Slip Slide Melting
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Slash - Male/Male › Spike(William)/Xander
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
21
Views:
5,072
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Slash - Male/Male › Spike(William)/Xander
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
21
Views:
5,072
Reviews:
10
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.
Slip Slide Melting
Title: Slip Slide Melting
Authored by: Tisienne
Pairing: S/X
Rating: NC-17 overall (cuz… this is me. LOL)
Disclaimer: I am not now, nor have I ever been, Joss Whedon. He owns. I do not, sadly.
A/N: This is kinda different from my other stuff and I’m kinda nervous about it. Everything in canon happened just as on the show, pretty much, but this takes place a number of years later.
First part is the Prologue, and don’t worry. It IS an S/X fic. LOL Not completed as yet, sadly (time got away from me), but it definitely will be finished.
And now… on with it, yes?
* * * * * * * * *
Prologue
I am not entirely certain of why I am keeping this record, although perhaps it is simply so that I can remember clearly all the things which will not appear in the official histories.
It is possible that some day, someone other than myself might stumble upon these pages and think them merely a story, a fable… some sort of ‘what if’, and if so, then so be it.
I can merely state that these words—my words—are sincere and true to the best of my knowledge, and I am, in actuality, in a position to know.
That said, if anyone else does ever read this, they are to feel free to draw their own conclusions. That is exactly why I am leaving my pages within this volume in the Great Library.
As in the past, nobody truly cares to read dry, dusty tomes. Not when ‘everyone knows’ what really happened.
My brother has written his version of events, and I do not doubt his source, but neither do I doubt my own.
It is possibly a simple matter of different perspectives; however, I do not feel that the actuality lies with either version entirely.
History is written by those who survive it. Truth, on the other hand, remains truth… regardless of whether it is believed or not.
So. The truth as I have come to understand it, based upon both family stories and many hours of research in the stacks beneath the Citadel.
The world—our world—was not always as it is now, and yes, I am aware that every child, every person human or otherwise knows this. I simply state it as an opening to the history I choose to impart.
So the world is different.
Our age is different in so many ways from the age before, but the largest dissimilarity is the magic.
It surrounds us, fills the air and our very beings. We are suffused with it. Even those without the ability to make use of their magic bear it within them.
Some say that this was always so, and perhaps they are right. How else to explain the existence of the most wondrous, magical thing of all—the soul?
Still, that being said and stipulated, perhaps it is not so much a question of whether we have always borne the magic within us, but a question of degree and ability to access those powers.
I believe it to be so, in any case, and all because of one vampire who had within him the magic of humanity… a soul.
“Well, personally, I kind of want to slay the dragon. Let’s go to work.”
These are the words which the High Coven claim started the Change although their tune has changed since the Magus Prime announced his findings. Initially they had laid the blame for the Chaos on far different shoulders, but I am getting ahead of myself.
* * * * * * * * *
Africa was hot. Sunny, most times. Deadly, all the time; especially if a guy wasn’t familiar with danger.
Fortunately, Xander Harris was familiar. Hell, he’d grown up on a Hellmouth of all things, fought beside the Slayer in the days when there’d been only one, and come out of it all relatively intact.
Maybe he wasn’t as smart as his friend Willow or as strong as the Slayer, Buffy. He obviously wasn’t as learned as his mentor Rupert Giles or as steeped in history as his former—and now late—fiancee Anyanka.
Yes, there were many things which Xander Harris was not. And one of those things was ‘stupid’, regardless of the façade he’d frequently presented in his home town.
Thus it was that when the sky darkened, lowering violet thunderheads nearly touching the ground while eye-searing jagged shatters of bright orange and green lightening lit up the indigo night, he didn’t panic.
He didn’t panic and he didn’t run.
He simply dropped his rucksack beside him, pulled the oilcloth tarp over himself and it, and dug his fingers hard into the sandy ground beneath him, holding on with a determination many would have thought unlike him.
It was a stubborn sort of determination, for he was a stubborn sort of man.
He had survived more demons, apocalypses, mystical ailments, murderous lovers and spiritual possessions than any one human should ever have heard of, much less experienced, and he’d be damned if he was going to run from a sudden storm, freaky and obviously unnatural as it was.
He sat there, motionless, beneath his cover, lips moving silently in the one spell he’d let his witch friend teach him. He hoped it would keep the creeping, stabbing lightning from him, for the charm was one of protection and it did seem to work. Initially, at least.
He didn’t look out from beneath his sparse shelter. Didn’t let himself see the people of the nearby village running and being struck.
Of course, that meant that he also didn’t see some of them rise again… changed.
He also didn’t see—because he wasn’t looking, of course—that the strikes grew closer. Slowly. Inexorably. As though drawn to him.
Hah! Xander Harris may very well have been a ‘demon-magnet’ at the time, but I fear my brother is somewhat biased if he truly wishes people to believe that this was a demonic storm. And yet, people being what they are, it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest that most choose to believe this… fantasy.
The lighting felt him, sought him out. It knew, somehow, that he was the one it was meant to find. And when it had built in force, built in strength, built in power… it struck. Viciously. Violently. Roughly. Enough so that it melted the very earth upon which he sat as it poured into him, suffusing his entire being with its own energy.
And again I say, my brother is a drama queen. ‘Built in, built in, built in…’ and does anyone but me realize that he said the same bloody thing three times with different words? Twice?
Add in the fact that he’s ascribing thought and reasoning to a bleeding storm, and…
I apologize, future reader. He tends to irritate me greatly. I will do my utmost to restrain myself within these pages.
It’s still an incredibly wordy way of saying that Xander got hit by lightning. A lot. And probably because he was doing sustained magic while the storm was in full force.
When the smoke cleared and the clouds faded-- as quickly as they’d appeared-- the remaining villagers discovered him there, sunk in the bottom of a crater and yet apparently untouched, although the sandy earth around him had become a nearly perfect bowl of silicate glass.
In the interests of accuracy, while Xander’s physical wellbeing was and is quite remarkable, it should be pointed out that sand does generally become glass when struck by lightning or heated to sufficient temperatures.
That Xander Harris was not immediately put to death as an agent of evil is a testament, of course, to the overwhelming goodness which even the savage people who discovered him could sense.
Thus it was that instead of a summarily executed death, he was delivered unto his own people. Those known at the time as Watchers.
Right. I’ve had about as much of this as I can take. Liam is a bloody ponce and I’ll be damned if I’m going to follow his lead by being as uptight and pedantic here as he is.
It’s no bloody wonder nobody wants to read the official histories. They’re sodding boring! And apparently my dear brother has taken it upon himself to make them even more so.
What the hell was our Father thinking when he put him in charge of this?
Then again, he probably just wanted to get the git out of his hair, not to mention out of the work room.
Screw the ‘official’ history.
Here’s how it really happened.
* * * * *
tbc...
Authored by: Tisienne
Pairing: S/X
Rating: NC-17 overall (cuz… this is me. LOL)
Disclaimer: I am not now, nor have I ever been, Joss Whedon. He owns. I do not, sadly.
A/N: This is kinda different from my other stuff and I’m kinda nervous about it. Everything in canon happened just as on the show, pretty much, but this takes place a number of years later.
First part is the Prologue, and don’t worry. It IS an S/X fic. LOL Not completed as yet, sadly (time got away from me), but it definitely will be finished.
And now… on with it, yes?
* * * * * * * * *
Prologue
I am not entirely certain of why I am keeping this record, although perhaps it is simply so that I can remember clearly all the things which will not appear in the official histories.
It is possible that some day, someone other than myself might stumble upon these pages and think them merely a story, a fable… some sort of ‘what if’, and if so, then so be it.
I can merely state that these words—my words—are sincere and true to the best of my knowledge, and I am, in actuality, in a position to know.
That said, if anyone else does ever read this, they are to feel free to draw their own conclusions. That is exactly why I am leaving my pages within this volume in the Great Library.
As in the past, nobody truly cares to read dry, dusty tomes. Not when ‘everyone knows’ what really happened.
My brother has written his version of events, and I do not doubt his source, but neither do I doubt my own.
It is possibly a simple matter of different perspectives; however, I do not feel that the actuality lies with either version entirely.
History is written by those who survive it. Truth, on the other hand, remains truth… regardless of whether it is believed or not.
So. The truth as I have come to understand it, based upon both family stories and many hours of research in the stacks beneath the Citadel.
The world—our world—was not always as it is now, and yes, I am aware that every child, every person human or otherwise knows this. I simply state it as an opening to the history I choose to impart.
So the world is different.
Our age is different in so many ways from the age before, but the largest dissimilarity is the magic.
It surrounds us, fills the air and our very beings. We are suffused with it. Even those without the ability to make use of their magic bear it within them.
Some say that this was always so, and perhaps they are right. How else to explain the existence of the most wondrous, magical thing of all—the soul?
Still, that being said and stipulated, perhaps it is not so much a question of whether we have always borne the magic within us, but a question of degree and ability to access those powers.
I believe it to be so, in any case, and all because of one vampire who had within him the magic of humanity… a soul.
“Well, personally, I kind of want to slay the dragon. Let’s go to work.”
These are the words which the High Coven claim started the Change although their tune has changed since the Magus Prime announced his findings. Initially they had laid the blame for the Chaos on far different shoulders, but I am getting ahead of myself.
* * * * * * * * *
Africa was hot. Sunny, most times. Deadly, all the time; especially if a guy wasn’t familiar with danger.
Fortunately, Xander Harris was familiar. Hell, he’d grown up on a Hellmouth of all things, fought beside the Slayer in the days when there’d been only one, and come out of it all relatively intact.
Maybe he wasn’t as smart as his friend Willow or as strong as the Slayer, Buffy. He obviously wasn’t as learned as his mentor Rupert Giles or as steeped in history as his former—and now late—fiancee Anyanka.
Yes, there were many things which Xander Harris was not. And one of those things was ‘stupid’, regardless of the façade he’d frequently presented in his home town.
Thus it was that when the sky darkened, lowering violet thunderheads nearly touching the ground while eye-searing jagged shatters of bright orange and green lightening lit up the indigo night, he didn’t panic.
He didn’t panic and he didn’t run.
He simply dropped his rucksack beside him, pulled the oilcloth tarp over himself and it, and dug his fingers hard into the sandy ground beneath him, holding on with a determination many would have thought unlike him.
It was a stubborn sort of determination, for he was a stubborn sort of man.
He had survived more demons, apocalypses, mystical ailments, murderous lovers and spiritual possessions than any one human should ever have heard of, much less experienced, and he’d be damned if he was going to run from a sudden storm, freaky and obviously unnatural as it was.
He sat there, motionless, beneath his cover, lips moving silently in the one spell he’d let his witch friend teach him. He hoped it would keep the creeping, stabbing lightning from him, for the charm was one of protection and it did seem to work. Initially, at least.
He didn’t look out from beneath his sparse shelter. Didn’t let himself see the people of the nearby village running and being struck.
Of course, that meant that he also didn’t see some of them rise again… changed.
He also didn’t see—because he wasn’t looking, of course—that the strikes grew closer. Slowly. Inexorably. As though drawn to him.
Hah! Xander Harris may very well have been a ‘demon-magnet’ at the time, but I fear my brother is somewhat biased if he truly wishes people to believe that this was a demonic storm. And yet, people being what they are, it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest that most choose to believe this… fantasy.
The lighting felt him, sought him out. It knew, somehow, that he was the one it was meant to find. And when it had built in force, built in strength, built in power… it struck. Viciously. Violently. Roughly. Enough so that it melted the very earth upon which he sat as it poured into him, suffusing his entire being with its own energy.
And again I say, my brother is a drama queen. ‘Built in, built in, built in…’ and does anyone but me realize that he said the same bloody thing three times with different words? Twice?
Add in the fact that he’s ascribing thought and reasoning to a bleeding storm, and…
I apologize, future reader. He tends to irritate me greatly. I will do my utmost to restrain myself within these pages.
It’s still an incredibly wordy way of saying that Xander got hit by lightning. A lot. And probably because he was doing sustained magic while the storm was in full force.
When the smoke cleared and the clouds faded-- as quickly as they’d appeared-- the remaining villagers discovered him there, sunk in the bottom of a crater and yet apparently untouched, although the sandy earth around him had become a nearly perfect bowl of silicate glass.
In the interests of accuracy, while Xander’s physical wellbeing was and is quite remarkable, it should be pointed out that sand does generally become glass when struck by lightning or heated to sufficient temperatures.
That Xander Harris was not immediately put to death as an agent of evil is a testament, of course, to the overwhelming goodness which even the savage people who discovered him could sense.
Thus it was that instead of a summarily executed death, he was delivered unto his own people. Those known at the time as Watchers.
Right. I’ve had about as much of this as I can take. Liam is a bloody ponce and I’ll be damned if I’m going to follow his lead by being as uptight and pedantic here as he is.
It’s no bloody wonder nobody wants to read the official histories. They’re sodding boring! And apparently my dear brother has taken it upon himself to make them even more so.
What the hell was our Father thinking when he put him in charge of this?
Then again, he probably just wanted to get the git out of his hair, not to mention out of the work room.
Screw the ‘official’ history.
Here’s how it really happened.
* * * * *
tbc...