Chapter Rating: PG-13 (language)
Story Rating: R
Summary: Xander wants Spike. The hyena knows it. Tuesday was the last straw.
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. At all.
Warnings: Hyena!Xander, Rough sex later.
Chapter One: http://qwerty-lee.livejournal.com/1421.html#cutid1
Chapter Two: http://qwerty-lee.livejournal.com/1759.html#cutid2
Chapter Three: http://qwerty-lee.livejournal.com/1829.html
Chapter Four: http://qwerty-lee.livejournal.com/2257.html#cutid2
Chapter Five: http://qwerty-lee.livejournal.com/2927.html#cutid2
The second they reached the apartment, Harris tried to jump him.
He’d been expecting that.
“Wait-” He tried, slipping out of the kid’s arms and putting some distance between them. He felt a little less paranoid now that they were alone and safe from the impending dawn. “- Now, hold on-”
“Jesus, Spike!” Xander laughed, undeterred, and wrapped his arms around his waist from behind once again, this time resting his chin on Spike’s shoulder, muttering in his ear. “What are you, a virgin? C’mon…” He purred, pushing aside the leather folds of his duster and letting his palms ride the vampire’s hips as he tried to move away.
Said vampire remained passive, but inside he was ready to snap. This… This thing was forceful, instinctual, and it would take whatever it wanted with no fucking preamble. He’d lived with such creatures for most of his very long unlife. The Big Bad in him wanted to smash the boy’s head into the wall just to remind him who he was fucking with.
But the rest of him… Well…
Xander Harris was big, dark, strong as an ox; a fairly well-maintained human. He had those brown eyes that always turned his head, a body wired with hard muscle from construction and slaying, and a kicked-puppy smile full of irony that made him want to save him.
He was his type. And if he’d learned anything in his extra time on earth, he’d learned his type was very, very bad for him.
Fucking Christ… Shaking that thought from his skull, he turned to face the kid he most definitely would not be molesting that evening, and attempted to reason with the beast inside him. “Need to speak to Harris now, ‘right? S’he in there?”
A sharp grin split the boy’s face as he let that strange, barking laugh bubble to the surface once more, and Spike’s stomach twisted into a knot. “What?” He laughed, dragging Spike’s duster from his shoulders and pushing it to the floor. Eyes dark and playful, he surveyed Spike’s form with a feral leer and slid his fingers from the remnants of the torn shirt hanging from his arms, to the broad expanse of chiseled muscle he was craving. “God, you’re hot. Look at you.”
Stepping back from those fingers, Spike gritted his teeth and stood his ground. There were only two ways to handle a Primal: locking it back up, or learning to control it. Both of those ways involved getting in touch with the vessel. If he couldn’t make Harris surface, they were all in deep shit. “Are ye deaf? I need to speak to Harris. M’not-” Biting back a harsh sound, he pushed the kid’s hand away as they reached for his belt. “Look, this isn’t gonna happen ‘til I speak to him. So-”
He was cut off by another bout of giggles, and when he looked up, Xander’s eyes pinned him to the floor. They were dark, flashing with something untamed, and he almost missed it but at the last second he saw the green. Oh Hell… He swallowed, trying to play it cool, because Primals don’t fuck around, not when it comes to getting what they want. If it wound down to a fight… Hell.
The giggles faded away, leaving behind a boy who looked dark and enchanting and nothing like he should. “I’m right here, Spike. Never left.” He took a step, and Spike stepped back, for a second his eyes flashed with something like a dare. “I’ve been here the whole time, in case you hadn’t noticed. Which, really, totally don’t blame you for the not-noticing thing. I barely noticed myself most days.”
The look in his eyes made Spike go rigid. It wasn’t Harris. It couldn’t be. Harris had never been so completely unhinged. But… There it was, plain as day. That deeply hidden spark that Spike barely ever knew. The one that seemed to come out of every life or death battle, full of sarcasm and anger and… Life.
If Harris was anything at all, he was a survivor. And the survivor was still there.
“Yer still in there.” He muttered it low, under his breath, but he knew the damn thing heard it. “Christ, yer holdin’ the bloody door open for it, ye idiot… What’re ye thinkin’?”
That glimmer faded, sinking back into those heavy brown depths to hide. His grin fell, and he looked a little deadly the way he snarled. “Look, Spike, if you’re not here to fuck-”
A tweak of frustration iced his nerves, and he found himself speaking without thinking, sneering without the vaguest attempt to suppress it. “Ye know what? Th’boy doesn’t talk like a fuckin’ demon. So if ye want the rest of the world to believe yer Xander Harris, best learn to talk like him, ye mangy bitch.”
The insult riled him, and his face contorted in a scowl so sharp, it could cut glass. His fingers balled into fists, and he began an approach that was decidedly menacing. Spike stood his ground, prepared for whatever was coming. “You think you know him? You think you’d give day-old shit if he was alive or dead, if I hadn’t shown you what I’m capable of? Never. You never even looked at him.” A twisted smile made its way through that fury, and stuck to his lips. “And now you have me.”
A growl ripped out of his throat, and he hissed the words, making every syllable count. “Yeah. The bloody consolation prize.”
That was it. The thing lunged, moving faster than Xander’s body had ever moved. Spike was waiting, but it was a tussle just the same. The boy grabbed for him, and he weaved out of his grasp, anticipating the combat like only he could. But the thing was quick. A hand swung toward his face, backhanding him across the cheek so hard he saw stars. But he shook the pain away and snatched his wrist before he could pull it back. Harris’ heart was beating three times its normal speed, and the sound pounded in Spike’s ears as he held on tight. When the thing finally growled and tried to rip itself away, Spike gripped that bone with bruising force and refused to let go, finally yanking him around and slamming him face-first into the nearest wall, pinning his arm behind his back.
The thing struggled. God, it was fucking strong, and it fought dirty, stomping Spike’s toes, scratching at him, going berserk as it snarled threateningly against the wall. “How fucking dare you-!”
On reflex, he smashed the beast’s face into the wall, knee grinding into the small of his back. His voice was rough, dangerous, and it took him a minute to realize he’d gone gamefaced. “You will bring him back-!”
The thing hissed through its teeth, and sounded so menacing that he had to grip its wrist tighter. “He’s Nothing! He’s a Nothing Piece Of-”
He saw red. Jesus, he’d never been so infuriated in his whole existence, and he had no idea why. Maybe because he’d heard those words before, grinding through a sinister Irish brogue. Or, maybe because he’d heard them more recently, living in the boy’s basement and listening to the racket above. Whatever it was, he was fucking tired of hearing them. His brain shorted out, his mouth moved on instinct, and he hissed the words in such a murderous tone, he scared himself a little.
“You sick fuckin’ animal. How dare you speak of him that way?” He sneered, fangs grazing sharp along its ear. Harris’ body froze. “He let you live. He let ye stay in yer fuckin’ cage screechin’ in his brain, and he was strong enough to keep ye, along with the slayin’ and the sack-a-shit for a father. Yer lucky he hasn’t offed himself, as yer type of crazy tends te do.” His words dripped with venom as he slid in even closer, plastering his body to Xander’s. “He is yer vessel, and he is stronger and smarter than ye’ll ever be, an’ in case ye need remindin’ of that, he kept you locked away, for how long?” His nails dug into that skin to punctuate the words. “Six Years. Six Fuckin’ Years. And he can do it again if he has to, isn’t that right? He could put ye away, never let ye out again-”
“Shut up!” He hissed, slamming him roughly into the wall again. “Ye’ll listen to me, ye psychotic bitch, ‘cause I’m the only fuckin’ reason yer here right now, got it?” He breathed out slow, letting his voice drip honeyed fury into the damn thing’s ear. “Xander Harris is yer vessel. You are his. Ye answer to him, ye do as he says, because he is your Everything, he’s yer fuckin’ god. And if ye ever cross him again, I’ll make him mine and ye’ll answer to me.”
The body beneath him remained still for a very long time. Its breathing heightened, its heartbeat pounded at a life-threatening hum, and then, for a moment, everything stopped. His breath choked in his throat, his heartbeat slammed to a pause, and Spike loosened his grip a little, wondering why his undead body was shaking.