Feedback: Yes please but be very gentle. First fanfic and first slash.
Archive: If you want, but please let me know
Pairing: S/X
Rating: PG - NC 17 (maybe, I've never rated anything before)
Disclaimer: Most characters misrepresented in this tale belong to Joss Whedon,
Mutant Enemy and Neil Gaiman. I'm only taking them out to play, changing their
clothes and then putting them back. There may be some original characters floating
about. They are mine but usually don't admit to it.
Spoilers: Up to Buffy Season 6 sorta but definitely AU
Summary: Spike and Xander get to take a trip and go a bit further than intended.
Crossover eventually with Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere.
'' '' '' '' '' '' '' ''
It was, Xander realized with surprised delight, a medieval court. Well,
what you'd get if you stuffed a medieval court into the car of a train. A
thick carpet of rushes covered the floor, torches attached to the wall gave
off a flickering light, large shaggy dogs lolled in front of open
fire-places, chickens dodged out from under people's feet, and four ancient
armsmen in equally elderly tabards expertly and steadily divided their
attention and crossbows between himself and Spike.
Xander half turned in order to take in more of the car, staring at the
faded tapestries that covered many of the doors and windows. Outside on the
platform the other commuters continued to look through the train as if it
didn't even register on their consciousness. Xander wondered how something
as big as a train could be blanked from their minds.
Faded grey ladies-in-waiting, who had, in Xander's opinion, been waiting
far too long to be wearing such a revealing style of renaissance dress,
gasped and drew into a huddle at Spike's fanged and ridged visage, their
tapestry and the seated minstrel entirely forgotten.
The herald, at least as old as the guards, indicated that they should
remain where they were as he stepped further down to the other end of the
car to a large figure slumped on a throne raised up on a dais.
The train lurched forward and both Spike and Xander rocked slightly,
catching themselves on the leather handholds that dangled from the roof,
being careful not to grab the ones that were being used to hang rabbits and
pheasants from.
As Spike steadied himself, he could feel Xander's excitement. He could
appreciate it but didn't share it, being more concerned about their safety.
He'd smelt no demon-kind on or about the train, which was why he'd lied
about Xander's status.
Humans, with their limited senses, would be unable to pick up the subtle
changes that came with being a Consort that most demons would. To humans it
was just a title and Xander would be accorded the respect it entailed. It
also indicated that Spike was sincere in his stated intention to refrain
from visiting general, lovely carnage upon the court since it was generally
believed, in the Underside at least, that no Master would ever place his
consort in harm's way on a whim. But, if it all went arse-up, only humans
aboard meant that he would be helpless to protect Xander. Shit, he hated
politics.
In the continued absence of carnage, ravishment, or threat on Spike's part,
the ladies-in-waiting-too-long had returned to their tapestry, interspersed
with titters and giggles directed at the two. One lady, only slightly less
faded than the rest and very much bolder, was studying the still happily
bemused and oblivious Xander with a rather predatory look.
Spike met her eyes. She had steel, he had to admit, because she didn't
flinch from his yellow -eyed stare. He stepped behind Xander, pulling him
flush with his body and deliberately ran his fangs in a caress up Xander's
neck. It felt as good to his sensitive canines as it obviously did to
Xander, judging by his indrawn breath and the sweet way he arched his back,
buttocks pressing against the front of Spike's jeans.
"Ssspike!" whispered Xander, "No fair." He reached a hand
behind himself
and ran it in a firm stroke from Spike's hip, down his thigh.
"Just establishing territory, love." The demoiselle dropped her eyes
and
fanned a suddenly flushed face with her hands. The minstrel, lute
forgotten, looked suddenly wistful.
Spike ignored a "Harrumph" from the returned herald in favour of
another
caress, down Xander's neck this time, wishing the boy wasn't wearing a
sweater so that he could nip hard on his neck just about...remembering the
thrice-blasted chip bought him firmly back to the business at hand. Setting
Xander reluctantly away from him with a two-handed caress across that tasty
behind, he looked at the herald and tilted his head enquiringly.
"I shall announce you to the Earl. Please follow me." He led them
to the
bottom of the dais. On the battered wooden throne was an equally battered
figure, an elderly, scarred face, one eye closed and the other covered by a
brown leather patch. A bronze coronet sat askew on his head and he wore a
brown fur coat. Incongruously, poking out from below the coat were the
bottoms of a pair of blue pin-striped pyjamas, and the toes of fluffy brown
slippers jutted out from under the large wolf -hound sprawled across the
Earl's feet. Faded tapestries hung behind the dais, depicting the old man
in better, younger days, swinging a sword and generally being bold and
glorious.
The herald sighed and stepped up to the dais and again gently began to
re-awaken the Earl. A cough and a spluttter and the Earl awoke and opened
his eye, casting a watery
blue gaze about. "Wha. What?" he mumbled.
"Visitors, your Grace. Master Vampire William the Bloody and Consort."
"What, speak up man! Stop whispering."
The herald repeated himself at a louder volume closer to the Earl's ear.
"A bloodsucker, a damn bloodsucker in my court. Fetch me my crossbow,
man!"
The old man's voice ended on a bellow. The herald sighed again and began to
whisper urgently in the Earl's ear. The Earl began to settle himself back
in his throne. "A Master Vampire, that's different
then. Times were you couldn't move for cocky young fledges. Why I remember
when..." He stopped, eye looking into the past rather than at the two
before him.
"Well, bring 'em forward, then. Protocol, an' all that."