bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,
bmblbee
bmblbee
bloodclaim

5 Days More

TITLE: 5 Days More
15/46
AUTHOR: BmblBee
RATING: Adult entertainment due to m/m sexual activity
and language.
PARING: S/X
DISCLAIMER: This story is fiction. Conceived in the warped
hive of the BmblBee. She owns none of the
characters or products named and makes no money
from their use.
WARNINGS: Character death. Boys playing with boys.
Vampire/ human contact.

SUMMARY: Xander Harris is dead. Drained by a vampire in
the Longview Cemetery. When his body is discovered
his friends realize that no one has seen or heard from him
in the last five days. Willow comes up with a spell to send
someone back in time to find out how he ended up there
and possibly save his life. Spike is reluctantly recruited.





Thanks to Petxnd for the wonderful banner and patient preread.


3:00 am Wednesday morning
Xander Harris has 2 1/2 days left to live.

Spike stumbled forward, gripping the damp, ivy covered wrought
iron fence for balance. He was beyond wondering or caring about
the logistics of where he landed, he just knew where he wanted
to be.

Leaping the fence in one smooth, cat like leap, Spike took off
at a sweeping pace toward the seemlier side of town.
He tried telling himself that he wanted to do this because he owed
Xander. After all the boy had bank rolled his huge winnings.

He refused to feel any guilt over granny's CD. She had left it for
her grandson to use in an emergency, or for something special that
would make him happy. Well, thanks to Spike, it had done both.
'Of course' Spike decided. 'If he never finds out about it, all the
better.'

Spike turned the bend and carried on at an even quicker trot.
He was honest enough to admit that the boy had surprised him.
All this time Spike had been so wrapped up in the Slayer that
he had never even noticed how funny, how open, how ready
for any new adventure his boy could be.

Spike smiled. No, the next two days wouldn't be a hardship.
Not at all.

Spike's thoughts had been so focused on his destination and
Xander that he was unaware of the dark shadowy figure waiting
in the alley down the block till he hustled past and felt the steel
pipe swing, just missing his head by inches.

"What the Fuck?"

Spike spun around in time to see a rail thin young man in a black
hoodie approach him tenuously. The leather clad gloved hand
tossed the pipe aside.
The loud clanking metallic sound of it as it crashed against the side
wall of the brick building echoed loudly. It was the only sound on
the dead quiet street.

Taking a fumbling step back, the young man reached in his pocket
and pulled out a 9MM, pointing it with shaky hands, directly at a spot
between Spike's eyes.

"I'll shoot! I swear to God, I'll shoot. Give me all your fuckin' money!
Now, mutha fucker! NOW!"

Spike inhaled, smelling the boy and the air around him. Beyond the
stench of fear, sweat, and unwashed flesh, Spike clearly detected
the odor of black tar heroin residue, dried on a metal spoon in
his pocket.

Spike's eyes slid from the top of the would be thief's head down to
the soles of his probably stolen Air Jordan's. It struck him as
incredibly unfair that his boy would die soon while this piece of shit
was allowed to live.
Spike decided that if the universe couldn't fairly even the balance a bit
maybe he could.

"Take it easy, son. No need to use that thing. You don't really want
to do this do you? Maybe you could get some help, you know,
quick stint in a rehab. Just like all them Hollywood types."

The gun pointed in Spike's face began waving wildly as the boy's
breathing and heart rate both rose to a dangerous level.
The hugely dilated pupils of his eyes flashed with hate and spittle
foamed at the corners of his mouth.

"Shut the fuck up. I ain't going to no fuckin' rehab. Now, give me
your fuckin' money before I just shoot your fuckin' English ass and
take it."

Spike slowly reached into his coat pocket and saw the boy's lips
curl up into a victorious sneer.
"Yeah, yeah. That's right mutha fucker."

The elation of the win, however, morphed into confusion when,
instead of money, Spike extracted a lighter and his trusty pack of
Newports, shaking one out and casually slipping it between his lips.

Hoodie's eyes darted back and forth between the lit cigarette and
the hand that dropped both items back in the duster pocket and
returned empty.

Spike leaned, relaxed against the cool brick wall, inhaling and
slowly blowing out a long cloud of poisonous nicotine as though
he hadn't a care in the world.

"What the........? Who the fuck you think you're playin' with? I'll
fuckin' shoot your white ass! I'll fuckin' ACK! ACK!"

Any further threats were cut off as effectively as the wind in his throat.
Although he never saw his prospective victim move, the smoker was no
longer standing in front of him.

Suddenly the small innocuous looking man in the long black coat
was changed. He had moved in the blink of an eye and the strength
of the arm around his neck was like an iron band.
The forgotten gun fell from his fingers, clattering to the ground.

Spike grabbed the top of the thief's hood in his claw like fingers,
jerking it down and taking a clump of greasy, dirty hair with it.

The pain worked wonders towards bring the boy out of his terror
induced stupor and he began squirming and struggling, pulling at
the arm that still restricted the flow of air into his lungs.

"Lemme go! Ack! Let go. Keep your damn money. I don't
care about the fuckin' money. Let go or I'll....I'll....I'll call the
cops, that's what I'll do. I'm a juvenile. You can't touch me.
You better funkin' get off me or you're gonna be sorry."

Spike grabbed a fist full of the boy's scalp and snapped his head to
the side. Now in full game face, he sniffed, the glorious smell of fear
and adrenalin had the blood that pumped so rapidly so near the
surface, smelling like cotton candy at the county fair.

"Don't worry, boy. It'll all be over quick."
Spike growled low, a deep rumbling from his chest that the thief
could feel vibrate into his back.
He froze.
All struggling stopped as the certainty of the situation sank in.
The boy whimpered and the front of his pants soaked through
as his bladder released.

Spike grinned and sank his fangs through the tender young skin.
It took only minutes before the empty shell was tossed to the side
and disregarded.

Taking a step towards the mouth of the alley, Spike staggered back.
His brain swam in his skull and his body flushed with the warmth of the
heroin as it flowed through him.

Spike leaned against the cool brick facade, his head tossed back as
his eyes rolled up. He felt sluggish, lethargic, fucking fantastic.
He tried to remember where it was that he was headed and why
but his cognitive abilities were simply not there.

With his mouth hanging open and his arms swinging limply at his
sides, Spike slid slowly down till his ass rested on the filthy, garbage
strewn alley floor, his head lolled forward as his chin came to rest
on his chest.


Xander had made it home, all in one piece just as Spike had said he
would, but that didn't make him happy. He almost wished he had
been mugged and the duffel bag of cash stolen. That would serve
Spike right. That would show him. Damn vampire.

Xander couldn't believe when Spike had ditched him. He thought
they had found some sort of friendship. 'What was the term?'
He tried to remember, 'Oh, yes, friends with benefits.'
And Xander liked the benefits very much.
To be strictly accurate, Xander liked Spike very much.

Xander realized that the only part of all this that should have surprised
him was how long Spike stayed or that he was here at all.
'Why the fuck was he here?'
It was a question that Xander really couldn't find an answer to.

Arriving home, Xander tossed the bag to the side and closed the door
behind him. He looked around the place and frowned. Two days
ago this was his pride and joy. His accomplishment. His home.
Now, however, it looked empty and depressing without the vampire.

Xander snorted. A vampire was the one thing Goodwill didn't
sell in their used furniture department. 'They should.' He thought
'It's the perfect decorative accessory.'

Dropping down on the ugly plaid sofa, he wondered again, where
Spike had gone.
Did he go to Buffy? Was he standing outside her window pining for her?
Or worse, were they having friendly benefits too?
He rubbed his hands roughly over his face trying to block out the
full color images that now scampered around his brain.

Xander checked the time on his watch. Nearly midnight.
With a resigned sigh, he turned off the lights and went to bed.
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