bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,
bmblbee
bmblbee
bloodclaim

Count Luffton

Title: COUNT LUFFTON
14/26
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 took off in a gait that disputed his general slow saunter. This time his
footfalls had a speed, determination and purpose that was unusual for the vampire.

With Luffton perched excitedly on his master's shoulder, the two headed straight
for Restview Cemetery. Spike knew that his actions and words earlier had
probably hurt Xander's feelings and he carried a small speck of regret for that,
but unfortunately it had been necessary.

He couldn't risk Xander tagging along while Spike carried out his experiments.
He didn't want to allow himself the hope, but just the thought of a slim possibility
of the chip being gone or disabled sent pulsewaves of thrill and delight throughout
his body. For him, this quivering curiosity far overshadowed any concerns for
Xander's emotional baggage.

Luffton held on tight. He gripped his master's shirt firmly in his claws as his tail
swished nonstop across Spike's shoulder blade. His tiny body shivered in the
cool night air. He could feel his sire's state of exhilaration and it sent shudders
of anticipation into his body like the charge of a live wire.

He had no idea where they were going or why, but neither of those things mattered.
Luffton felt more alive than he ever had in his entire life. The night around him
welcomed him. He was part of the darkness, the shadows and the things that
go bump in the night. Luffton WAS a bump in the night and that knowledge
filled him with awe and power. It also overwhelmed him with gratitude and love
for the wonderful master that led him to this.

Suddenly, Luffton was hyperaware. His eyes could see as clearly as if the sun
shone brightly in a high-noon sky, and every sound was amplified. The crickets,
the breeze through the trees, even the sound of his master's boots as they crunched
the leaves and twigs on the ground.

Happily, Luffton crouched. He lowered his upper body and his tail curled
menacingly high over his back as an odd little purr-growl rumbled from his body.

Spike glanced over and chuckled. In his obsessive hurry, he had almost forgotten
about the mouse childe on his shoulder but now that he had finally decided where
they were going, it would easily be a two birds with one stone night.

Spike had considered the park. There were always women jogging but he rejected
that idea. Those bitches carried pepper spray. Although he didn't have to breathe,
that stuff shot in your eyes hurt like a match up your arse. No, women were not the
delicate creatures they were back in his day. So much the pity.

He also thought about the Save-A-Lot parking lot where the old folks shopped
late in the evening but to be honest, that just didn't seem kosher. That's when
it came to him. The absolute perfect solution for both him and his fledge mouse.

The economy in the US was in the crapper. Everyone was doing what they could
to earn a bit of dosh, legal or not, and Spike knew exactly where there was a
certain bit of 'not' going on. During one of his patrols through the graveyard,
Spike had caught a glimpse of a huge biker-type dude stealing copper flower
pots from the headstones.

Copper brought a good price per ounce and the theft of it was rampant. Still,
for a man of Victorian sensibilities like Spike, that seemed just about the most
despicable enterprise possible. At the time, knowing the biker was human, Spike
stayed in the shadows. Now, who better to test his theory on. If he was wrong,
the worst that could happen was Spike would receive a severe trouncing. It
wouldn't be the first time and, knowing Spike, it wouldn't be the last.

If, however, he was right....

Spike rubbed his hands together in glee and he walked even faster. Around the
bend and up the hill. He and Luffton slipped silently through the open iron gates
of the graveyard and darted into the treeline at the far back side where the old
markers of the Civil War vets still stood.

Hunkering low and using the concealment of the ancient, huge maple trees, Spike
then started to move quietly around the perimeter of the cemetery. Before he had
gone fifty yards, he heard a sound and he stopped while his ears zeroed in on the
location. When he pinpointed the area, he and Luffton again slid forward.

Within minutes, he found what he was looking for. Parked on one of the small
gravel access roads that wove in and out of the rows of headstones, sat a grey,
rusty pickup truck. Nearby, working like a man on a mission, was its owner.

It was the fat biker Spike had seen less than a week ago, only this time he had
returned with a vehicle that could hold all the copper he could collect. But that
wasn't all. The thief was not alone. Like Spike, he had brought his pet with him.
A scruffy pit bull that had the audacity to lift his leg on Mary Whitcomb's marker
while his master dumped the fresh flowers her family had left, before tossing the
pot into the truck bed with a whistle as he moved on to the next.

Spike growled, causing his mouse to do the same. He considered sneaking up
behind the man, snapping his neck and draining him but that wouldn't give him the
satisfaction that a good scare would. If he was going to test the chip, he might as
well make an occasion of it.

With that decided, Spike straightened himself up and calmly walked out of the
camouflage of foliage. He strolled directly towards the thief, lighting a cigarette
as he went.

"Nice evening, innit?"

The biker jumped as though he had been shot. He whirled around with his crow-
bar held high over his head, ready to swing on whatever fool had the audacity to
interrupt him. When he saw the small, lone man leaning against his own pickup
truck, the biker was both confused and outraged. The man's dog, who had
wandered away to shit on someone else's grave now rushed back to stand
menacingly at his owner's side.

"Get your fucking ass off my fucking truck!"

Spike stood and seemed to scrutinize the vehicle intently.

"This piece of shite is yours? Bloody hell, mate. I don't believe I would admit that.
Looks like it's ready for the scrap heap. Course from the copper pots in the bed,
it would appear that you know all about scrap. So why not be a decent bloke
and put all these pots back where they belong and run along home. I'm sure
the missus is waiting back at the mo-BILE home for ya."

"ACK!"

The biker was totally flummoxed. He couldn't believe this little pipsqueak had the
nerve to challenge him, let alone insult him. He wondered if this idiot even knew
his Peggy and why he was cracking on the doublewide or if it was just a lucky guess.
He quickly recovered and decided that none of that mattered as he resorted to what
he knew best. Intimidation, threats and violence.

"Why you fucking buttwipe! Lucky for you I'm feelin' generous tonight. On a counta
you're a fuckin' limey and don't know that I own this fuckin' cemetery, I'm gonna give
you the chance to apologize to me before you run for your fuckin' life."

Spike calmly took one last drag on his cigarette before flicking it from his fingertips
to land in the back bed of the biker's truck. It was all he could do not to squeal
with delight at the look of horror and rage his action generated.

"Sorry, mate. No can do. So, what is your next step?"

The biker's eyes narrowed to evil slits and he sneered.

"Next step is I sic Buster here on your skinny ass. Then if there is anything left when
he is done, I will fuck the holes he puts in you and toss you in the dumpster over
there."

Spike stepped his feet apart, looking like he was ready for a gunfight at the OK Corral
and he opened and closed his hands into fists.

"Oh, yeah? Well you sic your dog on me and I'll sic my mouse on your dog."

"Wha?"

Up to now, the thief had not even noticed that the intruder had a mouse sitting on his
shoulder, but damn if he didn't. The entire situation had begun to swing between
laughable and surreal and the biker was given pause. For all of one minute.
After that, he had decided that enough was enough and with a war whoop of
Apache quality, he again raised the tire iron over his head and he shouted.

"Get 'em, Buster!" And they both charged forward.

Spike snatched Luffton from his shoulder and when the dog came within reach,
Spike tossed the vampire mouse onto Buster's back, yelling:

"Get him, Luffton!"

Spike then closed the gap between the two men and together they folded up like
a pair of origami swans.
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