Time After Time Series

(A/N: "Time After Time" an episodic series, released once every four to six weeks, or whenever the muse takes us. Spike and Xander are soul mates, and they’ve met time and again in past lives. Each episode will contain a full story/flashback to at least one past life together, as told by newly ensouled Spike. Each episode will be completely different. Sometimes they will be human, sometimes one or both will be vamps, etc... If and when there are character deaths, it will be in the past life only, not current life where they are talking/exploring the past.)

(Characters: ours, Joss' – We're just playin' with 'em
We may have ahem…borrowed the Scarlet Pimpernel storyline. It’s not ours. Just so you know ::grin::)


Spike smoothly hopped up and sat on the kitchen counter, watching Xander make the coffee. As soon as the boy moved out of the way, he stared at the coffee maker. "Drip, drip, drip... And the blood of thousands stained the ground. But not ours. We were free and wild. Yes we were."

"What are you talking about now, Cuckoo-boy?" Xander asked, reaching in the fridge for a couple of eggs. Spike had been having odd moments of lucidity but he usually wandered around in his own little world. When Buffy had brought the vampire to live with him Xander had expected a repeat of the basement days, not the relatively docile insanity that he got. "Want scrambled eggs for breakfast?"

"Breakfast. You're offering me breakfast when I saved your bloody arse?" Spike's eyes glazed over as he became lost in time. "And a fine arse you had... and smile. In that life, you had only smiles for me. Young Comte du Lavelle was much nicer than Lord Alexander."


***
[Flashback]
[Paris - 1793]

Xander stood in front of the open window, looking outside at the people moving past the barricades. Sergeant Finne, the soldier in charge of the gate was the most obnoxious, irritating commoner ever to be found. Xander had been forced to watch the oaf cause untold suffering to children and women whose only crime had been to be born in noble families.

Since the uprising, many aristocrats had tried to escape Paris in disguise, only to be caught by the guards at the gates and sent back inside the city for trial. Xander did not judge the people who sent them back too harshly; they were after all doing what they considered fair. The people had suffered and now they were wreaking their revenge. Finne, though….Finne took a perverse kind of pleasure in catching the fleeing aristocrats. He would toy with them, like a cat toyed with a mouse. He would pretend to believe their chosen disguise, allow them to move past the gate even. He would give them false hope before dragging them back. Xander could not forgive or understand that. He had never been one for cruelty and Finne's actions smacked of it.

Turning away from the window, unwilling to look at yet another of his class being humiliated by the Sergeant, Xander contemplated his own idiocy for remaining in Paris. He could have left the country before the troubles began, gone to England with his family. But no…not Xander, he had to give his seat to a pretty lady and catch the next ship. Except of course, there had been no next ship. Instead there had been soldiers standing in front of his door and placing him under house arrest. Xander had not been foolish enough to try and escape. He would sit this one out, stay home and wait for the trouble to breeze past.

There was only one small problem with that plan…Xander was bored. He'd sent his mother and sister to England months ago, at the first sign of trouble, and now he was in the house alone, with nothing and no one to help him pass the time. He'd taken to eavesdropping on the people outside his window to relieve his boredom a little.

That was how the rumours reached his ears. A large number of aristocrats had managed to escape Paris over the past few weeks and the people were talking of a mysterious band of Englishmen, moving around Paris and the country, and saving aristocrats. There would always be a note, someone said, a paper with a little star-shaped flower and a brief notice that the Brits had been around. ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel’, they called the leader. The good citizens in charge had become more and more angry and now there was a large reward waiting for whoever managed to apprehend the insolent Englishman.

Xander himself was curious as to the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel. He'd spent a long time in England when he was a youngster and still had fond memories of the place...and the people. He'd already been interrogated but he had been quite honest when he claimed that he had no idea who the Pimpernel was. He couldn't help but smirk at the memory of the sheer frustration in the inquisitor's eyes. They were not foolish enough to kill him during the interrogation. The Comte du LaVelle was very well known to the people and to murder him behind the scenes was unthinkable. When they killed him they would make sure that he went publicly and spectacularly.

This was why Xander was stuck inside his own townhouse, with no servants or family to keep him company. All he could do was sit around and wait for a real chance to escape. Or to be rescued.

Xander hated having to be rescued.

* * * *

[England]

William Alden, the Marquess of Spiketon, was uncharacteristically clad in dark tightly fitting clothes which showed off the fine lines of his whipcord body. He stretched his legs before him as he listened to Preston's report of the ghastly events taking place in France.

There were five of them around the table in the comfortable library. Contemporaries and peers of the realm, sworn to secrecy and membership in the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. For over half a year now, they'd used their respective talents to go to the continent and rescue as many French aristocrats as possible from la femme guillotine. By now, they were the best kept secret of the increasingly large French emigres community in England. Those they'd rescued had seen their faces, and yet all they would say was that the Scarlet Pimpernel had saved them.

"Spike, old boy, are you even listening?"

"Of course I am." Spike swirled the amber claret in his glass around, then looked at each of the men in turn, rattling off every single one of the people who'd been on the list of new arrests made by the French Republic. "Right. There is a reason I did well in Latin and you had to pay to get passing marks."

"Right." Preston cleared his throat. "Well that's all for those in the country. We can certainly attempt to rescues those under house arrest and John is drawing up the plans. As for those that have been taken to Paris... it's too risky. They've tightened security after you bloodied their noses good and well whilst getting the Valette family," he grinned. "I don't know how you manage..."

"A lucky flick of the wrist now and again," Spike said, looking at the wall over the chimney piece, where finely crafted swords hanged next to a shield with his family crest.

"Lucky my ass."

"Oh please, Preston, don't give him an excuse to puff his chest up anymore," Lyton protested. "So about Paris, we'll cross them off the list of possibilities and..."

"Who has been arrested in Paris? I just want to know," Spike said, giving an innocent look in response to the reluctant ones from his friends.

Preston shook his head. "Wasting time is your other talent Spiketon. We don't have a full list, but ..."

Sitting back in the chair, eyes half lidded as he looked at his glass, Spike processed the information. He recognized quite a few names. Acquaintance. People he'd met at parties during one of his tours of the continent. "Bloody shame." A few more names were read, when he sat up straight all of a sudden. "Who? Who did you say?"

"The Comte du LaVelle."

"Alexandre?"

"Yes. Now look Spiketon, I don't care if you know the man or his family. You can't possibly... Get that bullish look of your face. Spike, where are you going? The meeting isn't..."

Long strides ate up the distance to the large doors. Spike stopped. "The meeting is adjourned. Preston, my yacht will set sail in two days. Be there. Lyton, work your magic. I need entry and exit plans and papers."

"Spike..."

"Gentlemen, this meeting is adjourned."

*

Later that evening, Spike's carriage drew to a halt behind a line of other carriages in front of a torch-lit mansion. He waited to be helped down, and put out a limp hand for the footman to take. One pink stockinged leg emerged from the carriage, then he managed to pull himself out and stepped down.

Bringing a monocle to his eye, he gave an exaggerated exclamation. "Sink me! I never thought to see you here, George."

The dour man turned and rolled his eyes at the fop. Good Lord, how in heaven's name did Spiketon fail to realize what a comical sight he made in the pink stockings, the powder blue coat, and the ribbons in his wig? His gaze happened to dip down to take a second look at the stockings and his eyes widened. The man had padding at his calves and his thighs... as if no one would realize he was trying to improve that slender physique. "And why is that?"

"Well, after all, this is a party. And party's require smiling. I didn't think you were capable of it," Spike said, sailing past George, and walking inside to get announced.

He'd mix with the crowd, seek out those he knew might know Alexandre... no... Xander, that was what they'd settled on since Xander had rejected every other pet name Spike had tried to land him with. Yes, he'd mince, and charm, and wheedle... but he would get as much information as possible about Xander's townhouse and circumstances. Emigres arrived every day, so there was information to be found. But he still had to be careful because French spies were abound, searching for the Scarlet Pimpernel and his group, even here in good old England.

*

One week later, he'd crossed the channel, ridden on horseback to the mouth of Paris, and then settled into a carriage which took him to the Hotel de Paris. The hotels were dying for business, as were the taverns, and everything else. The revolution had taken its toll on the once grand city.

Though Spike knew he was being watched now and again, he was only one of many foreigners. Unless he gave them reason to, they wouldn't touch him. They knew he'd been back to Paris ever so often to feed his penchant for fine lace, the sort that hung in long lengths around his wrists, and materials unrivaled elsewhere.

"Fashion is life, and life is fashion. And no one knows life and fashion like the French, hmm? La!" he gestured with his hands as if the matter were settled, and signed into the hotel, more than aware of the tweeters and snickers.

He was taken to an upper floor. Giving his valet the evening off, or rather an excuse to leave his side and do some spying, Spike closed the door of his chambers. Immediately, he stripped bare of his colorful clothes and got into skin tight dark clothing.

A minute later, he was climbing out the window, confidently finding hand and footholds. In top physical shape, he wasn't even winded by the time he silently dropped to the street. Thank God he wasn't wearing those blasted heels!

*

The townhouse was dark. Knowing Xander's penchant for luxury and spending, Spike knew it must mean that the candles, torches, and wood for burning, must have been confiscated, else the house would have been lit. He'd easily avoided the sleepy guards outside, and climbed in through an upper story window to the house. But where was Xander? There were so many rooms, it might take him all night to search.

Xander was walking morosely around the house, trying to tire himself enough to sleep. He'd tried everything from jogging up and down the stairs to pleasuring himself but nothing would make him drowsy enough to just sleep. He was on his way to the kitchen, frustrated enough to try out the warm milk nonsense his mother used to support when he was a youngster.

As he explored the gallery, Spike heard a sound. The creaking of the wooden floor. Flattening his back against the wall, he stayed stock still as footsteps approached. A single candle floated toward him in the dark, and then the dark haired young man passed. Spike's hand shot out to grab Xander's arm and turn him around. He didn't need to see his face to confirm it was Xander. The silky robe and woodsy scent that clung to the boy were still fresh in his memory.

Xander hadn't even realised that someone else was in the house until he was grabbed. He immediately lashed out, punching his opponent and rolling away. "Have they decided to do it privately then? No crowd for LaVelle, just a knife in his throat. Well I shall not give them the pleasure. I was never one to go quietly," he hissed, sure that the inquisitor had gotten too impatient to wait.

"Bloody French manners! Is that how you welcome an old friend," Spike drawled, rubbing his jaw. The candle Xander had been holding had fallen and gotten snuffed. He walked a few steps away and opened the shutters, letting in the moonlight. "Well, LaVelle? Cat got that lovely versatile tongue of yours?"

Xander stared at the intruder, too shocked to say anything. The last time he'd seen him was the day Xander had left school to return to France. He had honestly never expected to see Spike again and now here he was, in all his glory, smirking at him as if he'd only been here yesterday. He reached out, cupping Spike's cheek, his thumb rubbing along his cheekbone in a habit learned a long time ago, never to be forgotten.

"Spike?" he asked breathlessly, unwilling to believe the evidence his eyes and hands gave him, "How? What? How?"

Spike pressed his face into Xander's hand as the years fell away. They'd been boys the last time they'd been together. Wealthy, entitled, wild and free. Lord their school days had been fun. Neither one of them had been a great scholar, but when it came to parties, the sort no one spoke of in polite company, they were always in the center of things. Courtesans, actors and actresses freely mixed with nobility at those parties which almost always devolved into orgies by night's end. How many of them had it taken before they'd realized that they had a tendency to gravitate to each other, and often found themselves going at it alone in a dark corner. They'd formed a strong bond. Friends. Lovers. Maybe more. But then they'd each had to grow up and face the fact that their positions in life didn't allow them the freedom of the actors whose company they'd enjoyed so much. Responsibility had come at a great cost. As least as far as the Marquess of Spiketon was concerned.

"Not your articulate self, but I hear living in France can do that to you." Their gazes locked together. Spike wanted more than anything to kiss him, to feel the jolt that always shook him to the core when their mouths touched. "I've come to get you out. Take you home."

"Home...but the guards and..." Xander stopped, frowning at Spike, taking in the black clingy clothes and the intent look in his eyes. "You're the Scarlet Pimpernel," he said, more a statement than a question. He took a step back and punched Spike on the arm. "Are you crazy? What the hell do you think you're doing! You could get yourself killed!" In contrast to his previous actions, Xander pulled Spike close and kissed him hard on the lips. "And you didn't take me with you, you...you...imbecile!"

What was a kiss between friends? But if they were going to kiss, he damn well wasn't going to be satisfied with just one. "Don't think each of your insults won't be held against you. Later, much, much later," Spike muttered, wrapping his arms around the Frenchman, drawing him into a long hungry kiss.

So much was still the same. The way his heart hammered, the way he craved closer contact. The soul deep feeling that goodbyes between them were a terrible waste of life. And yet other things were changed. The boy was now a man. His body had filled out, hard muscles rippled under Spike's hands. The temptation to explore every angle and plane of Xander's body threatened to overwhelm him, sending warning signals to his brain. He broke the kiss, tamping down on his desires. "Let's get you out of here, then we'll get... re-acquainted."

Xander couldn’t help but whine softly when Spike retreated. "I don't want to wait," he growled and pulled Spike back to him, capturing his lips again. "Missed you so much, my William."

"And I, you." He held Xander for too brief a time, before stepping away. "Typical French, no sense of timing." He softened the words with a smile. "Listen. The guards will change in about a half candlemark. We have to move quickly. If there are things you want to take, they have to be small and mustn't be of the sort that can identify you for who you are," his gaze dropped to Xander's hand, where he knew wore a ring bearing the LaVelle name. "We can hide some of your things. You can come back for them after this distasteful affair is over, or we can have someone else smuggle them out. But we can't risk them being on your body or mine when we cross the barrier out of the city." He started to close the shutters. "And we'll need to make it look like you're still laying abed. The later they discover your disappearance, the better."

Xander sighed in disappointment. "Trust the English to be all practical instead of passionate. Very well then, we shall make haste."

After a brief hesitation, Xander removed his ring and hid it in the fireplace's secret compartment. "My father used to say, 'Desks can be moved at any time but buildings, they stay in place.' I hope he was right."

With one last look at the family portrait over the fireplace, Xander hastened to dress himself and followed Spike out into the night.

They'd taken the servants entrance which was in the back of the townhouse and lead to the small enclosed garden. Spike put his hand out and pressed Xander back against the wall. "Not yet," he whispered. He'd spent hours learning how often the guards walked by, how many steps they took. Coming in had been easy. He'd climbed the wall and jumped over. But now there were two of them, and dawn was starting to break so it would be easier to spot them.

France's finest marched right by them, speaking of women and drink. Spike hit Xander across the chest and smirked. No words needed to be exchanged.

The sound of new voices reached them. "Now. They're changing the guards," he whispered, "I have rooms at the Hotel de Paris. If we get separated, wait for me at the Tavern across the street." They ran to the wall, and Spike bent over to act as a step and boost Xander up. "Go on. Just pretend the headmaster is after us."

"The headmaster was always after us. I think he liked to tan your arse entirely too much." Xander smirked and jumped before Spike had a chance to answer. He crouched on the wall and leaned down to offer Spike a hand up, jumping quickly down the other side when Spike was with him.

"Now we run, yes? Follow me; we can't let Finne see us. He is a...a pit bull," Xander hissed and run towards the centre of town. He could take the backways and the alleys and reach the hotel before dawn actually broke. After that...he hoped Spike knew what he was doing.

Hand on the sword at his side, Spike ran, always slightly behind Xander, making sure they weren't being followed. "Pit Bull... is there any particular reason you picked a British breed? He's probably more like some fancy French poodle." Despite the jesting, Spike's mind was on serious matters. "If he touched a hair on your head, he won't live through this revolution," he swore, half under his breath.

"You call Finne a poodle to his face and get away with it and I shall make it worth your while," Xander grinned, not once breaking his stride.

The dark streets started to become more active. Loaded carts went by. Hawkers screeched about their goods. The smell of burning wood filled the air, masking some of the other less pleasant odors. By the time they reached the hotel, the sun had started to rise. Spike looked up at the wall he'd climbed down from. "Can you make it without a rope? I'm on the third floor," he said, "I can get up there and throw you a rope, but neither of us can walk in the front door." If anyone saw him in his current state of dress, so unlike the persona he'd cultivated, he'd be dead in the water, as would Xander.

"I am not as out of shape as you seem to think, Spike," Xander glared, mildly offended at Spike's continued doubts over his prowess. "I can make it. You've done it before. Lead the way and I shall use the same footholds to raise myself."

"No need to get on your high horse. For all I know you've been sitting back and living off the fat of the land, although..." he ran a heated gaze over Xander's very fit looking body, "if that's the case, you hide it very well."

One more glance around, and Spike made a running jump, clinging to the protruding carvings on the wall. Kicking his leg up, he found a good foothold, and pressed down, throwing one hand up high over his head to find the next handhold. Muscles bulged and burned as he climbed the sheer wall, glancing down on occasion to make sure Xander was following.

Eventually, he threw one leg over the balcony and made sure there was a red ribbon on the chair. He'd learned the hard way about climbing into wrong apartments and vowed never to make that mistake again. Reaching down, he hissed at Xander, who was doing remarkably well. "Come on then, get your arse up here before you face the headmaster’s cane."

"Is that a promise or a threat?" Xander laughed quietly as he jumped over the balcony. The moment he caught his balance he crowded Spike against one of the walls, leaning close enough to kiss but not making any physical contact. "Are we safe now? Perhaps we can get...reacquainted.”

"We can play headmaster and student later. Now it's just you - and - me." With every word, he moved closer, until his lips brushed against Xander's. "For old time's sake, then." He pulled Xander up hard against his frame, closed his arms around him and kissed him fiercely, with all the pent up passions that had built over the long lonely years.

It wasn't enough. With his back pressed against the wall, he straddled Xander between his legs and arched his hot, throbbing body into his. "You're as intoxicating as ever," he muttered, his breath coming out harsh and labored.

"Less talk, more passion," Xander mumbled into the kiss, delving inside Spike's mouth to explore and taste. His hands fluttered around Spike's body, anxious to touch everything and unable to settle on one place. He pushed his whole body against his lover, intent on feeling every inch of him.

"Lève ton jupon, ma douce. Montre-nous ce que tu caches en dessous." (*English - Lift your petticoat sweet, let us see what you're hiding there.)

The crude words brought Xander back to reality. They were still in the balcony. They may not be in full view of the street but they were still fairly conspicuous.

"We should move this inside, my William. I will not risk being interrupted," he ended on a leer, dropping another kiss on Spike's lips before grabbing his hand and heading inside.

Spike kicked the door shut behind him. Already, he'd tossed his overcoat and was undoing his cravat. Thank God he was wearing simple clothes and not one of the elaborately tied visions that took forever to undo. Eyes trained on Xander, he dropped the sword at his waist and undid his stocking-like trousers. "Less slowness, more skin," he countered, attacking Xander next to help him undress.

He peeled the man's snow white shirt off and dropped it to the ground, and ran a heated gaze over his chiseled chest and abdomen, down to the bulge that his clothes did nothing to hide. Unable to resist a second longer, he ran his palm across Xander's chest and over his abdomen, sucking in his breath when he Xander quivered under his touch. "My, how you've grown. I never imagined... bah, imagination is over-rated," he said impatiently, leaning close suddenly to kiss and taste the expanse of skin he'd revealed.

Xander moaned at the first touch of Spike's lips on his skin, his hands immediately dropping to tangle in Spike's hair, trying to guide him where he needed to feel him most. The first time Spike had discovered that all he had to do to make Xander melt was nibble lightly at a spot just under his ribcage Xander had spent the following days in a state of bliss. No other lover had ever managed to bring him to that state of bliss, no matter how Xander instructed or cajoled.

He nudged Spike's head to the left, muttering praises and threats if only Spike would just find that spot again.

* * *

[Present]

"Is that too much information for you? No?" Spike could see that Xander was enthralled by the story, whether he believed it or no, the boy hadn't moved out of the kitchen, or even poured himself a cup of coffee.

He moved so quickly that Xander had no time to avoid the long finger Spike dragged along his lowest rib "The spot that drove you wild, it was right here.".

Xander shivered at Spike's touch, instinctively moving closer to the feeling. The moment he realized what he was doing he took a step back, reaching out for some coffee. He pretended to ignore Spike, pouring a cup for himself and sitting down on the table.

Five minutes later he caved.

"What happened next?"

* * *

[The Past]

Xander lay bowed over Spike's supporting arm and practically arched off the bed as Spike attended to his special spot, kissing it, nipping it, then soothing the pain with his tongue. Spike’s heart swelled as he found he could still play the boy's body like and instrument, a most responsive instrument. Slowly, he slid his free hand down Xander's taut abdomen, growling softly as his hand closed over the guy's very swollen organ and felt it surge against his palm. He stroked, and rubbed his thumb up and down over Xander's trousers, never freeing him.

"You're trying to kill me aren't you, you English bastard," Xander complained, as he lifted his hips, trying to get more pressure on his cock. He reached out with both hands, cupping Spike's head and bringing it close so that their foreheads touched. "If you don't fuck me within the next few minutes I will find a way to make you pay dearly."

So saying, Xander placed a hard kiss on Spike's lips, his right hand dropping down to push Spike's own hand flat against his cock.

"All is fair in love and war. Isn't that what your countrymen are planning?" Though his voice was steady, Spike's hand wasn't as he untied the stays that held up Xander's trousers. "The French are so demanding, though in this one instance..." his breath caught at the look on Xander's face when he held his cock. He'd missed this so much, missed him. "Turn over," he said, pushing Xander onto his side, and shoving a pillow in front of his stomach for support.

Xander hastily turned, pushing his ass up and spreading his legs. He'd only ever allowed Spike to do this to him but he hadn't forgotten how good it'd felt, having his own William inside. His breaths became harsher and faster as he remembered the feeling of Spike stretching him and filling him up.

"Hurry up, Spike, please," he moaned, pressing down against the pillow, trying to relieve some of the ache he felt.

"Shshsh, all in good time." In truth, Spike's urgent need wouldn't allow him to draw it out this time. And the raw need in Xander's voice and motions wasn't helping. He was quick to pour some perfumed oil over his fingers, and then he hovered over Xander. "Relax," he rubbed his mouth over Xander's ear and cheek, in time with the motions of his hand as he carefully prepared him.

When he felt Xander push back against his hand, blood surged to his cock. Aligning their bodies, he pushed inside, stopping to allow Xander’s body to adjust. That about killed him, the stopping. Panting harshly, he counted to five before pushing in all the way. Xander closed around him so hot and tight, Spike saw white flashes and groaned with pleasure. Gripping the boy's hips, he started to thrust. Short stabbing thrusts alternating with slow leisurely thrusts, building the pressure inside him. "You still make me rock hard, you know that?" he ground out, swearing mildly as a violent shudder wracked his body, wrenching the muscles in his abdomen.

"Trust me...it's...uhn...it's mutual," Xander stammered out, his whole body shaking from the power of Spike's thrusts and his own attempts to slam back against him. He pressed his body down on the pillow and then up against Spike, trying to get the blond as deep inside him as he could. The friction on his cock was a damn fine bonus.

The closer Xander got to orgasm the more frantic he became. He needed to touch Spike, his William, needed to feel as much of him as he could. He reached back and fumbled for a moment before finding Spike's thigh, gripping it tightly. "Please, Will, I'm so close...please."

The plea robbed Spike of the last shred of his control. Nothing mattered but the feel of Xander writhing under him, pushing into him. His need reached a fevered pitch as he pounded into him, burying himself into Xander over and over, "say it again. Say my William," he demanded hoarsely, escalating his movements and arching as his groin stiffened to an almost painful state. "Say it!"

Xander threw his head back, letting out a breathless moan at the increased speed and force behind Spike's thrusts. "My William...my Will," he whispered, his grip tightening on Spike's thigh as he finally came, feeling his William deep inside him. He protested soundlessly when he felt Spike pull free of him and collapse next to him on the bed.

"I'd very nearly forgotten how good you feel, my William," he murmured, closing his eyes. After so many days of sleeplessness he was finally content enough to rest. Just before sleep overtook him he reached out and pulled Spike close to him. "That's better..." he sighed and finally fell asleep.

"I'll always make it better," Spike echoed, kissing the sleeping man lightly, and holding him in sleep. He'd lost something years ago. Now that he'd found it, he wasn't sure he could ever let go.

*

It was well past midday. Spike's valet had made sure to personally bring a breakfast tray with enough food for four people. The hotel was well acquainted with his master and his fickle, finicky ways, and no one batted an eyelash. Although Spike drank his tea and ate, he didn't awaken Xander. The fellow would need his energies for the day ahead.

Together with his valet, he was stacking up large rolls of colorful material when he saw Xander walk out of the bed chamber and lean against the door frame. His heart leapt at the sight of dark hair and sensuous lips. "Leave us," he ordered.

The minute the valet was gone, he crossed the room and gave Xander a wanton kiss. "You seem to have slept well after I put you through your paces."

"I always did sleep better with you around," Xander reminded him, leaning forward for another kiss. Just as their lips were about to meet, Xander spotted the breakfast tray. "Food!" he exclaimed and hurried towards the tray. "The bastard guards would only let me have bread and some old moldy cheese," he said as he pushed a large slice of apple in his mouth, ignoring all rules of etiquette. "Oh, this is perfect," he moaned, licking his lips and reaching for another slice. He didn't notice the lace until after he'd popped some more into his mouth. He swallowed hastily and gestured with his free hand. "Why is your room full of lace?"

Spike chuckled. "Well, France's textile trade is suffering and I'm helping in my own little way by buying French goods. How very anti-British of me in light of the embargos. This one... no this one," he said, finding the perfect roll of material. "You're going to be in the middle of it. That's how I’m getting you out of the city and through the barricades. Don't worry, I've done it before." He dropped the edge of the lacy material, and then sat down.

Usually a very cool and calm man, Spike was bit nervous. He gathered his thoughts then leaned forward. "Alexandre. Do you ever regret the pact we made. To put ... to put everything we were to each other behind us?"

Xander was examining the roll of lace curiously when William's question hit him. He turned to look at Will, noticing the slight nervousness in his eyes.

"We thought it was for the best," he said softly, dropping his eyes, "We're both only sons, someone has to have heirs." Xander turned his back to Spike, fiddling with the edge of one of the lace rolls. "You know...mama has been very disappointed in me. I've not married or shown an interest in a suitable woman. I...I couldn't...there was no..." Xander grew frustrated at his inability to express himself in English, “Ca n'allait jamais. J'avais beau essayer autant que je pouvais, je ne ressentais rien pour elles, à part de l'irritation qu'elles osent rivaliser avec toi ! Ton souvenir a toujours été bien plus réel qu'elles ne l'on jamais été." (English* - They weren't enough. No matter how much I tried they didn't make me feel anything but annoyance that they dared compete with you. Your memory, it has always been so much more then their reality could ever be. I...I have never really applied the pact, I never put you behind me.")


At first, he'd thought Xander was affirming their pact. But by the time he was done, Spike had hope. "Nor I," he said thickly. "I regretted it every day that passed. Maybe ... maybe now that you will be an émigré, we should renegotiate... rethink, nes pas?"

Xander turned to grin at Spike. "Of course I will need a lot of...convincing to accept a new agreement. You may begin to convince me after we have escaped. Let me have another croissant and then you can wrap me up in lace." Xander scrunched up his nose at the thought of being rolled in perfumed finery and moved to the tray again. "I'm absolutely famished."

"I will put my negotiation skills into effect at my first opportunity. Eat," he rose, satisfied and quite happy as he went over the items that had been packed in one of the chests that he'd be taking with him. "You will have a bit of food and water in case there are delays en route. As for any stiffness you may suffer from by the time I get you out, I will... take care of that as well in due course."

"I'll hold you to that," Xander replied, eyes twinkling at Spike.

* * *

[Present]

"Some things don't change, yeah?" Seeing Xander's blank look, Spike clarified. "Me. Saving your arse." Though he didn't add what a fine arse it was, the way his eighteenth century version had, the heated way in which his gaze traveled down Xander's backside was enough to give the boy the message.

"That time doesn't count. You so had an ulterior motive for saving m-his ass," Xander accused, "and stop looking at me like that, I'm not a French Comte I'm an American carpenter." He couldn't help but smile at Spike, the spirit of the story drawing him in. "Did they manage escape?"

* * *

[Past]

Xander held his breath, not making a sound as he heard the carriage stop. They had reached the gate and he could make out Sergeant Finne's voice snapping out question after question at William. He barely heard William's reply but he could have sworn he heard him simper. He frowned, wondering what was going on. William didn't simper. He was entirely too arrogant and manly to simper.

"Fa, Sergeant, please don't go waving that bayonet around. It looks sharp," Spike touched the end of it and flinched, sucking his finger tips. "Ouch. It not only looks sharp, it is sharp, you dedicated soldier, you."

Finne stared at the ridiculous vision of pink satin, white lace, powdered wig, and he swore the man had reddened his lips. Even the mole next to his mouth had to be a patch. This was what his country was fighting to get rid of, the so called joke of a nobility. He cleared his throat then spat on the man's boot. "English dog, do not dare touch me again, or else..." he jabbed the empty air with his baton.

Spike appeared oblivious to the threat, as he exclaimed, "oh dear, oh good God man, have you no idea what you've done? My valet polished my boots for hours until its shine rivaled that of the stars, and now you have made it as dull as you..."

"Monsieur..." Finne started to growl.

"As your rusty barricade, though I'm sure it is meant to be dull, unlike my boots. Oh..." he touched his forehead as if he was about to go into a faint, "I'm going to have to change now, and... are you done with me?"

Finne noticed the public around him beginning to titter and laugh at the scene. The one thing the sergeant could not abide was being laughed at.

"You may go. Do not return, you and your kind are no longer welcome here. This is the Republic now, home of the people, not overdressed, lazy aristocrats. LEAVE!" he yelled, basking in the applause his words caused.

Xander heard Finne scream at them to leave and allowed himself to relax a little. The carriage started moving again, leaving the city behind. Spike had told him that they would keep moving as they were until they were far from the city. He would not risk someone catching sight of Xander and reporting back. Xander relaxed completely, the motions of the carriage lulling him to sleep.

He woke up some time later, at the sound of Spike whispering his name.

"William? Get me out of here!" he immediately demanded, anxious to breathe fresh air.

"Right-o." Spike gave his multi-talented valet an order and the man took the other end of the long fabric roll. They placed it on the soft meadow ground, and then started to unroll it until dark hair and a face was visible beneath a length of lace. "Give us some privacy, check on the horses."

When his man left them, Spike lifted the last length of lace off Xander. "My dear Comte du LaVelle, you are almost a free man," he said, rising and giving him a mock bow, arms raised theatrically at his sides.

Xander lay on the floor, staring up at Spike in shock. "William?" he asked, getting up slowly to stand in front of the blond. "William, pour l'amour du ciel, qu'est-ce que tu portes ? C'est rose ! Et affreux ! Qu'est-ce que... ce sont des rubans ! Tu as des rubans dans ta perruque. Mon Dieu, tu t'es fardé les joues ! Ça ne va pas du tout. C'est de la bourre ? Tu portes un rembourrage autour du ventre?" English Xander reached out and poked at Spike's stomach, "You are!"

Xander took a step back, trying hard not to laugh at his lover. "You realize that I can never touch you again, right? Not without laughing too hard to do anything with you." Xander's lips twitched and a giggle escaped. Seconds later he was laughing so hard he could barely hold himself up and tears were coursing down his face.

Spike watched his friend dissemble right before his eyes. Oh, he appeared to be cool and unaffected, he was quite the master of the act. Inside, he squirmed in a way he never had when strangers made fun. After all, the whole point of it was to play a comical character that no one would fear or who believe would be capable of running the French soldiers in circles and making fools of them. But this was Xander who was laughing.

Ah well, stiff upper lip and all that. "Well then, you may have to forego those parts of me that need no padding," he threw out, pulling his eyesore of a great coat to the side to make his meaning clear. "I do hope the laughter passes. This is after all the persona I show to the world at large, at least until this blasted revolution is over."

His gaze narrowed at Xander's still shaking shoulders. And then it happened. Laughter unexpectedly bubbled up from inside him, just as it had when they'd been lads at school. Raising his monocle, he studied Xander. "Sink me, but aren't you a fine specimen of a man. La, if only I had your physique, I wouldn't have to bother with the padding. But your rump... surely that's padding," he swiftly moved away, expecting a blow.

Xander finally managed to get his laughter under control when Spike accused him of having a padded butt. "Padding? No padding anywhere on me. Wanna see?" he asked, wiggling his ass in Spike's direction.

"And how,"Spike leered, though he was sure the affect was spoiled by the fineries he wore. "However, this is no time for a romantic tryst you crazy Frenchmen, we're getting you out of here." He cleared his throat. "You will be taken to the coast and taken aboard my yacht. I have..." he cocked his head to one side. "I have to rescue a few others from the dungeons of a nearby ville. But when I return, we will have to talk terms, and I expect to be allowed a full inspection of your rump. Just to make sure it is ... real."

Any mirth Xander had felt was long gone by the time Spike had finished speaking. "You're going off alone? No. No I shan't have it. I won't stay on your yacht while you go risk your life. I'll come with you."

"Despite how I look now, I am still fully capable of defending myself. This is what I do," he replied, "I haven't lost my touch." As if to prove his point, he drew his rapier and tossed a branch into the air. With a few quick movements of his wrist, he'd cut the branch into four parts before they hit the ground. "Now give us a kiss, and go quickly."

"No. I don't care if you can defend yourself I am not going to just let you go like that!" Xander glared at Spike, angry at his cavalier attitude. "I just got you back and you expect me to let you run off into danger? You think I can just stay on the ship and wait?" Xander took a step closer to Spike, grabbing the lapels of his coat and pulling him close, "My William and I won't lose you again."

"La, you couldn't if you tried," he simpered, "give us a kiss," mouth puckered, he appeared to be asking for one, when he suddenly slammed the palm of his hand into Xander's forehead, knocking the guy's head back against the carriage. He caught Xander before the guy slumped down onto the ground. "Sorry, luv," he whispered, carrying him inside.

The carriage rocked. Spike started to nod off. He'd decided to go all the way to the coast with Xander since he'd knocked him out. If anything happened, Xander couldn't protect himself, and Spike wouldn't stand for that circumstance.

Xander slowly woke up, wondering what the hell had happened. The last thing he remembered was William about to kiss him and then...He snarled quietly as he remembered what happened then. The bastard thought he was getting rid of him that easily, did he?

Xander looked at the peacefully sleeping man next to him, his anger nearly overwhelmed by softer feelings. Nearly overwhelmed. Despite the ridiculous disguise, it was still his William under there and if his William thought he could get away with knocking him out then he was sadly mistaken. Xander reached for the knife he always carried with him and carefully placed it against Spike's neck. He wrapped his hand in Spike's hair, tugging it hard to wake him up.

The moment Spike's eyes snapped open, Xander pressed the knife against his neck.

"If you do that to me again, or try to get rid of me in any way you will be successful. I can't stay behind while you ride off into danger. I can't. I will leave and never return. I do not care if it breaks my own heart in the process I cannot live like that." Despite his apparent calm, Xander was upset enough for his voice to lose the clear accent he had cultivated and revert to the modulations of his mother language.

Spike's throat convulsed under the metal knife as he swallowed. He wasn't afraid of what Xander might do to him. But he was afraid Xander meant every word about never seeing each other again. What was the harm in partnering up with him in his adventures? Xander spoke flawless...almost flawless English when he wasn't in an emotional state like this. He was an excellent swordsman and of quick wit and mind. Really, what more could Spike ask for?

"Fine. From this moment forth, you are one of us... in the Scarlet Pimpernel Society. We'll save as many as we can. Together." He stretched his head back. "Now. Is that knife just for show, or is this a game of the headmaster having his way with one of the lads," he smirked at the fire that leaped into Xander's eyes.

Xander never ceased to be amazed at the way William could make him turn from just about any emotion to white hot lust with just a look. The knife was quickly returned to its sheath and Xander's lips were on Spike's kissing him for all he was worth.

"Do we have time for this?" he asked between kisses, "Aren't we supposed to be saving people?" Even as he spoke, Xander's hands were busy untying Spike's trousers, finally worming inside to cup the hardness he found there.

Groaning, Spike arched up into Xander's hand. "I might as well get used to the ways of the continent and forever being late. You're sure to keep me quite distracted, ahh... harder," he started ripping at Xander's shirt, anxious to feel skin against skin.

"Hush now, my William, you have to stay still. We cannot disturb your disguise now can we?" Xander whispered as he squirmed down to his knees in front of Spike. "Now what can we possibly do that would allow you to stay still?" he wondered, leaning down to lick up Spike's length. "Any ideas, William?"

Spike tangled his fingers in Xander's hair, drawing him closer, trying to get him to increase the pressure of his tongue lathing his cock. "'bout to explore that rump of yours if you keep that up," he growled, against pressing him closer. "Put that perfect mouth to good use, why don't you," he finally suggested in sheer frustration.

"You think my mouth is perfect?" Xander teased, blowing softly against Spike's cock. He laughed at the angry look thrown his way and immediately leaned forward to take as much as he could into his mouth. It'd been years since he'd last done this but it still felt as good as he remembered. Everything he and William had done back then had felt good. He heard Spike moan above him and redoubled his efforts, licking along the undersize of Spike's cock as he bobbed up and down.

As waves of pleasure crested, Spike thrust into Xander's mouth. "Perfect, yes...oh yes. Ahh," involuntarily, he pounded on the wall of the carriage. The driver brought it to a sudden halt. "Don't stop, Spike ordered Xander, at the same time pulling the curtain aside to speak out the window.

The carriage started again, and Spike shouted. Out the window. “Stop…”

“But you said…” The driver halted the carriage again and looked around the side.

"Turn the carriage around. We're not going to the coast first."

"My Lord...what about...."

"Just turn it around," he snarled, flopping back against the soft cushions, groaning as he stiffened, and finally exploded. Slumping back, he took a couple of deep breaths. "I can see having you along will be an... asset."

Xander chuckled around Spike's cock, looking up at the typically William expression in this strange looking man's face. Yeah, under all that was his own William. Spike thrust inside his mouth once again and Xander grabbed hold of his hips to steady him. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the little licks and nibbles he used to do to drive William crazy, happy to find out they still worked like before.

Swearing like a bloody sailor at how quickly Xander got him hard again, he wrapped his legs around the guy's back, drawing his knees close as he arched his hips over and over, until he cried out again. "Oh dear. I really do believe these boots are done for now, between you and Sergeant Finne... Alas, they're destroyed."

Shifting back to his true nature, he planted his legs on the floor of the carriage, sat up and kissed Xander hard, tasting himself on the guy's lips. "What a wicked pair we'll make."

Xander pouted at Spike, looking for all the world like he'd just lost his most valuable possession. "Typical selfish Brit, leaving me in this state," he sighed sadly, taking Spike's hand and bringing it to his own crotch. "I need to be in the right mood to rescue people you know."

"Do you now?" He pulled Xander onto his lap and rubbed his thumb along his length. "Ah... I see your point." Feeling him squirm in his lap, he kissed the guy’s neck, and freed him from his trousers. "But if you ruin my boots any further, I will have to kill you." From the noises Xander was making with every stroke of his hand, Spike didn't think he was even listening.

"Yes, of course," Xander agreed, eyes closed, concentrating on how good William's hand felt. He was sure William had said something about boots but he didn't really care, as long as he didn't stop moving his hand just like that.

It didn't take long for Xander to scream his release, between tasting William again and his own fevered remembrances he'd been close enough before Spike even touched him. He relaxed against Spike's body, eyes still closed, with a small smile gracing his face.

"Now I feel like rescuing people," he declared lazily.

* * *

[Present]

"I think you must have grown up on a diet of oysters, you were a bloody sex pot back then," Spike watched Xander's rapt face change to shock at his words. "Not making this up. How many stories do you think I can come up with on command." He snatched Xander's coffee and took a long drink, keeping his eyes on the boy.

"I was French, they're a highly sexed people!" Xander protested then looked doubly shocked. "You could so come up with stories on command," he accused, snatching his coffee cup back as he remembered who he was dealing with. This version of 'Xander' was so much more fun than the English Lord Alexander had been and he had half-convinced himself that Spike was telling the truth. "Soul or no soul you hate me and you would jump at the chance to humiliate me," he snapped.

"All is fair in love and war," he got a dreamy look in his eyes. So many lives. So many loves. So many of them Xander.

"Spike? Snap out of it, come on I wanna hear the rest of the story," Xander said, poking Spike in the arm.

"Give us a kiss then, mate." His blue gaze sharp once again, he backed off. "Right... not in this decade. At least not yet." He cut off Xander's angry protestations by picking up from where he'd left off.

* * *

[Past]

The carriage rolled into the sleepy ville during the wee hours of the night. Spike alighted from the carriage with much aplomb, ignoring his "servant" Alex's dark looks as Alex was forced to fetch and carry the luggage together with the driver.

"Is this how you treat a guest? I want lights, lots of them. And wine. Your best bread and cheese, and rooms. And I've brought my own sheets, please make sure to replace the bedding. I shudder at the thought of bland white," he said, looking the inn keeper over as if he found him wanting. The Frenchman had an angry flush, but in these times, the lure of money from a paying guest was too much to reject over pride.

Fires were lit, his rooms prepared. And trays of food were brought into his chambers. Oh yes, Spike and his servant made full use of the chambers, all night long.

In the morning, Spike made a nuisance of himself at the inn, as well as in the ville. His shopping spree frustrated the shopkeepers to no end, as he demanded a particular shade of red or yellow, showed distress at the creases in some of the clothes on display, and loudly asked whether it was any wonder most of the nobility had tailors.

"Say what you will, but our nobility is where it belongs, in jail," a yellow toothed man interjected. "And tomorrow, they will be taken to Paris, where the people will have their revenge."

"Nobility... nobility you say?" Spike turned in surprise. "I should be more than pleased to have a word with whoever it is you speak of. It has been rather difficult finding good conversation. A little entertainment would please me greatly."

"Fool." The man shook his head. "We are not here to entertain..."

Spike jangled the coins in his purse. Within moments, he was taken to their jail, and after tipping many hands, and being the butt of many jokes that he pretended not to understand, he was taken down to the dungeon.

He raised his monocle, "oh fa, are you sure they are nobility? They don't appear to be very noble.... quite bedraggled and unfashionable, if you ask me." With a scathing look, he made it quite clear he was done and wasn’t about to be bothered speaking with the hapless group.

Xander unobtrusively left William's side, walking calmly to the other room. It seemed that whether they were noble or peasant, people did not take much notice of a servant. Especially when the servant's master was all about drawing attention, Xander thought and smirked at the spectacle Spike was making of himself.

He waited until Spike drew the guards away, prattling on about style and fashion and ordering them to redesign their uniforms in happier colours.

As soon as the guards left the cell room he went back, motioning for quiet when the aristocrats seemed about to speak. He made short work of the locks, thanking Spike for introducing him to lock picking when they were in school. Every room in the school had been open to them, every exit and entry used for the greatest possible mischief.

"Il faut qu'on se dépêche. Suivez-moi et ne faites pas de bruit.” (English* - We need to hurry, follow me and keep quiet) Xander whispered, leading them out the back way, checking at every corner for guards or other people.

These things never proceeded entirely smoothly. The instant a warning cry reached them, the guards flanking Spike tried to stop him until things could be sorted out. Unfortunately for them, the rapier at his side, colorful as it’s handle and sheath were, wasn't for mere show. Within minutes, he cut them down, then ran back to find Xander holding his own in something that had devolved into a fist fight.

Spike wrinkled his nose. "Really, do you have to fight like a commoner?" Grabbing one of the soldiers, he kicked him in the arse, sending him into Xander's waiting arms. "Don't grow too fond of him my friend. And hurry, more are coming."

The last of the guards were taken care of. Xander shepherded the family to Spike's coach without further incidence. He pressed and prodded at the coach and helped the captives climb in the secret compartments. He'd been surprised to find that the elaborate carvings and designs of the coach hid compartments made to fit anything from child to adult. He rushed to stand innocently by the coach, looking bored and tired just in time to hear Spike come out of the jail and into the street...

"Help... oh help, it was dreadful, dreadful I tell you," Spike screamed to the captain of the guard who was approaching. "Do something, you lout! He was seven feet tall, no... taller. Had absolutely no color sense, and was merciless. La... I know not why he didn't cut me down as well," he visibly shivered. "Oh the blood, I don't know if it will ever wash off!" he pointed to a few small stains. "What do you think? Captain!?!"

He gave an audible sigh when the Captain rushed past him to investigate, and then other soldiers came out and told him to make himself scarce. They were going to search for the Scarlet Pimpernel. Of course that was after he provided a completely inaccurate description.

"British? Good Lord no, not with that accent. He managed to murder our language." Giving another visible shudder, Spike put his hand out, smirking slightly when the soldier refused to aid him into the carriage. "I think France has lost its allure for now. To England I will go, until the fabric situation grows desperate again," he announced, meeting Xander's eyes as the guy closed the door and sat with the driver when they headed out of town.

Xander fought the urge to whoop in sheer joy. They'd done it! They'd saved those people under the guards' very noses. William's disguise was the most effective way of averting suspicion Xander had ever seen. He managed to wait until they were close to the ship and then jumped through the window inside the carriage, landing gracefully on Spike's lap.

"You were magnificent, my William," he declared, smiling brightly at him.

"And you..." Spike laughed, settling his hands on Xander's hips. "You've developed some excellent moves. Both inside and outside the bed. This was a very dashing entrance..." he kissed him, groaning when the coach came to a sudden stop. "We'll continue this in the privacy of my room on board the yacht," he promised.

Once outside the carriage, they worked quickly to get the family they'd rescued into a row boat. As they rowed to the waiting yacht, Spike glanced over his shoulder and was satisfied no one was giving chase or was the wiser. He and Xander helped the women climb up the ladder to board.

And then came the part Spike hated the most. As France became smaller, the sound of sobbing erupted. It was natural. They were saying goodbye to their homeland. He sidled up to Xander. "We will come back, not only to save more people, but one day, to reclaim your ancestral lands," he promised.

"Of course..." Xander replied, looking wistfully at the coast as it slowly faded. He didn't really believe he would get his home back but they could save more people and maybe one day he would get his family crest back at least. He leaned closer to his William, needing to feel he still had something that belonged to him.

Xander stood on the deck, watching until he could no longer see the coast. He knew William was worried about him but he couldn't help but feel that he was losing France forever. Once the coast was out of sight he shook the melancholy off him and turned to face his future.

"Come on, my William, we still have terms to discuss!" he said, grabbing William's hand and dragging him below deck.

* * *

[Present]

Xander held back a girly sigh at the picture of the two men leaving France together like that.

"They stayed together, right?" he asked eagerly, "No hanging or anything like that?"

"They?" Spike gave him a long, speculative look. "You mean we."

Xander glared at Spike. "No, I mean they," he said harshly, "Even if...even if I believe the crap you're spouting about past us, they're still not us. Not this us, not this Spike and Xander. They're two other people so shut up about that and tell me if they stayed together," he insisted, shutting up the little voice in his head that whispered, 'if they're two other people why do you care so much?'

Spike didn't bother hiding his wounded look. He got revenge though... of sorts. "Oh yeah... we pretty much spent the rest of our lives fucking like rabbits, got your sister and mother married off, grew old together and saved plenty of other Froggies in the process."

"Oh," Xander said, a soft smile coming to his lips, "that's good then. W-they were happy. That's good." He smiled at Spike and wandered off to get ready for work. "Happy's good."


(A/N: If you enjoyed this fic or have concrit to contribute, please comment. Feedback makes writers post more and more frequently :) )