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
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.
Xander woke with a start as his alarm clock jangled annoyingly beside his bed.
After smacking it to the floor, he flipped over on his side and was greatly
dismayed to find himself alone in a bed that was, by now, accustomed to two.
The residual effect of crying himself to sleep had left his eyes puffy, his
mouth tasting like cotton, and a headache that threatened to explode out the
back of his skull. None of that, however, was as painful as the ache in his
heart at the thought that Spike had given up on them and moved back into
Xander cursed and muttered quietly to himself as his hand smoothed across the
pillow and cold sheet that should be occupied by a cool body and a sexy face.
It really hadn't been that long ago that Spike moved in, yet to Xander it seemed
as though they had always been together and the vampire's absence was more
than a blank spot in his bed, it was a gaping hole in Xander's heart.
Glancing again at the clock, Xander knew he had to get moving. His construction
job paid several times over what the pitiful fast food gigs did, but the demands
on his time and body were equally increased. So with a fat dose of misery as his
companion, he went through his routine of shower, shave and dress. He grabbed
his wallet from his bedstand and he took one last, sad look at his vampireless
accommodations before flipping off the bedroom light. He then headed for the
kitchen, hoping that large doses of coffee and Tylenol would at least make him
feel functional, if not better.
As he passed through the darkened living room, his eyes spotted the lumpy
form on the sofa, and he all but squealed with delight.
SPIKE! SPIKE WAS HOME!
It was a near whiplash effect as his mood snapped from misery to hope
and joy in less than a split second.
He wanted to rush over and pounce on the dead man. He wanted to scold him
then cover his face with kisses as he gropped the vampire's ass and dick. He
wanted to lay with him, snuggle him and just be with him, but he knew he couldn't.
He had a job to go to, a paycheck to earn and, most importantly, a vampire to
support. Xander grinned. He still had a vampire.
If course nothing had changed as far as them having issues and Spike was no less
obnoxious and stubborn, but he was home and that was all Xander needed to fill
his heart with hope and his mind with relief.
Xander grinned like a man who had just hit the lottery as he hurried back to his,
no, to their bedroom where he retrieved a throw cover. Not wanting to disturb
his vamp, he carefully tossed it over the sleeping form. He then stood back and
looked. Really looked. Spike may have been a bloodthirsty killer but right now,
buried under a blanket that was so large it tumbled and pooled over him and
onto the floor, he seemed small and innocent.
Xander shook his head and he wondered. Was Spike right? Was he being
cruel and unfair by denying their relationship to his friends? Why was it any of
his friends' business anyway? Xander scowled and scratched his head. Why
was he so afraid to tell them? A little voice that he did NOT want to hear from
whispered that it was more than their disapproval that he feared.
Xander stepped back. He didn't want to think anymore. His brain had wandered
into uncomfortable territory and his natural response to that was to shut down.
Besides, Spike was home and that was all that mattered. Everything else was
secondary. They could sit down and talk later. Xander wasn't totally
unreasonable. He was willing to consider a compromise if Spike was.
The details could be hashed out on the wings of a blow job or pounded out while
Spike was bent over the kitchen counter. They had some of their most insightful
conversations in that position. Xander's dick twitched at the prospect.
Feeling much more buoyant, Xander decided not to risk disturbing his lover by
rattling about in the kitchen. Instead, he quietly grabbed his keys and jacket.
A celebratory Starbucks was in order this morning.
At the last second as he slipped out the door, Xander looked back and whispered.
"Sleep good, Spike. I'll call you later. I lov......I'm glad you're home."
And he closed the door, whistling as he strolled away.
Hours later, Spike lay flat on his back, unmoving and unwilling to open his eyes as
his brain came slowly awake. He sniffed and felt the surface beneath him, relieved
to discover that it was his own sofa and that apparently he had somehow made it
Focusing his attention and his hearing on the apartment, he listened for some sound
that Xander was home, either asleep or puttering around. Nothing. 'Thank God,'
he thought. Ever since getting in touch with his gay side, the boy could be a real
drama queen at times. And right now, with Spike in his present condition, this was
one of those times that all that shouting and arm waving would just about kill him.
When it became mercifully clear that he was alone, Spike gently eased one eye
open. OK, not too bad. He then gingerly squinted the other one.
"OW, ow ow ow ow!"
Both eyes slammed shut faster than the shithouse door at an Ex-Lax party as a
bolt of hot agony shot from behind his left ear. Spike cringed while his hand felt
around for the area of damage. It didn't take long to find when his fingers
located a spot still wet with blood and slightly dented in.
Beyond getting totally pissed, he couldn't remember what sort of demon he had
wrestled with, but Spike supposed that as long as he got home, it wasn't all that
important. What bothered him more was the fact that Xander apparently didn't
give a fuck.
The boy must have seen him lying here, bleeding and damaged on the couch and
what did he do? Did he offer some warmed blood in Spike's favorite Bob the
Builder cup? Noooo. Did he coo and fuss over him? Nooo. Did he even take
the time to kick the vampire and ask him what the fuck he did last night? Nope.
None of the above. Obviously, the boy didn't care.
Even with his eyes tightly shut, Spike could read the writing on the wall. This
relationship had sailed.
That knowledge brought him more pain than any of his physical injuries. He tried
to puff up and tell himself that he only cared because it was chilly and damp in his
crypt and he had grown comfortable in their cozy little lo...um, like-nest. His
attempts to bullshit himself failed. In his wounded, vulnerable state, Spike felt
miserable. He felt lonely, rejected and dejected. He felt like the Wicked Witch
of the West as he rubbed the healing wound on his head and he moaned.
"Ohhh, what a world. What a world."
By now Spike knew that if he wanted any breakfast blood, he would have to
get it himself and the only way to do that was to somehow get his arse off the
sofa and drag his pitiful, unloved, perfectly formed body to the kitchen. The
only thing that slightly brightened his spirits was the thought of lingering in a
long hot shower afterwards.
Finally, using all the strength he could muster, Spike rolled over on his side and,
with his eyes still shut tight, he hoisted himself into a sitting position and he waited.
Just as expected, a wave of tsunami proportions rolled over him, drenching him
in a white-hot torture that exploded behind his ear and washed all through his
naked body, landing in his stomach with a thud of nausea.
His chin dropped down to touch his chest. As hangovers went, this was an
Soon, as with all tides in the pull of the moon, this one too eventually ebbed back.
and Spike knew he needed to get to his feet before the next wave of splitting pain
washed into shore. Using all his vampire strength, which right now wasn't much,
he pushed himself up to balance on shaky legs.
As he stood, the Cleveland Browns fleecy blanket fell from his naked body to
land in a heap on the floor. Spike gave no thought to how it had gotten over top
of him. He was too consumed with the immediate dilemma of how to put one foot
in front of the other.
Finally, exerting a concentrated effort and after several aborted tries, Spike was
able to stagger into the kitchen as the mountain of blanket left behind stirred slightly.