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Musta slept too long this morning
Jan. 8th, 2006 02:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
essene_backupBecause it's after 2 am and I'm still awake. But I've finished my Post NFA Spander. Yes. I said FINISHED.
So here you go:
Title: Deserted
Setting: Post-Not Fade Away
Rating: R to NC-17, depending upon your sensibilities
Author notes: Unbeta’d, except by the grammar and spell check--I apologize in advance for all the fragments, but that’s just how this one seemed to work its way out.
He sniffs and feels his nose cringe at the assault. A dank, musty, oniony odor. That's when he knows he's alive. He couldn't possibly be this offended by his body odor if he were dead, right?
" 'bout time."
That voice. Sounds familiar. Too familiar. Oh god. Please lord, do not let him have lived through this only to have to deal with...
"Gonna open your eyes anytime soon Harris?"
Shit.
************
It had taken him the better part of three days to wrap his brain around it. Everyone gone. Everywhere gone. All gone. Gone. Such a profound meaning carried in such a small word.
There was nothing left of California. There was nothing left of most of the western portion of America. Adolescent memories involving palm trees, blue skies, and the sandy Pacific coast, even the oppressive LA smog, would now forever be just that--memories. Entirely unrelivable, completely denied to any future generations.
And yet...
he was still here.
Xander looked at him. Hair glinting in the firelight, a small heat from embers they'd dared stoke inside the cave, sipping on his dented metal flask. And that was another thing, where'd he get the liquor? It was like the fishes and the loaves, only in alcoholic form. Just plain weird.
There were a lot of things Xander didn't understand these days, but Spike was the most problematic.
******************
They'd been walking for a week. People hadn't been prepared. America hadn't been prepared. So much changed, just because LA exploded and took most of the western US with it.
At least that's what he'd pieced together. Damn Council, sending him to LA just as the shit hit the fan.
Sane survivors--very few--had fled as quickly as their feet, cars, motorcycles, or unicycles could carry them. Crazy survivors--and there were an alarming amount of those--had turned renegade, or militantly zealous about property rights. Demons--the majority of the population now--were quickly staking a claim to all things movable, breathing, or even slightly shiny.
He didn't know why. He didn't even know why him. Spike was remaining uncharacteristically quiet on the subject.
Xander used the knife to saw through another can of chili and watched Spike sip from his magic flask. Maybe tomorrow.
******************
They traveled in sunlight. You could see who was coming in the sun. Somewhere in Utah—Salt Lake was a coastal city now, could you believe it?--they'd picked through the remnants of a raided sporting goods store and found enough UV protective clothing to cover every inch of Spike's flesh. It was weird having a traveling companion who looked like something from a bad B-movie about the atomic bomb, but at least he had company.
Now if only there were something to do other than walk, run, fight or scavenge.
Spike had developed an insistence on searching for a bookstore after a visit to the local AM-PM or Albertson's to pick over the remains. And because he had nothing better to do, Xander had started reading too.
At first it was graphic novels, which earned him several comments along the vein of: "Careful sounding out those pictures Harris, you wouldn't want to hurt yourself."
Finally, sick of the vampire's derision Xander picked up a big book with no pictures.
Brow raised, Spike snorted.
That was it. Game on.
************
By the time they got to Cleveland--the only place either of them could think to go, even if it was a hellmouth in this hell-on-earth--Xander had finished that book and actually found that he liked books with lots of words. They were...plotty. And he could fill in the blank spots with his imagination. Something he'd begun to value more as a means of escaping his reality.
He also found out that Spike was smart. Almost scary smart. In that kind of...nerdy, book wormy way. And the scariest part about that? It reminded him of Willow. Which made him sick with melancholy and glad at the same time.
Damn vampire.
****************
The day the thing with wings came Xander finally found out what had happened. Or at least a part of it.
They had to cross a bridge and Xander had been talking excitedly about the difference between a suspension bridge and a cable-stayed bridge, when he was forcefully reminded of the dangers of this new existence.
“…so they look the sort of the same, but the load is supported differently. See how the cables are attached?” He was pointing to the tall tower-like structures that rose from the bridge when he saw it coming towards them with malevolent grace. It came with a kind of ebb and tide motion, bobbing in the air like a waltzer on the dance floor, but with nowhere near the eye-appeal.
“Run!” Yelling, Spike grabbed Xander and pulled, nearly sending Xander to the road. He got his feet back and ran. But not fast enough.
It was long, brutal and disgusting. But they hobbled away from it, so Xander guessed it was a “good” fight.
A few hours later, sitting inside an abandoned semi-trailer, Xander peeled away the layers to inspect the damage, hissing when the tattered fabric clung to a patch of dried blood near an open wound.
“Wings are the worst. Nasty buggering, unfair fighters things with wings are.” Xander looked in Spike’s direction and could only make out the glow of Spike’s cigarette as he sucked on it.
“Only reason Angel didn’t make it. Dragons have wings. Hard to win when something can fly away, or...” and if Xander didn’t know better, he’d say that Spike was swallowing a sob before spitting out, “come at you from any bloody direction it pleases.” This statement was followed by another sharp glow from the corner.
“Is that what happened? Angel was…” killed didn’t seem the right term, not for someone already dead, “…taken out by a dragon? Where’d a dragon come from?”
“Same place all the rest of the sadistic fuckers who now call this home came from, Wolfram & Hart Interdimensional Transportation.” Spike’s voice was heavy with sarcasm and something else.
“Can smell the blood, Harris. As a demon to a human? You should take care of that.”
Xander knew that wasn’t just a friendly suggestion.
*******************
They’d have taken a car, only Spike couldn’t find one that he could get running. Xander held out the hope each day that there’d be a lovely Lincoln Town Car just down the next street, glinting in the sun, keys in the ignition, gas in the tank, ready and waiting for them.
Instead there were burned and crumpled hulks of metal, bits a piece of things that used to move people from place to place. Gas stations themselves had been scavenged of gas, or blown up for fun or defense. So they got to hoof it.
They’d walk for a few days at a stretch, until Xander couldn’t physically move any longer. At first, his blisters had blisters, and his feet were bloody messes by the time he’d let Spike know he couldn’t go on. Spike would yell at him and then with a gingerness that was bizarre remove Xander’s boots and his layers of socks and tend to his wounds. Eventually, the pussing stopped, the blood ceased to flow and his calluses turned to concrete.
Xander missed Spike’s touch.
**********************
He thought he’d miss the luxuries more. But it was almost a relief to not have to watch, listen, answer, turn-on, or turn-off some thing or another.
The lack of personal sanitation bothered him most. Proper toilets, showers, electric shavers, washing machines and warm water. He’d kill for a nice big bottle of Mr. Bubble and a hot tub to use it in.
And Spike—the bastard—had the nerve to not smell, look dirty or even be very rumpled most of the time. Even when he came back from…feeding.
Finally though, they reached the outskirts of something that seemed to resemble civilization, at least from a distance, at night.
There were street lights. And they were on.
********************
The first thing Xander did was take a shower. It was long and hot and filled the entire upstairs with steam.
When he came out, he found Spike was naked on the bed in what was once a master bedroom. He was an ethereal form in the heated haze. He was sprawled out with a look of something near ecstasy.
Xander felt a pull. From two very different places in his body. He ignored them both and quietly continued down the hall to a smaller room.
When he finished, he heard a husky voice drawl, “Didn’t have to waste it like that, pet,” followed by a soft chuckle.
Xander shivered slightly and pulled the top sheet over him. He rolled over, faced the wall and slept until the next evening.
***************
“Can’t stay here. You know that don’t you?” Spike exhaled a steady stream of smoke as he stood and contemplated the fields that lay beyond the back deck.
Xander was looking through the cupboards, disturbed by the appalling lack of sugary substances the once family had on hand. He slowly pulled a can of tuna fish and an unopened jar of mayonnaise from a shelf before setting them down just as slowly on the counter.
Of course he knew. But it was good to pretend. Just for awhile that the madness and desperation didn’t exist. That all was well, that they were…
“End of the week.” Spike turned and leaned against the wall, placing his thumbs in his waistband, fingers splaying over his hipbones. Xander stared at him briefly before turning to a drawer in search of a can opener.
Since when did I start noticing Spike’s hands and hipbones? Xander wondered.
***************
Four days. That’s all the time Spike allowed them on their little mini-retreat. He yanked open the shower curtain while Xander was luxuriating in the heat and clean for the seventh time since they’d arrived.
“Leaving in the morning. Enjoy it while you can.” Only instead of stopping what he’d been doing when the vampire caused the metal rings to scrape across metal rod, Xander locked eyes with Spike and continued. Caressed, soaped, stroked, pulled, twisted and finally came.
He turned, rinsed and shut off the water.
“Fine.”
Spike dropped his hand away from the now torn shower curtain and walked out of the bathroom without another word.
******************
They should have left sooner. They came in the night.
A nest had been watching; saw the lights going on and off. Heard the sounds of movement, came to claim their prey.
“He’s mine. Keep your fangs and hands off.” Spike stood in front of Xander as the group of starving vamps wove nervously in and around one another, an earth-bound flock of vultures.
That was when he knew. It was going to be alright. No matter what happened, it was going to be alright.
And he wasn’t sure who he was more afraid of at that moment. The swirling vampires or himself.
*************
They began to have to be more careful. Traveling in the day was no longer as safe as it had been. The closer they seemed to get to civilization, the more blatant and severe the attacks became. The more lights a city had, the less safe Xander felt.
They found some peace for a few days in a Barnes & Nobel. Xander made coffee and brought a cup to Spike. Spike stared at him and then took it and downed a long swallow.
Xander slid down a bookcase and sat next to him, pressing a warm thigh against a cool one.
They sat and sipped their coffee.
Not long after, Spike moved Xander’s hand to his cock. Xander stroked. He stroked them both.
*************
It was never a conversation. It was something they did. It got him through the night; he was able to sleep without fear. It got him through the day; he had something to occupy his thoughts.
In between there were books. And occasional gastronomic surprises—marshmallows or wheetabix--and deserted houses.
And it was enough.
Until Cleveland.
Author’s Note addendum: Yes, I DO consider this finished. I don’t know what happens next. I don’t even know if there is a next—they haven’t seen fit to tell me. This could be all of their story. And isn’t it almost more intriguing that way?
So here you go:
Title: Deserted
Setting: Post-Not Fade Away
Rating: R to NC-17, depending upon your sensibilities
Author notes: Unbeta’d, except by the grammar and spell check--I apologize in advance for all the fragments, but that’s just how this one seemed to work its way out.
He sniffs and feels his nose cringe at the assault. A dank, musty, oniony odor. That's when he knows he's alive. He couldn't possibly be this offended by his body odor if he were dead, right?
" 'bout time."
That voice. Sounds familiar. Too familiar. Oh god. Please lord, do not let him have lived through this only to have to deal with...
"Gonna open your eyes anytime soon Harris?"
Shit.
************
It had taken him the better part of three days to wrap his brain around it. Everyone gone. Everywhere gone. All gone. Gone. Such a profound meaning carried in such a small word.
There was nothing left of California. There was nothing left of most of the western portion of America. Adolescent memories involving palm trees, blue skies, and the sandy Pacific coast, even the oppressive LA smog, would now forever be just that--memories. Entirely unrelivable, completely denied to any future generations.
And yet...
he was still here.
Xander looked at him. Hair glinting in the firelight, a small heat from embers they'd dared stoke inside the cave, sipping on his dented metal flask. And that was another thing, where'd he get the liquor? It was like the fishes and the loaves, only in alcoholic form. Just plain weird.
There were a lot of things Xander didn't understand these days, but Spike was the most problematic.
******************
They'd been walking for a week. People hadn't been prepared. America hadn't been prepared. So much changed, just because LA exploded and took most of the western US with it.
At least that's what he'd pieced together. Damn Council, sending him to LA just as the shit hit the fan.
Sane survivors--very few--had fled as quickly as their feet, cars, motorcycles, or unicycles could carry them. Crazy survivors--and there were an alarming amount of those--had turned renegade, or militantly zealous about property rights. Demons--the majority of the population now--were quickly staking a claim to all things movable, breathing, or even slightly shiny.
He didn't know why. He didn't even know why him. Spike was remaining uncharacteristically quiet on the subject.
Xander used the knife to saw through another can of chili and watched Spike sip from his magic flask. Maybe tomorrow.
******************
They traveled in sunlight. You could see who was coming in the sun. Somewhere in Utah—Salt Lake was a coastal city now, could you believe it?--they'd picked through the remnants of a raided sporting goods store and found enough UV protective clothing to cover every inch of Spike's flesh. It was weird having a traveling companion who looked like something from a bad B-movie about the atomic bomb, but at least he had company.
Now if only there were something to do other than walk, run, fight or scavenge.
Spike had developed an insistence on searching for a bookstore after a visit to the local AM-PM or Albertson's to pick over the remains. And because he had nothing better to do, Xander had started reading too.
At first it was graphic novels, which earned him several comments along the vein of: "Careful sounding out those pictures Harris, you wouldn't want to hurt yourself."
Finally, sick of the vampire's derision Xander picked up a big book with no pictures.
Brow raised, Spike snorted.
That was it. Game on.
************
By the time they got to Cleveland--the only place either of them could think to go, even if it was a hellmouth in this hell-on-earth--Xander had finished that book and actually found that he liked books with lots of words. They were...plotty. And he could fill in the blank spots with his imagination. Something he'd begun to value more as a means of escaping his reality.
He also found out that Spike was smart. Almost scary smart. In that kind of...nerdy, book wormy way. And the scariest part about that? It reminded him of Willow. Which made him sick with melancholy and glad at the same time.
Damn vampire.
****************
The day the thing with wings came Xander finally found out what had happened. Or at least a part of it.
They had to cross a bridge and Xander had been talking excitedly about the difference between a suspension bridge and a cable-stayed bridge, when he was forcefully reminded of the dangers of this new existence.
“…so they look the sort of the same, but the load is supported differently. See how the cables are attached?” He was pointing to the tall tower-like structures that rose from the bridge when he saw it coming towards them with malevolent grace. It came with a kind of ebb and tide motion, bobbing in the air like a waltzer on the dance floor, but with nowhere near the eye-appeal.
“Run!” Yelling, Spike grabbed Xander and pulled, nearly sending Xander to the road. He got his feet back and ran. But not fast enough.
It was long, brutal and disgusting. But they hobbled away from it, so Xander guessed it was a “good” fight.
A few hours later, sitting inside an abandoned semi-trailer, Xander peeled away the layers to inspect the damage, hissing when the tattered fabric clung to a patch of dried blood near an open wound.
“Wings are the worst. Nasty buggering, unfair fighters things with wings are.” Xander looked in Spike’s direction and could only make out the glow of Spike’s cigarette as he sucked on it.
“Only reason Angel didn’t make it. Dragons have wings. Hard to win when something can fly away, or...” and if Xander didn’t know better, he’d say that Spike was swallowing a sob before spitting out, “come at you from any bloody direction it pleases.” This statement was followed by another sharp glow from the corner.
“Is that what happened? Angel was…” killed didn’t seem the right term, not for someone already dead, “…taken out by a dragon? Where’d a dragon come from?”
“Same place all the rest of the sadistic fuckers who now call this home came from, Wolfram & Hart Interdimensional Transportation.” Spike’s voice was heavy with sarcasm and something else.
“Can smell the blood, Harris. As a demon to a human? You should take care of that.”
Xander knew that wasn’t just a friendly suggestion.
*******************
They’d have taken a car, only Spike couldn’t find one that he could get running. Xander held out the hope each day that there’d be a lovely Lincoln Town Car just down the next street, glinting in the sun, keys in the ignition, gas in the tank, ready and waiting for them.
Instead there were burned and crumpled hulks of metal, bits a piece of things that used to move people from place to place. Gas stations themselves had been scavenged of gas, or blown up for fun or defense. So they got to hoof it.
They’d walk for a few days at a stretch, until Xander couldn’t physically move any longer. At first, his blisters had blisters, and his feet were bloody messes by the time he’d let Spike know he couldn’t go on. Spike would yell at him and then with a gingerness that was bizarre remove Xander’s boots and his layers of socks and tend to his wounds. Eventually, the pussing stopped, the blood ceased to flow and his calluses turned to concrete.
Xander missed Spike’s touch.
**********************
He thought he’d miss the luxuries more. But it was almost a relief to not have to watch, listen, answer, turn-on, or turn-off some thing or another.
The lack of personal sanitation bothered him most. Proper toilets, showers, electric shavers, washing machines and warm water. He’d kill for a nice big bottle of Mr. Bubble and a hot tub to use it in.
And Spike—the bastard—had the nerve to not smell, look dirty or even be very rumpled most of the time. Even when he came back from…feeding.
Finally though, they reached the outskirts of something that seemed to resemble civilization, at least from a distance, at night.
There were street lights. And they were on.
********************
The first thing Xander did was take a shower. It was long and hot and filled the entire upstairs with steam.
When he came out, he found Spike was naked on the bed in what was once a master bedroom. He was an ethereal form in the heated haze. He was sprawled out with a look of something near ecstasy.
Xander felt a pull. From two very different places in his body. He ignored them both and quietly continued down the hall to a smaller room.
When he finished, he heard a husky voice drawl, “Didn’t have to waste it like that, pet,” followed by a soft chuckle.
Xander shivered slightly and pulled the top sheet over him. He rolled over, faced the wall and slept until the next evening.
***************
“Can’t stay here. You know that don’t you?” Spike exhaled a steady stream of smoke as he stood and contemplated the fields that lay beyond the back deck.
Xander was looking through the cupboards, disturbed by the appalling lack of sugary substances the once family had on hand. He slowly pulled a can of tuna fish and an unopened jar of mayonnaise from a shelf before setting them down just as slowly on the counter.
Of course he knew. But it was good to pretend. Just for awhile that the madness and desperation didn’t exist. That all was well, that they were…
“End of the week.” Spike turned and leaned against the wall, placing his thumbs in his waistband, fingers splaying over his hipbones. Xander stared at him briefly before turning to a drawer in search of a can opener.
Since when did I start noticing Spike’s hands and hipbones? Xander wondered.
***************
Four days. That’s all the time Spike allowed them on their little mini-retreat. He yanked open the shower curtain while Xander was luxuriating in the heat and clean for the seventh time since they’d arrived.
“Leaving in the morning. Enjoy it while you can.” Only instead of stopping what he’d been doing when the vampire caused the metal rings to scrape across metal rod, Xander locked eyes with Spike and continued. Caressed, soaped, stroked, pulled, twisted and finally came.
He turned, rinsed and shut off the water.
“Fine.”
Spike dropped his hand away from the now torn shower curtain and walked out of the bathroom without another word.
******************
They should have left sooner. They came in the night.
A nest had been watching; saw the lights going on and off. Heard the sounds of movement, came to claim their prey.
“He’s mine. Keep your fangs and hands off.” Spike stood in front of Xander as the group of starving vamps wove nervously in and around one another, an earth-bound flock of vultures.
That was when he knew. It was going to be alright. No matter what happened, it was going to be alright.
And he wasn’t sure who he was more afraid of at that moment. The swirling vampires or himself.
*************
They began to have to be more careful. Traveling in the day was no longer as safe as it had been. The closer they seemed to get to civilization, the more blatant and severe the attacks became. The more lights a city had, the less safe Xander felt.
They found some peace for a few days in a Barnes & Nobel. Xander made coffee and brought a cup to Spike. Spike stared at him and then took it and downed a long swallow.
Xander slid down a bookcase and sat next to him, pressing a warm thigh against a cool one.
They sat and sipped their coffee.
Not long after, Spike moved Xander’s hand to his cock. Xander stroked. He stroked them both.
*************
It was never a conversation. It was something they did. It got him through the night; he was able to sleep without fear. It got him through the day; he had something to occupy his thoughts.
In between there were books. And occasional gastronomic surprises—marshmallows or wheetabix--and deserted houses.
And it was enough.
Until Cleveland.
Author’s Note addendum: Yes, I DO consider this finished. I don’t know what happens next. I don’t even know if there is a next—they haven’t seen fit to tell me. This could be all of their story. And isn’t it almost more intriguing that way?
no subject
Date: 2006-01-08 08:04 am (UTC)Because? Cleveland. *snugs*
no subject
Date: 2006-01-08 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-08 08:07 am (UTC)But seriously, it works to end there or it could continue.
Fabulous post-Apocolypic imagery. The idea of it as a setting where they only have each other works nicely. Great Xander voice.
I'm so glad to see you writing. (squee!)
no subject
Date: 2006-01-08 11:09 pm (UTC)And I'm pretty sure I was trying to convince myself. Yeah.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-08 11:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-08 11:10 pm (UTC)I'm so happy you enjoyed!
no subject
Date: 2006-01-08 05:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-08 11:11 pm (UTC)Thank you!!
no subject
Date: 2006-01-08 05:29 pm (UTC)I love the slow movements toward intimacy and the easy way they fell in, cooperating and being a team.
I'll finish it in my head.
:)
no subject
Date: 2006-01-08 11:12 pm (UTC)I love other people's heads. And yours? I can totally trust to weave a beautiful tale.
Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2006-01-09 04:09 am (UTC)Heh.
*gets right on it*
no subject
Date: 2006-01-08 08:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-08 11:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-09 03:20 am (UTC)I think the ending is perfect. I enjoy creating my own endings to stories - that's part of the reason I love Stargate Atlantis so much. they never seem to tie up their loose ends. *g*
Lovely!
no subject
Date: 2006-01-12 01:28 am (UTC)otherwise what would we write about? Except for sex...or alternate endings...or humanfic...or alternate universes...or...
no subject
Date: 2006-01-09 06:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-12 01:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-22 05:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-31 07:36 pm (UTC)Where was I when you posted this? How did I not know? Are you leading a seekrit life I don't know about?
This is spare and beautiful and Just. Right.
Only instead of stopping what he’d been doing when the vampire caused the metal rings to scrape across metal rod, Xander locked eyes with Spike and continued. Caressed, soaped, stroked, pulled, twisted and finally came.
He turned, rinsed and shut off the water.
“Fine.”
Spike dropped his hand away from the now torn shower curtain and walked out of the bathroom without another word.
Torn shower curtain = three words worth more than 1,000. Brava, bella.