Disclaimer: A full disclaimer can be found here, but please be assured that none of this is mine.
Rating: NC-17 overall
Summary: A collection of drabbles written based on my memories of New Orleans and what I think would happen if the boys took a little trip.
New Orleans Drabbles
He couldn’t believe they were actually there. It had taken months to convince Xander, but they were in New Orleans. Without the Scoobies.
Months of the Slayer insisting that Spike was manipulating Xander, big word for the bint, of Red claiming that she was going to stake him, of Giles glaring disapprovingly over his glasses at them.
Alone, at last.
Xander was happy. He was dancing around the room, begging Spike, “Hurry, let’s go!” Spike wondered if there was any way to convince the boy to stay in bed all week.
Fat chance when there were beads to be had…
The Back Room
Sweat covered their bodies. Spike just as shiny and damp as Xander. The crowd of humanity around him raised his body temperature to almost normal, lending their own unique smells to his soft, pale skin. He could see the images that the musicians were carving in the air. Old men, crowded into the corner of the room, play their clarinets, trumpets, saxophones... He hasn’t had music touch his soul like this in years. Dark brown skin shines and Spike wonders if, in his previous life, he would have turned these men, just to keep their woven images in his mind.
“Alligator wrestling here! Come see how you fare!” The man’s voice is loud over the crowd. Xander knows that the man is lying, simply drawing the attention of the crowd, pulling them closer so that he can quietly invite them in to see the lovelies that linger in the dark rooms behind the shaded glass. Spike reaches out and tugs Xander toward him, stopping to watch two women climb into a vat; their shirts tossed to the side as cool, sticky mud covers them. Rounded breasts sway and drunks line up to watch as water pours out to clean them.
The wall is smooth and cold as his bare back is pressed against it. His pale legs wrap around his lover as the sharks move in closer. He can feel Xander’s pulse throbbing in his ass and clenches tighter. Xander looks ethereal. The reflections from the water dance across his skin, changing its warm tones to cool, harsh blues and greens. They have to hurry, Spike can hear a band of children coming to experience what it is like to be under the water, walking with the sharks. Xander’s panting becomes louder and he grunts, flooding Spike with his warmth.
They’re lucky the stand opens so early. Xander looks in the plate glass window and watches as they knead the dough with their bare hands, tossing handfuls into the large rolling tub of oil. As the pieces cook, they lift to the surface and are plucked up by the cook. Spike is desperate to share this delicacy with his love. Xander bites into the sweet, greasy bread, layers of sugar dropping to dust his thighs in a coat of white. Spike leans in and begins removing the powdered sugar from his mate’s lips, one sweet, slow lick at a time.
It is finally time. Spike has dressed himself and Xander carefully; they will attract attention in their leather and silk. A bit of black around the eyes, a dab of color to the lips and Spike is ready to teach his mate how to gather Mardi Gras beads.
On the street, Xander gapes at the bright lights and shimmering bodies. All around them, women lift their shirts, but more often than not, it is Spike that collects the bright baubles, a sultry smirk aimed at men who would rather pretend that their bodies were not reacting to the charismatic blond.
Xander is shoved roughly to the side by a huge monster of a man who is aiming to have Spike. The hyena roars furiously as the outsider touches his mate and Xander finds himself wrapped around the man’s neck, muttering warnings of pain and destruction into a fat ear. Xander drops back and the man backs away, hands up.
Spike’s eyes widen and he abandons a handful of beads in the street, not noticing when a pack of screaming females swoop down to claim them. His mate has protected him, has claimed him publicly and the demon is screaming. Mine!
Xander is pressed up against the rough wall, his cheek bleeding slightly from the forceful contact. Spike lifts onto his toes and licks the trail of blood, groaning at the taste of his love. Xander’s leather pants rip under Spike’s forceful ministrations. Soon, Xander feels a slick, cool length invade his body. Spike pounds into his mate, whispers sliding past Xander’s ears. “Love you always… Mine… Yours…” Pleasure and pain join together to torture Xander and he screams out his pleasure. The crowd continues to dance past, not ten feet away and instead of dirty or wrong, Xander feels loved.
Spike is the one that found it, of course. A tiny shop with no sign and glass windows so dirty that no light can filter into the musty space. Through the heavy wooden door, down several worn steps and he looks around, amazed. There are millions of books. Not organized by author or title, not dusted daily to keep them healthy, not even all on shelves. The store smells of old paper and rich tobacco and Xander falls in love with the place. Spike races up to him, an excited puppy, waving a book, a rare first edition of poetry.
They’re back again. Xander is uncomfortable with the people and would rather stand in the alley. How they found this place the first time is something that stumps him. It must have been magic, because who would come down a dark alley that ended abruptly, guarded by a black iron gate? Smoke hangs heavily from the ceiling, little escaping through the single door at the back of the room. They’re just setting up, not playing yet, and Xander knows that he should complain now, because once they start playing, he will be lost in the music, uncaring of the crowd.
It’s daytime and he is too hyper to sleep. He needs this. He needs to see them in the sunlight. In the dark, the balconies seem simply to be accessories for the dancers, whores and barkers, but during the day he can see the artistry behind them, the years of wear that has carved and changed them, making each an original piece of art. Some have vines growing over them, heavy, fragrant flowers weighing them down. Some are polished to a high shine, expensive pieces of furniture lined up behind them. Some are bedraggled and worn. They are all beautiful.
He comes out for more Beignet. He is about a block away from the shop, able to smell the delightful odor of frying dough when an unusual tapping noise grabs his attention. There on the sidewalk are two small boys, their skin the color of heavily creamed coffee. Both are dancing. Their feet are moving in lazy steps and Xander can see the natural talent in each child. One of them stops and reaches down to grab what looks like a bottle top from the ground. He reattaches it to the bottom of his shoe and the dance begins again.
This isn’t where he wants to spend his vacation away from the Hellmouth, away from patrolling. Not here, not in a cemetery.
“You’re not looking at it right, Xan! Look around you! Look at the architecture!”
Xander snarls. Spike is not supposed to manipulate him with his love of all things built. But he stops and looks. In the moonlight, shadows are everywhere. Marble walls surround him and he begins to see the small touches that make New Orleans’s cemeteries so unusual.
Angels, demons, prayers carved into stone. Flowers, climbing vines, headstones carved by hand centuries ago, stone walkways.
She was evil. Xander could feel it deep within his soul, but he kept quiet. She was going to help Spike. Going to fix him so that Xander could be claimed properly. So he waits impatiently as she touches his mate, fingering loose, blond curls. It infuriates him. No one should see his mate’s curls but him. Fury boils inside as she caresses strong cheekbones. He growls when she runs a single finger over a distended ridge brow and he lunges when Spike shrieks. She waves absently at him and he can’t move, can’t save his mate. His Spike. Mine!
Xander is screaming in his mind. Nothing is moving, not even a twitch, not even a blink. His eyes are trained on Spike and the vampire is wailing and writhing in pain.
The pain itself is palpable. Xander can feel it, taste it in the air. He is breathing then. Briefly he wonders how he can breathe but not blink. Spike’s scream changes. It becomes more animalistic and Xander feels himself break free from the bonds of majick holding him.
His voice returns and he is howling and moving towards the witch who is now weak, falling to her knees.
Spike wondered if this was it, if this was when he would meet final death. He heard Xander growl when the witch touched his face, then the pain started.
Blinding, agonizing, no words could adequately describe the feeling. He couldn’t think, words were gone. Pictures and scents followed and soon he was completely blind and deaf. He couldn’t feel anything but the pain, nothing existed but the pain.
He had been wallowing in agony for years, decades, centuries. It made no difference, because there was only the pain.
Suddenly, the pain was gone, the witch was down and Xander attacked.
Spike watched Xander. He seemed to be moving in slow motion.
The witch fell to the ground and Xander found himself on top of her. His fist pummeled into her body over and over. He rose, dragging her up by her shirt. His voice rang through the cemetery, “How dare you! He’s mine! You don’t touch, you don’t hurt what is mine!”
Each word was followed by a wet squishing sound and, as Spike watched Xander, the pain in his head began to diminish. The witch was begging, pleading. “Please, please, I could not remove it without pain! Consort, please!”
Spike roared and threw himself at the witch. “You are too familiar! You forget yourself!” He wrapped an arm around her neck. “Apologize for your temerity.”
Spike released her and she fell to the ground at Xander’s feet. Her voice shook and she wondered at her own impudence. Why had she thought herself capable of removing William the Bloody’s leash? She would die this night.
She looked at the ground, studying Xander’s feet. “Sorry, so sorry, would never think myself…” Xander didn’t look away as his mate drained the life from her quaking body.
He didn’t care. Spike was whole.
Guilt (or lack thereof)
Spike looks at the beauty before him. He can feel the witch’s energy flowing through his body. Unrepentant joy fills him and he throws his head back, howling out his freedom. He stands, still licking the rich fluid from his mouth, his long tongue catching Xander’s eye.
Xander watches Spike howl, wondering when the loss of life will hit him. But the guilt is nowhere to be found. What he feels is joy. Spike is free, wild and beautiful as he howls. When that long tongue snakes out to catch a ruby droplet, Xander moans.
Lips meet, arms tangle… Joy
Spike pushes Xander away. “Have to do it, love. Need it now.”
Xander nods, panting. He grabs Spike’s hand, pulling his lover away from the body on the ground.
They look towards a mausoleum, but silently agree that they want the stars to help them celebrate.
Clothes drop to the ground. Once nude, their bodies twine. Kisses are exchanged, limbs caressed. Spike feels goofy, the smile on his face aching in its intensity. They find themselves standing quietly in the embrace, grinning.
“I love you, vampire mine.”
Xander tilts his head and Spike’s fangs slide smoothly into his skin.
They walk through town on their way back to their bed and breakfast. The throbbing nightlife surrounds them, but neither is aware of anything outside themselves.
Spike pulls Xander to a stop and burrows his head into Xander’s neck, seeking out his mark. He laves the scarred skin; a perfect set of teeth, incisors piercing deeper, wider, than the others.
Xander moans and allows his head to drop back, giving Spike better access. He sighs happily as Spike licks him. A purr is rumbling out of Spike’s chest and both men are smiling.
Such a simple thing. A bite. Happiness.
The Phone Call
“Hey! Yeah, Wills, it’s me.”
“Oh it’s gorgeous! There are vines and flowers everywhere. The architecture and music are just beautiful. You would be amazed at the magicks that… What?”
“No, no vamps. Well, there’s Spike.”
“Willow, I’d really appreciate…”
“Wills! I’m not…”
“Willow! Listen to me. We got the chip fried.”
“When you calm down, I’ll finish. No! I don’t want to…”
“Buffy, shut up and listen. I have something for you to tell Giles. Spike has claimed me and the changes have already started. We won’t be back to Sunnydale for a while.”
“Willow? I love you. Bye.”
The tears are warm and salty as Spike cleans them off of his lover’s cheeks. In between licks, murmured words escape.
“Love you so much.”
The tears eventually stop and the licks become something more, something deeper. Spike lifts Xander’s legs, just enough to position himself. Soft, smooth thrusts, face to face, heart to heart.
Xander groans into Spike’s mouth, loving the feeling of his mate filling him. “Spike, claim me again, please, need…”
Fangs slip back into the fiery mark and blunt teeth break cool skin.
Blood flavored kisses taste twice as sweet.
“I’m not sure about this.” Xander looked at the item in his hand skeptically.
Spike laughed and proceeded to rip the head off of his crawfish before sticking it into his mouth and sucking hard.
Xander’s skin tone changed slightly and the crawfish that he was holding dropped from his numb fingers and fell to the newspaper-covered table. “That is truly revolting.”
Spike grinned and stuck his fingers onto the body of the tiny creature, tearing it open and shoving the recovered meat into his mouth.
Xander’s eyes widened and Spike laughed as his green-tinged mate raced for the bathroom.
Spike sat outside the heavy door, knocking his head against it with a reassuring thud. “Xan, please!” Spike sighed. “Please, love, let me in!”
Silence was his only answer and he cursed himself for laughing. “I didn’t mean it, Xander! C’mon!” Spike moaned and hit his head against the door once more.
“Xander! Let me in!” Spike listened closely. The sounds of the night carried through, the hum of people dancing, laughing and drinking, a vampire’s dream, but all he could hear was the throb of Xander’s heart pulsing with pain and anger on the other side of the door.
Xander sniffed. Something smelled amazing. It was outside the room, where Spike was still waiting to be let in. Xander climbed out of bed and crept towards the door. Spike had quit trying to talk his way in about half an hour before, but Xander hadn’t been ready to forgive him. He pressed his nose up against the crack and felt his stomach rumble uncomfortably. Beignet. Xander grinned and threw open the door, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to Spike’s lips before grabbing the bag from his hands and retreating back into the room. Spike followed behind happily, finally forgiven.
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