Title: A Demon's-Eye View Of Love
Email: darkhavens @ slashverse.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Notes: Written for the challenge community stagesoflove.
He had smelled delicious. The acrid pungency of fear mingled with the singed hair reek of hatred, overlaid with curls of dark bitter chocolate and a hint of cream. It had been almost as attractive as his wildly beating heart and burning eyes and madly pumping teenage hormones.
If not for him the evening would have been a complete disaster, but Spike couldn't find it in himself to care much about that. Not even failing to bag his third slayer because of her mother could completely ruin his good mood. He was too busy planning the courtship of his boy.
Spike selected the gifts to woo his love with most inhuman care, Victorian and demon sensibilities combined.
A book of English poets he had worshipped as a boy; one special verse, 'A Rose', marked out with blood-bright carmine ribbon.
Then a pair of roses, one of deepest red and one of white, skilfully entwined, with thorns to spare.
The heart and head and hands of one who'd dared to touch, in anger, the beauty Spike had chosen for his own.
And every night, despite the artful ploys of Sire and Slayer, Spike made sure his loved one saw his face.
Stripped and bound, Xander awoke to see his strange new world. The vampire at his side purred in delight.
"Up already? Thought you'd sleep for hours from that spell. Considered breaking you in while you were out, but where's the fun? When I'm between your thighs you're gonna know it, gonna scream for me. I want to watch your eyes glaze when you come."
"Hush now, Pet. No need to get worked up, I mean no harm. Well, not too much, and nothing we can't fix. I'll take you slow. There's passion inside you and I want it all."
Spike made sure that Xander never spent an hour alone. He didn't want his love feeling neglected. So every time that Xander slept, and woke, and ate, and bathed, Spike was there to show how much he cared. And every time he frowned, or paused, or whimpered or looked blue, Spike made sure he learnt the reason why.
Before the month was through Spike knew Xander inside out. He knew what made him cry and scream and beg. He knew what glazed his eyes, and made his fingers clench and grasp. Spike knew each thought before it left his head.
Though Xander was now bound by fear and blood, it wasn't enough. Spike remained convinced that he would flee. He loved the heat, the fresh ambrosial blood hot on his tongue, the pounding heartbeat trapped beneath his hand. But still, he knew, to keep the boy eternally by his side, a colder sort of bondage must be sought.
Spike spent one final night beside, inside, atop that warmth. He stole a final kiss and then bit deep. The panic he'd expected never came, the boy looked thankful, and then Spike's blood was slipping down his throat.
"Now you're mine forever."
The poem: A Rose by Sir Richard Fanshawe. 1608-1666
BLOWN in the morning, thou shalt fade ere noon.
What boots a life which in such haste forsakes thee?
Thou'rt wondrous frolic, being to die so soon,
And passing proud a little colour makes thee.
If thee thy brittle beauty so deceives,
Know then the thing that swells thee is thy bane;
For the same beauty doth, in bloody leaves,
The sentence of thy early death contain.
Some clown's coarse lungs will poison thy sweet flower,
If by the careless plough thou shalt be torn;
And many Herods lie in wait each hour
To murder thee as soon as thou art born-
Nay, force thy bud to blow-their tyrant breath
Anticipating life, to hasten death!
Red = Love, Respect, Courage
White = Reverence, Purity, Secrecy
Two Roses Joined Together = Engagement
Red and White Roses Together = Unity
The dead boy: Yes, I killed Larry.
Previously posted in parts: Attraction, Romance, Passion and Intimacy and Commitment