Chapter Rating: PG-Ish...?
Story Rating: R
Warnings: Fluff, smutt, and some 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 is mine.
Author's Note: I'm so, so sorry this took forever. It's been a hell of a week.
Chapter One: http://community.livejournal.com/bloodclaim/3473293.html
Chapter Two: http://community.livejournal.com/bloodclaim/3473492.html
Chapter Three: http://community.livejournal.com/bloodclaim/3475247.html
That night, Spike took ‘Jesse’ on his patrol. But it wasn’t so much a patrol as it was a walk through the cemetery, sans-leash.
“Groeffling demons. Should’ve figured they’d show up sooner or later, yeah?” The blonde vamp spoke conversationally. “Temperamental buggers, they are. One false move and they work their mojo.”
No Kidding… He yawned, sniffing the ground ahead of him. Somebody dropped a sandwich somewhere around here…
“Good news is, Harris probably ain’t dead.” Going tight-lipped, Spike walked on behind him steadily. “Bad news is, he might be enslaved by a bunch of dog-faced demons. Won’t be lookin’ at you the same way again, will he? Poor mutt.” He didn’t laugh, but the irony was in his voice. Xander gave up on the sandwich and moved on.
Sighing a little, Spike paused by the gate. “Won’t find ‘em in a cemetery. They’re gonna go some place with lots of food.” Leaning against the gate, he stared off. Thinking. Resting on his hind legs, Xander waited. And then it clicked behind Spike’s eyes, and they sparked wide and gorgeous blue. “Harris works at a pizza parlor, doesn’t he?”
I would KILL for a pizza right now… Thoughts of cheese and pepperoni glazed his mind over, but when Spike started to move, he snapped out of it. Oh. OH! He barked out loud, jolting ahead of him and jumping the fence.
But by the time they got there, there was nothing to see. The basement of the pizza parlor was in disarray, scattered with stolen clothes and food, old pizza boxes all over the floor. Xander snuffed at the ground, pawing at the boxes in search of extra pieces.
Until he smelled his own scent.
Whimpering harshly, he dug past the pizza boxes, scraping the floor and sniffing through the trash. Spike heard him and headed his way, but when he smelled what Xander did, he tensed with alarm. And then they saw it.
A stained, ripped uniform shirt, nametag hanging from what’s left of it.
Alex Harris, printed in black across the bent plastic.
Xander kept his head down, following the vampire back to the crypt with extra caution.
He’s never seen Spike freak out like that.
By the time they’d left the basement of the pizza parlor, it was trashed. Spike had, in essence, gone a little insane when he picked up that shirt. Broke chairs and tables, tossed pizza boxes. Snarled and growled at anything that moved. It was one of the scariest things he’d ever seen, bar none, and he hid through most of it beneath the stairs they’d climbed down from.
And yet, when he finally calmed down enough to whistle for him, he came right to him.
Seriously, what was wrong with him? Hadn’t his record of dangerous lovers taught him anything? His heart had to have some kind of kamikaze complex or something, always falling for the most dangerous thing in the room. Not that he was falling for Spike. Of course not.
Of course not.
He figured it was just his doggy instincts talking. Spike had taken him in, begrudgingly given him food, affection, respect. So, like any good dog, he gave him loyalty and unconditional love. The German Shepherd in him was calling him ‘Master’, which was very much not of the good. Especially since the rest of him was starting to agree. After all, he was a dog. At least for right now. Why not?
Because he’s an evil, angry crazy vampire, and the only thing keeping him from eating me is the chip?
Yeah. Good point.
That’s it. He had to remind himself of what Spike was. A crazed bloodsucker with a handicap. A slightly defective Master Vampire with centuries of unspeakable history behind him. He tried to kill him a couple times, didn’t he? Almost turned him into dinner the night Deadboy decided to use him as bait. Even now, he was still getting under his skin, bickering with him nonstop and making his life miserable.
But these days, he was also… Spike. Who really wasn’t all that bad, snark and evil notwithstanding. He was someone he could blow off steam with. Someone who he could lash out at, take his anger out on. He could be bitter with Spike, or sarcastic, or even honest if the situation allowed. He could say exactly what he wanted to say, and if he hit a nerve, all he got was respect. And Spike would just throw it all right back at him. It could go like that all night sometimes, until they lost all their bluster and just sat there, drinking beer and blood, watching TV in companionable silence.
They didn’t really hate each other, not anymore. It was kind of impossible to hate someone you could actually talk to.
Fuck no… He tried to shake the thoughts away. This is canine loyalty talking. Spike is the evil undead. I’m not. Parallel lines. Never the twain shall meet, or whatever…
They got to the crypt, and the vampire reached into a cooler beside the recliner. He pulled out a bag of blood, and half a sandwich, which he tossed to the floor before Xander.
“Don’t get used to that.” He growled, puncturing the bag and pouring it into a mug. “When we get him back, he’ll prob’ly buy you kibble and such. Don’t got none of that m’self. Make do with what’cha got, pup.”
It was roast beef, and Xander chewed it with happy little moans of hunger. God, he was starving. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Spike fall into his chair, and he licked up the last of his crumbs and moved to lay his head on his thigh. It was becoming his favorite spot. But this time, the blonde vamp pushed his jaw away roughly, glaring down at him.
“Knock it off. Not my dog, are ye? Go ‘way.”
Leaning back on his hinds, he refused to move, staring up at Spike with a clear answer. No, you big, bleached bonehead. I’m not going to go away.
Growling hard, Spike leaned forward threateningly, smacking his hands together. “Go Away! Don’t wanna see you, stupid mutt! Go!”
A soft growl bubbled up the back of his throat, and Xander remained exactly where he was. No, his mind, heart and soul held their resolve. I’m not leaving you. You’re an idiot if you think I’m gonna leave you right now. You’re my Master, Spike. I chose you. Deal with it.
“Go!” He roared, grabbing an ashtray off the table and smashing it to the floor with shattering force. The pieces splintered, and Xander winced as one of them hit him in the nose, but he still didn’t move. He sat there, let Spike scream. Watched him as he had his little tantrum. Because he knew that once he stopped yelling and throwing things, he was going to crumble. He knew, because he’d done it a few times himself.
“Fuck … You stupid…” His voice broke, and he looked down at the shards before he pulled himself together enough to sit up. “Got more balls than brains.”
Yeah… Dropping to the floor and resting his chin between his paws, Xander eyed him warily. I get that a lot…
He straightened, staring at the dog that was Xander in reproach. “Really do take after him, don’t you?” Murmuring soft, he reached down and ran a tentative, shaky hand through his fur. “M’sorry. Really, I am. Don’t really want ye to go, do I? Stay if you like.”
Yeah, wasn’t planning on going anywhere… Xander thought, eyes still dark on his face. He whimpered, rolling into his touch. What with the sandwiches and all…
“Just… Pretty brown eyes aren’t what I want to see right now. Not ‘less they’re his, yeah?” He cracked a weak smile. “Always been blind for ‘em. Dark eyes, dark hair, sad smile. Boy had me at hello, didn’t he?” Laughing a little, he slid from his chair and sat on his knees beside him, dragging his nails through his fur and bringing Xander to a level of bliss he didn’t think dogs could experience. “The Ponce knew ‘xactly what he was doin’ when he offered me a taste. Just my type, he is.”
Yeah… Xander whined a little, leaning into the touch, before his brain caught up with Spike’s words, and he stiffened. Wait, what?
“Should’ve told the demon bitch to step off and let me have what’s mine.” A little smirk appeared on the vampire’s lips. “S’only fair. Got first dibs.”
His whole body quivered with that soft, lecherous smirk, and he realized for the first time that Spike wasn’t taking care of his things out of pity, or searching for him out of obligation.
Spike, the Evil Undead, wanted a taste of him. At least.
Before he could even ask himself why, Spike was on the floor with him, settling his limbs around his furry body as if he were a panting, slightly drooling body pillow. Then he grabbed the remote, turned on the TV, and rewound the video tape again.