skuzzbopper (skuzzbopper) wrote in bloodclaim,

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Treading Water (PG-15, S/X, Part 3/4)

Title: Treading Water
Rating: PG-15ish
Pairing: Spander
Part: 3/4
Summary: Xander accidentally releases a "genie", and in a state of melancholy, gives in and starts making wishes. But Spike's not going to let his claimed boy belong to anyone but him, even if he doesn't know it.
Warnings: LOTS of pre-series Xander/Jesse. Oh, and Xander/Bad!Dude for a little bit, but that hardly counts, right?
Disclaimer: I do not own these character, and I do not own Yankee Candle.

By the time Blithe had slid through Xander’s bedroom door again, he’d had more fun than he’d had in his last hundred years of living. A defenseless vampire… with a soul, for God’s sake! This boy sure knew how to pick his heartbreaks. A souled vampire, who found him to be a waste of oxygen. Who would barely notice his existence if it wasn’t for his good heart and the occasional quick line. He almost felt gallant, rescuing this boy from his own desires. At least he appreciated that tight ass.

His cheek still throbbed, and touched it, marveling at the vampire’s quick fuse. But still, he grinned. The punch would leave a bruise on this form, but now this vampire held no claim on the boy’s soul. He’d renounced it himself. I don’t keep the terminally stupid… Hah.

The clock on the bedside table flashed two-thirty-nine a.m., and he watched as the boy, Xander Harris as the stupid vampire’s mind had called him, stirred awake to his presence. Good instincts. Most of the good hearts he’d taken before were oblivious to the world, but not this one. He liked that.

Confused, dazed with sleep, the boy sat up slowly and winced with the movement. His eyes widened, and he breathed out the name as though this might be a dream. “Jesse?”

Smiling a little, he crawled into bed beside him and let himself be enveloped in warm, strong arms. His own arms wound around his waist, and he breathed in his scent, hungry for more of him. “How are you feeling, Master?”

The boy’s face fell immediately, crumpled like loose paper. “Oh.” He muttered, his tone brittle. But his arms pulled him closer, and he fell into him easily, letting him know he understood. “Alright, I guess. What happened to..?”

He let his smile drop into a soft frown. “If you don’t mind, Master, I do not wish to discuss it.”

“Okay…” The boy’s frown of concern was sweet, and his touch was sweeter, caressing the slowly-forming bruise with the tips of his fingers. He relished it, not even feeling the pain, knowing that he was getting to him. It wouldn’t be long now. “Want some ice for that, or…? I mean, I always got, like, a can of Coke or beer or whatever…”

Smiling again, he leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Master. I’ll be fine.” He slid up further a little to kiss his lips, allowing his body to splay over Xander’s knees and pause there. His thighs straddled him, and he pressed himself closer, wanting him to take whatever he needed, whatever comfort he could give. Right now, the vamp was probably running around town, looking for another candle to trap him in, a spell he could use to remove him from existence so that his sweet jealousy would leave him be. It didn’t matter. He may have held a claim once, but he’d renounced it. The boy was his for the taking.

On a breath, Xander pulled back, staring at him with wide brown eyes. So sweet… “I- I can’t. We have to stop.” He shifted, pushing himself up a little and biting his lip at the way their bodies lined up. “I’ve got work at, like, seven…”

Blithe found himself grinning, arching up against the boy as he wrapped his arms around his neck. “What if you didn’t have to work?”

“Um…” He laughed hesitantly, even as his hands slid down the jinn’s spine and rounded the curves of his ass. “I kinda need money. You know, what with the rent and the food and the fairly pricey cable bill.”

Running his fingers through Xander’s dark hair, he twirled it, letting it fall in twisted little waves around his eyes. He had a very handsome face, didn’t he? “What if you didn’t need the money?” He murmured, slow and seductive as he leaned in to kiss him again. “What if you had all the money you could ever, ever need?”

He raised his eyebrows at the offer, leaning in to take his lips in a too-short kiss that left Blithe, somehow, wanting more. “What, like a million dollars?” He asked, incredulous.

Scoffing at that, Blithe leaned in after him, rolling his hips up and his ass into his palms. He liked that touch, that taste. He was growing to like this man. Interesting feeling… “Five million.” He whispered, touching their lips together again and again, wanting to tempt him.

“Ten?” He whispered back, voice ragged with the want growing between his thighs. Lust, greed, they melded together thick and sweet like chocolate, and he groaned into it, begging for more than just the money. Blithe was pleased.

“One. Hundred. Million.” He purred, punctuating each word with kisses down his chest that gave him a taste of that hot tanned skin. So good, he had to taste more. His hands slid down the boy’s chest and he dragged himself down between his legs, eyes on the prize—that gorgeous cock he’d milked before. Long, thick and pink, curving against his stomach and already heavy with seed. Perfect.

And almost all his.


Giles thought the world was ending, the way Spike crashed into his shop. Practically blew the door off its hinges, startling everyone who’d gathered for the evening’s research session, post-patrol. Willow and Tara jumped, turning to see what all the racket was about, and Buffy grabbed her stake automatically, only paused by the realization that the vamp wasn’t even headed for her.

He was headed for the bookshelves.

“Dear Lord,” Giles gasped, racing to save his collection from cigarette-stained fingers. “Spike, what in God’s name—”

“Oh Shut Up, Rupert.” He protested, too urgently. “Got trouble, we do. Boy found himself a jinn.”

It took a second to process. A jinn? What? And then the other shoe dropped. “Xander? Oh Dear God-” He broke off, following Spike to the furthest corner of his bookcase, the books written in long-dead languages. “How long? Do you know if he’s asked for anything?” He yanked a text from the top shelf, covering his mouth as the dust fell thick with it.

“A jinn?” Willow piped up, sounding interested. “Like a genie?”

Snorting obnoxiously loud, the half-crazed vampire took the book from Giles’ hands and tossed it to the nearest table, not caring that it looked older than time and would probably blow away in the next stiff breeze. “S’what they want you to think. ‘Oh, poor me, stuck in me candle, grantin’ wishes ‘til some kind soul frees me’. Fuckin’ tripe. Gets you lot every time. Idiots.”

Giles cleared his throat, watching him toss his books worriedly. “A jinn is a demon. A- a sort of soul collector. They awaken only when they are summoned by a pure-hearted human, and then proceed to use the guise of the ‘genie’ to tempt them into selfish wishes. When the pure-hearted human uses their last wish to free them from their confines, as they invariably do, the jinn traps their soul in the original vessel—normally a candle. They are then free to roam until captured again, and the soul they took becomes their slave.”

 “Oh.” Willow looked disheartened. “So this isn’t Aladdin.”

Idiots.” Spike grumbled again, under his breath this time. He grabbed another book off the shelf, and this time Giles snatched it from his fingers, fearing for its safety.

“Would you please” Giles begged, “stop throwing books? They’re very valuable, and-”

“Now’s not the time, Watcher.” Hissing through his teeth, the vamp flung open a book and began leafing through the pages, then discarded it when it, apparently, yielded nothing useful.

“So, wait,” Willow frowned, looking to Buffy in confusion. “We can’t just kill it?”

“’Course not. That’d be too simple.” Rolling his eyes, Spike began shoving the useless books over to the other half of the shelf. “Gotta get the thing back in its candle. Then get rid of the candle.” He cursed in a guttural language that sounded like it was probably Fyarl. “Fucking Chrik’nell scum. Never buy anything from a thrift store on a hellmouth, you—” He broke off, suddenly frozen.

Frowning in concern, Giles stepped toward him to see what had left him still. His hand had paused an inch away from a scrap of—

Well, no. It wasn’t a scrap of anything. It was a picture. Xander, lounging on a park bench, one arm around a considerably less lesbian (considerably more adoring) Willow, and the other draping over the boney shoulders of one Jesse McNally. He remembered now, how the boy had brought it to him some time back, how he’d left it at the register for his sake. And then Buffy had protested its existence in a few choice words, and its presence at the register caused nothing but tension, so he’d hidden it here in the bookshelf, too ashamed to throw it away.

Spike was looking at it as if it was a live thing—the little answer fairy that would grant him all the answers he’d ever need.

He plucked it off the shelf, holding it between two fingers and handing it to Giles, pointing to the boy beside Xander.

“Who the fuck is that?”


Blithe was amused. In fact, he’d never been more amused with a human in his whole existence.

He was just adorable. Checking his bank accounts over and over, like he was sure the money was going to disappear at any moment. Running back and forth from the tiny kitchen to the tiny living room, clad only in boxers, bringing him beer and popcorn and left-over pizza…

Like he’d never seen money before. Humans are so cute when they’re grateful. 

Dropping down on the Godawful couch next to him with his own microwaved leftovers, the boy draped an easy arm over Blithe’s shoulders and grinned as he’d been doing all afternoon. “I still can’t believe—”

“It’s there.” He grinned, reaching over to wipe pizza sauce from his lips. The boy’s eyes went half-lidded, the first hints of desire muddling them beautifully, and he withdrew, sucking the sauce from the tip of his thumb.

And then he said, “When I’m gone, it will still be there. This is no trick, Master.”

The boy frowned, tugging him a little closer in an affectionate gesture that Blithe couldn’t seem to grow used to. “Stuck to that candle, huh?”

“Of course.” The jinn smiled sadly, leaning into his prey and allowing him to wrap around him affectionately. “The candle is my prison. I am only free until your third wish is granted. Then I must go back to sleep.”

The boy took a moment of thought, and Blithe used the time to get comfortable, draping himself back against his chest and listening to his heartbeat. He was warm, and Blithe adored that, because he was always cold. It felt strange, being so carefree with a human. But Xander Harris was different. He had this buzz about him, this comfortable sort of hum that made him want to stay wrapped around him all day and just let it lull him to sleep…

“So, what if I wished you free? I mean, would that--”

A knock on the door paused the conversation at the worst possible moment. Blithe seethed, narrowing his eyes and glaring in the vague direction of the sound. Of course, the boy was more confused than annoyed. Shifting beneath him, he slid up a little, arms still holding him nice and snug as he peered over his shoulder toward the door.

There was another knock. Then a loud, familiar British snarl. “Harris, get some fuckin’ trousers on and open this door!”

Immediately, the boy went tense. Still. Blithe felt himself growl possessively, pressing himself back against that body behind him. But it was no use. Funny, what desire can do to a man. Suddenly, the once talkative and energetic master that had given in to the fantasy he’d presented was now swallowing reality like a bitter pill. He looked like he was coming out of a dream.

Fuck. He breathed in slowly, turning to look up at his ‘master’ adoringly. “Shall I send him away, Master?”

But Xander was still for a moment. Very still, and very quiet. He had a look in his eyes that was heavy as stone, and it was obvious right then that he was screwed, and not in the good way.

“I shall send—” He moved to slip away, but his human did not let him. He slid out from under him, pushing him down to the couch roughly and refusing to meet his eyes.

 “Master?” He heard himself ask, growing nervous, almost scared. But if the boy heard him, he wasn’t responding. “Master!”

The tone was almost an order. That seemed to seal it. The kid turned, gave him a look that could’ve broken a mirror, and pulled the door open.

There he was, the fucking smarmy-assed vampire who wouldn’t know a good thing if it slapped him in the face. But he was staring at Harris now, staring with full attention, and oh yes, the look in his eyes was more than simply disgust. Possessiveness… It hung there like a ghost as he glared, daring the boy to tell him to shove off, that everything was fine. As if he wanted to scream at him, hit him. Bite him. Make him his, so he’d never do anything so stupid, ever again.

He was leaning in the doorframe, scarred eyebrow twitched in a deceptively cool arch, even as his eyes drilled into the mortal, steely and dark. He lifted his hand from his pocket, producing a scrap of something that Blithe couldn’t see, displaying it between two fingers and murmuring in a low, gravel-rough growl. “Thought we learned our lesson about raisin’ the dead, Harris.”

The boy’s shoulders slumped, and he accepted the scrap, turning away from the vampire and stepping back into the living room—back toward Blithe. “Come in, Spike.”

Alarmed, Blithe pushed off the couch and stood, facing his boy with an agitated frown. “Master—”

“What’s he going to do to me?” The boy asked, not looking at him, not looking at anyone. “What happens when I set him free?”

“Oh, he’ll lock ye to his candle. Have a bloody field day.” The vampire growled, wandering in behind him with a look in his eyes that could’ve given death a chill. “Seekin’ out innocents, children, and takin’ their souls for strength.”

Blithe’s lips curled up in a snarl. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Keep ye as a pet, I’ll wager. Ass up, lickin’ his boots—”

“He’s lying--!”

“—Which, apparently,” the bleach-blonde menace spoke above him, voice raising with just barely controlled jealous fury. “You wouldn’t mind, surprise-surprise--

“Shut up.”

They turned away from each other at the boy’s soft command, the damn vampire sucking in a breath of all things to calm his anger. He looked livid, rabid, pacing back and preparing a watchful stance by the television set—ready to attack at any moment. And he could see the look in his eyes, the look that had brought him here… that mine that he’d once denounced so roundly. Blithe didn’t care. He’d gladly rip the fucking creature apart if it so much as approached him, or even if it didn’t. The boy was his. There was no claim on him but Blithe’s, stupid vampire even said so himself. When he broke free, he was going to throw the pathetic creature out the window and let him dissolve with the dawn.

“Master,” He began, speaking low and comforting as he moved toward the boy. “Please. Don’t listen to him. You know he is evil, you know he—”

“—Harris, if you believe a word that thing says, than you’re dumber than I ever—”

Hey!” The kid raised his hands, closing his eyes in frustration. “What’d I say, huh?!”

They both closed their mouths, and Blithe curled his fists. Never had he been so disrespected. Sweet or not, this human would be punished

“So, this whole ‘genie’ thing—”

“S’a sham, Harris.” The vampire growled, jaw setting hard as he tensed up, eyes on Blithe’s fists. He knew what was coming. “’Bout the only thing that’s true is that you’ve got all the power where it matters. Wish him—”

No!” He yelled, fury and adrenaline overtaking him. Lunging for the vamp, he snatched a stake off the coffee table and attacked, veering to the left as his target moved fast, diving out of the way. The damnable creature caught his arm, wrenching it behind his back, but Blithe could not let him win. He slammed the vamp back into the wall, knocking over a floor lamp. Then the vamp jammed the palm of his fist into Blithe’s nose and kicked him hard in the gut—sending him flying back into the glass coffee table, shattering it, and leaving him winded.

Wish Him Gone, Harris!” The vamp roared, standing over him, foot on his stomach to keep him down. The mine was in his eyes now, more than ever, sparking like electricity. “Now!”

And his boy breathed in, swallowing a dry, pathetic sob. The last thing he heard was his whisper. “Go back to your candle, Blithe.”

And then all was darkness. Just as it always was.


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