The Silent Urge Series

The Still Unnamed Series
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***revisited 14/09/2004***

Xander, one of the Slayer's sidekicks is burdened with Spike, the newly chipped vampire. One evening things get ugly in the Harris' household...

Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: eventually NC-17, no specific hints
Season: BtVS 4-ish then AU
Status: WIP

--> individual parts around 1,500 words

BETA: Joolz, thank you.
(btw.. I am a non-native English speaker and if things sound funny but are grammatically correct - well, I am stubborn and don't always listen to my beta.)

*Everytime I come here and see the hits and all the reviews, I can't say how happy you make me. I love ya all! Thanks so much, you made me write this, continue it. It may go slow and I am sorry for that, but I won't abandon it and it will be finished someday. Big HUG.*

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Part A Gotta Get Away

Chapter 01 - Don't Interfere!

~ Spike ~

I’ve been living in the whelp’s bloody basement for about a week now. It’s better than staying with the watcher. Master Vampire chained to a bathtub and fed by the slayer with pigs blood out of a –kiss the librarian- cup. That’s a story to frighten baby vamps – or a story to get every fucking demon on this world to laugh his arse off. The boy’s basement is definitely the better place for unlife. And I didn’t just think that. Damn.

Well, there he is, the star of the day, the goofy white knight in Pizza delivery uniform. He’s had a hard day, can see his stiff movements, back and shoulders are all tense, thirty minutes of my magic massage and oh d sed see boneless and relaxed Harris. However, I’m evil so I won’t offer --- as if he would accept. Boy hates me. He will certainly not let me comfort him.

He isn’t looking at me at all, his head bowed down, chin nearly on his chest and the misery is surrounding him like a fat cloud – got fired again. Damn.

Damn?

Above us, the front door slams open and shut again. Welcome home, Daddy.

In addition, there are the changes in my boy – whole body going still, all muscles tense, heart beating faster, breathing nearly stopping, head cocked to the side, straining to hear what’s going on upstairs.

If it weren’t for the scent of fear that is pouring off him in waves, he would look like a predator on hunt.

He’ll stay like this for a few minutes. When he hears his bastard of a father going up the stairs to the bedroom, calling for his equally drunken wife, he relaxes and goes on as if nothing ever happened. Denial is all in Xanderland.

However, I can hear the bleeding asshole hitting and raping her until she passes out. One of the moments, I hate my superior hearing abilities. Yeah, yeah, I’m evil and I should get off on itt I t I don’t. Rape was never my thing. Neither was hitting women – not counting the slayer there. Bleeding gentleman my mother made me. Man of honour and all that crap. Can’t get over my nancy boyish human self sometimes.

Nearly ten minutes have passed and the sound of the heavy working boots on the floor of the living area has not subsided.

The fucker is pacing.

Never did that before. There is this tingling on my neck like a spider climbing around.

The sound of the fridge being opened.

Glass bouncing against glass.

The plop of the beer being opened.

The scent of fear is getting weaker but a new scent is in the mix: resignation.

Something I never smelled before on the whelp.

It creeps me out.

Upstairs I hear theer Her Harris grasping a new bottle and then he is slowly but steadily coming to the door that is leading to the basement.

Suddenly Xander turns to me and looks me direct in the eyes. The impassive look in his eyes is really freaking me out. I see him swallowing hard.

“Listen Spike, a choice for you: go and don’t come back or stay and don’t interfere in *any way* including telling anyone.”

I stare at him. His eyes are so neutral – he has to be a hell of a poker player. His eyes are totally erased of emotions. His body language and the scents are telling different stories – perhaps if we work on that we could visit Las Vegas for a weekend…

I remember that he waits for an acknowledgement of his demand. I just nod. Not sure what I’m going to do. His gaze is not wavering; he is not blinking or anything.

His stare makes me nervous, twitchy. I have to say something.

“What you’re gonna do?”

“I’ll deal. I always deal. If you interfere, you’re dust. There is nothing you can do. Understood?”

I nod again. How does he know, I will stay? Didn’t tell him. Got to know me a little. Well, I get to know the real Alexander Lavelle Harris just now.

We both hear Xan’s ma rushing down the stairs and to her husband.

“Oh Darling, come to bed?” She tries oundound seductive, she fails. Her voice is too high, too afraid.

Drunken-Dad turns away from the basement door and walks to her.

The whelp is going to the stairs while he’s taking his shirt off. Nice back. Like the shoulders.

“Pleeeaase, come to bed. Do ythiything you want. Please. Let me take care of you. Please. Please…” The boy’s mother begs and I’m kinda amused. The whelp must give his Dad a hell of a ‘talk’, when Ma is so desperate too.

The sound of flesh connecting with flesh.

Thu-thuud, resounds as her body falls to the floor.

Xander is up the stairs, hand on the door handle. He looks down again with the flat eyes and mouths “Don’t interfere” to me. Now I have a very bad feeling in my stomach. Something is very wrong here.

The basement door falls shut behind Xander.

“I’m here, Sir.”

“You’re too late.”

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Sorry will not make your mother better.”

“I know, Sir. I need to be punished.”

That’s when everything falls into place. “No no no no no” I gasp in my mind and need all my energy to keep my demon from roaring. I crouch onto the floor. Without the chip, I would have had the bastard’s head already in my hands. Nevertheless, I can’t do anything. I promised Xan. For a moment I think over my choice again. Perhaps I should leave. Leave Xan to that fucking parody of father – d Xan Xan is the white knight. He would never raise his hand against his father. How could I come to this ridiculous idea that white knight Xander would stand up against the ones that are supposed to love him? It’s not right to hour our parents, even if they hit you. Not my way of living. Who hits me, is hit back. Who hits mine, dies. I can’t leave. I have to get him out. I have to off the fucking asshole upstairs.

“You’re right. You haven’t been punished for too long. Don’t you think?”

“Yes, Sir. I need to focus. I need you to bring me back on track, Sir.”

“You’re telling *me*, what to do? What do you think you are?”

“---“

“Answer me, you coward!”

Slap.

“I I’m n-n-nothing, S-s-sir.”

Slap.

“Aren’t you able to speak right? Stu-stu-stutter-boy.”

“I am nothing, Sir.”

“Damn right. You’re nothing. You’re lesser than dog shit, lesser than dirt on the street. You disgust me.”

Spit.

“What are you?”

“Nothing.”

Slap. Slap.

“Nothing, *Sir*!”

I can’t believe this is happening! I am a fucking master vampire and there is a goddamn human hurting what is mine and I am here hiding out. Xander knows this all too well. Each phrase comes nearly automatic. The little mistakes he makes are.. they're deliberate. So his father can get the anger out of his system still in the beginning and the punishment will not last *that* long. Fuck. The boy isn't supposed to know this kind of things. Took me years to figure it out for myself and to use it to my advantage against my Sire. How long has this been going on? Whes nes nobody know?

“Right! Ready for your punishment?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Won’t you be a good boy?”

“Will you *please* punish me, Sir?”

“That’s a good boy.”

The sound of a belt being pulled through the loops of a pair of jeans is heard.

“Bend over, son. You’ll get what you deserve.”

Szzzn. Crack.

Szzzn. Crack.

Szzzn. Crack. Szzzn. Crack. Szzzn. Crack.

…

I flinch every time the belt hits flesh.

Xander makes no noise at all. Is he unconscious? He cannot have this much self-control, can he? Back to former question: How bloody long has he had to endure this sick shit???

His father is moaning. The sound of flesh shifting flesh. More moaning.

Szzzn. Crack. Szzzn. Crack. Szzzn. Crack. Crack. Crack. …

This sick fuck is getting off on that. If he …

“You like that, don’t you? You like it like that, don’t you? Son?”

“Y-y-yes. I like you hurting me, --- Daddy.”

With that the bastard comes and I hear Xan trying to get to his feet.

Thanks … whoever. It’s over. I’ll make it better, Xan. …

“You dirty faggot. You sick fuck. Look, what you made me do! I hate you. I wish your whore of a mother had aborted you. You loser.” Kick in ribs. “Coward” Kick in ribs. Xander’s lying on his side now. “Waste of space!” His father kicks him in the stomach. “Asshole.” Opens the basement door. “You are nothing!” Kicks Xander again. The boy tumbles down the stairs. The door slams shut and my arms are around him.


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