Title: Criss-Cross
Pairing: Spike/Xander of Buffy
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Summary: Spike takes baby!vamp!Xander to a party.
Laced-Up
Right over left, under, through and out. Left over right and the same. Neat little criss-crosses snaked up the boot, eyelets in two matching rows of twenty drawn together. Xander laced, and laced, and laced, and finally tied a bow. Then he slipped his foot into the right boot and began anew.
"Dammit, Spike, did you have to get me twenty hole Docs for this party? You said it was going to be full of old school vampires and their lackeys, so why do you want us dressed like some punked out Frick and Frack?"
"Gotta make an entrance, luv."
He's Not Heavy…
"It really must be quite the cross to bear, dear William. If I were in your shoes, well, I wouldn't have let it live."
The voice was aged, elegant like fine old vellum, cracked just a little around the edges.
Spike sneered.
"I'm not too sure I understand exactly what you're saying, Leo. Explain it to me while my boy dances for me."
Leo sniffed and lit another slender, dark cheroot.
"You've apparently passed the Aurelius madness on to the next generation. Wouldn't it be simpler to snap his neck and try again, and again, until you get it right?"
Somebody's Not Happy
Once Spike had killed the host, the party really bombed. Leo's clan hadn't taken well to seeing him dusted, especially by an upstart punkish brat over a childe as fresh as dirt from a newly dug grave. They took offence.
Spike and Xander finally lost their last, persistent tail, about five miles away from where they'd first begun to run. They'd started off pursued by maybe twenty, maybe more. Threats and vows of vengeance had been shouted to the skies. But, one by one, the family had stumbled to a halt.
Leo always was a mouthy git. No great loss.
