Feedback: yes plz
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing(s): Spike/Alexander, Spike/Angel/Alexander, Angelus/Alexander, Angelus/Spike/Alexander Mix well and see who comes out on top....
Warnings: threesomes, vampiric (rough, blood play, mind games) sex, daddy!kink, lalala. . .
Spoilers: All of Buffy, including flashbacks, slightly skewed.
Summary: In an alternate universe starting in season 2 of Buffy (“School Hard”) Spike comes to Sunnydale with Angelus’ mad childe, who wasn’t a young nun with the Sight, but a young monk who’s name meant “Defender of Man.”
Disclaimer: I own nothing that is recognizable in the universe of Joss. Everything else is mine.
Author’s Note: Yes, this is Spike/Xander. It’s just a…different Xander.
Spike looked through the gloom of the warehouse, trying for patience and failing miserably as usual. God, was this what he had to work with? Crowing wankers flocking around tiny Tim the mini-vamp? He might have to deal with that one. At least that bitch Darla was gone, dusted by Angelus himself—or so he’d heard. He knew she was dead, he’d felt it. As had his dark kitten. Made them all warm and tingly for a bit. So, Mommy Dearest was out of the way, time to check up on Daddy. But first…
He’d listened to this shite for quite long enough. Stepping out of the shadows, he shook his head and laughed. “*You* were at the crucifixion? Oh, puh-leez… If every vampire who said he was at the crucifixion was actually there, it would have been like Woodstock.”
The dark haired vamp that had been speaking turned and glared at Spike. Spike could smell the anger and fear rolling off him. “I oughta rip your throat out.” With a smirk that spoke volumes about Spike’s opinion on the vamp’s non-ability to do just that, his virility and lineage, he turned his back on the fuming demon and walked away.
“I was actually at Woodstock. Now there was a weird gig. Fed off a flower…person…child…whatever n’ spent the next six hours or so watchin’ my hand move.” He nonchalantly raised a stiff right fist and let the attacking vampire behind him run into it hearing the satisfying crunch of a broken nose and teeth and a body hitting the floor. He looked down and cocked his head in disgust. Crucifixion indeed. This idiot wasn’t even old enough to remember Vatican II. He turned to look at the remaining vamps spread out around the room.
“So, who do you kill for fun around here?”
He had asked the room in general, but kept his eyes on the black clad child. That one gave him the creeps, all tiny and soft and fragile looking—until you looked into its eyes. In over one hundred years of experience with all types of demon kind Spike had never seen eyes so dead and cold. Rumor had it even The Master had cow-towed to this one. Well, and look where that had gotten him. Brought down by a slip of a girl. Things were just run shoddy in this town that was it. Time for Spike to liven things up, so to speak.
The little one spoke and Spike was once again amazed. It even sounded like a child.
“Who are you?” Like a little one asking why the sky was blue, or more precisely a spoiled brat asking “Why can’t I have any candy before supper?”
“Name’s Spike, though I’ve been known to go by others.” He stepped carefully closer to the diminutive vampire. “You’re that ‘Anointed’ guy? I’ve heard about you.” One minion, apparently braver, or stupider than the others, tried to come between Spike and the Brat. A scathing look was all it took to get the creature to back off. Spike made a mental note: The Blood in this town was obviously thin…make as few minions as possible.
Standing before the Annoying One, he could feel the power radiating from the child. So, the demon was old, far older than any vampire Spike had come across, even the arsehole Master. Maybe even one of the Elders. That could get sticky. Ah, he didn’t have time to wonder about the damn thing’s blood line. “You’ve got Slayer problems. That’s a bad piece of luck. You know what I find works really well with Slayers?” Knowing he would get no answer Spike plowed on. “Killing them.”
Spike snickered. “A lot faster than nancy-boy over there.” He cocked his head toward the vampire still writhing on the ground behind him. A few bone shards to the brain and he was down for the count. Tsk. Fledglings these days.
“Yeah, I did a couple Slayers in my time.” His hand came up unconsciously to rub at the scar running through his left eyebrow. He thought fleetingly of the Chinese Slayer who had danced so prettily. Who knew the sword had been spelled to actually leave marks after damage done? Between the spell on the sword and the power of her blood, Spike bore a testament for all time that the little Slayer had been good, but he had been better.
“I don’t like to brag…much.” He grinned, but found that the group’s attention was no longer focused on him. Shaking off the demon’s face he turned to see his Dark Kitten creeping into the room. Naughty Kitten. He hadn’t wanted anyone, especially the Annoying One, to see him yet. Oh, well, he’d just have to work with it.
“Alexander! You shouldn’t be up and around. You’re weak.” Ignoring Spike, Alexander walked past him and gazed at the small group at the other end of the warehouse. “Look at all the people. Are they nice people?” Walking along beside Alexander, within touching, and grabbing, distance Spike smiled.
“We’re getting along.”
Alexander’s gaze caught and held on the small vampire sitting on the box in the middle of the others. “This one has power. All dark with red sparkles.” He reached a hand out as if to touch the child and Spike tensed ready to snatch the hand back. “I could feel it from the outside.” The pale hand dropped and Spike relaxed a fraction. “Yeah he’s the big noise in these parts. Anointed, an’ all that.”
Alexander’s dark hair fell into his eyes as he bent his head to question the littlest vampire. “Do you like roses? The most beautiful ones have the sharpest thorns. The better to rend and tear when being…plucked.” He reached up to brush the hair out of his eyes, never losing eye contact with the abomination sitting in front of him. At least that‘s how Spike thought of it. That Rice bint had at least one thing right in those god awful books of hers. Making a child vampire was just wrong. Making one to house the most elderly of demons was, in his eyes, an abomination. He tuned back in to what Alexander was saying. Had the Sight his Dark Kitten did. And though most of what came out of his mouth, especially now, was utter twaddle, often enough there were pieces of useful information interspersed here and there if one knew how to listen.
“I try and plant them, but they all die. Everything that’s put in the ground withers and dies.” A crafty look sparked momentarily in Alexander’s dark eyes. “Except for me and Thee.” Craftiness was replaced by a look of world weariness, and a little sorrow. “Yet these days, I begin to wonder about me. I can not die, for I am already dead, but I fear I am beginning to wither.”
Alexander’s shoulders slumped and he put his arms around himself as if trying to contain the shivers that began to rack his body.
Spike had already moved to take Alexander into his arms when he heard the small voice come from the shivering figure. “Spike? I’m cold.” He hastily drew off his duster and put it around Alexander’s shoulders. He knew it wouldn’t really help with the chill, but hoped that it would give some comfort.
“Here, sweet. I’ve got you.” He pulled the coat closed around Alexander and made him turn to look at him and not the others in the room. His pet was pale, pale even for a vampire, with dark circles under his eyes. Spike hated seeing him like this. His Alexander had always been strong of body, if not of mind. Oh, yes, he was mad as a hatter, bloody Angelus had seen to that (and in truth, it hadn’t been all that hard from what he had heard, the boy hadn’t been wrapped all that tight before his Turning). But now his pet was weak and the madness that bubbled out of him wasn’t half put on as it usually was. That mob in Prague had had the brains to know that a beating would only slow a vampire, especially one of Alexander’s age, temporarily. They hadn’t wanted to get close enough to him to stake him, they had known enough about him to know that he was a Master in his own right, and an expert at Thrall. So it had been clubs and stones and fire, just like the old days, with the odd bit of holy water here and there. But it had been the Sorcerer hidden within the peasant crowd that had been their true weapon. They had been separated that night, and the crowd after Alexander had driven him into an alley, muddled and confused him with holy symbols and fire and then the sorcerer had done his deed. Chanted the power and vitality right out of his boy. The bastard Sorcerer would have succeeded in draining Alexander into true death if Spike hadn’t arrived in time to disperse a dozen cannon-fodder minions through the crowd. While the crowd tried to deal with the virtually mindless rampaging demons Spike had dealt with the Sorcerer, literally tearing the man’s head from his shoulders. He had then grabbed his boy and ran. And they’d been running ever since. Running from a situation that went right with them as they ran. Alexander was ill and there was only one cure for it. And that cure was in this rotten little town sitting on top of a Hellmouth.