Title: Comfort of Fiends
Rating: NC17 easily!!!!!!!!
Feedback: Mys has decided that she actually likes FB, so… constructive crit is fine, just be prepared for Mys to defend/explain her choices, and try not to do any 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: NON-CON- lots of non-con some implied some more graphic, ABUSE- both physical and mental!
Summary: Xander’s nightmares have piqued the curiosity of our favourite insanely jealous and protective peroxide vamp… the story he uncovers is disturbing, even to a Childe of Angelus.
AN1: READ THE WARNINGS!
AN2: If you missed it this is NOT one of Mys’ schmoopfests! There is NON-CON and ABUSE and angst and lots (she hopes) of comfort to make up for all the icky stuff.
AN3: This is Mys’ first attempt at anything touching on subjects this dark, so she hopes she did okay, and recognizes that this may not have worked as well as she could have hoped. …so be gentle, ’k.
AN4: Sections beginning with ********* with text in italics indicate the past; *** indicate flashback.
A huge immeasurable thank you with matching hugs and chocolate for my precious bmblbee, who convinced Mys to buy this bunny a hutch, pre-read the fic and told me it didn’t suck. HUGS BEE
---------With Fiends Like These---------
“Oi, Whelp!? You in there?”
Groaning, Xander pulled his pillow over his head. “Go away, Spike!”
“’ey, not very nice way to treat the bloke bringin’ ya coffee and doughnuts.”
Lifting the edge of his pillow, he peered out at the vamp making himself at home in his basement. “Okay,” the groggy mortal sat up, “I give. Why is the big nasty not-so-evil chipped vampire bringing me pastry goodness and the fuel of the gods? Is it April already? Or just another apocalypse?”
“Neither, ya git,” Spike snapped as he pushed a styrofoam cup into the young man’s hand.
Greedily, Xander gulped the hot bitter liquid.
“Chits are worried ‘bout you.”
“Really?” Xander looked questioningly at the vamp.
It always amazed Xander how the blonde could fit so much meaning into one little word. In this case, he was pretty sure ‘yeah’ meant ‘no, not really, but try to prove it and see how far it gets you’ but with more British-isms. “Doubt that. Wills would be here if they were that worried.”
Spike inclined his head conceding the point, “Yeah, well, don’t exactly know how else to take it when the whole lot of ‘em clam up like they did.”
Xander’s eyes widened, “I’m impressed, Spike. Not many could strike my girls speechless. What did you do?”
“Asked who Jesse was.”
Vampiric speed and reflexes were all that saved Xander from a trip to the hospital and at least 2nd degree burns.
Quietly, with a frightening chill in his voice, Xander asked, “Where’d you hear that name?” *Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it. Please. Don’t. Say. It.*
Every bit as quietly but with a surprising warmth, the vamp answered, “You.” Then as if aiming to reassert his ‘Big Bad’ status, “Dream about the bloke often enough, figured it’d be worth finding out who your boyfriend was.”
Suddenly, Spike found himself on the floor, a stake at his throat.
Trying his best to chuckle mockingly, “Shit, Harris, all this time helping the Slayer and ya can’t remember where to stake a vampire.”
Snarling, Xander replied, “You assume I want to dust your sorry fangless ass, maybe I just want to hurt you and watch you bleed.”
“Xander,” Spike was awestruck, whether that was good or bad he wasn’t certain, but he did know the vehemence and hatred in the boy’s eyes and tone sent chills through his undead body. Part of his brain wondered if this was the Xander Harris that faced down Angelus years ago.
As suddenly as the mortal had been on him, he was gone. Striding towards the bathroom, Xander didn’t look back as he called, “I want you gone by the time I’m done.”
Spike stalked through the tunnels beneath Sunnydale, daring anyone or anything to cross his path. He was a Master Vampire, and he was pissed! The whelp was his to torment and the mere thought of anyone else having that power over the boy caused his demon to rage. And where did the boy get off- kicking him out, attacking him? The boy was his and he had every right to know who caused his boy so many restless and conflictingly scented nights.
Well, Spike was resourceful, even when he was human he had a talent for finding information and this wouldn’t be any different. He just needed to figure out where to start.
*Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!*
Xander wanted to kick himself… and Spike.
Why did he have to start with the nightmares again? Why’d the Bleached Menace have to hear?
Gods, he wasn’t up to going through this again.
Then there was the anger- he hated that part of himself; it looked too much like his father. He could only hope Spike wouldn’t bring it up- yeah, right.
Resisting the urge to pound his head into the shower tiles, he instead rubbed his forehead against the cool pseudo-porcelain and let the freezing water sluice over him, the chill both comforting and refreshing.
“Christ Xan. What did he do to you this time?”
“Oh you know, same ol’ same ol’.” The battered boy winced as he sat down.
“Huh? Oh, nah not this time, just nailed me good against the coffee table.”
“Good. ‘cause that sweet ass in mine.”
Xander cringed at the other boy’s words, but at least Jesse took care of him- after a fashion. That’s what he told himself anyway. Jesse didn’t beat him senseless, split him open, and fuck him raw. Jesse helped tend his wounds, kept his secret, and used lube and stretched him (a little) before fucking him. Jesse also claimed he loved him.
Jesse’s tone was commanding, rather than caring. Still, Xander did as he was told, then lay on his bruised back across Jesse’s bed.
In the frighteningly methodical way he always did, Jesse would examine, poke and prod every cut and bruise on his friend’s body. The boy seemed to get some dark sadistic pleasure from Xander’s wounds. Task completed he’d then kiss his injured companion hard and possessively before quickly preparing him and taking him only slightly less roughly than his father would have.
This time was no different.
As Jesse pounded into him, Xander did his best to block out the words tumbling from the boy’s mouth. He focused on feeling- feeling anything but his bruises and the emptiness inside. Unfortunately, that always brought him back to how this all started…
*** School had just begun, days were still long and southern California hot, and teenage boys would sneak out to meet each other and make the most of their stolen time.
Xander was supposed to meet Jesse by the old tree house that evening, but he never arrived.
An hour passed before Jesse gave in and decided to go check on his friend.
The light in Xander’s room was on and the window was cracked open. With skill that came with years of experience the lanky boy scaled the old birch outside Xander’s window. What he saw sent shivers through him.
It was no secret to the boy that Xander’s father was abusive, even Xander wasn’t that clumsy, but he’d never suspected this. Jesse watched enthralled as Tony Harris savagely violated his own son.
Blood flowed in intricate trails over Xander’s back and down between his legs. The sight both horrified and aroused the young man in the tree. He ached with desire to be the one penetrating the dark boy he claimed as his best friend, to have that power.
Once the elder Harris ‘finished’ and left his son’s room, Jesse made his move, scrambling through the window to the abused boy on the floor. Jesse unceremoniously ripped a sheet off the bed, wrapping it around his friend and cradling Xander to him.
Xander flinched violently at Jesse’s touch, thinking his father had returned, but he stilled quickly at the feel of a hand, much slimmer than his father’s, combing his hair and the quietly murmured, “Xan, it’s me. It’s Jesse. He’s gone, Xan, he’s gone.”
Silent tears trickled down Xander’s face and into Jesse’s shirt as the boy either succumb to exhaustion or, more likely, passed out.
Xander awoke with a start the following morning. He was in his bed with an arm around his waist and a warm body pressed to his back. Not how he was used to waking up after one of his father’s beatings.
Then a familiar voice said, “Hey, you’re awake.”
“Shh, you were expecting the bogey-man?”
The boy chuckled, “Ow…”
The painful sound reminded them both of exactly why Jesse was sharing Xander’s bed.
Xander shook his head against the pillow, willing the question away.
When his friend didn’t answer, Jesse took a harder approach, his tone commanding an answer, “How long?”
Sheepishly, as if the mere thought of the words would earn him another beating, Xander answered, “Since Mom went to her sister’s last Summer.”
“Christ Xan, why didn’t you come to me or Willow?”
“God Jesse, you won’t tell Willow, will you? You know how she gets when she can’t fix something.”
Petting the boy in his arms, Jesse tried to reassure him, “Calm down Xan, I won’t tell her. I promise. Right now, you need to rest. We’ll talk about this later.”
Slowly, he relaxed into his friend’s warmth and the knowledge that, for the moment at least, he wasn’t alone. Just before he drifted to sleep, he muttered, “Thanks Jesse.”***
Pacing, Spike decided, was an activity best left to expectant fathers and areas larger than a crypt- or larger than his crypt. After hours of futilely chasing sleep, the vampire surrendered to his need to pace and (he growled as the thought escaped his addled brain) brood.
How was he going to find this Jesse person, ‘specially with the chits playing mum? Not like he could ask good ol’ Rupert either. And he wasn’t desperate enough to risk the Great Poof’s involvement even if the cheerleader knew something.
*Hmph, cheerleaders,* the vamp snickered, *stupid bints posing for the camera, barely ‘nough blood in their anorexic bodies for an appetizer.* That’s when it hit him- pictures, yearbooks. This Jesse was someone from his boy’s past, which meant high school most likely since the chits knew him, and his boy was bound to have a couple of those blasted mementos around somewhere.
A plan began to present itself- nice and simple. He’d wait for the Whelp to be off making a fool of himself at whatever half-arsed minimum wage job he was working, sneak into the basement and snoop. It was something he’d done countless times since his forced co-habitation with the boy; only difference now was he had something specific to look for.
A mischievous evil grin settled on his lips, a matching glint sparkled in his eyes. This plan was cheering Spike up quite nicely.
Hidden deep in the shadows, concealed from the glow of nearby streetlights and the invasive headlights of the occasional passing car, Spike waited for the young mortal to leave. He stifled a growl when the boy emerged wearing the humiliating uniform of the week, and watched as he climbed into his monstrosity of a car and drove off. When this little puzzle was sussed, he’d have to see about pushing the Whelp towards a decent job. But right now, he had a man to find.
Spike slipped easily into the basement, nostrils flaring at the heady scent of his boy- his anger, fear, lust, and the underlying ever-present sweet scent of purity that enticed his demon so.
With the knowledge of previous scavenges, Spike quickly locate the books. Carefully, with a reverence he’d deny vehemently if ever questioned, the vamp tucked the books securely in his duster and slipped back out into the night.
Fiends and Enemies