by Robin the Crossover Junkie
Spike comes home in a good mood. A very good mood. While that isn’t entirely unusual, the fact that he comes home in a very good mood with a very large duffel bag that he won’t let me snoop in, is. Unusual as it is, it’s also very exciting. Because, let’s face it. Spike’s creative in two areas.
Violence, and sex.
Spike gave up violence when we started having sex.
I’m going to have a very good night.
He cooks me dinner, acting completely nonchalant, ignoring the duffel bag. Unless my eyes stray toward it. When they do, completely of their own accord, of course, he glares at me, checks to make sure the zipper is still completely closed despite not having been touched since he put it on the floor in the first place, glares at me again for good measure, and goes back to his cooking.
“Why can’t I just eat a sandwich?” I ask him, surveying the rather large spread of food. He’s made salad, lasagna, chicken and rice, and he’d put a chocolate cheesecake in the fridge when he’d first come home.
“Because it’s a long weekend,” Spike replies, which really doesn’t answer my question at all, but the promise in his voice, the low, turn-around-and-face-the-wall-so-I-can-fuck-you tone, makes me shiver with lust.
I’m about ready to turn around and face the wall.
“Eat,” Spike instructs me, and his voice isn’t sex on toast. It’s whipped cream on silk. With chocolate sauce. And a whip.
I like it kinky.
I begin wolfing down the food, and Spike watches, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. I’ve eaten a helping of everything, and start to stand. I want the sex now.
“Eat,” Spike instructs me again. Less whipped cream on silk, more whip. I shiver.
“But I already did,” I inform him, wondering if there actually is a whip in that bag, and even a little bit hopeful.
“Eat more.” Spike’s voice isn’t soft. It’s hard and demanding, and why aren’t I facing the wall again?
I do it, of course, because if I’m good, I get rewards. Like sex. I wolf down two more helpings of everything. I swallow the last bite and belch, looking at Spike for approval. He nods once, goes to the fridge, and pulls out the cheesecake. He cuts it into four sections and hands me one.
“That’s a lot of…” I start. His glare cuts me off, and I begin eating the cheesecake. It’s good. Rich, and creamy, and soft, and why am I using the same words to describe the taste cheesecake that I use to describe the taste of Spike?
When I’m finished, I don’t even want sex. Well, okay, yeah, I do. I just don’t want to have to work for it. I’m full. I don’t think I could fuck Spike if I wanted to. I could probably lay down, and let him do all the work. Actually, that sounds good.
“Sex now?” I ask him, and he grins. It’s evil. It’s lecherous. I’m halfway to the wall before he stops me.
“No, pet.” Can I whine yet? “You’re gonna go watch TV for a bit while I get the room set up,” Spike grins. Forget whining, I just want to whimper. So I do. Spike laughs at me.
“If you’re not going to take advantage of me in my current state, why’d you feed me so much?” Okay, maybe I can whine.
“Gotta keep your strength up, Xan. It’s a long weekend.” With that, he pushes me into the living room and hands me the remote. “Don’t peek.” Then he’s gone, and all I’ve got is the television.
Might as well have a little fun while I wait. I turn on Skinemax.
I can hear him rattling around in the kitchen. The small table we usually eat on is scraped across the floor, and I wonder why he’s moved it. Are we doing the Jell-O thing again? Because I wouldn’t mind. Spike’s ass tasted like strawberry Jell-O for two days. Apparently, so did mine, because for those two days, we did nothing but rim one another.
I really hope it’s the Jell-O thing.
I can hear Xander in the other room watching Skinemax. It makes me laugh, because the last thing my boy’s going to need for this weekend is a head start. I look around my setup appraisingly. I cleaned up the dinner table, putting the leftovers in the fridge to feed to Xander later. I put all my instruments on that table when it was clean, and after I had moved it to the side of the room. The floor is covered with a black cotton sheet, just so I don’t have to mop the floor when we’re finished with all the messy sex.
In the center of the sheet is a table. I had this table custom-made. I’ve been looking forward to this long weekend for a long time. The table is made of oak, so it’s sturdy. It’s going to have to be sturdy. It’s got detachable leaves that insert at a ninety degree angle slightly South of the middle of the table. They’re just big enough for Xander’s legs. When you put the leaves in, the table surface pulls apart, giving anyone else in the room access to what’s between those leaves. Between those legs.
The table has two levels. The higher level is where the leaves attach. The lower level is wider, and low enough so that the distance from the top of the table to the lower level of the table is about as long as my legs. I should be a bloody architect.
The table is also adorned with various leather straps and metal buckles. When Xander’s on the table, he won’t be able to move anything. He’ll be completely at my mercy.
Fucking hell, when did it get so hot in here?
Hot! Right! Candles! I move back to the large duffel bag and pull out several dozen tall, dark red candles. They all have small crystal holders on the bottoms, and I arrange them around the room. They smell faintly of cinnamon, and I use my lighter to light them, making the smell slightly more potent. I move over to the kitchen table, and peruse my instruments. I select a long, narrow strip of black cloth, and smirk. Time to get Xan.
Man, I’m hard. Spike’s hot. Spike ordered me around. Spike’s really hot when he orders me around. Then I watched Skinemax for half an hour. That made me really horny. And really, really hard.
Spike comes into the room, and he’s got that look. That look that says he’s going to hurt me. Ohhh. Another second of this, and I’m going to need to wash my pants.
“Strip,” Spike commands, and oh, guess I won’t need to do laundry after all. Of course, the tone of his voice, the one-word instruction, has my cock twitching. So maybe I won’t last long enough to strip.
I’m doing it, though. Quick as I can, I’m naked in front of him, and he licks his lips, and I moan. I can’t not moan when he does that.
“Honey, I know you didn’t plan on it, but can you like…I don’t know…suck me, or something, before I pass out?” I plead. His eyebrow raises. Uh oh. He’s not happy at that little request, and why is that making me hornier? I don’t even understand how I can get hornier at this point, but Spike has this little habit of making my body do things it shouldn’t be able to do.
“Get in the kitchen.” I’m a good boy, and I follow orders immediately.
Oh. Oh. Well. This is somewhat unexpected. Candles, table, straps. Toys.
“I like this game,” I say eagerly, grinning at Spike.
“Did I ask you to speak?” His voice has lost the fake-Cockney accent, and he sounds cultured, the way Wesley always sounded when he still had the rather large stick up his butt. Besides the one Cordelia tells me Gunn sticks up his butt. But I digress, and thinking about not-stuck-up Wesley and tough-buff Gunn isn’t making my cock twitch less.
We’re playing that game. I shake my head quickly, knowing better by now than to answer verbally.
“Get on the table.” Sir, yes sir. I’m on the table on my back within seconds. “You’re going to stay there for the next four days,” he tells me.
Four days strapped to a table by my very horny boyfriend? Sign. Me. Up. Suddenly a thought occurs to me, and I raise my hand tentatively.
“Speak,” Spike tells me.
“Just…just a thought here, Spike, honey. I…had a pretty big dinner, and I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but I’m human. And it’s not sexy after I’ve digested.”
Spike grins like a little boy, and pulls a small bottle off the table. It’s clear, but the liquid inside is a strange turquoise color, swirling with bits of amber. “Talked to Red, got this.”
Spike smirks. “Talked to Red. Told her, in great detail, what my plans for this weekend were, watched her ears turn pink, and got this lovely little potion. She tells me that if you drink what’s in this little bottle, it will…dissolve everything in your intestinal tract for the next four days. She said it was nourishing, too, so you won’t have to eat as much.”
“You told Willow about this?”
“Got a potion, didn’t I?”
“I’ll never be able to look her in the face again,” I moan, covering my face with my hands. Huh. Guess my erection isn’t permanent, because it’s dwindling a little at the thought of Willow knowing what exactly my boyfriend’s doing to me at this very moment. I don’t even know what he’s doing.
“Shut up and drink it,” he says, rolling his eyes and handing me the bottle. I obey, of course, and it kind of tastes like strawberries. I hand the bottle back to him, and he places it on the table. His voice goes smooth and dangerous again. “Lie back.” I do it.
Spike moves around the table, strapping my forehead down, my chest, my hands, my hips, and each leg to a separate leaf sticking out of the table. Oh, look, my dick’s hard again. Surprise, surprise.
He goes back to the table and starts perusing the different toys there. Various vibrators, butt plugs, cock rings, ball gags, clamps, lubes, bottles of what I can only assume to be oil. I notice that already in his hand is a black swath of cloth, and I know what that one’s for. He grins, and moves toward me. He uses the small gap between the table and my neck to slip the blindfold around the back of my head, and slips it up to my eyes before tying it and putting the knot off to the side. I can’t see anything. I can feel my cock twitch, though.
I try to nod, but the strap holding my head down doesn’t permit it.
“You will speak when I ask you a direct question,” he tells me.
“Yes,” I answer.
“Would you like to come, Xander?”
“Too bad,” he replies, and I feel him place something cold and hard around my cock and balls. The snick of it locking shut, and my hiss at the constriction sound loud and roaring in the near-silence of the room. “I, on the other hand, would like to come. Is there any specific way you would like to make me come?”
“What is it?”
“I want you to fuck me,” I reply, because I know that no matter what kind of cock ring he’s put on me, if he stimulates my prostate, I will come. It usually hurts a little, but in the best way possible.
“Well, I would like you to suck me off,” he replies. “So that’s what you’re going to do.”
The table doesn’t shake as he straddles it, so that I can feel the backs of his suddenly naked thighs against my shoulders, and I know his balls must be less than an inch away from my chin.
There’s something, cool, hard, and slick at my lips, and I open them. The object slides in, and I can taste Spike’s precum, feel the soft, silky glans and foreskin on my tongue. I whimper almost inaudibly, and Spike presses forward.
He thrusts forward a few times, fucking my mouth, and it’s unbelievably erotic. We’ve never done it quite this way before. Normally, I’m free to move my head, and participate in the act, but this time, he’s completely in control. Using me.
And if this ring wasn’t holding off any chance of orgasm, I would come from merely the thought.
“Suck.” The one word command is in a voice so low, so aroused, that I moan, and then I’m sucking as hard as I can, fluttering my tongue along the length of his erection as it slides in and out of my mouth. I feel Spike changing his position so that his hips are hovering completely over my face, changing the angle slightly, and giving him more leverage.
He’s thrusting harder now, and thank God I’ve learned how to not gag when I’m sucking his dick, because on every thrust, his balls slap my chin, my lips reach the root, and my nose is tickled with soft, wiry hair.
“That’s good, pet. Keep sucking. I’m going to fuck your mouth, and I’m going to come while you’re sucking, and you’re going to swallow it all down, aren’t you?”
I moan helplessly in response, and the tempo of his thrusts increases, so that he’s literally pounding my face, moaning long and loud as his hips pump ceaselessly.
He screams, suddenly, and his cock’s exploding in my mouth as I’m swallowing the sweet, salty cream, and he’s still thrusting and moaning as he rides out the orgasm. I’m moaning around his cock as I swallow, and I know my own erection must be purple and leaking heavily, ready to explode but not allowed to.
Spike stops, and simply lays there for a few moments, his cock slowly softening in my mouth. Finally, he gets up, panting hard, and I’m left alone, blind and immobile. I whimper, because I want him in me again, and I really, really want to come.
I feel Spike’s lips on mine, and then his tongue is inside, searching out the last flavor of himself, and I try to pour every ounce of desperation into the kiss, to show him how much I need him to let me come.
He pulls back, and I whimper again.
“You’ve been a very good boy, Xander,” he says. “I think you should get a reward for your compliance.”
I whine, wanting to speak, but he hasn’t asked me a question yet. I would nod, but I can’t move my head.
I hear some latches being undone, and then Spike’s slowly pushing the wooden leaves of the table up, taking my still-strapped legs with them, so that my legs are at a ninety-degree angle, and spread.
I smell cinnamon, faintly, and I feel something slick and hard at my entrance. It’s too thin to be Spike’s cock, so I know it must be a dildo, a vibrator, or a butt plug. I’m really hoping it’s the vibrator.
Spike begins pushing it inside me, and it’s narrow enough that I feel no pain at not being prepared. A moan escapes my throat as it nudges up against the tiny bundle of nerves that makes my cock jump, and the blackness behind my eyes is a bright, blinding blue.
Buzz. A scream claws its way out of my throat, and every muscle in my body tenses as the sudden assault.
Suddenly, he’s thrusting it in and out of my passage, jack-hammering faster than his hips were thrusting into my face, pounding into me, and I’m screaming continuously now. I can’t stop to catch my breath, because he’s not stopping to let me. In and out, in and out, stretching me, fucking me, cool, hard plastic, and the cinnamon must have been lube, because it’s starting to tingle inside me, and then he increases the speed on the vibrator.
Oh, Jesus. I can’t scream now. It’s silent, and the only sound in the room is the buzzing of the vibrator, and the slick friction of the plastic hammering in and out of me, and suddenly it’s all gone as Spike simultaneously yanks the vibrator from my body and clicks it off, and I cry out in a desperate plea.
Then, something much bigger is inside me, and there’s no feeling left in the room except for what I instinctively know is Spike’s cock pounding into me as quickly as the vibrator, and the pulsing in my straining cock.
He’s grunting in time with each thrust, putting as much force as he can muster into it, and I’m burning up inside, and I can feel the sweat dripping off my body and I still can’t scream, but I can feel, I can feel nothing but everything, and Spike’s hands are on my lower abdomen, under where my erection is hovering just over the skin, ramrod straight, and pressing down so that my muscles around him are as tight as they can be, but his thrusts haven’t slowed and I don’t want them to, because I can feel every pore, every vein, every skin cell inside me, pounding, burning, pushing into my prostate, pulling at my entrance, and suddenly I can scream because I’m coming, and it hurts but it’s only making me come harder and the orgasm wrenches through me until I can’t see anything, can’t feel anything but absolute, pure pleasure, and my ears are roaring, my head’s spinning, and I can’t feel my hands and then it’s black.
He passes out just as I’m coming again, spurred on by the feel of him clenching impossibly tight around me, the thick white spurts from his deeply purple cock shooting out so that they hit his chin and throat. I roar loudly, then slump limply on top of him.
Bugger, this was a good idea.
Finally I get up, pulling myself out of him and sliding the steel ring off his spent cock. I lean over his chest and gently lick him clean, reveling in the salty, creamy taste. When he’s clean, I bring the leg-leaves down and close them so that his knees are together, and lay down on top of him, resting my head on his chest. I sigh, and drift off to a post-coital doze.
I wake before him, and grin. We slept for a couple of hours, but we’ve still only just begun. My boy isn’t moving for four days.
This was a bloody good idea.
I’ve got a lot of things to get ready while he’s still sleeping. I have big plans for my lovely boy.
He’s completely relaxed, which is good. That means I can do whatever I want to prepare him for the next bit of activity. Xander’s a heavy sleeper, for someone who grew up living in a place where demons eat people on a regular basis. I know this, I’m one of them. Of course, the only person I’m eating regularly is Xander at the moment, but that’s just fine, because he’s so pretty when he comes.
I push the leaves up, locking them in place so that his legs are up in the air. I’ll take them down soon, but I have to have things ready, first. I go over to the table, and take a rather large butt plug, slathering it liberally with the cinnamon lube. I also take another cock ring over to Xander.
He’s still limp in sleep, so I lean over the table and take his cock in my mouth, sucking gently. I’m not trying to bring him off, just trying to get him nice and hard so I can put the ring on.
I love the feel of him expanding in my mouth, so hot and hard. Sure, I’m bloody great shag, but it still feels nice to make Xander, who not one year ago would have run screaming from the thought of kissing a boy, insane with lust for me. Soon, under the ministrations of my very talented lips and tongue, he’s hard as a rock, even though he’s still fast asleep.
I snap the ring around the base of his cock, but not his balls this time, because I don’t want them in the way. His dick’s that nice dark red color, glistening wetly from my mouth. It looks very, very tasty, and I want to suck it again, but I have other things to do.
I go around to the end of the table, holding the lube and butt plug, and simply gaze at him. He’s completely helpless, completely open for me. Beautiful. I have to taste him. I lean over and gently bathe his puckered rosebud with my tongue, moaning lightly at the taste of his salty skin, my own come and the faint taste of cinnamon from earlier. I slip my tongue into him gently, stabbing inside, fluttering the tip deep inside him. In his sleep, he groans, and I press deeper. As far in as my tongue will go, fucking him hard with my mouth. I could do this for hours, and I know that later I will, but for now, I have a purpose. I reluctantly retreat, and replace my tongue with the plug. I press it in slowly, stretching him so widely, and finally push the light rim inside him, locking the plug in place. It won’t come out now, and I grin. He’s still asleep but the muscles in his legs are straining to instinctively rub the end of the plug against his prostate.
I stand, inspecting my work. Large plug in his ass, tight ring around his cock…perfect. I grin to myself and lower his legs, pressing the plug deeper, tighter, with the action. I take the lube and slather his cock with it, then cover my fingers and press two inside me, just to get myself slicked up. Then I climb aboard.
I slowly, quietly press myself down, pushing his cock into me, and groan at the feel. Once he’s completely inside, I lean over and kiss him. “Xander. Wake up,” I whisper into his ear. He’s still blindfolded, but I can feel his body wake immediately.
“Spike?” His voice is strangled, awakening to the feel of his ass stretched completely, his cock encased in my own tight hole.
“I’m going to ride you, Xander,” I say, and then my hips are moving. Slowly, and hard, so that he’s deep inside me and then almost not at all, thrusting down. My hands are lightly pinching his nipples, and he moans.
He’s so hot inside me, it’s like burning fire that travels through my whole body. I’m riding him slowly, partly because I love the feel of him inside me like that, partly because I’m not ready to come yet, and partly because I have every intention of making this last as long as possible.
As long as possible meaning an hour or so.
We have all weekend.
This is amazing. When I woke up, I could feel that my ass was stretched impossibly wide, that my cock was already hard and aching, and Spike was surrounding me. I can’t think. Every sensation is so intense, made solid and all encompassing because I can’t see, can’t move.
“God, Spike…” I moan, and his thrusts speed up slightly. I can imagine what he looks like, riding me, undulating his hips as he rises and falls. His muscles, cording against the strain, his skin glowing white in the candlelight in the room. My imagination runs wild, knowing his eyes aren’t that electric blue anymore, but are sparking with deep cobalt, glowing amber. I hear him growl softly above me, and I’m shuddering in my bonds, wishing more than anything that I could reach up and touch him, be a part of this, but at the same time, loving the fact that I’m helpless, that everything he’s doing is selfish, for his own pleasure.
His actions are selfish, but I know the butt plug was for me. Thank God.
I’m losing all track of time. I have no idea how long I slept, how long he’s been riding me like this. It could be seconds, minutes, hours.
It feels as though we’ve been this way, with me tied down and with him bouncing up and down on my cock, forever.
“God, you’re so tight,” I murmur, and he starts thrusting harder. I’m in heaven, the way his muscles are a cool, slick vise around my aching cock, providing pure, sliding friction.
I’m moaning, and I can hear Spike making sounds that are a mixture of grunts and growls with each thrust.
Suddenly, he clenches even tighter around me and lets out a long, low groan. I can feel his cool seed dribbling down onto my stomach, but he doesn’t stop riding. He’s slow, now, though, just stimulating himself, not working toward anything but extending his own pleasure.
I’m so hard, and it hurts, but I can’t come. I know there must be a cock ring on me again, if I’m not coming, because otherwise I would have been finished long ago. Finally, Spike leans down and kisses me, gently, wetly, before sliding off the table.
I’m panting, and it’s magnified in the otherwise silent room, as Spike lifts the leg leaves. It stretches my ass out more, somehow, and I moan. Spike locks my legs in place, and suddenly I feel his cool, wet tongue licking around the rim of the plug, on the stretched, burning skin of my asshole. I can’t breathe, and I feel dizzy and brainless.
“P…p…plea…se,” I gasp out, not even knowing what I’m asking for, but knowing I need more. I need more of everything.
His tongue is still working, and somewhere in the back of my mind I insanely wonder why I can smell cinnamon, when everything else is centered around that taut, worshipped skin, and then Spike’s tongue is gone. I whimper, begging for its return.
I feel something large and round and rubbery being pressed into my mouth, and I know it’s a ball gag. I moan around it.
“Shh, love. Better things to do just now,” Spike whispers, and suddenly the plug is slowly being pulled out, stretching my ass even more.
I moan, and I’m well beyond coherent sounds by now. I’ve never felt so empty as I do in this moment, and Spike’s got three lubed fingers inside me, but it’s not enough. I was so stretched, so full, and now I’m so empty, barren, that it hurts. Spike adds a fourth finger, stretching me out, fucking me with his fingers, and suddenly I feel the very tip of his thumb playing at the stretching skin.
I want to scream, but I can’t. I want to urge him on, but I can’t. I know he knows, though, as his thumb starts to press inside, so that all five fingers are slowly pressing inside me. He pushes forward, not stopping, not pausing, not speeding up or slowing down, just gently torturing me until I can feel the thickest part of his hand pass my entrance, so that I’m clamped around his wrist as tightly as I had been around the butt plug, moaning incoherently around the gag in my mouth.
Spike’s hand is inside me, and he’s thrusting it forward, deep inside me, twisting it, fondling and massaging the tiny bundle of nerves that has me biting roughly into the rubber ball in my mouth, silently begging, screaming, needing to come.
My cock is twitching, almost vibrating, and suddenly Spike reaches his other hand out and unclasps the ring around the base, and my cock explodes freely, and I’m screaming into the ball, my muscles firm and tight around him, my hips straining against the straps holding them down, and suddenly Spike’s mouth is on the tip of my cock, sucking, and my orgasm is drawn out impossibly long.
Finally, my brain comes back from the abyss, even as my body is still shuddering and clenching around Spike’s hand. Every muscle in my body is aching, and I know that after this weekend, I’m going to be in traction. And why is that thought filling me with glee?
Spike slowly starts pulling his hand out, and it’s like my insides are coming out with him, and I moan around the gag again. He leans down when his hand is free, and chastely kisses my still grasping, stretched hole. I let out a hysterical chuckle, though it’s muffled by the rubber ball, and he reaches out to remove it.
“Jesus, Spike,” I pant when I can speak again.
Spike pulls my legs down and sprawls on top of me.
“Go to sleep, pet,” he chuckles. I sigh, and naturally, do as he asks.
When I wake up again, he’s snoring like a bear. Right. Should have known better than to tie him down on his back. He snores on his back. Oh well. Maybe I’ll figure something out later. Meanwhile, I’ve got lovely things to do.
I slide off the table and move over to the vast selection of toys I have set out. We’ve played with the gag, the ring, the small vibrator and the large butt plug. Don’t want my pet getting bored, so we’ll mix it up a little.
I poke him in the ribs, fairly hard, and he’s startled awake. I take the little bottle of rose oil that I collected from the table and generously pour it over his happy-to-accept dick, and it starts to harden slightly at the sensation. Then, my hands are on him, stroking his skin, his balls, his hips, his cock. He moans lightly under my gentle ministrations, and I speed up my strokes.
It doesn’t take too long for him to come, because I’m squeezing and fondling him quickly and firmly. I climb on the table, and I straddle his neck again. This time, however, I don’t give him my cock to suck. I let my balls rest on his lips. “That’s my bollocks, love.” I tell him. He immediately starts to lave the swollen, wrinkled sac with his tongue, gently taking first one, then the other, into his mouth. His mouth is warm, soft, gentle, and it feels wonderful.
I let him do this for long minutes, enjoying just the feel of him tasting me. Touching me without being allowed to touch. I take my straining cock in my hand and slowly stroke it as he continues to suckle my balls, rolling them around in their sacs. My orgasm is soft, gentle, slow, dribbling come over my fist, down onto his face. I stand, and lean down to lick it off of him.
“Mm,” he mumbles. “Spike?”
“Shh, pet. We’re going to play a new game.”
“Spike, I really…I don’t know if I can even get it up again, at this point.”
I snort. Bullshit.
I reach down and begin stroking him gently. Sure enough, his flesh hardens under my touch, and I smirk in triumph.
“Looks up to me,” I tell him, kissing him hotly, passionately. I step back and watch as he pants and silently begs for more attention.
“So, new game?” he grunts out.
Spike’s been so creative. I don’t know what else he could have possibly cooked up that doesn’t include me moving, but I guess I’m about to find out.
“Who am I?”
So, what, we’re playing amnesia?
“William the Bloody, also known as Spike, also known as pain in my ass, love of my life, and snake charmer of my cock. Any other questions before we commence with the fucking of the boyfriend?”
“No. I’m not Spike. You can’t see me. I could be anybody.”
“Except that you’re Spike.”
Spike’s voice affects a soft, arousing, lulling tone. “I can be anybody you want, Xander. Anybody at all. Who do you want me to be?”
“Uh…Fuck-Me-Spike, now available from Mattel at your local Toys R Us?”
“Damn it, Xander!” He’s annoyed with me, I know, but I honestly don’t understand where he’s going with this stuff. “Don’t be daft. You’re going to pretend…pretend I’m someone else, here, with you, and you’re helpless. Can’t move, can’t touch, can only be done to. Who am I?”
“Fucking hell! You can't see me; I could be anyone. Imagine who I am. Anya, Dru, Angel, Giles, Jorje the bloody Wonder Goat. Make me someone else.”
And suddenly, I’m not hard anymore. I feel my cock droop, and the burning heat in my gut is suddenly ice, sharp and cutting into me. I’m not smiling anymore, and I’m not aroused by being trapped here. I’m not having fun anymore.
“What?” Spike asks. He really doesn’t understand, and his voice is confused and disgruntled. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t answer for a minute. Finally, I sigh. “I don’t want to pretend you’re someone else, Spike. If I wanted to be with anybody else but you, I would be. But I want to be with you. Only you.”
Nothing for long seconds. Not a sound, not a whiff of air. The silent stillness stretches on for eternities, until suddenly Spike’s using his vampire strength and speed to tear away the leather straps binding me to the table, until I’m free, and then he tears apart the black blindfold. The light in the room is blinding, but not nearly as blinding as the unshed pools of tearful regret in his cerulean eyes.
I’m gathering him in my arms, shushing him nonsensically as I rain kisses on his paled face, stroking his hair, his shoulders, his neck, to comfort him.
“Shh. Baby, shh.”
I shut him up with a kiss, because for as long as I’ve known him, that’s the one thing that’s ever worked.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers when our mouths finally reluctantly part.
“It’s okay, Spike. I know you’ve been…jerked around, before, but it isn’t like that with me. I want you because I want you, not because you’re convenient. You aren’t second choice. You’re my only choice.”
“You could have anyone, if you really wanted,” he murmurs petulantly.
I smile gently, catching his gaze. “I do.” Then we’re kissing again. “Bed,” I whisper after what seems like hours of just kissing him, getting harder and harder, feeling his answering hardness pressing into my hip. We slowly, treacherously make our way from the kitchen, into the bedroom. I press him down onto the satin coverlet, the shiny black material making him look even more stark white than he is.
I nibble my way up his skin, from the balls of his feet to his clavicle, tasting every inch in between.
Then I’m at his mouth again, kissing him, loving him with every inch of me. His knees part slightly, cradling my hips, and I gently thrust forward, pressing our erections together between us, stroking them together with our bellies. Spike moans into my mouth.
His hands are in my hair, and mine are in his, clenching, grasping, both of us trying to dive into the other in a kiss. His knees slowly crawl up my legs, wrapping around my hips as he gasps into my mouth.
“Please,” he whispers. I’m still coated in oil from earlier, but I wonder if I should use more lube than just that. I try to pull away, to get the tube from the table beside the bed, but Spike’s hands grab at me desperately. “No, stay…”
“I’m staying, honey, just…lube…” I murmur into his lips.
“Don’t care…just…please,” he whimpers. I take his mouth again, roughly, and quickly ram into him, my cock stretching him impossibly tight. He hisses at the burning I know he’s feeling, but his hips are straining up, begging for more. I begin to gently rock, pressing into him with loving slowness.
“Spike,” I murmur, and I can feel his cock twitching against my stomach at the sound of his name on my lips.
So I say it again, with a little more conviction. As though I couldn’t possibly think of anyone else, because there is only Spike, which isn’t hard to do, because it’s true. “Spike.” Twitch. “Spike.” Twitch. Every time I thrust into him, the spongy, swollen head of my cock brushing against his prostate, I say his name, trying to put as much love, as much feeling behind the word as I can, knowing that no matter how I say it, I’ll never be able to convey just exactly how much he does mean to me.
“Spike,” I moan, pressing forward harder.
“Xander,” he calls out, his inner walls throbbing around me and suddenly my belly is bathed in his slick come, and his hips are still pounding up in rhythm with mine, and I finally let go, screaming as I let loose a torrent of come, releasing deep inside him, bathing him with my essence.
When I can see, I rain kisses on his face again, whispering to him. “Only you, Spike…only Spike…Spike…my Spike…my only Spike…” I murmur. The words are strung together so that they’re almost incoherent, but they’re exactly what I’m feeling in my heart, every desperate lub-dub of the constricting muscle screaming with joy, love, need, and Spike.
“Love you,” I whisper, kissing his eyes, tasting faint tears there, and gathering him closer, still encased in his body, still joined together, as he clings to me just as tightly.
“Love you,” he chokes out, and I know he’s trying not to cry, and I’m trying not to cry, too, because I should have known he felt so insecure, that all the bravado was what that meant, because he had recognized it in me. I can’t help blaming myself for not seeing how he felt earlier, and I wish I’d done something about it then, but I’m doing something about it now. I’m fixing it now.
I hold him close, whispering over and over to him, how I love him, how there could never be anyone else, how he’s mine. Eventually, he drifts off into sleep, and I sigh. Tomorrow, I’ll make sure he understands, and every day after that until he really does understand, and doesn’t forget. That I love him, and that he’s my one and only Spike.