Title: Letters of…
Rating: barely reaches R overall (for m/m sex)- ya know kinda like watching Stand By Me and going "and that was rated R, WHY?"
Chapters: …a Witch (1/27), …a Vamp (2/27)
Rating: PG, PG-13
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: Beware Mys’ bad writing, excessive use of alliteration, wanton use of the term "Xanpet" (though I’d stake Spike before he actually said it out loud, he and my 3rd person omnipotent think it a lot), character death (but it’s canon stuff, none of my own doing)
Summary: Take a witch, a Spike, a Xander and mix well. Add some angst, some schmoop, some sex, an apocalypse, a wee bit more angst, another helping or two of sex, and a sprinkling of bad humour. Bake for 7-8 months at @96.8 degrees (because some of us have naturally lower body temperatures than the rest of you human weirdos, lol).
AN1: I’m pretty well mucking about with ’William’s’ turning, etc… and my 19th century Angelus-voice sucks, so consider yourselves warned!
AN2: On BtVS canon- I’m assuming ppl actually know most of it… that said, just to be sure we’re all on the same page:
-basically everything up to mid S6 happened- circa Hells Bells
-unfortunately Spuffy did happen. (boo-hiss)
-the Xanpet left Anya at the altar. (yea, rah!)
-Spike almost raped Buffy and then disappeared. (erph)
-Tara died and Willow went all vieny. (gah!)
-Spike got his soul and went off his nut. (aww)
-Willow went off to the witchward and came back. (”feeling much better now, Dave…”)
-Sunnyhell was overrun with Slayerettes/Potentials. (ack!)
-Spike died saving the world. (wah!)
AN3: On Ats canon- Yes there is one (duck!), and it’s all shot to hell. (Sorry, couldn’t resist, lol.) So humour the crazy author lady when she says:
-the whole Wesley/Connor thing and all subsequent psychodrama didn’t happen until after Spike returned to Sunnyhell. (just go with it damn you!)
-ditto for Cordellia and TPTB. (hey ya went with the Wes thing!)
-somehow even with the above time-distortion Broody and the gang wound up back on track in time for Faith and all those other important BtVS relevant things to happen in Ats. (”Don't be square, mon cher! Movies is magic!”)
-Spike got all corporeal in L.A. with Brood Boy. (*wiggles eyebrows*)
-once Spike got physical again Ats canon goes out the window. (yippie)
…a Witch (1/27)
Thankfully, he’d exited just as her last tendril of restraint left her and a full second before a dainty hand connected with flesh. “Incorrigible heathens, the lot of you,” she cursed as her hand struck its’ target with more force than should have been possible.
She turned to follow the young man out, but a firm hand gripped her wrist, “Not very ladylike of you my dear.”
Without hesitation she faced her captor grinning evilly, “And what, pray tell, would you know of being a lady? Though I assure you that if you do not release me you will become intimately familiar with the concept.” Her smile never faltered as she pressed a small dagger into the man’s crotch and watched with satisfaction as the blood drained from his face and he released his grip on her. With a nod and a flick of her wrist she strode out to seek the young man who was her only reason for being with these people in the first place.
He had been an enigma to her- even now much of him still was. He radiated of a strength and compassion far beyond anything she’d ever encountered, yet he was so quiet, almost mousy, and he seemed to have no concept of the power that poured off of him.
They had quite literally (and oh, so cliché-ly) run into each other outside a bookseller’s. He’d been the perfect gentleman even while stumbling over himself trying to gather fallen books and offering numerous apologies. And she had only been able to stare. Imagine, at her age with enough decades for six lifetimes behind her, one quiet spoken Victorian caused her to gape and lose all powers of speech.
She had known from that first encounter that she had found the person she had searched for, that she had to, was meant to protect and guide him however much she could without altering his path. After her first vision, she knew it would be a hard road for him, one which she would not be able to physically accompany him on- hence, the letters. It had been difficult and tiring; so many years to comb, so many visions to analyze, so many letters to write, but somehow she had managed. There were well over a hundred letters now; all with arrangements for delivery set and handsomely paid for.
As she made her way through the dimly lit London streets, she steeled herself for the confrontation to come. There would be no going back after tonight- this was her moment, her destiny.
The sound that escaped her mouth upon arriving at her destination should have been a horrified scream, not a deep guttural command to “Stop!” But a command was exactly what it was; a command that a rather large portion of London was currently obeying.
Ignoring the hisses, curses, and growls of the vampires she had interrupted, she calmly walked over to the time-frozen man she had come to think of as her boy. Never taking her eyes from him, she asked, “You were planning to turn my boy, were you not?”
“He’s not your boy!” the dark male vamp growled.
Unphased by the vampire’s aggression, she caressed the soft cheek of her young man before turning her attention to the vampires. She looked them over appraisingly, cocking her head to the side before meeting their eyes.
The girl, she noticed, had enough sense to step back when eyes burning with green fire met golden ones as she spoke, “And who are you, Childer of the House of Aurelius, to tell ME what is or is not mine?”
At the realization of what, if not precisely who, he was dealing with sunk in even the angry male cowed slightly.
She waved her hand dismissively and turned her attention back to her boy, “Never mind.” She ran her long fingers through his hair and over tender lips, “You will turn him, and when he wakes, I will be his first kill.” Turning back to the now stunned vampires she questioned, “Understood?”
For the first time the girl spoke, “Yes Lady, as you say.”
She smiled at that, “Good. Now, Drusilla isn’t it, I believe I interrupted you.”
Drusilla smiled a truly terrifying happy smile, “Thank you, Lady,” then looked to her companion for approval.
A nod of his head and Drusilla was back at the boy’s neck.
With a quick gesture of her hand, time began to flow properly again, and she stood by watching as her precious boy died.
As his eyes flew open a soft, “Bugger,” passed through perfect pink lips while the lingering image of green tinged fire melded the real world with his dream. It never boded well when he had those dreams. “Bloody witches,” he muttered, rubbing his face as he climbed out of bed.
He never remembered the dreams just the fiery green eyes that taunted him. It was always the same with those eyes, always right before something big happened. He saw them before Dru left, before Angelus came back, before the damned Initiative and the chip, before Buffy died, and now before gods know what.
It was times like these he could almost understand his broody Grandsire. Not that he’d admit it even with his unlife in the balance, but he could understand having someone else in your head, someone who was a relentless reminder of all the things the Big Bad should never be.
And people wondered why he had a thing about witches- see how you feel about them when you’ve had one in your head for a hundred plus years. Alright, so it wasn’t as if she was evil- hells, that might have made things easier- but no she was kind and protective and sent him letters. Always when he needed it, ALWAYS! *Bloody sodding witches!* She was dead. He’d killed her. His first, thank you very much. But he supposed that was the problem, she had been his first kill and she’d wanted it that way.
She told him things that night, about honour and strength and love. She hadn’t been afraid either, she held his hand and caressed his face- his gameface. The only thing she asked for was to see his eyes one last time.
Her gaze never left his face as he fought to morph his features into their human visage and she smiled blissfully when blue eyes finally met brown ones. They stayed like that a few moments, staring, lost in each other.
Then he heard her voice sounding as if it was speaking to and from the very core of his being, “I love you, William. I always will.” As the words resonated through his mind, her deep brown eyes began to glow and turn a blazing green.
“It’s time, love,” she whispered baring her neck to him.
The demon didn’t hesitate as he sunk virgin fangs into her taught hot flesh. The shear intensity of it must have overwhelmed him because the next thing he remembered Dru was fussing over him as Angelus pried their hands apart- through it all she’d never released his hand. *Bloody witches!!!!*
He needed to kill something- preferably something he could drain. And a drink. Yes, that sounded good- he’d go scout the cemeteries, then head over to Willy’s.
Besides if he was having the dreams a letter couldn’t be too far off and since his current stint in Sunnyhell they’d been arriving at Willy’s, so with any luck he’d kill two birds with one stone.
He sat at the bar and read and re-read the letter.
As always her timing was impeccable, but the contents… Oh, he was used to them varying in length, detail, context, even style to an extent- some were succinct and to the point and others were poncy enough for Peaches but this one was… odd.
Feel better? Nothing like a good fight to lift your spirits, yes. It will be our little secret that it protects your friends as well. They are your friends, William, despite what you or they believe at this moment; you’ve finally found what you’ve longed for- a family and acceptance.
Now then, about your family, what are your intentions for young Alexander? He above all needs you and only the child Dawn comes close to his caring. Just think on it, love.
All too soon you will have a decision to make and yes, love, it will be fraught with pain. I can only give you these words, heed them well: You have the strength; do not fear the fight.
My eternal love,
‘Alexander’? She couldn’t mean Harris.
Sure if you lost the horrid wardrobe the Whelp was anything but hard on the eyes. And he could trade insults with the best of ‘em. And despite the barbs he really could hold his own in a fight- it was just hard to tell when all your friends as well as the things you were fighting had ‘powers’. And as much as the Big Bad might be loathe to admit it, Spike could always count on Xander to have his back- bloody White Hat and all.
But, no, she couldn’t mean the Whelp, after all he was trying to patch things up with demon-girl now wasn’t he.
“Bloody sodding Witch,” Spike slurred into the air. He was angry, horny, frustrated, hurt, and well on his way to being totally, recorded breakingly pissed- three and a half bottles of JD could do that, even to a vampire.
Damn Alyssa and her letters! Ever since he got the last one he hadn’t been able to think straight. He’d taken to watching the bloody Whelp, trying to see what the hell Alyssa had meant and, unfortunately for him, he had. Now, his mind wouldn’t leave off the dark boy and gods damn-it that was just wrong! He was in love with the Slayer- why couldn’t his brain remember that!
No, all it would remember were the mixed signals Xander gave off around Anya. All the fights where he’d watched Spike’s back (saved his undead ass more than once too- not that he’d ever admit it). That however subtle or snarky, Xander always made sure he was okay. And those eyes. He’d never really looked at them before, but thanks to his bloody Witch he had started to. They were deep, rich, full of life, and oh so expressive. Spike had the feeling that if he looked into those dark pools for too long he’d never return from their welcome oblivion.
The boy was even invading his dreams. Spike’s dreamself would be quite happily going a round with Buffy, he’d groan as his eyes drifted closed for a moment. Soft, warm, talented lips would press his and he’d open his eyes to see pure love in the eyes staring back at him. Only they weren’t Buffy’s eyes. They were his, Xander’s, and then it would be Xander astride him, riding him, making him cum like never before. Then Spike would wake up with an ever more inventive string of expletives, reach for a bottle and pray for night so he could kill something.