Prompt 22: Coffee and the Geneva Convention Rating R

[sunnyd-lite.livejournal.com]

Title: Enemies Closer part 5/6
Coffee and the Geneva Convention
Author: SunnyD_lite
Fandom: Buffy
Pairing: Spike and Xander
Warnings: Language, bad bad language
Rating: R
Set: Post Hell's Bells
Word Count: 1152
Prompt: Squander
Feedback: Love it!
Summary: Not your normal wedding night
A/N: Bunches of thanks to spiralleds who did a super fast betaing job. Then I re-worked it. All errors are, therefore, my own.
Disclaimers: I don't own the Buffy Verse, but Joss said play so here I am!
Previous Parts can be found Road from Hell ; Snark and Wild Turkeys ; Zero Stars on the Zagat's Guide; and Shoulds, never a good thing to place your bets on; The first two were previous Taming the Muse stories and all of this was written for Fall for S/X. Please note that Spike spells, and swears, in British.


There was a pause and then the door opened and a few plastic bags spilled into the room, kicked forward by a familiar pair of Doc Martins.

"Charming neighbourhood. Only two places still open and it's only just past 10 on a Saturday."

This didn't sound like a prelude to a kill speech. Much less grandiose than a Bond villian's speech, and with a bite of Spike-bitchery.

Xander's nose twitched. Okay now THAT was torture. Must be part of that Geneva thing that he and Willow did a report on in grade school. No way could waving coffee in front of someone with a hangover be anything BUT evil.

"No Starbucks, so you have to settle for gas station coffee and greasey food. Got to mop up that alcohol some how, and I'm not mopping up anything you spew. Sometimes a heightened sense of smell is not all it's cracked up to be."

That justification? That was weak for someone who hung out at Willy's. Even he'd been able to smell the ick the few time's he'd been there. Was Spike trying to take care of him? Cuz that would be...weird. Very, very weird. Maybe this was a mind fuck? Treat him nice and then torture him? He hadn't heard any other foot steps and he didn't want to raise his head and find out that this was an elaborate tease before a minion took him down.
But how much further down could he actually go? And that felt like a tempting the universe question.

"Look, I know you're awake. Thought you liked coffee."

He could almost hear the shrug of that leather coat. He did see those boots standing in front of him. The scent of the coffee wafted under his nose. This was beyond cruel. It was just mean.

"Meanie," he muttered.

Suddenly a hand gripped his chin, jerking it up so he was looking into Spike's face.

"Need to get a few items straight, here. In the car you said some curious things."

If he couldn't pretend to be asleep, then no point in not talking. "In the car I said almost three hours worth of things. Most of which I don't remember. But this isn't Reno, is it?"

A paper cup of coffee was placed in front of his mouth, and tipped so he could drink or choke. Good thing he never left Spike in charge of a pet, because care and feeding? So not one of his skill sets.

He gulped the still warm liquid down, sputtering as some of it actually made contact with his taste buds. "Blech, is that coffee or the leftovers from the oil changes?"

"Well, someone has his snark on. Do a bloke a favour and get accused of poisoning." Spike's face took on a thoughtful expression. "Hmm, wonder if that would work, but it does leave a funny flavour in the blood."

"What? No I'm not giving you dining for the chipped vamp ideas!"

Spike shut him up with the application of more almost-coffee. By the time he'd finished the cup, Xander realized that imminent death did not seem part of the agenda. He settled back into the chair and tried to formulate a question. That was the problem. If he just let his mouth run, he had no difficulty coming up with things to say. Thinking about it before hand, that was a horse of a different color and who cared what color horses were anyway?

Just as he thought he had one, Spike saved him the trouble.

"So, you want to be punished." Not quite a statement, but not quite a question. Something tickled Xander's brain and when he realized what it was he began to giggle. Guess that coffee had worked. His brain was no longer trying to escape his skull.

"What are you laughing at?" Oh sulky Spike.

"It just sounds like those career books in grade school: 'So you want to be a pilot, a nurse, a plumber'. I must have missed the 'torturee' one." He could almost see the cover done in a big cartoon with a whip and wall chains.

"Not a victim. You're quite the demon magnet as is. You said you wanted to be punished. Wouldn't ask but chip here needs to know you want it."

Part of him, a very, very small part he was sure, was a little intrigued. "What do you mean punished?" Then sanity, or what passed for it in his world, reasserted itself. "Wait a minute, when did this little loophole turn up and why the hell weren't we told?"

Spike leaned backed against the desk, making Xander turn his head if he wanted to look at him. "And what was my percentage in doing that? Found out accidentally, I did. Mean it's hard to take a bloke with no pain, especially if they like it rough. Figure the chip's okay with consent. Bloody leash." The last part was growled with frustration.

"But, but, but you're stalking Buffy!"

Spike just rolled his eyes. "Two separate things there. One's a fuck and some dosh, while the other...we're not talking about her." The second part of that sentence was said in a firm enough tone that Xander actually tried to raise his hands in an 'I surrender' move, only to disgust himself with a yip of pain.

"Um, tied here."

That didn't ever earn him an eye roll. "Had to make sure you didn't wander off now, didn't I? Plus, thought one of your fantasies should come true."

What the hell had he said in the car? Because that small, okay not so small, part of him controlled by the good captain was beginning to show interest in the goings on. That was not good. Very, very not good. There were so many ways this could go, all of them wrong. What had he said? And how could he find out without tipping Spike off?

Tonight shouldn't be about fantasies. Well, it could have been, but not here. Not with Spike. It shouldn't be about him at all. He'd done a horrible thing. He'd hurt Anya. He'd squandered a chance at a normal life, a good life.

"Muttering doesn't mean I can't hear you. And normal? You were tying yourself to an ex-vengeance demon, mate. Don't think even the Kinsley Scale had a category for that one."

Could he kill someone with a glare? He certainly tried, but his neck was getting sore at this point.

"Untie me."

"Why should I do that? Much more fun this way and I'm not causing any of the pain. How're those arms?"

And at that mention, he arm muscles again started to sing out. And Spike knew it too. Bastard.

"I can punish you. Think you made a lucky escape, myself. If you're looking for normal you best keep running."

He was about to ask about that statement when his stomach growled in a very Spike way. He sniffed again. "Fries?"