Chapter Text
Happily Ever After (1/7)
Title: Happily Ever After (1/7)
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I'm not Joss
Summary: When Spike gets whacked with a magic mushroom, the boys learn there's more to fairy tales than happy endings.
Author's Notes:
This is the first of my fall_for_sx entries. I'll be posting the complete fic between now and Friday. This fic is a Biteverse adventure but you don't need to have read the Biteverse to enjoy.
Many thanks to my lovely beta, silk_labyrinth, and to theladymerlin for the wonderful banner and icon!
HAPPILY EVER AFTER
One
Spike loved to watch his boy work. He helped, nominally: sometimes fetching a hammer or picking up a dropped nail or holding a ladder steady. But mostly he leaned against a wall or straddled a chair, admiring the tautness of Xander’s arse beneath tight denim, the play of muscles on his broad back, the confident and deft movements of his hands; grinning at the way Xander’s fringe would fall in his face; waiting for the frequent moments when Xander would glance over his shoulder and give Spike a warm smile. If the Hyperion hadn’t already been a source of never-ending construction projects, Spike would have destroyed things just for the pleasure of seeing his lover fix them.
“Hey, Fangface. Wanna get off your lazy butt and hand me my drill? If it isn’t too much of a strain.”
Spike gave a mock growl before slowly standing and languidly stretching, knowing that doing so revealed a strip of skin above the low-slung waistband of his jeans. He swung his hips just a little as he sauntered across the room, and when he bent to retrieve the tool he made sure his arse waved invitingly in Xander’s direction.
“Not gonna work,” Xander laughed. “I wanna get the wiring done today and then patch the holes so I can paint tomorrow.”
“Could paint the next day.”
“No, the next day I’m gonna install lights and shelves and cabinets. C’mon, Spike. Just another hour or so and then I’ll be done and we can take a nice hot shower together.”
“You’ll shampoo my hair?”
“I’ll clean every inch of you.”
Spike sighed happily and brought him the drill, then returned to his chair. Building an infirmary had been a good idea. In their strange household someone was always needing patching up and the scattered first aid kits weren’t always up to the task. It wasn’t as if they could go to hospital either—doctors wouldn’t know what to do with vampires, a Slayer, or a werewolf. Even Wesley, the most human of them, had spent some time as a ghost and had come away from the experience with a few quirks in his system. And now there was the newest resident, the poor bloke Xander had dragged back with them from Praesidium. Magics had saved the bloke’s life but hadn’t mended the psychological trauma that kept him nearly comatose.
The sound of the drill hurt Spike’s ears as Xander bored into a wall stud, and neither of them heard Angel enter the room. “Hey!” he shouted and they both startled. Xander almost fell off the ladder, but managed to keep his balance and turn off the tool.
Spike shot out of his seat to glare up at Angel. “Be careful, wanker! If you cause my Xander to hurt himself—”
“Sorry!” Angel said, clearly not meaning it. “But there’s this wacko out in Long Beach and if we don’t get there soon—”
“Right. Another bloody emergency,” said Spike. But Xander had already descended the ladder and was unbuckling his tool belt. Angel left, presumably to wait impatiently in the lobby, and Spike and Xander ran up to their suite to collect their jackets. Xander slipped his eyepatch on. They both cast longing looks at their bathroom as they passed it. “I think I fancied him better when he was a baby,” Spike grumbled, referring to his grandsire. “Didn’t interrupt us with apocalypses all the time then.”
“No, just with stinky diapers. I think I prefer apocalypses.”
Spike had to concede that Xander had a point. They raced back down the stairs, skidding to a halt in front of Angel, Kyna, and Wesley, all of whom looked ready to leave. “You coming too, Wes?” Xander asked.
“Yes. Magics are involved, apparently, and my knowledge might prove useful.”
“I bet it will. But what about the mystery man? Is he gonna be okay on his own?”
“Maffeo,” Wes replied softly.
“Huh?”
“Maffeo. It’s his name.”
Xander was clearly about to ask how Wes knew that—Spike was wondering as well—but Angel huffed impatiently. “Can we do this on the way?” he asked.
So they all piled into the van with Xander behind the wheel and Angel navigating. “What’s the 411 on tonight’s bad guy?” Xander asked as soon as he pulled onto the freeway.
It was Kyna who answered. “He’s a wizard.”
Spike groaned—his experiences with wizards had not all been happy ones.
Kyna ignored him and continued. “Until recently he’s been harmless. He’s been selling love charms and minor curses.”
“What kind of minor curses?” Xander wanted to know.
“Oh … staining your favorite clothing, plumbing problems, never getting a good signal on your mobile phone. Things like that.”
“That doesn’t sound too awful.”
“It wasn’t. That’s why we’ve let him be. But our informants tell us that a week or so ago he suddenly became much more powerful. Nobody knows how. And tonight he means to destroy the port.”
Xander shrugged. “Okay, that’s worse than staining. But why?”
“I told you,” Angel said. “He’s a wacko.”
Xander must have decided that was explanation enough because he changed the topic. “So, Wes. Maffeo?”
Wesley was sitting next to Spike in the middle row of seats. He looked preoccupied, and he didn’t respond to Xander’s question until Spike gave him a gentle nudge.
“Oh, sorry. I was …” Wes shook his head as if to clear it. “He was a bit more … coherent than usual this morning. His eyes actually focused on me and he asked me who I was. At least, I believe that’s what he asked. That language …”
“Latin through a blender,” Spike agreed. “I reckon in his world the Romans made it to North America and brought some version of their language with them.”
Wes nodded. “Yes, and it evolved over time as the other Romance languages did. At any rate, we managed a brief exchange. I told him my name and he said he’s called Maffeo. Then he looked about and his surroundings overwhelmed him. I know he’s in a simple hotel room—”
“But it’s a long way from where he’s been,” Spike interrupted, shuddering at the reminder of his brief but painful captivity in the Keep.
“Precisely. He’s withdrawn again. But I have hopes that with patience he’ll eventually recover, at least to some extent.”
“You’re aching to interrogate the poor bloke, yeah?”
Wes smiled slightly. “Yes. But also, well, I’d like him to realize that he’s free.”
Spike was going to accuse Wes of succumbing to Florence Nightingale Syndrome, but then realized that he himself was the beneficiary of the syndrome: Xander had fallen for him when Spike was cursed and wounded and Xander had saved him and cared for him. So Spike only patted Wes’s knee and turned to look out his window.
The evening traffic was heavy enough that it took them some time to get to Long Beach. Kyna was in the far back seat, so when she and Angel spent most of the ride bickering whether he would go back to Ireland to visit her family, Spike had to endure being in the crossfire. He didn’t understand why Angel bothered to put up an argument; in the end Kyna would have her way. Angel hadn’t returned to his homeland since he’d been turned, and Spike wondered whether the visit would be a shock to him. That got Spike thinking about London, where he hadn’t been in many decades. It might be nice to go there with Xander, show the old bitch of a city that Spike had someone now, that he was someone. Perhaps they’d even pay a visit to Rupert and Lindsey, who were now apparently living as country gentleman.
Spike was happily imagining a run through the heath, Xander loping four-legged at his side, when the van came to halt inside a parking garage on the waterfront. Everyone piled out, and Angel and Kyna led the way out of the building and down the pavement toward a crowd of people who were clustered beside an enormous cruise ship. Most of the people were smiling and laughing, taking pictures, tugging suitcases this way and that. But one man was off by himself at the far end of the ship. He was sitting on a bench and scowling—no holiday air to him at all. He wasn’t dressed for a cruise either: frayed jeans and a t-shirt that had faded from red to pink, and an unraveling watch cap pulled over his long, greasy hair.
The man looked at the group of them with some alarm as they approached. Spike reckoned that their lot didn’t much look as if they meant to set sail either.
“Todd Snowden?” Angel asked when they reached the bench.
The man’s worry deepened. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“We’re— It doesn’t matter. Look, we know what you’re planning, and—”
Snowden leapt to his feet and scuttled a few feet farther from them. “How? Who told you? Who are you people?” His voice was squeaky and uneven, as if he hadn’t quite left adolescence, even though he looked to be in his early thirties.
Angel held his hands up placatingly. “We don’t want to hurt you, okay?”
“Hurt me? Do you have any idea what I’m capable of? Do you know who I am?”
“Well, yeah,” Spike responded. “Peaches just told you that.”
Angel and Kyna gave Spike dirty looks, but there was nothing new about that.
Snowden backed away a bit more. “You guys can’t stop me!”
Xander tried his goofy grin, the one that made him look like the friendly chap who lived next door and occasionally popped over to borrow some eggs or natter about football. “Hey, Todd. I bet something’s bugging you. I get it—been there myself, my friend. How about if you come back to our place, throw back a few beers, and you can tell us all about it. Maybe we can help.”
“Nobody can help!” Snowden screamed.
“Maybe not, but look at these people.” Xander gestured at the crowds waiting to board the ship. “They just want to climb on the fun ship, pig out on food, get drunk on margaritas, watch bad comedians, buy cheap medicines in Ensenada. You don’t want to ruin their vacation.”
“I don’t care about those people. They’re … nothing. Bugs.” Snowden took another step back and the rest of them moved forward, trying to surround him without sending him completely bonkers. “I used to be a bug, too. But not now! Now I have powers!”
“Sure, buddy. I know how that goes. Now think of all the good you could do with those powers.”
“Good? Why should I do good? The fucking world’s never done anything for me. Not even when I tried … I was a nice guy. I really loved Sara. Bought her flowers and shit, took her out to dinner even when I couldn’t afford it. I treated her nice. Promised her someday I’d make it big and then she’d really be my princess. And what does she do? Dumps me for some asshole who wanted to take her to Mexico! Just dumps me like I was nothing, like I was dirt.”
Kyna asked, “Is Sara on this ship?”
“Of course not! That was last year. I dunno where the bitch is now. But I couldn’t do anything about it back then, and now I can. Now I will. I’ll show her!”
Snowden’s eyes flashed and Spike realized that talking reason to him wasn’t going to work. After a century with Dru, Spike knew what lunacy looked like and this bloke was a prime example. Unfortunately, offering to serve entrails and virgin’s blood at a tea party—the usual method of calming Dru down—probably wasn’t going to work in this instance.
Spike shot Xander a warning look, trying to communicate all of this with a glance, and Xander nodded. The others seemed to draw the same conclusions, because while they still moved slowly, they began to close the circle around their prey.
The man’s mad eyes filled with panic and he raised his hands. He had something clutched in one palm, but not enough of it was visible to identify it. “Stop it!” Snowden screeched. “I mean it!”
Everyone took another step closer to him. Out of the corner of his eye, Spike saw that some of the holiday-goers had noticed the ruckus and turned to watch, but they weren’t important at the moment.
“C’mon,” Xander said in one last attempt at peace. “We can talk about this. We can—”
Snowden launched himself at Xander, screaming words in what sounded like ancient Greek. Xander howled and dropped to his knees, clutching his head, red streams of blood trickling from his ears.
And Spike lost all ability to think rationally. He simply leapt at Snowden, knocking the man to the pavement and landing on his chest so that the air was expelled from Snowden’s lungs in one loud grunt. The spell-casting stopped as Snowden tried to take in more oxygen and Spike vamped out, meaning to tear the bastard’s throat out. But before Spike’s fangs met with flesh, Snowden’s hand thumped against Spike’s shoulder. The blow was nothing in itself. Spike wouldn’t have noticed at all, except the hand that hit him was the one that had been holding the mystery item. As soon as the object made contact with Spike, every nerve in his body seemed to jerk all at once. It was as if he had touched a powerful electrical wire. He fell off Snowden, his limbs in uncontrollable spasms and his back bowed so sharply he felt as if it might snap. He was choking on his own blood from having bitten his tongue, but his jaw was clamped closed and he couldn’t even cry out. He couldn’t tell what was going on around him either, as his senses were as disarrayed as the rest of him. All he could make out were sparkling lights and a muffled jumble of sounds. It took all his might to remain conscious.
He didn’t know how long the seizure lasted. By the time he could once again control himself he was lying in the back seat of the van. He blinked his eyes open and realized that his head was in Xander’s lap. Xander looked like hell—blood on his cheeks and neck, his eye bloodshot, and his brows drawn in worry—but he was clearly alive, and he was stroking Spike’s hair.
“You back with me, Fang?” Xander asked softly.
Spike licked at his lips and swallowed a few times. “Yeah. What’s … what …”
“Don’t worry. Everything’s okay. That whammy Todd put on you drained away all his power. He’s gagged and hogtied and nothing sank.”
It took a great deal of strength for Spike to raise his arm and brush his fingertips against Xander’s face. “He hurt you.”
“I’m fine. Just a headache.” He bent down and touched his lips to Spike’s forehead. “You saved me. But Jesus, Spike, you scared the hell out of me.”
“ ’M all right. Just … tired is all.” And sore. His muscles felt as if he’d run for miles.
“So sleep. We’ll be home in half an hour and then we can tuck each other into bed.”
That sounded lovely to Spike. He shut his eyes and let the gentle sway of the van and the warmth of his boy lull him into a doze.
By the time they reached the Hyperion, enough of Spike’s strength had returned so that he could stand and walk, supported only by Xander’s arm around his waist. Or maybe his arm was supporting Xander—it was hard to tell. In any case, Spike watched with little interest as Angel heaved a bound and struggling weight onto his shoulder and lugged their captive into the hotel.
As Xander and Spike staggered through the lobby and toward the lifts—and Spike was feeling very thankful that his boy had the lifts running again—Wes put up a hand to stop them. “You’ll want to be careful,” he said.
“Going to bed,” Spike said with a snort. “That careful enough for you?”
“Yes, yes, that’s fine. But I mean for the next several days.”
“I told you, I’m fine,” Xander said. “Just a headache.”
Wesley looked very grave. “That spell he was using on you would have killed you if you were merely human. But you’re a werewolf and Spike stopped him in time, so you’re right—you should be fine. It’s Spike I’m concerned about.”
“Vampire, mate. Mended by morning,” said Spike.
“Our wizard’s rather weak talents were enhanced by a very rare item. I shall be quite interested to learn how he obtained it. It’s a sort of … mystical fungus. It enhances the magical properties of the people and items it touches.”
“Todd has a magic mushroom?” Xander asked incredulously.
“Something like that, yes. Well, he had one. When Spike attacked him, Snowden hit Spike with the fungus. The fungus itself was destroyed in the effort, which is just as well. But I fear that some of its effects may have been transferred to Spike.”
Xander’s eye widened. “Effects? What effects? I don’t want Spike affected!”
Wes clapped a hand to Xander’s shoulder. “It should be temporary. A few days at most. But during that time, any magic that Spike encounters is likely to have disturbing consequences.”
“No worries,” Spike said wearily. “Never have fancied mojo and I mean to stay well away from it. My boy and I will lock ourselves in our suite if necessary.” He was proud to manage a weak leer. But then he had an alarming thought. “Erm … this fungus … it won’t do anything to supernatural beings, will it? Like … make a werewolf … wolfier?” Like the time Xander had been stuck in wolf form and Spike had nearly been dusted trying to save him.
Wes shook his head. “No, you should be safe around Xander and Kyna and Angel and me. And yourself, for that matter. The fungus enhances spells, charms, talismans, things like that. Not living beings. Or unliving ones,” he added with a small smile.
“Lovely. We’re off then. I expect you want to check in on Maffeo.”
“I do. Just be careful, and fetch me if anything … unusual happens.”
With a tired nod, Spike led Xander to the lifts.
Their shower wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as the one they had planned earlier that evening. It was a quick one, just enough to wash the blood from Xander’s face and to relax Spike’s sore muscles a bit. They were both still damp as they climbed into bed. As they always did, they moved against one another, Xander’s arms wrapping around Spike. Spike pressed his lips to Xander’s neck and sucked just a bit, finding comfort as always in the familiar actions.
Spike meant to fall asleep straight away. But Xander’s breaths remained a bit rapid and uneven; his boy was having trouble drifting off. “What is it, pet?” Spike murmured.
“Nothing. I just hate seeing you hurt, that’s all. It worries me.”
“But ’m fine now, yeah?” Spike pressed more tightly against him to prove his point. “Tomorrow you can finish your wiring and I’ll watch. Might even help a bit.”
Xander snorted. “Your helping isn’t all that helpful.”
“Oi!”
They lay there a while longer, but Xander remained restless, his legs jittery and his fingertips twitching on Spike’s skin. Finally, Spike sighed and sat up. “I’ll read to you a bit.”
Xander smiled at him. “You could read that stuff you had the other day—”
“Byron?”
“Yeah. Old poems. That’ll probably conk me right out.”
Spike rolled his eyes but reached for his bedside table. Instead of the volume he’d intended, his hands closed on another book: a collection of fairy tales that he’d found at an antiquarian book shop the previous week. The old edition, beautifully bound and illustrated, was meant as a gift for Buffy’s children. But when Xander had glanced at the book, he goggled at the violent and bloody unexpurgated fairy tales, and vetoed handing the book over until the children were in their teens.
Well, Spike reckoned, the book made perfectly fine bedtime fare for a vampire and a werewolf. He opened the book and began to read. He was only two or three pages in when Xander’s soft snores began. Spike smiled, put down the book, and turned off the light. Then he snuggled up against his boy and fell asleep.
Chapter Two