Playing to Win
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Slash - Male/Male › Spike(William)/Xander
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
3,989
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Slash - Male/Male › Spike(William)/Xander
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
3,989
Reviews:
8
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.
Rules Change
Rules Change
Disclaimers: I in no way own these characters or the right to put them in any of these situations, but it's fun, and I'm pretty much only amusing myself so please don't take them away...
Summary: Ya gotta have Faith...
Feedback: I know this isn't the typical S/X fic, but I do appreciate any reviews and feedback...
Xander stalked off through Sunnydale, shaking with rage and confusion. He couldn’t believe he let Spike in like that, let him into something much more private than pure lust. There was something there that was unsettling, that threw him back to earlier days and insecurities. He thought Anya had largely done away with those, but once again he was back to associating pain and fear with physical gratification. He looked up and almost laughed to himself, talk about irony, he was somehow in front of Faith’s old apartment – not the posh flat that the mayor had given her instead of her 30 pieces of silver but the old, dreary motel that in no way could be mistaken for somewhere you would stay for a vacation. Remembering Faith was almost like being with Spike, the tightness of the jeans and chest, the choking feeling that he wasn’t sure was from desire or shame – it was consuming.
Lost in macabre thoughts he almost missed himself and Faith pull up in the roar of a motor from a car he had once borrowed from his uncle as a literal vehicle to an identity of coolness. He watched in morbid fascination as Faith pulled him through her doorway, but something was off; there was something too tangible about the scene to be a hallucination but too flickering to be entirely real. As if in the same dream, he relives the terrifying, hopeful scene that he knows is playing behind that door, not even realising that he’s come right to the door of the apartment and opened it.
“Apparently, locks cost more than rental rates these days,” he quipped to himself as he stepped into the empty apartment.
He looked around. He wasn’t sure if he should be glad or not that the apartment really was empty.
*****
”It’s empty, Buffy,” Willow chided her friend, who was trying to suck the very last of her 3rd iced latte up through the straw and producing more of an annoying gasping sound than any actual beverage.
”Well, it shouldn’t be…” Buffy said petulantly.
”No more for you, missy!” Willow admonished, “In fact no more of most things that you like that are bad for you,” she finished, pointedly.
”Ok, just one more, promise; then we’re both going home and pretending this whole conversation never took place, like a sitcom, this 30 minutes is over,” Buffy promised as she dragged Willow up to the counter.
”Another decaf ice latte please,” she begged the girl at the counter who looked at her with amusement before turning back to her friend behind the counter and continuing their conversation with a last parting remark to Buffy, “So, it was that good, huh? Of course, maybe you should be just a little quieter about that when your boyfriend is standing right here at the counter… sweetie.”
Buffy gaped at Willow, then the girl for a comical moment, then Willow again before squeaking, “Xander?”
She ran.
Willow ordered another iced mocha, to go, and calmly started back to the bastion of safety that was Giles’s apartment. Maybe it wasn’t too late to get another set of friends…
”So, Giles,” Willow started as she breezed through the door, keyed up on her very un-decaf mochas, “find anyth…”
The flat was empty. Even more worrisome, Giles’s glasses were lying on the desk, far away from the polishing fingers of their owner. Willow ran through the flat, frantically searching.
Buffy ran through the streets, thoughts pounding through her head with every crash of her feet against the pavement. Two persistent thoughts took primary residence, “This is very, very bad,” and “I would kill him except he was so very, very good.”
//Flashback//
"Now that’s not bad, boy – why don’t you try a little harder?”
Faith’s voice egged Xander on, in memory, in reality, right now. He was unknowingly sprawled on the bed, lost to what was real and what was a slip in time. She was riding him, all over him, so that he felt consumed and, for the first time, really wanted in what even he knew was a very twisted way.
//End Flashback//
Buffy twisted her head around at the scream, sighed, and ran off toward whatever nasty was causing trouble. When she found it, she was shocked; she was stunned; she was really, really amused.
The reason for the scream was Spike, who was clutching his eyes, still in vamp face, moaning, while a very nervous girl was hovering over him, torn between gloating and apologising.
”Well, you were all “grrrrrrr”; how was I supposed to know you were good?” she asked plaintively.
”Grrrooooowwwllllllll,” came Spike’s reply – translated to, “I am not good, you bloody stupid bint!”
”And I know you saved my life and all,” the girl continued, unfazed, “but then you were all scary looking, and my mace just was a natural reaction.”
”But, but…” Spike sputtered, tears streaming down his face, giving evidence that he still, in fact, wore a little eyeliner.
Buffy was still laughing hysterically at the entire situation, but she stopped long enough to wave the girl off, who was still muttering about it not being her fault. She stepped up to Spike, who refused to look at her, sighed loudly and held out her hand.
He ignored it for a moment. Then he realised that his dignity could only improve from its current position and accepted it gratefully. He could just barely see again, enough to note how nice the slayer looked in that very tight red shirt, and the humiliated vampire decided he needed to get himself back to his crypt to lick his wounds. Speaking of licking, he would go find the boy… later.
Buffy glanced at him one last time, with a little amusement, a little loathing and just a tiny bit of longing, and continued on her way. Her life she wouldn’t wish on anybody.
She found herself trekking down a disturbingly familiar side street. This is where they had killed a man, where she had lost faith, where she had lost Faith. They had made quite a bed together that fateful night, and she had been sleeping in it ever since.
//flashback//
Xander was on the bed; strong hands were around his throat – he couldn’t breath – and he’s praying for someone, anyone to save him, only he wasn’t sure how they could. As everything started to go black he wondered why he was so incredibly hard. Instead of an answer, the door was flung open…
//end flashback//
Faith strode in, noting the unlocked door with a bitter grin, “Home sweet home… and look here a welcome committee,” she noted, frowning a bit at the Xander-shaped creature on her bed.
Throwing her brand new K-mart duffle bag on the floor, she ran over to him. He seemed to be choking, but she couldn’t find anything wrong that was causing it. Faith frantically checked all around him, wishing she had taken that first aid course offered at the Y a couple of summers back in Boston. While she was mentally hitting herself, she glanced up at Xander’s face. His eyes were screwed shut, and he seemed to be trying to say something over and over.
”Faith, stop, don’t… Please!” he finally wheezed out.
Faith, overcome with horror, backed away from the bed, confusion and guilt twisting her face to a mockery of dark beauty. She reached out her hand to touch him…
”Get away from him, now, and you only get hurt a little bit,” Buffy called from the doorway.
She didn’t know what had drawn her here, but the pull had been there, all the same. That same pull was overtaking her now, making her cloudy and unheedful as she walked up to the dark haired face from her dreams.
”Faith,” she whispered, bringing her hand up to the shocked yet hopeful face, before she hauled back and punched her to the floor.
The blonde slayer stared in shock at her own hand, then back at the dark slayer lying on the floor, looking up at her with an unreadable expression.
”Really, Buffy, I’m ok; she wasn’t trying to hurt me, I think, this time; there’s something strange going on here – it may be related to that thing Giles was talking about,” Xander interjected from the bed, seemingly released from whatever had been holding him and able to breath and speak once again.
”Ok,” Buffy said, a little shaky, as she glanced at him gratefully, “now, head on back to Giles’s; I’ll be there after I take care of this.”
Xander nodded assent, and, with a small questioning look to which Buffy inclined her head almost imperceptibly, he made his way out the door sparing one last glance back at the two dark reflections of incredible power and pain.
”Yeah, I always was just something you ‘had to take care of’, wasn’t I, B?” Faith questioned nastily.
”You would never let me take care of you, Faith,” Buffy murmured softly, using the much kinder connotations than the words.
Faith’s eyes opened wide for a minute before she jumped to her feet, ready to fight the vulnerability that was threatening to break through the cracks in her armour. At the look in her eyes, Buffy tried to run but Faith grabbed her first, holding her in a tight, punishing grip. Buffy wondered who exactly was being punished before lips captured hers, soft and flavoured with sweat and cheap lipstick.
This was bitter; this was pain; this was home.
Disclaimers: I in no way own these characters or the right to put them in any of these situations, but it's fun, and I'm pretty much only amusing myself so please don't take them away...
Summary: Ya gotta have Faith...
Feedback: I know this isn't the typical S/X fic, but I do appreciate any reviews and feedback...
Xander stalked off through Sunnydale, shaking with rage and confusion. He couldn’t believe he let Spike in like that, let him into something much more private than pure lust. There was something there that was unsettling, that threw him back to earlier days and insecurities. He thought Anya had largely done away with those, but once again he was back to associating pain and fear with physical gratification. He looked up and almost laughed to himself, talk about irony, he was somehow in front of Faith’s old apartment – not the posh flat that the mayor had given her instead of her 30 pieces of silver but the old, dreary motel that in no way could be mistaken for somewhere you would stay for a vacation. Remembering Faith was almost like being with Spike, the tightness of the jeans and chest, the choking feeling that he wasn’t sure was from desire or shame – it was consuming.
Lost in macabre thoughts he almost missed himself and Faith pull up in the roar of a motor from a car he had once borrowed from his uncle as a literal vehicle to an identity of coolness. He watched in morbid fascination as Faith pulled him through her doorway, but something was off; there was something too tangible about the scene to be a hallucination but too flickering to be entirely real. As if in the same dream, he relives the terrifying, hopeful scene that he knows is playing behind that door, not even realising that he’s come right to the door of the apartment and opened it.
“Apparently, locks cost more than rental rates these days,” he quipped to himself as he stepped into the empty apartment.
He looked around. He wasn’t sure if he should be glad or not that the apartment really was empty.
*****
”It’s empty, Buffy,” Willow chided her friend, who was trying to suck the very last of her 3rd iced latte up through the straw and producing more of an annoying gasping sound than any actual beverage.
”Well, it shouldn’t be…” Buffy said petulantly.
”No more for you, missy!” Willow admonished, “In fact no more of most things that you like that are bad for you,” she finished, pointedly.
”Ok, just one more, promise; then we’re both going home and pretending this whole conversation never took place, like a sitcom, this 30 minutes is over,” Buffy promised as she dragged Willow up to the counter.
”Another decaf ice latte please,” she begged the girl at the counter who looked at her with amusement before turning back to her friend behind the counter and continuing their conversation with a last parting remark to Buffy, “So, it was that good, huh? Of course, maybe you should be just a little quieter about that when your boyfriend is standing right here at the counter… sweetie.”
Buffy gaped at Willow, then the girl for a comical moment, then Willow again before squeaking, “Xander?”
She ran.
Willow ordered another iced mocha, to go, and calmly started back to the bastion of safety that was Giles’s apartment. Maybe it wasn’t too late to get another set of friends…
”So, Giles,” Willow started as she breezed through the door, keyed up on her very un-decaf mochas, “find anyth…”
The flat was empty. Even more worrisome, Giles’s glasses were lying on the desk, far away from the polishing fingers of their owner. Willow ran through the flat, frantically searching.
Buffy ran through the streets, thoughts pounding through her head with every crash of her feet against the pavement. Two persistent thoughts took primary residence, “This is very, very bad,” and “I would kill him except he was so very, very good.”
//Flashback//
"Now that’s not bad, boy – why don’t you try a little harder?”
Faith’s voice egged Xander on, in memory, in reality, right now. He was unknowingly sprawled on the bed, lost to what was real and what was a slip in time. She was riding him, all over him, so that he felt consumed and, for the first time, really wanted in what even he knew was a very twisted way.
//End Flashback//
Buffy twisted her head around at the scream, sighed, and ran off toward whatever nasty was causing trouble. When she found it, she was shocked; she was stunned; she was really, really amused.
The reason for the scream was Spike, who was clutching his eyes, still in vamp face, moaning, while a very nervous girl was hovering over him, torn between gloating and apologising.
”Well, you were all “grrrrrrr”; how was I supposed to know you were good?” she asked plaintively.
”Grrrooooowwwllllllll,” came Spike’s reply – translated to, “I am not good, you bloody stupid bint!”
”And I know you saved my life and all,” the girl continued, unfazed, “but then you were all scary looking, and my mace just was a natural reaction.”
”But, but…” Spike sputtered, tears streaming down his face, giving evidence that he still, in fact, wore a little eyeliner.
Buffy was still laughing hysterically at the entire situation, but she stopped long enough to wave the girl off, who was still muttering about it not being her fault. She stepped up to Spike, who refused to look at her, sighed loudly and held out her hand.
He ignored it for a moment. Then he realised that his dignity could only improve from its current position and accepted it gratefully. He could just barely see again, enough to note how nice the slayer looked in that very tight red shirt, and the humiliated vampire decided he needed to get himself back to his crypt to lick his wounds. Speaking of licking, he would go find the boy… later.
Buffy glanced at him one last time, with a little amusement, a little loathing and just a tiny bit of longing, and continued on her way. Her life she wouldn’t wish on anybody.
She found herself trekking down a disturbingly familiar side street. This is where they had killed a man, where she had lost faith, where she had lost Faith. They had made quite a bed together that fateful night, and she had been sleeping in it ever since.
//flashback//
Xander was on the bed; strong hands were around his throat – he couldn’t breath – and he’s praying for someone, anyone to save him, only he wasn’t sure how they could. As everything started to go black he wondered why he was so incredibly hard. Instead of an answer, the door was flung open…
//end flashback//
Faith strode in, noting the unlocked door with a bitter grin, “Home sweet home… and look here a welcome committee,” she noted, frowning a bit at the Xander-shaped creature on her bed.
Throwing her brand new K-mart duffle bag on the floor, she ran over to him. He seemed to be choking, but she couldn’t find anything wrong that was causing it. Faith frantically checked all around him, wishing she had taken that first aid course offered at the Y a couple of summers back in Boston. While she was mentally hitting herself, she glanced up at Xander’s face. His eyes were screwed shut, and he seemed to be trying to say something over and over.
”Faith, stop, don’t… Please!” he finally wheezed out.
Faith, overcome with horror, backed away from the bed, confusion and guilt twisting her face to a mockery of dark beauty. She reached out her hand to touch him…
”Get away from him, now, and you only get hurt a little bit,” Buffy called from the doorway.
She didn’t know what had drawn her here, but the pull had been there, all the same. That same pull was overtaking her now, making her cloudy and unheedful as she walked up to the dark haired face from her dreams.
”Faith,” she whispered, bringing her hand up to the shocked yet hopeful face, before she hauled back and punched her to the floor.
The blonde slayer stared in shock at her own hand, then back at the dark slayer lying on the floor, looking up at her with an unreadable expression.
”Really, Buffy, I’m ok; she wasn’t trying to hurt me, I think, this time; there’s something strange going on here – it may be related to that thing Giles was talking about,” Xander interjected from the bed, seemingly released from whatever had been holding him and able to breath and speak once again.
”Ok,” Buffy said, a little shaky, as she glanced at him gratefully, “now, head on back to Giles’s; I’ll be there after I take care of this.”
Xander nodded assent, and, with a small questioning look to which Buffy inclined her head almost imperceptibly, he made his way out the door sparing one last glance back at the two dark reflections of incredible power and pain.
”Yeah, I always was just something you ‘had to take care of’, wasn’t I, B?” Faith questioned nastily.
”You would never let me take care of you, Faith,” Buffy murmured softly, using the much kinder connotations than the words.
Faith’s eyes opened wide for a minute before she jumped to her feet, ready to fight the vulnerability that was threatening to break through the cracks in her armour. At the look in her eyes, Buffy tried to run but Faith grabbed her first, holding her in a tight, punishing grip. Buffy wondered who exactly was being punished before lips captured hers, soft and flavoured with sweat and cheap lipstick.
This was bitter; this was pain; this was home.