Tainted Returns

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Part Three
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Spike let out an audible sigh of relief when M'lkaro left the range of his senses. It was *over*; it was *finally* over. He snorted -- except for the Xander taunting, of course. He certainly couldn't forget that. He ignored the snide little voice inside him that ever-so-thoughtfully reminded him of M'lkaro's promise to spread the news to the far reaches of the demon community. He ignored it again, when it questioned just how long it would take Xander to discover that little fact.

"So," Xander asked, working loose the chains the Margaso had shortened, "what possesed you to deal with them in the first place?"

Spike shrugged. "Didn't have a lot of choice in the matter," he admitted, figuring it couldn't do any *more* damage. "I was desperate." He frowned, watching as Xander moved to the other chain. "You know, you should really wash that blood off you. It does funny things to humans."

Xander spun around, his expression of horror, comical. "What does it do?" he demanded.

Spike smirked. "Nothing too bad," he said. "Just makes all those nasty little inhibitions that humans carry around with them take a vacation." **Unless of course, you've been possessed,** Spike added privately, knowing he was safe in that regard. The closest Xander had been to that was the one halloween that the boy had spent acting like a soldier. Of all the stories the scoobies told; embarrassing ones, like when the fear demon had them running in circles; downright humilating ones, like when Dracula had enthralled Xander and had him eating bugs; the ones about Xander's predictable love life, -- demon magnet is *right*; no one had ever even remotely *hinted* at any one of the Scoobies ever having been possessed.

"Oh?" Xander asked, and Spike wasn't sure he liked the *interest* he heard in the whelp's voice. "How long does that last?"

Spike's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Xander shrugged. "Curious."

Finally, seeing no harm in satisfying the boy's curiosity, he answered. Hopefully, being 'helpful' would shorten the time the boy would ride him about 'owning' him. "Two to three days, on average. I've seen it last as long as a week -- but the girl had been drenched in the stuff."

Xander nodded then, grinning suddenly.

**Not good,** Spike thought.

"Hey!" he protested as Xander pulled his arm toward a manacle. "No way are you putting me in that thing, Wanker!" He pulled back abruptly, glaring sharply when his traitorous body didn't respond with the strength it should have. He was still caught in Harris' grip.

He continued to struggle as he watched his arm inch toward the now *hated* manacle. "This is *NOT* funny, Harris!"

Xander paused then, looking at him strangely. "It isn't meant to be, Spike." Xander cocked his head. "What made you think it was?"

Spike frowned, growing seriously concerned. He wouldn't have expected Xander to be into this sort of thing, not even deeply in his subconcious. Of course, the blood wouldn't be affecting him yet. That took time. It wasn't some instant magical whammy -- though, he wasn't quite sure how, exactly, it did work, just that it did. Consequently, that ruled that out as an explanation for Xander's odd behavior.

When Xander renewed his attempts to restrain him, Spike also renewed his struggle. No way in hell was he letting the boy get him back into those!

"Spike!" Xander hissed, suddenly closing the distance between them to mere inches. "I bruised my shoulder into next week firing that ancient shotgun. If you continue to struggle, you're going to hurt me." He smirked. "And we *both* know what happens then."

"Oh! I can not bloody believe this!" Spike exclaimed angrily. "You *so* did not just tell me not to fight you because it might hurt you!"

"You're right," Xander admitted, "I didn't. I told you that, so you wouldn't hurt *yourself*."

Spike's eyes narrowed, shock flooding him. Xander took advantage of Spike's one second of frozen disbelief and managed to lock the manacle around his wrist.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Spike cursed, feeling like he was repeating himself. He jerked backward, *finally* wrenching himself out of Xander's grip.

Xander's hand shot out, and slapped him, open-handed across his jaw. Spike let out a pained shout as the blow landed on *exactly* the same spot as Lart's had. "Damn it, Harris!" he retorted. "When the hell, exactly, did *you* come to *my* side of the force?"

Xander's jaw clenched. "Exactly the moment I found out you attacked one of my best friends," he hissed.

**Fuck!** Spike slumped, Xander's angry taunt like a punch in the gut. His second wrist was in a manacle before he recovered. Closing his eyes, Spike tried to calm himself. He was completely restrained, effectively helpless against an angry, soon to be inhibitionless -- was that a real word? -- human. How bad could it be? It was *Xander*.

Understandably, the boy was angry; Spike had attacked, had almost *raped* one of the whelp's best friends. Obviously, the boy needed to work off some aggression. He could understand that. He wouldn't *enjoy* being the recipient, but he could understand it. But, and he couldn't really move past this, it was *Xander*, how bad could bad get? Xander was 'the heart' of the scoobies, the ultimate good guy, as Angelus had aptly named him, the 'White Knight'.

It wasn't as though he could. . . . Spike's thoughts trailed to a halt as his mind supplied *exactly* where this could go, what someone like Xander -- his inhibitions and moral training completely stripped from him -- would consider appropriate retribution. He could see two different places it could go, actually -- and he *really* didn't like either one.

"You *really* don't want to do this, H-- Xander," Spike began, his voice placating. "When the blood wears off, you'll hate yourself, and you really don't want that."

"Oh really?" Xander asked. "What makes you think I've changed my plans for the evening?"

Spike frowned, unable to find a quick reply to that. "You came here intending this?" he asked finally, shaking the manacles that held him in place, still angry about them, but grateful that, at least, he wasn't strung up like he had been before.

"No, I have to admit that the manacles are an adlib, but they'll make my plans *so* much easier."

"Xander," Spike began again. There *had* to be some way to get through to him.

"Spike," Xander interrupted, striding forward. "Shut up," he finished, abruptly shoving the knife against his most tender -- and treasured -- parts, "unless of course, you'd prefer speaking soprano?"

Spike clamped his mouth shut. He most definitely did *not* want to encourage *that* line of thinking.

"Good boy," Xander smirked.

Spike raged, his eyes flashing gold briefly, but he kept his mouth shut. That blasted knife was still held against his groin. It was a *very* effective gag.

Xander's eyes flickered down. Wincing when the boy grinned, Spike was nevertheless relieved when the knife moved *away*.

"You won't mind if I borrow this, I trust?" Xander asked, not waiting for Spike's reply before releasing the buckle on Spike's belt, quickly working it loose from his jeans.

"Hey!" Spike exclaimed in outraged protest. "Hands off!"

Xander ignored him. Crossing the room, he took the belt to the table and bent low over it.

The boy's back to him, Spike twisted, trying to see what the whelp was doing to his belt. "That's my only belt, you wanker! Don't mess it up."

Xander just chuckled.

**Son of a bitch!** Spike thought, now seriously wondering if the blood really was affecting the whelp this quickly. And, **Damn it all to hell!**, he *really* wanted to know what was being done to his belt! His eyes narrowed as a new thought occurred to him. Harris was bloody using the blood dousing as an excuse to do whatever he wanted! **That sneaky son of a bitch!** he thought, actually impressed.

Xander finally straightened, holding the belt triumphantly up. Spike didn't like the truly evil cast to Xander's growing smile.

"Now the fun can start," Xander practically purred as he crossed back to the bound Spike.

Spike shied backward. "And just what 'fun' would *that* be?" he asked. "Cuz, you know, I *really* don't think our ideas of fun are gonna match."

"You'd consider it fun if you were in my position," Xander countered, circling behind Spike.

"Not really reassuring me there, Xander," Spike replied, trying to twist around so he could continue to watch Xander.

"Wasn't meant to," Xander retorted with a soft chuckle.

Spike flinched as a loop of the belt came over his head. "No bloody way, Harris!" Spike snapped as Xander began tightening the belt around his neck.

Spike twisted and ducked, but held in place as he was, it ultimately did him no good.

"There," Xander said, once the belt was secured, "your new collar -- complete with leash."

Spike growled. "Just remember this, *Harris*. When everything is said and done, eventually I'll be free, that is when you'll need to watch your back. Remember *that* as you're having your . . . *fun*."

"Oh, I will," Xander replied, and Spike could hear the grin. "You want to know what your leash says?" he asked.

"No!"

"Well, I'm going to tell you anyway."

Spike blinked as the tail of the improvised collar and leash was suddenly thrust before his eyes. It took a moment to focus on the words scratched into the leather.

~ ~ ~Property of Alexander LaVelle Harris~ ~ ~

Eyes blazing, Spike jerked his head to the side. "You're letting the Margaso paperwork go to your head, Whelp!" Spike snapped, his gut clenching as he realized that instead of teasing him as he'd expected, Xander was apparently planning on taking his claim as 'owner' quite seriously. "My, my," he continued snidely, "what would your friends think -- 'owning' a vampire."

"Who's going to tell them?" Xander asked sweet "Yo "You? I can see it now."

"Buffy . . . Yeah, I know I did, but you've got to listen. Xander 'owns' me, and he's . . . *gasp* . . . taking *advantage* of me."

Spike growled again. "Not even remotely funny, Harris."

"Really? I thought it was."

When Spike didn't retort, Xander sighed. "Nothing left to say?"

Spike remained silent. He was determined, now, to ride this out without saying another word. He seemed to only dig himself deeper every time he opened his gob.

"Ah, well," Xander said finally. "I discovered something a long time ago, but I've never had the opportunity to test it. I don't really understand how it works, considering you guys don't actually *have* circulation -- no working heart to pump it round."

Spike frowned again -- it was getting to be a habit. **What the bloody hell is he going on about?**

"Damn, Spike, if I'd known it was *this* easy to get you to shut up, I'd have done this a *long* time ago."

Spike glared, but stubbornly kept his mouth shut. He knew damn well that the boy was trying to get a rise out of him, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let the wanker win that easily. He was, however; beginning to wonder if he might not have been better off staying with the Margaso.

"Not even curious?" Xander asked with another laugh. Shrugging, he reached up.

Spike reared forward as Xander's thumbs pressed into the veins on either side of his neck, coming to an abrupt halt when he reached the end of the chains holding him. He brought his chin down savagely, trying to block, or alternately, to break, Xander's fingers. The chip twinged at that thought, and Spike groaned mentally. **NOT fair!**

Spike didn't have a clue how it worked either, but he'd used the manuever on Dru, so he knew id. d. If he didn't dislodge Xander's thumbs he had about 20 seconds of consciousness left. Spike's vision started darkening. **Okay,** he admitted, **I *might* have overestimated a tad.** It was his last thought before the darkness reached up and grabbed hold of him.


TBC
Kiristeen
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com

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