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Title: Polish and Scar
Rating: R
Fandom: BTVS/X-men x-over
Disclaimer: I own nothing X-men of BTVS, I’m merely playing in their toy box.
Spoilers: Post Eve of Destruction arc, so X-men 113, Post S6 Seeing Red, after Spike leaves Sunnydale.
Pairing: Spike/Jean-Paul (Northstar)
Summary: Spike finds Jean-Paul to be more than a bit interesting.
Note: This mentions JP’s suicide attempt, so warnings there. It talks about depression. At one point Spike feeds on JP. If any of this is going to upset you please don’t read. Consider yourself warned.
There’s this small blue vein in man’s inner wrist that Spike’s finding himself utterly fascinated with. He runs his thumb over it and the only response he gets is to have the hand pried away from him and stuck under the nearest pillow.
Tilting his head slightly to regard the black/silver haired young man currently sleeping beside him Spike finds himself edging on irritated. Running his hand over the bare back he leans in close so the man can feel how there’s absolutely no body heat radiating from him. He tells him in a low voice close to his ear, “Have it your way then.”
He pulls away swiftly and finds himself definitely irritated when his efforts are met with nothing. He’s being ignored, Spike can tell, and if there’s one thing that Spike absolutely can’t stand it’s being ignored.
Idly he reminisces on how exactly he’d come to be here in the posh, definitely expensive, hotel room with a man who’s decided that now is the time for sleep and not paying more attention to Spike. As far as the blonde vampire is concerned sleep vs. him should have meant no sleep even if the man lying there is only a mutant. The man’s hair and ears just gave it away, that and some of the things he’d said the night before.
He finds himself having this very small moment of relief that this Jean-Paul had never run into Xander- the boy probably would’ve been beside himself over the whole quasi-Vulcan look this mutant’s managed to mix with being sexy as hell, even when he’s so drunk that he can’t stop glittering this almost too big smile for everyone to see. Jean-Paul’s a happy drunk if Spike’s ever seen one and of course in his time as a vampire he’s seen many. It’d been that damn smile that’d sealed the deal for him. That and really it’d been way to long since he’d been with another man-that time in Sunnydale with Angelus simply didn’t count, couldn’t count, because really Angelus had just done it to torture him.
He’d met with a demon who’d confirmed everything for the ritual to get him back to working order-no use in going to all the trouble of going to Africa if the demon had taken up residence elsewhere. Everything had been confirmed, he only needed to find a way out of the country, and he’d been in the mood to celebrate.
Jean-Paul caught his interest the moment he’d entered the bar and had his first look around. The man had smelled of death, that luring type of death that many fledgling vampires are drawn to because it means an easy kill silently under toned with this whisper of ‘please kill me, please’. There’d been this young female vampire trying to lay claim to him at that moment and even though the smile never left his face he turned her down rather harshly. Obviously not one used to having prey refuse her she tried yet again and that’s when the urge to step in hit Spike. Usually he stayed away from the suicidal types, it was simply too easy for his tastes, still there was something about the way this one held himself that made him go over there and pull up a chair, tell the youngster to lay off, which had earned him a glare and anger to which he’d responded by hissing at her then say, “Don’t really think you’re his type, pet, so why don’t you go find someone else to annoy.”
He’d glared at her then, let her feel just how old he was before mouthing ‘this one’s mine’ and smirking. Needless to say she’d left more than a bit irritated which had only of course elevated Spike’s mood.
He’d had the chance to smirk at the man across the table before he’d been told, “I could have handled that.”
He’d wondered briefly at the accent, which he’d found more interesting than the valley girl he’d been hearing for the past few years, before he pulled out a cigarette and blew smoke at the man across from him, “Could you?”
No answer from him for a moment, as if he was considering what exactly it was that he wanted. Then he’d tilted his head and told him, “Jean-Paul.”
“Spike.”
Jean-Paul had leaned back in his seat to regard him with a raised eyebrow-an obvious question. Spike had smirked, “It’s the type you earn.”
Introductions over they segued into drinking, talking and then fucking, which is how they’d eventually ended up here with Jean-Paul sleeping and Spike being bored.
Spike gives Jean-Paul one more disapproving looking before finding his pants, shirt and smokes to sit down and decide what he wants to do with the rest of the day. Sun’s out and there be no burning, but he’s not tired either. He watches Jean-Paul bury his face in his pillow, pull the covers up over himself before kicking them down till they drape him from only the waist down. He turns onto his side next, then back onto his stomach.
Spike simply inhales, exhales and watches the man try to get comfortable. Is he asleep as he tosses and turns? Spike can’t tell, but part of him is thinking not. No, no, he’s definitely awake, feigning sleep to be rid of him, is Spike’s guess.
Eventually he finishes his cigarette and goes through Jean-Paul’s clothes till he finds his wallet. Opens it and quickly takes stock of the fact that this man’s apparently wealthy and Canadian. He’s from Quebec, which explains the accent and some of the words he hadn’t understood. There are only three pictures in the wallet: a woman who looks a lot like Jean-Paul, a very small baby, and a group of people in odd clothes. In the last one Jean-Paul’s in this black and white one-piece and Spike finds himself starting to believe that super-hero bullshit he’d heard last night. He decides he can’t write it off as drunk rambling when he finds a rather worn Alpha Flight card stuck behind several credit cards. Spike decides it’s not really his concern before counting the cash the man has on him. There’s a brief moment there where he debates over just taking it all and finding a way to leave before he closes the wallet putting it back into Jean-Paul’s pants and goes back to watching the man feign sleep.
He ends up getting bored with that too quickly and makes a decision. He finds his bottle of black nail polish, buried in his coat pocket, and makes his way back over to the bed. One hand is falling off the bed and it’s no work at all to rest it on his own knee before he starts painting. Just as he’s almost finished Jean-Paul gives him this glare with only his eyes half-opened.
“Why haven’t you left yet?”
“It’s day,” Spike tells him irritated, for his head is just starting feel the twinge of the hangover he’s sure to have.
“Ah, yes the whole vampire thing,” Jean-Paul tells him in an almost sneer, but not quite as if the man realize how unattractive that would be on him.
Spike’s only response is to give Jean-Paul a smirk before lifting his hand and blowing air on the nails he’s just finished painting, “Give me your other hand.”
Jean-Paul’s face has this brief look of confusion, barely there, before his face becomes impassive. Then tilting his head back into his pillow and closing his eyes he tells Spike, “Go away.”
“Told you,” Spike tells him edging on irritated, “its day. Can’t exactly go out and burn, can I?”
“I’m a mutant.”
Spike leans in till his nose is almost touching the man’s cheek before breathing in, “You smell like one.”
“I don’t smell nor do make it a habit to pick up insane men therefore it would be in your…”
“Didn’t ask about your habits and if I cared that you’re a mutant I wouldn’t have let you bring me here so why don’t you be a good meal and give me your other hand.”
This statement gets Jean-Paul to roll onto his back and glare at him, as if Spike isn’t even worth sitting up for, “Are you going to eat me then?”
Spike’s response is to set the nail polish on a nearby nightstand, “If I were going to eat you, I’d have done it earlier.”
Jean-Paul raises one eyebrow before telling him that for all he knows sex could be a prelude to death where Spike is concerned. Then before Spike can answer there is this breeze and the man is standing across the room with his pants suddenly on as he leans over to pick up his shirt. He goes to put it on and pauses before he lets it drop to the floor again. Then he give Spike an irate look that anyone other than Spike would have found intimidating as he tells him, “You see now, I’m a mutant.”
Spike sits himself on the bed before smirking at Jean-Paul and going into an exaggerated yawn, “Thought we already went over this. Think you’re just irritated because I didn’t eat you.”
“Excuse-moi?”
“You. Want. To. Die,” Spike points out mockingly.
Jean-Paul is suddenly in his face then, fury just barely contained, “I…”
Spike doesn’t even let him start, kisses him so he doesn’t have to hear it. Doesn’t wait for his response, only cuts him off, before pulling back and telling him, “You smell like it. Death is what I do and I know when someone wants to die. Last night you wanted to.”
“I’m not suicidal, not anymore.”
“Keep telling yourself that, pet, you might end up believing it.”
A raised eyebrow and Jean-Paul is pacing, angry energy trying to find an outlet, hung over and obviously unhappy, “With the state of the world today how could I…I was there in Genoshia fighting with the X-men and our stopping Magento means nothing.”
Spike frowns not quite understanding. Sunnydale isn’t exactly the place to worry about the world, most people in Sunnydale worry about their day to day and concentrate on simply making it to the next. When you live in a world surrounded by death and evil day to day world matters no longer seem so important.
Jean-Paul goes on and on and Spike watches his tirade in fascination. This man is all emotion, mostly anger, ups and downs taking over and being in control. He’s exactly the type who would get depressed because they feel too much and tragedy leads to pain which lead to that medium of not feeling anything but depression which lead to death, a want to die, the type of want that one never truly rids oneself of.
Jean-Paul finishes with, “And still it means nothing. We can try and we can bleed and die and it means nothing and yesterday…yesterday…”
He winces and puts a hand to his head before pushing himself in the nearest chair. Jean-Paul sends Spike a glare before admitting just audibly, “Yesterday was my daughter’s birthday.”
The child, the picture, with that simple statement he smells like despair and helplessness. From this Spike know that the child must have died.
“What killed her?”
There’s a slightly startled look then pain, “She was dieing when I found her. I don’t really know when she was born, but…”
He trails off into staring at nothing before his eyes drift down and he lifts up his hand to inspect the fingernails that Spike’s painted. Spike hears him say something barely audible regarding his sister before Jean-Paul is looking at him steadily again, “Why am I even telling you this? I was hoping if I’d ignored you you’d go away and yet you insist on staying. Why?”
“Told you, it’s day,” Spike shrugs before picking up the bottle from the night stand, walking over and sitting himself in front of Jean-Paul. He picks up the other hand and starts at finishing what he started. They sit in silence as the polish dries. Jean-Paul’s lost in thought, the past haunting him as only it can, as he wonders just was sort of mess he’s gotten himself into this time. Spike studies the lines of the other man’s face, his eyes, his ears and finds himself asking, “Just out of curiosity, how’d you try and off yourself?”
The blue eyes meet his and he’s told it doesn’t matter.
He frowns a moment considering the one thing that does have him perplexed, “You’re already hung over.”
Jean-Paul quickly tells him that he has a high metabolism as part of his mutant powers before he asks Spike what brought him to New York. The vampire shrugs, “A girl.”
Jean-Paul’s response is a raised eyebrow and Spike finds himself compelled to answer and at the same time not knowing how. He sits up onto his heels before rising and walking, the beginnings of a pace, as he tries to think of what to say.
“Short story? Fell in love, the whole star-crossed cliché but already done bit. I was the bad ass vampire she was one, scratch that, one of the two girls in all the world chosen to kill my kind, a slayer.”
He turns to find Jean-Paul, his arms crossed, looking at him with contempt.
“What?”
“First I’m supposed to believe you’re a vampire…”
“Didn’t really have a problem with it a few hours ago did you?” Spike interrupts as he pushes himself into a sitting position on a low, nearby, dresser.
“First off I was drunk…”
“First off I was drunk,” Spike mocks before smirking, “You wanted me to be a vampire.”
“Than you admit that you’re not?”
Spike shrugs and Jean-Paul walks over eying him before telling in a short deliberate way, “I don’t believe in vampires.”
Spike’s response is to smirk before slumping over and closing his eyes then listening while Jean-Paul approaches him cautiously. Waits till he senses the man’s close enough before sitting up and telling him with a smirk, “Boo.”
Jean-Paul’s eyes widen slightly, but that’s all, no great startle reflex. Disappointed Spike tells him, “S’not Peter Pan, can’t just not believe. I’m real.”
He reaches out and hooks his hands into the belt loops of Jean-Paul’s jeans and pulls him closer, kisses him. Just lips at first, waits for Jean-Paul to relax, kiss him back, gets him kissing into his mouth before he vamps out. He lets Jean-Paul run his tongue over the fangs before he pulls away. Jean-Paul stares, tilts his head just slightly, studies him before saying quietly, “You could be a mutant.”
He changes back to his human visage.
“The whole dieing and the craving blood bit has me thinking otherwise,” Spike tells him before adding, “Speaking of which before you decided to actually go to sleep why don’t you go get me some.”
Jean-Paul steps back, “You think I’d just let you kill someone?”
“No, I’m thinking more along the lines of a butcher shop. They’ll sell it to you if you ask.”
Jean-Paul scowls and takes another step back before countering, “Why don’t you take what you need?”
“You offering?”
Jean-Paul just stands there arms crossed staring him down, calling his bluff. Briefly Spike wishes he could get his hands on every last Initiative member.
He hops off the dresser and stalks towards Jean-Paul who doesn’t even react. Asks again is the man is offering and gets told he is. Every last Initiative member should die. He’s being offered free and willing blood and he wants. It’s been too long since he had a warm body pressed against his as the blood flowed into his mouth. He almost groans at the thought.
It’s clear from Jean-Paul’s stance that he won’t believe Spike’s a vampire unless he feels the proof. He’s calling what he thinks is a bluff. Only Spike can’t bite…maybe, maybe if he goes slowly he can get a taste, Spike’ll settle for just a taste. Maybe if he gets Jean-Paul relaxed first, make him feel something other than the pain…maybe…maybe…the thought of warm blood, Jean-Paul’s body pressed against his, and the cooper taste of blood in his mouth is too much and Spike knows it’ll hurt but he has to try.
He stops looking in Jean-Paul’s eyes for something other than determination and taking a wrist in his hands, pulls it towards him, brings it to his face. He breathes in the scent of skin, conflicting emotions, and the blood just under the surface. Wanting he kisses the wrist with the vein he was staring at earlier before licking it and glancing up to get the full affect of Jean-Paul’s unimpressed look.
He responds by pulling Jean-Paul hard against him. Lays his lips over the other mans and kisses him, because he needs to focus on something other than his desperate want for blood and lust is the best substitute. It also doesn’t hurt that Jean-Paul is apparently into kissing, hands slide down Spike’s back before resting at the base of his spine, fingers absently begin to move under the vampire’s shirt, rubbing flesh, as he begins walking the mutant in his arms back towards the bed.
A hand slides up under his shirt as another slides down to grip his ass, pulling him closer. Spike tries not to smirk at the feel of Jean-Paul’s hard-on against his and instead continues kissing as he pushes Jean-Paul back onto the bed and under him. Spike grinds his hips slowly, creating pressure and pulls a groan from Jean-Paul which is lost in their kiss.
Jean-Paul responds by matching him, grinding with him, hissing slightly as he begins to push Spike’s shirt up Spike begins to slowly kiss and nip his way down Jean-Paul’s neck.
He takes time to slowly lick the pulse point, then nips it before very carefully, slower then he’s ever done before, shifting into his vampire mode and biting down.
Waits for the headache, but there isn’t one only this long drawn out moan from Jean-Paul and hands gripping his back tightly.
Masochist.
Either that or The Initiative didn’t count mutants as humans, Spike wouldn’t put it past them.
Spike bites down harder, lost in this pleasure of blood flowing freely into his mouth, the warm body moving against his and the noises coming out of Jean-Paul’s mouth.
Bliss, this is bliss.
This is what he’d been missing…
what he’d been longing for since those Initiative idiots got a hold of him.
Cooper taste of blood and a warm body moving with his, grinding, hands gripping him tightly almost desperately, the moans of pleasure blur in his head till he can almost think they’re from fear, and Spike is lost in this, there is only this.
It takes time to gain control and pull away.
He rests his head on Jean-Paul’s shoulder, not moving off him. Jean-Paul’s breathing is labored and it takes a moment for his hands to slowly relinquish their tight hold.
Spike takes an unnecessary breath to steady himself before tilting his head to look down at Jean-Paul’s neck. Bends his head and licks away the blood that lingers there, sees that Jean-Paul’s metabolism is already replacing the flesh he’s torn. He watches as it scars before he leaves a red stained kiss on that spot, his spot. He licks his lips and takes a final swallow appreciating the taste as it make a final slide down his throat.
He kisses Jean-Paul’s cheek letting the rush control his smile before he asks the man under him how he’s doing.
Then there are words he doesn’t understand spoken in a breathless way, and Jean-Paul’s eyes are still tightly closed.
Spike kisses the side of his forehead, “Come again pet?”
“Why’d you stop?”
Man still wants to die, there’s slight frustration in his tone. He’d thought this was it.
Spike kisses his lips before telling him, “You have to know you’re too interesting to kill.”
Their eyes meet and Jean-Paul looks helpless as he very slowly tells him that he can go ahead and take what he wants.
“Already have,” Spike tells him. The monster in him wants to let go, kill the man beneath him, to drink every last drop of blood. The rational part of him won’t kill this man because at this point he’s the only one he can get warm blood from and that sensation is overwhelming, one he’s not willing to give up. There something else holding him back as well, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge. He’s changed. Jean-Paul is a person, not merely a happy meal on legs. His time in Sunnydale, with the Scobbies, his love for Buffy, has taught him that people aren’t merely food. He tries to push the thought away, but it won’t disappear. He finds himself staring down at Jean-Paul wondering just when this change in him had taken place. He still a monster isn’t he? He couldn’t possibly be a man.
“Non, please,” Jean-Paul pleas, “I don’t want…”
The hands tighten in his shirt again.
It confuses Spike. Moments before this man was defending his want to live and now he’s so ready to let go.
Pushing up Spike tilts his head as he looks down at the man underneath him. He runs a hand over a cheekbone, “Why?”
Jean-Paul’s brow furrows into a frown as he says quietly, slowly, “I’m a freak among the freaks. You’ve no idea how exhausting that is. I just want it to end. I’m tired, tired of all of it. These grim superhero games never end, we never really win. I can’t…
He has to kiss the man to silence him, his words speak too close to Spike’s heart for what is he if not a freak among the freaks? He’s neither monster nor man. Jean-Paul’s right, it’s tiring.
The kiss does quiet Jean-Paul, who doesn’t give into it, but simply pushes the blond man away from him as he starts to rise. The action causes him to realize just how much blood he’s really lost. Dizzy, he sways. Spike steadies him and pulls him back onto the bed, “Give your system time to recover. I’ll get you some food. Vending Machine’ll have to do till dark.”
Jean-Paul nods, drifting sleepily as Spike smirks down at him.
Spike leans forward and kisses Jean-Paul again finding interest in the whole man before him and not simply a vein.
Rating: R
Fandom: BTVS/X-men x-over
Disclaimer: I own nothing X-men of BTVS, I’m merely playing in their toy box.
Spoilers: Post Eve of Destruction arc, so X-men 113, Post S6 Seeing Red, after Spike leaves Sunnydale.
Pairing: Spike/Jean-Paul (Northstar)
Summary: Spike finds Jean-Paul to be more than a bit interesting.
Note: This mentions JP’s suicide attempt, so warnings there. It talks about depression. At one point Spike feeds on JP. If any of this is going to upset you please don’t read. Consider yourself warned.
There’s this small blue vein in man’s inner wrist that Spike’s finding himself utterly fascinated with. He runs his thumb over it and the only response he gets is to have the hand pried away from him and stuck under the nearest pillow.
Tilting his head slightly to regard the black/silver haired young man currently sleeping beside him Spike finds himself edging on irritated. Running his hand over the bare back he leans in close so the man can feel how there’s absolutely no body heat radiating from him. He tells him in a low voice close to his ear, “Have it your way then.”
He pulls away swiftly and finds himself definitely irritated when his efforts are met with nothing. He’s being ignored, Spike can tell, and if there’s one thing that Spike absolutely can’t stand it’s being ignored.
Idly he reminisces on how exactly he’d come to be here in the posh, definitely expensive, hotel room with a man who’s decided that now is the time for sleep and not paying more attention to Spike. As far as the blonde vampire is concerned sleep vs. him should have meant no sleep even if the man lying there is only a mutant. The man’s hair and ears just gave it away, that and some of the things he’d said the night before.
He finds himself having this very small moment of relief that this Jean-Paul had never run into Xander- the boy probably would’ve been beside himself over the whole quasi-Vulcan look this mutant’s managed to mix with being sexy as hell, even when he’s so drunk that he can’t stop glittering this almost too big smile for everyone to see. Jean-Paul’s a happy drunk if Spike’s ever seen one and of course in his time as a vampire he’s seen many. It’d been that damn smile that’d sealed the deal for him. That and really it’d been way to long since he’d been with another man-that time in Sunnydale with Angelus simply didn’t count, couldn’t count, because really Angelus had just done it to torture him.
He’d met with a demon who’d confirmed everything for the ritual to get him back to working order-no use in going to all the trouble of going to Africa if the demon had taken up residence elsewhere. Everything had been confirmed, he only needed to find a way out of the country, and he’d been in the mood to celebrate.
Jean-Paul caught his interest the moment he’d entered the bar and had his first look around. The man had smelled of death, that luring type of death that many fledgling vampires are drawn to because it means an easy kill silently under toned with this whisper of ‘please kill me, please’. There’d been this young female vampire trying to lay claim to him at that moment and even though the smile never left his face he turned her down rather harshly. Obviously not one used to having prey refuse her she tried yet again and that’s when the urge to step in hit Spike. Usually he stayed away from the suicidal types, it was simply too easy for his tastes, still there was something about the way this one held himself that made him go over there and pull up a chair, tell the youngster to lay off, which had earned him a glare and anger to which he’d responded by hissing at her then say, “Don’t really think you’re his type, pet, so why don’t you go find someone else to annoy.”
He’d glared at her then, let her feel just how old he was before mouthing ‘this one’s mine’ and smirking. Needless to say she’d left more than a bit irritated which had only of course elevated Spike’s mood.
He’d had the chance to smirk at the man across the table before he’d been told, “I could have handled that.”
He’d wondered briefly at the accent, which he’d found more interesting than the valley girl he’d been hearing for the past few years, before he pulled out a cigarette and blew smoke at the man across from him, “Could you?”
No answer from him for a moment, as if he was considering what exactly it was that he wanted. Then he’d tilted his head and told him, “Jean-Paul.”
“Spike.”
Jean-Paul had leaned back in his seat to regard him with a raised eyebrow-an obvious question. Spike had smirked, “It’s the type you earn.”
Introductions over they segued into drinking, talking and then fucking, which is how they’d eventually ended up here with Jean-Paul sleeping and Spike being bored.
Spike gives Jean-Paul one more disapproving looking before finding his pants, shirt and smokes to sit down and decide what he wants to do with the rest of the day. Sun’s out and there be no burning, but he’s not tired either. He watches Jean-Paul bury his face in his pillow, pull the covers up over himself before kicking them down till they drape him from only the waist down. He turns onto his side next, then back onto his stomach.
Spike simply inhales, exhales and watches the man try to get comfortable. Is he asleep as he tosses and turns? Spike can’t tell, but part of him is thinking not. No, no, he’s definitely awake, feigning sleep to be rid of him, is Spike’s guess.
Eventually he finishes his cigarette and goes through Jean-Paul’s clothes till he finds his wallet. Opens it and quickly takes stock of the fact that this man’s apparently wealthy and Canadian. He’s from Quebec, which explains the accent and some of the words he hadn’t understood. There are only three pictures in the wallet: a woman who looks a lot like Jean-Paul, a very small baby, and a group of people in odd clothes. In the last one Jean-Paul’s in this black and white one-piece and Spike finds himself starting to believe that super-hero bullshit he’d heard last night. He decides he can’t write it off as drunk rambling when he finds a rather worn Alpha Flight card stuck behind several credit cards. Spike decides it’s not really his concern before counting the cash the man has on him. There’s a brief moment there where he debates over just taking it all and finding a way to leave before he closes the wallet putting it back into Jean-Paul’s pants and goes back to watching the man feign sleep.
He ends up getting bored with that too quickly and makes a decision. He finds his bottle of black nail polish, buried in his coat pocket, and makes his way back over to the bed. One hand is falling off the bed and it’s no work at all to rest it on his own knee before he starts painting. Just as he’s almost finished Jean-Paul gives him this glare with only his eyes half-opened.
“Why haven’t you left yet?”
“It’s day,” Spike tells him irritated, for his head is just starting feel the twinge of the hangover he’s sure to have.
“Ah, yes the whole vampire thing,” Jean-Paul tells him in an almost sneer, but not quite as if the man realize how unattractive that would be on him.
Spike’s only response is to give Jean-Paul a smirk before lifting his hand and blowing air on the nails he’s just finished painting, “Give me your other hand.”
Jean-Paul’s face has this brief look of confusion, barely there, before his face becomes impassive. Then tilting his head back into his pillow and closing his eyes he tells Spike, “Go away.”
“Told you,” Spike tells him edging on irritated, “its day. Can’t exactly go out and burn, can I?”
“I’m a mutant.”
Spike leans in till his nose is almost touching the man’s cheek before breathing in, “You smell like one.”
“I don’t smell nor do make it a habit to pick up insane men therefore it would be in your…”
“Didn’t ask about your habits and if I cared that you’re a mutant I wouldn’t have let you bring me here so why don’t you be a good meal and give me your other hand.”
This statement gets Jean-Paul to roll onto his back and glare at him, as if Spike isn’t even worth sitting up for, “Are you going to eat me then?”
Spike’s response is to set the nail polish on a nearby nightstand, “If I were going to eat you, I’d have done it earlier.”
Jean-Paul raises one eyebrow before telling him that for all he knows sex could be a prelude to death where Spike is concerned. Then before Spike can answer there is this breeze and the man is standing across the room with his pants suddenly on as he leans over to pick up his shirt. He goes to put it on and pauses before he lets it drop to the floor again. Then he give Spike an irate look that anyone other than Spike would have found intimidating as he tells him, “You see now, I’m a mutant.”
Spike sits himself on the bed before smirking at Jean-Paul and going into an exaggerated yawn, “Thought we already went over this. Think you’re just irritated because I didn’t eat you.”
“Excuse-moi?”
“You. Want. To. Die,” Spike points out mockingly.
Jean-Paul is suddenly in his face then, fury just barely contained, “I…”
Spike doesn’t even let him start, kisses him so he doesn’t have to hear it. Doesn’t wait for his response, only cuts him off, before pulling back and telling him, “You smell like it. Death is what I do and I know when someone wants to die. Last night you wanted to.”
“I’m not suicidal, not anymore.”
“Keep telling yourself that, pet, you might end up believing it.”
A raised eyebrow and Jean-Paul is pacing, angry energy trying to find an outlet, hung over and obviously unhappy, “With the state of the world today how could I…I was there in Genoshia fighting with the X-men and our stopping Magento means nothing.”
Spike frowns not quite understanding. Sunnydale isn’t exactly the place to worry about the world, most people in Sunnydale worry about their day to day and concentrate on simply making it to the next. When you live in a world surrounded by death and evil day to day world matters no longer seem so important.
Jean-Paul goes on and on and Spike watches his tirade in fascination. This man is all emotion, mostly anger, ups and downs taking over and being in control. He’s exactly the type who would get depressed because they feel too much and tragedy leads to pain which lead to that medium of not feeling anything but depression which lead to death, a want to die, the type of want that one never truly rids oneself of.
Jean-Paul finishes with, “And still it means nothing. We can try and we can bleed and die and it means nothing and yesterday…yesterday…”
He winces and puts a hand to his head before pushing himself in the nearest chair. Jean-Paul sends Spike a glare before admitting just audibly, “Yesterday was my daughter’s birthday.”
The child, the picture, with that simple statement he smells like despair and helplessness. From this Spike know that the child must have died.
“What killed her?”
There’s a slightly startled look then pain, “She was dieing when I found her. I don’t really know when she was born, but…”
He trails off into staring at nothing before his eyes drift down and he lifts up his hand to inspect the fingernails that Spike’s painted. Spike hears him say something barely audible regarding his sister before Jean-Paul is looking at him steadily again, “Why am I even telling you this? I was hoping if I’d ignored you you’d go away and yet you insist on staying. Why?”
“Told you, it’s day,” Spike shrugs before picking up the bottle from the night stand, walking over and sitting himself in front of Jean-Paul. He picks up the other hand and starts at finishing what he started. They sit in silence as the polish dries. Jean-Paul’s lost in thought, the past haunting him as only it can, as he wonders just was sort of mess he’s gotten himself into this time. Spike studies the lines of the other man’s face, his eyes, his ears and finds himself asking, “Just out of curiosity, how’d you try and off yourself?”
The blue eyes meet his and he’s told it doesn’t matter.
He frowns a moment considering the one thing that does have him perplexed, “You’re already hung over.”
Jean-Paul quickly tells him that he has a high metabolism as part of his mutant powers before he asks Spike what brought him to New York. The vampire shrugs, “A girl.”
Jean-Paul’s response is a raised eyebrow and Spike finds himself compelled to answer and at the same time not knowing how. He sits up onto his heels before rising and walking, the beginnings of a pace, as he tries to think of what to say.
“Short story? Fell in love, the whole star-crossed cliché but already done bit. I was the bad ass vampire she was one, scratch that, one of the two girls in all the world chosen to kill my kind, a slayer.”
He turns to find Jean-Paul, his arms crossed, looking at him with contempt.
“What?”
“First I’m supposed to believe you’re a vampire…”
“Didn’t really have a problem with it a few hours ago did you?” Spike interrupts as he pushes himself into a sitting position on a low, nearby, dresser.
“First off I was drunk…”
“First off I was drunk,” Spike mocks before smirking, “You wanted me to be a vampire.”
“Than you admit that you’re not?”
Spike shrugs and Jean-Paul walks over eying him before telling in a short deliberate way, “I don’t believe in vampires.”
Spike’s response is to smirk before slumping over and closing his eyes then listening while Jean-Paul approaches him cautiously. Waits till he senses the man’s close enough before sitting up and telling him with a smirk, “Boo.”
Jean-Paul’s eyes widen slightly, but that’s all, no great startle reflex. Disappointed Spike tells him, “S’not Peter Pan, can’t just not believe. I’m real.”
He reaches out and hooks his hands into the belt loops of Jean-Paul’s jeans and pulls him closer, kisses him. Just lips at first, waits for Jean-Paul to relax, kiss him back, gets him kissing into his mouth before he vamps out. He lets Jean-Paul run his tongue over the fangs before he pulls away. Jean-Paul stares, tilts his head just slightly, studies him before saying quietly, “You could be a mutant.”
He changes back to his human visage.
“The whole dieing and the craving blood bit has me thinking otherwise,” Spike tells him before adding, “Speaking of which before you decided to actually go to sleep why don’t you go get me some.”
Jean-Paul steps back, “You think I’d just let you kill someone?”
“No, I’m thinking more along the lines of a butcher shop. They’ll sell it to you if you ask.”
Jean-Paul scowls and takes another step back before countering, “Why don’t you take what you need?”
“You offering?”
Jean-Paul just stands there arms crossed staring him down, calling his bluff. Briefly Spike wishes he could get his hands on every last Initiative member.
He hops off the dresser and stalks towards Jean-Paul who doesn’t even react. Asks again is the man is offering and gets told he is. Every last Initiative member should die. He’s being offered free and willing blood and he wants. It’s been too long since he had a warm body pressed against his as the blood flowed into his mouth. He almost groans at the thought.
It’s clear from Jean-Paul’s stance that he won’t believe Spike’s a vampire unless he feels the proof. He’s calling what he thinks is a bluff. Only Spike can’t bite…maybe, maybe if he goes slowly he can get a taste, Spike’ll settle for just a taste. Maybe if he gets Jean-Paul relaxed first, make him feel something other than the pain…maybe…maybe…the thought of warm blood, Jean-Paul’s body pressed against his, and the cooper taste of blood in his mouth is too much and Spike knows it’ll hurt but he has to try.
He stops looking in Jean-Paul’s eyes for something other than determination and taking a wrist in his hands, pulls it towards him, brings it to his face. He breathes in the scent of skin, conflicting emotions, and the blood just under the surface. Wanting he kisses the wrist with the vein he was staring at earlier before licking it and glancing up to get the full affect of Jean-Paul’s unimpressed look.
He responds by pulling Jean-Paul hard against him. Lays his lips over the other mans and kisses him, because he needs to focus on something other than his desperate want for blood and lust is the best substitute. It also doesn’t hurt that Jean-Paul is apparently into kissing, hands slide down Spike’s back before resting at the base of his spine, fingers absently begin to move under the vampire’s shirt, rubbing flesh, as he begins walking the mutant in his arms back towards the bed.
A hand slides up under his shirt as another slides down to grip his ass, pulling him closer. Spike tries not to smirk at the feel of Jean-Paul’s hard-on against his and instead continues kissing as he pushes Jean-Paul back onto the bed and under him. Spike grinds his hips slowly, creating pressure and pulls a groan from Jean-Paul which is lost in their kiss.
Jean-Paul responds by matching him, grinding with him, hissing slightly as he begins to push Spike’s shirt up Spike begins to slowly kiss and nip his way down Jean-Paul’s neck.
He takes time to slowly lick the pulse point, then nips it before very carefully, slower then he’s ever done before, shifting into his vampire mode and biting down.
Waits for the headache, but there isn’t one only this long drawn out moan from Jean-Paul and hands gripping his back tightly.
Masochist.
Either that or The Initiative didn’t count mutants as humans, Spike wouldn’t put it past them.
Spike bites down harder, lost in this pleasure of blood flowing freely into his mouth, the warm body moving against his and the noises coming out of Jean-Paul’s mouth.
Bliss, this is bliss.
This is what he’d been missing…
what he’d been longing for since those Initiative idiots got a hold of him.
Cooper taste of blood and a warm body moving with his, grinding, hands gripping him tightly almost desperately, the moans of pleasure blur in his head till he can almost think they’re from fear, and Spike is lost in this, there is only this.
It takes time to gain control and pull away.
He rests his head on Jean-Paul’s shoulder, not moving off him. Jean-Paul’s breathing is labored and it takes a moment for his hands to slowly relinquish their tight hold.
Spike takes an unnecessary breath to steady himself before tilting his head to look down at Jean-Paul’s neck. Bends his head and licks away the blood that lingers there, sees that Jean-Paul’s metabolism is already replacing the flesh he’s torn. He watches as it scars before he leaves a red stained kiss on that spot, his spot. He licks his lips and takes a final swallow appreciating the taste as it make a final slide down his throat.
He kisses Jean-Paul’s cheek letting the rush control his smile before he asks the man under him how he’s doing.
Then there are words he doesn’t understand spoken in a breathless way, and Jean-Paul’s eyes are still tightly closed.
Spike kisses the side of his forehead, “Come again pet?”
“Why’d you stop?”
Man still wants to die, there’s slight frustration in his tone. He’d thought this was it.
Spike kisses his lips before telling him, “You have to know you’re too interesting to kill.”
Their eyes meet and Jean-Paul looks helpless as he very slowly tells him that he can go ahead and take what he wants.
“Already have,” Spike tells him. The monster in him wants to let go, kill the man beneath him, to drink every last drop of blood. The rational part of him won’t kill this man because at this point he’s the only one he can get warm blood from and that sensation is overwhelming, one he’s not willing to give up. There something else holding him back as well, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge. He’s changed. Jean-Paul is a person, not merely a happy meal on legs. His time in Sunnydale, with the Scobbies, his love for Buffy, has taught him that people aren’t merely food. He tries to push the thought away, but it won’t disappear. He finds himself staring down at Jean-Paul wondering just when this change in him had taken place. He still a monster isn’t he? He couldn’t possibly be a man.
“Non, please,” Jean-Paul pleas, “I don’t want…”
The hands tighten in his shirt again.
It confuses Spike. Moments before this man was defending his want to live and now he’s so ready to let go.
Pushing up Spike tilts his head as he looks down at the man underneath him. He runs a hand over a cheekbone, “Why?”
Jean-Paul’s brow furrows into a frown as he says quietly, slowly, “I’m a freak among the freaks. You’ve no idea how exhausting that is. I just want it to end. I’m tired, tired of all of it. These grim superhero games never end, we never really win. I can’t…
He has to kiss the man to silence him, his words speak too close to Spike’s heart for what is he if not a freak among the freaks? He’s neither monster nor man. Jean-Paul’s right, it’s tiring.
The kiss does quiet Jean-Paul, who doesn’t give into it, but simply pushes the blond man away from him as he starts to rise. The action causes him to realize just how much blood he’s really lost. Dizzy, he sways. Spike steadies him and pulls him back onto the bed, “Give your system time to recover. I’ll get you some food. Vending Machine’ll have to do till dark.”
Jean-Paul nods, drifting sleepily as Spike smirks down at him.
Spike leans forward and kisses Jean-Paul again finding interest in the whole man before him and not simply a vein.