Title: Random Lines
Rating: Adults Only
Feedback: darkhavens @ slashverse.com
Concrit: by email, please
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Warnings/Squicks: vamp!Xander, BDSM
Notes: During the wonderful slashy weekend in Horbling, we had a drabble evening, using random lines from different books as first line challenges (shown in bold italics). After I'd written mine I realised that, with a little shuffling, they would work as another set of baby!vamp!Xander vignettes.
He pulled off his rubber gloves and dropped them into the bin beside the operating table.
"A nurse will bring you something to eat in a minute so you can check the results. As soon as you're on your feet you're out of here. The last thing I need is Angel figuring out what's gone down, so once you're out that door we never met.
"The clinic moves around to keep the heat off all our backs, so if things go wrong don't bother coming back."
The nurse, a large grey Walthus, reappeared with a man in tow. It thrust him toward the table where Spike lay.
"We're in possession of information to the contrary."
Buffy looked from Angel's sad, pained expression to Giles' slowly dawning horror and then back, trying to understand what Angel meant. She wasn't getting it.
Giles cleared his throat and aborted an automatic grab for his glasses.
"I believe he's trying to tell us that Xander wasn't called away on business, and that Spike didn't go with him simply so he didn't miss out on getting 'a regular shag'. Am I correct?"
That last was addressed to Angel who was now looking distinctly uncomfortable.
"Spike's chip is out."
"And again I say - huh?" Buffy shook her head and folded her arms, denial visible in every line of her body.
"No. That's impossible. The Initiative doctor said it couldn't be removed; it's in too deep. And," she continued, even more sure of herself, "Xander would have said something. He'd never be able to keep a secret like that from us."
Angel's remaining spirit dropped into his boots. Buffy obviously hadn't figured out what he was trying to say, though by the expression on Giles' face the ex-watcher had a good idea of what was coming.
Awkwardly, trying to be supportive, he laid a hand on Buffy's arm and was immediately shrugged off. He sighed. He couldn't let Giles be the one to break the news, no matter how much he'd rather turn and walk away.
"Xander didn't tell you, Buffy, because his Sire wouldn't allow it."
It was not meant to hurt, Xander understood that. Willow had been his oldest, closest friend for half his life and he'd known she'd be unable to resist temptation if she ever actually managed to track them down.
He felt no real malice towards her, especially as she'd failed. The wards that Spike had paid to put in place had stopped the spell; had stopped his soul from sinking in firm roots.
The pain had been a bitch but he was used to that with Spike. But convincing his Sire not to plot revenge might take a while.
Maybe he should use their latest toy...
"I can wait."
An hour went by, then two, but Xander wasn't worried. Much. He knew Spike would be back once he'd had time to calm down, maybe had a drink or two and a fight and a bite to eat.
Then he'd stomp in, clattering around the kitchen, cranking the punk rock up so high that every window starts to shake.
Another hour or two and then he'd finally come up to the bedroom so he could listen to Xander beg for his release.
Xander wasn't quite sure how chains, a leather cockring and a fast vibrating butt plug was punishment for mentioning that name, but he made a mental note to try and bring the Buffybot into conversation once a week at least.
Their owners were still alive, though only barely, but the trio of odd cats didn't seem to care. Spike was rapidly getting bored of finding new ways to make the breeders scream and writhe. Still, anything was better than joining Xander in his vigil. The idiot childe was a bouncing nervous wreck.
He'd spent three hours reading bloody pedigrees and lineage charts before he'd finally made his big decision. The regally named King Leopold Luschenko of Sorbonne was the cat that'd won the right to be the sire of Seven's first litter.