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Spander Kinx


June 15th, 2006

Perfect Offering uber-tease, by scymnus @ 02:02 am

scymnus:
Current Mood: loved loved
Current Music: I don't need musical interludes. I'm a powerful man witch!

Perfect Offering uber tease, by scymnus (that's me!)
NC-21 for the sex, the violence, (fairly mild) canabalism warning, human! AU, non consensual drug use, blinding of an OMC, prolly castration, sarcasm, issues, torture fic, the works really

Xan woke up. Rohypnol. He played possum, wanting to make it good for Spike. It wasn’t time to free him from the mortal coil yet, unless of course Spike had done sixty-five beasties in eleven days. That would be industrious even for a vampire, and Spike was human now.


He tested his bonds. Handcuffs.


“Vintage, huh, baby?”


Spike preferred flex cuffs now. It was so rude, when a viccy fancied himself an amateur Houdini.


“Awake, pet?” A yank with a hilarious fake accent queried.


Xander was reminded of Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins. Silly kine. Dark eyes opened.


“Come on in, Spike!” He shouted, raising himself to his feet, with a nifty karate move that he’d lifted from the Slayer.


Hmm. No Spike. Gotta improvise.


“Oh you’re got green eyes.” Xander sang, kicking the viccy in the nuts. “Oh you’re got blue eyes. You’ve got grey eyes. And I never met anyone quite like you before.” Viccy had pretty grey eyes.


Spike followed Xan damn near everywhere, causing him to joke that the former vampire was just like a certain little lamb. Spike held his dick when he pissed, fer crissakes, but was rarely even in the apartment when he took a shit. He followed Xan when he wasn’t working, and sometimes when he was.


Xander kicked the other man again.


“I’m not gonna get taken out by some stupid wanna be copycat viccy.” He spat.


Beastie wasn’t worth toying with, so he relaxed, did a kittenish little shimmy, and presto! No more cuffs on him.


He put them on his hand like brass knuckles, and punched the bastard, breaking his nose. Blood bubbled out. Neat.


“Beastie has spirit.” The copycat crowed.


“Nope. Just gotta get home in time for dinner. It’s meatloaf night, fucker, and it‘s such a bitch to get Spike to cook.”


He glanced around for blunt objects. This viccy didn’t deserve sharp.


Ah. A bat.


“If it wasn’t meatloaf night, I might take my time with you.” Kick. “Might show you what I can do with a bat, Christian.”


Dangerous game, reminding the prey that it had options, but Xander hated to play it safe. Oh yes. He remembered viccy. Spike’s ickle roommate, at sleep away camp for the stars.


“My name is-”


“Beastie? Berk? Numbah 13? I don’t like you, Christie.”


“Don’t call me that!” The prey screeched.


“That sincerest form of flattery bit?” Spike crooned, entering through the living room window. “Bollocks.”


didn’t invite you in!”


“No, but Xander did, and I’m a former vampire besides, fucktard.” Spike said, bouncing. He rubbed his fingers together. “This is the world’s tiniest violin, playing the world’s saddest song.”


Xander clapped.


“I thought you preferred My Heart Pumps Purple Piss For You?”


“Now baby, you know that’s our song.”


“Aww.”


“Have at him, pet. He’s a bad doggy. He tried to stick it in.”


“A shank?”


Spike’s favorite weapon for months, along with ice picks.


“His wee prick.”


Xander went ballistic.


“You are kine!” He roared. “You don’t fuck your betters.”


Xander advanced on the viccy, and beat him to death with his own cuffs,


Bounce.


Spike fished an ice pick out of his duster, and slapped it in Xander’s hand. A cheeky grin from the boy, who stuck it in one of viccy’s pretty grey eyes. Twist. He pulled it out.


“Will you do the honors, baby?” Xander asked.


“Will do, pet.”


Spike took an awl out of his pocket, and finished blinding mousie.


Spike gave him first blood. They gnawed on the corpse with blunt human teeth. Not wise if they didn’t want to get caught, but they did. How else would they get their movie of the week, (though hopefully without a Thelma and Louise ending), not to mention the book deal, and the breakfast cereal? Mousie-O’s? Nah. Beastie-O’s. Yum! Free switchblade in every box!


“That was fun.” Xander said, wiping the blood from his mouth.


“Over too quickly for my taste.” Spike said. “Missed a spot, baby.” He added, though he hadn’t, brushing Xander’s lower lip with his thumb.


“It’s meatloaf night.”


“Do you have the stuff? Meatloaf night is the bloody bollocks.”


“I sure as Hell hope not!”


“You know what I mean, pet.”


“Yeah, baby.”


Xander eased into Spike’s arms.


It’s your turn.” Xander sang.


“Nuh uh. It’s yours.”


“No way!”


“Yes way!”


“You are so wrong! Last time I made pasta primavera.”


“Right. Which means you didn’t make meatloaf last.”


“You suck.”


“Now there’s a plan.”


“Please please please! Make your super special meatloaf? Even if it does have bloody bollocks in it.”


“Well.”


“Yeah?”


“Okay. You talked me into it, you little minx!”


“More of a stoat, really.”


“Do you even know what a stoat is?”


“Nope.”


Xander was stalking a consumptive punk named Stoat, who bore an eerie resemblance to Spike. Stoat and Spike had been fucking each other six ways to Sunday, and that pissed Xander off. His lover knew he was dangerous when jealous. He liked a jealous Xander. Made him all cute and homicidal like.

 
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Spander Kinx