eMail: scorpio71@earthlink.net

Walking through the darkened shadows, Spike considered things. He'd been following the rash of grisly murders for almost two months now, and he figured that he was close to the end of his search. Real close. The master vampire would run across his lost love within minutes, hours, days, weeks... whatever. In any case, soon.

The murders followed the exact pattern as they had almost a decade ago. The same bloody and violent style, the same type of victim. The same psychotic killer.

His lover.

Xander...

With a slight grin ghosting across his handsome pale features, he allowed himself to indulge in his memories. Ten years before, back when he still resided in Sunnydale.

The Hellmouth.

He'd been in a world of hurt back then. The Initiative had done it's job a little too well when it came to him. Hostile 17. They had put that bloody effin' chip in his skull. An electronic vampire pacifier. Spike *still* winced at the memory of the blinding white pain that would shoot through his skull at even the *attempt* at violence. He had been crippled. Muzzled. Broken.

He had been forced into an unholy truce with the bloody Slayer and her friends. Begging for blood and shelter. Selling his services and his knowledge like a two bit whore for protection and aid. He had flitted from person to person, living in basements, cellars and windowless closets for months.

Then, after that last big fight with Anya, Xander had announced that he could take in Spike permanently. At the time, it was a simple arrangement. Xander was alone and couldn't stand the loneliness and Spike was homeless and virtually helpless. There had been a few raised eyebrows, but no one said anything. After a while, no one cared anymore. They had all gotten used to it.

If only they had known the truth of it, they'd have found a way to stop it. He knew that, and Xander had known it as well. They worked hard to keep their secret just that... secret.

Lovers.

It sounds like such an innocent word. One that fills a mind with soft feelings and warm tidings, visions of close cuddles and romantic plans for the future. And yeah, those things had all been there. Maybe not right at first, but they had grown to become a part of their relationship.

But only a part.

The word 'Lovers' leaves so much unsaid. Unrealized. Untouched.

It doesn't evoke the true scope of their lovemaking. The lust and cum and bloodletting. The creative use of restraints and sharps. Xander never let anyone else but Spike know about his love and need for 'sharps'... razors, daggers, blades, needles. Anything metal that could cut skin would do. And how that boy had ached for Spike to be able to use his own fangs to slice open his flesh with.

But the dammed bloody chip wouldn't allow that. So, they had used sharps. Xander would cut open his skin and feed his own blood into Spike's mouth. In return, Spike had often shared his own blood with his mortal lover. In fact, he had come very close to turning the boy all together, but Xander had always insisted that he wasn't 'ready' for that... yet. A promise of 'someday' that had never come.

The word 'Lovers' also didn't give a clue about how they were each others last bastion of strength and support.

Oh, Spike was certain that most lovers did that for each other. But he was equally sure that most lovers didn't face the same things that he and Xander had. Spike, and his absolute defenselessness and dependence on those beings which natural law says he should never befriend. And Xander, in his desperate need for attention and acceptance and approval.

How many times did Spike patch together wounds of the flesh and the spirit for Xander after his father'd have another go at him? He wasn't sure. The weekly beatings and occasional violent rapes began to blur together after a
while. What hurt most, was that Spike couldn't stop it. The few times he'd been there for them and had tried to help, he'd ended up just as bruised and beaten as Xander.

And him? How many times did Xander come home to find him a bloody painful mess because some group of drunken jocks or some vicious demon had been at him? How many muggings and bar brawls did he survive? Once again, he was unsure. But Xander had been there for them all. Patched him up, fed him blood and then tucked him into warm dry blankets and strong loving arms.

And the late night and early evening talks? Sure, all lovers have them. But do all lovers talk about blood and pain and fear and hate? Do they reminisce about torture and killing and death?

Do all lovers spend their free time hunting down and killing demons, studying ancient spells, curses and demonology, or have painful and amazing blood soaked sex?

*No*. They don't.

Yet, for three years they had lived and loved like this. *Three bloody years*!

Then he'd found a way to remove his own personal curse. That blasted chip. He didn't even stop to consider otherwise. He'd leaped right into it with all of the enthusiasm of a hyper-active child on a sugar rush. Some heavy
mojo, several expensive payments up front and a bit of luck thrown in for good measure and then he was free.

The chip was gone.

Oh, how he'd let loose then. It had been *glorious*. The killing. The bloodshed. The mayhem! By the end of the week, everyone *knew* without a doubt just *why* Spike had been known as 'William the Bloody'.

He'd killed the Slayer and her bloody Watcher that very first night. He'd drained them dry and then removed their innards and arranged them in a pleasing display around their respective bedrooms. And, *oh*, the Slayer's blood had been *wonderful*. So rich and powerful. And Giles? His blood had literally *tingled* with magick. Lovely, just bloody lovely.

The very next night, he had gone after the two witches. They had also had that lovely tingle of magick coursing throughout their veins. Not as good as Slayer blood, but a damn sight better than *regular* mortals. They had been his friends and he had cared about them as well, so he had eviscerated *their* corpses just as he'd done with the Slayer and the Watcher. After all, didn't friends deserve the very best job he could do?

After he left them, he went home to Xander. His lover wasn't there, but his parents were. He didn't even bother to eat *them*. He just rended them limb from limb. Old mum and dad never looked so good as they did as tiny quivering chunks of bloody flesh. He was in such a good mood after that, that he'd wrote a love poem to Xander on the living room wall in the old man's blood. It wasn't Hallmark of anything, but then again, he wasn't a poet.

He was an immortal killer.

When he woke the next night, Xander *still* hadn't returned, so he decided to go out looking for him. He'd found Riley instead. Soldier-boy made a good snack. Right after he'd confessed that he'd been at the police station all night because of Buffy's murder. Xander was still being held for questioning. So, after leaving the ex-commando's corpse lying under a bush, Spike had headed for the police station.

And ran into Angelus.

Not *Angel*. Angelus.

Apparently, his Sire didn't take the news of Buffy's death real well. Combined with the death of the witch, who's spell was all that had been holding his soul together... well, let's just say it was an interesting and painful meeting.

Angelus wasn't mad about the death of the Slayer *or* the witch. However, he *was* pissed at having been trapped in the same body as Angel and not having any control for so long. Pissed and as looney as Dru, if you asked Spike. And the only thing Angelus wanted... was his boy back.

His Childe.

By the time that Angelus had lost interest in him enough for him to go after Xander, it had been *years*. He managed to find him again, but by *that* time, his lover had been institutionalized in an asylum for the criminally insane. For committing serial murders. With a railroad spike.

Having learned a lot about research from Giles and Willow, Spike managed to track down Xander's history after Angelus had dragged him from Sunnydale. The boy had been found innocent of all of the murder and mayhem that Spike had created in his celebration of the chip being removed from his skull. However, he'd been left with no family and no friends. Spike had killed them all.

So... a month after he'd been found innocent, Xander made his first kill.

He'd found a man that had looked remarkably like his father. Then he'd tied him up. Raped him. And then impaled his heart with a railroad spike. A week later, he'd done it again.

By the time that the cops had caught Xander, he'd been charged with the viscous rape and slaughter of forty-two men. All of them having a striking resemblance to his father. All killed with a railroad spike through the heart.

In retrospect, Spike knew that Xander had been trying to court him. To woo and romance him. To get his attention and draw him out to the boy. And if he'd known about the murders as they had been happening, he would have gone
to him. Taken him in and continued to love him as he had before.

But there had been Angelus.

His Sire had been his once more and he'd been lost in a sea of blood and love and violence that he hadn't felt since before the damned gypsies had cursed him. They had left America and had traveled into the heart of Egypt and had begun a reign of terror and bloodshed that washed over the dark continent. It had been glorious.

Now, Angelus had a new toy. A young girl that he was wooing and courting. He'd already killed off many of her friends and family and soon, Spike knew his Sire would turn her. So, he'd turned his attention to the world he'd left behind.

And somehow, his beloved Xander *knew* he was back in the States. He'd somehow managed to escape from the asylum in LA and was slaughtering his way southeast. Towards Spike. And in return, he himself was slaughtering his way northwest. Towards his long lost lover. The only mortal who'd loved *all* of him. Both the human side *and* the demon within.

Xander.

Turning the corner into another dark and dirty alley way, Spike's roving thoughts were pulled out of the past and firmly into the here and now by a song. A Sex Pistols song. It's haunting lyrics and jarring rhythms pulled at him. Following it as if it were a siren song, Spike soon found himself in front of a seedy and dark biker bar. A row of highly polished and well tuned machines were parked outside.

Looking closely, he noted that one of the big Harley's was painted black with a lovely designed letter X on the gas tank. The one leg of the X was a metal railroad spike with blood dripping from the end of it. The other leg of the X was bright red with a small puddle of blood under it.

He smiled a toothy grin.

Excitement bubbling through his undead veins, Spike threw open the blacked out door and strode inside. Alcohol fumes, stale cigarette smoke, creaking leather and raunchy music assaulted his senses in a pulsing kaleidoscope of
pleasure. Large leather covered men and scantily clad women littered the bar, but his eyes scanned the crowd for only one man.

Xander.

There he was. In the back at a table. Alone. A bottle of cheap whiskey sat in front of him next to a pack of Spike favorite brand of cigarettes. Xander wore a long black duster that was very reminiscent of his own. His dark curly hair had grown long. The soft curls reached down below his shoulders and was caught back in a ponytail. His cheeks and chin were dusted with dark stubble and he bore a faint scar across one cheek. He was beautiful.

His lover looked up then and their eyes met. Icy blue and lush brown.

If Spike's heart had been physically able to beat, it would have skipped one at that point. He was looking into the eyes of a stone cold killer. A vicious and ruthless hunter. A man that he himself had driven into a lunacy so deep and dark that he'd never escape it.

Just as Angelus had sent his lovely dark princess head long into insanity, so had he himself done for Xander. No mortal can come to love a demon and retain their sanity. It was not possible. And Xander loved him... as much as he himself loved Xander. Courting and wooing was over. It was time for the wedding. With a manic grin, Spike walked over to Xander's table and pulled the man up from his chair and into his arms.

"You left me."

The words were whispered in his ear. They held no malice, no anger. Just a statement of fact spoken in that lilting quality of voice used by the insane.

"You killed them all and then you left me alone. Why didn't you kill me too? Or turned me? Or taken me with you?"

A flutter of regret briefly shivered along his thoughts, but he pushed that aside.

"Ahhh pet, I didn't *mean* to leave you. I was coming for you, but I ran into Angelus."

"Angel?"

"No pet. Not *Angel*, Angelus. My Sire. He took me away. I had no choice, I *had* to leave."

Spike watched as a small pout formed on those soft ripe lips for a second as a deep sadness flickered in those haunting dark eyes.

"Now, now. Don't be sad luv. I'm here now, aren't I? I came back for you and I'm never letting you go again. We'll be together forever."

Spike watched as a small smile took the place of the tiny frown. A bit of unholy sparkle lit up the mortals eyes and Spike felt his cock twitch in his jeans at the thoughts that were playing out in his mind.

"Tonight luv. I'm going to turn you tonight. You'll make a lovely vampire. I just know it. You have such wonderful promise. We'll roam the world, killing and feeding and fucking. You and me. Together."

True joy lit up his lover's face at that pronouncement. Xander was so beautiful in his happiness that Spike couldn't contain himself. In a swift move, he pulled the mortal into his arms once again and then he kissed him. A long deep passionate kiss of possession and love and lust. He nipped at his lover's tongue and warm vibrant blood trickled into his mouth. A wonderful teaser of what was to come.

Suddenly, a rough hand shoved at him from behind. Only his supernatural strength and agility kept him from falling over on top of his Xander and crashing them both to the hard floor. He turned to see a large leather covered man with greasy hair and stained teeth sneering at them. A ring of the mortal's friends stood beyond him, laughing and joking.

"Fuckin' fags. We don't like *queers* here. And now, we're gonna stomp all over your ass. Teach you a lesson about what being a *real* man is all about."

Spike raised up his scared eyebrow in a sort of indifferent fascination with the man, the way one might study a particularly interesting bug crawling along the sidewalk right before you step on it and squash it flat. He turned his head to glance at his lover to see how this development was effecting him. What he saw made him smile widely in pleasure.

Xander had reached into his own duster's pockets and pulled out two rusty railroad spikes and he held one in each hand as if they were daggers or knives. He had a hungry gleam in his dark eyes and a maniacal grin on his handsome face. He gestured to the leather clad bikers with one of his spikes.

"Bloody slaughter and vicious mayhem?"

Spike chuckled and turned back to the leader of the bikers.

"You know, mate. About this idea of yours to teach me how to be a man? Well, the only problem with it is, I've been there and done that. I *much* prefer what I am now."

The doomed man snorted with contempt.

"What's that? A fairy?"

Spike shifted into gameface.

"No. I'm a bloody hellspawned demon, you twit."

And then, with Xander at his side brandishing his twin metal spikes like the deadly weapons they were, he pounced on his first victim of the night...


END: Reunion
scorpio71@earthlink.net
http://thesleepydragon.com/nesting/scorpio.html