Title: To Dream in the City of Slayers
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!
Reality 201: When the Real World Crashes In
Spike was exhausted; he hadn’t slept in close to a week. His normally sharp features were gaunt and hallow, and his ivory skin held the grey pallor of death, but still he refused to sleep.
Sleep meant dreaming.
Dreaming meant Xander.
Xander meant heartache and pain.
The vamp spent his nights avoiding the Slayer and her groupies, and his days doing ANYTHING that would keep sleep elusive. The floor of the crypt was littered with the remnants of coffee, caffeine pills, and enough pure dextrose confections to open a Seven-Eleven. Unfortunately, the crypt also contained one very bitchy Slayer.
“Where the hell have you been Spike? You’ve missed three patrols and nice as the abundance of your absence has been, Dawn’s worried about you! She wouldn’t shut up until I promised to drag your chipped undead ass back with me.”
“Tell the Niblet you couldn’t find me,” he croaked without favouring her with so much as a glance.
“Love to, but no. See, if I tell her that she’s just gong to come here herself to find you.”
Spike’s voice was soft but firm, “No, Slayer. Can’t let her do that.”
The concern and fear in the vamp’s voice caused her breath to catch and she spoke barely above a whisper, “Spike? What’s going on? You know you’re not exactly my favourite person, but you love Dawn and she loves you, which makes you one of us.” Slowly, Buffy walked over to the broken sounding vamp. Laying a hand on his shoulder, “She’s not the only one worried about you.”
Whether it was the admission or the gentle touch, he couldn’t say, but it startled the vamp into finally facing his visitor.
Buffy gasped at the sight that greeted her, “My gods Spike! Have you been feeding? Are you okay? What happened!?! No. Nevermind. Get up, you’re coming home with me! Dawn was right to send me. Come on, you can explain when we get there.”
“’s nothing. Haven’t been sleeping ’s all.”
Looking pointedly at the detritus on the floor, she scowled, “I’m thinking the caffeine intake isn’t helping.”
“Damn-it Slayer, said I wasn’t sleepin’ not that I couldn’t!”
“Okay, this is getting too weird. Spike, you have two choices. You can come with me like a good little vamp or I can beat you senseless- considering how you look, I shouldn’t even break a sweat- and you come with me anyway.” Buffy smiled triumphantly at her logic. “Your choice.”
Gods he wasn’t up for this.
It would be nice to see the Bit though. And if Joyce was around maybe he could talk to her. She always seemed to help him see things more clearly. “Fine. Jus’ give us a mo’.”
“Dawn, got a delivery for you!” Buffy called out cheerily when they arrived at the Summers’ residence. Turning to the vamp, “Come on in, Spike.”
The vampire crossed the threshold to the sound of a stampeding teenage whirlwind, only to be pushed right back out the door when said whirlwind collided with him full force.
“You came,” the teen declared to the vampire’s chest.
“’course I did Lil’ Bit,” he hugged the small girl, relishing her freely given affection.
Finally, Dawn release her death-grip on the vamp, pulling back to look at him. She cocked her head and glared, “You look like crap.”
The blonde laughed at the girl’s bluntness. “Haven’t been feeling the greatest, have I. Nothing’ to worry your sweet self over, alright.” Spike fixed her with a playful stern look causing her to smile.
Grabbing his hand, “Come on, Mom just made cookies,” Dawn dragged her unread companion to the kitchen, followed by a smirking Buffy.
Buffy hung up the phone and wandered back into the kitchen where, not for the first time, her mother was consoling a distraught William the Bloody. Shaking her head, she leaned on the counter, “Giles got some blood for you, but I need to pick it up.”
The vampire’s face fell slightly, he’d been hoping to talk to Joyce, but the Niblit had just been ushered to bed and now he was expected to go traipsing after the Slayer, “Right.” Turning to the elder Summers, “Thanks for… everything, mum.” Spike stood and headed out the door, “Ready, Slayer?”
Joyce Summers was a mother. And like all good mothers, she had a sixth sense about her children- even when they weren’t ‘her’ children and were old enough to be her great-great-great-grandfather. So it shouldn’t have come as any surprise that she knew Spike needed to talk. “Buffy, why doesn’t Spike stay here?”
“What? You’re just going to Mr. Giles’ and back here anyway.”
“Mom, vampire, bloodsucking evil undead, remember?”
Joyce rolled her eyes and flapped her hand dismissively, “You think I could forget that?” Walking over to her daughter, she placed her hands on either shoulder, “Buffy, I know what Spike is, but Dawn and I trust him. Can you trust me?”
Sheepishly, “Of course I can.”
Smiling, “Good. Now go get Spike’s blood.”
The Slayer obliged her mother, grabbing her jacket and a couple spare stakes, she headed out the backdoor. Just as she expected the Peroxide One was lounging on the steps, smoking. “Hey,” kicking the vamp’s arm as she spoke, “Mom wants you to stay.”
Smoke curled out of his mouth as he spoke, “Heard.”
“Try anything and…”
“Yeah, I know, use me for a practice dummy, fillet me like a fish, make Angelus look like a bleeding teddy bear, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, sweep me up with a dustpan. ‘bout cover it?”
“Think so,” she chirped as she headed out into the Sunnydale night.
No sooner was she out of sight then a steaming mug of cocoa (complete with mini-marshmallows) was pressed into his hand. He smiled into Joyce’s kind eyes as she sat next to him with her own cup.
“Wanna tell me about it?”
Right to the point, he loved that about the Summers women- you always knew where you stood with them. “’s gonna sound crazy.”
Joyce’s laugh was effervescent, “ Spike, I have one daughter made entirely of energy. The other is the chosen protector of mankind. And I’m having a heart to heart with a 150 year old dead man. I think I can handle crazy.”
Sighing heavily, “I think I’ve fallen for someone.”
“That’s wonderful.” Taking in the vampire’s sulky look, she added, “Isn’t it?”
“There’s the thing. At best they don’t know I exist, and at worst they despise me.”
“Oh, Spike, I doubt that. They probably just don’t know you like we do.”
“Ha! ‘m pretty sure they do.”
She laid a hand on his, “This why you look so sick?”
The vamp nodded and fought back a yawn.
“You need rest.”
Spike’s head snapped up and his eyes were wide, “No!”
*Shit.* He was tired and alone and this was Joyce and before he knew it he was talking. Telling her about the dreams (not the details, Joyce was like his surrogate mum and something’s you just don’t share), about how the real-life person made him feel, and how he hadn’t slept since the dream version declared their love.
Standing, Joyce beckoned the vamp inside, “The first thing you’re going to do is get some sleep. This is not doing anyone any good. Finish your cocoa, I’ll make the sofa.”
“No need for that Mrs. S, can always head back to my crypt.”
The elder Summers folded her arms and glared at the vamp, looking every bit as menacing as her daughter, “If you think for one minute you are going to leave this house in the state you’re in, you have another thing coming!”
Knowing better than to go up against a Summers when they were that determined, “Least let me help.”
Xander sat in the living room of the Summers’ house staring at the sleeping vamp across from him. He figured it must have been his own exhaustion causing him to get lost in the distinct, yet soft, contours of Spike’s face.
He was beginning to worry about himself. Every night he went to sleep silently begging for one of the dreams, his need for them was almost physical. He’d always adored his downtime, but this was extreme; he was trying to nap at every opportunity. More and more he found himself wishing the dreams were his reality and he would never have to wake and leave his Master.
Master was safe…
Master was love…
Master was his!
He choked back a laughing sob. Here he was, friend of the Slayer, all around good guy, and supposed White Hat obsessing over a phantom- a man who only existed in his dreams.
And now he was marvelling at the Evil Undead…
He remembered the last time Master came to him in his dreams; how he’d caressed his face as he slept, trying to form a picture from touch. It should have giving him major wiggins that the image his mind created was eerily similar to the vampire, but somehow it only comforted him. Chuckling to himself, he wondered when the Bleached Menace became soothing rather than threatening.
The young man stifled a yawn as he watched a strange play of emotions cross the dead man’s face.
Slowly, Xander drifted to sleep puzzling over what could make a century and a half old vampire look so lost.
Dawn knelt by the coffee table, chin resting on arms folded over the tabletop, a sappy grin on her face as she watched her two favourite men sleep.
She wasn’t sure how much time passed before the whimpers began. At first she wasn’t even sure which man they came from, though she suspected Xander- if only because she couldn’t imagine the Big Bad whimpering. Quietly, she moved over to the dark haired mortal, a self-satisfied smirk crossed her face as he moaned in his sleep. Just as she was about to brush the hair from Xander’s face, a pained keening came from the sofa. Jumping, she turned to see glistening tears trailing down perfect cheekbones.
Dawn gasped as she realized the heart wrenching sounds were coming in tandem from both men.
“Oh… This is bad. This is very, very bad,” she muttered under her breath as she backed away from the sleeping figures and towards the hopefully still sane, erm, sane-ish members of her family.