Theme: Five Elements (Asian Set): Metal - Wood - Water - Fire - Earth
Feedback/Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Summary: Spike and Xander, an elemental love story. Written for stagesoflove round 6.
The piercings were Spike's idea, not that Xander was complaining. Well, okay, maybe he did, a bit, and maybe Spike had had to hold him down and promise daily blowjobs while that scary-ass demon shoved big needles through his nipples. But once the painful, messy parts were finally over and the wounds were healed and the silver rings and beads stopped being alien appendages - then he stopped complaining. Well, except for the occasional 'Dammit, Spike, I'm sore! Can't you twiddle a different body part for just an hour or two?' or 'Hey, did I tell you you could stop?"
"Happy anniversary, Spike."
Spike poked at the pile of flexible panels and fine webbing.
"I don't know what this is, luv, but it's not wood or silverware. 'Course, we're not married, but that never stopped you before."
He spared a fond thought for the harness Xander had bought for their third 'anniversary' - a tangle of broad straps of polished leather and shiny silver buckles.
Xander rolled his eyes.
"It's a custom-made Kevlar vest, lightweight and comfortable, with panels that wrap around under your left arm. It'll stop anyone staking you. It's anti-wood."
Spike tried it on.
When Xander arrived at the beach with one set of SCUBA gear and two weight belts, Spike jumped to the obvious, for him, conclusion - underwater frolics and rubber-clad sex games.
He'd never been so wrong.
"…So you've paid a pair of amphibious demons to poke a hole in my brain underwater? And I'm supposed to cause you pain to set the chip off and trust that the conductivity of the seawater will leach away most of the current? And if it works, we get to keep doing it until the battery goes flat? Are you insane?"
Turns out he wasn't.
The first sip burns like fire; tongues of sweet dark flame lick and curl their way around extended fangs, snaking down his throat into his belly.
It hits like a gulp of cheap booze after a lengthy dry spell, the burn and sting spreading out to seep into his limbs, his bones, the buzz threading out along his veins.
He feels sublime, incandescent, like there's an inferno raging just beneath the surface of his pale skin.
It feels like Xander.
Each mouthful brings them closer to the point of no return, and it's not Xander who finally calls a halt.
Spike sits perched on the headstone of Mary Deakin, Beloved Wife and Mother, Sorely Missed, and cleans the dirt from underneath his freshly painted fingernails with Xander's favourite knife.
"It's traditional, love, part of the whole mystique. Gotta dig your way out of your grave to be a real vampire. Need to knock the dust of your old life off your boots before you're free to take that first important step into the next."
The bound, gagged bundle at his feet squeaks once before he nudges it back to silence with a solid steel toe.
"Just a few more minutes…"