Night Of Nights

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Night of Nights

Sajinn

No, they aren’t mine. I wish they were, but they aren’t. They belong to their creators. No money is being made. I just take them out, put them in pretty dresses, and make them fight each other. No harm, no foul. Feed the writer. Review.

The Eighty-Ninth

Happy Birthday, Alana

Spike shifted around on his chair, silently congratulating the architects of airport seating for their ingenuity and sadism. No matter which way he sat, something poked into his back--the armrest, seat back or seat bottom itself. Xander was somewhere in the terminal, scrounging for more food. That left Spike to sit and wait, guarding their luggage while wondering if night would ever fall. People chattered around him in a cacophony of breathing, talking and whispered prayers of safe expediency. He empathized with them, wanting nothing more than to be speedily away from where he was. Mother and fathers comforting children as overhead speakers crackled incomprehensibly.

Spike let the irregular rhythms of humanity lull him to sleep, eyes fluttering closed with a disgruntled sigh. Sleep didn't alleviate the vampire's discomfort, though. His back was still bent over an arm rest, muscles slowly beginning to cramp. In his slumber, however, the pain took him back to more pleasant times... Spike and Xander jammed into a miniscule shower aboard the train going anywhere but where they'd been. Xander's skin, warm even beneath the falling water. Whiskey-dark eyes and that laugh that foretold something even better than the creeping contentment that threatened to overtake them both. Warmth, like the slick heat of being buried inside Xander; tight and grasping body begging for more--something Spike was only too eager to give. Xander's breath would catch brokenly, not that Spike showed any mercy--thrusting harder and faster until those eyes were sightless and Spike's name slid past blood-red lips. Then Spike had no choice but to follow, lulled by beauty into a pleasant little oblivion. Blunt teeth worried his neck, anchoring Spike to the living flesh pressed against him. For this, he would endure any cramped quarters or uncomfortable beds. Cold nights and rainy days were no impediment, so long as this man lay next to him.

Xander hurriedly pushed his way through the crowd of other passengers, focused intently on the pale head propped on an uncomfortable-looking chair. Sure enough, Spike was occupying the seat--sort of--and the one next to it. He looked rather uncomfortable, folded over the hard chairs, but the sleeping man's face was strangely serene.

Spike was about to rouse Xander for another go around when something dragged him back into the noise and odor of reality. He opened bleary eyes to find an amused Xander looking down at him. "Hi," Xander murmured, taking in the sight of a half-asleep vampire licking his lips sleepily.

"Mmm," Spike grumbled, rubbing his sleep-filled eyes.

"Good dreams?" Xander asked lightly, quirking one eyebrow. The expression of fond longing on Spike's face was answer enough, making Xander laugh quietly. "Guess I don't have to worry about the eighty-ninth, do I?" He added, reaching for one of their carry-on bags.

Spike pushed himself up, frowning bemusedly. "I wouldn't say that," He groused indignantly, reaching for Xander.

"No, but I would," Xander retorted, glancing over at the door. "Come on, they're boarding our flight."

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