in Africa, I’d seen killed by their own people in the most terrible ways, because they were thought possessed. Spike being burned up from the inside. I couldn’t get away from that one.

“You’re dead.” My voice came out as a harsh whisper. God I needed something to drink. He brought a semi-clean glass of water to my lips, which I gulped, and then choked on. He sat me up and pounded my back until I stopped choking. Mind reader, much?

Now slightly more coherent, I sat up on my own. “Why are you here?” My voice rasped. I must have been screaming at some point.

“That’s a long story, mate. Longer than I intend to spend on your flabby arse.”

“I mean here, now? Why did you come to find me?” I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn’t hold me. My eyes rolled back in my head, and it was all black again.

Part Three

I woke to the chiming of church bells close by.

“They’re r-r-ringing for V-v-v-vespers.” My roommate explained, as if that meant anything to me. I looked blankly at the man in the next bed. He was junkie-thin, and obviously strung out, judging by the shakes that wracked his whole body.

“Where am I?” I had no earthly idea how I had gotten here.

“Th-this is St. Ann’s.” said the guy in the know, pushing greasy hair out of his eyes. “It’s a d-drug rehab c-clinic. A blonde m-man with a b-b-big leather jacket b-brought you here. I d-d-don’t th-think he left his name.”

“Spike,” I said, more to myself than to him. I wondered what he had told the girls and Giles. I was wearing a pair of characterless blue pajamas, and my clothes and things were nowhere in sight. I got out of bed and went to the bathroom.

My clothes were clean, in a locker in the bathroom. Keys, cell phone, everything was there. I put the clothes on and put everything in an appropriate pocket. I shrugged on my jacket. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Fighting, and making it look like some kind of ultra-violent dance, drunk when Drusilla left him, pale and resigned, the evening before he died for us. Only, for some reason, he wasn’t a pile of dust.

They gave me some static on the way out. Trying to get me to sign forms and the rest, but I just ignored them. The burning in my veins had already started, and I wanted answers before I had to find my next fix.

I had to find him, and know why.

Part Four

I found Spike in an alley across from the clinic, hidden from the sun by a deep doorway. There was a pile of cigarette butts on the ground, as if Spike had been tidily keeping them all together. Spike just stared at me like I was a stranger.

Maybe I am. I thought. I opened and closed my mouth a few times, wanting to break the silence, but unable to say anything.

Spike looked away, finally. “How long?” was all he said.

There was only one thing he could be talking about. “My second week in Africa, I got bitten by a snake. Not enough poison to kill me, but enough that the pain was unbearable. They gave me morphine.” It went without saying that I hadn’t stopped using it since.

“You should stay at the clinic. They can help you.”

“I don’t want help. Done being the one who gets saved.”

Spike looked back up at me. “What do you want from me, then?” he asked, sharply.

“Nothing. You found me, remember?”

Spike thought about that for a few moments, and apparently decided it didn’t require a comment. He took out his pack, lit two cigarettes, and gave one to me. We waited out the sun in silence. Spike looked, but didn’t comment, when I started to shake. When the sun finally went down he issued a short, “C’mon!” and strode out of the alley and down the street. I followed, sweating in spite of the cool night.

We stopped at a bar a few blocks down, called the Cassiopeia, and Spike had a quiet conversation with a man at the end of the bar. The man shook his head, but gave Spike a slip of paper. Spike glanced at it, shoved it in his pocket, and dragged me out of the bar. We grabbed a taxi to an apartment building on the seedy side of town. I paid with my Council credit card. I waited in the hall while Spike talked to whoever was inside. I tried to control my shaking, but it was getting worse, and waves of heavy nausea rolled over me, leaving me limp and sweaty in their wake. The hallways smelled of piss and vomit, and it wasn’t helping. Finally, Spike opened the door, tsked at me, and helped me up from where I had slid down the wall.

Spike practically had to carry me to the no-tell motel across the street. Spike paid for an hour with money from my pocket. The room was filthy, but oddly, the sheets smelled clean when Spike laid me down on the bed. Spike was oddly gentle as he took my coat off and rolled up my sleeve. He took a brown paper bag out of his pocket, and dumped out on the bed. There was a new set of works, and a little baggie with some powder in it. I watched as Spike carefully prepared the needle.

“You’ve done this before.” I whispered. It wasn’t a question.

“Used to give Dru laudanum, when she’d had a bad spell.”

“Why are you doing this for me?”

“Can’t let you get killed on my watch. Looks bad under ‘Hero’ on the resume.” Spike smirked.

I grinned back, but wondered what the real reason was. And then my eyes rolled back in ecstasy, as the first wave of high hit me, and I forgot to be worried.

Part Five

I woke up, naked, in what seemed to be Spike’s apartment, still pleasantly high, but not out of it. Good stuff, whatever it was. Spike was sitting in the window, smoking and looking down at the street. I sat up. You could see the city spread out from the window like a night sky in reverse. Spike lit me a cigarette. I got out of bed and went to the window to get it.

“Need a fix?” Spike carefully blew several smoke rings. He wasn’t wearing his duster, shirt or boots.

“Nah…” I was mesmerized, between the twinkling not-sky, and the rings of smoke that seemed to expand until they contained the whole of it. “I'm good…” I leaned out the window; wanting to get closer to the twinkling, let it fill me up so I wouldn’t be so dark inside. My cigarette fell from between my outstretched fingers as I reached for it. Spike grabbed my arm, as I nearly tumbled out the window, and I fell into his lap instead. The cool skin of his chest felt good against my back. I leaned back and rested my head on his shoulder, scrunching a little to fit my larger frame inside his smaller one. He stroked my hip, and held his cigarette to my lips. I took a drag, and we sat there for a while smoking and watching the not-sky.

“What is this stuff?” I had to ask. Whatever it was, it had replaced my morphine habit forever. I wanted more.

“It’s called Khallia. Powderized ft’shar beetle carapace. Tzerloks brought it to this dimension when they came. They breed the beetles for it, now.”

“I like it.” I tried to copy the smoke rings Spike had done before.

“Me too, pet.” Spike was stroking my hip and thigh with long, rhythmic sweeps of his hand. It was soothing and arousing at the same time. I squirmed. A stray vesper breeze made all the hair on my body stand straight up, and I shivered.

“It makes vampires high too?” My shivers made Spike groan, and press his hips against me. Spike was hard. That shouldn’t be making me hard, but it was.

“Yeah…” Spike indulged in a full-body stretch, lifting us both up off the window seat. I tentatively pressed my hips back into his. Ooh, that felt good. When he relaxed, I ran my hands up the insides of his thighs.

“Mmm… You sure you want to go there, pet?” He ran both hands up my sides, and began to trace my nipples. I moaned, arching into the touch.

“No, I'm not sure, but I'm pretty certain I won’t need much convincing.”

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