rngrdead (rngrdead) wrote in bloodclaim,

Parchment #9

After a long time in the wilderness I am determined to finish a few of my stories...
But I may have 'missed the boat' as few will remember the start. I am sorry for that but do promise to finish the WiPs anon, Rl has not been kind of late... no matter, it mz=ay inform the writing...

Title: Parchment
Author: rngrdead
Pairing: Xander/Spike (don’t be fooled by the Willow beginning)
Rating: Mature Audiences – for content and themes
Summary: There was a spell and a book and then... it all pear shaped and he ended up on paper!
Spoilers: Canon is Post S7 BtVS and S5 AtS.
Warnings: M/M – if you don't like boys together, don't play here!
Harsh circumstances and difficult start as always with Daisy the muse....

One more round of the copse was all it took to reassure the little pipistrelle bat that all was as it should be.

Xander was making the change from large to small so easily these days that he hardly seemed to notice. And it never ceased to amaze Spike that the smaller form was still in love with him, even as he shifted to the ‘bat features’ and non opposable thumbs of his own smaller form. Of an evening he would make a decision to either patrol in the local area for ‘nasties’ in his vampire form or switch and increasingly take joy in flight and the last few sun’s rays allowing pipestrelle instinct to take over.

Regardless of form or size they always met again in the wee hours of morning at the door of their abode beside the main coven building as the light of dawn signalled a new day. It was still amazing to Spike that his… their life had shifted so far in but two plus years of being together – and the anniversary of one at the coven.

And yet, almost one year at the coven, post Willow’s intervention and consequent changes, Spike had never felt such happiness.

He now had a sense of belonging, a deep and true sense of being loved utterly by a man, nae faerie, who loved him back particularly when they were both ‘large’. And of late (only in the last month or two) the odd comfort to be also able to change to a smaller form, even if only to enjoy the dying embers of the suns touch so sadly missed for one hundred and sixty years or so, and observe his beloved thriving in his now true form. The only difference between his smaller fae cousins being Xander’s rather magnificent tail (ever the cause of amusement and ‘naughty touching’!)

They were accepted, in either of their forms, by coven members, Watchers, Slayers, and all fae folk ‘in the know’, even the local pipestrelle population didn’t seem to object to the occasional encounter with his tiny form. Sometimes late afternoon was spent with the ladies (and few gents) of the coven discussing one or more spells and accessing his expertise borne of one hundred and sixty or so years of vampire existence.

Of late, mornings were always for them, spent in slumber or love making, either was welcome and since the winter solstice, included hours of Spike using an antique brush (a gift from the Mistress Willow) to stroke and caress the now very long hair of the dark chocolate mane of slightly curly hair that stretched to Xander’s waist and matching tail of a metre plus when he wast full sized. Sated, showered and a very relaxed Xander would normally make a few groans of replete joy then promptly fall asleep. Spike would inevitably move to spoon his sleeping Xander from behind and fall asleep whilst stroking the gossamer feathers of one or other beautiful wing that inevitably spread over them both, or if Xander happened to roll onto his back in slumber Spike would stroke the inside of the wing and never failed to thank whatever deity had gifted him with such a wonderful turn in his long unlife, before relaxing entirely into the warmth of the sated, slumbering man he loved so utterly.

In the late afternoon they would both rise. Discussions of the night ahead and decisions about Spike changing were ‘old hat’ these days. Promises of undying love were never missing from the dialogue, and Spike had started to enjoy his ‘other’ form, though still supressed the natural diet of the pipestrelle though. Bat wings, distended fingers between wing segments, and the penchant for hanging upside down with firm grip through his toes was one thing, but eating bugs was not amongst his finest moments, instinctive newly found tastes were to blame.

The little body he apparently now inhabited for the last almost twelve months, demanded that he captured and ate all manner of moths and bugs, but instead of the two or three thousand a night reported by studiers of biology tracking his smaller state, he kept it to ‘tens’ only.

Forgoing the tiny body’s needs on a nightly basis, and taking instead three or four willingly donated bags of ‘out-dated’ blood when he returned to his larger vampire state in their shared apartment at the coven, or snacking from a soon-to-be-dust, hapless young fledge at some local cemetery or three were preferred post pipestrelle form.

But this night he had made the change and did one more, quick circle, aware that it was unnatural for his kind, his new form, to be out so early, just as it was unnatural that the faeries were out so close to sunset. But since it was the Summer Solstice, they almost had a duty to the time of rejoicing, and the extra boost of magic from the coven made it a given. He changed and took off into the evening shortly after a goodbye kiss from Xander as he shifted.

Spike observed briefly, in the dying light of late afternoon, that his tiny friend Xander was again enjoying his studies in the company of his (not so new anymore) faerie cousins as they began to hone their magicks and their flying skills in the apparent safety of the copse with its thick cover of nettles and mid level canopy.

It was a delightful scene. Giggles and a game of aerial tag seemed be on the offing before they began their night of more serious studies. The tiny Xander landed on a lower branch of an old fuchsia tree, pausing for a moment, mid game, to look up, squinting into the red sky of evening to spot his changed lover on the wing circling. He gave the little bat a blinding grin filled with love and waved and winked before flitting off to re-join the fun.

Then he heard, no felt, the unnatural shriek of terror from somewhere closer to home than he would ever have wished.

He flew toward the sound on instinct, it was some way from the coven and the cry of distress was real. He contemplated ‘changing back’, but far too late. As he rounded for a second fly past to establish the source of noise, his small form was firmly caught, trapped by a spider-thin web of nylon fibres that seemed to wind around every appendage and disable any attempts to disengage.

He could hear various other of his kind calling for help in a tone that no human could hear and felt the vibrations of others so captured. He contemplated changing back and breaking free, but still worried for the members of the faerie circle and his darling Xander in the copse. Were they after the faeries? Had they already captured him? What might the consequences be? How could he help?

He struggled with the implications and his options, then some hour or so later, a pair of strong, yet gentle, hands grabbed him, untangled his tiny form and shoved him into a tough black bag. He managed to bite the hand that untangled him and savoured the human blood for a moment, before a swift jab and his world went totally black.

He awoke sometime the next day, still ensconced in his bag and tried to get his bearings, imagined himself back at the Initiative, but this was different.

“This one has a ring on his right ear.”

“Just measure it, record the dimensions, and collect any faecises”

“But the ring is a standard gold number, like a human earring!”

“Bloody weirdo hippies at that commune no doubt. Probably keep it as a pet or some sort of traditional signpost or whatnot. Look we’re not here to sort out the local populace, simply track these little guys. You want your PhD or what!!!”

The voice seemed kind, both voices did really, but Spike worried fro his fae friends.

“Look, just do the measurements, grab the scats, and tag the little fellow. We’ll let them all out around sunset. And if it makes you feel any better, they’ve all got their own GPS built in, so if he is ‘owned’ I’m pretty sure he’ll find his way home.”

And with that Spike had a tight band with identifying number, pinched to his leg, and a minute tracking chip inserted (painfully) just above his tiny thigh. He struggled a little, but without food for at least a day, in either form, it was fruitless.

His tiny form was listless but not unconscious, and he soon learned the reason for their research. The Northern European Pipestrelle was apparently an endangered species, so it was the intent of the research group to breed them in captivity. Except he had the ring. Would the research group release him again, allowing him to go home? And what of his claimed? His Xander? Without regular exchanges of blood… the faerie would fade.

He tried to change in desperation, but the cage he had been placed in was too small, even foetal position he was locked in, so changed back.

He sent a plaintive plea to his beloved to stay away from, wherever he was now and hoped the coven might rally to collect him.


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