Prompt 71 - Of sleep and dreams - BtVS

[thismaz]

Thank you texanfan for the virtual Thanksgiving turkey. That was a lovely surprise this morning. *hugs you* I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Title: Of sleep and dreams
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: 71 - Aroused,
At: tamingthemuse
Rating: Definitely Teen, at least, but I'm hopeless at rating the margins. Any ideas?
Summary: Part 10 of my pre-season one story which includes Xander, Willow, Jesse, Angel and Spike, although it's still mostly Spike and Xander.
Word Count: 1,425
Previous parts, in reverse order, are here or in my memories.
Disclaimer: here.
Now beta'd by the wonderful laazikaat



10. Of sleep and dreams

Saturday night, Sunday

Spike really didn't like having so little to go on, but after nights of watching Angelus he'd still only seen one possibility for optimism - Angelus' reaction when he killed the fledge that attacked Xander and his subsequent stalking of the boy. He could feel the beginnings of a plan forming in the back of his brain and he knew that as long as he didn't try to force it, it would eventually work it's way to the front. When it got there, he'd know what he needed to do. In the meantime, he'd enjoy the game.

Standing next to the sofa and looking down on the slumped body, he considered Xander's reaction when he woke up. Bending down, he straightened the boy's limbs and spread a blanket over him. Then he picked up the almost empty glass of coke and emptied it down the kitchen sink, refilled it and placed it carefully within reach, on the coffee table. He'd have a hell of a thirst when he woke up and Spike wanted to continue to play the part of a good host, at least for a little while longer. But for tonight, he was safe to go out - Xander wouldn't wake from his drugged sleep until long past dawn.

As he shrugged on his coat, he found himself looking over towards the sofa again. Lying out, like a body waiting for burial, Xander's mouth was lax, his face expressionless, showing none of its usual animation and Spike was surprised to discover that he missed that. Once again he'd found himself having fun in the boy's company. They'd read comics, talked about everything and nothing and watched a couple of films, while eating the take-away Spike phoned to order from the Chinese in town.

Xander had immersed himself in the movies, laughing at the crazy campness of The Rocky Horror Picture Show and then, with Spike's second, very different choice, obviously identifying with both Jody, the solider, and Fergus, during The Crying Game. When Dil's true nature was revealed, Spike thought he'd caught a hint of aroused excitement from the boy. He'd certainly heard a soft sigh at the final scene, with it's promise of an unconventional, but somehow hopeful, future.

That had allowed Spike to explore the hint of scent he'd picked up. An innocent comment about how everyone was different, but some people weren't tolerant of those differences, led to a discussion, where Xander revealed more than he knew about his feelings towards his friend Jesse and Spike had hinted, without actually saying, that he understood those feelings. An almost, but not quite, turn of the conversation allowed Spike to offer to show Xander his own collection of 'comics' and Spike smiled to himself at the memory of Xander's expression of surprise that Spike had any, and his initial shock at the nature of them. The front covers looked innocuous enough, glossy pictures of half naked men, but when Xander saw what was inside the first one, he'd turned bright red and dropped it like the proverbial hot potato. Spike had allowed a hint of disappointment to appear in his face, as if he'd expected more of Xander and sure enough, the boy backtracked, desperate to appease. He then spent a fascinated hour leafing through the pile and by sundown had overcome his embarrassment sufficiently to start asking questions, as he avidly turned the pages, even going so far as to read some of the articles and letters. In his distracted state, it was easy to slip a simple concoction into his glass and get him to drink.

This time Spike's smile was twisted, as he considered Xander. Awake, the kid had an infectious laugh and an open, vulnerable manner that was attractive on many levels. They were qualities which made Spike look at him, and see him, a fact Spike found himself resenting slightly. But there was no doubting his attractiveness, regardless of his strong resemblance to Jeb.

When he was away from Spike, it was easy to consider Xander as nothing more than a tool to be used and discarded, but in his company, Spike was constantly surprised by how much he enjoyed himself. He shouldn't be enjoying himself. That was not the point here. He was in Sunnydale to get Angelus and only to get Angelus. Dru was waiting for him and he would not fail.

Turning to the door, with a final glance over his shoulder, Spike left to find someone to eat and, hopefully, to see if he could get another word with Angelus. Maybe he could come up with a new argument, find new words, more fluent and convincing, to persuade Angelus to help.

In the end, he spent most of the night watching the big misfit watch Xander's house, prowling around the back yard, peering into windows and stalking back and forth the length of the street. It was too amusing to interrupt and confirmed his diagnosis that his grandsire was once again obsessing over an item of prey. Angelus didn't give up his vigil until 3am, obviously realising that a boy of Xander's age wouldn't be rolling home at that hour, regardless of his parents' inattention. Spike followed his hunched figure back to his lair, just to make sure, before heading home himself.

*****

When Xander woke, he took a moment to realise where he was. He had no memory of falling asleep and his dreams had been both disturbingly vivid and amazing. He clambered off the sofa, folded the blanket neatly over the back and tip-toed down the hall to stick his head around Spike's door. Spike was a late sleeper, he'd admitted as much, and the lump in the middle of the large bed didn't look like it was moving any time soon, so Xander dug a pencil and a scrap of paper out of his backpack, scrawled a short note, saying he'd see Spike tomorrow and left, closing the door carefully behind him.

As he walked back down to Crawford Street, Xander replayed the afternoon and evening in his head. Spike was such an amazing guy, really not much older than Xander but still, someone who had lived and experienced stuff. Xander felt like he could tell him anything. He'd even told him a little bit about his parents, what they were like, how they drank too much, how his father didn't have a job at the moment and how they yelled at each other all the time and never noticed him. Spike had looked sombre. But then, amazingly, he reiterated his invitation for Xander to move in with him. Of course, Xander said no, but it was so fantastic to know Spike cared enough to offer.

In the warmth of the mid-morning sunshine, he found himself blushing again as his thoughts led him on to remember the magazines Spike had shown him. By the time he got to the bottom of the hill, he was walking in a bit of a daze, as flashes of his dreams started to re-emerge in disconcerting detail. He really needed some time alone. He didn't feel like trying to find Jesse anyway. He'd probably be in the mall, or at the park, or at the beach, mooning over Cordelia Chase. He wanted some peace and quiet, and time to think about last night without the risk of being knocked down by a passing truck. There was also a half formed idea in his head, something Spike had said...

Luckily, his parents were late sleepers too. When he entered the house his mom raised a bleary head, where she sat at the kitchen table and looked surprised that he was coming in from outside. He told her he had been up for hours and had been for a walk, glad that her obvious hang-over prevented her from asking any questions.

Going through to the living room, he opened the glasses cabinet and extracted one of the candles his mom kept for special occasions. After looking at it dubiously for a moment, he dug a pair of scissors out of her disused sewing box and snipped off the unlit wick. In the bathroom, he retrieved the jar of Vaseline from the medicine cabinet and retreated to his room, both locking the door and wedging his chair under the handle. Guiltily, he pulled out the magazine he'd borrowed from Spike's collection and getting undressed he climbed into bed. 'So,' he thought, looking at the candle again, 'what exactly did Spike mean?'

Continued here.