Rating: NC-17
Summary: Xander is a master of discipline.
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Disclaimer: I own nothing… I’m just a pervert using the toys to play with. I promise to clean them off and give them back when I’m done.
A/N: This goes out to Sajinn… without her it would never have been possible to carry this fic this far.




He’s been here for more than a year now. Buffy sent him to live with me; she feared what living so close to the Hell-Mouth would do to him; she brought him to me, to take care of, to cherish. I didn’t want him here, didn’t want him living with me, invading my space. I knew what he’d done, I knew what he was, I didn’t want him anywhere near me, but… Buffy won out in the end. Just like she always does, she batted those pretty hazel eyes, and I was putty in her hand, being the noble White Knight once again, trying to fix the problems of my friends… even if this problem did come in the form of a not so evil Soulful Chipped Vampire.


I pretty much ignored him the first few weeks and it was always the same. He’d be sitting on the floor, rocking, crying, blue eyes shining with tears. I didn’t have the patience for it. I yelled at him, insulted him, made fun of him, and he’d still be crying, but he’d pick himself up and go to his little closet, and close the door, so I wouldn’t be privy to his misery. He wanted to be alone and miserable.

I’m not sure when anything changed. He was regaining his dignity, his poise, that damnable self-confidence, he was going out, coming home smelling like perfume, so I know he was meeting girls, and something inside me just broke open. The Soulful one could go out and meet girls and me; I was stuck at home alone, all the time alone. Still I don’t think he noticed much of anything. I stopped insulting him, stopped baiting him, and stopped ignoring him, sometimes he almost seemed like his old self, until the day it all seemed to break around his ears.

I remember coming home from work, quiet as a mouse, I didn’t want to wake him up, I knew he’d been up till dawn, quietly I slipped into the apartment, to find him on the floor in the living room, sunlight mere inches from his feet. Slowly getting closer as the sun rode low in the sky, dangerously close, his face wet with tears, his eyes closed, and he was waiting so patiently, just waiting for the sun to take him. I snapped. He’d seemed so normal lately, almost… sane. I couldn’t handle it. I approached him took him gently into my arms, lifting him, placing him well away from the suns harmful rays, keeping him close to me, he was so cold… colder than he should have been, he was actually icy, not room temperature. He didn’t acknowledge me, didn’t move from my arms, and I just held him, rocking slowly back and forth, comforting him, whispering nonsensically in his ear, and all of a sudden, he tensed, and I felt him break in my arms. All the tension drained away from him, as he broke down and sobbed. Shudders wracked his body, shaking me with them, clinging to me tearing at me, trying to get closer, to lose himself in me, and I knew that desperation. I’d felt it so often in my life, but I’d never broken, I’d never shown another person my desperation, to afraid of rejection, or indifference, and here he was, sobbing in my arms, those deep racking, bone jarring, teeth chattering sobs. I still held him. I didn’t want to let him go, I rocked him gently. I don’t know when it happened. I never noticed the sobs lessening, but he was asleep in my arms, curled up so trustingly against my soaked t-shirt. I felt like a parent, worrying about an upset child and he looked like a child, so soft and vulnerable.

I remember gathering him up, and placing him in his bed, covering him with his blanket, before getting a spare one from the hall closet, and wrapping it around him. I think that was the beginning… I can’t think of another place it could have started. After that night everything changed.

It was little things at first. He’d sit at my feet, while I stayed seated on the couch. When he was calm, there were many insignificant touches, his eyes seeking mine, looking for reassurance, or so I thought, looking back now… it was more likely he was looking for permission. I’d stroke his soft hair, while he was sitting at my feet, he’d lean into my touch, barely there but for the barest hint of pressure on my fingers, and then his eyes would seek mine again. He was so sweet, childlike in his trust and devotion.

We’d been into this routine only a few weeks when the nightmares started. Even now, I’m still not sure what started them; he’d wake up screaming, before mumbling to himself, and rocking back and forth, his eyes dry and blank. After the first one took me almost a day to calm him down again, when I put him to bed that night, I left his door open, and mine as well, wanting to hear him, protecting probably, misplaced instincts and all. It happened again. He woke up screaming, only this time he didn’t stop. I rushed to him and took him in my arms, soothing him, brushing his hair back from his forehead, kissing his eyelids, his cheeks, rubbing my hands up and down his arms, and back, rocking with him, and the screams finally died down, and he looked at me… fully looked at me, and bowed his head, lowering his eyes. I don’t know what possessed me, it was purely an impulse, but I picked him up and carried him back to my bed, placing him under the covers, before climbing in beside him and gathering him back into my arms. He tensed for a moment or two, and then, he relaxed, and after awhile he even managed to drift off. I didn’t… I stayed awake the whole night thinking. I’d known I needed to help him and I couldn’t figure out how.

Inspiration came from the unlikeliest of sources. Giles. If only he knew what kind of ideas I got from his rant. Children today, they need strictures, rules, punishment, so many young hooligans running the streets… and on and on it went. Someone had broken into the Magic Box, in the end it had turned out to be four someone’s, four teenage boys had broken in and vandalized the shop. A panicked phone call from Anya on how all “her” money was gone, had sent Giles’ scrambling back to Sunnydale on the first available flight, only to discover that teenagers were responsible, not a coming apocalypse. The rant was the best part, his face turned blood red, throbbing vein… I think I’ve only seen him that mad at Buffy once or twice, truly scary. The short and the long of it was, the two subjects clicked for me. Spike being constantly on my mind as of late, and childhood strictures just added to the image. For the first time in my life, I did something voluntarily, that I’d been fighting against for years. I researched.

I can laugh about it now, I know I looked odd, looking at books like Dr. Spock, and firm discipline for raising an unruly child, nothing seemed to click and I was really getting frustrated. I stumbled on the answer by accident really. I was in the twenty-four hour porn shop, looking for something to peak my interest while I was alone at night, Spike hadn’t stopped his infrequent forays out into the world, and I needed something to ease the tension. I was looking at the various forms of erotic novels, giggling softly to myself and blushing the whole way when I saw it. I must have looked like such a fool, glancing around to make sure no one was watching me, before snatching it off the shelf. Such a small book for the treasure it held. Topping a Bottom, even the title made me blush. I hurriedly bought the book and left the store, heading for home to read my treasure.

It was almost like reading one of the books on raising children, simply stating that most bottoms needed discipline, constant reassurance, lots of love, but most important, discipline. It repeated the need for rules and discipline constantly, jamming it into my brain. I don’t know if it was an epiphany or if everything clicked together, Spike sitting at my feet, Spike looking for what I had assumed was reassurance, the small touches, him calming when I touched him. It was so simple; I wanted to smack myself for not having thought of it sooner. I didn’t even stop to think what would happen if I was wrong.

Planning had never been my strong suit. I tried sitting down and writing out the rules, but I had nothing. When he was around I tried adding a few subtle commands, he always did as he was told, but my voice shook, and trembling hands didn’t make for a very good Top. I was at my wits end; I didn’t think I could be what he needed… I didn’t think I was strong enough. I’d always been the weak one, the one with no special talents, no super powers, it began to sink in that I may have needed this as much as Spike did.

Spike had continued to patrol once in awhile with Buffy. I joined them when I could, it just happened to be my lucky night that I was there when Spike decided to charge three demons with swords. It almost happened in slow motion, he was beside me, and I stood dumbfounded as his game face came to the fore and he charged, screaming the whole way, tearing into them as he went, heedless of the swords, claws, and gnashing teeth. He only managed to kill one of them before the other two cut him down. Sharp shiny metal slicing through his skin like butter, his eyes going wide, and in slow motion, Spike fell and I charged.

I didn’t have a hope in hell of winning; I just knew I had to protect him. I didn’t even make it to the fight. Buffy quickly dispatched the demons, picking up their fallen comrade's sword and cutting off their heads in two clean swipes. I dropped to my knees by Spike, checking his injury, it hadn’t been lethal, and the rage filling me shocked me to the core. I lifted him into my arms, ignored Buffy bouncing around me, and took him home.

I patched him up the best I could, gave him blood, and watched his wary eyes follow me as I paced the living room, time and again. He didn’t say a word he just… waited. I think that’s what finally made me snap.

“Don’t you ever do that again.” My voice was so soft, so loving and he just blinked at me. If we had been in any other situation I would have laughed, but it wasn’t time for laughing. I was visibly shaking with anger, yet… my voice was soft soothing, strong, not a tremor to be found. ‘You belong to me, you’re not allowed to get yourself killed, do you have any idea what that would do to me?” His head bowed low, his hands buried in his lap, he looked so contrite, but I had to make sure. “Well?” My tone was so strong even I didn’t recognize it. I watched as he slipped from the couch, crawled toward me on his knees, and bowed his head to my feet, touching his forehead down in supplication. His voice was low and muted when he answered, so softly I almost didn’t hear. Such a simple answer and yet, it spoke more than a thousand words. “Yours.” He’d turned around still prostrated, giving me his backside for punishment. At that moment, everything finally fell into place.


My keys rattle as I place them in the lock. I don’t want to startle him. I’ve learned that lesson, before, startling him, watching him leap back in shock, trembling in fear, his innocent eyes flaring wide before they filled with tears, spilling down his cheeks. He huddled in the corner for hours after that. I finally had to take him in hand and teach him not to shy away from me. Shaking myself out of my reverie I enter the apartment slowly to find him standing beside the door, with his head bowed low, no tears present on his face. I arched a brow at him, before shutting the door and removing my coat. His hands were on my shoulders removing it, he moved gracefully towards the closet, hanging it there, brushing the wrinkles out, smoothing it down, tending it as he would a lover, like he would me.

I stare at him for a few seconds before moving into the kitchen. He’d cooked my supper, set the table; he had even replaced the stained tablecloth with a clean one. My nose twitched with the smell of the food as I moved closer to the aroma, a simple meal of Roast Beef, Potatoes, and Carrots, with rich looking gravy. I moved to sit in my chair; he gently pushed the chair closer to the table, before gracefully dropping to his knees, keeping his head bowed lower than mine. He served me my supper, before moving to kneel beside my chair. Waiting patiently, calmly, waiting for some direction as he always does.

I’d learned early on that he hated it when I spoke sternly to him, he loved my soft gentle voice, I never yelled at him, never raised my voice, but… when my voice got firm, he squirmed and panted, fear showing up clearly on his face, and then he’d prostrate himself, asking to be punished. Touching him, however… he loved it rough; mewling softly in his throat each time I chafed his skin. Slowly, so slowly this past year we’ve reached this point. It took a lot of work, many misunderstandings, and plenty of… discipline, but we’ve made it. Its been a full year and tonight we’re going to make it official. We’re truly going to belong together.


Days are long and hard when he’s not here with me, gentling me, giving me a reason to keep control. I have a lot of time to think when he’s not here, thinking of what I need, why he makes me calm, why I need him. I know now. I’ve finally figured it out. I need a Sire. Not my true Sire. He wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t know what I need, not like Xander does. Xander knows instinctively what I need. He keeps his silence because he knows… he just knows. I need him, to own me, body and soul, he doesn’t think I’m dirty or disgusting, impure, worthless, I want to be his, I need him to own me.

I wait patiently, kneeling by his chair as he chews and swallows his meal. I can hear his throat working, and I want to peek up at him so badly to see his reaction to the food that I’ve cooked, to see his reaction to me… I ache with my need for him, I feel so hollow, so empty. I want to know I’ve pleased him, I’ve never cooked him a meal before, he’s never asked it of me, but today, today is special, one year ago today I came to live with him, one year ago my education began. He showed me how to be what I am, what I’ve always been but could never admit to, he’s given me peace, a form of peace under his firm hand, he doesn’t allow me to be afraid for long, I want him to know… but I don’t have the words, I don’t know how to show him… I don’t know what to do.

I’m tense and on edge, when I feel his fingers curl into my hair, stroking through the soft curls, my body jumps in reaction, but I don’t move. I can still hear him chewing and swallowing so I know he’s not finished his meal yet. The clank of the fork on the plate makes me jump slightly, the barest twitch under his hand, before I move forward to begin clearing the table, still on my knees, I’m lower than he is… not good enough to be on his level. Not yet, not until… not until I earn it.

The table's cleared and I return to kneel by his legs, calm, breathing when he breathes, as he abruptly pushes back his chair and stands, moving quickly into the living room. I stumble trying to follow, trying hard to be graceful, trying to be all that he wants me to be; I want to make him proud, I want him to be proud of me.


He’s following me, stumbling in his haste, slightly ungainly, but he rights himself, and continues to follow. Kneeling at my feet as I sit on the couch, I can’t help myself, I reach out and stroke my fingers through his hair, he leans slightly into the touch, before my fingers tighten their hold, using his hair to pull his face up to mine, to make him meet my eyes. He won’t. Even holding his head this way, his eyes are dropped, staring at the floor. He truly wants this. I ease my hold on his hair, and he leaves his face where it is, turned towards me, his eyes downcast as I stroke a finger down his cheek. I tap my finger lightly on his nose, and still his eyes don’t rise, placing my hand on the back of his head, I move him slightly back from me, standing I leave to take my nightly shower.

He stops outside the bathroom, kneeling, waiting; sometimes he bathes with me, and sometimes I like the privacy to bathe on my own, he knows to wait until I give him direction, tonight I gladly give it, placing my hand on the back of his head, and pressing gently guiding him into the bathroom with me before closing the door. I turn on the faucets before removing all my clothing, the steam permeating every corner of the room moistening his skin the condensation clinging like an old lover. I take one more look at him before stepping into the shower. Spike stays kneeling on the floor beside the tub, unmoving, I extend my hand out through the shower curtain, and listen to the rustle of his clothing as he quickly undresses and places his hand in mine. I pulled him in with me, standing behind me, I hand him the washcloth and the liquid soap, turning my back on him, letting the water pour over me. Letting it cleanse me, washing away the day’s worries and troubles, even as he gently scrubs my back, he hesitates when he gets to my lower back, unsure, I stay still and he continues.

We shower together sometimes, but I’ve never let him wash my cock, my ass, my hair, they’re… mine a part of me I’ve kept separate, he’s had to earn them, and he has, tenfold, he’s earned the right to touch me in any way he desires. I’m his as surely as he’s mine, I love the way he slides the cloth over my skin, hesitant, yet firm, scrubbing the day’s filth away. He knows how to touch me.


I never thought he’d… I hoped, but I never thought he’d… I know that he likes me serving him, but I never thought he’d let me, that he’d want me… I’m so close to him, the heat of the water warming my skin, but being this close to him warms my insides. He’s allowing me to touch him, to wash him, letting my filthy hands roam over his broad muscled back as if they belong there, as if I belong here. His head is under the shower spray, and how I long to wash that thick hair, to tangle my fingers in it, but instead I move lower, washing his legs, his feet, before moving back up. I place the cloth hesitantly on his neck, before taking it away placing it on the edge of the tub, I place my bare fingers on his neck wondering if he’d let me…

His head leans back, placing itself in my palms, giving me permission, I wash his hair quickly, trying not to…, but its no use, I’m always like this when he’s near. I want him to punish me for all my wrong doing, I want him to take this ache away, but I know I’m impure, that I’m not worth the meager release he may allow me. He wouldn’t touch me in that way, he wouldn’t lower himself, I’m beneath him. I finish his hair quickly and wait for a sign from him, a signal of what he wants, what he needs me to do for him. He turns around and glances pointedly at the washcloth. I take it into my trembling hands again, and quickly wash his chest, his abdomen, and again I hesitate, but he holds so still that I can’t help it, I need to touch him.

He’s like polished marble, the cloth glides easily over his heated skin, the heat, I can feel the heat through the cloth burning me, begging me to touch, I want to taste him, to bring him so deep into my mouth, that I no longer know where I end and he begins. I want to be a part of him, but he wouldn’t want that; wouldn’t want me to touch him. I quickly wash the fronts of his long legs before kneeling in front of him, waiting, hoping, wanting… he knows I want him, he can see it; can see my lust for him standing out dark with need against my pale skin. He opens the shower curtain, grabbing a towel off the rack, handing it to me. I dry him quickly, rubbing his skin down, till he glows.


I think he’s finally ready… I’ve wanted him so bad I can sometimes taste it; I can taste him on my tongue. He’s served me faithfully since the day I laid down the rules of conduct, the strictures that he was to live by, he’s cleaned my house, done my laundry, saw to my every need, all for the return of my affection, the peace I seem to bring him. I hadn’t asked him to cook, I didn’t want to demean him, I didn’t want to deviate too far from the Spike we had all known… and tolerated. I didn’t want to change him into something he… into something he might someday hate. Yet today, of his own free will he had cooked my meal, served me, and cleaned up the mess afterwards, all of his own free will. The realization that it truly was time was making my stomach shake. Tonight was the night that he would truly, in every sense of the word be mine.

I’ve read about claimings, human and Vampire alike. The collaring ceremony used in the BDSM world, the bloodletting and submitting in the Vampire world, tonight I was going to make an effort to combine them both, to make him mine in every sense of the word body and soul. I think he believes I’ve forgotten the significance of today. I haven’t. I know that today is the day he came to stay with me, the day I took him into my home, and took away his fears. Tonight I’m going to take away the last one that’s plaguing him. He’s going to belong.


I had set up the spare room for the ritual, all without him knowing. I had placed a small table in there, equipped with a chalice, a dagger, and his new collar. I wanted it to be special, not some run of the mill dog collar. I wouldn’t do that to him. He’s mine, and he deserves to know how much I love him. Solid silver would hug and cherish his throat from this day forth. It was a simple design really, so light and fragile looking, but so strong and pure, just like my feelings for him. A small loop to attach a leash and a simple pin lock to hold it all secure. The inscription in it would leave no doubt as to whom he belonged to, elegant scrollwork, flowing, unending, and so simple.

Bonded Property of Xander Harris

He’s staring up at me with those big blue eyes, waiting… its time. I lead him from the bathroom down the hall into the spare room, he’s scrambling on his knees to follow me, always in position, he’s not allowed to be on level with me, but he’s following so quickly, scrabbling to keep up the confusion plain and evident on his face, but he follows.

"Present yourself.” My voice held no tremor, so soft, gentle, but there was no mistaking the underlying steel. He’s bent over; head bowed, the gentle curve of his back to me, those strong long fingers clutching at the firm muscles of his ass, showing himself, leaving himself wide open for me, almost vulnerable. He’s so beautiful like this.

”Do you understand what is going to happen tonight Spike?” I have to ask, I have to know he’s doing this willingly.

“Yes Master. I’m going to be yours, you are going to claim me, and bind me, and I will always be yours.” Spike spoke softly, his head never lifting as he held the pose with grace and dignity that he should never have possessed in this position.

“You understand that you will no longer be known as the Vampire Spike, but as Xander Harris’s property, the pet known as Will. You willingly give yourself, leaving behind Spike and the life he used to lead, and embrace your new identity?” Xander spoke the ritual words, waiting for his pet's reply.

“I am yours Master. I willingly give up the Vamp who used to be Spike, and embrace my new life as your property Will.” Spike still spoke softly, confidently, speaking the words that came from his heart. “I will always be yours Master.”

“Turn and kneel before me.” Xander watched as Spike quickly did as he was bid, kneeling at Xander’s feet, his face still turned to the floor. “Give me your wrist.” Spike eagerly offered his wrist up to Xander, who held it for a moment, before placing a tender kiss where there used to be a pulse point. Xander carefully picked up the silver dagger, holding it slightly above the skin, the sharp blade barely kissing the tender flesh.

”I Xander Harris, Master of the reborn Will, take this offering, the blood of your veins into myself , to give us knowledge of the hurt we cause by hurting each other.” The dagger sliced a small gash on the blonde’s wrist, a drop of blood welled around the blade. Quickly Xander pulled the blade away, placing it against his own wrist, “I give this offering, the blood of my veins to you, Will, so that you may gain the knowledge of the hurt we cause by hurting each other.” The blood welled up in the tiny slice; Spike didn’t lift his head as the scent of the blood filled the air.

Xander placed the dagger back on the table, taking Spike’s hand in his own once again, blood dripping down their forearms. “Look at me.” Xander waited until blue eyes met his, calm and accepting. “With the mixing of our blood I bind you to me.” Xander placed their bloody wrists together, coating their arms in it. Letting go of Spike’s hand, Xander turned his wrist face upwards. “Clean the wound Will, take us into yourself, be one with me.” Xander kept his eyes centered on Spike's head as he leant forward to gently lap at the blood coating Xander’s arm, cleaning it away with quick efficiency, before leaning back on his knees. Xander took Spike’s hand and turned the bloodied arm face up, “I take us into myself, I am one with you Will.” Making eye contact Xander lowered his mouth to Spike’s arm pressing gentle nibbling kisses from the crook of the elbow right up the sensitive hollow of Spike’s wrist, kissing the blood away.

Xander stepped back, glancing down at his raging erection, before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Crawl forward Will, kneel before me as an honored pet and receive your reward.” Spike slowly crawled to Xander’s feet, his head bowed low in submission. He placed his forehead on Xander’s foot. “Look at me Will.”

Spike peered up at Xander through desire-darkened eyes, his gaze taking in the silver collar resting in Xander’s palm; he barely resisted the urge to crane his neck to get a closer look at the shiny piece of metal.

“With the blood that flowed through our veins, we are bonded, but with this Silver gracing your flesh, let it be known to all that you Will, belong to Xander Harris, that you are his most treasured possession, that you are cared for, loved, and pampered, that you stay of your own free will, and that no other may lay claim to you from this day forth, except Xander Harris.” Xander held the collar open waiting for Spike to place his neck against the polished metal. It was ultimately his choice. They were bonded; Spike didn’t need to be owned as well.

Xander felt himself holding his breath, waiting for Spike to offer himself freely once again, slowly hissing it out when Spike leaned forward with his chin tilted up, waiting for the gilded cage to encircle his throat. The lock clicked into place securing him in his new life.

“Kiss my feet in thank you Will.” Spike unhesitatingly bent and kissed each of Xander’s feet, nibbling at the top of both, before leaning back, his head once again bowed in submission, waiting to find out what would happen next.


”Present yourself.” Xander’s voice cracked like a whip in the silence. Spike scrambled to obey, turning his back on his Master, the graceful slope presented, the curving rounded buttocks held open with long slender fingers, exposing Spikes hole. “You want me there Will?” Xander asked, but he already knew the answer.

“I want you to fill me Master, make me yours.” Spike’s voice was still low, trembling slightly, want, and desire evident in every word he spoke, his body fixed in place, hard as stone.

“Prepare yourself.” Xander watched as one of Spike’s long fingers scrambled between his legs, searching, seeking entrance to the tight hole. “Lubricate your fingers Will.” The slender hand disappeared, the only sound in the stillness was the suckling sound as Spike moistened the fingers, before it reappeared and a finger disappeared unhesitatingly into the abyss. Xander watched, trembling as a second finger was quickly added, the fingers strained to scissor outwards stretching, and finally a third finger breached the tight ring. “Enough.” Xander’s voice whipped out again, strong and lashing onto Spike’s strong backside.

Xander’s fingers traced down the gentle curve of Spike’s back, touching every vertebrae before coming to rest on the three fingers still buried deep inside Spike’s anus. “Remove your fingers Will.” Xander spoke low, his voice still strong with authority. Spike’s fingers slipped out with a plop, barely exiting before Xander pressed his weeping cock against the hole.

“I’m going to fill you Will; I’m going to make you mine.” Xander spoke as inch by inch his cock disappeared inside, Spike began to pant, his fingers still clenched on his butt cheek holding himself wide open. Spike tore with so little preparation. “With this blood and cum, I bind you Will. I bind you to me with blood and cum, you are mine Will, to do with as it pleases me, and you please me.” With the ritual words, and Spike’s blood easing the way Xander slipped in to the hilt, buried deeply within Spike’s cool body.

Spike was motionless, un-breathing, still, silent, waiting, wanting, desperately needing Xander to move, to prove the claim, to take him in a whirl of blood and cum, to claim him, and finally… Xander moved. He drew out slowly, immediately slamming back in, marking, tearing, rending flesh, tearing, making him bleed. Spike’s breath began to pant out of him, he struggled to hold his masters weight on his knees, without falling on his face.

Xander sensed Spike’s predicament taking the vampire around the waist, leaning onto his heels, still deeply buried in Spike’s tight coolness. He continued slamming into him, his hand coming around to fist Spike’s leaking erection. “Cum with me Will… Cum with your master, blood and cum Will, remember Blood and Cum!” Xander’s voice broke along with his control; he threw Spike forward on his hands and knees, still pounding into the firm flesh, fisting Spike’s cock in rhythm with his thrusts. “CUM!” Xander hollered as his orgasm burst over him in crashing waves, feeling Spike clench around him, his milky semen coating Spike’s insides, claiming him, as Spike’s emissions painted over his hand. Xander caught his breath quickly and pulled out of Spike with a wet sound.

“Clean me.” Xander spoke calmly, kneeling back as Spike came to face him. On hands and knees Spike cleaned the blood and cum from Xander’s softening cock. “With blood and cum I claim you Will. You are mine.” Xander stroked Spike’s hair while he finished cleaning Xander’s cock, feeling the tears trailing down Spike’s face, dripping onto Xander’s hard thighs. “Why the tears?” Xander spoke curiously, needing to know what the matter was… if Spike was regretting the ceremony now… there was nothing he could do.

“I belong.”

The End

The Sequel

Pairing: S/X
Rating: err never sure so lets say… NC-17 cause of some sex references.
Summary: Sort of an informal sequel to my fic Belonging, which you can find here: http://www.flaming-stakes.com/fanfiction/belonging.php
Disclaimer: I do not own… merely subvert and pervert.
Distribution: Only if you have prior consent.
Authors Notes: Thank you soooo much to Bonster for reading this through quickly for me. *grin* You’re amazing luv!
Dedication: To Sajinn, who never ceases to amaze me with her mind and her talent, you truly are a heaven sent Muse, who inspires me to strive for perfection.


Tonight was a night like any other here in Sunnyhell, warm, balmy, and quiet as death. The humans who wandered around late at night had long since been picked off by Sunnydale’s night life, eaten or saved for a mid-morning snack; such was the way the town thrived. You’d think after years of living in this town, people would learn not to set foot outside their homes at night, but no… night after night, people disregarded the rumors, the bodies piling up in the city morgue, and the newspaper articles about missing persons, they still went out, lived their lives, or died trying.

I sit by the window while he sleeps, watching them, watching the scenes play out in the street before me. I can hear the running footfalls, clomping through soft grass, hear their beating hearts, if I open the window, I can even smell their fear, but I don’t go out there. It’s not a world I belong to anymore. I belong here, with him.

He’s sleeping now. He works hard during the day, and goes to bed not long after the sun sets, but never before letting me know that he needs me, that he wants me, that I’m his. I am his, body and soul. I belong to him, I am his William, and that’s all I wish to be these days.

I’ve thought about writing a journal, like I used to… before. When I was human, I was a soft hearted poet, in love with being alive, wanting to write it all down… wanting to savor every moment of it all. Had my heart broken a time or two, diligently recording it in my little leather bound book, poems of my ladies face and form, ethereal in her beauty… I wish I still had that book; I’d like him to know… what I was before… before I was remade. Like I said… I’ve thought about writing a journal, so he can know… everything, so he can have every part of me, but every time I try to put pen to paper, for once in my unlife, words fail me.

My thoughts are jumbled together, flowing endlessly, drowning me, pulling me down until I don’t think I can escape, and then… he’s just there. He seems to know when I feel so lost, when I don’t feel like I can go on one second longer, and he’s there, pulling at me, expecting… expecting perfection. I can be perfect, for those moments when he’s pulling at me, twisting me inside out, I can be perfect for him. I want to be perfect for him, and I know I’ve done it when I see the pride shining in his eyes, but he still pushes me that little bit further, waiting for me to break, but for him… for him I won’t. I won’t be a disappointment to him. I am his, and I will never disappoint him.

I push myself harder every day, trying to be everything and nothing all at once. I clean his home, cook his meals, do his laundry, and wait. Such long hours to wait for him, but I don’t stray from the door, kneeling beside it, waiting for the scratch of his key in the lock, day after day, when it finally comes my arms and legs trembling from exhaustion, sheer force of will keeping me upright, but when I see his face… I know I’ve done it. I’ve pleased him, and the exhaustion slips away.

Sometimes… he gives in, he knows what I need. He’ll turn me over his knee and dispense the punishment I deserve... the one he doesn’t want to give. He’ll paddle my bare bottom, sometimes with a flat wooden paddle, but sometimes… sometimes he uses his hand, and I can’t help but quake beneath his fingers. They sting, and slap at me, exposing me, raining down on my ass, my thighs, my tightening balls… he doesn’t stop until my face is stained with tears and I’m panting over his lap, then his fingers… his gentle fingers poke and prod at the raised welts, kneading them, stretching the sore and tender flesh, until I’m gasping in pleasured pain. He’ll take me then. Lay me down on the mattress; spreading my legs while he kneels between them, he even prepares me gently, stretching me with thick fingers, rubbing the lube in deep, slathering it on, before he enters me. These times… he stares into my eyes, holds my hands in his, thrusting so gently, rocking against me, never breaking eye contact. His long fingers stroke mine, sliding over my palms as he fills me, takes me, makes me his, but he never breaks eye contact. He wrings every last ounce of response out of me, driving me higher and higher on his gently thrusting hips, making me arch and beg beneath him, all the while… he stares deeply into my eyes, wanting me to know it’s him, to know it’s him that owns me, that’s loving me so gently. It only ever takes a word… one softly whispered word and I’m lost… I’m lost in his eyes, lost in him. “Cum,” he whispers and I shatter like glass.

I can hear him, moving restlessly in bed and my semi-erect hard on springs to full life. I know what he looks like when he’s sleeping. I’ve memorized every second of his night time habits. He talks a lot in his sleep, mumbling low under his breath, about jobsites, Buffy, Willow, Dawn… his parents. I’ve soothed him during his nightmares, whispering in his ear till he cuddled me close and returned to deep sleep. I know the way his mouth bows out when he’s talking silently to himself in a dream, the way his breath hitches when nightmares come… and the way he gets long and hard when he’s caught up in a fantasy. I take him in my mouth then, swallowing him down, taking him into me, bringing him ease, he never wakes up. He releases down my throat, and I gladly swallow the offering.

It’s not about the sex… the ownership, it’s not about his friends or family, it’s about him, it’s always about him. I could care less about the rest of it, its part of the parcel, the extra baggage, part of him. He is the strength that holds me together, that makes me strive for perfection, to be what he needs me to be, to please him, to… to make myself into something more… for him. Always for him.

I can hear him… he’s getting restless, he knows I’m not near… he always knows when I leave at night, but he gives me my time, my space… but he’s waking up now, waking up without me…

He’s so strong, tawny and muscled, a Lion in sheep’s clothing. I slide into the bed beside him, settling under the light sheet, before he pulls me into his arms.

”Enough thought for tonight?” Xander asks.

”Yes Master,” it’s always so easy to answer him. So simple and I can’t help but settle firmly against his side, basking in his warmth.

”Good boy William,” Xander strokes my hair off my forehead. He’s kept it slightly longer than I’m used to, not allowing me hair gel, he loves to tangle his fingers in the curls, massaging my scalp, it always makes me shiver. I never knew fingers could be so gentle combing through my hair.

”Sleep, Master? You have work and the Scooby meeting this evening,” reminding him gently of his obligations. There was a time I would have been very jealous of his friends… but I am a part of him now… now they’re everything to me as well.

”Go to sleep my William… Sunrise is only hours away…” Xander kisses my forehead before drifting off again, asleep within minutes. I wish I could do that, find such peaceful slumber in minutes. I can’t help staying awake a few moments longer… savoring his warmth, his smell; the way he breathes… he is everything.

I was reborn twice in my life. Once it was forced on me at the hands of Angelus… and the second time… the second time I chose my rebirth.

The End

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