His newest, best creation was a thing of undead beauty Spike decided, as he watched his childe play.
Xander had taken to the hunt like he'd been born to it. He moved like a creature of the night from the very start. Only one month turned and he was already picking out his own meals and having fun, teasing, taunting, sometimes tussling just for kicks before he fed.
Spike felt a father's - Sire's - pride in his childe and in himself. He'd been the one to see the possibilities in the lad, never mind what his gelled-up Grandsire liked to claim.
"More! Harder... Yesss!"
Spike obliged with further thrusts, each more powerful, faster than before.
"Love... Must... Need you..."
Xander clung on tight, enjoying every moment of the ride.
"Hold... Oh! Right there... Don't move! No! I'll lose... Ah!"
For the third time in as many hours, Xander's climax triggered that of Spike. Fangs sank into neck and shoulder, blood was drawn and spilled, and slowly muscles loosened and were still.
Soft murmurs and caresses followed frantic furious fucking. They rested for the shortest while and then...
"I'll never get enough of you. Each taste makes me want more. Please, Sire?"
"What if I'd been around, back when you were... new?"
"Xan, don't. We're together now and always bloody will be, so what's the point in messing with what-ifs? You know I'll never cast you off for any of that lot."
"I know, I really do, but you belonged to them first. Angelus, Dru, even Darla had a prior claim! Dru had you to herself for a hundred years. They made you what you are and I can't hate them for that, but I envy them the time they had with you."
"A hundred years is nothing, luv. We've got forever."
White fingers tangle in greasy black hair, slamming the biker's head into the bar.
A second vicious slam.
The fingers release to allow the man to straighten, and then land a solid punch square in his face.
Oil-grunged hands fly up to protect the damaged nose, and a denim-clad knee connects with groin.
The same knee connects with chin as the man collapses, adding a broken jaw to the mess.
A final kick to the ribs as punctuation.
"I think he got it, Spike. He'll never accidentally knock into anyone else's back again. Ever."
Awkward self-consciousness was a thing of the past. Now Xander often claimed the heaving dance floor as his own, confident his moves would receive the attention they deserved. He knew that Spike enjoyed just sitting back and watching him move, luring in the next unwary soul. He knew it got Spike hot to see the lust in others eyes for the body that they'd never get to touch except this once.
And Spike would wait and watch until a certain line was crossed, then signal it was time to take a break. Outside, their snack consumed, they'd fuck like demons.
The basement was littered with broken bodies, not yet all dead.
The stereo continued pumping out loud, tinny rock, a cover for the fading, frantic cries and pleas for help.
Spike and Xander stood amidst the wreckage of the party, stripped to the waist and striped with blood and gore. They revelled in the stolen human warmth that pinked their skin. They savoured feeling full up to the brim. And more.
"You're kidding, right? I can't really end up fat from eating students. I know their diet's shit but I've bad worse."
Spike rubbed Xan's swollen belly and just grinned.
They lay together, tangled on the sofa, sated, sleepy, until Xander finally looked at the TV.
"Pass me the remote, Spike, there's no way I'm watching this."
His Sire twitched a finger and was still.
"'M not movin', pet. I'm comfy here, all snuggled up with you. You want it, you can reach it if you stretch."
Xander judged the distance from his hand to the remote and then glanced back to check on the TV. Still Barney. Damn.
He squeezed the milk white buttocks cradled gently in his palms.
"I'd have to let these go and I don't wanna..."