Time After Time Series

(A/N: "Time After Time" an episodic series, released once every four to six weeks, or whenever the muse takes us. Spike and Xander are soul mates, and they’ve met time and again in past lives. Each episode will contain a full story/flashback to at least one past life together, as told by newly ensouled Spike. Each episode will be completely different. Sometimes they will be human, sometimes one or both will be vamps, etc... If and when there are character deaths, it will be in the past life only, not current life where they are talking/exploring the past.)

(Characters: ours, Joss' – We're just playin' with 'em)


Sin And Temptation


Spike juggled a pack of cigarettes, his lighter, and Xander’s unopened beer can, up in the air. “A home is a home is a home. Home is where the heart is. My heart is here, this must be home,” he muttered in rhythm with his tosses and catches.

Xander sighed and tried to ignore the crazy vamp in his living room, concentrating instead on the television. Spike had been rambling non-stop since Buffy had dumped him in the apartment, going on and on about hearts and homes.

After a while the mumbling became too much to bear. "Shut. Up." He turned to glare at Spike. "Why can't you just shut up?"

“It’s the truth. The truth hurts. Home is where the heart is. This is home,” the beer can slipped out of his hand, dented the wooden floor and rolled across it. “Bloody hell.” Almost as if obsessed with it, Spike got up to chase it down.

"Watch it fangless!" Xander snarled. It was bad enough that Buffy had forced Spike onto him; the stupid vampire had to be all crazy and beer-destroying.

Spike brushed against Xander as he stumbled by, chasing the beer can. Xander couldn't help but recoil from the vampire's touch, pushing him away.

The shove might not have been hard, but it was unexpected and sent Spike crashing into the end table. An image flashed in his mind. A memory. Just one out of thousands of memories of himself and Xander, in all their incarnations through time. “No problem mate,” he straightened and looked straight into Xander’s eyes, his gaze intense with yesterday’s feelings. “Not the first time you’ve hurt me. Won’t be the last either.”

Xander watched Spike crash into the table, shocked at the result of his actions. He hadn't meant to hurt Spike. He had to admit he hadn't been exactly averse to the idea but what he'd just done was too close to his father's actions to make him feel anything but bad about it.

"What? When did I hurt you?" he demanded, anger returning with a vengeance to cover the twinge of guilt. "You were the one who kept trying to kill me!"

“A long time ago. Centuries. We always meet, you and I,” Spike dragged his gaze away and swept the can off the floor. “You denied your feelings then, just like now. Only... yeah, you were a mean bastard.”

"I was not mean!" Xander protested. He frowned when he realized what Spike had said. "What do you mean centuries ago? You're confusing me with someone else, blood breath. Not getting senile in your old age, are you?"

“Would that I were.” Lowering himself onto the chair, Spike stared at the silvery can. “When I got my soul back, I got more than I bargained for. The memories of every lifetime before this one. And who should figure into every single one of them but Xander-bloody-Harris.” A look of displeasure crossed his face. “Back then... you insisted on Lord Alexander. Branded me with your name you did, right here.” He touched the spot above his heart. “I screamed like a girl...”

"What are you talking about, Spike? Have you gone totally insane? Oh what am I saying, of course you have!" Xander smacked his forehead in mock surprise. "Pray enlighten me, oh soulful one, what did I ever do to you?"

“You really want to know? Alright.” Grabbing the remote, Spike shut the telly. The room darkened. He leaned back. “It was the year of our Lord, one thousand ninety three...”

[Flashback - England 1093 A.D.]

The filthy rag in his mouth was choking Spike. He could barely breathe. His wrists were tied behind his back with thin straps of leather, and his arms pulled up so high, he feared they would be ripped out of their sockets. The soldiers were as rough as ever, shoving him and his partner in crime through the doors of the great hall.

“Bow to Lord Alexander,” one of them snarled, shoving him so hard that stumbled and lay sprawled on the ground. He raised his head slightly and caught sight of a pair of fine black boots, before his head was whacked down with the blunt side of a spear. A groan escaped him as he saw white flashes in front of his eyes.

A soldier nodded, and a clerk looked at the chiseled and proud features of the dark haired lord and master of the castle, whose lands and holdings spread as far as the eye could see and beyond. Once a week, he meted out justice to all those who trespassed against him, or who were accused of crimes against their neighbors, or had breach of promise issues. The keeper of the peace was in a fine mood today, the flogging posts would be well used. “Sire, these two - third and fourth generation serfs - were found in the fields fornicating. They are charged with crimes against the natural order and against the church. The witnesses were...”

As the clerk’s voice droned on, Spike shivered. They hadn’t allowed him time to put his clothes back on. The trousers he’d managed to pull on were ripped from ankle to thigh when one of the soldiers roughed him up and screamed all sorts of profanities. The lack of clothing would have been one more source of humiliation, but they’d been summoned to the judgment hall before the rest of his clothes were destroyed.

“Spike. I’m sorry. It was a stupid idea...”

Spike whispered back. “Hush. If they hear you...”

“I’m dead anyway.” Already branded a thief, John knew a stringing by the neck was what awaited him for his latest transgression. He hoped Spike would fare better. Without thought, he reached out and stroked the angular cheekbones that protruded from his lovers face, ran his fingers down his throat, and over the expanse of his back. But that was as far as he got before a soldier's guttural cry of disgust was followed by the heat and burning of a spear stabbed into his back. Warm blood pooled around him but he wore a smile. “It’s better than the carrions getting at me.”

“No... no...” Spike tried to get up, but was forcibly held down and watched the life leave his lover’s eyes. Gone was the merry laughter. Thanks to their Lord and master, and his soldiers.


Alexander watched impassively as the sodomite was speared through the back. He had not ordered that to happen but he was not about to show surprise in the middle of a court session. Alexander was a firm believer in public punishment. Show the people what would happen to them and they would think twice before committing the crime. Punishing people in the closed atmosphere of the courts served no one. The guard would pay dearly for his initiative but not until after the serf had been dealt with. It was too late now anyway, the man was dead.

He looked at the remaining sodomite, struggling against the guards. Alexander barely managed to keep his reaction secret. The man was simply beautiful, with his high cheekbones and those wet blue eyes staring sadly at his lover's body.

Disgusted with his own reaction, Alexander yelled at the guards to hold the struggling man down. "Did you love him?" he asked, addressing the serf.

“Stand and answer him, boy.”

Spike managed to dodge the kick, and found a pair of hands helping him to stand up. Meeting his lordship’s gaze for only a fraction, he answered truthfully. “N...no, sire. We only just met at the faire.”

So beautiful. I wonder what he looked like when that man was...NO! Alexander's thoughts only strengthened his disgust, against himself and against the man standing before him.

"Had a good night's drinking, did you?" He sneered. At the man's affirmative reply. Alexander made a swift decision he was sure he would regret. "Very well then, I can see that you were drawn away from the path of righteousness by drink and temptation. You can still be saved." Calling himself all kinds of fool for what he was about to do, Alexander nevertheless continued to speak. "Twenty five lashes for this transgression and then you shall take up service in the castle. I shall keep an eye on you; I shall make sure you do not stray again."

So saying, Alexander dismissed the man, gesturing at the guards to take him away for his punishment.

Spike's heart hammered. He'd escaped John's fate, but the whip...Good Lord, he didn't know if he'd survive it. Something about the way Lord Alexander was looking at him was unsettling. But worried about his own skin, he didn't think further on it.

*

Three seven-nights later, after the blood had dried, and the wounds healed. After he'd been set to work polishing and cleaning the living quarters of the castle under the watchful eyes of dozens of pairs of eyes, Spike was ordered to bathe and change into clothes that were handed to him.

Surprised, he rubbed his cheek against the softest cloth he'd ever felt. The moment was cut short when a pair of soldiers broke into the bathing room and growled at him to hurry up. As he was pushed and prodded up the stone spiral stair way toward Lord Alexander's quarters, the warnings grew more and more dire. If he dared to touch his Lordship, if he dared to try to harm him, his last whipping would pale in comparison to what he would suffer.

They reached an upper floor of the castle. A large wooden door was opened, and he was shoved inside. The door banged shut behind him.

Feeling small and alone in the large room, Spike finally raised his eyes. His Lordship's room was spacious and sparse of furniture. Tapestries hung on the walls, and rugs warmed the cold stone under his bare feet. All this, Spike barely took in, as his attention was riveted to the large four poster bed in the center of the room, and his Lordship sitting on its edge. The dark haired man with intense eyes dominated the room.

Alexander sat on the edge of his bed, internally cursing himself for giving in to weakness and calling for Spike. He closed his eyes, not wanting to look at the beauty before him. How dare this man tempt him so! How dare he walk around, looking like he did, bringing sin into honest, pious people's lives. He had to resist.

Fear and tension flooded Spike. His gut twisting, he spoke on the verge of a whisper. "Sire...?"

At the soft-spoken words, Alexander looked up and his self-control fled along with all thoughts but one.

"Get my bath ready, Spike. You are to attend to me today," he said firmly, gesturing towards the bathtub in front of the fireplace.

He watched Spike go about his business, pouring hot water in the bath and scenting it with lavender and chamomile. All too soon he would lie naked within it, and Spike's hands would trail over his body chasing the grime and sweat away. Some part of him rebelled at the thought, insisting that this was wrong, the Devil's work but he pushed the voice down, drowning it in his body's reactions.

When the bath was ready he ordered Spike to help him remove his clothes, trembling whenever the rough, work-hardened hands touched his skin. He lowered himself into the tub and motioned for Spike to begin.

Standing behind the master of the house, Spike lathered a wash cloth. He knew they all thought him unclean for having lain with men, and he wondered that they would allow him to perform this duty. But he wasn't one to question.

He started at the dark haired man's neck and shoulders, scrubbing away the dirt and marking's from the light armor he'd worn during the day in the practice yard. His Lordship's muscles were tense, and if he thought the motions of his hands would melt the tension away, that didn’t appear to be the case.

He scrubbed lower, passing below Alexander's shoulder blades, down to his lower back. Leaning forward, he got a glimpse of the man's chiseled chest, and swallowed hard. Who was he to dare notice such things? He stopped when he reached the man's buttocks.

When his lordship didn't say anything, Spike was struck by renewed fear. He'd been told to scrub and clean, and that usually meant everywhere. If he asked, he'd be punished for his insolence. If he guessed wrong... that he was expected to do a complete job even if he'd been pegged as a boy-lover … then he could be taking his life into his own hands.

Sending a prayer up to the heavens, he scrubbed lower. Slow gentle motions. On occasion, his finger tips would run over rippling and clenching muscles. He didn't want to guess as to the cause. It couldn't be what he thought.

"Sire, I'm done with your back," he ventured, moving slowly in front of Alexander. The man's eyes were so hot, they burned like coals. Hoping he hadn't enraged him, Spike started lathering his chest. As his hand trailed lower and lower, his heart banged against his ribs, partly due to fear, and partly because he could only ever dream of touching a man like this.

By the time Spike had moved to scrub his chest, Alexander was breathing harshly, trying to contain himself. He watched as Spike leaned over the edge of the bathtub to reach lower and lower, felt his servant's fingers graze his abdomen and looked into scared blue eyes and he was lost.

Without even realizing his own intentions, Alexander reached out and grabbed Spike's nape, pulling him close and slamming their lips together. He had never felt such hunger for another human before, male or female, it didn't matter, all that mattered was the taste and feel of that mouth. He forced his tongue inside, plundering and exploring
until even that wasn't enough. With a desperate groan he stood up, pushing Spike on the bed and lying over him, pressing his wet body against him.

"What have you done to me?" he demanded, not giving Spike a chance to answer before pressing their lips together again, his hands pushing at the clothes covering that delectable body, anxious to feel the soft skin, hungry for any sensation coming from the man beneath him.

Spike froze under the angry questions at odds with his master's actions. And then his clothes were being ripped off him, hands touching him roughly, full of need. Wasn't this exactly why he'd been punished though? And then he felt the thick length of his master pressing into his thigh, rubbing into him. Who was he to question his master's pleasure?

In spite of the manhandling, Spike gave Alexander what he thought the man wanted. Accepting the fury in those kisses, he lifted his head and kissed him back. How could he not? He'd been denied companionship for so long, and now the Lord of the castle.... with his perfect body... and noble features ... wanted him.

Every fiber of the serf's body screamed for more. Lifting his hips, he added to the friction between them, sliding his hands down to the small of Alexander's back, and daring to move lower. To squeeze his buttocks, to urge him on, knowing the ragged breaths coming from the man on top of him meant there was no turning back now.

[Present]

"I did no such thing!" Xander protested, cutting off Spike's narration. "For one thing I'm not gay, for another, I wasn't alive back then! And you sure as hell weren't any kind of serf!"

Spike gave a pained smile. “No, you weren’t gay. That was your problem. But you made it mine. Look, I’m not making this up. If I were, I bloody well would play the role of Lord and master, and you’d be the one scrubbing my boots to a shine, yeah?”


"I wouldn't scrub your boots if you were God himself Spike," Xander stated, going to the kitchen for another beer. After a moment's hesitation he grabbed another one and handed it to the vampire. "Drink it, don't juggle it," he commanded, settling back on the couch. "Not that I'm buying any of this, 'cause I'm not, but go on, I'm curious to see where you're taking this."

"You are, are you?" He popped the top of the beer. "Home is where the heart is... maybe not then... not that time." Spike blinked. He knew he sometimes didn't make sense these days. "Where was I... Right, you were mauling me. Grunting and sweating and wet from the bath. You turned me over, and took me hard and fast. It hurt so bad..."

[Flash back]

Spike groaned under Alexander's thrusts. His lordship hadn't prepared him at all. Either he hadn't known, or he hadn't cared. Now Spike was blinded with pain, though it was starting to fade. Daring to put his hand behind him, he curled is arm around Alexander's back. "Slower," he dared to whisper, trying to shift to a more comfortable position.

Blinded by desire Alexander pushed Spike down to keep him still and kept on thrusting, hard and fast, until the whisper finally reached his ears. Slower…how was he supposed to slow down…he ached for this, needed it. Even as he thought, his body stopped moving quite so fast, his movements losing some of their urgency.

For the first time since this whole madness had begun, Alexander noticed the reactions of the body beneath him. Spike was breathing harshly, bucking a little as if to throw him off, yet the hand touching Alexander was pulling him closer. He could see the servant's profile, his expression caught between pain and pleasure.

Alexander wanted to give him pleasure, see how beautiful he looked when he was in the throes of passion. With that goal in mind he moved carefully, pushing slowly in and out, his hand cupping Spike's cheek and tilting his face, bringing it closer, until he could kiss him.

The kiss calmed him. Changed everything. They were moving in rhythm now, stoking each others' pleasure. Spike started to pant... to beg. His words were swallowed by Alexander's kisses, but not stemmed. His body tensed. Finding new strength, he braced his arms on the soft bed, and pushed himself back, clenching his muscles around Alexander's with every drag of the man's body. Harder. Faster. And finally he stiffened, raised his neck and called out Alexander's name. His lordship had taken him to his bed. Once he'd gentled his touches, it had been good. This could be good. Very good.

Once Alexander stopped moving and fell against him, Spike turned and put his arms around the man's shoulders, kissing him tenderly.

Alexander felt Spike turn against him, warm lips pressed against his own and for a moment, a blissful, pleasure-filled moment, he responded. Then reality came crashing down on him, forcing him to recoil from Spike's touch. He scrambled back, until his back was pressed against the wall, and stared in horror at the naked man on his bed. Fear and panic swiftly turned into anger. Anger at himself for falling so low, anger at this man for bringing him down so easily. "What have you done to me?" He demanded, standing up, towering over his seducer, "What kind of magic did you do to make me do this?"

At first, Spike wore a bemused expression as he looked up at Alexander in his full naked glory. But when he realized the words were said in anger, and that his lordship's expression was dark and dangerous, he cowered back, covering his own nakedness as Alexander did the same. "Will that be all Sire? I'll leave ..."

"Leave? You think you can do what you just did and just leave?" By the time he finished his sentence Alexander had worked himself up to frenzy. Even after such intense physical release the sight of him affected Alexander. That could not be allowed, the man must surely have worked some magic on him.

"Guards!" He screamed, staring at Spike, watching fear and desperation cloud the beautiful face. "Ten lashes for daring to touch his master." Alexander watched the guards carry Spike out to execute his order, stomping down on the small flare of guilt that rose within him. He had to withstand temptation. He had to.

*

A rather subdued Spike looked at the pitcher of wine on the silver tray. Why him? Why had he been ordered to deliver it to his Lordship? For over seven days after the lashing, he’d been left in peace to polish and clean and sweep below stairs. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Alexander and thought maybe he’d been forgiven for leading him astray.

Then there were rumors. Apparently Alexander had taken several women to bed over the last few nights. From the hushed whispers and tweetering laughter, he gathered something was amiss. Since most of the other servants shunned him, he had no source of real information.

“Are ye daft man?”

Spike blinked and looked at cook who was wielding a wooden spoon. “Well take the wine up, why don’t you?”

With a slight nod of his head, Spike left the kitchens and headed up the narrow staircase. Each step brought him closer to the place he’d found heaven and hell. Truth to be told, after the whipping, he never wanted another piece of heaven. The cost was too high. There wasn’t just the physical abuse, but the humiliation. As he ascended, he dreamed of a day when he could pack up and escape from these lands and go to one of the larger towns that were blossoming here and there. Or Londontown. No one would find him and drag him back from there.

He knocked softly, then pushed the door open and walked inside. The sound of harsh breaths and curses met his ears. He recognized the sounds. Hunching his shoulders slightly he looked toward the bed, raised his gaze and met his Lordship’s eyes.

Alexander was growing more and more frustrated. For the past week he'd been taking all sorts of women to his bed, trying to prove to himself once and for all that he was not tempted by Spike. Old whores and virtuous servant girls, ample and slim, dark and pale, they'd all passed through his bed, yet no woman had managed to elicit a reaction from his body.

Nearly crying in anger and frustration he pushed his limp cock in the woman's mouth, hoping that this time, this time he'd finally be able to perform. To his great shame, nothing happened, not until he looked up to find Spike watching him. He looked into those cursed blue eyes and felt his cock twitch. Spike's tongue slipped out to moisten his lips and Alexander grew hard in the whore's mouth. He let his hand rest in her hair, pulling her forward, forcing her to take in more of his cock but his eyes were firmly trained on Spike, trailing down his face to his neck, catching sight of a nipple peeking out from the torn shirt before snapping back to his eyes.

Frozen in place, Spike felt his Lordship’s heated gaze rake over him, lingering over his open chest. There was no anger there. Instead, brown eyes stared at him with the intensity of a hot branding iron, fierce and possessive. Consuming.

His Lordship’s grunts punctuated the silence, but the man never looked down at the woman. Instinctively, Spike knew Alexander was making love to him, not to her. That it was Spike’s mouth he was imagining, Spike’s hand’s on his thighs, Spike bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

He didn’t want to react, but God help him, his body hardened. The bulge in his pants ached with the need. Thoughts of laying under Alexander plagued him, tortured his flesh. His breath came out in shallow gasps as he resisted the urge to touch himself.

The tray grew heavier in his hand. He should put it down and leave. But when he made a move to, he knew it was the wrong one. Alexander’s expression turned fierce. There was a warning there, a desperate warning for him not to move. Licking his suddenly dry lips, he tried to slow his suddenly racing heart.

Alexander held Spike's eyes, until he couldn't resist looking at that alluring body again. His gaze moved downwards, taking in how he breathed, how he his throat shifted as he groaned softly. His eyes slipped further down, catching sight of the bulge in Spike's breeches. His eyes snapped back up and, seeing the desperate need in Spike's eyes he groaned harshly as he came in the whore's mouth.

He fell back on the covers, breathing harshly, eyes still trained at Spike. "You may go," he ordered, pushing the whore away.

He saw Spike start to move. "NO! You! Stay."

Alexander waited until the woman was outside before he leaned forward to grab Spike and pull him on the bed, making him drop the tray he was carrying. His hand pushed inside the servant's breeches, grabbing hold of his erection and pulling hard and fast. He wanted to see the look in those eyes as Spike came, see the need in them satisfied. He needed to see it.

Spike nearly came off the bed, arching his hips up as his head rolled back. This was wrong... all wrong. His Lordship wasn’t right in the head or he wouldn’t be servicing a servant. There would be consequences, but oh God it felt good. So good he could think of nothing but the sensations wracking his body. As fingers tightened around him, he bucked up, trying to get more friction. “Please... please,” he begged, “please don’t stop.” And still, Alexander’s gaze held him in place. Laying on his back. Thrashing helplessly under his touch. Crying out, begging for release.

Alexander watched hungrily as Spike begged and pleaded to be allowed to come. At one point the servant closed his eyes but Alexander would have none of it. "Open your eyes; look at me," he ordered, relishing the dazed look he'd caused. He moved his hand faster and faster, all the while looking into Spike's eyes.

Afraid to disobey, Spike struggled to keep his eyes open. His fists clenched around the sheets as Alexander’s hand mercilessly rode his swollen shaft, harder and faster. Trembling under the scorching heat spreading from his center, Spike writhed and jerked, groaning as he exploded in a convulsion of liquid heat. “Alexander!” The forbidden name was torn for his throat, though he didn’t realize it, lying on the bed completely exposed and with the sound of his heart still thundering in his head.

Once again, after the physical pleasure receded, Alexander felt shame overwhelm him. He pushed Spike away and turned his back, trying to bring his feelings under control. "Leave," he said harshly, "Leave before I have you punished yet again."

Wide-eyed, Spike hardly arranged his clothes before backing out of the room. He understood pain and cruelty. It was a fact of life. The rich and powerful always hurt those who had nothing. He even understood the hatred people felt for him. Boy-lover. It was true, that was what he was and it was against the laws of God and man. But what he didn’t understand was if Alexander was the same, then why was he treating him this way. And if he wasn’t... then why keep him around. Why pleasure him at all?

*

The next few weeks were torturous for Spike. Every night... every night that the Lord of the manor was home, he was summoned to his chambers. They hardly talked. Once in a while, he was allowed a bit of wine. And one night, much to his surprise, they’d played a game of tabula.

The moments before entering the bed weren’t so bad. But once they got in, and the curtains were drawn, it was a waiting game. First they’d sleep apart. Spike would hear Alexander praying for the strength to do what was right. But his heart would sink. The end was always the same.

His Lordship would move closer. Then closer. So close, he could feel the man’s breath on his neck. Spike would hold his own breath, lay perfectly still. Any movement he made would result in punishment and accusations that he was intentionally tempting Alexander.

But the scent of his lover... for what else was he to call the nobleman he slept with every night... made him yearn and fear the kisses that would come later. Inevitably, the warrior Lord would run his hands over Spike’s body. Spike would react... how could he not? And more often than not, he’d be threatened with punishment, or be subjected to a beating. They were supposed to resist, and when they didn’t... he bore the brunt of Alexander’s anger.

The worst was nights like tonight. Alexander would lay on top of him, praying, threatening. Yelling if he made the slightest move. One or the other’s breath would start coming faster. Their hearts would bang against their chests as forbidden thoughts entered their minds. Oh God, he could feel his Lordship grow hard, his erection press into Spike’s hip. As his own cock came alive, Spike instinctively slid his leg against Alexander, aligning their bodies so that their groins were pressed together.

Alexander groaned as he felt Spike's hard cock press against him. "Don't move," he said harshly, "you can't...we can't be doing this."

Yet, despite his words, Alexander's body betrayed him. He pressed down biting back a moan as he felt Spike's whole body twitch with the need to move.

It'd been like this for what felt like months, needing Spike, wanting him with a desperation that bordered on insanity. He'd tried to resist, Lord how he tried, but every night he would succumb to temptation and call for Spike, have him lie next to him in his bed. He would pretend that he could keep his distance, if only he could see him and every night the pretence would drop and he would press his body against Spike, just as he was doing now, desperate to take everything he could.

Every time he felt Spike's hips flex as if to move, he ordered the servant to lie still, not to tempt him, to stop torturing him with his magic. Alexander's hands came down to hold Spike's hips in a bruising grip, keeping him still as he moved against the hot body under him, no longer able to deny his need, all the while begging God to help him, to release him from this inhuman need.

Alexander arched his body, eyes greedily focused on Spike, eager to see him take his pleasure even as he prayed for salvation. All too soon they reached the edge, and he slumped down, exhaustion leading him straight to unsettled sleep.

Alexander had come to dread the nights. Even after he had satisfied the unholy yearning of his body, his mind provided him with dreams and nightmares, unwilling to let him rest even for a second. He would dream of falling into the fiery pits of hell, and wake up screaming, then take his fear and anger out on Spike, kicking and hitting his servant and cursing him for damning him.

The dreams were even worse. Dreams of white light and joy, dreams of pure undiluted happiness that would bring tears to his eyes when he woke, when he realized they weren't reality. In all those dreams, Spike had a starring role, sitting next to him, his beautiful eyes focused on Alexander with such love. He hated those dreams the most and accused Spike of sending them to him, making him believe that it was right when it was so obviously a sin.

He did not know how long this situation could last, how long before he would either lose his sanity or work up the willpower to send Spike away and as it turned out he did not have to find out.

*

Lady Amariel of Warwick was one of the most beautiful women in the country. Verses were written about her beautiful honey gold hair, entire odes were devoted to her beautiful almond shaped eyes, and many men paid suit to her for her beauty and her bountiful dowry. Seeing her petite size and porcelain good looks, many men made the mistake of thinking her as soft and sweet as she looked. They were quickly set straight, for Lady Amariel had not a thread but a thick rope of iron running through her. She had decided that Alexander would make a fine husband and she had snapped him up before any other Lady had a chance to so much as look in his direction.

Three days after the twain had met, her father was blessing their upcoming union. She and her entire family descended on Alexander’s home in preparation of the nuptials.

The moment the rumor that Lord Alexander had been paying too much attention to one of his servants reached her ears, Amariel took action. She was not about to lose him to a servant. Never one to hold with the rules, she decided to visit with her dear fiancé’ and dispose of the threat as quickly and efficiently as possible.

She swooped into Alexander's bedchamber and drew back the bed curtains to find her fiancé’ in bed with a man! The shock only held her immobile for a moment before she started ranting at Alexander, castigating him for getting involved with a male in the first place and for allowing such rumors to circulate. Did he have no respect for her at all? She asked, widening her eyes and crying soft tears. Did he not think of how people would look at her?

As she felt Alexander's strong arms hold her close and heard his whispered apologies and regrets, she glared hatefully at the man trying to take him away from her. She would soon take care of him

Spike hardly dared to look at them as he quickly got clothed. He couldn’t help but hear her tearful demands for an apology, her threats to break off the engagement and leave Alexander without the funds he’d been counting on, her tearful requests for an explanation. Alexander was still muttering about a spell he’d been put under and promising punishment, when Spike quietly left the room.

Lord how he resented the woman. It had been bad enough with just Lord Alexander to contend with. At least at times he’d been able to ring a tender word or gesture from the man. But now Alexander would have to make an even greater show of indifference or brutality – for her.

After he reached the servants’ quarters, and the room he shared with several others, he changed his clothes. All the while, a nervous fluttering in his stomach, a certain anxiety ate at him. How many lashes was he to expect at the whipping post because Lord Alexander had succumbed to the pleasures of the flesh with him. Would she double the count? Watch like a hawk?

He couldn’t live like this. Maybe he should go now. Make a break for it while the castle was full of strangers and abuzz with activity in preparation of the wedding. Her family, her servants. Maybe they wouldn’t notice until he was too far.

Heart banging, he bent down and retrieved a knapsack he’d prepared in case he ever went through with his plan. Clothes. Hard crusts of bread and cheese. And a few coins. With a bit of luck, this life would be over and he’d be in the city, no longer under Lord Alexander’s power.

He managed to slip out unnoticed. Surprisingly, his heart was heavy as he left the lands where he was born and raised, loved and hated.

*

“Wha....” Spike blinked and tried to get his bearings. He hadn’t even reached the next shire before getting caught. The soldiers had beaten him to a pulp, and it was only now that he was coming out of unconsciousness.

Panicked as rough hands handled him, he could see he was in the courtyard. They were dragging him toward the whipping post since he was in no condition to walk. He tried to stand when they reached it, but he was shoved on. “Wha....”

By the time his mind caught up, a rope had already been strung around his neck. “For God’s sake.... mercy... mercy,” he cried, looking up at the tower. He could see Lord Alexander and his Lady at the window, looking down at him. “Mercy,” he repeated, not knowing if they could even hear him.

The rope tightened. Someone pulled its free end, and Spike was lifted off the ground. They hadn’t bothered to tie his hands. He tore at the rope, worked a finger under it, delaying the inevitable. Spike, son of Mathew and Martha, went to the next world still kicking and pleading, but not before he saw the sunlight glint off the wetness on Lord Alexander’s cheeks.

*

[Present]

“It was the year of our Lord, one thousand ninety four. It was finished almost exactly a year after I was caught in the fields and brought into the household to be reformed. Your alter ego’s methods were doomed from the beginning.” Spike wiped the wetness forming at the corners of his eyes. “Oh stop looking at me like that, I didn’t mean to say you’re that cruel now.”

"I'm not looking at you," Xander mumbled, turning his face away. "I don't even believe you anyway," he said loudly, "you're just making things up to make me feel guilty so I'm nicer to you. Well, it didn't work."

Despite his denial, when Xander got up to get another beer he put some blood in the microwave for Spike. "Stupid vampire and his stupid plans," he grumbled, waiting for the blood to warm.

“Yeah... that’s it...” Spike tossed the remote in the air and caught. “I’ve got plenty more stories, not that you’d care to hear them.”

(A/N: If you enjoyed this story or have concrit, please leave a review. Feedback definitely makes me write more. A "hit" just means someone opened a story, but they could have hated it and closed it. So... leave a comment, even a short three word one. Thanks!)