Title: To Dream in the City of Slayers (Chapts 1 & 2 of 7)
Rating: hard R
Feedback: Suit yourself, just no permanent damage, k.
Disclaimer: Just playing with the pretty kittens. Unfortunately, they are not mine, but I will gladly groom and bathe them before sending them back home to Daddy (aka Joss/Mutant Enemy/et al).
Warnings/Squicks: slight BDSM, lots of graphically implied boy sex, some ppl might find the initial encounter offensive- it’s nothing bad, merely questionable
Summary: A variation on the old ’boys dreaming about each other’ theme- honestly, it started life as a PWP, but then Mys’ muse decided to wake up and stick a vague plot/storyline in there, hmph!
AN1: I started writing this expecting it to be a short little one-off, PWP-type thing. It grew, and as it grew I realized it was going to need a proper title- something about dreaming and the future. Of course, my weird little brain went straight to my favourite line from what, in my opinion, is still the best of the B5 novels (and the first commissioned to be canon):
“…it is said that to dream in the City of Sorrows, is to dream of a better future.” Babylon 5, Book #9: To Dream in the City of Sorrows by Kathryn M. Drennan
AN2: This is set somewhere around S5- a VERY AU S5 that lasts much, much longer than the original S5
- Anya’s around, but not with Xander.
- Spike’s not obsessing over
- Joyce is alive and kickin’, I’ll let you guys decide whether she got better or just never got sick (or, if you are determined to kill her off, just hasn’t gotten sick yet).
- Giles hasn’t run off either.
- They know Dawn is the Key, but Glory’s not really an issue- Mys leans towards the ‘Glory was dealt with without the obligatory loss of life’ method- if only to save her muse the headache, lol.
AN3: Yes, I pestered the wonderful peeps at bloodclaim so I know that the Sunnydale hospital is called ‘Sunnydale Hospital’ not ‘Sunnydale General’, but during that conversation it was also agreed that ‘Sunnydale General’ sounded better.
Dreaming 101A: An Introduction to Dreaming
Parts of the dream were always the same.
He was blindfolded, bare chested, and virtually naked- skin-tight, crotchless leather ‘shorts’ his only concession to clothing. He knelt with heels to buttocks, hands at the small of his back- the slow burn in his shoulders and arms gave voice to his leather bound wrists. The air around him was cool, chilled even, causing his exposed nipples to pucker and harden. Where he knelt was surprisingly comfortable, soft and plush.
Straining to hear, he could make out the faint sounds of footsteps. As the sound grew louder, the steps drew nearer with a gentle swish of heavy fabric. A few feet away, the footsteps momentarily stopped and noises he couldn’t identify emanated from the spot. He shuddered and tensed as he felt the air shift and his companion circled around him like a tiger circling it’s prey.
…this is where the variations began.
The first time, his counterpart stopped directly in front of him, speaking one word, “Open.”
As if unable to disobey, he did as he was told. The next thing he knew a length of hard male flesh was sliding into his moist, gaping mouth. Hands went to either side of his head, both petting and holding.
Tentatively, he flicked his tongue along the ridged flesh, receiving a pleasured moan from the man above him. Uncertain what was expected of him, but curious in a terrified-dream-like-way he began to lick and suck, eliciting more moans and pets from his… lover… captor… Master… The latter term sent a warm tingle down his spine and straight to his surprisingly attentive groin.
Suddenly, the hands tightened in his hair and his mouth was being fucked wantonly. Still, when his ‘Master’ came, he dutifully swallowed and cleaned every trace of cum from the waning hard-on.
That had been the first dream.
Sometimes the man would touch him, exploring his body with gentle touches, kisses, and licks. Sometimes he would be placed on the bed, hands bound above his head as the man rubbed himself to completion against Xander’s body.
There were two final constants to the dreams- Xander was never allowed to see his Master’s face and he always awoke with a cooling, damp, sticky crotch and belly.
As the dreams continued, Xander tried to focus his sense to learn what he could about his surroundings and the man he shared them with.
It was another of the dreams. He still wasn’t sure how he could identify them even before they properly started, he just could. Though it might have something to do with the fact that he was having them so often now- they were virtually a nightly occurrence.
At least the frequency gave him ample opportunity to learn his surroundings, among other things. He now knew that where he knelt was some sort of mat or cushion. He knew the bed was a four-poster canopy king made of hardwood with flannel sheets and a velvet and satin comforter. He knew that the leather that bound his wrists were some form of bracers, about 3-4 inches long with some sort of symbols on them, but he could never quite make out what they were. He knew that the man he was with was slighter then he was. He knew that his Master was all firm, taut muscle and baby soft skin. He knew his touch was powerful and tender at the same time. He knew he trusted his Master implicitly.
And he knew his Master loved him completely. That was made clear the first time he was seriously injured on patrol. That night in the dream his Master unbound his wrists and laid him on the bed. As Xander waited for instructions, he could hear the soft rustle of fabric and the rapid tic-tic-tic of a zipper; then the bed dipped and his Master was laying next to him, pulling Xander into his arms, holding him. “Sleep now.”
The feel of the dream was off- something was wrong ,he just couldn’t identify what, yet.
Longer time than usual passed before Master came to him. The first thing Xander noticed was that his Master was limping- he could just make out the sluggish slip and heavy thump of his feet.
Panic gripped the young man. Something had happened to his Master.
For the first time since the dreams started he cursed his bound hands and covered eyes. He wanted nothing more than to run to his Master, hold him close, and whisper soothing words to him.
His Master’s broken footsteps drew nearer, until they stopped in front of him. A cool hand cupped his face, and Xander turned his head to nuzzle into it. A moment later he heard his Master’s voice, “Not tonight.” With that simple statement Master pulled his hand back and turned to walk away.
Xander’s heart was trying to beat out of his chest, Master couldn’t leave, he was hurt, and Xander had to know he would be okay. “Master,” he called, hoping against hope his voice didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.
However his voice came out, he got the desired effect. He heard his Master’s footsteps halt and the swish of fabric as he turned.
The man returned to where Xander was kneeling beside the bed. That cool touch ran down Xander’s bound arms, as his Master sighed, “I can’t.”
Xander was scared, he’d never heard his Master like this. “Please, Master. Stay.”
His plea was met with silence, but the hand on his arm continued it’s gentle stroking.
“Master?” His voice was hesitant, “You’re hurt. I can hear when you walk.” Gulping down air he ploughed on, “When I was hurt, you held me. Please Master, let me do the same for you.”
His Master’s voice sounded hoarse in his ears, almost frail, when he finally responded, “Why?”
Without hesitation, Xander replied, “Because I love you.”
The young man heard a heavy thump as the man beside him collapsed on the bed.
“You can’t… NO!”
It was hard to tell whether the words were a command or a subdued plea.
Xander raised his head as if his blindfolded eyes could see. “Stay with me, let me know you’re okay. Please.” The boy surprised himself with the strength and emotion in his words.
His companion trailed his hand down Xander’s bare back to his bound arms. Expertly, his Master released his bonds.
“Thank you,” he sighed as he turned, still on his knees to face his Master.
His hands went to the soft fabric covering his eyes, but before he could remove the blindfold, strong cool hands grabbed his and his Master’s voice cried, “No!” Then more softly, “That stays.”
Unwilling to press the matter, (Master was staying, that was all that mattered) Xander nodded and lowered his hands. Silently, Xander ran his larger workman’s hands up his Master’s chest and over his shoulders, sliding off Master’s leather coat. As the coat slipped from slim shoulders, Xander sought his Master’s mouth for a chaste kiss before proceeding to strip him and search out his injuries.
The warm hands ghosted over Master’s arms, down to where they rested on denim clad thighs. Then up and past those incredible, muscular thighs to gently tug at the t-shirt covering Master’s firm chest. Slowly, tenderly, and methodically Xander removed the remainder of his Master’s clothes.
As he lay the smaller man out on the bed and wrapped his larger frame around him, he felt the cool trails against his lover’s skin. Gingerly, Xander darted out his tongue to taste the moisture.
As he had feared, it was salty and bitter- his Master was crying.
Dreaming 101B: An Introduction to Dreaming
He remembered the first dream; it was over a year ago, but it felt like yesterday. He was walking through a warehouse-like building when a familiar scent wafted to his nose. Following it, he came to a large room in the far corner of which stood a bed- beautifully adorned with an intricately designed deep burgundy canopy and matching bedding. As ornate and sumptuous as it was, the bed held nothing to the astonishing beauty kneeling complaisantly beside it. Spike stopped a few feet before the gorgeous creature, entranced by the play of muscles under the perfectly tanned skin of the boy’s back and shoulders. *My gods, he’s beautiful. No wonder demon-girl wanted him. How’d I miss that!?!*
The vamp removed his ever-present duster, tossing it over a convenient chair, before approaching the boy for a closer inspection. Gods the boy was hot- blindfolded and bound, ready and waiting just for him. Spike had to fight back the possessive growl that threatened to erupt, instead he uttered a single word, “Open.”
When the boy did as he instructed, he wasted no time in releasing and presenting his already straining erection. The only thing that surprised the vampire more than the young Scooby’s compliance was the overwhelming intensity of the boy’s fiery mouth as it wrapped around him.
Spike wasn’t sure when the lust he felt for the boy turned into something more, but he knew when he realized it had.
They’d split up for patrol. He’d been sent off with the witches, while Xander and the Slayer paired up. It was an odd feeling, not having the Whelp there to rile up and trade insults with. The witches were good company and all; it just wasn’t the same. A fact driven home when, after he dusted a group of fledges, he turned expecting a blinding smile and snide remark only to be greeted by Red and Glinda chatting excitedly about some new spell they’d discovered earlier that day.
He had to face it- he missed the Whelp.
Well, he’d just have to see to it that he and the boy didn’t get split up anymore. Simple enough solution, problem solved. Now, if he could only figure out how to get Her Buffyness to go along with it.
The trip back to the Magic Box was blessedly uneventful (apart from the obviously agitated, chain-smoking vamp). That changed however as they approached the door to the shop. A sheet of paper with Willow’s name was taped to the door. Involuntarily, Spike growled- this couldn’t be good news.
“Umm, Spike… y-you’re growling.”
Spike’s stern features softened, he really didn’t want to scare the witches. He liked them. “Sorry, ducks, jus’ not likin’ the looks.”
The blonde witch laid her hand on Spike’s arm, but before she could speak, Willow gasped, drawing both blondes’ attention.
Spike was silent the entire way to the hospital. His mind was too busy reeling. Xander was hurt. His Xander was hurt- how could he be expected to think or speak until he knew his pet would be alright.
When they entered the busy ER of Sunnydale General, Willow peeled away from them to find out where Xander and the others were.
Once her girlfriend was out of view, Tara turned her attention to the oddly quiet vampire at her side.
“Spike?” Her hand gently rested on his upper arm. “He’ll be fine’”
“Yeah,” the vamp sounded frighteningly distant.
Squeezing and slightly shaking his arm the young witch tried again, “Spike!”
“What!?!” The vampire snapped, his eyes flashing their demonic yellow.
Tara quickly recoiled from the snarling demon.
“Bloody hell, didn’ mean to scare ya.” The vampire ran a hand over his hair as he berated himself for worrying so much about a boy who hated him.
Tentatively, Tara moved back to the vamp’s side and when his ice blue eyes turned to her she offered him a wan smile, “You truly do care about him.”
Spike couldn’t answer, didn’t know how to answer. All he could do was drop his gaze and feel more exposed than he had since Dru left.
“Xander’s strong, he’ll be just fine.”
The pair shared a small smile- it felt good that someone noticed and cared (not that he’d ever admit it). And she was right, the Whelp always bounced back! “Thanks, Tara.”
He barely had time to register Tara’s shocked expression before Willow came scurrying back.
“’ow’s the Whelp? We get to sublet ‘is apartment or what?”
Tara tried to hide her giggle behind a ‘cough’. If Spike needed to be the Big Bad right now, who was she to get in his way.
Willow on the other hand simply rolled her eyes. Ignoring the snarky, insensitive vamp, “Xan’s fine, they’re keeping him here overnight though.”
The air around the vampire physically relaxed, the pent up frustration radiating from him dissipating as the news sunk in.
Ever the observant one, Tara felt the change in atmosphere and a quick look at Spike confirmed her earlier suspicion. “That’s great, sweety. Can we s-see him?”
The redheaded witch shook her head, “Doctors say he’s out, but we can see him first thing in the morning.”
“What about Buffy and Giles?”
“Yeah, and just what the hells happened? She’s the bloody Slayer, can’t she even protect her own?”
Willow’s eyes sparked at the vamp’s tone and obvious insult to her friend. “They’re finishing up with the doctors. Then Giles is taking us home, and coming back here to stay with Xan. …and since when do you care Spike?”
“Never said I did- jus’ figured the Slayer’d take better care of her toys.”
She grit her teeth, “Don’t talk about Xander like that!”
Spike visibly flinched at the vehemence of Willow’s words, but quickly regained his composure. “Bloody hell Red, wasn’t insulting the Whelp.”
Muttering, “Was insultin’ the Slayer.”
That earned him an indignant glare, but nothing more. Though she’d never admit it to the peroxide blonde in front of her, her mind was travelling that same path- it was a routine patrol, so how’d Xander wind up so badly hurt?
“What’s he doing here?”
“Oi, jus’ seein’ the witches didn’ get eaten on the way over ‘s all.”
“Right, outta the goodness of your heart. Oh, that’s right, soulless dead thing doesn’t have one. Silly me.”
“Think what you will, Slayer. Red and her bird ‘ave always been good to me; wasn’t gonna let them suffer ‘cause you couldn’t protect the Whelp.” With a dramatic swish of his duster the vampire headed out into what remained of the night.
He surprised himself when he arrived at his crypt. He wasn’t surprised by where he was, but how he got there- or rather that he didn’t remember how he got there. This was not good. The boy was driving him to distraction. And distraction wasn’t something he could afford, not with his… ‘status’ in the demon community. He needed to deal with this infatuation of his before it got him dusted!
…but not tonight. Tonight, he was going to climb into his empty bed and hope for one of the dreams- if he couldn’t hold and protect the boy in the hospital, he could at least hold and protect the boy in his dreams.
As his dream-self caressed and held the injured mortal close, he knew- he’d fallen for the dark boy and fallen hard.
Now, he was the one bruised and broken and the Powers That Be must have it out for him because this dream Xander was caring for him and declaring his love. It was too much. For the first time since Dru left, he allowed himself to cry.