Rated PG-13 for gore and violence
Written for the dirty_fic "affusion" challenge
Pain. Pain to the exclusion of all else. Xander wasn’t aware of the screams ripping from his throat or of when they stopped. His universe was a white, sharp-edged cocoon with novas of jagged red behind his tightly closed lids.
His mind was begging “Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop!”
He was unaware of the turmoil and chaos around him and unaware when it ended.
Then a balm came into his world of pain. A heavy fluid flowed over his face and into his mouth. It was like the chill night air had been made liquid. It filled his mouth with the taste of pennies, and the stubborn spark within him reacted. His body swallowed rather than drown.
The pain and the white receded like a tsunami drawing away from the wreckage of sea side resort, leaving a false peace before the victims start screaming.
Spike dispatched the demon and ran to Xander’s side. He cursed sharply when he found the broken body. Carefully, he rolled the young man over and took in the gaping mouth, the eyes that were nothing more than crescents of white, and the many scratches and one large bite the creature had given him. Xander’s heart faltered.
Spike ripped away the tattered clothing and ran knowing hands over the chilled body. His spine and head were intact. Most of the wounds were internal.
They were too far from any hospital to save his life. Spike looked around once, frowning at the bulk of the dead demon that looked like a bison crossed with a giant squid and looked at Xander again. Tension was leaving his body and his heart beat was more erratic.
No more time. Spike leaned over and put his mouth to the sluggishly bleeding wound where the demon had bitten off a chunk with it’s beak. Four, five swallows were all he dare take.
Gently gripping Xander’s blessedly undamaged head, he tilted it up. He bit into his own wrist and let the blood flow into Xander’s slack mouth.
“Come on, come on. Swallow, Harris.”
The blood filled his mouth. Spike shifted his hand and stroked Xander’s throat with one thumb. Finally the young man coughed weakly, making the blood run over his chin and down his neck.
Bizarrely, Spike suddenly thought of one of the words he’d gleaned from the massive leather-bound dictionary that had been his prize possession as a young man. Affuison. Baptism with liquid.
Xander coughed weakly once more.
“Stop wasting it, whelp. Swallow,” Spike growled.
Finally, Xander did. Spike fed him until he was almost light headed and listened to Xander’s heart beat its last.
Spike put the rapidly closing wound to his own lips and licked at it, comforting himself as he sat on his haunches and contemplated what he’d done.
Affusion. Baptism. Rebirth.