sunnyd_lite (sunnyd_lite) wrote in bloodclaim,
sunnyd_lite
sunnyd_lite
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Blindsided Verse Chapter 13 Two Steps Back

This is another chapter in a series I started after Writercon – the first Writercon in Vegas (which is a city that St. Peter looks after) It is spander even if this chapter is more PG13. The previous 12 (yup 12) chapters can be found in my memories Here

Title: Two Steps Back
Author: Sunnyd_lite
Chapter: 13th story of the BlindSided Verse
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Hmm teen for nudity
Feedback and Concrit: Lovin' it in comments or by email, (Sunnyd_lite7@hotmail.com)
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Previously on Blindsided: It’s been a while since I posted so here’s the quick and dirty version. *takes a deep breath *

In the last days of Sunnydale, our boys decided that they were almost friends. After hearing from Andrew about Spike's return, Xander rushed to his bedside at Wolfram and Hart. During Spike’s recovery there's some video games played, movies watched, kisses exchanged and patrolling. After admitting that he's lost his job with the Council and is squatting at their plush flat in LA, the boys exchange a lot more than kisses. After fighting Puppet Angel, Spike liberated the Viper and decides to give it as a present to Xander. They're about to have a night of Return of the Killer Tomatoes when Spike had to go to England to try and stop the Old One from killing Fred. Upon his return, he went to Xander's apartment where they argue resulting in Xander storming out. He was about to wrap up patrol when he spotted and, with the help of a taxi, chased off a werewolf. He returned to the apartment where he found a sleeping Spike.There was some almost making up but there's a werewolf to deal with.
Set: Immediately after Story 12 (post Shells)
Taming the Muse Prompt: 56 St. Peter (I fudged it by using St. Petersburg)
Word Count:1,534

As the blood worked its magic, Spike's brain began to function more clearly.

"Positive it was a werewolf?"

"Look, I pulled enough Oz-sitting duty to know a werewolf in all its forms." Xander's previous lazy morning posture was tightening up. "Even got bored and looked up the sort of werewolf monster-types, okay, after I'd memorized the witches woodcarvings, and last night? Definitely werewolf."

"Bugger." He wasn't happy, at both that news and a tense Xander. They'd been getting along so well. So well until the rip-roaring shouting match last night which had turned into blood-service in bed this morning with nary a comment.

Plus, werewolves weren't to be sneezed at. And now was not the time to cash in his markers with Angel's team. The watcher was trying to drown himself in single malt, while Chuck was drowning in guilt, and gunshot wounds.

So no help from that quarter.

"What? Bag'n'tag until fluffy turns human again. Helping the helpless is what you wanted to do right?" The words might have been conciliatory if the tone wasn't frustrated.

Then Xander sighed, saying "Sorry, only caught a couple hours sleep after researching into the, what's the opposite of wee hours anyway?"

"Wax? Not that's the opposite of wane. Speaking of moons, just wondering where wolf-girl was last night. Don't bleeding relish having to tell Captain Forehead his girl's at the pound. Nice enough bird, but if it was her.. ."

"We've got a problem," Xander finished without a pause, "like, who let the dogs out?"

That earned him a smack. "Bloody hell, mate. Didn't thing you'd be into torture. Calling that music is an affront to musicians everywhere."

With a smirk, Xander turned to lean against the headboard beside Spike. His elbow nudged Spike's side as he inhaled another slurp of coffee. Even that slight contact sent tingles through Spike. He was here to help, boy thought that they weren't "that important". Focus on the monster-du-jour, you git.

"Angel killed one with a silver pen."

"Hey, friend of Oz here—a completely different thing from the friend of Dorothy- no killing of the werewolf." Another sip, another rub. Anyone but Xander and he'd think they were flirting. Then Xander put the mug down and pulled away.

"So, wolf-girl, she have a usual cage?" A yawn interrupted his thought. "Somewhere we can take her back to if we grab her tonight?"

"You know, might not be her. She's not missed a caging yet, chance to moon over Angel." He tried to scoff, but he'd been the one importing chocolates to the chocoholic.

"Whatever. That must have been decaf." Another yawn, followed by a stretch. "Think I'm getting old, all-nighters never used to hurt like this."

Xander struggled with the covers. "Wake me in a few, will ya? Oh, any idea where we could get a tranq gun?"

And as he watched, Xander almost folded into himself and was off to the land of nod.

Great, now he was awake and his daytime companion was asleep. Looking at his blood rimmed mug, he sighed. Wet towels and dirty dishes, he remembered the litany of woes well. Not wanting to give Harris any room to complain, he gathered the two mugs and headed to the kitchen.

A tranq gun: if that's what the lad wanted, that's what he'd get.


** ** **

His hand padded the bed beside him, and as he woke his first thought was, where was Spike?

His second thought was to cancel the first. He was here in the supportive role, and he still couldn't come up with a better metaphor than bras for that. Spike was the champion. There was a werewolf and moonrise was in, he turned to look at the clock, ack! twenty minutes.

"Spike, you jackass, you were supposed to wake me!" He didn't wait for an answer as he scrambled into the shower.

After grabbing some clothes, including a dark sweater for better lurking in alleys, Xander stumbled into the kitchen following the invigorating scent of coffee. "Better be full octane," he muttered.

"Trust me, I'll be wanting you bright eyed if we're tracking beasties."

"Arrgch." He looked down at the pool of liquid that was now sitting on the counter, the glared up at Spike, "Abusing caffeine is a serious crime in some nations. A warning would be appreciated!" Snark, this felt comfortable. He could do comedic side-kick; been doing it for years.

"Keep on like that, Sleeping Beauty, and I won't show you the new toys." Last week, he knew Spike would have put a leer in that phrase.

"Show me." He leaned against the breakfast bar and looked to where Spike was sitting surrounded by boxes, on the couch.

"So you wanted non-lethal stuff, ya? So got the gun and elephant tranqs, should keep it down long enough to tie with this stuff."

"Um not that I'm a complete expert, but I did give that demon good advice when she was buying rope that she used to hang me upside down over the hell mouth, and that looks a little light." But Spike had helped rescue him from that damselling, where on earth had he got the idea that he was the hero? The universe kept whapping him on the side of the head with proof to the contrary.

Oh there went the eye-roll. "It's silk and spider thread, isn't it? With a mystic touch too. It will hold anything."

Both mollified and miffed, Xander counter, "It's not like I'm Willow who can SEE spells, now is it?" Wait why did Spike tense at, Willow. That's what had started the free-for-all last night.

"So what else have you got there, MacGyver? We've got to rock in a few minutes." So saying, he wandered towards the black duster tossed on a chair. Picking it up he almost sagged, "Hey I know leather's heavy but I've pushed armored vehicles that weigh less."

"Pushed?" And there went the 'tell me more' eyebrow.

Raising his hands in self-defense, he replied, "I wasn't the one who drove it off the road—to be fair it wasn't a road as much as a series of potholes connected with gravel running between ditches." His back still ached at the thought of that trip. Jeeps and shocks were apparently mutually exclusive things. "We were between slayers, so the Xan-Man had to step up to the plate. But none of this explains a coat that is so not airport security friendly."

But he didn't give up the coat, not yet.

"Not like I hang out at a lot of airports."

"But you, England." Spike had asked advice on flying. He hadn't imagined that.

"Private jet, mate." How could smugness make him look even sexier?

"Right, little bottles of Jack Daniels."

"Remind me to have words with Lorne about that. It's no way to treat bigwigs, bloody insulting it is."

"So did this tangent have a point?" He'd kept the nerves out of his voice, he was proud of that. But he did notice that he was stroking the duster. He didn't stop.

Spike stood up and began to gather their arsenal, "Don't know. Don't bleeding care. We going to do this or what?"

"First we need a really big pile of doggie biscuits."

"That's your master plan? What next, ask it to roll over so we can rub its tummy?" He'd been expected that, the biscuits were too good a straight line for Spike to pass up. Maybe they could be normal around each other, if they couldn't be anything else.

"Hey I saved two people with a cab last night. Your turn to do the champion thing and come up with a plan." Running his fingers along the sleeve he ran into what felt like a wire. "And what are you packing in this thing?"

"Nothing," came out in a mumble. And mumbles were meant to be teased.

"Nothing? Do you go around tuning pianos in your spare time? It's too long to be a lock pick."

"You're not going to drop this are you?"

"Nope, if you've got my back, I'd like to know what you've got it with."

"It's a thing."

Not bothering to say a word, Xander just tapped his foot.

"Peaches'n'me, used to do it a lot."

"TMI and can I just say 'eewe'." He felt his nose scrunch up even as his mind began playing picture of the two vamps entwined.

"What are you? Twelve? Not that! It started in St. Petersburg, to hold off a mob one of us had a wire up our sleeves. Clothes-lined them."

And he'd so been a Scooby too long when the thought of sneaky violence was enough to get him wondering 'why aren't we shagging now?' Refocusing on his side kick role, he quipped, "All I every tried to hide was a pair of aces, and let me tell you that doesn't work well when the game is old maid."

Not wanting Spike to figure out he'd been fondling the duster, he said, "Heads up" and tossed it his way. "Sunset waits for no man, or vamp. Let's roll."

Plans were something they both did better on the fly. That was his excuse and he was sticking to it.
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