Nothing the Same, Book 2
Rating: PG13 - NC-17 Individual chapters will carry specific warnings.
Feedback & concrit: yes, please
Disclaimer: don't own them, never will, just playing with them
Spoilers: Anything from Season 1 on.
Summary: sequel to Nothing the Same.
WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEX
Previous parts here
Xander looked up from the telly as Spike came in. “How did it go?” he asked, reaching for the remote and twisting around to face Spike.
“Went all right.” Spike shrugged, going for casual. He hadn’t told Xander what Joyce had said to him when she had all but thrown him out of her house, much less how much her rejection had hurt. Xander had obviously figured out there was a problem, or else Joyce had told him, but there was no need to rehash the specifics. The problem was fixed now, time to move on. “We’re invited to Buffy’s birthday party,” he added with a grin, still not sure if it had been a bizarre joke on Joyce’s part or meant as a genuine peace offering.
Xander groaned theatrically. “I thought you said it went all right? That sounds like she wants to torture you.”
“Depends on your point of view, luv.” Spike swung himself over the back of the couch to settle next to Xander. “Way I see it, she’s begging for forgiveness by letting me torture her daughter.”
“Ok, that has possibilities.” Xander turned sideways to face him, still studying his expression. “You ok?”
More than ok, he was great. Everything had settled back into place and some things were much better than they had been before all the recent turmoil. The witch was gone, halfway to London by now, and Xander’s nervous tension had left with her. The rest of the little group had backed Xander up, which had surprised and pleased Spike and done wonders for Xander’s battered emotions. His friends had come through for him, not letting the witch get away with hurting him a second time. It made Spike feel a great deal safer about letting Xander continue to attend school. And Joyce and he were friends again and she had confirmed how much their friendship meant to her. Unlife was looking pretty good right now.
The only downside was that, with the witch gone, Spike would never be able to convince Xander that tutoring at home was in his best interests. Sighing to himself, Spike tucked that idea away for now. Persuading Xander to give up school entirely so he could be home during the long days just wasn’t in the cards right now.
Xander was smiling at him, still turned sideways on the couch to face him, and Spike had a feeling his expression was as sappy as he was actually feeling. He needed to do something about that.
Leaning forward, he closed the gap between them, kissing Xander gently; a kiss which deepened rapidly as Spike slid both hands into Xander’s hair, pulling him closer as Xander’s mouth opened blindly under his.
For a long moment, Spike was content to just kiss his Claimed, mouths sliding against each other, tongues dueling, teeth nibbling, letting the tastes and sensations fill him, arousal building slowly as their mouths devoured each other until kissing wasn’t enough. Wasn’t nearly enough.
Spike moved forward, unfolding as he did until he was kneeling on the couch, his lips never losing contact with Xander’s. Gently, he pushed Xander backwards onto the couch until Xander was stretched flat underneath him, Spike settling on top of him. Xander’s arms closed around him, hands beginning to move frantically, yanking at Spike’s shirt until it pulled free from his pants and Xander’s warm hands swept underneath the fabric, caressing along Spike’s back.
Resting between Xander’s legs, cradled in the human warmth wrapped around him, Spike felt loved like he never had with any other lover. This was far more than just sex, Xander’s touch was loving and curiously tender, as if Spike was something fragile and to be cherished. It made Spike feel almost humble sometimes knowing he had the love and loyalty of this amazing human. Without a word being said, Xander knew. He knew how much the rift with Joyce had hurt Spike and he was silently rejoicing with Spike that it had been healed, all without saying a word, letting his hands and kisses speak for him.
Which was quite possibly the most arousing thing Spike had ever known.
Tender lovemaking completely out the window, Spike found he was rocking hard into Xander, their erections pressed together, the heat scalding despite two layers of denim separating them. Xander gasped and bucked up into him, meeting him thrust for thrust as their cocks rubbed together. Xander’s hands slid down his back and cupped Spike’s ass, trying to pull Spike even closer and Spike knew just how he felt. He wanted more: more friction, more heat, more pressure.
His hips drove down into Xander’s over and over, pushing Xander deeply into the cushions, his cock jerking wildly in its fabric prison, throbbing, on the edge of release. God, no one but Xander had ever been able to make him cum in his pants like a randy teenager but Spike was already so close to the edge he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
Tearing himself free of Xander’s mouth, Spike heard himself moaning, his hips jerking roughly against Xander’s, Xander’s harsh panting in his ear sending him over the edge in a roar of pleasure, his cock pulsing in his jeans as orgasm tore through him. Xander let out a wailing cry, his own hips bucking up into Spike as he came hard, flooding the room with the smells of semen and sweat and arousal.
Hours later, still joined together, his spent cock resting deep inside Xander’s heated channel, Spike forced himself to pull free before vampire stamina insisted on another round. Xander was exhausted, cum-stained and beyond sated and not up for anything more. Smugly pleased, his ears still ringing from Xander’s scream as Spike brought him to the peak for the third time that night, Spike slid gently out of his lover.
He yanked the damp, stained sheets out from underneath them and snagged the comforter off the floor from where it had been kicked to the ground some time back. Pulling it up over them, he cradled Xander in his arms as his boy slid deeper into unconsciousness.
“Thank you, luv,” Spike whispered into the dark curls.
Leaning with deliberate casualness against the doorjamb, Spike watched his Sire fuss around the mansion’s living room. Angelus had been reading by the light of the fire when Spike arrived and now he moved around the room, switching on a lamp and setting the book he’d been reading down on the table, like a host with an unexpected guest, rather than a Sire greeting his Childe. The room was more Spartan than when Angelus had been setting up his Court here: it was furnished like a monk’s cell now, everything plain and severe, with no concession to even ordinary comfort. The stark lines were probably something designers would drool over, but Spike had never cared for the stripped down, minimalist look. He shook his head in disapproval. The state of Angelus’ lair was just one more indication that all was not well with his Sire.
It was one thing to live however and wherever when you had to, but a lair was supposed to be a haven. The lairs of Master Vampires were usually adorned with plush rugs, overstuffed cushions and an overall luxury that would put sultans to shame. Angelus had been no different, once upon a time, taking the finest materials humans could produce as nothing more than his due. Really no point in having immortality at all if it wasn’t comfortable. When it had been the four of them, those early years after Spike was turned, their lairs had held the luxurious loot of a continent: silks and satins, jewels and furs, nothing that wasn’t the finest quality to be had. All stolen, of course, and nothing they hadn’t abandoned time and again as they moved on, knowing they would pick up more at their next stopping place. Angelus had loved luxury like a cat back then and, like a cat, had viewed it as his birthright.
Other, more pressing matters, had distracted Spike from noticing what was happening with his Sire recently - the slow retreat from everything until Angelus spent days at a time brooding all alone in his empty lair. Vampires weren’t meant to be solitary hermits, it wasn’t in their nature. Days after the fight with the demon at City Hall, Spike suddenly found himself thinking about the way Angelus had thrown himself into the fight with a joyful savagery, a passion, that Spike hadn’t seen since his Sire returned from Acathla’s hell dimension.
You could say a lot about Angelus, and Spike had said most of it at one time or another, but his Sire had reveled in being a demon. Whether draining terrified victims, causing mayhem for the sheer joy of it, rutting like an animal with Darla, or seducing his victims with a combination of fear and desire, Angelus had been a Master Vampire at his manipulative, treacherous best a century ago. The soul had changed most of that for Angelus, causing him to view once cherished memories as nightmares of recrimination and guilt, but Spike had seen a glimpse of that passion for eternal life in his Sire as the three of them had fought against the larger, stronger demon.
Thinking back on it, it made him realize how diminished his Sire had seemed lately. Like someone who’d lost all sense of who they were and what their purpose in life, or in this case unlife, was. Spike knew something of how Angelus had spent the better part of the past century: a hairsbreadth from madness, feeding off vermin and living like a transient human, lost in guilt after being cursed with the return of his soul. Neither human nor truly vampire, unable to live as either. Angelus had told Spike, one long, boring evening last year, how one glimpse of the “shining, golden perfection” of the Slayer had snapped him out of the long nightmare and convinced him that his purpose in living as a souled vampire was to help the Slayer.
It had made Spike want to heave, hearing his Sire rave about how the Powers had returned his soul so that he could help the Slayer fight evil. He hadn’t called Angelus on it at the time since they were trying to reconnect with each other but, in Spike’s opinion, it had been nothing more than a prime example of Angelus thinking with his dick and not his brain. The Powers had arranged the massacre of a gypsy tribe, who in turn cursed a vampire with a soul in revenge, all so that the vampire could help one particular Slayer 100 years later? Bollocks.
Angelus’ faith in that theory had been sorely tried by the fact that doing a mattress dance with that same Slayer had caused him to lose the soul again. To top it off, he’d learned that his return from another dimension hadn’t been an intervention from the Powers, but the result of a teenager with delusions of grandeur working a spell. Not being able to be around the Slayer without worrying about his libido putting his soul at risk, Angelus had slowly retreated into isolation and depression. Recently, Angelus had seemed… deflated somehow, a little lost and uncertain in a way Angelus just wasn’t.
The upshot of this line of thinking was that Spike had stopped by for a long overdue talk with his Sire. Angelus couldn’t do much to help the Slayer, because helping her meant being around her and even Angelus had realized that was a bad idea. It meant he was spending far too much time alone in the mansion, brooding over how life had done him wrong. Angelus wasn’t interested in his former pursuits, the soul saw to that, but it seemed like he had no purpose at all anymore and that had begun to worry Spike. A vampire who didn’t enjoy unlife was just asking for final death. It was all too easy for even a Master Vampire to be killed when they didn’t want to live more than everyone around them: a moment’s carelessness meant a stake through the heart by something with a bit more drive. In hindsight, now that he’d begun thinking about it, Spike had even wondered if Angelus wasn’t just waiting to greet the dawn one fine morning. Bloody idiot was probably just too righteous to actively try to kill himself but a vampire who let himself get morbid and weak was certainly a passive way of doing it.
His Sire could be a pompous blowhard at times but he was still Spike’s Sire. Brooding over his meaningless unlife wasn’t doing anything for anybody, least of all Angelus, and Spike figured his Sire was long overdue for a good ass kicking to remind him he was a vampire. Even Angelus’ former hobby of killing all vampires was better than this morbid do-nothing shite. Spike didn’t have a lot of use for most other vampires and didn’t really care if Angelus wanted to thin the herd a bit. Anything was better than his Sire sitting around the mansion and feeling sorry for himself. He needed to snap Angelus out of his
self-indulgent funk before it turned actively self-destructive.
“Spending way too much time sitting on your arse, Angelus. You need to get out more.”
Admittedly, subtle had never really been his strong suit.
Angelus glared half-heartedly, going stiff with resentment at the comment. “Not your business, Spike.”
“Then who’s is it?” Spike asked, reasonably enough, he thought. If you couldn’t interfere in your family’s affairs then what was the point in having family. “You've been moping around ever since you learned there wasn’t some great mythic purpose in you bein’ brought back. You're just a demon like the rest of us, and that's not good enough for you, is it? The great Angelus has to be a bit more larger-than-life than the rest of us, don’t he?”
Angelus growled, his eyes flaring gold and he stepped towards Spike. “Shut up, Spike.”
“Or what? You’ll go pouting to the Slayer? The Angelus I know would have had me flat on the floor by now.” Spike still leaned against the doorjamb in a deliberately annoying show of disrespect but his whole body was tense with readiness, waiting for Angelus to snap under his prodding.
Angelus shifted to demon features. Finally! “You’re about to find out just how much Angelus is still in me, boy,” he growled warningly.
“Think you can take me, you pathetic poser?” Spike asked mockingly.
Angelus sprang with a roar, and Spike’s casual stance vanished. Snarling, he leapt forward to meet Angelus, ducking underneath his Sire’s enraged rush, twisting to avoid the reaching arms and spinning to kick his Sire from behind. His booted foot landed squarely on Angelus’ ass, more by luck than actual design, and the kick propelled Angelus forward until he smashed into the wall.
Angelus turned in a flash, rage suffusing his features and Spike bounced on his toes, waiting for Angelus to rush him again. “That the best you got, soul-boy?” he taunted.
Angelus descended on him with a flurry of blows and Spike danced backwards, ducking and weaving, trying to stay out of Angelus’ reach. His Sire was taller and heavier, if he let Angelus close on him the fight would be over. Fortunately, he’d provoked Angelus enough that his Sire was operating on pure rage. Angelus never had fought at his best when fury clouded his judgment.
Spike vaulted over the couch and grabbed the fireplace poker, bringing it whistling around to smash into Angelus’ side as his Sire followed him, catching the older vampire in mid-air. The force of the blow dropped Angelus to the floor and Spike pounced, landing on top of Angelus and using the poker to pin him down, bringing it down flat across Angelus’ neck. It wouldn’t cut off necessary oxygen like it would for a human but, with enough pressure, it could actually sever Angelus’ neck, which would be troublesome for his Sire to say the least.
Leaning his full weight on the metal, Spike waited for Angelus’ struggles to still, glaring down into his Sire’s eyes. When the rage cooled somewhat and Angelus was glaring back at him with nothing more than ordinary anger and hurt pride, Spike judged he was ready to listen.
“You want to be more?” he asked. “Then make yourself more, you pathetic wanker. Stop sitting around waiting for Lady Destiny to arrive at your door and lead you to what she has planned for you. Grab the bitch by the throat and shake her until she gives you what you want.” Spike had never been one for believing in destiny, but Angelus seemed to have fallen in to that trap. Must be the bloody soul talking.
Angelus just stared up at him silently. Speechless, by god. Good, he must finally be getting through that thick skull. He continued a bit more calmly.
“Slayer's not the answer to your problems, mate. Find yourself some other goal because she isn't going to be around for more than an eye-blink anyway. You're immortal, you moron. Slayer's not only mortal, she's got the shelf-life of a head of lettuce. If she’s your only reason for existing, then stake yourself now and get it over with.”
Judging his moment, Spike released the pressure and rolled away quickly, before Angelus could retaliate. He bounced to his feet, moving well out of range, but Angelus just slowly climbed to his own feet and didn’t make a move to attack again.
“If you really think you have some great destiny waiting for you, then do something about it. Get up off your ass and fight evil, if that's what you think your destiny is. Make your unlife count for something. Anything’s better than sitting around here feelin’ sorry for yourself.”
Not giving his Sire a chance to say anything, Spike dropped the poker and spun in a swirl of black leather, heading for the door. He kept a wary ear out for movement from Angelus but heard nothing. Stopping briefly at the door, he looked back. Angelus hadn’t moved, standing uncertainly by the fireplace and looking thoughtful.
“Rumor has it, there’s a Naarvahl tribe setting up a den near the day care center on King Street.” Naarvahls were disgusting. Small and vicious, they preyed on the weak and they did it messily. The kind of thing that was sure to attract unwanted attention even from Sunnydale’s severely inadequate police force. “Figured I’d clean it out before they got dug in. Join me?”
For a long moment, he thought Angelus wasn’t going to answer. Then Angelus lifted his head and there was something in his eyes that Spike hadn’t seen in far too long. “Sounds like a plan.”
Much later, heading home, tired and bloody and nursing dozens of small bites, Spike grinned. It had been a good fight and Angelus had seemed almost like his old self as they had combined forces to destroy the nest. He hadn’t even scolded Spike for smashing the wretched things against the walls of their nest with a bit more force than strictly necessary to kill them. Like he’d figured, Angelus just needed a reminder that raising hell was fun. So long as it was in a good cause, Angelus could cut loose all he wanted without the bloody soul making him feel guilty.
He’d even agreed to meet Spike for drinks the next night. Spike figured he could easily convince Angelus to patrol the Hellmouth on his own. Slayer didn’t have a monopoly on patrolling for evil after all. Maybe Angelus could find his “destiny” as a champion against evil.
That would probably suit his Sire’s enormous ego to a ‘t’.
“I’ll kill you for that!”
“For that? Then what were you trying to kill me for before?” The Slayer shot back, her voice filled with mock bafflement.
Spike had added the playground where the bodies of the two “kids” had been found to the list of places in his territory he kept an eye on. He wasn’t really expecting problems there, but demons were all for reflected glory, worse than bloody humans about that sort of thing, and he felt it prudent to keep a watchful eye on the place for awhile to make sure no one got any ideas. Judging from the exchange he was overhearing, the Slayer had apparently added it to her patrols as well. Hearing the sounds of battle, Spike detoured towards the playground equipment to watch.
The Slayer was generally worth watching in a fight. She’d improved over the course of the past year and had developed some nice moves and Spike had always appreciated a good fight.
He stopped in the bushes near the small playground and watched in appreciation as the Slayer tossed a vampire onto the merry-go-round. Pity, looked like the fight was almost over, he’d missed the good parts.
Spike shook his head in exasperation as the Slayer held off the death blow to deliver one more quip. Never would learn, that one. Far’s she knew there was no-one around to impress with her wit except her soon-to-be-dust victim, who wasn’t exactly going to be telling anyone about the witty way he’d been dispatched to final death.
Spike shrugged to himself. Show was over and time for him to be moving on. He tended to avoid the Slayer when their paths crossed at night, their mutual antagonism was good for a laugh but he got enough of that seeing her around Xander. He didn’t need to seek her out for more. Then, too, being seen in casual conversation with the Slayer would raise questions he didn’t particularly want to answer. His Court had long accepted that he and the Slayer had worked out a deal to go their separate ways. Any vampire inclined to question the arrangement had been dusted and it was simply an accepted fact now that the Slayer was useful in keeping the annoying fledglings under control. Her habit of patrolling the graveyards meant she didn’t interfere much with the members of the Court, who weren’t the ones creating the fledges in any case. Still, it wasn’t something he wanted to rub in the face of his Court if it could be avoided.
His thoughts broke off and his eyes narrowed as the vampire’s imminent death unexpectedly became a lot less imminent. The Slayer suddenly seemed dizzy, dropping her guard and stumbling back a wavering step. The vampire seized the advantage, pushing up from his vulnerable position on the merry-go-round and grabbing her with both hands. To Spike’s surprise, the Slayer was sent flying through the air, landing heavily on a picnic table with an audible cry of pain. She tumbled to the ground in a graceless sprawl and rolled onto her back.
Spike continued to watch in astonishment as the vampire leapt on top of the Slayer, who’d managed to cling to her stake and was holding it up between them defensively. The vampire grabbed her hands in both of his, grinning down at her as he forced the stake around until the business end was pointing at the Slayer. The vampire leaned forward, pressing the stake down towards the Slayer’s heart.
Spike didn’t realize he’d begun to move until he had crossed half the distance between himself and the pair so intent on their struggle they didn’t see him approaching. Unbelievably, he watched as the stake pressed against the Slayer’s chest above her heart, as she struggled desperately to halt the downward movement.
“Let me know if I’m not doing this right,” the vampire said mockingly, leaning even further over until his face was only inches from that of the desperate Slayer, who was fighting to keep the stake from penetrating her heart, making little gasping cries as she struggled.
Spike’s hands closed on the vampire’s arms and he tore the other vampire off the Slayer, throwing him halfway across the playground.
“Well, since you asked: One - always remember to guard your flank.” Spike snatched the stake out of the Slayer’s hands and sprinted to meet the other vampire, who was recovering from his shock at the unexpected attack and springing back to his feet.
“Two - don’t chit chat with your victim unless your kill is certain.” Spike spun in a swirl of black leather, bringing one leg up and around and sweeping the other vampire off his feet again.
“Three - what kind of a moron uses a stake on a Slayer? Waste of the best blood you’ll never taste,” he informed the explosion of ash as he brought the borrowed stake down in the center of the vampire’s chest.
Spike rose to his feet in one easy motion, turning to face the Slayer who was still staggering upright, looking dizzy and shaken.
“What the hell are you playing at, Slayer?” he asked furiously. “You develop some sort of death wish recently? Should’ve been able to take that prat down without breaking a sweat.”
“I was regrouping,” Buffy said defensively.
Spike snorted. “If you’d regrouped any further, you would’ve been lunch. Gonna give me a bad reputation if anyone finds out I’m out saving the Slayer from vampires.”
“I had it under control,” she insisted, but her eyes said she knew the truth. Death had been a heartbeat away and it was obvious she still felt the chill. She was rubbing at the trickle of blood on her chest where the stake had broken the skin. She looked white and sick, her eyes locked on the pile of ash that had so nearly been her own death. She dragged her gaze away from it and looked at Spike, the fear now under control but the confidence that was so much a part of all successful Slayers was at a low ebb. “Thanks, Spike,” she said quietly, her voice just a little shaky. “I got a little dizzy, I think I may be coming down with something.”
They stood there awkwardly for a moment, then Buffy shook herself all over, like a dog shedding water. Steadier now, she took a deep breath. “I think I’m done patrolling for the night.”
She turned and headed off slowly, pulling a new stake and clutching it like a lifeline as she walked off. Spike watched her for a moment, then swore quietly to himself. Slayers were a target for all of their short, violent lives; way too many demons were willing to line up to be killed for a chance at the glory of taking out a Slayer. Sooner or later, one of them always got lucky. Tonight, with the Slayer off her game and shaken by her brush with mortality, she was easy pickings for anyone who saw her. If the Slayer got herself killed, Joyce would never forgive him for letting her walk home alone in this state.
He ran to catch up with her, slowing to walk beside her. Buffy shot him a startled look and he shrugged. “Told Joyce I’d stop by,” he lied.
Buffy nodded, accepting the fiction the way Spike pretended not to notice her carefully hidden relief. They walked to the Slayer’s house in silence but it was an annoyingly comfortable one.
*A/N - Bits of dialogue borrowed from the episode ‘Helpless’