Grungefic 5
Aug. 8th, 2004 12:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darkhavensA reminder that this is totally unplanned, inexplicable S1 Spander, with a barely-legal (in England!) Xander and an unchipped Spike. It will probably get dark. It will definitely be NC-17 at some point. I now have some vague idea of where it might be going, but every time I write some more it twists in my hands and goes off somewhere else. It's short, but it wanted to be posted, so...
Previous parts can be found here.
“I… Thank you, for the food and all. For… caring, when you…” Xander’s voice broke. “You don’t even know me…”
“I don’t have to, Pet, you’re mine now, that’s what matters.” He waves the waiter over and turns back to place his hand on Xander’s wrist and squeeze it tight.
“Now you stay here and eat the chocolate cake I had them keep for you. Don’t leave this table, Pet, or you’ll be sorry. I’m going to find my own dessert; I’m sure you won’t approve. Stay here and wait and have another milk if you get bored.” Spike presses a violent kiss upon his boy and then is gone.
+++++
He saunters through the restaurant and out the door, somehow attracting no attention. He’s left his pet alone and wonders will he still be waiting once the chocolate cake is gone and there’s time to think.
It isn’t such a big risk, really, everything considered. If the boy does make a run for it, he’ll surely go straight home and, well, Sunnydale’s already in their plans, and he can wait, if he must.
Picking up his pace, Spike prowls the streets in search of sustenance. A juicy, camera-laden tourist maybe, or an office drone or two. And then he sees his prize, a muscled lad, about as tall as his new pet, but broader, huskier, and cocky as can be. The swagger in his step sends out a siren call Spike’s demon can’t ignore, and he is off and following like a trout after a lure.
Spike can’t believe his luck when his dessert turns on one heel and disappears down an alley to his right. And then he understands and with a feral grin he follows, unsurprised to feel an arm slip round his throat and see the other holding up a vicious blade to catch the light.
“Who the fuck do you think you’re following, punk? I’ve taken bigger men than you without a knife.”
Spike springs into action. One strong arm comes up to block the weapon hand; the other firmly grips the thumb under his jaw. Then one quick jerk, a snap, a scream, a twist, the knife is on the floor and Spike slips into gameface with a grin.
The cockiness is suddenly a puddle on the floor; the brash voice whimpers pleas for clemency. Spike sucks down adrenalin-spiced blood and gets an atavistic thrill. A hundred years and more and still the taste is like ambrosia on his tongue. It never changes, not by much: modern drugs of choice, a jolt of hormones, and the ever-present taint of modern living typified by a smorgasbord of chemical additives.
A nearby dumpster takes his offering of lifeless flesh, and Spike’s back on the street, spring in his step, and with a near new leather jacket for his pet. Oh, life is good. The only possible ray of sun on the horizon is the thought that maybe Pretty has absconded while Spike’s back is turned.
+++++
The cake is rich, the chocolate bittersweet on Xander’s tongue, and yet the first few bites he hardly even tastes. His mind’s still on the kiss, the care, the interest Spike’s shown in him so far. He somehow can’t get past the realisation that this demon, this dead thing, has really looked at him and seen something worth claiming for its own. The knowledge that he’s wanted scares him rigid, for he knows he always fails at stuff like this; he’s such a screw-up. Somehow he always seems to disappoint those who should care for him, and this time disappointment could mean death.
He sips the milk he ordered as Spike said he should, and wonders why the thought that he might die has suddenly gained such great importance in his mind. Yesterday he didn’t give a damn, but now a demon’s made him care and… is that right? Should a creature who, right now, is busy slaughtering at will, should a beast like that be able to touch his heart, not through his chest, but just by word and kiss and deed? His fork ticks on the porcelain and Xander sees he’s finished off the cake and barely noticed it go down. And suddenly he’s full to bursting, stomach unaccustomed to such fare in quite a while. A panicked look around is little help, but the motion draws their waiter to his side.
“W…Washroom, please? I need…” The pale tinge to his skin completes the sentence and he’s helped up from the table and assisted to a door with artful ease. Once inside, the bolt slides home, then Xander’s on his knees and losing everything he’s hardly even noticed himself eat. And finally the tears begin to fall. The grief he’s kept inside, and all the stress and guilt and hurt comes pouring out in wide-mouthed sobs that shake him to his soul.
+++++
Spike is fairly bouncing as he slips back through the restaurant, heading for their table on the terrace without pause. Then he sees it, cleared of plates and glasses, no one sitting there, and rage towards himself comes to the fore. He’d known it was too soon to leave his pretty on his lonesome, but no, he had to go and grab a bite, and now it might be weeks before…
A light hand on the arm that’s draped in extra leather makes him spin and snarl, but the waiter simply smiles and nods towards a door and whispers magic words to soothe the beast.
His pet’s not gone, he’s doing… things, that human bodies need, and that’s okay, Spike thinks, but then he hears the sobs. Three great strides and as the door flies open Spike goes stalking in, without a care for who might see his shocking non-reflection in the mirror on the wall. The cubicle the furthest from the sink is where he crosses to, the sounds of misery and sad despair act like a beacon. The door resists his tug and is summarily ejected from it’s frame, is tossed away so Spike might sink down to the floor and pull his crying, shaking pet into his arms.
“I’ve got you, Pretty. There now, hush.” He sets them rocking, joyous as two weakly trembling arms slide round his waist and latch on tight. “I’ll not leave you alone again like this, make no mistake. You’ll never be alone again, I swear. I’ll keep you safe…”
Previous parts can be found here.
“I… Thank you, for the food and all. For… caring, when you…” Xander’s voice broke. “You don’t even know me…”
“I don’t have to, Pet, you’re mine now, that’s what matters.” He waves the waiter over and turns back to place his hand on Xander’s wrist and squeeze it tight.
“Now you stay here and eat the chocolate cake I had them keep for you. Don’t leave this table, Pet, or you’ll be sorry. I’m going to find my own dessert; I’m sure you won’t approve. Stay here and wait and have another milk if you get bored.” Spike presses a violent kiss upon his boy and then is gone.
+++++
He saunters through the restaurant and out the door, somehow attracting no attention. He’s left his pet alone and wonders will he still be waiting once the chocolate cake is gone and there’s time to think.
It isn’t such a big risk, really, everything considered. If the boy does make a run for it, he’ll surely go straight home and, well, Sunnydale’s already in their plans, and he can wait, if he must.
Picking up his pace, Spike prowls the streets in search of sustenance. A juicy, camera-laden tourist maybe, or an office drone or two. And then he sees his prize, a muscled lad, about as tall as his new pet, but broader, huskier, and cocky as can be. The swagger in his step sends out a siren call Spike’s demon can’t ignore, and he is off and following like a trout after a lure.
Spike can’t believe his luck when his dessert turns on one heel and disappears down an alley to his right. And then he understands and with a feral grin he follows, unsurprised to feel an arm slip round his throat and see the other holding up a vicious blade to catch the light.
“Who the fuck do you think you’re following, punk? I’ve taken bigger men than you without a knife.”
Spike springs into action. One strong arm comes up to block the weapon hand; the other firmly grips the thumb under his jaw. Then one quick jerk, a snap, a scream, a twist, the knife is on the floor and Spike slips into gameface with a grin.
The cockiness is suddenly a puddle on the floor; the brash voice whimpers pleas for clemency. Spike sucks down adrenalin-spiced blood and gets an atavistic thrill. A hundred years and more and still the taste is like ambrosia on his tongue. It never changes, not by much: modern drugs of choice, a jolt of hormones, and the ever-present taint of modern living typified by a smorgasbord of chemical additives.
A nearby dumpster takes his offering of lifeless flesh, and Spike’s back on the street, spring in his step, and with a near new leather jacket for his pet. Oh, life is good. The only possible ray of sun on the horizon is the thought that maybe Pretty has absconded while Spike’s back is turned.
+++++
The cake is rich, the chocolate bittersweet on Xander’s tongue, and yet the first few bites he hardly even tastes. His mind’s still on the kiss, the care, the interest Spike’s shown in him so far. He somehow can’t get past the realisation that this demon, this dead thing, has really looked at him and seen something worth claiming for its own. The knowledge that he’s wanted scares him rigid, for he knows he always fails at stuff like this; he’s such a screw-up. Somehow he always seems to disappoint those who should care for him, and this time disappointment could mean death.
He sips the milk he ordered as Spike said he should, and wonders why the thought that he might die has suddenly gained such great importance in his mind. Yesterday he didn’t give a damn, but now a demon’s made him care and… is that right? Should a creature who, right now, is busy slaughtering at will, should a beast like that be able to touch his heart, not through his chest, but just by word and kiss and deed? His fork ticks on the porcelain and Xander sees he’s finished off the cake and barely noticed it go down. And suddenly he’s full to bursting, stomach unaccustomed to such fare in quite a while. A panicked look around is little help, but the motion draws their waiter to his side.
“W…Washroom, please? I need…” The pale tinge to his skin completes the sentence and he’s helped up from the table and assisted to a door with artful ease. Once inside, the bolt slides home, then Xander’s on his knees and losing everything he’s hardly even noticed himself eat. And finally the tears begin to fall. The grief he’s kept inside, and all the stress and guilt and hurt comes pouring out in wide-mouthed sobs that shake him to his soul.
+++++
Spike is fairly bouncing as he slips back through the restaurant, heading for their table on the terrace without pause. Then he sees it, cleared of plates and glasses, no one sitting there, and rage towards himself comes to the fore. He’d known it was too soon to leave his pretty on his lonesome, but no, he had to go and grab a bite, and now it might be weeks before…
A light hand on the arm that’s draped in extra leather makes him spin and snarl, but the waiter simply smiles and nods towards a door and whispers magic words to soothe the beast.
His pet’s not gone, he’s doing… things, that human bodies need, and that’s okay, Spike thinks, but then he hears the sobs. Three great strides and as the door flies open Spike goes stalking in, without a care for who might see his shocking non-reflection in the mirror on the wall. The cubicle the furthest from the sink is where he crosses to, the sounds of misery and sad despair act like a beacon. The door resists his tug and is summarily ejected from it’s frame, is tossed away so Spike might sink down to the floor and pull his crying, shaking pet into his arms.
“I’ve got you, Pretty. There now, hush.” He sets them rocking, joyous as two weakly trembling arms slide round his waist and latch on tight. “I’ll not leave you alone again like this, make no mistake. You’ll never be alone again, I swear. I’ll keep you safe…”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2004-08-08 12:53 am (UTC)no subject
on 2004-08-08 01:35 am (UTC)Thx. :o)
no subject
on 2004-08-08 02:24 am (UTC)no subject
on 2004-08-08 08:58 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-08-08 04:37 am (UTC)no subject
on 2004-08-08 08:59 pm (UTC)Grungefic 5
on 2004-08-08 07:36 am (UTC)Marie
Re: Grungefic 5
on 2004-08-08 09:03 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-08-08 12:25 pm (UTC)And I have to mention that I'm soooo happy you updated this! ::grin::
no subject
on 2004-08-08 09:18 pm (UTC)Poor Xander, yes. And you just know that Spike is going to want answers. Hee!
no subject
on 2004-08-08 03:35 pm (UTC)“I’ve got you, Pretty. There now, hush.” He sets them rocking, joyous as two weakly trembling arms slide round his waist and latch on tight. “I’ll not leave you alone again like this, make no mistake. You’ll never be alone again, I swear. I’ll keep you safe…”
Awwww *sniff*
*smooch's* you for the update.
no subject
on 2004-08-08 09:21 pm (UTC)Geez the poor little begger!
Yes, poor hurting Xander. But Spike will fix it. ;o)
no subject
on 2004-08-08 03:39 pm (UTC)This is lovely, hon.
Droning apathy and caretaking Spike.
*purrs* Gotta love it.
Looks like the bunny is still nibbling, and I'm thankful for it.
Made for a yummy breakfast.
no subject
on 2004-08-08 09:26 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-08-08 04:12 pm (UTC)I'm loving everything I've read so far and hoping for more soon! =)
no subject
on 2004-08-08 09:27 pm (UTC)And there will be more soon, my muse is obsessed! Glad you're loving it.
no subject
on 2004-08-09 02:27 am (UTC)no subject
on 2004-08-09 05:26 am (UTC)#5
on 2004-08-09 06:47 pm (UTC)Shakatany
Re: #5
on 2004-08-09 09:09 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-08-10 03:15 am (UTC)no subject
on 2004-08-10 03:19 am (UTC)no subject
on 2004-08-11 04:25 am (UTC)Your Spike voice makes me just a happy kitten, as does your traumatized and pliable Xander, and this is the best possible kind of hurt/comfort fic that there can be, considering that the comfortee is in rather more danger from the comforter than from anyone else. It's lovely and sexy and snarky and I'll just be checking for more of this every day. And possibly twice on weekends. Mmm.
no subject
on 2004-08-11 04:47 am (UTC)I've never seen S1 Spander either, and I wasn't even planning to write any, but as my very first Grungefic post said, my muse was on crack, or something, because I sat down at the keyboard and it just came out. o.O
I'm glad so many people are enjoying this and hoping for more. It makes me want to write more. In fact... ::goes off to write::. ;o)
no subject
on 2004-08-21 05:10 am (UTC)no subject
on 2004-08-21 06:58 pm (UTC)S1 Spander had never occurred to me either until one day I sat down and started writing this. It came out of no-where. And I'm glad it did.
no subject
on 2004-08-31 09:29 am (UTC)But tonight I've taken time out to finally read them all and I'd like to offer some concrit.
I have a slight problem when reading this because, as we may have discussed before, I really don't accept the S/X 'ship in its many incarnations, so I've tried not to focus on that and instead respond to the writing itself.
I can't fully ignore the more 'ideological' differences though, and I will just say that I do disagree with the idea that these situations would take place, judging from my interpretation of both the characters of Spike and Xander. This of course hinders any comments I could make on your characterisation within the series, as I don't believe their reactions would be such as you've painted them.
Your voices, however, I'm hoping I can comment on. The Xander here is lost and uncertain and I do appreciate that despite the actual content. Your Spike-voice is rather effective and in some moments very strong; but it is also a little repetitive in word-use. Though I am aware that some characters (and certainly, all people) favour some words above others, it's not feasible to use those slang terms and patterns of speech to construct their dialogue. A little variance is good - I'd probably recommend reading the dialogue aloud to test it's authenticity, and especially going back and watching s2 Buffy, when we first met the character of Spike, and studying his speech.
Your Drusilla, again, hits the mark some of the time, but she feels like an imitation - I do not mean this as an insult, please don't get me wrong, she just feels as though she carries some of Dru's characteristics without actually hitting on that note that makes Dru Dru. Again, I'd suggest watching Buffy to pick up the finer points of her characterisation and dialogue - in particular, early s2, when she's still weak, as I assume she is here.
As for the writing itself, the narrative style is simple, linear, and uncomplicated, which certainly works as a vehicle for plot-based storylines. I'd love to see the inclusion of a little imagery or metaphor, though, to shape the momentum and different chapters of the story - a running subtextual theme can really add a kick to the story itself.
Stylistically, your darker pieces of narrative and reflection often take the easy way out to reuse rather established (and perhaps cliched) sentence structure and imagery. A way I'd suggest to improve this is to rethink when shaping description. Think of sensory concepts - how it would taste? Feel? Smell? What can you compare it to that hasn't been used for comparisons to death already? Alternatives are out there and they really make the fic that much more precious.
I think with some editing and thought this could be a very strong S/X fic, and I do hope you don't take offense at anything I've suggested her. It's my belief that concrit is better than silence and despite my personal views on S/X I believe there's the making of a good fic here.
no subject
on 2004-10-04 11:49 am (UTC)This made me do a double-take. Very clever, love!
Poor Xander. He's the perfect 'victim' for Spike because he has so little self-esteem and no-one else appears to give a damn about him. At this point, even greedy, self-interested care and affection seems better than none at all.
no subject
on 2004-10-04 05:29 pm (UTC)This made me do a double-take. Very clever, love!
Thank you! I love wordplay. *g*
Yes, poor Xander... Hee!
no subject
on 2004-10-05 04:26 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-10-05 06:56 pm (UTC)Xander needed to deal with the guilt and grief he really would have felt, and if Joss won't let him, I will. *g*
no subject
on 2005-01-11 08:13 am (UTC)Oh, very nice. . . .
The cake is rich, the chocolate bittersweet on Xander's tongue, and yet the first few bites he hardly even tastes. His mind's still on the kiss, the care, the interest Spike's shown in him so far. He somehow can't get past the realisation that this demon, this dead thing, has really looked at him and seen something worth claiming for its own. The knowledge that he's wanted scares him rigid, for he knows he always fails at stuff like this; he's such a screw-up. Somehow he always seems to disappoint those who should care for him, and this time disappointment could mean death.
Xander still comes across as being more afraid of losing the - attention/care of someone who's counting on him than death. . . that's so sad and pretty and hurty and beautiful -