I'm so focused on working on the edits for chapter eight that I almost forgot to post chapter seven! Oops! Here it is! :D

Title: Outside Pride
Author: cordelianne
Chapter: 7/10
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,352
Feedback: Comments will be very encouraging. Concrit is very welcome by email.
Disclaimer: Sadly not mine, Joss own them.
Summary: AU set at a summer camp.
The mosquito squishes beneath his hand in a satisfying way. It’s even more satisfying to see the smear of blood it leaves on his wall.
A/N: Thanks to the completely awesome and wonderful savoytruffle and spookymonkey for their invaluable pre-reading, betaing and support. Any mistakes are mine.

Previous chapters here.



Outside Pride
by Cordelianne

CHAPTER SEVEN


The mosquito squishes beneath his hand in a satisfying way.

It’s even more satisfying to see the smear of blood it leaves on his wall.

Spike almost wishes there were more mosquitoes just so he could have the fun of killing them. He considers opening the door and letting some in, but now that he’s lying on the bed he can’t be bothered getting up. And besides, there’d be that annoying one that would just buzz around his head eluding death.

Voices drift in through the window. Buffy and Angel.

He’s up and across the room, closing the window before the thought’s fully formed in his head. Yeah, he’s happy for Angel and all that rot, but he doesn’t need a front row seat to their summer nights duet.

The room’s hot and airless now but Spike can’t make himself care.

He must have drifted off because when he opens his eyes the clock says four thirteen a.m. He stumbles up, opens the window and breathes in the fresh air. God, he wants a smoke.

And since God’s not gonna pop down from heaven with one, Spike throws on a jacket and heads for his tree.

He sinks onto the rock like it’s heroin hitting his system instead of nicotine.

Everything seems brighter tonight, the stars bursting out of the intense black sky. His eyes follow the blinking light of an airplane as it passes overhead.

’Course none of it helps – can’t forget about Xander. Stupid bloody mistake. At least the kid hasn’t run home to mommy and daddy claiming Spike corrupted him.

He grinds the cigarette out on the rock.

Xander doesn’t seem the type, not with the looks he keeps sending Spike’s way. Not so much ashamed as pleading for more.

Oh yeah, Spike could do more. Could shove Xander against a tree, press his body against the boy’s. Run a tongue along his neck while sliding hands under his shirt, touching, teasing.

’Course he could do more than tease, too. Could shove Xander’s shirt over his head, run his fingers down Xander’s chest, send shivers through Xander’s body. Could unzip his shorts, push them down and blow his mind through his dick.

Could have him begging for more.

But no, he’s got to play the fucking boy scout and he still won’t get a merit badge, ’cause he’s pretty sure that letting Xander kiss him isn’t in the handbook.

Just the thought of trying to be one of those do-gooders has him lighting up again. Bloody hell. He doesn’t want to be a fucking boy scout, just doesn’t want to get kicked out.

It’s just some kid, Spike reminds himself, not like he has to resist some porn star or something.

Piece of cake.

***

It’s not stalking. Spike would swear to that on the grave of his dear departed mum.

Or on his stash of smokes, at the very least.

And that’s why he’s here – at Giles’s Grocery, Ice Cream and Mini Golf – for smokes. Not because it’s where Xander and his bloody annoying campers happen to be. He needs cigarettes is all.

He slips them into his pocket along with his change, before anyone from Outside Pride catches him rule-breaking. He picks up a magazine, ignoring the ‘do not read’ sign and the owner’s glare.

Xander’s over by the ice cream counter literally holding back a camper.

“I want three scoops,” the kid shrieks.

“We’ll see about that, buddy,” Xander says in a soothing tone. “One scoop for each of them,” he tells the beaming girl behind the counter.

“Excellent choice! They’ll get a treat but not become so sugared up that you’ll fantasize about their grisly, painful deaths.” The girl places ice cream onto the cones in a rapid, efficient manner.

“Uh, right.” Xander starts handing out the ice cream. “I’m not so much with the torture thing, more about the love.”

“Please.” She snorts, tosses her hair. “It starts off all good, with the rosy cheeks and the toothless smiles, until one day when there’s nothing left but the vengeance. I enjoy visualizing vengeance on horrible customers.” Xander moves himself between her and the campers. “Like this one time –”

“Anya!” the owner says sharply.

Xander glances in that direction and his gaze stops on Spike. Spike has that sinking feeling like he’s made the mistake of looking a bear in the eyes, but he can’t look away. A flush creeps over Xander’s face, and Spike’s face damn well better not be red too.

It’s like a standoff now, whoever breaks eye contact loses.

But Xander didn’t get the memo because he lifts his hand in a half-wave and half-smiles. Spike finds himself half-nodding. At least they’re both doing things by halves.

The campers start pushing Xander toward the door and even though it’s with their sticky ice cream fingers, he obliges, laughing. The laughter dies when they reach Spike.

“Hey,” Xander says somewhere to Spike’s left.

“Hey,” Spike says. The owner watches them over the top of a dusty old book.

“Hey!” the campers chorus up at Spike. It’s not cute. Spike scowls at them but just gets bratty smiles in return. Lousy kids.

“So, uh, catching up on your reading?” Xander nods to the magazines. Spike realizes he’s still holding Spin. “Any big news in the world of rock? U2 break up?”

“Not missing much.” Spike puts the magazine back on the rack. “Bono’s still on his ‘save the world’ kick. ’S boring.”

“Yeah, world saving? Gets old.”

One of the kids tugs on Spike’s shirt. “Get lost, kid.” This finally scares the kids and they run outside.

“Not a big kid fan, are you?” Xander tilts his head to watch the campers as they run through the mini golf course.

“Not a big people fan, mate.”

Xander makes eye contact for a moment, then his eyes dart back outside. “At least now I know it’s not personal.” He walks to the door, stops with his hand on the handle but doesn’t look back. “See ya.”

Spike watches him run over and grab a red haired kid just as he’s about to fall into a small pond at hole number seven. He picks up Spin again.

“I’m pleased that you’ve selected your purchase.” The owner rings it up. “This is not a library.”

Spike considers throwing the magazine down and leaving. Maybe adding in a few choice insults on his way out. But he can’t be bothered and if he’s on an upward spiral to becoming some bloody model citizen he can at least get a kick out of the article mocking actors trying to be rock stars. He sighs and forks over the cash.

“Do you work at the camp as well?” The owner nods at Xander, who’s using a napkin to wipe ice cream off a kid’s shirt. “Pardon my asking, but you seem a tad out of place.”

“Not exactly my dream job, but…” Spike shrugs.

“Ah yes.” The owner nods. The cash register’s open but he hasn’t removed Spike’s change. “Places like that can be…” He takes his glasses off, cleans them. “Well, one shouldn’t try too hard to fit in, if you take my meaning.”

Spike shifts his weight from one leg to the other. He gets enough unsolicited advice from Angel. What does this guy think he’s doing? And what’s a British bloke doing running a convenience store in the middle of fucking nowhere? He asks both questions out loud because, what the hell, why not?

“I spent a lot of my life trying to play by the rules. It’s something I regret deeply.” The owner pulls Spike’s change out, plunks it on the counter. “And clearly my nostalgia for home inspired me to try and stop a fellow countryman from making similar mistakes. I beg your pardon.” He picks up the book again and disappears behind it.

Spike takes the hint. He grabs his cash and hits the road.

Only it’s less hitting the road, and more walking the road. The very short road back to the camp. But what the hell.

A guy can dream.



Chapter Eight is here.