Chapter 2
By the time Spike was finished nearly an hour later, Xander’s back was a mangled mess and Spike was high off the human blood he’d lapped at from the numerous slash marks he’d made. Xander hung limply in chains, the pain finally too much for him to remain conscious, and Spike gave a satisfied nod that he’d accomplished his end – or Xander’s end, he wasn’t quite sure – then stumbled away to pour himself a drink.
His hand shook as he brought the glass to his lips, some of the contents spilling onto his chin as he swallowed a heavy portion of whiskey. The haze of blood and violence lifted somewhat as the alcohol hit his system, and his gaze found its way back to Xander.
Xander, who had taken everything Spike had dished out without once crying out. Spike frowned as another thought occurred to him, and he set down his glass and crossed the room to confirm his suspicions. The blindfold came away with only a slight tug, and he lifted it to his nose to sniff at it before focusing on Xander’s face.
His frown deepened.
Xander hadn’t shed a single tear.
A knock sounded at the door and Spike barked out a harsh, “Come in!”
The door opened almost hesitantly to reveal a nervous Jeff, the servant that had been assigned to him.
“Should I send for the healer?” His eyes touched briefly on Xander.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say yes, but at the last minute, Spike shook his head.
“No. Bring me the key to the chains. I’ll see the boy home.”
“But—”
“Look, the boy came here because he wanted to be hurt. Fixing him would defeat the purpose.”
What he didn’t say was that maybe the reminder of the pain Spike had inflicted would linger long enough so that Xander wouldn’t want to come back.
~*~*~*~*~
“Bloody hell, Harris,” Spike muttered as he opened Xander’s front door and was bombarded by the stench emanating from the place. “You fire the maid?”
He got no response, of course. Xander was still out cold and was nothing more than dead weight draped over Spike’s right shoulder.
“Surprised your demon bird hasn’t put her foot down,” Spike said as he stepped over and around piles of dirty clothes, empty beer bottles, and the odd takeout bag littering the floor and made his way to Xander’s bedroom.
Although, now that Spike thought about it, Anyanka had been decidedly absent at their bi-weekly meetings except on the rare occasion they were being held at the Magic Box, and even then they barely said two words to each other in greeting.
Something he’d not realized until now.
It made him wonder just what else he was missing.
Spike stopped in front of the bed, which, unlike everything else in the apartment, was clean and neatly made up; it obviously hadn’t been used in a while.
“What have you been up to, Harris?” Spike murmured as he dumped the boy on the bed none too gently and proceeded to strip him out of his clothes. Xander didn’t move through all his manhandling – not even a wince – and Spike had to wonder if he’d done the right thing in allowing Xander’s wounds to heal on their own, rather than by magical means… discounting the non-scarring salve he’d been forced to have applied, of course.
He and the owner of the club had gone round and round. At first the demon had refused to let him leave with Xander, citing the boy’s popularity with some of his best paying customers and that it was still early enough yet for Xander to perform in at least two, maybe three more scenarios. Spike had had to clarify a few things, namely that the boy was off limits to anyone except him – not that he planned on Xander ever returning – and saw that his point was made when the Bin Tok’s eyes started to bulge and his face turned an unnatural shade of purple as it was denied air because of the tight grip Spike had around its neck.
“Too bloody right I did,” he practically growled, as he settled a sheet over Xander’s lower body, leaving his back open to the air. “You’ll think twice about returning to that place with the pain still fresh in your mind.”
Or so he hoped.
Spike left the room with the intention of hanging out on the couch, but the foul smell had him retreating back to the Summers house, first to check on Dawn, then to descend the steps to the basement and the cot he’d taken to using, not bothering to return to his crypt.
Right now, he needed the reminder of Dawn, and the Slayer’s promise, to keep him from dwelling on what he could have, and so easily.
The club had been an eye opener. He’d been presented with the Holy Grail in that place – the ability to hurt and maim without consequence – and he’d grabbed at it with both hands without a second thought. He’d reveled in the pain he’d caused and taken it to the limit of Xander’s endurance.
His demon had crowed with delight each time the whip had landed on Xander’s bare flesh, nostrils flaring wide as the boy’s skin had split and the scent of blood hit the air. He’d tasted perfect, too – just the right amount of anguish and despair. Spike had wanted so much to sink his fangs into Xander’s neck and have himself a good long drink.
And he’d almost done it there at the end.
He’d told himself at the beginning that he was just giving Harris what he wanted. That if he didn’t do it, someone else would. But he lied. He’d done it for himself.
To take back some of his own. To release some of his own pain and sorrow at not having been fast enough, or good enough, to save the Slayer himself.
It mattered not the reasons why.
He’d hurt Xander and took pleasure in it.
God help him if word of what he’d done ever got out. Best case scenario, he’d be denied access to Dawn, the person he’d sworn to the Slayer he’d protect with his life. Worst case, he’d be on the receiving end of a good staking – with Xander at the head of the pack.
Avoiding that place in the future, and the temptation it provided, was what was important now.
That and getting to the bottom of Xander’s reasons for being there in the first place.
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