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Coercion 5 Walk Slowly Xander sat at the Bronze and
nursed his third beer. Damn vampire roommate. Making a statement like he did,
then vanishing. As if Xander wanted anything to do with it. So what if three
girls had already turned him down tonight? It was just his first night of
looking seriously. Spike strode into the bar,
wanting spicy wings and loud music. Not that the Bronze played it’s music loud
enough for his tastes. He liked to go to clubs where they played music so loud
he could feel the reverb in his chest like his long-lost heartbeat. He scanned the
crowd as he came in and… Oh great, there sat Xander, looking lost. Spike
decided to not notice the boy. A swirl of leather caught
Xander’s attention. He quickly caught sight of Spike striding through the
crowd to the bar. He was dusty, and his hair a bit mussed, but otherwise intact.
Where did the undead one hang out when not on the comfy orange torture chair?
Xander had a sudden fit of panic. Sure, Spike had given him a week, but what was
he supposed to do in the mean time? Xander watched Spike lean on the bar and
place his order. He pointedly did not notice how the vampire shot out one hip
under his duster as he decided to just act as normal as possible for as long as
possible. Hadn’t Spike said if he did nothing the matter would be dropped? Spike collected his beer and
plate of wings before turning around to look for a place to sit. Xander grinned
and waved him over, just like he would on many another night. Spike squared his
shoulders and sat his decision in place. He was committed to this. He would say
nothing, but the master seducer did not need words. Before the week was out,
he’d be swapping kisses, and possibly more, with that pouting mouth. Spike joined him and they sat
awkwardly at first. Xander tried to determine where Spike had been by
circling around his question, only to be
met with shrugs. Spike distracted the boy by slowly sucking the sauce off his
wings. Soon Xander was fidgeting in his seat and turned the topic to his latest
book. Only after the wings were long eaten and Spike’s fingers carefully
licked clean did he suggest playing pool. Spike examined several different
cues, running them through his hands and bringing them up to eye them for curve,
even though he knew which one was best. He picked up the chalk cube and
attentively coated the tip before slowly angling it to his pursed lips to blow
off the excess. Spike hung his coat on a near by hook, revealing his tight jeans
and muscle shirt. He carefully chose his shots, leaning over and eyeing the
table before shooting. He was well aware of the play of muscles in his arms.
Xander played very badly. Xander did not know why he had
never noticed how... damn it… damn sexy Spike was. The vampire wasn’t doing
anything he’d not seen him do a thousand times before, but it seemed as if the
vampire was in slow motion. It was like watching that old Coca-Cola commercial
where the secretaries crowed in a window to watch the hunky construction worker
drink a soda. Willow had downloaded it off the internet and the girls had
giggled over it for weeks. Spike reached for his beer and Xander swallowed. How
did Spike swallow in slow motion? If he had that much control over his throat
muscles… Xander gulped his own beer and almost dropped it. “I… I think I’ve had
enough, Spike. I’d better go home. I have to look for work tomorrow.” Spike shrugged, suppressing a
smirk. “Yeah. Want you employed. It’s no fun winning against someone who
can’t pay his bets.” The two walked home in silence.
Xander was sure Spike didn’t move that smoothly all the time. Did he practice
how to walk so the streetlights caught his cheekbones like that? At the door to the house, Spike
stopped. “I need to go get some smokes, pet. I’ll be back in shortly.” “Oh, okay.” Relieved, Xander
made his way quickly inside and dropped his pants. His treacherous brain and
penis team replayed clips from the night and throbbed in time to Spike’s walk.
It did not take long before he came in his hand, refusing to cry out Spike’s
name. Quickly, he washed up and tucked himself in bed with a book. Spike ducked into the bushes near the basement window and listened as Xander masturbated, moaning his name. Seducer Spike had not lost his touch. He took care of his own aching need and quickly dashed to the store and back. Spike returned to the basement,
cigarettes in hand. He nodded at the boy who was cuddled in bed with a book. As
he hung up his coat, he breathed deep, taking in the scent of the boy’s
pleasure. “What are you reading tonight?” “I’m back to the Bradbury. Have you read this one?” He pointed at the page, but did not hold the book up. Spike was not about to let an
invite like that go. He walked around the bed and climbed up to lay beside
Xander so he could see the page. “There Will Come Soft Rains,” he
read. “I like this one.” “I... uh… like the poem in
it.” Having Spike so close beside him, Xander was glad he’d taken some of
the pressure off while Spike was gone. Spike took the book and flipped
the page. Putting on his best Victorian voice, he read the poem aloud, his voice
rolling and perfect. There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, And swallows circling with their shimmering sound; And frogs in the pools singing at night, And wild plum trees in tremulous white; Robins will wear their feathery fire, Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire; And not one will know of the war, not one Will care at last when it is done. Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree, If mankind perished utterly; And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn Would scarcely know that we were gone. Spike smiled. It had been years since he’d read any Sara Teasdale. “That was… you read very nicely, Spike,” Xander watched the real, non-snarky smile and realized with a chill he’d caught a glimpse of a hidden side of Spike. With a snort, hidden Spike was gone. “It was my upbringing, you know. Blame the good Queen’s schools. Poetry, manners, and how to properly reply to a party invite. And you thought your schooling was useless. What did you like about the poem, pet?” “It’s the first poem that I’ve read that I get. I’ve read all kinds of poems in school, but I get this one. When mankind kills itself off, nature will still be there. And we don’t matter at all.” Spike smiled at his pupil.
“That’s it. Got it in one. I have a few more books of poetry in my stack,
would you like some more?” Xander closed the heavy book in his hands and studied the golden words there. “Maybe… maybe if you read one or two to me?” “If you never tell anyone that the Big Bad was reading bedtime rhymes to a human, I’ll indulge you,” Spike got up to rummage in his rucksack. Xander swallowed as he studied
Spike’s ass waving in the air. “I can keep all kinds of secrets, Spike,”
he whispered. Spike pulled out several
paperbacks and reclaimed his spot in the bed. The two wound up reading poetry to
one another and talking until the sun came up. Xander kept catching glimpses of
the Victorian Spike had been, and tried to justify the flip his heart started
doing when he appeared. Spike was surprised when he felt
himself feeling proud of the boy. Given the inattentiveness of his teachers, and
the stress of fighting evil most nights, it was no wonder the boy had not
learned much in school. Xander was proving himself to be quite intelligent,
quickly grasping concepts of metaphor and rhyme scheme once they were clearly
explained. Xander cracked a yawn and Spike
smiled. “So much for job hunting tomorrow. Today.” “It’s Friday, anyway. Jobs
aren’t normally posted until Monday.” “Let me read you one last one,
then, Pet.” Spike picked up a book he’d put aside earlier and flipped pages
until he found the one he sought. He that cannot choose but love, / And strives against it still, Never shall my fancy move; / For he loves ‘gainst his will; Nor he which is all his own, / And can at pleasure choose, When I am caught he can be gone, / And when he list refuse. Nor he that loves none but fair, / For such by all are sought; Nor he that can for foul ones care, / For his Judgment then in naught: Nor he that hath wit for he / Will make me his jest or Slave; Nor he that still his Mistress pays, / For she is thrall’d therefore, Nor he that pays not, for he says/ Within, she’s worth no more. Is there then no kind of men / Whom I may freely prove? I
will vent that houmour then / In mine own self-love. “John Donne, pet. His poems
were considered too scandalous as I was growing up. You had to keep your copies
very well hidden.” Xander had cuddled down under the blankets as Spike read,
letting himself be soothed by his roommate’s voice. “So he loved men,
then?” Xander giggled into his blanket.
Spike listened as Xander’s breathing leveled off to sleep, marveling at what the boy had said. And here he still sat on the boy’s bed next to him. As tempting as it was to slip off his boots and snuggle up next to the warm body, he didn’t want to press. He gathered the books and returned to the orange chair of uncomfortableness.
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