Turnabout

"Well that's fucking lovely," Spike fumed, torn between outrage at being blown off and concern over Xander's clearly distraught state. He pocketed the key and looked around the bar again. Shutting himself back up in the room hardly appealed after a day of being forcibly enclosed, so he shoved himself to his feet and wandered back over to the bar.

"Hey goldilocks," Margie grinned at him. "C'n I set you up with another?"

"Sure, ducks."

"What'll it be this time?"

"Back to that O-neg you served up the first time `round."

"You got it. You lose your drinking pal?"

"Apparently he had better places to be." Spike refrained from growling, just barely.

"Gotta say, it doesn't surprise me." She handed him his drink. "Surprised me a helluva lot more to see him walk in here with somebody." Spike quirked an eyebrow, and she continued. "Alexander's been here a while, but he's not much of a talker. He shows up most nights for a drink or four then takes off."

"Where's he get off to?" Spike tried to keep the question casual.

"Couldn't tell ya."

"Can't or won't?"

"None of my business where folks go after they walk out those doors," she gave him a searching stare before moving off to respond to a customer at the other end of the bar. Spike noticed that she didn't answer his question. The don't-ask, don't-tell atmosphere of the place made her answer frustrating, but not unexpected. Besides, he reasoned, all she knew of him at this point was vampire, and a vampire hanging out with a human generally didn't work out well for the human in the party. He turned around to rest his back against the bar and tried not to gulp down the blood that continued to bring much needed replenishment to weary limbs. He watched the other patrons move about, talking, dancing, laughing. He wanted to lose himself in the crowd, and he wondered if he closed his eyes and just listened, he could picture himself lurking back at The Bronze with all the Scoobies alive and well.

Closed eyes were not the best policy in a demon bar, Spike irritably reminded himself as a hand clamped down on his right shoulder, jostling what remained of the blood in his glass. He turned to see a hulking figure with vamped out face looming over him.

"Piss off." Spike sneered, trying to dislodge the hand from his shoulder. Another vampire stepped in front of him as a third took up position on his left.

"Bugger all. What do you gits want?" Spike maintained an unaffected air.

"Just a friendly warning," the shorter vampire in front of him offered smoothly. "This is our place, and we don't take kindly to anybody scaring off the clientele." He stared at Spike through yellow eyes. Clientele? So it's like that then, is it. Spike waited for him to continue with whatever threat might be on offer. "So I suggest you stick to what Margie serves or you just move yourself along outta here. Otherwise you might find yourself being swept outta here." Spike refrained from rolling his eyes. He could tell the vamp in front of him had been around a few years, but the hulking muscle at his sides were hardly fledges. Clearly minions turned for intimidation factor alone. What the hell, minions are replaceable. He had gone through dozens himself in his day, sometimes in a single night. Spike casually slid his left hand into a duster pocket to grasp the stake hidden there while he turned to set his glass back on the counter.

"Cheers for clearin' that up, mate." Before any of the three could react, Spike had the stake out and through the heart of minion number one on his left, and as minion number two reached for him, the blond vampire brought the stake back around, leaving another pile of dust to join the first.

"Now. Let me clear something up for you." Spike advanced toward the remaining vampire. "I'm not interested in your little operation." He laced his tone with condescension. "So sod off or your whores will get to tell the stories about how you pissed off William the Bloody and how much fun he had before he let you take that long walk into the sunshine." The other vampire's face blanched at the mention of Spike's name and what he might consider fun.

"Right. Got it." He backed away from the bar and slipped off into the crowd.

"That was almost fun." Spike turned back to the bar and picked up his glass, only to find himself face to face with Margie.

"You know, sugar, I can't have you dusting the patrons of this fine establishment." The twinkle in her eye belied the stern tone. "Even those shits."

"Won't happen again," he vowed.

"See that it doesn't," she turned serious before walking away. Spike sighed. Back one day and he was already dusting vamps and breaking rules. His unlife was beginning to feel familiar. He brushed the dust from his jacket and jeans and headed toward the door, noticing with pleasure the wide berth that patrons gave him.

The pleasure faded as he found himself back outside and faced with the prospect of an empty room. Still wound up from the encounter, he didn't relish heading in for the night, but at the same time, he didn't know when Xander would get back. And there was the worry again. Where had he gone? What was he doing? Who was he with? The questions pummeled him, but he had no answers to fight back. He urged himself not to worry. After all, the boy had survived seven years living on the Hellmouth fighting alongside the Slayer. But she's not here now. The thought came unbidden. None of them are. The familiar fear and despair of abandonment pressed in on him. He wasn't sure whom the heavy sigh was for, himself or Xander. He turned back toward the room, feeling the need to pace and brood. Brilliant. I'm becoming the soddin' poof. He slid the key into the lock, wincing at the thought of Angel's legendary brooding, until he remembered the three bottles of whiskey in the closet and decided to liberate one. At least he didn't need to brood entirely sober, and since Xander was to blame for the brooding, the least he could do is supply the libations. Logic clearly justifying his plan for the night, Spike closed the door behind him, making sure to leave it unlocked, and headed for the closet.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Xander sucked in the night air as he pushed his way out the bar doors. The sultry night did nothing to mitigate the pain that coursed through his body. He hadn't spoken her name for weeks, at least not during his waking hours, and he could not sit at the table with someone who knew her, knew them together. He had lied to Spike. He had no meeting scheduled with someone else, but the yearning to get away, to escape, shoved him to his feet and chased him out the door. It continued to push him across the parking lot and toward the room at the end of one of the L-shaped wings of the building. The pain overpowered the self-disgust that had been strong enough recently to guide him away from the temptation that ruled his nights. Already he could feel the call of the oblivion that came from sharp fangs cutting into his skin to pull at the blood coursing under the surface. Spike brought the past in too close. It was one thing to dream of Sunnydale every night, but to have it brought into his waking world as well was too much. Tonight he needed his world to constrict to that focus on mouth on skin, the sucking that pulled his awareness away from anything but his heart pounding in his chest and the soaring eroticism that jolted through his limbs to rage in his cock in time with each suctioning swallow of blood taken from him.

His feet ignored the arguments thrown out by his mind. Pictures of the pathetic ass that had been Riley Finn and the Scoobies' disgust for his habit. He ran his friends' faces through his mind: the horror and disgust that he deserved from Buffy and Dawn, the disappointment and withdrawal he feared from Giles and Willow, the derision he could expect from Faith and Spike. Only now Spike was here. His steps faltered on that thought. He would have to face that derision, the smirk that exposed how pathetic he was, in person, in his own room. Spike would know. He would smell the vamp on him, smell the wounds. He could stop, turn around now. But turning around meant going back to the bar where Spike was or going back to the room where Spike would be. Then there would be more talking and more pain and he wanted the pain gone more than anything else. Besides, Mistress Viola owed him this one. He had paid for tonight's suckfest with his bare ass last night, playing the good submissive to one of her minions as required, whoring his body in order to pay for the oblivion that came only when those fangs broke the skin and sucked the misery out along with the blood for a time. So he kept walking, past the two vamps who stood outside the door to room 192 and into the dimly lit interior.

Low lamps seemed to cast shadows more than provide illumination, and Xander's eye slowly adjusted to the change from the comparatively brightly-lit parking lot. He leaned against the wall to await the summons from the dark-haired petite vampire who coordinated the exchanges between vampire and client. She nodded at him, acknowledging his presence with a knowing smile. It had been almost two weeks since he last stumbled in here. That was the longest amount of time he had gone between hits since he first started, and she knew how desperate he would be.

Xander's body began to tingle in anticipation as he glanced over the couples sprawled over the chaise lounges and couches that had replaced the motel rooms’ standard bed and dresser. A wall had been knocked down between this room and the one next door to create one large suite. Xander tried to ignore the pride that threatened to swell as he remembered that it was his work, his direction, that had made the construction possible. Self-disgust soon squelched his reflections over his handiwork. Reduced to remodeling a vampire nest instead of cleaning it out. Buffy would be so proud. He let the internal sarcasm prick and burn before shaking his head sharply to clear it of any thought. He returned his attention to the couples, watching mostly men writhe under the ministrations of vampires of both sexes.

His breathing grew shallow as he watched a couple in the far corner. The man lay sprawled across the couch with his head lolling on the arm. A male vampire with shaggy blond hair draped himself over the man, one hand behind his neck pushing it closer to the mouth latched where shoulder and neck met and the other hand clearly pulling and twisting in the man's crotch. Xander's skin prickled and he felt the blood rush south, his own arousal beginning. He could not tear his eyes from the sight, and no one would expect him to. Shame hardly fit into the vampire way of life, and at this point Xander was aware of nothing but his own need. His prior life, his friends, even Spike waiting for him back in the room, began to strip away from his narrowing awareness of this moment and the frustrated need to be the one underneath the vampire's ministrations.

The woman who had approached Xander in the bar sauntered over to the dark-haired vampire coordinating the transactions between vampire and client and whispered something to her, receiving a nod in return. She then walked over to Xander, demon visage coming to the fore.

"Hello, lover," Mistress Viola crooned as she ran her fingers up Xander's arm. His eyes widened before they dilated with lust and need. "Looks like you couldn't resist my offer after all. Who will it be tonight? Serena again? Or something different?" She winked and took the clipboard from her maitre d's hand.

"Ramone," Xander whispered harshly.

"Ramone? Hmmm, delightful choice." She turned and crooked her finger at the punk vampire leaning against the wall. He ground out his cigarette and sauntered across the room. Xander sucked in a sharp breath as he watched. The lean vampire had spiked black hair and several silver earrings in each ear. He wore painted-on black leather pants with a wide silver-studded belt and a black tee with Billy Idol on it. Xander didn't miss the irony. He knew that his attraction to this particular vampire related directly to his attraction to the very vampire he was trying to avoid tonight, but he couldn't stop himself. He knew he'd been attracted to Spike for years, and the vampire's return with a soul coupled with apparently imminent death at the hands of The First allowed him to accept that. By then Spike's obsession with Buffy discouraged and discomforted Xander so much that he avoided the Englishman altogether. Then Spike was gone, and Xander let himself imagines das dark punk with white-blonde hair and tried to hear the Peruvian accent as British guttersnipe. When he closed his eye, the hard, lithe form and fangs completed the picture, and he could not resist that illusion tonight.

Ramone took his hand and led him to an empty couch. The vampire pushed Xander back onto the cushions as he shucked off the long-sleeve flannel shirt and settled himself into a slouched position, legs spread apart and head leaned back.

"Just do it," the jagged whisper all he could manage.

"What do you want tonight?" The low seductive voice brought his cock the rest of the way to attention as Ramone knelt on the floor between his legs. Cool fingers stroked down each arm, and the hard chest leaned forward to brush tight abs against the straining bulge in the human's jeans.

"Bite me. Now. I need you to bite me." He held out his right arm. Scars marred the skin on the inside of his bicep. The vampire pulled himself up, still kneeling, and grasped the arm with both hands before sliding his tongue over the scars.

Xander groaned in need and anticipation.

"Pleeease." The word drawn, strained. "Now."

Fangs slid over the skin, snagging but not breaking through. Xander's hips bucked involuntarily, and he reached for his straining erection with his left hand. Just as he grasped the weeping head through the denim, the vampire sank his teeth deep into the pale skin on the inside of his arm.

He cried out his release, coming in his boxers, hardly noticing as he gave himself over to the pulling sensation. Every cell in his body strained toward the mouth sucking blood from him. Nothing existed beyond that spot, and Xander released his pain along with the blood that rushed from his body.