bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,

Hope House

Author: BmblBee
Paring: Primarily S/X with a very minor S/OCs.
Rating: NC17 Adult Reading
Disclaimer: The Bee has no claim on any of the characters or
products named in this story and receives no profit from anything.
Warnings: Adult language, Prostitution, Violence, strong sexual
content. NOTE: All the boys working in Hope House are over
the age of 18. The Bee does not do underage!

Summary: Long after the final battle of Sunnydale, Xander is
alone, his life in shambles. Is there anywhere he can go and anyone
who can give him hope? There just might be.

As always, kudos to Petxnd for the wonderful banner.

There is no way Xander could lie there knowing what he now knew. The left over
Scoobie in him demanded he step up to the plate, wooden bat in hand and praying
for a home run. There were innocent lives here. People to save and a vampire to
vanquish. It was what he did. It was what Xander knew.

After Jack had left, he scooted around, pulling himself up by the bed rails till he was
in a sitting position in the narrow bed. Considering all he had been through, he was
surprisingly sound and seemingly almost recovered. Reaching down, he flipped the
handle that dropped the side rail and he moved to sit on the edge of the bed.
'Well,' He thought. 'So far, so good'

Experimentally, he then slowly slid down till his bare feet touched and settled on
the cold, green, institutional tiled floor. Carefully he stood, testing the strength in
his legs as they balanced, accepting his full weight. They didn't and he crumpled.

Slightly dizzy and still shaky, Xander waited a few minutes while the nausea settled
in his stomach and the spinning stopped behind his eyes, then tried pulling himself back
to a standing position. This time he was more stable, though the muscles in his legs
still quivered. He held on to bed until he felt stronger then gingerly took a step away.

Turning, he baby stepped his way over to the supply cabinet and threw open the glass
double doors. He rooted through bottles, tubes, supplies and jars. He was thrilled
when he located a pair of pajama pants. Nothing feels more vulnerable than demon
hunting in an open backed gown with your hoo ha swinging free. He pulled them on
and tied up the string at the waistband.

Now, he needed a weapon. He searched every inch of the cupboard, tossing things
to the floor and not caring what he broke or spilled. That was minor in the face of
what he had to do.

Just as he was beginning to feel frustrated, Xander's eye struck on a small flat body
board tucked behind the cupboard. It was wood. It was just what he needed.
Using what little strength he had, he propped it up on the side of the chair and
slammed his foot down, splintering it into pieces.

Rooting through, he selected one large, pointy chunk and he tested the end with his
thumb to assure himself that it was sharp enough. He took a few moments to catch
his breath. He knew that he was still too weak and that it was foolish to do this now,
but now was the best time. It was still early in the day and the fiendish vampire would
be sleeping.

He didn't need to be strong. He needed to be quick.

Quietly, Xander slipped from the room. He leaned against the hallway as he walked,
taking great comfort from the familiar feel of the wooden stake in his hand, and he kept
his eyes and ears alert for any movement or sound. He remembered Jack telling him to
avoid the far part of the house. He said that was where the vampire lived. It was information
Xander couldn't have needed more and Jack unwittingly, innocently gave it up.

At the end of the hallway, Xander's head darted out then snapped back as he peeked
around the corner. Certain he was alone, he moved in. He was facing a huge lobby area
as if the house had been a hotel at one time. He was impressed with all the expensive
electronics, but told himself to focus. That is not what he was looking for.

The house was quiet and dark. Unnaturally dark for the daytime. Heavy, sun resistant
drapes hung at every window, confirming what Jack had said. More confident now, Xander padded barefoot quickly across the length of the media room and entered another hallway
that led to a separate suite of rooms.

At the end of the hall was a large set of double doors. Xander crouched down, resting his
ass on his heels. He was gripped by the familiar hand of terror. His breath came in ragged
spurts, in and out of his straining lungs. His heart pounded against his bruised ribs and his scalp injury stung as the salty sweat dampened the stitches. He felt close to passing out.

He knew this was stupid. He was weak and in no condition to face down a master vampire.
He realized that if he went through with this, one of them would surely die. Either way,
Xander was all right with that. It was how he always imagined he would go and it felt a hell
of a lot better than dying under a bridge at the hands of a mugger or a john.

When he had caught his second wind, he again stood up with his back against the wall
and stepped forward. He placed his left hand on the door knob and gripped the stake in
his right, the splinters cutting into his palm. Gently, and silently, he turned the handle and
eased open the door just enough to allow him to slip inside.

He waited while his eyes adjusted to the dark and he could make out the shape of a figure
in the huge bed in the center of the room. Xander held his own breath and listened to see
if he could hear anyone else breathing. He couldn't. Jack had been telling the truth. It
was a vampire.

It steeled his resolve and Xander moved quickly to the side of the bed. The sleeping
monster lay silently on his back with his arm thrown over his face. He was bare chested
with a black satin sheet pooled loosely up to his waist. Xander shook his head and
wondered what it was with vampires and black satin. Spike used to love it. The memory
of his old companion slammed into him and stung his heart.

Knowing he was wasting time and the opportunity, Xander raised his hand.
He positioned the stake high over the vampire's heart and plunged down.

In a flash, Spike's hand flew up and his fingers gripped Xander's wrist, stopping it in midair.

"Now, now, Pet. Is that any way to greet an old friend?"


Retaining his hold on Xander's wrist, Spike reached over and snapped on his bedside lamp. Xander blinked. He stared into the familiar smirking face. His eyes scanned the vampire
from the top of his white blond hair, down his pale, glowing, perfectly sculpted body to
the point where the sheet had tumbled away from his hips. It really was Spike. His Spike.


Xander knew he was repeating himself, but couldn't think of anything more insightful to say.
He was afraid he was dreaming. He was afraid this wasn't real. Finally, he came up with......

"Is it really you?"

Spike was thrilled. The boy seemed glad to see him. Well, at least he hadn't spit on him
and left the room. That was definitely a point in the plus column.

"It is indeed, Pet. So, how's tricks?"

Suddenly the magnitude of the situation washed over him. The year of abandonment, his
loss of family, his struggle to survive and finally no longer caring if he didn't, all swamped
him at once. The emotions overwhelmed him and, with his body still weak and burnt from
the spent adrenalin, Xander collapsed in sobbing tears.

His fingers opened and the deadly wooden stake fell away, hitting the floor, forgotten as
his body folded. Immediately, Spike jerked forward and caught the boy in his arms, pulling
him close, helping him into the bed and covering him up.

He crooned softly, rocked and whispered.

"Sshhh. It's all right now, Pet. I've got you. All the bad times are over. I'm here and I will
take care of you. You're not alone anymore, Pet. Shhh."

Xander held on for dear life and let all the tears flow.
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