What Happens in Avebury, Stays in Avebury 8/?
Title: What Happens in Avebury, Stays in Avebury
Authors: whichclothes and emelye_miller
Chapter: 8/?
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: We're not Joss
Warnings: None so far.
Summary: Sequel to El Cuento del Bucanero y del Vampiro and The Curse of Spike's Ass.
A/N: Huge thanks to Sentine for the gorgeous banner!
Previous parts here.
Chapter Eight
Spike frowned and muttered, “It’s going to be very crowded in here.”
Xander blinked. “Come again?” But before Spike had a chance to explain himself, Sam was rising in his consciousness, commanding “Sulis Minerva! Show yourself!” Then Spike’s eyes were rolling back in his skull and his body undulated with an odd, rolling shudder. The wry smile on his lips wasn’t his own. Nor were his eyes, now lit with an eerie, purple fire.
“Dreadful, just wretched, Sam. Calling me into this animated, lifeless shell! Do you revile me so much? What do you want?”
“Your acolytes are pleading for my intercession. I should ask you.”
Sulis Minerva struck an obstinate pose. “This world is a miserable, backward place and I won’t be left in it to rot and fade into obscurity, Sam. What purpose serves a goddess whom no one worships?”
Sam shook Xander’s head in disapproval. “This is not our world, Minerva. You cannot keep your devotees unwillingly. Nor do I believe that is what you truly desire.”
Minerva/Spike’s face crumpled. “It’s so cold here, Sam. It’s brutal and empty and…and so reasonable.”
Sam/Xander placed a comforting hand on her/his shoulder. “The old ways haven’t fallen away completely. The world will be unmade before our marks are erased from it.”
A lost childlike question. “What is to become of me, Sam?”
Xander knew the answer as soon as Sam thought it, but hearing the words from his mouth still filled him with the excited anticipation of a real resolution to this unbearable and increasingly confusing situation. “Return with me to the Summerlands. Leave this world to its ways. Leave the souls of the faithful in peace.”
By reluctant agreement Minerva led them through the baths to a place of power, sacred to the original temple. Xander observed the altar of the great stone room in fascination and with more than a little trepidation, reviewing his options should it become necessary to forcibly suppress Sam and make his escape. Before Xander understood what was happening-still half expecting Spike to pull a large scimitar from behind his back and order Xander onto the altar-Minerva/Spike began unclothing her/his body. Spike, or Minerva, or however the fuck Xander was supposed to think of his lover now, was fumbling with the fastenings of his jeans.
“Allow me, Minerva,” Sam said, demonstrating the button fly to the ancient inhabitant of Spike’s Levis.
When they were both undressed, Xander felt Sam recede as the purple light faded from Spike’s eyes. Spike shook himself, and Xander looked between them, naked, and to the altar in confusion.
“Was that it?”
Spike appeared to be listening grimly to a voice in his subconscious, his eyes staring into the middle distance. “Reckon not,” he answered.
Consecrate the altar. Make your offering to Minerva. Came Sam’s whispered instruction.
“Consecrate the altar?” Xander repeated.
Spike grinned and hopped up onto the stone table patting a place beside him for Xander to sit. Xander scrambled up and yelped as the cold stone met his nethers. Spike laughed.
“Randy buggers want a floor show as a send off.”
“So that’d be the offering, then?” Spike nodded. Xander sighed and shrugged. “Okay then.”
Spike grinned and clapped his hands together, rubbing them in glee. “So what do you think? Reverse wheelbarrow? Inverted teepee?”
Then…something happened. Something that sounded like drums, then a wail of pipes and the excited chatter of a hundred ghostly voices which gradually gave way to singing. And somewhere beneath that the sounds of plucked instruments, a harp, then finally, laughter.
And then they saw them.
The edges of the cavern began to glow with an ethereal blue light as hundreds of forms of men and women began to filter through the walls.
“Xan, look,” Spike instructed. Xander followed his line of sight to the altar they sat on, transformed. It no longer appeared ancient and weatherworn, but could have been hewn from a limestone quarry last week. There were intricate carvings all around it, runes, grape leaves and flowers and sigils neither man recognized, lost to time.
There was excited chatter above the music and as they watched, the group circled and began to dance. A boy approached them with a large goblet filled with who knows what and both men recoiled, recalling far too many anecdotes about the consequences for wandering travelers partaking of the food and drink of otherworldly hosts.
Do not be afraid. The drink will not harm or enslave you, only make you like them for a time.
“How long a time are we talking?” Xander muttered to the voice in his head.
As long as the ritual requires. Until the altar has been consecrated and we are once more at rest.
Xander looked apprehensively at Spike who shrugged and reached for the glass.
“Bottoms up.” Spike’s eyes went wide as he drank, then closed in apparent rapture before opening again and fixing on Xander with a hungry look as he handed the cup to his lover.
Xander drank.
Before they’d left Dracula’s castle, Spike had introduced Xander to the Green Fairy. Pouring him glass after glass of absinthe from a chilled samovar sweating condensation onto an ancient oak dresser until Xander’s lips tingled and he began to help himself to the bowl of sugar cubes, sharing sugary kisses with his lover who told Xander he couldn’t tell the difference. Xander liked that. This was nothing like that.
This was more like rolling on E in Glastonbury when Xander felt himself release all his inhibitions and a few of Spike’s in a bid to touch and be touched as much as was physically possible for someone for whom contortionate positions caused no pain and every kiss was damn near orgasmic.
Yeah, Xander reflected, this was a lot like that.
Because suddenly it didn’t matter that there were hundreds of spectral spectators. Xander locked eyes with Spike and it was all over but the having. They smooshed together awkwardly, still sitting side by side until Spike gradually shifted them onto the altar, laying between Xander’s legs as he ravenously tongue-fucked Xander’s mouth.
Xander’s hands rubbed, pinched, caressed and squeezed every bit of flesh available to him as he thrust his engorged member against the equally hard length pressing into his with desperate abandon. Spike was whimpering into his mouth with every grind of his pelvis until that wasn’t even enough and then their positions were reversed and Xander was licking and nipping his way down Spike’s writhing body to start tonguing his pert, pink rosebud.
Spike thrust back onto Xander’s tongue, moaning all the while until Xander finally raised himself up and thrust deeply inside that cool vice, pulling Spike’s legs around his waist, then lifting him up until Spike’s arms were wrapped around Xander’s shoulders and he could lower himself at will onto the cock pistoning into him at a frenzied pace.
They fucked like that, wrapped around each other for what could have been minutes or hours or several days in that state until Xander tightened his arms around Spike’s waist and thrust twice more before shooting deep inside his lover with a shout of completion. Spike rutted against him, clenching his muscles tight around Xander as he spurted his own release between them.
They collapsed back onto the altar, wrapped in each other’s arms, legs entwined, sticky and sated, kissing eyelids and stroking goose-pimpled flesh as they panted and watched the room spin in a riot of color. As they drifted into unconsciousness, they perceived a voice resonating somewhere within them and outside them at once.
“Thank you, mortals, and well met. Blessings on you and on your house. Fare well.”
Xander woke in the grass, drenched with dew, as the first false light of dawn began to creep over the horizon. They appeared to have been relocated to a field somewhere just outside the city, but still within view of the modest skyline. Spike stirred beside him and Xander noted his eyes had returned to their normal shade of blue. For his part, it seemed Xander’s head was a much more solitary place as well. Spike sat up, took in their state of undress with casual irritation. “Bloody cold and damp out here. Better get our kit and find the car.”
“Yeah.”
They walked back through the streets and crept into the baths, finding their clothes folded neatly atop Minerva’s altar. They dressed in silence borne of exhaustion or reverence or some combination of the two. Finally, Spike fished the keys from his duster and they slipped into the seats of the car. The engine turned over. Such a mundane sound breaking the silence felt both inappropriate and absurd.
One short year since they’d began their journey together in Tijuana, broke ties with their friends, then renewed them in the face of crippling curses, then once again announced retirement while ensconced in Dracula’s guest suite, began traveling the British isles in a quest for something approaching normality only to find themselves mired in yet another supernatural cock-up.
It was as if the universe was trying to tell them something. Xander glanced over and saw that Spike was looking similarly resigned.
Xander sighed. “Home?”
Spike smiled ruefully and slipped the car into gear before taking his hand. “Home, then.”
Authors: whichclothes and emelye_miller
Chapter: 8/?
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: We're not Joss
Warnings: None so far.
Summary: Sequel to El Cuento del Bucanero y del Vampiro and The Curse of Spike's Ass.
A/N: Huge thanks to Sentine for the gorgeous banner!
Previous parts here.
Chapter Eight
Spike frowned and muttered, “It’s going to be very crowded in here.”
Xander blinked. “Come again?” But before Spike had a chance to explain himself, Sam was rising in his consciousness, commanding “Sulis Minerva! Show yourself!” Then Spike’s eyes were rolling back in his skull and his body undulated with an odd, rolling shudder. The wry smile on his lips wasn’t his own. Nor were his eyes, now lit with an eerie, purple fire.
“Dreadful, just wretched, Sam. Calling me into this animated, lifeless shell! Do you revile me so much? What do you want?”
“Your acolytes are pleading for my intercession. I should ask you.”
Sulis Minerva struck an obstinate pose. “This world is a miserable, backward place and I won’t be left in it to rot and fade into obscurity, Sam. What purpose serves a goddess whom no one worships?”
Sam shook Xander’s head in disapproval. “This is not our world, Minerva. You cannot keep your devotees unwillingly. Nor do I believe that is what you truly desire.”
Minerva/Spike’s face crumpled. “It’s so cold here, Sam. It’s brutal and empty and…and so reasonable.”
Sam/Xander placed a comforting hand on her/his shoulder. “The old ways haven’t fallen away completely. The world will be unmade before our marks are erased from it.”
A lost childlike question. “What is to become of me, Sam?”
Xander knew the answer as soon as Sam thought it, but hearing the words from his mouth still filled him with the excited anticipation of a real resolution to this unbearable and increasingly confusing situation. “Return with me to the Summerlands. Leave this world to its ways. Leave the souls of the faithful in peace.”
By reluctant agreement Minerva led them through the baths to a place of power, sacred to the original temple. Xander observed the altar of the great stone room in fascination and with more than a little trepidation, reviewing his options should it become necessary to forcibly suppress Sam and make his escape. Before Xander understood what was happening-still half expecting Spike to pull a large scimitar from behind his back and order Xander onto the altar-Minerva/Spike began unclothing her/his body. Spike, or Minerva, or however the fuck Xander was supposed to think of his lover now, was fumbling with the fastenings of his jeans.
“Allow me, Minerva,” Sam said, demonstrating the button fly to the ancient inhabitant of Spike’s Levis.
When they were both undressed, Xander felt Sam recede as the purple light faded from Spike’s eyes. Spike shook himself, and Xander looked between them, naked, and to the altar in confusion.
“Was that it?”
Spike appeared to be listening grimly to a voice in his subconscious, his eyes staring into the middle distance. “Reckon not,” he answered.
Consecrate the altar. Make your offering to Minerva. Came Sam’s whispered instruction.
“Consecrate the altar?” Xander repeated.
Spike grinned and hopped up onto the stone table patting a place beside him for Xander to sit. Xander scrambled up and yelped as the cold stone met his nethers. Spike laughed.
“Randy buggers want a floor show as a send off.”
“So that’d be the offering, then?” Spike nodded. Xander sighed and shrugged. “Okay then.”
Spike grinned and clapped his hands together, rubbing them in glee. “So what do you think? Reverse wheelbarrow? Inverted teepee?”
Then…something happened. Something that sounded like drums, then a wail of pipes and the excited chatter of a hundred ghostly voices which gradually gave way to singing. And somewhere beneath that the sounds of plucked instruments, a harp, then finally, laughter.
And then they saw them.
The edges of the cavern began to glow with an ethereal blue light as hundreds of forms of men and women began to filter through the walls.
“Xan, look,” Spike instructed. Xander followed his line of sight to the altar they sat on, transformed. It no longer appeared ancient and weatherworn, but could have been hewn from a limestone quarry last week. There were intricate carvings all around it, runes, grape leaves and flowers and sigils neither man recognized, lost to time.
There was excited chatter above the music and as they watched, the group circled and began to dance. A boy approached them with a large goblet filled with who knows what and both men recoiled, recalling far too many anecdotes about the consequences for wandering travelers partaking of the food and drink of otherworldly hosts.
Do not be afraid. The drink will not harm or enslave you, only make you like them for a time.
“How long a time are we talking?” Xander muttered to the voice in his head.
As long as the ritual requires. Until the altar has been consecrated and we are once more at rest.
Xander looked apprehensively at Spike who shrugged and reached for the glass.
“Bottoms up.” Spike’s eyes went wide as he drank, then closed in apparent rapture before opening again and fixing on Xander with a hungry look as he handed the cup to his lover.
Xander drank.
Before they’d left Dracula’s castle, Spike had introduced Xander to the Green Fairy. Pouring him glass after glass of absinthe from a chilled samovar sweating condensation onto an ancient oak dresser until Xander’s lips tingled and he began to help himself to the bowl of sugar cubes, sharing sugary kisses with his lover who told Xander he couldn’t tell the difference. Xander liked that. This was nothing like that.
This was more like rolling on E in Glastonbury when Xander felt himself release all his inhibitions and a few of Spike’s in a bid to touch and be touched as much as was physically possible for someone for whom contortionate positions caused no pain and every kiss was damn near orgasmic.
Yeah, Xander reflected, this was a lot like that.
Because suddenly it didn’t matter that there were hundreds of spectral spectators. Xander locked eyes with Spike and it was all over but the having. They smooshed together awkwardly, still sitting side by side until Spike gradually shifted them onto the altar, laying between Xander’s legs as he ravenously tongue-fucked Xander’s mouth.
Xander’s hands rubbed, pinched, caressed and squeezed every bit of flesh available to him as he thrust his engorged member against the equally hard length pressing into his with desperate abandon. Spike was whimpering into his mouth with every grind of his pelvis until that wasn’t even enough and then their positions were reversed and Xander was licking and nipping his way down Spike’s writhing body to start tonguing his pert, pink rosebud.
Spike thrust back onto Xander’s tongue, moaning all the while until Xander finally raised himself up and thrust deeply inside that cool vice, pulling Spike’s legs around his waist, then lifting him up until Spike’s arms were wrapped around Xander’s shoulders and he could lower himself at will onto the cock pistoning into him at a frenzied pace.
They fucked like that, wrapped around each other for what could have been minutes or hours or several days in that state until Xander tightened his arms around Spike’s waist and thrust twice more before shooting deep inside his lover with a shout of completion. Spike rutted against him, clenching his muscles tight around Xander as he spurted his own release between them.
They collapsed back onto the altar, wrapped in each other’s arms, legs entwined, sticky and sated, kissing eyelids and stroking goose-pimpled flesh as they panted and watched the room spin in a riot of color. As they drifted into unconsciousness, they perceived a voice resonating somewhere within them and outside them at once.
“Thank you, mortals, and well met. Blessings on you and on your house. Fare well.”
Xander woke in the grass, drenched with dew, as the first false light of dawn began to creep over the horizon. They appeared to have been relocated to a field somewhere just outside the city, but still within view of the modest skyline. Spike stirred beside him and Xander noted his eyes had returned to their normal shade of blue. For his part, it seemed Xander’s head was a much more solitary place as well. Spike sat up, took in their state of undress with casual irritation. “Bloody cold and damp out here. Better get our kit and find the car.”
“Yeah.”
They walked back through the streets and crept into the baths, finding their clothes folded neatly atop Minerva’s altar. They dressed in silence borne of exhaustion or reverence or some combination of the two. Finally, Spike fished the keys from his duster and they slipped into the seats of the car. The engine turned over. Such a mundane sound breaking the silence felt both inappropriate and absurd.
One short year since they’d began their journey together in Tijuana, broke ties with their friends, then renewed them in the face of crippling curses, then once again announced retirement while ensconced in Dracula’s guest suite, began traveling the British isles in a quest for something approaching normality only to find themselves mired in yet another supernatural cock-up.
It was as if the universe was trying to tell them something. Xander glanced over and saw that Spike was looking similarly resigned.
Xander sighed. “Home?”
Spike smiled ruefully and slipped the car into gear before taking his hand. “Home, then.”