On the Other Side
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Slash - Male/Male › Angel(us)/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
30
Views:
9,107
Reviews:
40
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Slash - Male/Male › Angel(us)/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
30
Views:
9,107
Reviews:
40
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 28
Chapter 28
Spike groaned, lifting his naked body from the hardwood floor, wincing when certain parts became unstuck from the cold surface. He was naked, in the hallway, soiled bedsheets thrown over his shivering body. He stood, his stomach rolling at the movement, and gingerly bent to gather the dirty linens from the floor. Staggering to the bathroom, he dumped the laundry into the hamper and turned towards the mirror.
Face pressed into a pillow, frog-legged and pinned to the mattress, he groaned when his prostate was viciously rammed.
He looked the same.
He hated the way his cock always rose under the assault, as if it…wanted this.
On the inside, he felt as if he were a different person, if a person at all. He was angry and confused and heartbroken, yet he looked like the same cocky bastard that strutted around school, making all the girls swoon and the teachers curse under their breaths. It had become so predictable, so routine, so…normal. Get up, go to school, come home, get fucked up the ass by his father, cry himself to sleep, then get up the next morning and do it all again. This was his life.
Warm drops of sweat splattered onto his naked body from the drunken man above; he winced as one ran into his left eye.
Maybe he still looked the same because this was the way things were supposed to be, maybe this was all he was, maybe there was just something in him that made these things happen, and he didn’t look different because he wasn’t any different. Maybe this really was him.
His father’s hips were pistoning into him so violently that he was actually being lifted up and pushed across the bed, the scratchy duvet burning his cheek. He really wasn’t feeling well.
It couldn’t be.
He bit his lip at the tears that threatened to come. He just…wouldn’t think about it. He turned the taps in the sink, splashing his face with cold water.
The older man was becoming frantic…if only he could last a few more moments…
He felt better, more in control, but he didn’t risk another glance toward the mirror.
At one particularly brutal thrust, he felt his stomach turn over and he cringed at what he knew was about to happen.
He turned toward the shower, starting the water and adjusting the temperature to near-scalding. What he needed was a shower, needed to wash away the thoughts, down the drain, into the sewers from where they’d never return.
Just as the old man came, he vomited, a pinkish stain seeping into the material around his head.
He was just about to step into the shower when his stomach rumbled; he barely made it to the toilet in time for his stomach to heave the rest of its contents into the bowl.
”You filthy whore!” He felt himself be lifted and tossed out into the hall, knocking his head against the wooden floor.
“Are you ok?”
Eyes wide with surprise, Spike jerked up, groaning a bit as the movement made his head swim. There, in the doorway, was Xander.
“Fuck, Xan. Nearly scared the shit outta me.”
Even in the darkness, Spike could make out the pinkish tinge creeping onto the younger boy’s cheeks. “Sorry. I just…heard..something, and…are you alright?”
“Yeah, just peachy. Too bad I can’t say the same for my stomach.” He leaned back over the toilet as another swell of nausea rose in his gut. “Ugh. Think it was something I ate.”
“He poisoned you!”
Confusion marring his features, he risked a glance up. “What?”
“H-he poisoned you! That bastard!”
Spike nearly chuckled at the look of outrage on Xander’s face, but thought better of it when his stomach did another flip. “Who? Angel?” He managed a half-smirk. “Xander, that’s ridiculous. Was my own fault, snacking without asking, I suppose.” Wiping his face, he struggled to his feet and flushed the toilet, turning to the sink and rinsing the vomit from his face and hands.
He turned back to the boy standing warily at the door. “See? ‘M fine. Just a little upset stomach. Gonna take a shower now, so go on back to bed.”
Xander hesitated in the entrance. “You sure you don’t want me to stay…just in case?”
He pasted on his best grin. “Nah, go get your beauty rest – you’re the only one it’ll do any good anyhow.” He winked at the brunet, who ducked behind a curtain of floppy bangs and blushed before leaving the room.
Spike followed him out, watching him shuffle down the hall and into his bedroom.
He shut and locked the door behind him.
************
Spike stepped out of the shower and, shuddering at the change in temperature, wrapped himself in the fluffiest towel he could find. It was pink; his Mum had bought it to match the little flowers on the bathroom curtains before she… He shook his head, rubbing furiously at his skin to soak up the rapidly cooling droplets of water before dropping the towel to the floor.
Still naked, he opened the door and peered into the hallway. Satisfied that the other occupants were asleep, he slipped down the corridor and into his room, shutting the door behind him.
He found a pair of boxers lying on the dresser, sniffed them and, satisfied that they didn’t smell too horribly, slipped them on. Turning off the overhead light, he slipped between the sheets on his bed. He’d just gotten comfortable when he realized his feet were cold. He blinked stupidly at the ceiling for a moment before flinging back the covers and stumbling blindly through the piles of clutter to the dresser, where he found a clean pair of socks and put them on. Shivering, he quickly jumped back into the bed.
He sighed when the blankets began working and he was soon surrounded by a cocoon of warmth. Pressing himself more firmly into the mattress, he took a deep breath and nearly gagged.
He’d taken a shower and had used most of a half-bar of soap, but he still smelled like vomit. He sat up and began sniffing himself to locate the spot he’d missed, but the only scent clinging to his skin was that of the soap. Then, suddenly, it dawned on him: Wesley.
Wesley had puked in his bed…was it just this morning? It seemed like weeks ago. And now the mattress smelled so rancid he couldn’t stand to sleep there. Grumbling about ‘sodding nancies that can’t hold their liquor’, he gathered the blankets from the bed and headed down the stairs.
Spike groaned, lifting his naked body from the hardwood floor, wincing when certain parts became unstuck from the cold surface. He was naked, in the hallway, soiled bedsheets thrown over his shivering body. He stood, his stomach rolling at the movement, and gingerly bent to gather the dirty linens from the floor. Staggering to the bathroom, he dumped the laundry into the hamper and turned towards the mirror.
Face pressed into a pillow, frog-legged and pinned to the mattress, he groaned when his prostate was viciously rammed.
He looked the same.
He hated the way his cock always rose under the assault, as if it…wanted this.
On the inside, he felt as if he were a different person, if a person at all. He was angry and confused and heartbroken, yet he looked like the same cocky bastard that strutted around school, making all the girls swoon and the teachers curse under their breaths. It had become so predictable, so routine, so…normal. Get up, go to school, come home, get fucked up the ass by his father, cry himself to sleep, then get up the next morning and do it all again. This was his life.
Warm drops of sweat splattered onto his naked body from the drunken man above; he winced as one ran into his left eye.
Maybe he still looked the same because this was the way things were supposed to be, maybe this was all he was, maybe there was just something in him that made these things happen, and he didn’t look different because he wasn’t any different. Maybe this really was him.
His father’s hips were pistoning into him so violently that he was actually being lifted up and pushed across the bed, the scratchy duvet burning his cheek. He really wasn’t feeling well.
It couldn’t be.
He bit his lip at the tears that threatened to come. He just…wouldn’t think about it. He turned the taps in the sink, splashing his face with cold water.
The older man was becoming frantic…if only he could last a few more moments…
He felt better, more in control, but he didn’t risk another glance toward the mirror.
At one particularly brutal thrust, he felt his stomach turn over and he cringed at what he knew was about to happen.
He turned toward the shower, starting the water and adjusting the temperature to near-scalding. What he needed was a shower, needed to wash away the thoughts, down the drain, into the sewers from where they’d never return.
Just as the old man came, he vomited, a pinkish stain seeping into the material around his head.
He was just about to step into the shower when his stomach rumbled; he barely made it to the toilet in time for his stomach to heave the rest of its contents into the bowl.
”You filthy whore!” He felt himself be lifted and tossed out into the hall, knocking his head against the wooden floor.
“Are you ok?”
Eyes wide with surprise, Spike jerked up, groaning a bit as the movement made his head swim. There, in the doorway, was Xander.
“Fuck, Xan. Nearly scared the shit outta me.”
Even in the darkness, Spike could make out the pinkish tinge creeping onto the younger boy’s cheeks. “Sorry. I just…heard..something, and…are you alright?”
“Yeah, just peachy. Too bad I can’t say the same for my stomach.” He leaned back over the toilet as another swell of nausea rose in his gut. “Ugh. Think it was something I ate.”
“He poisoned you!”
Confusion marring his features, he risked a glance up. “What?”
“H-he poisoned you! That bastard!”
Spike nearly chuckled at the look of outrage on Xander’s face, but thought better of it when his stomach did another flip. “Who? Angel?” He managed a half-smirk. “Xander, that’s ridiculous. Was my own fault, snacking without asking, I suppose.” Wiping his face, he struggled to his feet and flushed the toilet, turning to the sink and rinsing the vomit from his face and hands.
He turned back to the boy standing warily at the door. “See? ‘M fine. Just a little upset stomach. Gonna take a shower now, so go on back to bed.”
Xander hesitated in the entrance. “You sure you don’t want me to stay…just in case?”
He pasted on his best grin. “Nah, go get your beauty rest – you’re the only one it’ll do any good anyhow.” He winked at the brunet, who ducked behind a curtain of floppy bangs and blushed before leaving the room.
Spike followed him out, watching him shuffle down the hall and into his bedroom.
He shut and locked the door behind him.
Spike stepped out of the shower and, shuddering at the change in temperature, wrapped himself in the fluffiest towel he could find. It was pink; his Mum had bought it to match the little flowers on the bathroom curtains before she… He shook his head, rubbing furiously at his skin to soak up the rapidly cooling droplets of water before dropping the towel to the floor.
Still naked, he opened the door and peered into the hallway. Satisfied that the other occupants were asleep, he slipped down the corridor and into his room, shutting the door behind him.
He found a pair of boxers lying on the dresser, sniffed them and, satisfied that they didn’t smell too horribly, slipped them on. Turning off the overhead light, he slipped between the sheets on his bed. He’d just gotten comfortable when he realized his feet were cold. He blinked stupidly at the ceiling for a moment before flinging back the covers and stumbling blindly through the piles of clutter to the dresser, where he found a clean pair of socks and put them on. Shivering, he quickly jumped back into the bed.
He sighed when the blankets began working and he was soon surrounded by a cocoon of warmth. Pressing himself more firmly into the mattress, he took a deep breath and nearly gagged.
He’d taken a shower and had used most of a half-bar of soap, but he still smelled like vomit. He sat up and began sniffing himself to locate the spot he’d missed, but the only scent clinging to his skin was that of the soap. Then, suddenly, it dawned on him: Wesley.
Wesley had puked in his bed…was it just this morning? It seemed like weeks ago. And now the mattress smelled so rancid he couldn’t stand to sleep there. Grumbling about ‘sodding nancies that can’t hold their liquor’, he gathered the blankets from the bed and headed down the stairs.