Rating: Mature Audiences – for content and themes
Summary: Anya utters a final garbled set of words that sets off a wish that will alter Xander’s existence forever…
Spoilers: Canon is Post S7 BtVS and S5 AtS.
Warnings: M/M – if you don’t like boys together, don’t play here! *Toys* and angst too… and lovin’ eventually
Disclaimer: Don’t own the characters nor make any money from stories etc, and bow down to their original creators Joss, et al., plus all the wonderful online writers who continue to give the Buffy/Angel verse characters life.
Spike’s soul had endured the Black Thorn debacle, but like any soul faced with watching loved ones die, it had been with a price. His humour for one, his willingness to operate as anything other than Master vampire *outside* the Senior Partners *and* the Powers that Whatevered! He had been played so many times, in so many ways, for so many… many years…
He had watched in horror as his Sire or GrandSire or CEO or friend… *who cared* the definition, take out the dragon but in the process was neatly beheaded and exploded into dust.
Who knew if the Shanshu would find Angel reborn as human baby, or simply manifest in another dimension or hell. And who knew where Illyria went in the blast that had finally repelled the hoards.
Charles had died in his arms as the demon God eliminated their foe just too late and ripped away everything he still trusted or loved in the process.
He had left LA in a distraught daze, finally giving in to an inexplicable magical pull. Like the spiritual journey stories of old, and his own African flight, he took himself to the desert, but not a local one. Never doing anything by halves he had stowed away on a ship – going… anywhere - and landing on the Australian coast, the container he was in carrying heavy mining equipment destined for a dealer somewhere in the mid west Queensland mining town of Mt Isa.
The container was opened and he surreptitiously departed his confines, fed on two drunken individuals (consensually and non-fatally) then fled. For weeks he wandered, feeding on stray cattle and occasional wild pig and brumby and hiding in abandoned mine shafts and under scorching hot old equipment or rocks during the day. It was miserable, that bit seemed to fit... but it still felt wrong, he needed something more.
Eventually he found his way on into a rail truck filled with ore from the mines. Covered in a tarpaulin and 'offloaded' at the coast, he jumped ship again, this time on a ship filled with raw copper ore destined for China. The rather over-populated, yet oddly familiar, chaos that was modern China, yet he was still dissatisfied and rather annoyed by the Master Vampire of Beijing – pretentious and vain at only fifty years young who insisted that he constantly attend 'His Red Court'. Spike declined after the second time and headed for desolate Mongolia.
As in Australia, he sought out the isolation, apparently needing it to effectively augment his pain to the point of numbness. He ate little and was all but catatonic when the elderly Xu Pa Lao found him. The elderly demon, a local reclusive ‘shaman’ of sorts, had taken him back to a tiny hut and literally nursed him back to health on a combination of horse blood, yak milk and foul smelling herbal teas of various varieties.
In the end it was their long talks in a combination of broken Mandrin, Russian and a dialect of Fyarl that brought the closure he needed. And seven months after the disastrous Black Thorn venture, he took the old man’s permission to cry, curling up in a ball head on a goat skin covered lap and sobbing for what seemed like hours while a wrinkled bronzed hand softly stroked his now unruly hair.
It was the watershed he needed, his soul and demon equally grieving, equally reconciled, equally deciding to go on, though to where he wasn’t sure. Strangely it was Pa Lao who prompted his shift to San Francisco…in a bizarre twist of fate the old healer’s granddaughter and her husband (also of demon decent) ran a small, but successful, herbalist shop in Chinatown. They had ‘connections’ and for a small fee were prepared to accommodate the Master Vampire gratis – so long as he did them (and all in Chinatown – demons and humans) one small favour…
Strangely it had been the proverbial a walk in the park really. A challenge, the dusting of five or so minions (stupid ones at that) then an easy draining of the overconfident thirty something young ‘Master’ who had, for ten years, been sucking the region dry… of both funds and clientele via a protection racket that could only be described as school yard antics (though later Spike learned, had been started *prior* to the individual's vampire days!).
The result was a dusty one, Spike swiftly adopted as the new leader of the region, and the rules changed. He was so much older, had been through… things… and had a reputation that preceded him in every demon quarter. Ruthless in his sweep, he had shifted the protection to *real* protection, negotiating as any legitimate businessman might, and personally eliminating those who objected. It was mere weeks later – after a minor ‘player’ dared challenge him and lost… that things settled and Spike aka William the Bloody, ensouled vampire and survivor of the Black Thorn offensive, became the Master of the entire Bay Region.
Admittedly, he gave in to his vampiric nature and enjoyed his undead, respected status in San Francisco. The local demon and human population welcomed his company, as his lessons of the deserts and resulting centeredness (along with truly beautiful late twenties male appearance) seemed to attract others as moths to a flame. But Spike refused any emotional engagement – indeed if he was serviced it seemed he was utterly detached, bringing his partner(s) for the night to conclusion with as much passion as one might if merely playing an average game of Scrabble. He now understood the Immortal a little more…as apparently his liaisons were also, to a fault, “most satisfactory” according to rumor, and he learned the power of ‘gentle persuasion’ – or a good spanking depending on the request!
Spike had his minions, and money, and was the darling of the rich and infamous, it was enough, but Xu Li Wa (Pa Lao’s daughter) believed his ‘balance’ needed addressing. The minion who she had spoken to regarding the same did his best to interpret the rather cryptic, “The Master needs to service – as well as being serviced. He needs to explore and question. It will only make him stronger.”
The minion, a former pole dancer at one of San Fran’s less reputable establishments, put his own spin on the message. He loved his Master *dearly*, his unlife now full of safe sex (with other fellow pretty minions and a few demons besides) and servitude, which just felt… right... wonderful in fact! The end result was an urgent trip to a non-local Adult Shop and consequent delivery of a large number of items including a full sized male mannequin, which he was guaranteed had ‘anatomically correct parts’ and brought a ‘magical quality’ to any bedroom.
Xander could hear a muffled conversation from his folded position in the box, but, no longer able to move, simply waited, as he had learned to do over the months of his current predicament… or was that permanent state? If he could cry out at that thought he would have, but instead focused on the situation at hand.
The first voice was raised in anger, “And why the *bloody hell* am I supposed to be assisted by this… ‘gift’? And please…*do* be specific.” Xander distinctly heard a growl and a corresponding whimper.
“She… that is Xu Li and then I… but it was because… youneeditmaster! ForyourhealthMaster… Please don’t dust me Master, *please*... I just thought…”
Xander listened to the feet shuffling, and even muted he knew that sound… So many nights dressed in the the ‘kinky black blindfold’ or the ‘full hood’ in the shop had taught him to recognise sounds he had never realised existed. And now, confined in his box, with all the other toys, he interpreted the scene easily. The well meaning minion was released from the wall and scrambled away from his assailant.
“Alright… you *twonk* But next time… *ask*!... And you can expect to send things back in the morning needs be…but… Don’t bloody grovel! Oh Bloody Hell!!! Here! I'll sort it... Go find one of them pretty boyfriends o' yours and get your own rocks off.”
Xander heard a faint slurping sound and knew the minion was being given a few drops of the master’s blood before another scramble sound and a door slamming. Then his world was filled with artificial light as the box was torn away.
“Holy…??? Alright, what’s that bloody idiot…”
Fifty or so different items fell to the floor, including his own, folded and very well ‘bound’, self.
Spike left him there pulling the plastic packet of warrantees and instructions from the mix, all the while mumbling “As if I need *another* bloody Buffybot! Geez what are these people thinking… High Master with detachment needs the love of latex… Wankers!”
But the rant stopped as his form was lifted into its upright position, leather mask removed, and the Vampire Master of the Bay Region took an unnecessary breath and moment to compose himself as he inspected the figure, then in a near inaudible baritone said, “Bloody hell, Harris, never figured you to agree to model for this… Wonder how many more of you are floatin’ around bringin’ pleasure to the SF mob…Glad ta see they replaced the eye though…” Spike trailed off and a cool hand stroked around the glass eye that had been inserted, now no different to its counterpart in appearance.
Xander again wished he could cry… but it wasn’t Sunday… He had learned to wait…
Spike’s hand gently stroked down the face and neck, then over the soft latex nipples, and Xander wondered what exactly he had done to wind up in Hell! Oh, he had been touched, explored, good lord, he’d had every orifice filled and fondled for ‘educational and promotional’ purposes in the shop! But this was different… This was… the ultimate torture… Soft caresses, tentative, almost tender touches… and his chest ached so, and he wished even harder that he might cry… now! How long could it *be* until Sunday?!! And even if he had the chance to again grieve his plight...would Spike already have sent him back to the shop by then?
Spike’s hands were room temperature – as was the surface he touched. The master closed his own eyes as he traced over permanently taught nipples with their grotesque clamps and chains, removing them as he went, then slid his soft strokes down to a member encased in a full leather sheath. He unzipped the restraint and undid the snaps that held the surprisingly soft latex scrotum. Stroking over the area and up the surprisingly realistic penis, Spike fancied he felt a jolt of magical energy but dismissed it as mere fancy brought on by the likeness he was now touching.
The boy had never really been on his dial as far as sex was concerned, though this more lean familiar figure called to him somehow. He idly fingered the controls for the butt plug that apparently came as ‘standard’ and could be used on ‘friends or family as desired’, the instructions even mentioning that under-age and non-consensual use of the implement was ‘ill advised’ and that the company would not be held liable. Xander was stimulated beyond belief, his permanently hard member literally aching for release. All he could do was ride it out… And then everything stopped.
Spike gathered up the various items that had been supplied with his new toy and threw them into a shopping bag before lifting the life sized figure into his half empty bedroom closet, placing the bag at its feet and closing the door.
The closet was opened twice in the ensuing three days, and in that time Xander listened to the vampire not so much bedding others but simply bringing them pleasure in exchange for a freely given fresh blood supply.
The fourth day, Saturday, he was pulled free of his dark storage and flung onto the bed by a very drunk and strangely angry vampire.
“F#$^ing wankers! Think they can take me out… I’ll bloody show *them* who is gonna be taken out…! Now come on sweetheart let’s you an’ I have a gooooood F@#$ing shag ehhh?”
The mannequin found himself swiftly manoeuvred to face down with hips the end of the bed and permanent plug removed. A condom covered, lubed vampire member swiftly replaced the artificial one and Xander felt his prostate relentlessly massaged as Spike rutted the almost warm plastic without thought and finally came with what Xander could easily mistake as an anguished cry.
Xander wished he could die, but suspected that that was no longer possible but registered that his back was a little damp and that Spike’s eyes were puffy and rather bloodshot when he lifted the inanimate partner from the bed and shoved him roughly back into his closet.
Spike looked at the doll one more time before closing the door, knelt down and rearranged the collapsed figure more gently, then belatedly covered its nudity with an old towel. As he closed the door, he found himself strangely tearful again and wished for companionship and in a strange sort of a way, wished the doll was real…just wished…