bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,
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The Crossing

Title: The Crossing
7/41
Author: BmblBee
Paring: S/X
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: The Bee owns none of the characters or products named and
makes no money off anything. Sad state of affairs.
Warnings: Bad language, strong sexual content between M/M.
Second warning: Although I did do a lot of research, this story is not intended to
be an exact historical account so please don't scream and pounce on a detail or
two that may not be entirely accurate.

Credit: The snippets at the tops of the pages are from a web site entitled "Titanic,
A Time Line of Events." Earl Chapman on the Titanic Discussion List originally
published this chronology of events. Chapman modified it slightly in 1997. The
1997 version formed the basis of this timeline.

Summary: AU. It is the spring of 1912 and Xander Harris, who has been living
with relatives in Ireland, is heading home. As a gift of love, he was booked
passage on the maiden voyage of the Titanic with the promise that it will be the
adventure of a lifetime.

Author's note: This story is NOT a retelling of any of the Titanic movies.
It is the tale of one man and one vampire forgotten by history and the destiny they
both find on this doomed crossing.

Spelling checked by the gracious Silk_Labyrinth




As always, thanks to Petxnd for the wonderful banners and the valued friendship.


The size, scope and electric atmosphere of the ballroom were staggering. It was like
nothing Xander had ever, in his wildest dreams, imagined possible. It was twice the
size of the dining hall and several notches up on the scale of sinful extravagance.

Despite his hesitation in the open doorway, Spike had a solid grip on Xander's
forearm and led him through the mass of moving, teeming bodies as Xander gaped
and stared in all directions at once.

The room itself was massive. Supported throughout by ornate, white carved pillars,
the ceiling was domed in the center with a heavy circle of stained glass that sparkled
and seemed to ripple as it reflected the golden light from the modern electric chandeliers.

There were easily over one hundred tables. All round, some small and intimate, some
huge and able to accommodate larger groups of rowdy partiers. Each table was draped
with white, new, linen cloths and set with crystal goblets for wine or the service of harder
drinks which everyone seemed to be downing in great volume.

And the room was warm. Warm to the point of nearly uncomfortably so. The contrast
of the outside air was startling as the giant boilers in the bowels of the ship cranked a
radiant heat throughout all the areas of occupation. That alone would have made the
ballroom pleasant and cozy, but when combined with the body heat of over a hundred
perspiring, gyrating and moving human bodies, the heat was reaching swamplike
temperatures.

One wall of the room was floor to ceiling glass windows that overlooked the ocean.
It was designed as a point of relaxed lookout during the daytime hours, but now, in the
late evening, with only the blackness of night, it reflected, like mirrors, the activity in
the room. Spike seemed to want to avoid that interesting view.

The focal point of the room was the band. Four men in tuxedos, they played their
instruments as backup and accompaniment to a gorgeous colored woman in an elegant,
low cut evening gown who belted out the latest jazz tunes and kept the passengers on
their feet, kicking out the steps to the popular dances.

Situated on a raised platform at the far side of the room, they were set up like an island,
surrounded by the polished, hardwood floor that allowed the passengers to see and
hear them from any seat in the club.

Surrounding the band, couples filled the dance floor, twitching and jumping in perfect
synchronicity to the music. Xander wondered how on earth people learned to do that.
Did they take lessons? Did someone teach them? He could never imagine himself
doing something so uninhibited in public although he did have to admit, it looked like
great fun.

"Oi, there's one. Come on."

With luck, Spike was able to spot and claim a small table at the rear and he quickly
shoved Xander into one of the two chairs that sat there.

"Sit. I'll go retrieve us a couple tankards of ale and be right back."

Xander nodded blankly. His mind responded only to the sit and stay command but
was able to give it no deeper thought. He knew he was probably ogling like a
country rube but couldn't help himself. His brain was on overload and with no
release valve, it was threatening to explode.

When Spike returned, he found the young man grinning like a loon and tapping his feet
in time with the music.

"The band is good, yeah? Do you like to dance?"

Xander jumped, surprised at his companion's return. He nodded his thanks and took
a big gulp of the beer before answering.

"Me? Dance? No, that's something I never learned."

Spike laughed easily.

"It's not that hard. You just hang on to your partner and let the music fill your body.
Before you know it you're movin' and swayin'. Want to try? Want to dance with me?"

Xander's eyes bugged out at the outrageous suggestion and as his gaze quickly scanned
down the smaller man's frame and he was flushed warm with embarrassment as he realized
that, hell yes, it was an idea that sat very well with certain parts of his torso. Quickly,
he swallowed the lump in his throat and he snorted.

"Don't be silly. Two men can't dance together. It just isn't done. It would be terribly
scandalous! Besides, I don't even know your name."

Immediately, Spike stuck out his hand and he formally bowed his head.

"William Robert Pratt, Esquire, at your service, Sir. And you are?"

Xander giggled as he accepted and shook the small, almost feminine hand. He
attributed the icy coldness of it to the fact that they had just come in from the elements.

"I am Alexander L. Harris. Previously of the United States of America, most recently
residing in Queenstown, Ireland. Very pleased to make your acquaintance Mr. Pratt."

Spike held onto the hand and their eyes continued to stare deeply, blue into brown
as the moment rolled on. Spike used the time to read the young man. His heart rate
was escalated. His breathing, short and irregular. His body temperature rose when
their hands connected and Spike knew. He knew what the boy probably didn't.

Spike smiled broadly and released his grip. With the contact broken, Xander blinked
as though he had been in a trance. He quickly turned his face, terrified he would give
himself away. He had promised himself that when he returned to the States, he would
pretend to be normal. He would see women and act as a man was meant to act, yet,
here he was, so burning with attraction for this stranger, he feared he might release his
seed in his trousers right here at the table.

Spike inhaled deeply, drawing in the heady aroma of desire and need that poured
from the human boy. For him. The boy wanted him. It was a knowledge that both
thrilled and excited the vampire. It wasn't like the tarts from below that were used
only as food. They too smelled of sexual attraction but theirs was a cheap, perfumy
stench that assaulted the senses, repulsive and foul.

This was the sweet, heady scent of a human unaccustomed to guarding against
displaying his feelings. This was fresh, pure and innocent. This was what Spike
wanted. This was what he would have.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Alexander. Please call me Spike."

Xander again looked up, his eyes bright and cheery. Spike. He liked the sound
of that.

"All right, Spike. You can call me Xander."
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