qwerty_lee (qwerty_lee) wrote in bloodclaim,
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qwerty_lee
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Exceptions To Geometry (S/X, Light R, Chapter 1)

Hello, all.

Long-time lurker, first-time poster. I was going to say hi a long time ago, but I figured it was best to wait until I could come baring gifts.

In any case, I was in a fluffy mood, so I decided to write a "Xander gets turned into a dog" fic, because few things are fluffier than Doggy!Xan. I should have more of this later today, but we're heading home from vacation now, so I can't make any promises.

Title: Exceptions to Geometry
Pairing: Xander/Spike
Chapter: 1/6
Chapter Rating: PG
Story Rating: Light R
Warnings: Smut, and mentions of Xander/Jesse
Summary: Xander gets turned into a dog by an annoyed demon. Spike reluctantly takes him in.
Disclaimer: Nothing in this story belongs to me. I'm just playing with other people's toys.





Xander was a dog. Of course he was.

Of course.

Because what happens when human stupidity collides with demonic magic? Bad things. That’s right, Xander, repeat that. Bad. Things.

Rrr-Woof.” Right. Exactly.

Depression settling deep into his now wooly shoulders, he let out a huff of exhaustion as he butted his black nose against the tin trashcan outside the Harris abode. It toppled, spilling beer cans and half-empty bags of chips over the sidewalk. He swore he threw out a whole bag of Bugles two days ago, because Spike was over and decided to ‘accidentally’ spill about half a cup of pig’s blood into the bag. It had grossed him out beyond comprehension then, but now? Now Bugles and cold pig’s blood sounded amazing.

That would be the hyena talking. Okay, a little of the hyena, a little of the German Shepherd. What German Shepherd, you ask? Why, only the largest, mangiest, black-and-blotchiest of them all. Really, if he was gonna be a dog, did he have to be something that looked like it was half-starved, half-rabid, all inbred?

Actually, that was how he normally looked, wasn’t it?

He snuffed at the ground, searching for the scent of blood. Nothing. Not cool. His stomach growled low and suffering, and he found a bag of chips that had some crumbs at the bottom. He’d been like this for two days, and though he wasn’t expecting his parents to care, he definitely wondered why no one’s dropped by to check up on him. After his and Anya’s more recent break-up (“If you don’t get a better job, you can’t move out of your smelly basement, and I do not wish to smell your basement while having orgasms anymore.”), Wills and Tara had made a point of stopping by every once in a while. But their cuddling had made him feel like a third wheel in his own basement, and they realized that pretty quick. So instead, they sent over Spike to drink his beer and watch Passions on his TV.

Which was, actually, just what he needed.

But after two days of not eating anything but a half a pop-tart some little boy tried to lure him home with, he was getting tired of waiting for somebody to come rescue his ass. After all, he did get into this mess all on his own. He’d seen that demon coming out of the cemetery and thought it was an ordinary fledge until he got close enough to see it had paws instead of hands, and no fangs. Of course, once he got that close he was already two and a half feet tall and craving raw steak.

What happens when Xander the Dumb decides to charge an unknown demon without back-up?

Say it with me, friends. Bad. Things.

Whimpering a little, he shook the potato chip bag off his head and padded backward, only to leap back to the sidewalk as a car swerved past. Second time today. Not cool. Padding back toward the house, he curled up in the driveway and prayed his stupid drunk of a father wouldn’t decide to run him over before he could at least get one good bite in.

Speak of the devil…

The screen door moaned and snapped wide open as the ever-lovin’ Anthony Harris nearly kicked through it, then shuttered to a close behind him. He was carrying a box.

Oh Crap… He sat up with a short growl, watching as he tossed clothes, shoes, knickknacks; everything he owned. All over the lawn. All the books he never gave back to Giles, all the pictures Willow had given him to save. The backpack filled with stakes and arrows for the crossbow. All the videos. Oh, Shit, the videos…

Sliding back through the screen, his father picked up another box. His head drooped between his paws. God, fuck, shit. The rent was past due, and he wasn’t there to make good on it. Of course. Today is the perfect day to become homeless. With another low whimper, he closed his eyes and curled his tail between his legs. This just got better and better.

“Nice yard-sale!” A familiar accent called, getting closer as it crossed the street with a familiar swagger of leather and heavy steps. Even more familiar was the added “… Tosser”, but he’d never heard it whispered that way before. Then again, his hearing had… improved in the last couple days.

He perked up, jerking awake. Spike. God, Thank God, Spike! Spike, who may not be his bestest pal, but still has to go see Giles sometime, for blood at the very least. And if he can get his attention-

“Fifty bucks, and it’s all yours.” His father smirked, dropping the second box to the ground with a loud smash. Wincing, he had to growl. There went his CDs.

But, to his surprise, Spike went along with it. “Bargain.” He smiled innocently, almost managing to look human. “Why ya gettin’ rid of it all, then, mate?”

His father rolled his eyes. “S’my kid’s stuff. He’s a fucking waste of space. Rent’s past due, so I’m within my rights.”

A low growl burbled through the air, almost inaudible save for Xander’s new hearing. His whole body tensed in shock. That couldn’t be Spike. He looks totally calm.

“Ah. Well.” The vampire shrugged a bit, looking nonchalant about it all as he handed the human a twenty, then began fishing through his pockets as though he was looking for more. “Kids. So, what happened, then? He jus’ never handed over the dosh?”

His father’s eyes lit with greed, and he folded the bill into his fist. “He ain’t been here for two days. Rent’s due Friday, and it’s Saturday night. Should’ve had him outta here years ago anyway.”

“Right then.” Spike nodded as if he agreed, and the growling got a little louder. “Ye ain’t seen ‘im? Don’t want a kid showin’ up on me doorstep lookin’ for his shitte, do I?”

“Nah. Prob’ly took off. God knows where he is now.”

The growling broke off tight and fast, and Spike’s face shifted to a scowl. “Don’t know where he is?”

His father scowled back. “Why the fuck do you care?”

Spike narrowed his eyes, then shifted into gameface. This time, the growl was a roar. “Give me that back-!” He snapped his fangs, and Xander would’ve laughed at the display from the obviously harmless Big Not-So-Bad, but he was a dog, so all he could do was grin at the sight of his walking beer-gut of a father dropping the twenty in his no-doubt filthy fingers and scrambling back into the house.

Satisfied, said Big Not-So-Bad began to gather the things on the lawn, pocketing the little stuff and throwing the rest of it into the overturned boxes. Once everything was together, he hiked both boxes onto his shoulders and began to carry them away.

Wait-

He leaped to his feet, paws scrambling for purchase as he tried to get used to moving that way, and he quickly took off after him. The vampire was half-way down the block before he caught up enough to be on his radar. After a minute of following him, he paused when Spike did, and when Spike turned around he yipped a little, trying to get him to understand.

Spike! Spike, c’mon, man, it’s me! Xan, Boy, Whelp, Zeppo, whatever, it’s me! Call me Bug Boy if you want, just recognize me, Goddammit! He bounced back and forth, yipping and whining a little.

Spike was unimpressed. 

“Don’t got no kibble, if that’s what yer after.” He glared, turning away and starting to walk again.

… Yeah, knew that wouldn’t work. He started to follow again, tail wagging slowly between his legs.

After another minute, Spike whipped around again, snarling in gameface like the most fierce thing on earth. “Look,” He growled through his fangs. “Not havin’ a good night here, an’ I don’t need a mongrel makin’ it worse. Fuck Off.

Well, he’s annoyed. Patiently, Xander sat there, waiting for Spike to realize that he wasn’t going to whimper and run off scared. After a minute, he yawned.

Spike looked absolutely knocked over. “Hell, dumb as rocks and ye got knackers. How’d ye survive the Hellmouth this long, pup?”

He cocked his head to the side, letting his tongue roll out a little to lick his nose, because really it was too long to keep in his mouth all the time, and his nose was itchy. Oh, you know. Holy water in the doggy dish. Stakes instead of chew-toys…

But then something seemed to click, and Spike stared at him, his cold eyes tense with something… Something muddled there, buried deep. “Oh, God. Let me guess. Ye take after yer owner.”

Xander grinned a little wider, he let his head cock to the other side as he sat on the concrete, tail wagging.

Wincing in something akin to despair, Spike turned away, looking grim. “Listen, I don’t do dogs. So find somebody else to follow ‘round if ye want a home, ‘right? Go on.”

Xander didn’t move.

“Go on.” He prodded again, this time toeing at him with his boot. When he didn’t move for the second time, the vampire sighed annoyed and hefted the boxes higher up on his shoulders. “Fine. But we’re pawnin’ ye off on the Watcher tomorrow night, yeah?” He turned away and started marching toward the cemetery, muttering under his breath. “Harris better be pretty fuckin’ grateful for this.”

Still grinning huge, Xander silently thanked whatever God decided to answer his prayers, and quietly followed his new keeper, always two steps behind.




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