Sarah (skysha_tranqui) wrote in bloodclaim,

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Xmas-ey ficlet

Here's my first offering for the noel_of_spike-athon. A Spander-esque Xmas ficlet. I say 'spander-esque', 'cause there is a bit of Spike/Drusilla too...

Title: heart
Pairing: Spike/Xander, mentions of past Spike/Drusilla
Rating: R
Warnings: Mentions of gore, no sex (sorry people!), and rather sappy – but ‘tis xmas, so thought would be alright!
Summary: A dream, some musings, and Christmases past and present.
Read and enjoy!

Betaed by electricalgwen - thanks for the last-min saving! :)

A pisshole of a street. Dank, it reeked with the excrement of those still-living. Grimy, the furrows in the bricks were blackened by the soot that was so thick it seemed to permeate the whole world. The elegantly pale hand that glided over its imperfections was obscene in its misplacement.

Long fingers of a gentle-lady, tipped in dark, glinting like the weapon oft-used as. And she chuckled.

Breathy at the start, like a school-girl’s pre-adolescent giggle – but throaty at the end; thickened by the smog, and erotic as mink wrapped ‘round bare flesh.

‘Course, there was nothing innocent about the blood streaked across the front of her white lace dress. The one with the petticoats torn out at the front. Making the lace at the front of the dress rather…lucid; shadows concealing and revealing in so tantalising a manner that it took several moments before one realised one was staring.

Light and dark, shadows shifting, and that white damn lace floating over it all – tattered remnants of innocence lost? Perhaps, if he were feeling an urge for his books. Happening less and less, the flashbacks to times past, and yet an image like the one before him now still had the ability to render him speechless, struck with an itch in his fingers, and a pang in his chest.

Not unlike the heart-less man at the feet of his beloved.

Quiet purring broke him from his trance, and he looked at her again.

Black hair tumbled down her back, carefully pinned that way for her by the grandmum, and equally dark eyes slitted with pleasure, as she licked her other hand clean of blood. Predatory stillness examined him from head to toe, and a sigh and tilt of head beckoned him closer.

“Dearest Will,” Another giggle, finger brought stern to crimson lips, twitch of frown, “shhh – mustn’t tell him; not now; not yet.”

Holding himself still, he waited to see where her emotions would land. Pain or pleasure. The mercury of fluctuation.

“His heart was too young. And now, forever no more.” Sadly shaking her head, a glint of cruelty lit the downturned gaze, and the shark struck the seal.

Dull smack as the dead man’s head hit the wall. Now-broken neck showing slivers of spinal cord; white bone too covered by blood to gleam in the city of di–

Cold hands grabbing his head, he could feel the resultant smear of dirt on one cheek, the trickle of blood on the other. What worse; the death or the life?

“The man gave me his heart, my love – I cannot give you mine, it is dried to dust in my chest and I can feel it itch…” Trailing off, Drusilla’s eyes focused on the grey clouds covering the stars, a flash of amber and William found himself facing the demon. “I can give you his though.”

The bone-white hands both offered and urged; fingernails caked with dried blood on the one, with black from the dirty, human, streets on the other.

Not a gentle-lady. Demon. Like you.

And the shark teeth descended, and he ate.

It did not beat, just as his love’s did not. But it was still so very warm.

When his hands were empty again, they were stained in blood too. But not the soot. Never the soot.

And his lady turned and led the way – the back of her dress as solid a white, and as glowing, as the sheets of paper he used to adore. Neither could prepare him for the dark.

Soothing hands stroked down his arm but Spike still woke with a jolt. Blinking, disoriented, it took him a moment to realise where he was, and familiarise himself with the sense of peace the place bestowed upon him.

Dark brown eyes watched him with stillness, but this was a kitten’s, not a shark’s, gaze.

Giving his love a reassuring smile, he leaned forward and dropped a kiss on the dark crown of hair.

“You were dreaming again.”

But his love was not going to be swayed apparently.

Sighing briefly, Spike let his eyes close again.

“Was dreaming about the past. My first Christmas with Dru,” Faltering, it was Xander’s gentle touch that helped him on.

“Well, it was a bit warped, luv. Insane vampire. Not exactly all hearts and puppies.”

The hands tugged him into a better position, and Spike found himself cradled on the human’s chest, hair being petted as though he were the kitten. It was the distant murmur of voices and laughter that reminded Spike where he was, and stopped his hands at his Xanpet’s belt, not wanting to embarrass his lover by letting his friends catch them in a naughty-touching situation if they somehow finished making the eggnog early.

Mind you, given the slayer was in on the making-of, it might take them longer…might even triple the amount of time it’d…

“Spike!” “Ewww!” “Oh, good grief, that’s my couch!”

Guiltily taking his hand out of Xander’s now-open jeans, Spike admired the pretty flush his lover now sported, then turned and stuck his tongue out at the disgusted slayer.

The fact that that action made the watcher roll his eyes and grumble gave him the feeling he’d rather killed two birds with one stone, and so he gallantly refrained from saying something scathing, instead helpfully tucking Xander back into his clothes.

Willow was practically biting through her lips as she tried to contain her chuckles, so she quickly whisked the tray of eggnog out of a grinning Dawn’s hands, and distributed the glasses in an effort to divert everyone’s attention.

As a ploy it was a remarkably good one, largely because Spike had never had eggnog before, and so was soon eagerly slurping his down.

Seeing the threat of further public displays was temporarily disabled, Buffy and Giles decided on a truce and took their own drinks to the other seats near the fireplace. Willow gracefully sank down to the carpeted floor, and soon had a giddy Dawn, who’d been allowed one glass of the drink, chatting a mile a minute about the latest gossip at her school.

The last drop of his eggnog lapped, Spike suddenly narrowed his eyes in concentration. Hearing the slightest of rustlings, he relaxed and leaned back against Xander’s side.

Quirking his eyebrow and poking his boyfriend in the side, Xander mouthed “what’s up?” at the vampire.

Only looking up as Tara came bustling into the room with the plates of sugar cookies, he quickly turned his attention back to Spike, not liking how twitchy he’d been during that dream of his earlier, and knowing how eel-like his boyfriend could be when it came to discussing personal things.

Quick kiss slipped in under the slayer’s radar – and she was surprisingly slow for a slayer – and Spike hastened to put his boy’s fears at ease. “Don’t worry, pet – ‘m fine. This is the first good Christmas I’ve had in a long time, ‘sall.”

You may never rip out another’s heart for me, but you go one better love – you let me share your heart; as mine dries to dust and itches with the loss, you share your warmth, your family, your love.

X-posted at noel_of_spike
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