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Part 56

 

 

 

‘Why, I'm his manager!’

‘Whose manager?’

‘The greatest tenor in the world.’

‘The fella that sings at the opera here?’

‘Sure...’

‘What's his name?’

‘What do you care?  Besides I can't pronounce it.  What do you want with him?’

‘Well, I uh, I want to sign him up for the New York Opera Company.  Do you know America is waiting to hear him sing?’

‘Well, he can sing loud, but he can't sing that loud.’

‘Well, I think I can get America to meet him half-way.  Could he sail tomorrow?’

‘You pay him enough money, he could sail yesterday.  How much you pay him?’

‘Well, I don't know...  Let's see, a thousand dollars a night...  I'm entitled to a small profit...  How about ten dollars a night?’

‘Ten?  Ten dolla—  Ha ha ha ha ha!  I'll take it...’

Marx Brothers, Night at the Opera, contract scene, Spike acknowledged as he listened to find out what Xander was preoccupied with.  Xander’s anti-depressant and this one was addictive: he’d watched the films repeatedly during the last year, so much so that Spike could quote from them.  Handy though, keeping Xander engaged while Spike sneaked around and made his preparations.  Not that Master vampires needed to sneak, but a little sneaking was good for the soulless.

‘Yes, and I get ten-percent for being the manager.  How much does that leave him?’

‘That leaves him - uh, eight dollars.’

‘Eight dollars, huh?  Well, he sends a five dollars home to his mother...’

‘Well, that leaves him three dollars.’

‘Can he live in New York on three dollars?’

‘Like a prince.  Of course he won't be able to eat, but he can live like a prince.  However, out of that three dollars, you know, he'll have to pay an income tax...’

‘Ah, there's income tax...’

‘Yes, there's a federal tax, and a state tax, and a city tax, and a street tax, and a sewer tax.’

‘How much does this come to?’

‘Well, I figure if he doesn't sing too often, he can break even.’

Xander’s laughter, curtailed by discomfort, and Spike’s smile faded for a few seconds but revived with the fresh burst of (controlled now) giggles from the direction of the bedroom.  He kept listening, letting the film and Xander’s reactions distract him from the uneasiness he felt heading into the attic.

‘Well go ahead and read it.’

‘What does it say?’

‘Well, go on and read it!’

‘You read it.’

‘All right, I’ll read it to ya.  Can you hear?’

‘I haven’t heard anything yet.  Did you say anything?’

‘Well, I haven’t said anything worth hearing.’

‘Well, that’s why I didn't hear anything.’

‘Well, that’s why I didn't say anything.’

‘Can you read?’

‘I can read but I can't see it. I don’t seem to have it in focus here. If my arms were a little longer, I could read it. You haven’t got a baboon in your pocket, have ya?’

Spike removed the portrait from it’s hiding place, felt the usual surge of regrets.  Should never have left him alone.  Shouldn’t have stayed away just to make a point.  Should’ve stopped it happening.  Xander.  Love…

‘What do you mean?  The...the party of the first part?’

‘No, the first part of the party of the first part.’

‘All right. It says the, uh… “The first part of the party of the first part shall be known in this contract as the first part of the party of the first part shall be known in this contract…” - look, why should we quarrel about a thing like this? We’ll take it right out, eh?’

‘Yeah, it’s a too long, anyhow.  Now, what do we got left?’

‘Well, I got about a foot and a half. Now, it says, uh… “The party of the second part shall be known in this contract as the party of the second part”.’

‘Well, I don't know about that...’

‘Now what’s the matter?’

‘I no like the second party, either.’

‘Well, you should've come to the first party. We didn’t get home ‘til around four in the morning...  I was blind for three days!’

Moving at speed, happy to get back downstairs, Spike leant the portrait up against the hallway wall and reminded himself for the millionth time that he was safe in the house, that the spooks were in his head, not in the attic.

‘Hey, wait, wait.  What does this say here?  This thing here.’

‘Oh, that?  Oh, that's the usual clause.  That's in every contract.  That just says uh…it says uh… "If any of the parties participating in this contract is shown not to be in their right mind, the entire agreement is automatically nullified”.’

‘Well, I don't know...’

‘It's all right, that’s, that’s in every contract.  That’s, that’s what they call a ‘sanity clause’.’

‘Ha ha ha ha ha! You can’t fool me! There ain’t no Sanity Clause!’

“Amen to that,” Spike muttered as he headed for Xander, walking into the bedroom and immediately shutting the TV and DVD player off.

“Hey, I was watching that.”

“I want you to be quiet, close your eyes, and not open them again until I say you can, all right?”

“If I’m quiet and close my eyes I’ll be asleep in less than five minutes.”

“Then I’ll wake you when I’m ready.”

“I don’t want…”

“Do as you’re bloody-well asked, man.”

“I’m going to talk to the doctor again about this medication, he promised me…”

“Xander!  Shut up, love.”

Xander looked at Spike, saw the gleam in his eyes, wondered what he was up to.

“’Kay.  Shutting up now.”

Spike moved to him and kissed his mouth and eyelids; Xander heaved a sigh and let himself go completely limp and, yes, in less than five minutes he was dozing.

Spike quietly went about arranging the room: flowers, candles, soft music, a vast selection of Xander’s favourite junk food, beer (albeit non-alcoholic), and the portrait.  Standing back and surveying his work, not for a moment asking himself when he became the brand of sentimentalist he pronounced loathing for, he gave a slow nod of satisfaction and sat alongside Xander, gently kissing his face to wake him.

“Hmm?  What?  I was awake,” he unconvincingly slurred.

“That’s right, you didn’t miss a minute.”

Xander blinked a few times and looked past Spike at the room, intrigued.

“What’s this for?”

Spike caressed Xander’s cheek with a single finger before leaning down to kiss the smile that had appeared on Xander’s face.

“Happy anniversary.”

A moment’s stunned silence then:

“It can’t be.  It can’t be.  I mean, how would you know?”

“It’s in your diary at work.  Cora phoned to remind me.  Sends her love.”

Xander’s eyes filled with tears, pretty much as Spike had expected.

“I forgot.  Something this important, how could I have forgotten?”

“Give yourself a break.  You don’t know what day of the week it is, let alone the date.  And after everything you’ve done for me can’t I do one nice thing for you without you feeling sorry for yourself and bawling over it?  If you have to bawl do it for the right reasons.  Do it for the right reasons and I’ll probably join in.”

“I can’t believe I forgot.”

Spike slid onto the bed and curled up to Xander.

“Thank you, Xander.  Thank you for giving me my life back.”

“I didn’t…  What…  I…”

“Can’t you just shut your trap and let me make the romantic gesture?”

“Yes.”

Spike opened his mouth to speak and shut it again.  He glared at Xander.

“I had it all planned, what I wanted to say, now it’s gone.”

“Was it nice?”

“Very.”

“Poetic?”

“Bearably.”

“Were you going to tell me that you love me despite the stupid things I say and do?”

“That goes without saying.”

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Xander attempted the only words he really needed to say.

“I love you, Spike.”

Squirming closer, burying his face in Xander’s neck, Spike’s reply came as a tearful whisper.

“Almost lost you.  Almost lost you.”

Xander managed, however awkwardly, to get his arms around the vampire and he embraced him with all the strength he didn’t possess.

“I’m so sorry.  That night I told you to go, I was worn out and desperate to be with you and jealous, ridiculously jealous, and I was wrong to treat you like that.  I’m sorry.”

Spike’s head came up and he impatiently swiped tears away.

“Doesn’t matter.  Not now.”

Shifting further onto Xander’s chest, Spike kissed him hard, almost viciously.  Xander groaned under the onslaught, fingers curling into Spike’s upper arms until his nails were buried in the flesh.  Spike broke away, panting, eyes burning with desire as they fixed on Xander.

“You need me, Spike.”

“Always.”

“So fuck me.”

“No.”

“Fuck me.”

“Won’t.”

Spike resumed the brutal kiss, grinding himself against Xander through denim and bedclothes.  Xander eventually managed to tear his mouth away, turning his head and offering his neck; Spike latched on, blunt teeth rasping over tender skin.

“Think a year’s time,” Xander said between shivers that corresponded with Spike’s suckling pattern.  “When there’s no chip, no fear, no inhibitions.  This time next year I’ll be strong again and you’ll be celebrating inside me, Spike.”  A moan from the vampire as he sucked harder, pseudo-fucked harder, and Xander was sure he’d have a bruise on his hip where Spike’s cock was battering him.  “You’ll have fucked me so many times by then, but it’ll still feel new, still feel like the first time.  Tight, so damn hot you’ll feel like you’re burning up, and I’ll be saying what I always say.”  Xander dropped his voice, making it coarse and breathy.  “Fuck me, baby.  Harder.  Deeper.  Claim me.  Come.  Inside me.  Oh, God, you’re making me come, Spike, doing it for me.  Bite me, drink my blood.  Making me come, Spike.  Feel.  Come with me.  Drink.  Come.”

And Spike did, cooling the friction heat with a wash of cold semen, repeatedly gasping Xander’s name and clinging to the man in question, leaving more bruises in his wake.  Xander held him, soothed him as he shuddered in the wake of his orgasm, well aware that this was more about possession than sex and the tension wouldn’t easily disperse.

Aches and pains soon got the better of him and Xander had to ask Spike to move.  The vampire fell onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“That was good.  I wanted that.”

“Sorry.  I didn’t mean to…”

“Spike, don’t be sorry, please.”

Spike looked at Xander, gazing into his eyes for a long time before speaking.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”  Xander smiled.  “A whole year.”

The smile was returned.

“Whole year and we haven’t killed each other.”

“There’s still time,” they said together, and laughed.

Spike rolled in to give Xander kisses that reflected the love and humour, then climbed off the bed and brought the portrait over, tearing the envelope off the corner and handing it to Xander.

“Happy birthday.  Bit late, I know.”

Xander quickly opened the envelope, removed the card and looked at the picture - one of Spike’s sketches of the house by moonlight - and his grin broadened.

“We have a house,” he stated the obvious but Spike got it and returned the silly grin.

Inside was written: ‘Xander, there are no words.  Spike.’

Awash with tears yet again, Xander nodded, let Spike kiss him and take the card to put on his cabinet, watching as he swept the array of Get Well cards to the floor and left them there.

“Think you can open this?” Spike asked as he returned to the portrait.

“You do it.”  Xander saw the hesitation, the flash of insecurity.  “I know it’s going to be great.  Can’t wait.”

“I don’t know if I was right to try and paint myself,” Spike confessed.  “Doesn’t matter how many pictures I looked at…”

“Let me see.”

“See, yes, right.”

Taking a deep breath, Spike tore away the wrapping paper and set the portrait up by the TV where Xander could see it clearly.  Then he stood back, wrapping his arms defensively around himself and waiting in trepidation.  Xander stared.  Stared.  Stared.  The picture was quite perfect.  It was a reclining Spike portrayed from the midriff up; the arm farthest from the viewer was raised and tucked behind his head, the arm closest relaxed by his side, hand draped inertly on his chest.  His head was turned and the expression on his face was one of sated contentment, a man who had been fucked and fucked and fucked some more and who deeply loved the person who’d been doing the fucking.  The adoration Xander had witnessed so often was captured in the eyes of this extraordinary representation, and he felt his whole emotional self responding to a sight he adored.  The picture was…quite…perfect.

“Wow.”

“Why is it that when it doesn’t matter you can prattle for an hour, but when it does matter you manage one word?”

“Wow.”

“Then repeat it in a bid to drive me bloody insane.”

“You are so…”

“So…?  What?  So what?  What, Xander?”

Xander reached out a hand and Spike came and took it, clutching it like a lifeline.  Xander used it to pull Spike down to his level, calming the vampire with several tender kisses.

“Talented.  Beautiful.  Sexy.”

“You like it?”

“Love it.  I’m so proud of you.”

“Yeah?” Spike asked, happy now.

“And I’m so lucky.”

“I couldn’t frame it.  You’ll make a frame?  When you’re feeling better?”

Xander nodded, back to staring, awe-struck, at the other Spike.  After arranging the junk food and beer around Xander, all within easy reach, Spike went off to quickly shower.

 

When Spike returned, Xander hadn’t moved an inch: he still lay staring at the picture with the distinct air of a man besotted.

“All right, love?”

“Yeah,” Xander replied distractedly.

Spike crossed to stand in front of the portrait.

“Real thing here.”

Dropping the towel from around his waist, Spike twirled on the spot, displaying for his mate, cock becoming hard at the intense scrutiny.  Xander moaned softly.

“Want to be well.  Want to fuck you.”

Spike grabbed his robe and pulled it on, removing temptation from view.

“Won’t be long if you behave yourself.”

“Stay naked.”

“No.  If I stay naked, in five minutes time I’ll be clambering all over you and sticking my cock down your throat.”  Spike gave a laugh.  “And look at those eyes light up.  No, Xander.  Forget about me and stuff your craw with some of that rubbish.”

“Help me sit up?”  It took a few long, verging-on-painful minutes but Xander was eventually propped up reasonably comfortably in a nest of pillows and plied with goodies.  “Spike…  Can I see the photos?  The photos of you?  Us?”

A moment’s thought – or was that doubt? - a brief nod, and Spike was off to download the pictures from the main computer into the laptop.

Not long before he was back; he handed the laptop over to Xander, sitting beside him and reaching over to access the appropriate program and files.  Xander felt a swell of excitement as the browser filled with thumbnails, just the thought of having pictures of Spike was a thrill, and he wished he’d managed to find them when…  Not going there.  Spike watched as Xander brought the first few photos up.

“How was it?  Seeing yourself?”

“Strange.  Like meeting someone I hadn’t seen for years and not quite being able to place the face.”

“These are terrific.  You’re so photogenic, then again I guess you would be with a face like that.”

“Show me one that’s good of me.  Really me.”

Xander scrolled through the pictures and grinned at one in particular before enlarging it.  This was Spike straight from the shower, wearing nothing but a towel and his ratty (but cherished) monster feet.  Almost fully turned away from the camera and stretching, his muscles full of blood and finely contoured; rivulets of water from his hair streaked over his body and caught the light from the camera’s flash.

“Can I print this up?”

Spike chuckled.

“If you want to.  Not quite what I was thinking.”

Xander stopped at the kilt pictures, found the half-dozen of Spike fucking his face and swallowed hard at the memory.

“That’s…  Wow.”  Taking a deep breath Xander moved on, finding some less provocative shots.  “Here.”  Spike sketching, face serious, slight pout as he concentrated.  “This is you.”  Spike studied the person on the screen as if he’d never seen him before.  Xander found another: Spike casually holding a set of weights in the gym – a set of weights Xander couldn’t lift with two friends helping – and giving Xander a look that shouted come and get me.  As far as Xander could remember, seconds after the picture was taken he’d responded to that deafening look.  Another: Spike on the Jag, erection in hand.  “Oh…fuck.  You are so…”  It defied description.

Xander went through more files and was suddenly confronted by the photographs he’d taken during Spike’s absence.  He gazed in silence at the bloody cuts on his arms and thighs, ashamed and repentant and unashamed and non-repentant.  SPIKE on the tender skin of his inner forearm.  It was a long silence.

“Xander?”

Xander cleared his throat.

“Yeah?”

“Is this why you won’t talk about that first year away from me?”

Spike ran his fingertips over the long-healed skin.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

“You said I didn’t have to.”

“Not everything.  Something.”

“What?  What do you want to know?”

A thought-filled pause.

“How it started.  Did you do this in Sunnydale?  Because I think I would have…”

“No, not in Sunnydale.  I’d been here about a month and I got hurt when a nail gun misfired.  The blood reminded me of you, made me calmer.  The pain…  It was a focus, and when I found I could control it…”

Xander’s breath hitched and Spike leant against him, kissing the bare shoulder.

“Enough.  I understand.”

“I don’t want us to talk about this.  This is mine.”

Spike understood that too.

“Want to keep these?  I was going to chuck ‘em but I didn’t think I had the right.”

“I’ll keep them,” Xander confirmed quietly.  “But you don’t look at them again.”

“I haven’t seen them since I downloaded them from the camera.”

“Good.”

Spike reached over and found another file.

“Pictures of the Shorveno building Grandpa’s working from.  I got one of his drones to take some shots in the daylight…”

And they moved onto a thankfully neutral subject, falling into easy discussion.  Spike snuggled in closer as they pored over the photos, gradually wrapping himself around Xander and making him ache with the pressure, but refusing to show consideration, unprepared to move until he was asked, possibly begged to.

A year.  And they still hadn’t shaken off the pattern of losing and finding that dogged their existence, one disturbing revolution after another.  The next year would be…what?  Make or break?  Spike thought about the making and rejected the breaking; maybe they weren’t ideally suited, maybe they could drive each other to despair as easily as to ecstasy, maybe the cracks sometimes showed.  But they were survivors, alone, together, and Spike felt an unwavering certainty that the future held something extraordinary for them.  It was…fate.

 

 

Repossession 57       Repossession Index       Repossession Notes

 

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