Three Sheets to the Wind

DISCLAIMER: I own no characters or places mentioned within, that dubious pleasure lies with Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.

AUTHORS NOTE: This chapter written by Claudia6913

THREE SHEETS TO THE WIND

CHAPTER SIX: COMFORT IN PAIN

There was pain, giant bolts of it that shot through his body like an arrow, finding every nerve as if each one were a target. Xander knew why he was in pain, knew who'd caused said pain, had even enjoyed the pain. Unfortunately, it was keeping him awake.

Shift to his side - sharp intake of breath - hold breath until pain subsides and continue movement only to find out ten minutes later that that position was no more comfortable then the one he'd just been in and the process would start all over again. Nevertheless, did Oz laying next to him care? No, he just slept on, leaving Xander uncomfortable. Though, Xander assumed that was part of his 'punishment', and he'd be right. He couldn't sleep on his back because - well - he'd had a metal rod shoved in his ass for a bit. A mental headshake, a glance at his wrists, scabbed over now, but still sore, and Xander felt the need to slip out. Something was wrong with him - see metal rod and add to the fact that he'd liked it - and he wanted to know what. Not only had what Oz done to him been way out of the 'norm' that was Xander's world, but it'd hurt - a lot. And he'd liked it - a lot. Hence the thinking of the wrong with him.

Carefully, slowly, Xander rolled to his stomach, then to his side and slid onto the floor on his knees. It took about ten minutes, he figured, to do that, and he still had to dress. Hell, by the time he got dressed and was able to get out the door, it'd be daylight. Xander supposed that first he should try to find his clothes. He wasn't looking forward to trying to put his pants on, it was bad enough he was already walking as if he'd ridden a horse his entire life. He felt very Clint Eastwood, just without the cool voice that went with it...or the money...or the fame. Right, so not quite Clint Eastwood, but Xander definitely had that cowboy-vibe going.

The pants ended up being a no go. For one, Xander couldn't possibly sit down to put them on, let alone bend over to grab them. The shirt was alright, but it scraped against the burn marks on his chest - not in a pleasurable way either. Actually, it rather hurt - that annoying type of hurt that kind of felt like one of those ominous itches, only it was somewhat painful, but still not fun.

There was the option of going commando, and then there was just nude. Could he do it, he wondered. Maybe just a bit of fresh air on his skin and he could go back into the room and leave it at that. No, he realized. He couldn't. There were young and impressionable girls staying in various rooms that might take him for a threat and use their newly acquired Slayer strength to beat him for streaking - it could happen.

Realization dawned slowly on Xander, as he thought about how a dozen or so pretty, strong, girls seeing him naked did nothing for him. His cock didn't rise up to salute the idea, not even a twitch. There was definitely something wrong with Xander, and he blamed Oz.

Confused and unsure of himself, Xander grabbed the nearest thing, a towel, wrapped it around the lower part of his torso, and walked out of the hotel room, leaving behind Oz - his tormentor. That wasn't a fair assessment of Oz, but right then, Xander didn't care. He was sore, quite possibly scared for life, and unsure of what he was now. So, fair...didn't quite enter into his thought process. Besides, was it fair for Oz to turn Xander's world upside down? No. It wasn't.

Opening the door, Xander took a minute to survey the area, just to make sure there were no Slayers looking to bash half-naked men around. However, he saw that all of the shades were drawn in the pre-dawn twilight. With a sigh of relief, Xander walked out, or hobbled out, waddling a few feet before stopping and looking at the large yellow bus that had driven them to safety.

A cloud of smoke billowed in front of Xander. He knew who the smoke belonged to, knew just whose lungs - dead though they were - it came from, and knew just whose lips - soft he knew from kissing them - it came from.

"Spike," Xander said, trying - unsuccessfully - to sound casual as he stood in the night air in just a faded yellow towel. That same yellow towel, while keeping him from being completely nude, didn't help him when something decided to pop up to say hi. Casually, or as casual as was possible while under the watchful eye of a vampire, Xander tried to cross his hands and hide the evidence of exactly what Spike's presence was doing to his body.

"Pick up smokin' and forget you're not an ashtray?” Spike asked, not fully looking at Xander.

"What?” Xander asked, confused. Spike was the one that smoked, not Xander, but he did know that - 'oh' - enter light bulb above head. He'd forgotten about the burn marks on his chest. Hell, until then, he'd forgotten about all of Oz's 'punishment'. Another mental groan and Xander wished he could just melt into the wall. If Oz had been able to smell Spike on him, then surely Spike could smell Oz on him.

"No, I - it was just that...," Xander said, his voice trailing off. He couldn't explain it to himself so how in the world could he explain it to Spike?

"I'm sick," Xander said softly to himself. Other words came to mind like twisted, deviant, wrong, but sick covered it too. Blessedly, Spike ignored him. Xander didn't want to have to explain why he was sick, not to Spike who - being a master vampire and all - had probably done worse things to people through the years. Add mental kick to the list because now Xander was thinking of just what Spike might do.

"Come on, Pet," Spike said, grabbing Xander by the arm and leading him to his room just a few doors down. He'd wanted the room next to Xander and Oz, but didn't think he was that masochistic to need to listen to what had happened the night before. It had been bad enough that he'd caught the random scream.

Xander was being dragged, almost literally, just a few doors down, but right then, he didn't care. Though, the walking reminded him of just why he was out there in the first place, and just why going with Spike was possibly a bad idea.

"Spike, I - it's just," Xander rambled, not quite sure how to say what he needed to say. He could barely think of the words for what Oz did to him, let alone express them to Spike.

"Stop your yappin' for a minute, would you, and get in 'ere," Spike said, pulling Xander into his room. He watched Xander limp in ahead of him. Spike had seen the burn marks on his chest, and had a pretty good idea why he was walking funny, but he wanted to know for sure. Grabbing the towel, Spike pulled it off the boy.

"What are you doing?” Xander cried out, reaching for the towel. He needed that - though why he couldn't say - it just seemed really important for him to have at that moment. But, Spike was keeping it well away from him. Now, Xander was not only well and thoroughly embarrassed by the evidence he was sure Spike could see on his body, but well and truly aroused that Spike would do that. Again, Xander thought there was something severely wrong with him.

“Turn ‘round,” Spike said, ignoring Xander’s question. He could feel the heat come off the boy as his face flushed and he could smell the arousal, thick and tangy. When Xander didn’t move, Spike forced him to turn then bent him over. The boy’s arse was red and raw looking.

“Hey!” Xander cried out as he was unceremoniously bent over by the vampire. ‘You’re sick, you’re sick,’ Xander chanted, and who wouldn’t disagree? He’d let first Oz have his way with him without protest, and now he was letting Spike.

“The wolf did this?” Spike asked, a growl accompanying it. Xander’s quiet nod only fueled Spike’s anger at the mangy wolf. He had to stop himself. The boy was no more his then he was anyone else’s.

“Lay down,” Spike said.

“I – I can’t,” Xander stuttered. Spike’s quick, authoritative manner was throwing Xander for a loop. He could deal with the snark, he could even deal with him being nice or even semi-seductive, but Master Spike just seemed to throw him over the edge and he found himself having a hard time arguing with him.

Spike walked around Xander, who much to his amazement, was still bent over. He put his finger under the boy’s chin and gently pulled him back to standing. His hands trailed lightly over the human’s warm skin and Spike watched as Xander’s eyes fluttered shut and his breath came out in a soft sigh. Testing a thought, Spike ran the pad of his thumb over on of the burn marks and Xander’s breath hitched, shuddering on the way out.

Carefully, Spike maneuvered Xander to the bed, never letting his hands leave the boy’s flesh as he kissed him.

“Can make it better,” Spike said, whispering softly into Xander’s neck. “Make the pain go away, make it all go away.”

A thick tongue tried to work in Xander’s mouth, but he couldn’t get it to say anything. Just the thought of Spike doing something, anything, to Xander made his knees go weak and his body tingle. It was probably against everything Xander knew, or thought he knew, to let Spike do whatever it was he wanted to do, but damnit, he was going to let it happen. Higher brain function, it seemed, was null and void the moment Spike had touched him.

No matter what Spike did, either Xander responded with a soft moan, or a groan of pain mixed with pleasure. It was interesting to Spike, to see how he reacted, to know what felt good to the boy and what didn’t. Spike learned much that night, about just how much Xander could handle, and just how far he was willing to go.

They spent the majority of the morning, touching and tasting, exploring each other slowly, learning everything there was to learn about the other. Not once did Xander think about Oz and what ‘punishment’ would be awaiting him when he got back. Nothing seemed to matter then.

Finally, around noon, they fell asleep, nestled together in the sun-proofed room, content and happy to just lay there together.