Tainted Returns

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Part Eleven
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Spike groaned as the blackness that had claimed him slowly slipped away, the outside world filtering into his awareness one tiny bit at a time. His first, nearly immediate, realization was that he wasn't in his crypt any longer; the smells and sounds were all wrong.

**That wanker drugged me!** was Spike's first rational thought, which was swiftly followed by a reluctant acknowledgment that it had been a smart backup for Harris to have. He felt weak and tired, his muscles not wanting to move. The heavy manacles around his wrists and ankles felt like lead weights pinning him down, wearing him out. It was . . . upsetting being repeatedly bested by *Harris* -- additional strength or not. And yes, he fully realized that errors in judgement on his part had played a huge factor, but somehow that didn't really help.

Despite his best intentions, Spike trembled as full awareness descended and he realized *exactly* where he was. He was restrained and naked at the mansion -- Angelus' mansion. Memories of the place rolled over him, memories he never wanted to relive, and he briefly contemplated simply going back to sleep and closing out the world. Surely the blood wouldn't affect Xander much longer, and it might be possible to feign drugged unconsciousness long enough to out wait the human.

Surely, if the blood wore off and he was still 'out', Xander would release him and leave, not wanting to face what had happened. He sighed. No way would he be that lucky. Xander would probably--

The sound of slow clapping brought his thoughts to an abrupt and startled halt. He growled at allowing himself to become so preoccupied that he forgot to listen for Xander. That was a trap fledges fell into -- *not* master vampire's who'd survived for over a hundred years.

"You know," Xander began conversationally, "I could really get to like the enhanced senses. I could tell the instant you woke up."

**Not fair!** Spike thought petulantly, realizing even as he did so that he was being a touch ridiculous. ** *I'm* supposed to be the one with enhanced senses, not the whelp!**

"So, what now, Harris?" Spike asked, hating the fact that, face down as he was, he couldn't see what the whelp was doing behind him. It was driving him crazy.

"We move on to the reason I came to your crypt in the first place."

A shiver of uncertainty traveled down the length of Spike's spine at the . . . satisfaction in Xander's voice. That couldn't be a good thing, could it? Spike knew damn well what had brought Harris, the white knight, to his crypt. The boy had already made that quite clear. What Spike didn't know was what the boy was planning on actually *doing* about it -- especially now, what with the demon blood and all.

"What *did* you come for, Harris?" he asked, putting every ounce of bravado he could lay claim to into the words. "Came to beat the shit out of the vampire?"

"Something like that," Xander answered.

Stiffening, Spike refused to think about just how badly this was going to hurt. He held no doubts that Xander, even in his right mind, could inflict enough pain to make even a vampire feel it. But now?

"Well, get on with it, then," Spike muttered.

"What?" Xander asked with a chuckle. "Not even going to try and talk me out of it?"

Spike laughed back, wishing it didn't sound slightly hysterical. "No," was all he said. **Like it would do me any good,** he thought sourly.

"Good," Xander replied.

Spike tensed again as he felt more than heard Xander step closer.

"I found some rather . . . interesting toys here while I was waiting for you to come to."

**Bloody hell!** Spike thought, memories of what boy boy *could* have laid his hands on here rushing through his mind with a frightening clarity. He jumped at the sudden touch of-- He frowned, trying to figure out what the whelp was lightly brushing against his back.

Soft, and unexpectedly gentle, strips of -- he sniffed -- leather. Spike squeezed his eyes shut. Xander had found the cat o' nine. That was *very* not good. Unfortunately, Spike's body had other ideas; it reacted to the sensual caresses in ways Spike *really* didn't want. In that instant self-awareness flared, and he suddenly hated Angelus, Dru, and Buffy with an intensity he hadn't been able to summon in a very long time.

All three had the same kink, and all three had trained him well. *He* may not be obedient -- about as far from it as a vampire could get, actually -- but his body was.

The whisk of air, the whistle of the cat as it was whipped through the air, the slap of flesh on flesh as Xander's *hand* came down on his arse, tore a startled shout out of Spike. He'd prepared for the cat, that sereing pain the lashes would release as each leather strip cut into his skin. That, he could have stayed silent against.

The sharp contrast of the flat of Xander's warm palm as it was brought down, with what Spike suspected was only about half of the human's new-found strength, confused his senses, twisting his reactions into both recognizable and unrecognizable patterns.

He steeled himself for the next blow, determined that this time, his mouth would stay *shut* -- but the blow never came. Instead, he heard a whispered question.

"You know why I'm doing this, right?"

Spike blinked. "Rather obvious, that," he replied sullenly. **Just get it over with!** he thought angrily; though, he wasn't sure who he was more angry with -- Xander, or himself and his body's betrayal. If Xander had just started waling on him from the beginning, this wouldn't be happening. But no, the boy had to go and 'seduce' him first, had to engage every sense Spike had. Spike's mind still reeled from all of it, disbelieving that he'd got himself into this situation.

"Not really," Xander replied, moving until he stood above Spike's head.

Spike tried to glare up at his captor, bue hee height difference made it both difficult and awkward. After a moment, Spike gave up trying and sighed as he allowed his head to drop back down to the floor. "Getting even," he muttered softly, not wanting to answer, but knowing damn well the whelp expected a reply, "getting vengeance in Buffy's stead."

" *Wrong*, Fangless," Xander retorted, and Spike jerked his head up just as Xander squatted in front of him.

"How's that?" Spike asked. "What would *you* call this then?"

"Oh yeah, when I first came, I was gonna beat you black and blue, get even, teach you a lesson."

Spike snorted. **Just as I thought.**

"But, see, things changed. That's not what it's about anymore."

"No?" Spike asked. **Sure seems like it to me.**

"Nope."

Spike waited impatiently, certain there was more Harris wanted to say. When the boy said nothing, just stayed there, squatted above his head, Spike sighed. He wondered how long Harris would wait for some kind of reply, some sign that Spike was curious. He wondered if he could just stay silent and ward off the seemingly inevitable.

"So what is it, then?" he asked, cursing himself six kinds of idiot for opening his bloody gob -- especially when Xander chuckled and rose.

"Le ase ask you something first," Xander replied, moving out of his line of sight.

Spike almost growled, lifting his arm to peer behind him. He *really* didn't like not being able to see Xander. Unfortunately, Xander continued to his other side, and Spike refused to look like a scared ponce by twisting around to look from under his other arm. But his skin crawled as he forced himself not to try and follow the boy's movements. Something had changed between the fight and now. He'd been having fun earlier. Okay, it had been worried fun, but fun just the same. He wasn't now.

"Did you know this would happen to me?"

**What?**

"How could I know you'd get covered in Margaso blood, and then refuse to wash it off?" he exclaimed indignantly.

"Not that!" Xander replied drily. "I mean, when you told Normal Xander about the effects of the blood, why didn't you tell him about *all* of it?"

"Didn't know he'd -- you'd -- been possessed. Thought I was safe on that score."

"Right! Try again. You knew about the soldier on Halloween."

"That wasn't a possession." Spike frowned. "Was it?"

"None of us thought so, but the soldier memories were pulled out the same as the hyena instincts."

"They were?" **Well that explains the whelp's sudden moves.**

"Yep. Then when I caught that deer, all three kind of, I don't know, merged, I guess you could say."

Spike didn't even *try* to stop the whimper. "Merged?" he asked.

"Yeah. You know, I don't think Normal Xander is gonna come back."

Swallowing convulsively around the sudden constriction in his throat, Spike shook his head violently. "I've *never* heard of permanent effects from Margaso blood." Spike's thoughts flew in useless circles, trying to dredge up every last rumor and myth he'd heard about it all, the very thought that this Xander might be around for good sending shivers of both excitement and fear skittering up and down his spine. On the heels of that, however; was the fear that if 'Normal' Xander *didn't* make a reappearance, he was staked once and for all. Buffy would *never* forgive him for this, for not spilling everything he knew when Xander had first been tainted with it. She would *never* believe he hadn't planned it -- somehow.

"You figured it out yet?" Xander asked, suddenly breaking into Spike's thoughts.

"I've figured out that I'm done for, either way," Spike admitted mournfully. It seemed he couldn't get a break no matter *how* things went. "Buff--"

The overly familiar whistle came out of nowhere and Spike had no time to prepare himself for the blow. He tried to arch away from the pain blooming across the back of his legs as he grit his teeth.

"Not about that, Spike. Have you figured out why I'm doing this?"

Spike briefly considered toughing it out. Xander, even this Xander, couldn't inflict any more damage than he'd suffered in the past -- and survived. Unfortunately, his own curiosity was getting in the way of his stubbornness. "No," he freely admitted. "I can't say that I have -- not if it's not about getting even."

"You poached, Spike."

Shock shot through him even as his mouth opened before he could stop it. "I did *not*!" He tensed, rapidly preparing himself as the whistle once again warned him.

"Fuck!" he shouted, as the cat slapped the floesideside him, and it was once again Xander's hand that struck him. **Bastard!** he thought viciously. **How the hell am I supposed to get through this, if I can't bloody figure out what he's going to do next?!** He let out a humorless chuckle as the huge **Duh!** reverberated through his mind. That was the bloody point, now wasn't it? He was forced to admit, Xander was better at the psychological shit than Spike would have ever given him credit for.

"You attacked, you *hurt*, what belongs to me."

Spike froze. **What?** "Xander," he began tentatively, certain he *really* didn't know why he was saying this, since it was sure to get him hurt, "Buffy doesn't belong to you. She never has, and she never will."

Xander chuckled, and this time Spike was absolutely sure he was beginning to hate that sound.

"She's not my mate, Spike, she's *pack*." Xander's hand touched him, and Spike flinched away, but nothing else happened. Xander simply let his hand sit at the swell between Spike's leg and arse. "I protect pack. Nothing hurts my pack and gets away with it."

Spike shuddered at the gravel in Xander's voice, but a new idea was beginning to form inside Spike, and it was playing merry havoc with his world view.

"You've always done that," Spike said tentatively.

"Yeah, it just got more . . . intense after the possessions."

His thoughts whirled. Xander had admitted he attacked Buffy while possessed the first time, cuz he wanted her as his mate. Xander had admitted he had learned a lesson in that somewhere. He'd said Spike would figure it out. And then he-- Spike gulped, and asked. He couldn't *not* ask.

"Am I . . . 'pack'?"

"Do you want to be?" Xander shot back, his voice almost a silken purr.

Spike groaned. He *hated* the answering a question with a question shit!

The hand moved, caressing up over his arse, smoothing out the lingering sting, and that was almost worse than the blows. Against his will he pushed into the touch.

"Guess that answers *that* question," Xander said smugly, bringing his hand up swiftly then back down, the sound of his hand hitting Spike's backside echoing through the room.

Spike gasped. That one had been full strength. Spike was sure of it!

"Now, tell me."

He *hated* this. He hated the fact that he wanted to belong. At this point in his unlife, he almost didn't care *where*, as long as he belonged. He'd spent almost four years caught between worlds, not fully belongingeitheither one. But *someone* help him, he still wanted it. The "Yes, damn it!" was dragged out of him, and he felt more naked after the words fell into the room than merely being without clothes had ever made him feel.

He waited for the taunting laughter to follow his admission. He waited for the cruel words of 'tough shit' to come spewing out of Harris' mouth. He knew they were coming and he steeled himself for the put down. Therefore, the sudden weight of Xander's body covering his came as a complete surprise, the roughness of the boy's clothes brushing against his skin.

"Good," Xander hissed into his ear, his warm hands ghosting down Spike's sides. "Because you're mine."

Heat flashed through Spike's entire body as a number of emotions whirled through him. The automatic denial and the ecstatic sense of belonging were just as vehement as the lust they rode through him on. He could not *ever* remember being this torn. He wanted to throw Xander off his back and just lash out until either Harris was dead for daring to make such a claim -- or until the chip rendered him unconscious. He wanted to reverse their positions and slam into Xander, reasserting his own control and claiming the boy in return. And just as overwhelmingly, he wanted to surrender.

For long moments confusion reigned inside him, seemingly tearing him apart bit by bit.

"You're mine, Spike. Mine to protect. Mine to . . . punish."

Spike shook his head no, shuddering as Xander's clothed erection slid along the crease in his backside. The word 'yours' hovering on his lips, Spike was rapidly tipping toward surrender even as the feeling of utter vulnerability swamped him and he desperately wanted to clench his legs together. He was so . . . open the way he was.

Suddenly, all of Xander's weight was gone, and the cool air left in his place raised goosebumps along Spike's exposed skin. A growl rent the air, and it was only after the fact that Spike realized it was him. He couldn't take much more of this on again off again. He was achingly hard, and more scared than he could *ever* remember feeling since his turning. Oh, it wasn't of Harris, or what Harris could do. He was afraid of himself. He felt so bloody out of control, but that wasn't the worst of it. The worst of it was, part of him didn't bloody care.

Lost in his own world of hurt and confusion, Spike didn't register the fact that Xander had released one side of manacles until he found himself flipped over. He didn't bother trying to get free as Xander pinned him down, using the entire length of his body to do so. It just seemed a waste of energy to try. Even as Xander stared down out him, a small part of Spike was screaming at him that he'd missed his chance to get free. He ignored it, locking gazes with the human above him. He couldn't have got very far anyway, he reasoned, the restraints would have prevented success.

Xander leaned forward, sniffing him, nuzzling into his neck, his armpits, down his chest.

Spike shivered as he realized this was the hyena. This was the beast part of Xander.

In a sudden move that Spike wasn't exactly sure how Xander accomplished, Spike found his legs bent slightly with Xander's knees wedged beneath his thighs.

**Shit! Shit! Shit!** He was not ready for this. Spike's thoughts flew into panic mode. He should have realized that this was where this was headed, but he hadn't thought that far ahead. He still thought of Xander as Xander, the guy who would give and give, never take. He'd just managed to open his mouth to protest, to remind Xander of what he'd promised, when Xander lunged forward, and even as their cocks brushed together, sending unwanted lust spirally through Spike, Xander's teeth clamped around his Adam's apple.

Spike froze, a tremor racing through him. A dominance display! It was all a dominance display. Giddy relief flooded him even as he refused to submit. *This* he could deal with. Xander was in control, but that didn't mean--

Xander's teeth tightened fractionally.

**Oh, God!** He fought his instinctive reaction, not wanting to arch his head back in pleasure. That was *exactly* what Xander was waiting for. Xander -- no, the hyena -- wanted him to bare his throat in submission.
one one* but Angelus had *ever* gotten him to do that. He'd been beaten, abused, tossed around, and generally gotten his ass kicked -- sometimes rather spectacularly. He'd made a fool of himself. He'd degraded himself, but he had *never* bared his throat.

Xander's teeth tightened again, and this time Spike could feel them sink into his skin -- even before the smell of his own blood hit his nostrils. He whimpered, beginning to struggle, ignoring the voice that told him he had waited too long, and that it was *far* too late. Somehow, somewhere, he hadn't quite believed Xander would take things this far. Beyond that, he couldn't believe the kid knew what he was getting himself into.

Even as he struggled he thought furiously. If getting out of it was as simple as pretending to go along, Spike would have done it in a heartbeat -- a human heartbeat. The chip had ruthlessly taught him the value of compromise. Unfortunately, it wasn't that simple. Demons, even vampiric ones, were ruled by instinct. Intelligence notwithstanding, instincts were powerful motivators in a species that generally acted on every impulse they had.

Spike bucked -- carefully -- forcing his chin downward into Xander's head.

Xander stiffened and held on, pressing himself firmly to Spike, curled around him like a bloody vice.

Spike winced as he felt his throat tear, blood dripping down the sides of his neck. It didn't take him long to come to the only conclusion he could; struggling was useless. Xander wasn't letting go, and to struggle harder would only get his throat ripped out -- if not set his chip off as well. Closing his eyes, not truly believing it was happening, Spike went absolutely still. Allowing his body to go limp, he lifted his head just a fraction. It was enough, he knew.

Xander growled around the hold on his throat, sinking teeth in just the slightest bit more before easiack.ack.

Spike shivered, unaccustomed feelings running through him as Xander licked his neck clean. It was the most erotic thing he'd had done to him in decades, and considering what Xander had accomplished so far. . . . Spike's thoughts trailed off as Xander leaned back, shifting enough to allow Spike's legs to fall back to the floor and pushing their cocks that much more firmly together.

Xander's eyes met his, and Spike fought to maintain the contact. He couldn't -- even after having spent years fighting to get out from under Angelus' domination. He lowered his eyes, unable to meet Xander's stare. Groaning internally, he realized he had forgotten how powerful a feeling this was. Until that moment, he'd maintained hope he could fight his instincts. He'd done it before, but it was beginning to dawn on him that the ease with which he'd done it had probably been due, largely, to Angelus' absence. He'd just made a mistake, a very *big* mistake, and he was certain it was one he would come to regret.

TBC
Kiristeen
Feedback craved and deliciously savored. : )


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