qwerty_lee (qwerty_lee) wrote in bloodclaim,
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The Nothing Boy (S/X, Rated R, 1/?)

So... This one's gonna be darker. Don't really know how dark yet. But darker.

Title: The Nothing Boy
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Chapter: 1/?
Chapter Rating: PG
Story Rating: R
Summary: Xander wants Spike. The hyena knows it. Tuesday was the last straw.
Warnings: Rough Sex, Hyena!Xan, and a little bit of dominance on Spike's part.
Disclaimer: I own nothing contained within that LJ cut.




Okay. Whoa, hold on now…

 

Clutching the railing, Xander threw himself up another two steps on his way to his apartment. This was an admirable feat. His head told him he should’ve curled up on the fifth floor landing and passed out there. But he was… Fuck, he was swaying, nauseous, drunk but in a bad way. There was no other way to describe it. Drunk with the way his head felt like it was going to split open, and his Goddamn brain was going to go splat on the concrete beneath him.

 

Fuck… He took another step, and almost lost his meager dinner. Holy Fucking Hell…

 

It would serve him right.

 

Stealing Giles’ books, seeking out Ancient Swahili magic... All because the bitch in his body wouldn’t shut up, couldn’t, not until she was out, and at this rate, he was fast losing control. He’d kept her at bay for so long, too long; but he couldn’t anymore. Not with Spike.

 

Spike. The Bleached Wonder had no idea what he was doing to him. Every time he so much as blinked in his direction, the hyena in his head would screech for release. At first, Xander could shut her down with long-practiced ease.

 

Then… Then there was Tuesday.

 

Okay… Oh God, Okay… He tried to breathe through his nose, but everything was getting sharper somehow, and he could smell nothing but piss and cigarette smoke and a thousand perfumes, enough to make him dizzy. Don’t think. Don’t think anymore, just get to the apartment…

 

There was static flooding his ears with a low, dog-pitched whistle that made the world go crooked. He could hear it, and shit, that meant either the walls were made of paper, or his little friend was clawing her way out of her cage. Fuck. He gripped the railing and took another two steps before he was on the sixth floor landing and bolting through the door like he couldn’t get there fast enough. Which he couldn’t, not really. He already knew he was either going to lose his grip or his dinner before he reached his place.

 

He Is-

 

“No.” He breathed out, gripping the keys in his pocket like they were his only weapon. “He’s not. He’s not.”

 

-Mine-

 

“Not yours.”

 

-My Always One-

 

“Shut up-” He gasped it, just a little louder, panic flooding his veins as he heard someone open a door. Three floors down. He flinched, trying to breathe. “He’s not- Just- Just shut up.”

 

-Always until we are bones, you know this, stupid vessel. He is yoursmineours, and always. You will let me take-

 

“Stop!” Hissing it through his teeth, he jammed his key into the lock and pushed through the door, running into the kitchen where he immediately lost his lunch and dinner into the sink. God, it was like acid, and it looked like blood, and he thought he might pass out. But he held on, shaking, clutching the counter and trying to stand. God Fucking Damn, he was about to lose it. Everything he’d been locking up so tight, everything he’d held back.

 

She whispered now, knowing he was hers, knowing he no longer had any strength against this. You’re nothing. You know it, vessel. You’re nothing without me. You’re nothing, and you’re still mine.

 

He breathed out shaky, wiping his lips, smearing the redness over his cheek without noticing.

 

He is my Always. You are my Nothing.

 

“I know.” He whispered it slowly, feeling his throat constrict around the sounds, raw and aching. “I know I am.”

 

If you let me touch him, I will let you feel it too…

 

He closed his eyes, feeling sick again, but then he laughed. He laughed a sharp, barking kind of giggle that started in his stomach and burbled all the way to his throat, until it was shrill, and dark, and inhuman. And then he whispered, “Okay.” and embraced the darkness he knew was coming.

 

--

 

“Tosser.” Spike muttered, blotting out his cigarette in the ashtray already full of its brothers. It was nine at night, so he was a half-hour late. Tack that on to a lifetime of being useless, and it was just what he should’ve expected from the Zeppo. A whole lot of nothing.

 

Really, the schedule should be memorized by now. Tuesday and Thursday, meet at the bar at eight-thirty, have a drink so they could deal with each other, then go on patrol. It was fucking Thursday. Where the fuck was he?

 

“Hey,” Beside him, Red slid a beer in his direction. “Xander’s not here yet?”

 

He shot a glance at her, shrugging his shoulders. “Don’t know.” And with that, he stood, grabbing his duster and yanking it on. “Don’t care, actually. He’s bloody late, is where he is. I’m go’n’ alone.”

 

“Spike…” Willow tried, but in that second Tara and Buffy decided to join the table. Which was fine. Slayer could have his seat.

 

“What’s up?” Buffy asked, giving him an annoyed little look.

 

“Fucking boy decided not to show.” He heard himself growl, surprised at his own tone. Really, this was nothing to get that irritated about. He’d go alone. It’s not like the kid’s much help when he’s there. “I’ll go it alone.”

 

“Xander isn’t here?” Tara asked softly, looking to Willow with a bit of a frown.

 

“No, he didn’t even call.” Red frowned back, just as concerned. “Usually he calls, doesn’t he? I mean, when he’s stuck at work, or he’s sick, or-”

 

“When he feels like ditching.” Spike growled, cutting her off as he curled his hands into fists. “Don’t care. S’not here, is he? I’m-”

 

“We should check on him.” Buffy sighed, pulling out her address book. “Check his apartment at least. Who wants to go?”

 

The witches looked at each other, Red immediately raising her hand a little. “I’ll-”

 

With a short sigh, Buffy ignored her. “Spike?”

 

Arching an eyebrow, he fought back an irritated sneer. “What?”

 

“You’re his partner. You’re responsible.” Grabbing a pen, she began to scrawl the kid’s address on a paper napkin. “When you find him, just run your route and meet us back at the Magic Box. Hurry up, we’ve already lost an hour.”

 

Annoyed, he actually did snarl when she tried to hand him the damn napkin. “I know where he lives, Slayer. M’not ignorant.”

 

She rolled her eyes, not even bothering to notice his annoyance. “Then what’re you still doing here?”

 

His eyes narrowed, and for the millionth time he thought about ripping her throat out. Then he remembered he had more annoying fish to fry, and he turned on his heel, heading for the door.


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