bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,
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Count Luffton

Title: COUNT LUFFTON
2/26
Author: BmblBee
Paring: S/X, AU
Rating: Adult NC17 for language and M/M sexual content.
Disclaimer: The Bee owns nothing including the characters and
products named in this story.
Warnings: Sex, violence and character death. Yes, the mouse
dies.
Summary: This story is a followup to Mouse but it is not necessary
to have read it. Xander brings Spike home to kill a mouse.
The mouse escaped and Spike stayed for the fun, games
and conflicts that S/X always get up to. One night Spike
gets more than a little drunk and does something stupid.

Comments: The last few stories have been drama and trauma. I felt
we needed some lighthearted fluff, comedy and stupidity.

Thanks to: Petxnd for her preread and suggestions and to Silk Labyrinth
for her betaing of boo boos. It should be noted that if any
irregularities remain it is due to the Bee's bullheadedness.





Spike sat back and watched. He lounged in the corner of the Magic Box and
he quietly observed the humans that went about their stupid little pseudo-
important lives. They had a mission. They had a purpose. They killed demons
and vampires and mistakenly thought they were accomplishing something.

He wouldn't even waste his time here if it weren't for his boy. He and Xander
had been together nearly a month now, not that it mattered to Xander. Always
worried about the others finding out about them, Xander insisted on keeping
their under-the-covers activities under the covers. It was a situation that chafed
the vampire considerably.

'Look at them,' Spike thought, 'a bunch of Keystone Cops, they are.'

Spike squinted his eyes and studied them. Didn't they realize that nothing they
did would change the natural order of things. They may be stemming the tide a
bit, but in the overall big picture it meant zilch. They were human. They had
preprogrammed time stamps on their arses. They would grow old, die, and in
time, the few demons they had killed wouldn't have made even a dent.

Demons were like cockroaches. For every one you kill, twenty more will take
its place. It's the way of the world. It is the way it has been since the beginning
of time, and it is the way it will be till the final apocalypse. But that was only his
opinion, and his opinion was not valued very highly around here.
So he watched and he listened and he waited.

Sadly, due to the chip, gone were the impetuous days of flesh rending, intestinal
tearing or mass murdering throat dismemberment. On the odd occasion that he did
forget himself and cause Xander a slight bit of pain during their daily romp through
the blankets, the agony that shot through his brain, down his body and out his very
fingers and toes quickly reminded him that he was not the man he used to be.

A man who could kill more than just a skittering mouse. Although to be fair, he
hadn't actually killed it. Or even recalled seeing it for that matter.

A man who would stand up proudly and claim his boy dispite what the others
thought, and fuck anyone who voiced an objection. Including Xander.

Spike leaned forward on the step he sat on. He clasped his hands together, resting
his forearms on his legs, and he watched them as though they were a badly done
sitcom on the evening telly.

First was Red. Her show would be a remake of Bewitched. Wiggle your nose
and cause the milkman's arse to fall off. Mix a magic potion and watch the
guinea pig citizens of Sunnydale dance to a new tune. At the end of each episode
someone would correct her screw-ups and the canned laughter would forgive
her carelessness.

The right corner of Spike's mouth twitch upward. The witch at least kept things
interesting. If it weren't for Red's little blond chit, there's no telling what chaos
she might get up to. Spike considered Tara to be the equivalent of Willow's
chip and soul.

Then there was Buffy. If you asked her, her show would be Heroes, when in
truth it would be more like I Love Lucy. She would throw herself blindly
into a situation that she really had no understanding of. Up till now, her luck
and strength had been enough to bring her through but Spike knew the truth.
If she didn't mature quickly, her luck would run out.
She would be just another dead Slayer in a long line.

Spike scratched his upper arm and again leaned back. His hearing picked up
the angry whispers as Giles reprimanded Buffy for some indiscretion or another.
The particulars didn't interest him. The same argument would play out tomorrow,
as it did yesterday. Nothing changed.

Dr. Phil would suggest that unless you change the way you approach a problem,
the result will always be the same.

Spike liked Dr. Phil. And Judge Judy.

Spike also liked Rupert Giles. No, silly, not in that way. Spike liked the darkness
in the man. He could smell it when he walked past him. He could read it in the
small, beady eyes behind the proper librarian glasses. Spike knew Giles had done
things. Things that would make Spike's eyes roll back in his head. Things that
would make the hair raise on the Slayer's body and possibly even cause the
witches to throw up their tofu burgers and seaweed salads.

Spike knew that Rupert Giles understood. He was one of the few humans that
realized the futility of what they were doing, yet he continued because it was his
way of coping. Coping with the overwhelming task that they could not possibly
accomplish.

Perhaps it was his retribution. His feeble attempt to balance the scales for all
he had done in his early years. All the gloriously evil things he had enjoyed.
Spike chuckled. He knew if the human lived another 100 years, he could not
begin to even the odds. Rupert Giles had well earned the title of 'Ripper.'

With a slight frown and a tip of his head, Spike sat back upright and now
turned his attention to the 'other Scooby.' The one who shouldn't be here.
Spike studied his boy and wondered. Was he cannon fodder for them? Was
he simply the errand boy that they used him for? Why did they keep him?
More importantly, why did he stay?

Xander was better than all this. In the short time they had been doing the
nasty, bouncing their balls and shooting rim shots, Spike had come to realize that
Xander was much more than an accomplished organ player, he was a genuine,
good person. He was faithful, affectionate and had a heart every bit as big as his
dick and that was saying something! So why did he waste his time on these slags?

The others were easy to read. Their lives and their thoughts were written all
over them. Buffy wore her insecurities with every skimpy outfit, each childish
distraction with every new pair of shoes. Buffy sought to purchase her self-
confidence at the mall.

Giles displayed his frustrations in his lens polishing and his rigid, unyielding
need for control in his snug, perfectly fitted tweed suits.

Willow and Tara were salt and pepper. Both wore what Spike called hippie chic.
Earth friendly, 1960s pretend clothes that no one who actually lived through the
time of discord would recognize. On Tara, it seemed natural and, like her soul,
flowed freely. On Willow, it was poser perfect.

Which brought Spike back to his boy. Xander. Xander Harris.

Spike watched as Xander stumbled over a bucket of wash water that he himself
had set there. His expression never changed as he saw him quickly clean up the
spill and go about the task of mopping the floor, erasing the muddy footprints
the others had all left as they hurried about in their own importance.

Spike studied the unwavering smile on the boy's face as he chatted about things that
no one else cared about. Sometimes Red would respond with a nod or a grunt,
and that seemed to please the boy immensely and his pointless chatter resumed.

Methodically, Xander slapped the wet mop down on the floor, swiped it around,
dipped it back in the bucket and took a step back. This pattern continued with
maddening repetition till Xander reached the area directly in front of the steps
where Spike sat.

Spike stared at the mop as it slopped the soapy water at his feet and was mildly
surprised when it stopped moving. Slowly, Spike's line of vision moved up the
wooden handle to the large, calloused hands, the strong straight arms to the
baggy ZZ Top t-shirt.

When Spike's eyes reached Xander's face, what he saw nearly knocked him off
the steps. Xander stood not three feet away, staring back at him. The intensity
and sexual heat in the deep brown eyes as they pierced Spike's was so startling
that it caused the vampire to gasp.

Then the moment passed.
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