Pairing: Xander/Spike (don’t be fooled by the Willow beginning)
Rating: Mature Audiences – for content and themes
Summary: Wolfram and Hart may have won the day, but the battle is just about to begin...
Spoilers: Canon is Post S7 BtVS and S5 AtS.
Warnings: M/M – if you don't like boys together, don't play here!
Harsh circumstances and difficult start....
Willow felt the joy of lying prone on those first few nights; the joy of finally remembering things from her past; and feeling the surge of unfettered magical energy restore itself through her whole being.
Two weeks later she was propped up a little by Clem, and looked down sadly as her breasts were relieved of their burden for the third time that day (Xander had been given the brief of how to… along with a reputable dealer in human milk should he want to 'exploit' the additional benefits of the surrogate).
“Come on sweetie! Please don’t cry again! Do this for the kittens all the time… now just suck on the nipple… that’s it… You’re friend Xan is out tonight but Spike’s always up for a cuddle… You don’t mind if I…”
Clem lifted her with an audible grunt then pushed her against an inanimate fellow magical creature’s side, easing her top leg onto his instead of using a pillow for her comfort. These were things she had not experienced in her ‘chamber’… and strangely felt the energy and power flowing both ways.
Xander consulted with various doctors, conventional and… well just straight wacky! And the result had been a distressed Willow sedated for the first few days away from her tank then doses were reduced and things ‘evening out’. But on her twenty first day in her new circumstance, her huge belly tightened impossibly, pain ripped through her and her body arched of its own accord.
She instantly felt a rush of wetness between her thighs but knew she had not soiled herself in the conventional manner. Xander and Clem had been expecting it to happen any day, but with Xander out for a few hours, Clem rang his cousins Nell and Martin the 'Demon Birthing Brothers" according to their card.
Though she had delivered before, it had always been fast and furious with no feeling thanks to the very clinical proces and timing dictated by others. She had always been in water before and the progeny had always been... non-human.
Now she was fully aware, out of control, but in a body that seemed to know what to do. Due to multiple pregnancies, the delivery would again be swift but this time desperately painful as no drugs were applied, cervix dilated and muscles contracted impossibly in preparation.
Finally, at the edge of panic, apparently fully dialated and with three rather floppy eared demons fussing around her, she panted without prompt. She had been placed on a rug on the kitchen table with legs spread and supported by two pillows, as though for another impregnation. The two male nurses ready to deal with the babies and Clem occasionally (and very nervously) swiping her forehead with a damp towel. Just as she heard the instruction to “Bear down now… Come on sweetie... *Push*!” she also felt a strong hand twine fingers with hers and opened wide frightened eyes to the face of an old friend.
"I'm here Wills... I'm here... Now do as they say..."
She would have panicked but for the calm presence of her rescuer and lifelong friend, though despite her thankfulness, she unintentionally broke one of his fingers in the third last contraction and push as he stedfastly held her hand.
The DNA tests came through by the evening, and Xander rejoiced and grieved as he told first Clem then Spike then Willow.
All three girls were his, theirs… his and Willow’s, and would have been given away but for his finding her.
His children, his biological progeny… three little girls… wonderful miracles of an horrendous set of events, had been born naturally. Each one, in the end, ‘caught’ by their natural father, each contraction this time felt by their mother and the ‘push’ instruction understood and followed.
And as her last little darling emerged from her, another small part of Willow broke. Were she not here, were she safe in her tank, these, her *real* children... her own(!) would have been sold off to the highest bidder. She had somehow convinced herself that human babies falling into the hands of purchasing parents, would somehow... but to find out? And she too had been sold! She wept as the placenta was delivered then again as she was carried to a warm bath, gently cleaned, dried and delivered to a real bed and given half a unit of blood… but no sedative... there was no need.
She woke on and off that night, sleeping in the ‘third bedroom’ – it was really Clem’s study, but there was no real problem. The bed was comfortable, the fish tank pump hummed a bit, but there was a sound system that was set on low and played a long loop of classical pieces so she might feel ‘at home’. When the babies stirred, she knew she would need help… but for now… it was enough that she lay on her front, horizontal for the first time in three plus years, and next to her, three tiny girls who were wrapped in identical pink baby blankets in the crib by her bed.
Xander checked on her twice, then made his way back to the room he called his own. He had moved Spike to his bed (from the study bed), sensitive to Willow’s state, and consequently lay on his back trying not to touch said vampire, for fear of ‘violating him’… But in the end he rolled over and cried onto Spike’s chest for no better reason than he needed a male chest to cry on... it was his preference… Spike was a friend… Xander a Father(!) … and Clem was… well a little too squishy to cry onto, and well… And *why* was he having this conversation with himself !!!! Probably because Clem was out at kitten poker *again*; he had just become a father to his lifelong, very ill friend Willow; he still had no idea how to fix Spike; and he and his family should move out to their own space sometime… Oh and he needed to sort out finish off that W&H mob and their baby factory; then there was the situation of funding and he needed Spike to move then sign some documents then all would be well… or not.
He really just needed a good cry.
The next day brought a number of small miracles. Willow felt her own children feed from her for the first time – each one benefiting from a burgeoning bosom, even though the nurse had to ‘latch the little loves on’. Thrilling for Willow, there was no prompt for her milk dropping this time, tiny mouths and a quiet snuffle seemed all it needed for her body to respond.
Wonderfully, on that momentous day, she was also able to lift an emaciated arm to carefully stroke a too thin hand over the little one born with a head of dark hair.
The effort cost her, but her dear rescuer, Xander, saw and smiled. She could smell her babies for the first time and felt the pad between her legs being changed every few hours, just as she watched her babies changed, though hers bore a serious amounts of blood as well as urine on the wadding.
She worried about things but drifted in and out and was still somewhat confused that she was not back in her tank. Confused rather nervous.
On one level she knew she had been ‘rescued’, but really still struggled with the irrational concern that she might be sent back. In her waking moments, as yet another little mouth fussed and finally suckled, she wondered if it was the drugs, the magical energy, the tank, or the electic shock therapy of the pregnancy before last that had damaged her thinking.
Visions of her previous three years began to flood in, but then thankfully a snuffle and meaningful stepping sounds announced yet another tiny one ready for feeding, and this time the kind nurse carefully rolled Willow onto her side so a little mouth could find the nipple with ease, and her arm could be positioned as though she had meant to hold her child.
Willow let a tear fall as her kind Nurse Sarah continued to monitor the feeding, replaced the little girl with yet another hungry mouth, then wrapped all still unnamed new ones and settled both mother and children for the night.
Three weeks later saw both Willow and Spike’s limbs being worked on in a series of exercises four times a day. Following that they massaged, fed, and cleaned. It was exhausting but with an apparently endless supply of Clem’s relatives and friends willing to take cash (or kittens) for their time, the busy house seemed to take on a rather festive feel. Clem was delighted at all the attention (and none too few accolades) as he made yet another pot of tea and took newly folded towels into the temporary ‘therapy room’ (formerly the lounge).
Willow’s muscles were definitely improving, even the broad split down her abdomen seemed to be reducing, though she still struggled to ‘crunch’ anything beyond a slight deliberate tightening. Her breakthrough was rolling over unaided. It would be months if not perhaps years before she would walk unaided again, but at least now she was able to shift on the soft surface of her bed and take her own time to face her little ones in comfort. Only a week later she managed to sit up (albeit padded by pillows) for the feeding and even kept her knees bent for a time, though she did watch sadly as muscles began to shake and then said limbs fell wide and needed to be ‘rearranged’ by Clem’s dear sister (her current helper).
Yet as she improved, she knew the figure she was so often lying beside, her rescuer’s ‘other friend’, was still without movement.
It should have been ridiculous but the following day as a specially commissioned remedial therapist (for magical beings) entered their home, Clem and Xander almost had a fit! The strange individual had sniffed the air, inspected Spike and Willow then given his verdict. He was ‘the best’ according to all the demons, but the recommendation of feeding the vampire *her milk* mixed with Xander, the (ex)Watcher/Scoobie's blood seemed just outrageous!
But in truth Xander knew. Spike was still not dust, but did not respond to anything.
He was healing so slowly physically that it would be years, if ever, that his limbs might be back in his command. The formerly lightening fast movements and grace forever taken unless they found a solution. There was no rhyme or reason to it. With the human blood regularly infused by force-feeding it should have been a swift process, but there was something more to his survival after the Illyria incident than a simple broken body. It was magical, so perhaps their odd advisor had something... He needed a magical boost to provide the solution.
Finally, taking the plunge and trusting the odd medico (with the strange talon like feet and odd gait) Xander heated one of the frozen bottles of his oldest friend’s breast milk sliced the palm of his hand and dripped it into the baby bottle, before adding a nipple as he would for his girls… just for good measure.
Even an amazed Clem saw it, busy with towels again, spied it from the door.
There was no force feeding needed as the rich smell of body temperature milk and ‘honey’ (Xander’s blood) wafted through the sick room and for the first time since waking in Clem's home Spike was instantly in game face and awake. Xander would have sworn he saw Spike’s left hand shift a little as he accepted the ambrosial liquid for the first time, sucking hungrily until the bottle was empty without so much as puncturing the nipple, then, for the first time since at Clem’s, voluntarily finished a full bottle of blood, sucking from the same teat as the milk.
That night Spike's hand really did shift and Xander had the joy of feeling a slight squeeze as he fed his friend the potent remedy once more.
The following day, as Xander cradled ‘B’ (he really should name them properly!), he quietly told Willow that she was now feeding four, explained the reason and begged her to understand and forgive him for not asking her first. The courtesy had an unexpected effect however, as the slowly recovering wiccan began to cry.
Xander was about to leave but the young cousin of Clem’s who was currently helping out put a floppy hand on his shoulder and whispered, “Wait.”
Willow gradually calmed and tried to put her feelings into words. For so many months… *years* she had been milked for others, newborns or just demon pleasure, but now she was able to provide for her family… and a special friend. She knew whose mouth her milk entered, and just that thought alone had her leaking and ready to feed someone again. Eventually she simply whispered, “Good”, squeezed his hand weakly then smiled a little before whispering “Good” a second time and gave in to sleep.
Maisie Lynne, Lucy Charlotte and Sadie Elaine… Rosenberg Harris were named on the night of the full moon, aged three months.
Spike still needed to be strapped tight against the back of his wheelchair for the ‘outdoor event’, though was improved enough to hold his head up and control the joystick with his preferred left hand. Willow too was wheelchair bound, but now had enough strength in her arms to hold each of her daughters as the visiting wiccan blessed them for their naming.
Willow’s milk supply had not slowed, indeed like most mammalian mothers, had responded to the increased demand, and with four month old triplets and a vampire to feed, her own recovery was obviously suffering. Clem noticed it first.
Part of her therapy had been to try to read again, but she attempted daily to hold a book up as she reclined in bed, if only to please her therapist. She was more successful at milking herself, rather than using the pump, indeed it was a blessed relief. She was in control.
She had done well on both scores for almost a month, her hands and arms working with increasing strength, but then there seemed to be a setback, and her limited speech had her struggling to explain.
Clem found her with a collapsed, book covering her face and tears flowing as she tried to tell him that her throat was so sore, she so weak and *oh those memories*. She had a blocked nose, head ache and dreadful levels of… she waved a weak hand in the direction of her nether regions. Clem swiftly called his lovely sister who arrived within the hour, dressed the new mother's nether regions and remained, stroking the human gently. Regardless of pay, she had come to like the damaged human.
It was determined to be a virus of some description, but a couple of weeks later as she succumbed a second time, a local almost human doctor was called in. Antibiotics were prescribed along with a series of vitamin and minerals, and a feeding regime for her *very* healthy baby girls that included the first introduction of solids.
Xander was in attendance for the examination, Clem opting for an overdue ‘afternoon at the cousin's', so the young(ish) father of three struggled to take all the instructions in.
The doctor also inspected Spike, approved the regime of feeding and therapy, and promised to return in a month… but also re emphasised that Willow be ‘watered and fed at least five times a day!’
That night Spike asked the nurse to be directed to the ‘baby room’ then leave him in his chair beside the wiccan’s bed. It took almost fifteen minutes, but he managed to reach up, and slowly lever a plastic cup half full of water until it came off her side table and fell into his lap the right way up.
The water that spilt over his skimpily covered limbs as a consequence was cold but of no issue. More important was the positioning of the cup between his legs before he opened the vein.
His legs still had little to no feeling, but the cup had luckily found a secure resting place and he managed to sink the fangs into the vein in his wrist, dropping the limp limb across the wide opening and letting the rich fluid of a sick but still Master vampire find the vessel to drip into.
Xander found him there, wrist still dripping slowly into a near full cup. He was thankful to spy the cup and suspected the reason but still rushed forward to support the weakened vampire’s head that had lolled to the side.
“Oh G$#%! Spike! What are you??? Give me that!!!! Why??”
The cup was carefully taken and placed on a side table, before Xander’s warm mouth latched onto the wounded wrist, licking carefully and hoped for some healing as his own left wrist was offered up to the vampire. Instinctive response saw a scar of many cuttings was reopened by familiar fangs and corpuscles exchanged in unison… at last.
But this time was different.
Xander felt the magical jolt as something very small but still significant seemed to shift inside him. He pulled on Spike’s blood anew and felt the reciprocal act, now being done in exact unison. The rhythm had an effect and he felt a rather neglected nether region respond enthusiastically. He moaned a little but did not attend his ‘interest’. Instead he released the now healing wrist, took back his own that was in the same state, and lifted the thin, pale, beautiful male figure from the chair and carried him back to their shared bed. But this time it was different.
He avoided aught but a chaste touch, but still felt compelled. He lay atop the slim form, massaged his obvious erection against his friend’s and whispered, “Please Spike! *Feel* it! Please feel it! You must… just…”
And Spike did – just enough. With his, at least for now, lover’s blood in he veins, willingly given, his body needed no more prompting and regardless of feeling or none, his lower parts spurted their seed between the two forms in a matter of moments.
Eventually a rather embarrassed Xander lifted off, apologised profusely, then cleaned them both as much as he could with facial tissues.
However as his friend smiled weakly he kissed the near snoozing vampire gently on the forehead, tucked the covers around the male form, and stood rather awkwardly by the bedside as Spike fell asleep.
He had just done an act which, in his wildest dreams, he should not have performed! He fell to his knees beside the bedside, overcome by a sense of delayed guilt. He had *taken* an invalid, a friend! Accepted blood, given it, then engaged in an act not of penetration but stimulation with a body that had barely moved for months and he was trying to make well. … but it *still* had felt… right.
A minute or so later, Spike rolled *voluntarily* for the first time and he drawled, in a very rough from lack of use, baritone voice, “Wh… took you s’ long! Than’s… Luv…Y… Hummmpf… blood’sferthegirlbyth… payback… I… ffffffff”
The ill vampire gave up and let his body sleep. But something had definitely changed, and the following afternoon’s cocktail of milk, Xander blood and O positive had a more ‘vampiric’ healing response... and he managed to make a fist, with both hands!
The night of its donation, Willow drank the blood of the Master Vampire slowly. It had been mixed in with the two half litre bottles of water she was compelled to consume each day before lunch. Her renewed magical state responded to the gift and that day in therapy, with full support from two attending helpers, she put her feet on the ground and was eased forward to standing. It was not by herself yet of course, but… Despite the severe tremors in too weak legs Xander and Clem were both witness to the event and hugged her soundly after she was eased back onto her double bed that now also contained three tiny sleeping girls on a near permanent basis.
There was still the problem of her wide eyed staring, apparent nightmares (which resulted in catatonia rather than thrashing), and her fair level of detachment from everything… but lately even to the help she did seem… better.
Clem was always the optimist, reassuring Xander at every opportunity, “She’ll be happier when she’s up and around! C’mon buddy… Three rounds and I win back that little white one from you…”
An hour later saw Clem with his prized blue eyed deaf kitten tucked under a floppy arm fold about to head out, and Xander checking on a sleeping Spike before finding a quiet spot with the phone.
Before dialling, he sent a prayer to Gaia, the Powers, to any deity willing to help, that their ‘family’ strange as it was, might be well again.
A male voice answered.
“Who dares call the Well?”
“Giles?... Um… it’s Xander… I’ve got… Oh thank G#%$ it’s you…”