rngrdead (rngrdead) wrote in bloodclaim,

Stilled Desire # 4

Stilled Desire
Author: josie_h@yahoo.com
Archived at:
Pairing: Xander/Spike
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.

Part 4

He had begun to wonder whether he liked the shop better, even when the owner had to come and pull the Subway wrapper out of his mouth, or figure out how to strap the new style body brace, or used ‘general purpose surface cleaner’ to wipe of the crude pen drawing of a penis and balls that one juvenile twenty something had scribbled on his torso. Chained to his stand had somehow felt right, he now realized, and (when not in the hood or blindfold) at least he could watch the world go by. ‘No rest for the wicked’ as he stood in the dark after the shop closed and he contemplated his sins, counting and recounting, wishing his pliable plastic form could cry before Sunday.

But now was worse. Spike tended to leave him alone, for days and weeks at a time, yet after every use, strangely fastidious about cleaning him with a soft body wash and jets of warm water before drying him and resting him comfortably folded on his right side at the back of the closet with pillow and rug in place. He heard little and saw nothing and… waited.

Being dragged angrily from his storage cupboard or lifted gently mattered little any more and simply indicated the mood of the Master Vampire, but after five months he realised that a sated Spike always kept him in the bed until the following day when he woke, and treated him strangely like a child might treat a favourite teddy bear. He was spoken to, confessed Spike’s worries to, and fussed over. Xander liked that, and really didn’t mind the bindings and ‘filling’ pieces, it was the muffled sounds and darkness for days at a time that bothered him, and he had come to *hate* Sundays!

On three occasions he had been on the verge of being able to talk to Spike when the change occurred – twice during sex and once just as the door opened. It was infuriating and somehow… fitting. On the last occasion his silent prayers to the ‘Powers that Screw with You’ was that they simply end his existence altogether.

Yet a day later he realised that he would like the opportunity to tell Spike how appreciative he was of being treated kindly, the Spike, who when feeling melancholy, hauled him out and onto the bed, tucking him under the covers and talking quietly he might a friend and lover before ‘shagging’, as it was always so eloquently described by said vampire.

In the dark and with no voice, in his mind he confessed all his sins, there was little else to do but to reflect and regret when lying inanimate, in fact he categorized his misdemeanours, reordering then, giving them degrees of difficulty… then mentally apologized to each and every person that *might* have fallen victim to his wrongdoings be they real or imagined.

He spent time thanking or forgiving anyone who had helped or hurt him, and mentally ‘blessed’ Spike for turning on the television or music loud enough for him to hear, grateful even for the reruns of Passions, and strangely moved by some old Metallica songs, and the newer Wolfmother with it’s associated “Bloody trumped up Gollywog band from Australia… still, ponce c’n play” comments from his owner.

Yes… it was the small things these days, the warm feel of the flexible shower head flushing him, the heavy old blanket, the accidentally gap in the closet door letting light in, the gentle touch or two, the quiet words to the ‘toy’.

He endured it all, no longer crying of a Sunday, merely existing. His was, he decided, in a finite position, unchangeable, with the best case scenario, a swift, crushing, end.

Early on he decided he hated the idea of being recycled, melted slowly along with all the other plastics… besides everyone had seen Terminator II! Although Spike’s disdain for all things human might lead to a worse, more likely scenario – that he be discarded - becoming landfill. He cried internally at the thought. Given his plastic makeup it would be thousands of years under tonnes of rubbish, though hopefully the ‘sentient Sundays’ might eventuate in his human form being suffocated or crushed to death, he really couldn’t tell.

So now bound and gagged in his ‘storage attire’ (penis gag, full package bindings, butt plug and tethered cuffs ankles and wrists), he simply waited in the dark and listened. It was 5 am Sunday morning when a very ‘wired’ Spike was heard to burst through the apartment door – loudly announcing that he had taken out a number of troublesome demons and had his Master of the Bay reaffirmed as a consequence.

The sex toy hadn’t been pulled out for several weeks, his owner having bedded several others – both male and female – or perhaps ‘other’ – during that time. He had tried not to listen, but, currently clad in the full leather blindfold (for no other reason than Spike needing “a place to put this shite”) he had no other choice. And he knew the difference, Spike had arrived home high on the excitement of the kill, hurting from the upset of the anniversary of the death of his friend and Angel to the Black Thorn, and a strange call from a minion.

He had been given a report that Willow, Dawn and Buffy were holding a small memorial service for Xander who had now been missing, assumed dead, for over a year, last seen in the demon run region of San Francisco. The local police had searched his apartment and found desperate letters dating back a number of years, notes from his African days and some more recent that were seemingly forlorn, pointing to suicide. His work mates were consulted, shocked by the sudden disappearance but confirming his rather ‘loner’ attitude, although he had been bowling with the construction crew once or twice. Xander’s accounts remained untouched and when no body or other clues emerged, a year later the case was all but closed, his friends – all now overseas, assumed he was dead. Spike included, and strangely affected.

His disturbance went beyond mere sadness over a past fellow fighter, however, rather it was that he was convinced that Harris had met foul play via his willingness to model for some odd sex toy manufacturer… and goodness knows what else!

Riding out the effects of two tablets of the latest demon recreational drug Celeiados washed down a none too significant amount of his favourite JD on the way home, he all but fell into the apartment and dismissed the minions at the front door.

Xander heard a tearing sound then the closet was flung wide open with a crash of door against plaster, followed by the inanimate Xander having his blanket and blindfold ripped away, his gag, bindings and plug removed with an edge of desperation, body stretched to full length, then a heavy, cold body literally flopping on top of him.

His legs were slung skyward, he was entered and coupled with enthusiastically, but as his partner ejaculated and passed out… No! Not now!

He had been so stimulated that, as he felt himself filled – his owner too under the weather to remember a condom – he too released… Thrilled that it was his own spillings this time, not his owner’s ejaculate, it was minutes of sated relaxation later that he registered Spike’s sobbing and the tearful words “Never told you… Daft bugger… friends!... Wish ya knew that mate…” before, still embedded and hand encircling Xander’s still free erection, the blonde fell asleep.

Xander simply lay there, wondering at the sticky liquid that had shot onto his belly, knowing it was his but still amazed. He stroked a still animate hand over the soft longer locks of the current Master of the Bay Region, then wiped away a tear that had made its way down the handsome visage.

He then relaxed back, for what was one to do? He would be polycarbonate compound again in a few hours. But before falling into the usual light sleep before his change, he did send a prayer or three.

Spike woke dry mouthed, in the dark and with an unknown human in his grasp. He fell into game face and, with vision and smell at it’s peak, pulled back to ascertain his surroundings. He was somewhere dark… that smelt familiar… and… he was still *inside* and his member apparently waking as he did, and the warm body he was inside, strangely familiar and willing.

He pulled out a little then re-entered, the push back encouraging the move and his had finding his partner’s own member, but it was the, “Oh Spike… Please?!” as he sped up his ministrations in time with his thrusts, that had him transfixed.

Bringing his partner to completion and still in game face, he pulled away and stared at the purely human face. The face of a Sunnydale adversary then fellow fighter, a boy they were all grieving for (even if he chose to do it in private!)… A boy they all thought dead… and how the *hell* did he end up in the dark and (looking around) in his *own* closet?!

Spike shook himself a little then ventured a rasped, “You real? Or am I really in Hell this time?!” He was stunned by the answer as his mouth, his kiss was received and reciprocated by an open mouth, tongue exploring and the eventual enjoying of each other. The groan from his partner was almost instinctive, but the urgent begging voice was not. “Oh God Spike… if you’re awake this time… Please end it now… just drain me, kill me… whatever…*Please*… I can’t be a lover to you like this… I, [hic] I, [hic] hate the dark, know you don’t [hic] love me and… Oh Ghod! Just end it Spike… please just end it!!”

Spike recognized a fellow lost soul and for a moment ignored their position and the fact he had just completed inside *Xander* but given his companion’s distress, chose *not* to question the circumstances, and simply said, “Why would I do that luv.”

Xander knew he only had minutes before he would revert to his usual form, so forewent any babbling as would have happened in years gone by, instead simply stating, “Spell… Love you! Thank you. Please… Just Kill me now… Please!!! Last chance. It will come again in a little while… *Please* just drain me!”

Spike was completely thrown, it really *was* Xander one real and one glass eye, all man and very alive. Despite his slight hangover he knew that this was a critical situation, “What spell! Come *on* mate talk to me! I may have been all sack o’ hammers last night but that was the booze talkin’…”

He shook the sobbing brunette a little then heard the desperately whispered, “Don’t make me have another Sundayyyy….” and watched in horror as the figure stiffened then the entire body shifted to its latex form.

It was the first time Spike had thrown up in years, but this was too much! He took himself to the bathroom and let go all the blood he had ingested in the last twelve hours.

Ninety minutes later an overly pale vampire picked up the stiff figure, bathed it as he would a sick friend, towelled the form dry and placed it gently in his own bed. Going back over his own vague memories and ‘dreams’, he realised that it was just possible. The boy certainly smelt and had felt… real for a while at least. But then that bizarre change?? He still wondered whether the drugs had done something odd to his perception, but innately knew what he had seen was real.

He had found out where Lorne was months ago – the showman turning up at the Montreal festival two years after the Black Thorn., and easily tracked after that.

The phone-call was an odd one, made as Lorne boarded a flight to Rio for the Mardi Gras. The green demon understandably refusing to come himself as three days later would see him on a cruise ship on which he had “a dream gig for the next twenty three nights sweet cheeks!” But he was able to recommend a local mage that might assist.

Spike consequently pulled in favours from every direction, but it was still be over two weeks before he could garner the services of Mister J. Donald Rasmussen Esq., a pretentious name to go with his personality.

Spike came so close to biting the mage (just to take him down a peg or two!) that it was an effort just to keep his eyes the ‘right ‘ colour! But the mage did as he was asked and confirmed the presence of a vengeance wish and identified the former human as Alexander Lavelle Harris.

As the mage swept from the building with an unnecessary flourish of his satin lined black cape, Spike simply said, “You ‘n Drac ‘d get on fine I reckon.” Then turned his attention to the nude form below worried anew. The half open mouth, the stiff erection, the… He knelt and kissed the cold temple before pulling away and sliding in beside the stiff figure, covering them both with a feather light, warm duvet and dialling the electric blanket to one – just enough heat for a vampire, and he hoped… a mannequin.

His last words before sleep, “Don’t know who you pissed off Harris, but you here now, and I’ll look after you… I bloody well will. *My* bloody sex toy!”

With heat from underneath, a soft bed, plushy covers and gentle stroking as his Master of the Bay area fell into slumber, Xander died just a little more. He; realised that they had both been played; realised that this demon was moving heaven and earth to save him, the human, and how futile that was; realised that their joining and taking of blood during the same was one of the most joyous experiences… *ever*; and realised that he could really love this vampire.

The following afternoon Spike woke next to the male figure, felt strangely compelled to ‘fit it out’ before leaving for the night, but this time it was a well lubed butt plug, a small phallic gag with the slight vanilla oil flavour, and a soft satin sack for his nether regions rather than the harsh trussing of leather. The fluffy cuffs and collar were still present but Xander felt… filled… content even. He was used to this, not the warmth and care, but certainly the ‘fittings and idly wondered what Spike had planned for him once the novelty wore off.

Spike, on the other hand just waited, three more days until Sunday and Willow was about to arrive at SF in two and all he had to do was find himself… several bits and pieces and… one vengeance demon…

What could be simpler!?!


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