Spander nc17 :BloodMagic, part two
8/15/04 10:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyA little Spander as a change of pace?
Spike tells Xander more Constantine stories. and fun is had by all--but especially John...
Spike watched Xander as he worked on a small wooden box he’d made. He was working on a decorative design, a floral pattern that worked its way around the top and sides.
“'Sa real gay design pet, “ he said contemplatively, blew a thin stream of smoke upwards. He enjoyed a moment thinking that the stream of second hand smoke loaded with carcinogens might wend it’s way upstairs and happily kill the wankers Xander called parents.
“Spike. It’s for a girl, yes? For Dawn’s birthday? I don’t think she’d be happy with the design you suggested.” A looping pattern of demon’s entrails, surprisingly well drawn.
Spike snorted and puffed again, his eyes back on Xander as he worked. He was shirtless in the heat, and his back was to Spike. He watched as his shoulder blades worked up and down, as thin as sparrow’s wings, that’s what they were, straining like baby birds to break free. of the downy skin. He was almost angry that he could count every rib, every knob on his spine. The boy barely ate enough to live no thanks to his parents. He thought again of the careless people upstairs, never should have been allowed to touch a child let alone barely raise Xander, and snarled quietly to himself. Xander seemed to sense Spike’s eyes on him. He turned with a smile.
“Are you staring at me?” he got up and moved to the couch where Spike was relaxing after a night of beating up things in the cemetery.” Hey, Spike, you know what we haven’t done in a while?”
Spike squinted as if in deep thought. “Hmmm. Disembowel our enemies? Unnnh, suck the blood of virgins…”
“ Spike! Ew, and no!” Xander popped Spike on the back of the head.
“Well, virgin blood is vastly over-rated—ok, ok, sorry! What haven’t we done?” He asked with an air of innocence that was disturbingly believable.
“Spike,” Xander crawled onto the pulled out sofa bed next to Spike. “Tell me a story?”
He threw a long leg over Spike’s thigh, and teased the hair that ran down in a trail below his navel.
“ Well, since you ask so nicely, there was this one time in Italy when Dru and I went to a premier of --”
“Spike, I want to hear a story about Constantine, you said you had others….” Xander looked at him with a trace of a pout, and Spike was tempted for a moment to make it flower into a full-fledged pout, but then again, there was a lot to be said for a happy Xander….
“Well, ok--” ‘Course, he never came off very well in his encounters with that—that –guy.
“There was this time, once, when I was following a very tasty young thing, like any vampire on a clear and lovely fall night had a right to, any idiot out in that neighborhood was screaming ‘eat me.’ Actually, it was screaming ‘save me’, but! Tsk, --neither here nor there. After, I was wiping my mouth, and thinking about my next meal, when there’s this throat clearing noise behind me, and I must have jumped a mile.
What, snickering? *You* be a vampire for generations, always aware of everything around you and then suddenly have someone sneak up on you. The bastard.
He was standing behind me and snickering, yes, just like you. What? That didn’t hurt!Stop hitting.No, I won't hit back... Hello!... Chip! Yeah.
So *as* I was saying—he’s standing there, fucking Constantine with his fucking smirk and fucking fag hanging off his lip. He sweeps his coat open and shoves his hands in his pocket and kind of looks me up and down.
‘So, Spike' he says. 'Just what I was looking for.’
Ya mean who I says, and he just laughs. ‘If you like’ he says with this snotty attitude, begging for an ass-kicking. ‘Course, I’m too busy to do this, so I try to leave. I can’t. He’s got some creepy mojo thing on me, so I’m frozen. I’m terrified he’s going to have his way with me--shut up! Barbara Cartland *this* you wanker—and…I might have been a little hard…ahem, any way, no, that’s not why he froze me, thank god, cause I couldn’t stand that asshole, and I was *not* looking for a repeat.
Seems he had a proposition for me—you’re ever so funny, did you know that? —and spelled it out. Froze me so’s I would listen to him, he says. Huumph.
What he says makes me want to run, but he’s got me, as I said.
‘You are going to help me with a little binding spell, not a big deal, but I need a …man…of your talents. Abilities…Fuck--frankly, I need a walking dead man, and Zombies stink and are hard to control and they don’t have all the parts I need anyway.’ He smiles at me like he’s complimented me, the prick, instead of just about telling me that I was second choice to a zombie! A rotting pile of ambulatory flesh, with the fashion sense of …oh, ok, sorry. Yes, well, at any rate, out of the kindness of my heart, and in return for ending the spell, (and not having a desire to starve eternally in a stinking alley off of no where) I agree to do this—thing he’s blathering about.”
Spike stopped and gave Xander a sweet little smile and strolled his fingers up his sweating chest and Xander rolled his eyes, untangled from Spike to get him a beer, and one for himself, because the story was getting interesting and he wanted Spike well content, so he’d continue. He knew it was going to get even better. He adjusted himself on his way to the fridge.
Spike continued the story, called out to him—
“So, here I am forced to truck with magic, and you know I *hate* that stuff, I mean a little bit’s fine, but the more you want it, the more the magic wants you back…bad business it can be, ‘specially if you do it to gather power—Seems our boy John was hired to do a binding spell on someone’s restless Grandpapa. This will happen some time, if Grandpapa’s a vicious abusive bloodthirsty kid-fuckin’ perverted old mage. And you’ve bashed his brains in for the inheritance. And the power. And from the looks of the fuckin’ weasel who hired John--the fun of it.
Here we were, standing in this big old room, black as shit and cold even to me—and the worst, most stereotypical taste ever! I mean, black and red furnishing, candles flickerin’ away like some old Hammer film, and a huge really ugly fireplace with these stupid obscene carving, I’ m tellin’ you, even at that time, people weren’t doing that any more—hells Xander, if you keep interrupting me, I’ll never get this story out—well it’s called setting a mood, isn’t it? Prick—I said pet! Ow. You really hit hard, did you know that you wanker—aww! Now kiss this—ow!
“So Constantine says to me when we’re done laughing ourselves almost sick over the décor ‘Listen, I need the hands of a dead man’—Fuck, I’m thinking, he’s after me mitts, and I’m trying to run when he trips me, and sits on me. On my crotch to be precise, and even vampires are sensitive to someone crushing their balls. I’m making this squeaking noise and he finally hears and does me the courtesy of getting off.
‘I need the hands of a living dead man, fully attached, or I would have just taken them when I first saw you,’ he grins. You think a game face is scary? You should see this fuck smile—now *that’s* scary! He’s explaining my part as he’s pouring ordinary everyday salt, straight out of a box from the market in a big circle on the floor.
Hands of a living dead man, he needs. To hold the rod of blood. Well, that got my interest! A rod made of blood, or filled with blood? Yum, it was well past dinnertime, and I was ready for desert!
Yesss, Xander, yes… I was rather slow on the uptake—fuck you very much.
‘Hold out your hands,’ he said, and opened his pants and put his dick right in my waiting hands—hell yeah, I was disappointed. I thought I was getting a treat! I mean something to eat—oh, *shut* up…are you in knee pants or what?
He says, ‘The spell calls for a living dead mans hands to hold the life and blood of the living, a vessel to hold the life and blood of the living and a bowl to mix the dead an living essences….’
I’m a little shaky ‘cause he’s moving in an out of my hands kind of slow like, and it’s-- ah-ha!---stiffening, but I manage to ask him, where’s the vessel and the bowl, and he says ‘I’m looking at it’. Shit. I’m never stupid; I get it right away: Old Spike’s getting fucked again!
‘The spell,’ he says, ‘ wants these fluids to bind the undead spirit.’ Oi! I say, what about me? Thinking I’m going to be bound for eternity to some horrible old kid-killing, baby-eating grandpa with demonically bad breath, no doubt.
‘You’re not a spirit you idiot, you’re ankling around cause of a demon. You’re,’ and he pumps his dick in my hands, ‘Solid. I need your come; mine, and our blood.’ And I get a twitch in my dick,--
yeah, Xander just like that….”
next up, part two...
Spike tells Xander more Constantine stories. and fun is had by all--but especially John...
Spike watched Xander as he worked on a small wooden box he’d made. He was working on a decorative design, a floral pattern that worked its way around the top and sides.
“'Sa real gay design pet, “ he said contemplatively, blew a thin stream of smoke upwards. He enjoyed a moment thinking that the stream of second hand smoke loaded with carcinogens might wend it’s way upstairs and happily kill the wankers Xander called parents.
“Spike. It’s for a girl, yes? For Dawn’s birthday? I don’t think she’d be happy with the design you suggested.” A looping pattern of demon’s entrails, surprisingly well drawn.
Spike snorted and puffed again, his eyes back on Xander as he worked. He was shirtless in the heat, and his back was to Spike. He watched as his shoulder blades worked up and down, as thin as sparrow’s wings, that’s what they were, straining like baby birds to break free. of the downy skin. He was almost angry that he could count every rib, every knob on his spine. The boy barely ate enough to live no thanks to his parents. He thought again of the careless people upstairs, never should have been allowed to touch a child let alone barely raise Xander, and snarled quietly to himself. Xander seemed to sense Spike’s eyes on him. He turned with a smile.
“Are you staring at me?” he got up and moved to the couch where Spike was relaxing after a night of beating up things in the cemetery.” Hey, Spike, you know what we haven’t done in a while?”
Spike squinted as if in deep thought. “Hmmm. Disembowel our enemies? Unnnh, suck the blood of virgins…”
“ Spike! Ew, and no!” Xander popped Spike on the back of the head.
“Well, virgin blood is vastly over-rated—ok, ok, sorry! What haven’t we done?” He asked with an air of innocence that was disturbingly believable.
“Spike,” Xander crawled onto the pulled out sofa bed next to Spike. “Tell me a story?”
He threw a long leg over Spike’s thigh, and teased the hair that ran down in a trail below his navel.
“ Well, since you ask so nicely, there was this one time in Italy when Dru and I went to a premier of --”
“Spike, I want to hear a story about Constantine, you said you had others….” Xander looked at him with a trace of a pout, and Spike was tempted for a moment to make it flower into a full-fledged pout, but then again, there was a lot to be said for a happy Xander….
“Well, ok--” ‘Course, he never came off very well in his encounters with that—that –guy.
“There was this time, once, when I was following a very tasty young thing, like any vampire on a clear and lovely fall night had a right to, any idiot out in that neighborhood was screaming ‘eat me.’ Actually, it was screaming ‘save me’, but! Tsk, --neither here nor there. After, I was wiping my mouth, and thinking about my next meal, when there’s this throat clearing noise behind me, and I must have jumped a mile.
What, snickering? *You* be a vampire for generations, always aware of everything around you and then suddenly have someone sneak up on you. The bastard.
He was standing behind me and snickering, yes, just like you. What? That didn’t hurt!Stop hitting.No, I won't hit back... Hello!... Chip! Yeah.
So *as* I was saying—he’s standing there, fucking Constantine with his fucking smirk and fucking fag hanging off his lip. He sweeps his coat open and shoves his hands in his pocket and kind of looks me up and down.
‘So, Spike' he says. 'Just what I was looking for.’
Ya mean who I says, and he just laughs. ‘If you like’ he says with this snotty attitude, begging for an ass-kicking. ‘Course, I’m too busy to do this, so I try to leave. I can’t. He’s got some creepy mojo thing on me, so I’m frozen. I’m terrified he’s going to have his way with me--shut up! Barbara Cartland *this* you wanker—and…I might have been a little hard…ahem, any way, no, that’s not why he froze me, thank god, cause I couldn’t stand that asshole, and I was *not* looking for a repeat.
Seems he had a proposition for me—you’re ever so funny, did you know that? —and spelled it out. Froze me so’s I would listen to him, he says. Huumph.
What he says makes me want to run, but he’s got me, as I said.
‘You are going to help me with a little binding spell, not a big deal, but I need a …man…of your talents. Abilities…Fuck--frankly, I need a walking dead man, and Zombies stink and are hard to control and they don’t have all the parts I need anyway.’ He smiles at me like he’s complimented me, the prick, instead of just about telling me that I was second choice to a zombie! A rotting pile of ambulatory flesh, with the fashion sense of …oh, ok, sorry. Yes, well, at any rate, out of the kindness of my heart, and in return for ending the spell, (and not having a desire to starve eternally in a stinking alley off of no where) I agree to do this—thing he’s blathering about.”
Spike stopped and gave Xander a sweet little smile and strolled his fingers up his sweating chest and Xander rolled his eyes, untangled from Spike to get him a beer, and one for himself, because the story was getting interesting and he wanted Spike well content, so he’d continue. He knew it was going to get even better. He adjusted himself on his way to the fridge.
Spike continued the story, called out to him—
“So, here I am forced to truck with magic, and you know I *hate* that stuff, I mean a little bit’s fine, but the more you want it, the more the magic wants you back…bad business it can be, ‘specially if you do it to gather power—Seems our boy John was hired to do a binding spell on someone’s restless Grandpapa. This will happen some time, if Grandpapa’s a vicious abusive bloodthirsty kid-fuckin’ perverted old mage. And you’ve bashed his brains in for the inheritance. And the power. And from the looks of the fuckin’ weasel who hired John--the fun of it.
Here we were, standing in this big old room, black as shit and cold even to me—and the worst, most stereotypical taste ever! I mean, black and red furnishing, candles flickerin’ away like some old Hammer film, and a huge really ugly fireplace with these stupid obscene carving, I’ m tellin’ you, even at that time, people weren’t doing that any more—hells Xander, if you keep interrupting me, I’ll never get this story out—well it’s called setting a mood, isn’t it? Prick—I said pet! Ow. You really hit hard, did you know that you wanker—aww! Now kiss this—ow!
“So Constantine says to me when we’re done laughing ourselves almost sick over the décor ‘Listen, I need the hands of a dead man’—Fuck, I’m thinking, he’s after me mitts, and I’m trying to run when he trips me, and sits on me. On my crotch to be precise, and even vampires are sensitive to someone crushing their balls. I’m making this squeaking noise and he finally hears and does me the courtesy of getting off.
‘I need the hands of a living dead man, fully attached, or I would have just taken them when I first saw you,’ he grins. You think a game face is scary? You should see this fuck smile—now *that’s* scary! He’s explaining my part as he’s pouring ordinary everyday salt, straight out of a box from the market in a big circle on the floor.
Hands of a living dead man, he needs. To hold the rod of blood. Well, that got my interest! A rod made of blood, or filled with blood? Yum, it was well past dinnertime, and I was ready for desert!
Yesss, Xander, yes… I was rather slow on the uptake—fuck you very much.
‘Hold out your hands,’ he said, and opened his pants and put his dick right in my waiting hands—hell yeah, I was disappointed. I thought I was getting a treat! I mean something to eat—oh, *shut* up…are you in knee pants or what?
He says, ‘The spell calls for a living dead mans hands to hold the life and blood of the living, a vessel to hold the life and blood of the living and a bowl to mix the dead an living essences….’
I’m a little shaky ‘cause he’s moving in an out of my hands kind of slow like, and it’s-- ah-ha!---stiffening, but I manage to ask him, where’s the vessel and the bowl, and he says ‘I’m looking at it’. Shit. I’m never stupid; I get it right away: Old Spike’s getting fucked again!
‘The spell,’ he says, ‘ wants these fluids to bind the undead spirit.’ Oi! I say, what about me? Thinking I’m going to be bound for eternity to some horrible old kid-killing, baby-eating grandpa with demonically bad breath, no doubt.
‘You’re not a spirit you idiot, you’re ankling around cause of a demon. You’re,’ and he pumps his dick in my hands, ‘Solid. I need your come; mine, and our blood.’ And I get a twitch in my dick,--
yeah, Xander just like that….”
next up, part two...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
8/15/04 05:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
8/15/04 05:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
8/15/04 05:53 pm (UTC)Damn.
I like the way you're telling it and i like the story and hello! Part two!!
:)
*bounce*
Nice icon!
(no subject)
8/15/04 05:59 pm (UTC)You like my icon? I got it from a beautiful but,tsk-tsk-- evol woman.*koff!*
(no subject)
8/15/04 06:04 pm (UTC)Part two now!!
*does chair dance*
Roxy said i'm beeeee-u-ti-ful!!!
(no subject)
8/15/04 06:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
8/15/04 07:39 pm (UTC):)
*bounce bounce bounce*
(no subject)
8/15/04 07:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
8/15/04 07:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
8/16/04 01:08 am (UTC)That is soooooooooooo Spike! I can just see him blowing smoke at the ceiling.... :-)
(no subject)
8/16/04 01:15 am (UTC)