Hostile Encounters
Summary: Agent Miller finally has a meeting with Hostile Seventeen
Warning: Thoughts of bloodplay. Thoughts of other kind of play.
Date: October 24, 2000  
*Notes: After a little over a year with almost no breaks I finally thought it was time my XanderMuse take a well deserved rest. So, I decided to let my first take on the brand new season five Graham out to play with poor, poor Spike. You know, to help wash those nasty dreams out of his head. **What would I do without you, Blameboy?


I was right. Riley doesn’t belong here. No one with an ounce of sanity belongs in this fucking town. I guess that makes it, what, ironic that I’m back here? I mean, I am the only one left from the Initiative that stayed with the program. . . and out of a mental institution.

Of course, that’s what made me the obvious choice to lead the new team here. Yeah, the suits decided they really hated being so far out of the loop. Oh, they put a nice uptown spin on the thing. ‘The situation in Sunnydale is too volatile to leave unchaperoned.’ Meaning, the high tech surveillance thing just wasn’t doing it for them anymore. They wanted a more hands on kind of blurring of the Constitution.

So, I’m back in Sunnydale with my brand new title of government sanctioned peeping tom.

This is definitly not what I joined up for. I mean, ‘Ooh, the Slayer just bought another box of condoms. Let’s alert Washington, and send Riley a crate of vitamins, he’s gonna need them.’

Please. This is beyond ridiculous.

The thing of it is, I actually respect Buffy. . . well, as much as I *can* respect someone named Buffy. Maybe it’s more like I respect what she does. I respect what they all do, some more than others.

And, what do I do? What’s my contribution? I spy on them.

But, hey, an order’s an order, right? Somebody’s got to be the asshole. . . might as well be me.

Course, I’m sure my lovely new position has nothing to do with why I suddenly need to chug a bottle of Malox every night. The docs say I’m stressed. No shit.

That’s why I went out that night. Needed more Tums. How mundane is that? Then again, nothing mundane ever *really* happens in Sunnydale, does it? I mean, it was during my little two a.m. run to the all night convenience store that I saw *him* again. He just strolled right out the door like it was nothing for an evil creature of the night to be shopping at Hasty-Mart.

Not Hostile Seventeen. . . Spike.

See, I remembered what Buffy had said from before, and. . . At least, I assumed he was Spike. For some reason I just couldn’t picture him as a Harmony.

But, the blonde bimbo with the overbite from hell could’ve still been around, so I stayed alert as I followed him. Yeah, followed him. That son of a bitch had been eluding us for almost a year, it was way past time to end it. He pranced around right under our fucking noses, waltzing in and out of the compound whenever he pleased. After a while, you just start to take it personally. And then that thing with the doctor. I know damn well that the chances of removing that chip without leaving him a drooling cucumber with fangs is way past slim and right down there with none. But, just in case, I thought I might as well dust him while I had the chance. You know, before he decided to slither away again.

So, I followed him. Kept far enough away so he couldn’t hear, or smell me, but I never lost visual contact with him. Yeah, right. Like I could have lost that shining beacon of a hair care don’t.

We ended up in a cemetery, and I watched as he entered one of the crypts. Making his home in what’s supposed to be someone else’s eternal resting place. Those undead just have no respect for the. . . regular dead.

Anyway, I went in after him and. . .well, let’s just say I didn’t get the reaction I was expecting. Oh, there was fear, complete with widening of the eyes, and a slight droop in the mouth, and a just general ‘oh shit’ look. For one second he was terrified of me. Then, the second ended and he started to laugh. And, not just a little laugh either. A great, big, huge, tears streaming down your face, holding your stomach ‘cause it hurts kinda laugh.

I just stood there, watching him, waiting for him to regain his wind, which was kinda silly ‘cause he really didn’t need that in the first place. Finally he got some control back.

“Of course. Of bloody course!” He said, shaking his head, still chuckling. “So, this is how it ends, huh? William the Fucking Bloody taken out by some. . . thick necked, small headed, G.I. Joe wannabe.” He threw open his arms. “All I have to say is, it’s about damn well time. Now, get on with it!”

Well, that was definitely a first for me. I’d never been insulted by something I was gonna kill before. It should have made the job that much easier, but. . . “You *want* me to kill you?”

He gave me a look that could peel paint. “Pet, I was *killed* over a century ago. I just want you to do your patriotic duty and end my sad, sorry, pathetic, miserable existence. Do you think you can handle that?”

I didn’t say anything. I was probably too busy trying to figure out why I wasn’t ramming something wooden through his heart. I mean, he was a bad guy. He was. . . he was. . . he was a *very* bad guy.

He cocked his head and just looked at me. Those unblinking blue eyes, almost the same color as my own, stared right at me, into me. It was an appraising look, like he was looking straight into my head, and judging every single thing he found there.

“It’s different now, isn’t it?” His voice was low, soft, yet the mocking undertones were crystal clear. “Hmm? You’re not wearing a mask. I’m not unconscious on a table somewhere. Takes a bit more to end something’s existence when you have to look it in the eyes, don’t it?”

I wanted to say something, tell him no, that that wasn’t it at all. It was something else. I’m a soldier. I fight. I don’t execute people. . . not even annoying undead ones. And, God,was he annoying.

He had the most irritating look on his face, like he had me completely figured out. And, maybe that’s why I did what I did. Maybe I wanted to prove to this guy, who obviously had no idea that punk was dead as he was, that he couldn’t read me. No one can read me.

Or, maybe I just wanted to know what he tasted like. That might be it.

I launched myself at him. Oh no, he definitely didn’t expect that, but he didn’t complain either. It was hard, and raw, and at that moment in time, exactly what I needed. . . ‘Cause it was also wrong. I was kissing a guy. I was kissing an undead guy. I was kissing an undead, British guy. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

And, oh so good.

It was certainly not a authorized exercise.

Suddenly, his mouth left mine, and my head just kinda. . . fell backwards. I made such a good little victim.

He actually *growled* at me before latching onto my neck. It was almost unreal, the amount of suction his mouth produced, like he was hoping the blood would just say ‘okay’, and start oozing out of my pores. What’s probably even more disturbing is that I didn’t even contemplate what else Spike could be sucking on. All I could do was whimper and moan like some little goth girl who just found a Lestat look alike.

But, it felt. . . it felt good. I had never had such intensity focused on part of my body before.

He didn’t loose a beat, didn’t falter, but I could still tell when his face changed. It was like the very air became even more electrified. And, when he dragged those long, hard, sharp canines across my skin. . .

But, of course he had to ruin it all. He had to open up his mouth and talk.

“Uh, Pet, you’re the type who carries a Swiss army knife, right?” Soft, cool, puffs of air against my skin. “You wouldn’t mind opening up a vein for me, would you?”

And, with those words, whatever, for lack of a better word, spell I had been under, ended. My eyes snapped open, my arm came up, and I socked him right on the side of his head. Thing is, it wasn’t what he said that did it. It was that for a spilt second, I knew, without a doubt, that I would have done it. I would have let him feed from me.

Is that fucked up, or what?

He took the blow in stride. It’s not like I did him any real damage. In fact, with me panting, and shuddering, and still caught in the wake of the most intense near sexual experience I had ever had, I’m amazed my punch contained even enough power to dislodge the little leech.

“Well, I must say, you are an utter disappointment.” He shook his head, his face sliding back to it’s original version. And, the human him actually did look disappointed. “Just. . . get out.” He made a shooing motion towards the door. “And, don’t bother coming back round here again til you grow the stones to finish what you start.”

And that was it. I left. What else was I supposed to do? I had been dismissed by the fangless corpse I had gone there to kill. And, I’m still not sure what he meant by the whole ‘finish what you start’ crack. Did he mean destroying him, or engaging in a little pre-coital blood play, cause I could. . . honestly, really get with either of those scenarios.

I think once I’m done setting up the fiber optic cameras around the magic shop I’m gonna go back to the crypt, and ask him.

I still say I was right about Riley. He doesn’t belong here. But, maybe. . . maybe this town is the best place for me after all.


the end